Son of Truth (Follower of the Word) Page 22

  “You are not a healer, you are a god.” Chera stared at her in wonder. “You really are Mirelukahn.”

  “No.” Rowen waved her hand. “I am no god. It is the Word’s power that healed your boy.”

  “The Word?” Chera asked. “But I saw you heal him with your hand.”

  “Yes,” Rowen said. “But it is a gift the Word gave me. Apart from His strength, I could not heal others.”

  “I’ve never heard of this ‘Word.” Chera took a step back. “Mirelukahn is the Mother Healer.”

  Rowen shook her head. Chera must have been referring to some Temanin deity. “No, I’m not Mirelukahn. Just a woman. Here, see—” Rowen twisted around and used the wall to help her stand. Her legs wobbled beneath her. Using the wall, Rowen moved toward the window. “Here, touch me.” She held out her left hand to Chera.

  Chera backed away until she stood in the shadows beyond the light from the window. “No, you are not a woman. No one has that kind of power. If you are not Mirelukahn, then perhaps you are the Trickster.”

  Rowen frowned, her hand still outstretched. “Trickster?”

  “Chera, let’s go.” Lanzo came up behind Chera and laid a hand on her arm. “Seth is healed. Let us leave now.”

  “Maybe she did more than just heal our son…” The two turned and walked away.

  Rowen just stood at the window, her hand raised toward them as if to beckon them back. Her gut clenched, and ice filled her body. “But there is nothing to be afraid of,” she whispered.

  They never turned around.

  She dropped her hand and watched them cross the park and disappear down the alleyway. Rowen placed her hand on her cheek. What did I do wrong? Why did everyone run from her? All she’d done was heal that little boy.

  Rowen trembled and turned around. The woman’s words came back. You are a god, Mirelukahn. Or maybe the Trickster.

  The wish to be normal crashed over her. She just wanted to be a plain woman like everyone else. Instead, she was a Truthsayer. Rowen laughed bitterly. Now that gift would have scared Chera. She looked down at her hand. The light around her mark had dimmed until all she could see was a faint outline. Then she remembered her neck.

  Rowen lifted her hand and placed it just below her jaw. She could feel the uneven skin where the burn had been. Her hand followed the scar down to her shoulder. There was no mirror in her room, but she could imagine what it looked like. Just like that little boy’s had.

  She fingered the topmost ridge of the scar. She could hide it. Just wrap a piece of cloth around her neck. But that wouldn’t fool Drake. He would know something was going on. Rowen dropped her hand. What would he say when he found out?

  And Lore? If he ever saw her again, what would he say?

  20

  Lore stood on the bow of a merchant ship, his eyes closed, the cool salty wind whipping across his face. The power and vastness of the Illyr Sea filled his veins. Never had his sea blood felt so alive. It felt as though the ocean were flowing through him. Every breath, every beat of his heart, left him bursting with energy.

  He opened his eyes and leaned over the wooden railing. Water extended as far as the eye could see, a deep blue-green beneath a cerulean sky scattered with feathery white clouds. A thin strip of sand lined the distance. There was a quiet stillness here, away from everything. The only sounds were the sailors moving behind him, the water lapping alongside the ship, and the flap of the sails.

  He moved his gaze to the prow and watched the ship cut through the water. A large fish broke through the surface a couple of feet away. The water stilled, and the fish disappeared, becoming a murky shadow as it dove to the deeps of the sea.

  Since Lore could remember, he had always viewed his sea blood as a curse, as something to endure. Part of that had come from his father’s adverse view of his Avonain blood. He’d learned at a young age to suppress anything he felt from the ocean.

  But now, as he stood on the prow with nothing but water surrounding him, Lore felt the power and the emotion of his connection to the sea. And he relished it.

  Did Rowen feel the same way? Did she love the ocean too? She could not feel it the way he did. But she could feel the gentle rocking of the ship, feel the wind in her hair, and smell the salt. Had she stood on the deck of another ship and watched the water, like he was doing now? Or had she grown seasick? He knew some people could not stand the sea. Lore let out his breath. He hoped she wasn’t one of them.

  A shadow fell along the wooden rail. Lore turned.

  A tall, thin man stood a couple feet away. He wore a blue coat with brass buttons up on side and a bright white shirt beneath. His face and hands were brown from the sun, accentuating his blue-green eyes. He bowed. “Captain Lore.”

  “Captain Noll,” Lore replied. “And it’s not ‘captain’ anymore. I left that title behind in Avonai.”

  “Yes, sir.” Noll straightened up. “I came to tell you we are nearing shore. I don’t dare take my ship any closer. I do not want to be spotted by the Temanins. However, I will have one of my sailors escort you in one of our dinghies to the beach.”

  Lore nodded. “I will gather my things.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Lore walked by Noll and the first mast and headed down the stairs to the main deck. A sailor dressed in a stained white shirt and pants was on his knees, scrubbing the wood floor. Lore passed him and made his way around the other two masts to the door ahead.

  He ducked inside and headed down the stairs. A lantern hung at the bottom of the stairs, lighting the dark and musty interior. Hammocks made of rope lined the left wall. Boxes, barrels, coils of rope and bulging burlap bags filled the rest of the interior.

  Lore stopped by the closest hammock and bent down to grab his pack. With a quick yank, he opened the pack and checked inside. Map, waterskin, dried food, clothing. Good. He pulled out a silk pouch and looped it around his neck. The pouch was the size of a small onion, with hard, small lumps. It was his family’s treasure: the money he’d received from the sale of a patch of land near Fiske, the manor inside the White City, and everything else he’d been able to sell before he’d left. His entire family’s fortune, measured down into coins and gems.

  He fingered the pouch. Would it be enough to find Rowen? Stephen had thought him a fool for selling so much. But what Stephen hadn’t realized was that the family fortune meant nothing when the White City lay in ruins and the one woman he loved was a prisoner in Temanin. He would give all he had and more to save Rowen from Drake. But first he had to find her.

  Lore tucked the pouch inside his tunic. Then he cinched the pack shut. A minute later, he was topside again.

  He met Captain Noll on the deck. A short, stocky young man stood beside Noll, his hair tousled by the wind and his face red from the sun. Noll pointed to the young man. “Nathan here will be taking you to shore.”

  Lore swung his pack over his shoulder. “Thank you, Captain Noll, for taking me this far.”

  “It was not a problem, sir. Temanin is not a safe place right now. I wish you safety on your journey.”

  “Me too,” Lore replied.

  Nathan motioned to Lore. “This way.” He led Lore to the starboard side of the ship. Just over the railing a small dinghy hung on thick ropes, waiting to be put down. Nathan grabbed onto the dinghy and held it still. He looked over at Lore. “You go first. I’ll hold the dinghy.”

  Lore leaned over the railing and grasped the side of the little boat. Carefully, he brought his leg over and placed it down inside. The dinghy shook. Lore steadied it and swung his other leg over. He settled down on the nearby bench. The boat shook for a couple of seconds as Nathan followed.

  Nathan took a seat on the opposite bench and looked up. “Take ’er down!”

  Lore shaded his eyes against the bright sun and watched the sailor above tug on the rope wound around the pulley. Slowly the dinghy made its way down into the water.

  Splash! The boat hit the surface and rocked for a moment then settled in the water.
Nathan undid the knots and motioned for the sailor up top to roll in the rope. He picked up two oars that lay on the bottom of the boat and handed them to Lore. “I’ll tell you what to do,” he said. Lore nodded.

  Nathan grabbed two more oars and placed them on the side of the dinghy, the paddle part dipping into the water. “Like this,” he said.

  Lore placed his own oars out.

  “Now, row like this.” Nathan pressed down on the handles, and the oars came out of the water. Then he pushed the handles away from his body, which moved the oars backward. He dropped the oars into the water and pulled the handles toward his body. “I’ll be paddling opposite of you. We’re not far out from shore, so we shouldn’t need to take any rests.”

  “Sounds good.” Lore paddled like Nathan had shown him, and before long the two men were rowing in a rhythmic pattern.

  They rowed in silence for half an hour.

  “Can you feel the shore yet?” Nathan asked.

  Lore looked up. “Feel the shore?”

  “Yes. I heard this was your first time out at sea. Your seablood can tell where the sea ends and where land begins.”

  Lore’s eyebrows shot up. “I can?”

  Nathan grinned. “Yes.”

  Lore stopped paddling and shut his eyes. He could feel the sea tugging at him, playing with him. Then…there. In front of him and a little toward his left he could feel where the sea abruptly ended. “There.” Lore pointed and opened his eyes. He was right. Sandy dunes stretched along the horizon to the right and to the left. But there were no trees, no mountains, no greenery, like there were along the shoreline in Avonai. Just sand and boulders.

  Nathan chuckled. “Amazing, isn’t it?” He pulled his oars back. “Helps us when we get lost. If we’re close enough to shore, we can feel where to go.”

  Yes, amazing. How much more about his own people did he not know or had he shunted away?

  “So do you know where you’re going once we land?” Nathan asked.

  “Yes.” Lore took up his oars again.

  “You’re a brave man, going into Temanin. I don’t think those people will be happy to see an Avonain right now. Especially after their loss…”

  Nathan was right. Lore pulled the oars toward himself. Getting into Temanin would be tricky. But he was prepared. Lady Astrea had helped him gather what he would need: clothing, gear, and a compass.

  The shoreline expanded. A couple of minutes more, and Nathan jumped out of the dinghy. “Here we are.” He grabbed onto the front of the boat and pulled it past the lapping waves onto the sand.

  Lore grabbed his bag and scrambled out of the boat. His boots hit the water, but it came up to only his ankles. He made his way onto the beach.

  Nathan stared at the shore. “Kind of desolate.”

  Lore nodded. Sand everywhere, with no other color than beige. There wasn’t even a tree in sight. So different from the north. Lore looked back. “Thank you, Nathan.”

  Nathan gave him a quick salute. “Good luck to you, Captain Lore.” He began to push the dinghy back into the waters.

  Lore watched Nathan for a moment as the dinghy slipped through the waves back out into the open sea. This was it. No turning back. He was now alone in a hostile country.

  No, not alone.

  Lore bowed his head. Every day since Rowen had left, he had prayed. And when he’d learned that she had been taken, he had prayed even more. Guide my steps. And watch over Rowen.

  Lore stood quietly for a few more minutes. The sun beat down on him, and he could hear the surf behind him. Then with a deep breath, Lore looked up. Time to go.

  He knew from the map that Farien Selk’s estate was not far away. A day or two of walking. Lore studied the beige dunes and the hills beyond. He pulled his pack off his back and reached in. His fingers brushed on a small, round metal device, which he pulled out. Then he pulled out a rolled piece of parchment. His map and compass. Holding the compass to his chest, he checked the needle and the map. He needed to head due west. Lore looked up again, already feeling sweat trickle down his back and face. He placed the map and compass away, swung his pack over his shoulder, and headed inland.

  What he would do once he reached Farien Selk’s estate? He would have to figure that out on the way.

  • • •

  Drake stared at Rowen with slitted eyes. His hair looked even spikier today. His lips curled over his teeth, his hands clenching and unclenching at his side.

  Rowen watched him from a chair by a wobbly wooden table. Another chair sat empty on the other side. Sunlight streamed in through a small window to her right. Drake’s eyes were focused on the new scar across her neck. She knew what he saw: bright pink skin, warped, with a long ridge. She had chosen not to cover it up, but now wished she had.

  “What did you do?” he said with quiet menace.

  “I healed someone.” Rowen tilted her chin upward. She wanted to show Drake she was not afraid of him, but deep inside, she was.

  His lower jaw move back and forth as he slowly ground his teeth. “When?”

  “Last night.”

  His nostrils flared. “Who? And how? And without my permission?”

  “I don’t need your permission,” she shot back. Heat seeped into her cold body. Rowen knew she needed to tread lightly with Drake. “I heal whoever needs it.”

  “You heal whoever I bring to you.”

  Rowen clamped her mouth shut. She stared at Drake, trying to bore a hole through his face with just her eyes. Why, Word, why? Why do You keep me here with this selfish, evil man? He has no compassion for anyone. He only wants gold.

  Her fingers itched to reach over and grab Drake’s hand and show him what he was on the inside. Drive her power right down his throat—

  No! Fear froze her heart. Rowen blinked and drew in a long breath. Dear Word, what was she thinking? Never could she use her mark in such a way. The fact that she had even thought that… Word, help me!

  Rowen heard Drake saying something about putting more guards around her room. She rubbed her arms and looked away. Never would she use her truthsaying power as a weapon.

  But you have so much power. All you have to do is touch Drake and his guards, and you’re free!

  Rowen stared at the window. No. She would never do that unless the Word told her to. And she had a feeling He never would. That wasn’t how He worked. Her shoulders slumped. For now, she would trust Him to free her from this place in His time.

  Drake slammed his hand down on the table. “Are you listening to me?”

  Rowen flinched.

  “You will not heal anyone again without my knowing. Is that understood?”

  Rowen stifled the hot flash that flared inside her. She took a breath. “I will do what the Word shows me to.” If Drake only knew how much safer he was with the Word controlling her.

  Drake made a growling noise deep in his throat and glared at Rowen. “I have someone important coming today. Make sure you’re ready to heal.” He turned and took one step toward the door and stopped. He turned and looked at her. He gave her a dark smile. “By the way, that new scar makes you look hideous.” Then he slammed the door behind him.

  Rowen stared at the door. A heavy weight descended on her chest. Slowly she reached for the scar. She felt the uneven skin and ridge beneath her fingertips.

  Hideous. The word grew louder and louder inside her mind, tearing down her walls until they pierced her to the core.

  • • •

  “This is your ‘Miracle Healer’?”

  Rowen looked up. A tall, thin woman stood in the doorway. Her hair was the color of silver and piled high on her head, with gold cords woven between the strands. Her body was wrapped in shimmery silver silk that hung gracefully across her chest and hips. Gold bracelets dangled on bare arms. Her eyes were a deep, dark color, a vivid contrast to her light clothing. Barely a wrinkle marred her face, even though the color of her hair meant that she was no longer in her youth. She would be beautiful, if not for the scornful look she
wore on her face and the way her nose wrinkled as she sniffed the air in distaste.

  “Yes,” Rowen heard Drake say from the hallway. The woman took a couple more steps inside, followed by Drake.

  Rowen watched them both through heavy lids. Her face felt raw, and she was sure her eyes were red from crying.

  The woman continued to stare at her. “She’s not much to look at.” She studied Rowen as if she were a rock found on the road, worth noting only because it held some intrinsic value. “Although her face is pretty. Where did she get that awful scar across her neck?”

  Rowen winced.

  Drake glanced at Rowen. “From a healing, Lady Anya. When she heals, she takes the entire wound. She then heals herself, but there is always a scar left over. The bigger the healing, the larger the scar.”

  Lady Anya raised an eyebrow and stared at Rowen. “I’ll admit, when I heard about Sherard’s healing, I did not believe. Until I saw him. Healed entirely from his leprosy.” She cocked her head slightly. “I do not see any leprosy on the woman.” She looked back at Drake. “Does that not leave a scar?”

  “No, milady. Cuts, abrasions, that sort of thing. But not diseases.” Drake gave Rowen a hard look. “She can take the entire disease and show nothing.”

  But I feel all the pain.

  “That’s good.” Lady Anya nodded her head. “What I have…is a delicate matter.”

  Rowen frowned. What did the woman mean? What was she hiding?

  “Whatever it is, the Miracle Healer here can take it. I don’t ask a lot of questions, just half of the gold up front.”

  Lady Anya smiled and finally entered the room. She walked toward Rowen. “So you’re the one who can heal with a single touch.”

  Rowen stared right back. Something hot began to burn inside her chest. She ignored it. “Yes.”

  “Well, I’m here to be healed. I’m paying Drake good money…”

  The woman’s words faded. The heat flared again. Rowen stifled a gasp, unable to ignore it this time. It took all her strength not to place a hand across her chest. It was not the warm power of healing. It was her truthsaying power. It had come to life, blazing like a fire inside her.