Daughter of Light (Follower of the Word Book 1) Page 21

  Stopping halfway through the panels, she raised her own hand and, finger-by-finger, pulled off her sword glove. Rowen held up her hand, mark upwards. It pulsed softly with faint light. She glanced between the pictures and her hand. Their marks were identical.

  There was no mistake. These people were Eldarans.

  Suddenly Rowen clenched her hand and drew it back. Anger crept across her face and chest. She looked up at the pictures again, pictures filled with the peaceful faces of Eldarans.

  And abruptly the darkness inside her caught fire.

  She hated them. She hated their serene and loving looks. They looked as if they had never experienced hate or loneliness or fear, all the emotions that seemed to fill her. How could they look like that if they had really seen inside any human heart?

  Rowen fell to her knees. The rage inside her burning so brightly that it felt like it would rip from her chest. How could she be related to these people? Their worlds were nothing alike.

  “I hate you!” she shouted. Her words echoed throughout the ruin, bouncing across the stone. None of the pictures changed. The Eldarans continued on in their peaceful duties. The fading echo sobered her, but that did not stop her heart from crying out.

  Rowen felt more alone than ever. She bowed her head in defeat. Raging against the glass pictures did not change anything. The mark on her hand was permanent, a sign that she would forever be different from those around her.

  The ray of sunshine disappeared. Colors faded. Rain began to fall through the broken ceiling above, gently hitting her body.

  “I never wanted this,” Rowen whispered.

  Only silence answered her. The rage that had burned inside her heart moments ago left abruptly, leaving her cold and dead inside. The rain fell harder until the stone floor was washed in its torrent. Rowen vaguely sensed the chill that began to sweep across her body. Her clothes became drenched again in the downpour.

  But she didn’t care.

  From the corner of her eye she noticed a dull grey mist begin to spread across the stone floor. It drifted toward her, obscuring everything as it moved along. Soon the outer walls disappeared as the mist consumed them, steadily drawing near.

  A subtle alarm sounded inside her mind. Rowen shook off her emotional stupor and looked up. The grey haze spread quickly. The mist reached her and began to swirl around her body.

  Rowen scrambled to her feet. She turned away from the wall of colored glass and ran back toward the doorway. But it was too late. The mist rose with such speed that it instantly enveloped her body in its moist embrace.

  Terror clawed at her chest. She placed out her hands and tried to find her way by touch, but she found nothing to lead her. There were no stone slabs, no wall. Everything was gone.

  The mist began to change color. What had been a dull grey peeled back into warm white. Rowen hid her eyes for a moment, the light within the mist suddenly intensifying.

  As the light faded, she cracked open her eyes. A shadow approached her from within the mist. Terrified, Rowen reached for her sword, only to find it gone. She glanced down to find everything gone except for her drenched shirt and pants.

  She looked up. The shadow drew closer. Rowen began to back away. She held out her marked hand as if it were a weapon.

  A man stepped out from the mist.

  Fear dropped her to the ground. Rowen lay there shaking. Although the man’s silhouette was ordinary in appearance—not monstrous or brawny or unusual in any way—her sixth sense screamed that he was anything but.

  He stopped just beyond her sight. “Rowen, look at me.”

  Rowen felt her mouth grow dry, her breath coming in quick succession. But she obeyed and lifted her eyes.

  The Man before her was ageless. He was dressed in a brilliant white robe tied with a golden cord. There were no other adornments: no crown, no scepter, no gems, nothing to signify His rank or who He was. Instead, Rowen could see scars covering every part of His visible body. Some were thin and white. Others were grotesque, distorting His skin in unnatural ways.

  She lifted her eyes to His face. He gazed down at her, His face soft, His eyes dark and fathomless. And there were more scars. Her eyes were drawn toward a particularly cruel one that ran the length of the right side of His face. She wanted to ask who He was but felt unable to utter a word.

  “I am that was, that is, and that is to come,” He said, as if reading her thoughts. “I am known as the Word.”

  Rowen’s eyes dropped, and her body went rigid. Suddenly she felt exposed. She felt like He could see everything inside of her, like she could with others. Except, unlike her, He did not need to touch her.

  “You have nothing to fear from me, Daughter of Light,” the Word said softly.

  Rowen licked her lips and stared at the swirling mist, but found no words to say. Daughter of Light?

  “These scars,” He said and motioned above her, “are for the people of the Lands. They are the blood price I paid to free them.”

  She swallowed. “F-free us from what?” Rowen raised her eyes but did not dare look Him in the face.

  “You have seen it already,” the Word said quietly. “The darkness that lies within the heart. Every man, woman, and child is born with it. It cannot be seen with the eyes. But it can be felt.”

  Rowen felt a subtle stirring in her chest even as He spoke. The rage she carried began to surface again, baring its fangs at the Man who stood before her.

  As if sensing the black beast, the Word stopped. Rowen glanced up and found Him looking at her, a serious expression on His scarred face. “I can heal the darkness inside of you.”

  At His words, a war erupted inside her. She wanted to say yes, to be free of the fear and anger she carried around. But it did not want to let go of her. She could feel it clinging to her, digging its long talons deeper into her heart. And, perhaps, a part of her didn’t want to let it go either. The battle grew fierce, causing her to hunch over and hold her arms over her chest in pain.

  The Word crouched and held a hand out to Rowen. “Let me take your pain and your anger, Rowen. All it takes is one touch.”

  She stared at the hand He offered. There was no mark upon it. Rather, His entire hand glowed as He reached for her. Suddenly, the wish to be free rose up inside her, just as strong as the hate that had held her moments ago.

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  As if sensing its doom, the darkness inside her ignited, encompassing her entire being in its black blaze. It did not want to die. Rowen gasped at the intensity and almost shouted No. The Word placed His hand upon her head.

  Then…it was done. The deep twisting rage she had felt moments ago was gone.

  Rowen blinked. Something had changed inside of her. She could feel it. It was like she had been freed from a dark place and was now seeing light for the first time.

  She touched her face and ran her fingers down her neck, following the edge of her tunic. She held her hands there. She almost expected her outside to feel as different as her inside did.

  The hatred was gone.

  But instead of feeling empty, Rowen felt full of life. She wanted to laugh and dance. All the broken pieces inside of her had been fused back together, every crack filled. “I’m free,” she whispered, savoring the sudden sense of joy.

  The Word stood. His light had dimmed. Rowen looked up and saw a fresh cut just below His eye. Blood trickled down His chin, leaving a scarlet trail across His face.

  “No!” Rowen scrambled to her feet. But even as she moved, the cut began to heal over, leaving a short white scar just below His eye. She watched in amazement. “You…you healed me.”

  The Word looked at her with such love that she could feel the intensity of it from where she stood. How could she have ever hated Him?

  “Dear one, you may be able to heal others of their physical ailments, but only I can heal the heart.”

  Rowen placed her hand across her chest, feeling her heartbeat beneath her shirt. And deeper still, beyond where she could f
eel with her hand, her heart felt…whole.

  “Thank You,” she said, awed.

  The Word placed a hand on her shoulder. “There is much for you to do, Daughter of Light.” He was serious now with a hint of sadness. “And so it is time for you to return to the Lands. But do not fear. In the moment of your greatest weakness, you will fully know My power.”

  The Word began to back away. Rowen took a step forward. She wanted to follow Him. She still had so many questions. What did He mean? What was she to do? And what did He see that made Him look so sad?

  But before she could move, He vanished into the swirling mist. Then the mist changed from white to a dreary grey. The mist dissipated, leaving her in the middle of the stone ruin. Rain fell gently on her body.

  Rowen stared at the colored glass. Had it been a dream?

  No. She bent down and picked her glove up from the floor. She had left the castle an angry and bitter woman. And then, with one touch, the Word had healed her. Her heart had changed. She felt…new.

  With startling realization, Rowen knew this change was permanent. She could still feel the echo of darkness inside, but it no longer controlled her. She was free. And something new had moved into her heart: a peace and joy that had not been there before.

  Rowen cast one more look back at the stained glass wall before turning and heading out of the stone ruin. She understood the pictures now. The Word had touched those Eldarans too. And changed their hearts forever.

  16

  Caleb eased into a deeper sleep, his mind slowly releasing its grip on the real world. In his mind’s eye, there was nothing but darkness around him. The darkness slowly twisted until its shadows resembled tall gnarled trees, their branches reaching high into the heavens. Tiny lights flickered between the dark branches. He stood in a clearing below, arms crossed, feet spread apart.

  His dream always began this way. And, like always, he felt driven to walk toward the trees.

  Caleb dropped his arms and slowly walked toward the trees. With his hands he brushed his sides, searching for his daggers, only to remember a heartbeat later that here, in this place, they did not exist. He clenched his hands in frustration. But that did not stop him from continuing toward the forest ahead.

  Soon a path appeared. Caleb stepped onto the hardened dirt and followed it through the trees. Dark shapes gradually emerged between the tree trunks, just a shade darker than the shadows that covered the forest floor. At the same moment a memory tried to surface. It felt like a clanging bell inside his head, telling him to run from this place. But an invisible force beckoned him toward the shadows. And its call was stronger than the alarms sounding in his head.

  Caleb left the path after a couple steps and moved toward the dark shapes between the trees. The tiny lights that floated along the branches above widened, allowing more light to filter down over the figures below. In that light, the shapes finally revealed their true form.

  They were bodies, hundreds of them, standing motionless amongst the trees.

  Caleb walked toward the nearest one. He stopped and stared at the body. The body opened its eyes. With a jolt of recognition, he found himself staring at Delshad.

  With a cry, Caleb stumbled back, tripped, and fell to the ground. Delshad moved forward, no expression on the old man’s face. In his outstretched hand he held a wicked looking dagger. Caleb only had time to realize the blade was his when Delshad stood over him.

  “I forgive you,” Delshad whispered. Then he plunged the knife into Caleb’s chest.

  With a loud gasp, Caleb sat up in his bed, his hand clutching at his bare chest, sure he would find the hilt of his blade protruding from his heart. But there was nothing there. He made another sweep to make sure, then he sighed.

  It had been only a dream.

  He’d had nightmares about his victims for years, but they seemed to be reoccurring more often of late. The last few nights he even feared going to sleep.

  Caleb ran a hand through his dark hair, now damp with perspiration. From across the room he could see the first few rays of dawn through a small square window. Might as well get up and start the day.

  Caleb threw on a black tunic and pants. He strode out of the room and headed toward the courtyard below, ready for some physical exercise to clear his mind of this most recent nightmare.

  • • •

  “Message for Lord Tala.”

  Caleb looked up at the mention of his name. He had long ago removed his shirt, and he now stood panting, savoring the feel of sweat trickle down his back and chest. A soldier pointed his direction.

  Finally, a message from his cousin. Caleb watched the courier walk across the courtyard. He had been stuck at Hadrast Fortress ever since Commander Arpiar had taken over, waiting for Lord Corin to say he could return home. This had to be it.

  “Lord Tala?” the courier said once he reached Caleb.

  “Yes.” Caleb stood to his full height. The courier reached into the pouch that hung at his side. Out came a long cream colored parchment with a red seal on one side. The courier handed it to Caleb.

  “You are excused,” Caleb said, waving the young man away. The courier bowed, then left. Caleb grabbed his shirt and headed toward his room, anxious to read the note. He was more than ready to leave the north behind.

  Caleb took a seat in his room and slowly read the parchment once, then twice. After the second time, he crumpled it and threw it across the room. The last lingering images of his nightmare were banished as his mind grappled with the words he had just read.

  Lord Corin wanted him to stay.

  Caleb worked his jaw as he thought on his cousin’s words again. Corin wanted him to continue his role as an “advisor” to Commander Arpiar. And this time, his dear cousin wanted to move against the White City.

  Unable to sit any longer, Caleb stood and paced the room. Although not a tactician, even he knew that the best place to hit was Avonai, not the White City. The coastal city had chosen to remain neutral, believing that by doing so, it could remain separate from the war. But Temanin did not see countries as neutral. They were either for or against the empire. And since there was no formal alliance between Temanin and Avonai, the city was fair game.

  Avonai was the best choice. By taking the coastal city, Temanin would gain another foothold in the north and demoralize the northern troops.

  But Avonai would not be neutral for long. Caleb came to a stop beside the window and looked out. He had heard from the Temanin spies that a treaty would soon be signed creating an alliance between Nordica, the White City, and Avonai. And when that happened, the northern military would be a force to be reckoned with.

  Caleb cursed and turned from the window. What did Corin think he was doing, interfering in matters he had no knowledge of? And worse yet, keeping Caleb right in the middle of this war when all he wanted to do was go home and back to what he did best. He was no good here. He was an assassin, not a military man—

  Wait. Caleb stopped. Treaty signing in Avonai. Attack the White City. Pieces began to fall into place. What better way to weaken a stronghold than to take out its leader? And the leader of the White City would be in Avonai in a couple of days.

  A predatory smile crossed Caleb’s face. Now this was something he could do. In fact, this job fit him perfectly. He and a few spies could slip into Avonai and take out Lord Gaynor. During that time, Commander Arpiar could prepare an attack on the White City.

  In a more perfect world, Avonai would then be hit after the assassination. But Corin’s word was law, so neither he nor Commander Arpiar had any choice. Still, Lord Gaynor’s death would give Temanin an advantage.

  Caleb felt his body surge with adrenaline. He left his room and hurried for the stairs. He turned at the bottom of the stairs and headed toward the outer wall where he knew he would find Commander Arpiar. Around him Temanin soldiers sparred, waiting for the next battle in which to apply their skills.

  Caleb caught sight of Commander Arpiar along the southern battlement. He took the
steps two at a time. He reached the top and headed for the older man.

  As he drew near, Commander Arpiar turned and frowned. “What brings you here?”

  Caleb rarely visited anyone, choosing to remain alone. He had seen no point in integrating himself among the rest of the troops. “I just received word from Lord Corin.”

  “Yes,” Commander Arpiar said, his face darkening. “So did I. Lord Corin wishes to move on the White City.”

  “Yes.” Caleb chose not to add that he had been ordered to stay with the commander as well. Besides, he had a feeling Commander Arpiar already knew, judging by the way the older man stared at him. “But I have an idea.” Then Caleb spent the next few minutes laying out his plan and watched Commander Arpiar’s face grow from hostile to thoughtful.

  “It could work,” Commander Arpiar said after Caleb finished. “And you definitely possess the skills to pull off such a feat. But why do this? Why put yourself in harm’s way when you could just stay back and wait for this war to be over?”

  Good question, Caleb thought. He knew Commander Arpiar pegged him as a selfish man. So why would he put himself in a dangerous position?

  “Simple. Because by eliminating Lord Gaynor, there is a chance we could end this war quickly.”

  “ And ending this war serves you…?”

  “I will be able to return to Azar.”

  “I see.”

  Caleb did not want Commander Arpiar to get any illusions that he was offering his assassin skills to benefit the Temanin Army. Commander Arpiar was right: He was a selfish man. He was doing this so he could leave this military life and get back to his other life, the one he had been forced to leave behind in Azar.

  “So when would you leave?” Commander Arpiar said.

  “As soon as possible,” Caleb said. “Although we know the treaty will be signed soon, the spies were not sure of the exact time. It could even be happening as we speak.”

  “Then I will send some of Temanin’s best your way. About how many do you need?”