Queens (The Wielders of Arantha Book 2) Read online

  “He will stay by his mother's side. Should he wake, tell him I will have their food brought to them. But they are not to leave this room until I say otherwise. Can you keep the more curious of our sisters out, or shall I have Runa assign one of the huntresses to stand guard?”

  “That might be wise, Protectress,” Sershi said. “At least until my mother has recovered.”

  “I will arrange it right away. No one is to enter but me, Lyala, or the Council. Oh, and Sarja.” Kelia allowed herself a brief smile, remembering Runa's daughter's recent declaration of affection for Nyla. The two had created their very own tradition before Nyla laid her hands on the Stone for the first time, pledging their hearts to each other. But Nyla's first consultation had been too much for her, overwhelming her just as it did to Kelia when she was that age. She silently prayed that her willful daughter would wake soon.

  With final glances at Nyla, Maeve, and Davin, she strode from the room.

  * * *

  From her large chair at the head of the Council Chamber, Kelia sat, spine rigid, as she looked at the three older women facing her.

  “We'll try not to keep you long, Protectress,” said Katura, concern etched into her aged but kindly face. “Rumors abound about our mysterious visitors, and our people look to the four of us for explanations.”

  “Agreed,” said Eloni, her short, dark hair as elegant as ever. “While I'm thankful the woman's life was saved, hers and the boy's arrival couldn't have been more ill-timed. Thanks to Susarra, emotions have been running high since Vaxi's departure. We need to speak as one voice if we are to subdue the unrest she created.”

  Kelia felt a knot form in her stomach at the mention of Vaxi. Despite her best efforts to free the young huntress from the clutches of her domineering grandmother Susarra, she'd failed to do so. Only four days earlier, the vision that sent Kelia to the Kaberian Mountains gave Susarra the perfect opportunity to send Vaxi on Sojourn without Kelia's permission. Now the girl was beyond their reach, and Kelia could only pray she would come to no harm.

  “Councilors,” Kelia addressed the triumvirate, “I apologize for keeping secrets from you. I did not tell you about my bond with Maeve because I couldn't discern Arantha's purpose for creating that bond. When I left Maeve, I didn't think I would ever see them again. Believe me, last night's turn of events was as much a surprise to me as it was to you.”

  “Let's put that aside for a moment,” said Liana. Though Kelia's aunt had only been on the Council for two days—a replacement that became necessary after Susarra's disobedience came to light—she'd slipped into the role as easily as the white robe she now wore. “Let us instead focus on the circumstances that led you to Share with a woman from the Above.”

  “It happened in a moment of weakness,” Kelia confessed, her fingers idly grasping the familiar lump of metal that dangled from the necklace she wore. Featureless and spherical, it had been given to her by her mother right before her death, so Kelia had turned it into a pendant as part of the necklace that Nyla had crafted many years before. “I was fatigued from my journey across the desert. My first meeting with Maeve precipitated a show of force on my part, and using my abilities drained the last drops of my strength. I was at her mercy. She could have killed me if she so desired, but instead she rushed to my aid. Though we did not speak the same language, I knew at that moment that she wasn't my enemy. Her eyes bore no malevolence, only sorrow.”

  Kelia took a deep breath, staring at the floor as she relived the memory. “There is something about her, Councilors, something I'm not even sure I can explain. Before I even made my trek to the mountains, Arantha provided me with visions of her. I felt … drawn to her, somehow. Like our meeting was destined, preordained by Arantha, and it was the divine goddess guiding me.”

  Katura raised her bony fingers, briefly covering her mouth. “In the cave, she spoke in our language. Was this also a result of the Sharing?”

  “It was.” Kelia nodded. “From what I gather, though she and her son are speaking in their native language—she called it 'English'—we are able to hear her in Elystran. And likewise, they can understand us equally well.”

  “Remarkable,” said Eloni. “Thank Arantha for providing us with such a gift.”

  “There is another factor at play here, which I must now inform you of. At the time of our Sharing, I came to discover she'd already developed Wielding abilities.”

  The eyes of the entire Council widened. Eloni let out a gasp.

  “Great Arantha,” whispered Liana.

  Kelia continued, “Her healing ability manifested itself before they even found the Stone. When I first envisioned Maeve, her back bore many large, deep scars. But because of the Stone, the scars are no longer there. With my guidance, she discovered she could also heal others.” She pulled up the sleeve of her tunic, showing off the upper arm where Maeve's gunshot had grazed her. Only a tiny patch of rough skin remained where the bullet wound had been.

  “Soon afterward, we discovered she could communicate with animals. She was able to command my chava with nothing but a word and a gesture.” She recalled the moment when her wide-bodied mount, with whom she'd spent years building a rapport, completely ignored her and ran straight to Maeve. “She also told me she'd used this ability to pacify a pack of lyraxes several nights before.”

  She paused, scanning the faces of the Council. “But the biggest surprise came after we found the Stone. I attempted to use my air-Wielding to levitate myself, and just as I felt my strength begin to slip, Maeve … empowered me. Somehow, she added her strength to my own. We floated above the ground like hovering birds.” Kelia smiled at the memory. “It was the most exhilarating moment of my life.”

  Of course, this was followed by a brief but passionate kiss between her and Maeve, but she saw no need to inform the Council of this.

  “Simply unbelievable,” said Liana, “that Arantha would bestow such power upon a woman not of our world.”

  “Agreed,” said Kelia. A sorrowful look crossed her face. “However, we must not fall into the trap of believing we always know the divine goddess's wishes. And as you heard, Maeve has matters of extreme importance to discuss with us when she's recovered. In her brief moments of clarity before sleep claimed her, she told me there was more at stake than just the future of Elystra. I do not know what it could possibly mean, or what our future holds for us.”

  This was a lie. Kelia knew exactly what was coming. She'd seen it in her last three consultations. The same terrible, horrible images being shoved into her mind.

  The nearby forest, ablaze.

  The Ixtrayu croplands, aflame.

  The charred, smoking bodies of her sisters, scattered on the ground.

  If this is the future, Kelia thought, why does Arantha torment me so? Is it so we may find a way to escape such a fate? Or are we doomed no matter which way we turn?

  Chapter Three

  A torrent of water roused Rahne from his slumber. The shade of the so-called “Tree of Justice” protected him from the heat of the sun, but exhaustion had taken over several hours before, and he'd lapsed into a fitful sleep.

  Whipping his head back and forth to clear several strands of dark hair from his eyes, he squinted up to see Sekker leering at him with no small amount of disgust.

  Sekker was by far the fattest man Rahne had ever seen. He was callous, officious, and puffed up on his own sense of self-importance. His favorite boast was that he was a distant cousin to King Morix—a very distant cousin, Rahne reasoned, to be given the title of High Magistrate of an insignificant little coastal town like Larth, where the air perpetually smelled of fish and nothing of consequence ever happened.

  “Rise and shine, thief.” An ugly smile formed between his jowls.

  Every one of Rahne's muscles ached in protest as he attempted to sit up straight against the tree he'd been manacled to for the last twenty-four hours. Everyone in Larth knew this tree, the tallest in the area. Located in the middle of a large, open meadow a half-mile
east of town, it was a common punishment site, where victims of the magistrate's whims were chained, sometimes for days, without food, only yards away from the nearest of several wells nearly full to the brim with fresh water.

  With great effort, Rahne dug his boots into the soft grass and pushed himself upright. Now fully awake, he stared up at the magistrate. “Like I told you yesterday during that farce you called a trial, I'm not a thief. That boat belongs to me.”

  “Not anymore, it doesn't,” Sekker retorted, throwing the empty bucket on the ground next to the nearby well. “Your boat, or should I say your father's boat, became the property of the crown upon his death.”

  Rahne flexed, but his arms had very little range of movement, spread wide as they were against the bark of the tree. “That's a lie! My grandfather built that ship with his own two hands! He passed it down to my father, and as his only living relative, it goes to me! That's what the law says!”

  Sekker chortled, his ample belly quivering. “We went over this yesterday. Of course, you were only half-conscious during most of your trial, so I guess that explains your lapse in memory.”

  Rahne remembered being struck on the head by one of the local constables on the way into Sekker's office, his punishment for a particularly choice insult about the man's questionable lineage. “What are you talking about?”

  Sekker leaned forward, speaking to him as if to a naughty child. “The law states that property can only be transferred to a relative if said relative has reached his nineteenth year. By your own admission, you are only eighteen.”

  “I'll be nineteen in ten days.”

  “Doesn't matter. You're eighteen now.”

  “Fine,” Rahne said through clenched teeth. “Let me go, and in ten days I'll take ownership of my boat.”

  “Doesn't work that way, boy,” Sekker said, using the toe of his boot to kick Rahne's heels; not enough to hurt, just enough to annoy. “Your father died with unpaid debts, as you may or may not know. Those debts have come due now that he's journeyed to the Great Veil.”

  “What debts?” Rahne asked. “He paid the taxes on the fish he caught for years. It was too much, but he paid it anyway. We barely had enough to get by.”

  “Ah, but your father docked his boat at a public pier. I just recently enacted a law regarding a harbor tax that all boatmen must pay, and it seems he neglected to pay the harbor master this additional duty since the law's enactment.”

  An increasing sense of helplessness flashed through Rahne. “How much did he owe? At least let me try to pay it back!”

  “It's too late for that, I'm afraid. Your father's boat was by far the most valuable thing he owned, and that's already been sold. It only covered about half his debts.”

  Rahne felt his stomach clench. “You slimy braga.”

  Sekker flashed an evil grin. “You're more than welcome to travel to Talcris and complain to the King. Oh, wait, you can't.” He laughed again.

  Fourteen days before, a Barjan captain named Elzor and his army, the six-hundred-strong Elzorath, had laid siege to the capital city of Agrus. It took several days for news to filter down the coast to Larth, the southernmost city in the region. Stories had been told at the local taverns ever since about how Elzor's twin sister Elzaria singlehandedly decimated the Agrusian army. She was a Wielder, the first female in the history of Elystra to wield the power of Arantha.

  Rahne could hardly believe his ears when he heard the story about how lightning shot forth from Elzaria's hands, killing or wounding more than two-thirds of Agrus's soldiers, and Elzor's men had scored an easy victory after that. King Morix, the entire royal family, and most of the nobles were dead within days. Everyone expected Elzor to send someone to Larth demanding some token of fealty or tribute, but there had been none.

  “Larth's small size puts it beneath the notice of that pernicious whelp who now dares call himself Lord of Agrus. And as the only citizen of Larth with royal blood, that means I can adjust the law how I see fit. Which puts you … well, right where you are now.” He chuckled. “Tomorrow, you will be released into the custody of a local fishmonger, in whose employ you will remain until the rest of your family's debts have been paid.”

  “You mean Joor?”

  “Ah, you know him?”

  “We've met,” Rahne said with a scowl.

  “Good. I wouldn't count on getting much downtime during your stint at his shop. Or food. And I'd sleep with one eye open if I were you.” Sekker's bushy eyebrows raised, and his enormous girth seemed to expand even further with his perceived victory.

  A faint sound from down the road leading north and slightly inland caught Rahne's attention. Sekker hadn't yet heard it, as he was in the middle of another fit of cackling.

  Several men on merychs appeared through a dense copse of trees. As he watched, an entire procession appeared, dozens becoming hundreds, headed right for where he was chained. He realized with a start that the one leading this army could only be Elzor.

  After a few moments, Sekker heard the clamor as well and turned to see the heavily-armed mass approaching. A look of horror appeared on his face, and he started to waddle away toward the road to his merych-drawn cart.

  Two soldiers in high-quality armor broke away from the rest, spurring their merychs into a full gallop and easily closing the distance between the procession and Sekker. The magistrate had just managed to clamber into the driver's seat of his cart when he found himself facing two large men with swords pointed right at him.

  “Stand down,” one of them growled. “Now.”

  Though he was twenty yards away, Rahne could see Sekker's face had gone deep crimson. The setting sun glinted off the sweat pouring from the man's plump face. Raising his hands in surrender, he gingerly climbed off the cart.

  For almost a minute, no one moved a muscle, like figures in a tableau. Finally, the rest of the procession caught up, and Rahne caught his first good look of the man who had invaded his homeland as he alit from his merych, a powerful-looking black steed with an equally impressive mane. The man was tall, dark-haired and dark-bearded. His eyes were as cold as morning frost, and an air of ruthless authority emanated from him.

  Right next to him was a raven-haired beauty clad in a black dress cinched at the waist by a leather belt. This had to be Elzaria, and if he thought Elzor's eyes were icy, they were blazing suns compared to Elzaria's. He'd seen fish with warmer eyes.

  Rahne wondered if he'd seen his last sunrise.

  Chapter Four

  His back against the wall of the Room of Healing, Davin gobbled down the last remnants of his meal. He'd been a little hesitant, this being the first time he'd ever eaten non-synthesized, non-Terran food in his life. He was pleasantly surprised by the taste of what Sershi had called “kova steak”; its rich, hearty flavor danced on his tongue as he chewed, and he could actually feel the strength returning to his limbs.

  No wonder the Ixtrayu are so strong if this is what they eat. Could use a little barbecue sauce, though. Maybe some black pepper.

  He pushed his plate to the side and scanned the room. Set into the wall of the plateau, this spacious room was set up much like a hospital ward on Earth. Six piles of animal pelts were set up along the floor, three on one side, three on the other. There were no windows; the only light came from an array of candles placed inside lanterns that hung from the ceiling, as well as whatever natural sunlight filtered through the room's only door. He had to hand it to the Ixtrayu; the place was pretty clean. And relaxing.

  His hands fell to his waist, where they contacted a series of metallic tubes strung together around his body like a belt. He flipped a switch on one of them and got no response from it. He'd used their four remaining personal transporters in tandem to make the instantaneous jump from the Talon's campsite in the mountains to the Ixtrayu village instantly. The longest of long shots, but he'd had to take the risk.

  And it had paid off. His mother was alive.

  The PTs, on the other hand? Dead as dinosaurs. With ano
ther Stone not far away, it was a God's-honest miracle that they had made it there at all. Whatever energy signature the Stones put out seemed to seriously fark with Jegg technology—of which the PTs were a part—even though the transporters had been assembled by human hands.

  He unclipped the PTs and set them on the floor next to the empty plate, his eyes falling on the two sleeping forms in the room. A few yards away, his mother dozed peacefully. Sershi's twice-daily healing treatments since they had purged his mother's body of the hugar's venom had succeeded in restoring her mobility to the point where she could feed herself. However, she was still unsteady on her feet, and couldn't walk more than a few short steps without toppling over. As no one in the tribe's history had ever survived a hugar bite before, they had no prognosis for her recovery.

  He rose to his feet, stretched, and walked across the room to catch a glimpse of the other sleeper, stopping halfway there. The girl, who he knew to be Kelia's daughter Nyla, also slept peacefully, her dark hair spilling over her face. From his and his mother's conversations with Kelia in the mountains, he knew she was only a year or so younger than he, and had already developed Wielding abilities similar to Kelia.

  What that must be like. To be a teenager and have that kind of power.

  He stared at Nyla's face, what he could see of it, and imagined piercing brown eyes behind her closed eyelids. He couldn't gauge her height, covered as she was by the pelts, but envisioned her side-by-side with Kelia, to whom she bore a striking resemblance.

  “Um … hello?” came a young, soft voice from the entrance.

  A teenage girl stood there, staring at him, her head tilted to one side. She looked to be about the same age as Nyla. She was quite tall, with very tan skin, piercing blue eyes, and long, wavy, chocolate-brown hair that came well past her shoulders. She was dressed in a tight leather tunic that showed off long legs and well-defined arm muscles.