Son of Truth (Follower of the Word) Read online

  Her lips curled at his mutterings. That man had no idea how much she was trying to help, or of what she had endured just to make it to the White City. She was trying to help not just a couple of refugees but all the Lands!

  But he didn’t know. Nierne took a deep breath and let it out, her anger flowing out with the air.

  She followed the guard up a set of stairs and down a long corridor. So much for all the good she had been here so far. Just sitting around and eating. If Father Reth were here, he would have done something already. He would have had an audience with the ruler of the White City and might have even met the Eldarans. She, on the other hand, had done nothing.

  She stared at the guard’s back. Perhaps if she asked politely and explained how dire her message was, and that she needed to speak to someone—

  Nierne hit something hard and stumbled to the side.

  “Excuse me,” a masculine voice said. A hand steadied her. “I’m afraid I wasn’t watching where I was going.” She looked up and found a man looking down at her with strange blue-green eyes. Sandy colored hair hung on either side of his temples, with a trace of grey. “Did I hurt you?”

  “Captain Lore,” the guard said beside her with a quick bow. “I was just taking the young woman to assist the healers.”

  Captain Lore did not turn. “Are you all right?” he asked, still looking at her.

  Nierne took a step away and rubbed her arm. “I think I am.” She rubbed a moment longer. “Yes, I’m fine.”

  “Forgive me.” Lore dropped his hand. “I did not mean to bump into you.” Then his gaze left her face to look at the guard escorting her. “Kalfar.”

  “Yes, Captain?” Kalfar stood rigid with attention. Respect filled his face as he waited for Captain Lore to speak.

  “Meet me in the Guards Quarter when you are done with your shift.”

  “Yes, Captain.”

  Lore gave Kalfar a firm nod, then turned and headed back down the corridor.

  “This way,” Kalfar said.

  Nierne watched Captain Lore disappear down the stairs. The next second she mentally kicked herself. He was a captain! She should have said something, asked him to take her to someone whom she could have relayed her message. Instead, she had stood there rubbing her arm and had missed her opportunity.

  “Crackers,” she muttered.

  Kalfar was already standing at the end of the hall holding a door open, a scowl on his face. Nierne hurried toward him. There was no way she was going to ask the cantankerous guard.

  The room inside was large, with a high ceiling and three long windows built into the outer wall. Blue sky filled the glass. A long wooden table stood in the middle of the room with a bench to one side. Stacks of books, rolled parchments, a mortar and pestle and herbs lay on its surface. Four beds lined the right wall, each one with an occupant covered with a white linen sheet. Bookcases and two doors lined the left wall. The air held the faint scent of lavender.

  Three healers dressed in long white robes stood near the end of the table. Two women and one young man. They turned to look at Nierne.

  The young man smiled when he saw Kalfar. “Oh good, you found someone.” Then he turned his attention to Nierne. “Come in, come in.” He motioned Nierne inside.

  She watched Kalfar leave, and she suddenly felt out of place. She knew nothing of the healing arts. What good would she be in a place like this?

  The other two healers glanced at Nierne and walked past her out the door. She swallowed and slowly moved toward the young man. The door shut behind her.

  His face was round and cheery, and he had dimples in both cheeks. Light blond hair hung low over his forehead. “My name is Gavin. I’m one of the apprentice healers here in the White City.”

  Nierne realized he was waiting for her to speak. “Nierne,” she said.

  His smile widened. “Nierne, thank you for coming.”

  She raised one eyebrow but didn’t say anything about being a forced volunteer.

  “We have so many injured coming through here that we need all the healers attending to the wounded and not to beds and sheets and things.” Gavin walked toward the closest bed and placed a hand on the linen sheet. “So that is where you come in. We need someone to change the bedding, clean the floors, and keep the Healers Quarter tidy. Can you do that?”

  Nierne stared at Gavin, her mind trying to catch up with what he had just said.

  A little of the cheer vanished from his face. “Perhaps it is too much—”

  “No. I mean, yes. I mean—” Nierne caught herself. She was torn between helping the friendly healer and finding someone who could answer her questions and help her. “I can help.”

  “Good, very good.” His smile stretched wide across his face. “Just gather up the dirty linens and place them in the hall. You’ll find a broom and such in that room.“ He pointed to the second door on the left side of the room.

  “Wait, can I ask y—”

  A person moaned in a bed nearby. Gavin turned and walked toward the bed, leaving Nierne standing alone.

  She made her legs move toward the closest bed with rumpled sheets. A dark, empty hopelessness began to fill her chest. A hole that felt like it would devour her.

  • • •

  “Could you help me for a moment?”

  Nierne’s head snapped up and around. An old healer had entered the room. He beckoned her over to one of the beds. He was only a little taller than her, with short, silver curly hair and a thin mustache.

  Her limbs were tired, and her head ached from hours of scurrying around the healing wards, changing beds, and picking up dirty rags. All Nierne wanted was someone to say she was free to go. Instead, the older man was asking for more help. Nierne sighed and moved to his side.

  He studied her for a moment. “I need you to hold this down,” he said and nodded toward the man who lay on the bed.

  Nierne looked down. The unconscious man lay undressed except for a loincloth and a folded piece of linen on his left side that the older healer was holding in place. Lean muscles and coarse, dark hair covered the rest of his body. Her eyes went wide, and she looked away. Her face felt like it was on fire. She had never seen a man undressed before.

  “I need you to hold this cloth in place.”

  Nierne looked back and found the old healer staring at her. She nodded with a quick jerk and placed her hand on the wad, careful to keep her eyes away from the rest of the man’s body.

  The healer let go. “I’m going to go get some wrappings for this, then I’ll be back.”

  Nierne nodded. She stared at the windows and heard a door open behind her. She could hear the muted sound of him shuffling things in another room.

  Then the healer was back. “Try and keep that bandage in place while I wrap this around his middle.” The healer held out a long strip of linen.

  Nierne looked down at the wad of cloth and blushed again. The man continued to lie quietly, his eyes shut as though he were sleeping.

  “My name is Balint, by the way.” Balint began to wrap the long linen around the man with strong, controlled fingers. “Balint Kedem.”

  Nierne frowned. That name sounded familiar.

  “And what is yours?”

  Nierne looked up. “Nierne,” she said, her voice cracking from disuse.

  “Nierne…” Balint murmured. He lifted the man and brought the linen beneath him. He rolled the linen across the top again. Nierne was careful to keep her hand against the folded square of linen. Her face slowly cooled. Balint continued to wrap the linen around the man’s middle. After winding it four times, he tied it off and sighed. “That should do for now,” he said, studying his handiwork.

  “Do you need help with anything else?” Nierne asked, hoping he would say no, that she was free to go.

  Instead Balint looked over at her. “You’re not from around here, are you?”

  Nierne stiffened.

  “I can tell by your name and your accent.” Balint looked at her thoughtfully. There wa
s a period of silence between them. “You’re from Kerre.”

  Nierne stared at him. Although his hair was silver and curly, nothing like Father Reth’s short-cropped white hair, Balint reminded her of Father Reth. They both had the same eyes: light blue and filled with kindness. “Yes,” she finally answered.

  Balint gave her a rueful look. “Unfortunately, you came to the White City at a bad time.” He moved toward the corner of the room where a small table stood beside a tall, dark bookcase. Balint poured water from a chipped white pitcher into a shallow bowl. He placed the pitcher to the side and dipped his hands into the water. “What brought you to the White City?”

  Nierne looked down and twisted the corner of her tunic between her fingers. “I was looking for someone.”

  “Did you find the person you were looking for?”

  “No,” Nierne said before she could stop herself.

  Balint grabbed a towel and wiped his hands. “I’m sorry to hear that.” His voice sounded sympathetic. He placed the towel down and turned toward her. “I met a Thyrian once, a long time ago. The man was young then, a fortune hunter. Last I heard, he went back to Thyra and joined the Monastery there.”

  Nierne stared at him, feeling like someone had punched her hard in the middle. “Was his name Reth?”

  Balint’s eyebrows shot up. “Why, yes! Do you know him?”

  “I-I did.” Nierne choked as a wave of grief swept over her.

  “Did?”

  Nierne reached out and clutched the bookcase, her body now shaking. She remembered Father Reth and the billowing black mass of shadows descending down the mountain, his arms spread wide as if to embrace them. “He’s gone now.”

  “What do you mean ‘gone’?” Nierne felt his hands brace her. “Here,” he said, turning her around and guiding her to the bench by the long table. “Sit down.”

  Nierne did as she was told, her strength leaving her in one swift rush. Her throat felt tight, her eyes prickled, but no tears came.

  Balint sat down on the bench beside her. He took her hands between his own. His skin felt warm. “Now Nierne, what happened?”

  Nierne swallowed and looked down at their hands. “He…died.” Her time in Thyra came rushing back. “Everyone— They’re all dying, all dead…” She sucked in her breath and looked away. She couldn’t put a sentence together. Fractured thoughts tore through her mind.

  “Who? Who’s dying?” Balint tightened his hands around hers.

  “Everyone in Thyra,” she whispered. “We tried to stop them, but couldn’t. Can’t. That is why Father Reth and I came here. Only Father Reth died on the way…and now I don’t think they exist anymore—”

  “Who?”

  “The Eldarans.” Nierne looked at Balint. Her lip trembled now, and she could hardly breathe. “The Shadonae have taken over everyone, taken the entire city. And they are—” She choked and remembered the woman whose life the Shadonae had siphoned away. “They are killing us, using us. And they killed Father Reth!”

  The moment she admitted his death, the tears finally came. Nierne shut her eyes and ducked her head to the side. She felt Balint grip her hands again. All the pent up worry and fears she had carried the last few days tumbled out of her, leaving her feeling raw inside. The ache of hopelessness returned, only now it felt as though it were consuming her.

  She thought she had grieved enough, but apparently not. Father Reth’s death still clung to her, eating away inside of her.

  “Are you sure they were Shadonae?” she heard Balint ask.

  Nierne looked up with tear-streaked eyes. “Yes,” she said, an edge to her voice now. “I saw one of them murder a woman with just his hand.” She wiped her eyes. “And I know who the Shadonae are. I have studied what little there is about them. There is no mistake.”

  “Shadonae in the Lands.” Balint leaned back, his hands falling away from hers. “I can’t believe…” His voice trailed off, his eyes wide with disbelief. Then he sat up and looked straight at Nierne. “Tell me everything.”

  Whether it was from one last desperate hope or how much Balint reminded her of Father Reth, Nierne found herself opening up to the elder healer. She told him about the day Thyra had burned, about the Shadonae visiting the dungeon and what they had done to the woman, about her escape and meeting up with Father Reth. Then Nierne told him about Father Reth’s belief that there were still Eldarans and about their journey to the White City. But when she came to the part about Father Reth giving his life for hers, Nierne choked up.

  “So Reth…never made it?”

  Nierne shook her head. She placed a hand on her middle. Her stomach hurt now.

  “And the Shadonae have brought Mordra over from the other side.”

  Nierne nodded, surprised that Balint knew the shadow-like wraiths’ real name.

  He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “And you’re here to see if there are any Eldarans still left in the Lands.”

  “Yes,” she said in a small voice. “Father Reth said that the White City was the best place to start our search.”

  Balint looked away and shook his head. “Poor Rowen.”

  Nierne frowned. Poor who? Her heart quickened. Could it be? Did he know an Eldaran?

  Balint looked back at her. “I doubt I have enough Eldaran blood to do anything.” He lifted his hand and turned it over.

  Nierne looked at his hand and noticed a faded mark. Her heart and breath doubled. She scrambled to her feet, a tingling sensation buzzing across her body. “You’re an Eldaran! You— All this time I’ve been standing beside you, and I didn’t even know! Oh, Word, oh, Word! Nierne grabbed his arm. “You’ve got to come help us! Please! There is no time to waste!”

  Balint extricated his arm from her. “Settle down, girl. Like I said, the Eldaran blood is weak in me. If it were stronger, I would go with you back to Thyra. But I’m afraid I only have the gift of Oathbinding, and a weak one at that.”

  Nierne blinked. She shook her head and blinked again. No, no, this couldn’t be happening. She couldn’t fail. She slowly sat back down. “Surely you could do something. Maybe you could—”

  “However…” Balint took a deep breath. “There is another, more powerful Eldaran.”

  Nierne felt her head spin like a child’s top. She placed her hands on either side of the bench and looked at Balint. “There is…another? A more powerful Eldaran?”

  Balint nodded. “But she is not here anymore. She would not be welcome by some in this city, if they knew what she was. So she has been sent to Avonai for her own safety.”

  “Not welcomed?” Nierne shook her head. “But why?”

  “Because Rowen is powerful. Those who fear her fear another Nordic Wars.”

  Powerful. The word sent hope soaring through her. Powerful enough to stop the Shadonae. She had to meet this Rowen now. But wait…

  “Avonai? This…Rowen…she is in Avonai?” How in all the Lands will I get to Avonai? An even darker thought arose: Would Rowen come back with her to Thyra? Her shoulders sagged at the thought.

  “I can help you reach Avonai.”

  Nierne looked up. “You can?”

  “Yes. This news cannot be delayed. We cannot afford to wait.” Balint stood. “The Shadonae in the Lands is far worse than a war with the Temanin Empire. We need to do something, now. If only there was another way…” Balint shook his head and walked to the double set of doors. Nierne stood and followed.

  Oh, Father Reth, I wish you were here. Nierne followed Balint out the doors and down the corridor. Even she had held doubts about finding the Eldarans. But not Father Reth. He’d believed that the Word would provide. He had believed that, if there were Shadonae, then there would be Eldarans.

  You were right. You were right!

  4

  The sand-colored walls of Avonai towered over the surrounding evergreen trees. Deep sea-green banners with a ship and anchor waved on the battlements, dark green against the light blue sky. Fields of lush grass lay before the city, and white
seabirds circled overhead.

  Nierne could not see the Illyr Sea, as it was hidden beyond the city and trees. But she felt its presence. The familiar scent of salt and water. The feel of moisture in the air, dampening her face and causing her hair to curl more. The dull roar of hidden waves.

  She never dreamed she would travel this far east. To see where the Illyr Sea flowed. Or meet the people who were literally connected to the sea. Did the eyes of the Avonains really change with the sea? What was it like to have the mood of the ocean wash over you?

  The horse shifted beneath her. Nierne gripped the reins and tightened her hold with her knees. Ugh, how she hated riding! Her legs and back ached, and she was certain the horse knew she feared him. After her first day’s journey from the White City, she could barely pull herself off the horse.

  The two men sent to accompany her to Avonai had said nothing that first night, which Nierne had been grateful for. She didn’t need more humiliation. It became easier each day, but she still would’ve chosen walking over riding.

  Aiden rode on her right. He was the official courier sent to escort her to Avonai. He looked about her age, early twenties. Aiden was short and thin, with long ash-colored hair tied back. He wore a leather satchel across his body. Nierne knew the satchel contained a letter from Balint to Lady Astrea introducing Nierne and the purpose of her journey.

  To her left rode a guard named Cormac. He was broad shouldered, had a crooked nose, and was a head taller than either Nierne or Aiden. He wore a smallsword at his side and a thick leather jerkin for protection.

  Neither of the men spoke much, and Nierne didn’t volunteer anymore than she needed to. Not that she had any energy to talk by the end of the day. Each night they would stop at an inn or garrison, and each morning they would rise early and continue their journey to Avonai. After six days of that, they were finally approaching the city.

  A gentle wind brushed her cheek. The sun slowly moved behind them, and the sky grew darker. They passed under the large stone archway and rode along the main cobblestone street. Two-story homes and shops made of the same sand-colored stone stood on either side. Water stains and mud caked the walls. Glass windows smudged by fingers and smoke lined both stories. A few windows were open with white curtains fluttering in the breeze.