Child of the Kaites (The Firstborn's Legacy Book 1) Page 25

  I open my mouth to protest, to proclaim the destruction his decision will bring, but Saviayr takes my hand. “Thank you.” Savi bows. “We will be outside the city if you need us.”

  We don’t speak until we lose sight of the palace. With each step, I expect heavy footsteps to chase us. I don’t believe the sultan’s word that he will let us go.

  But no soldiers come to drag us back to prison. At least for now, the sultan honors his word.

  We reach the tents on the outskirts of the capital, packed with Feast celebrators whispering about the wall of fire. I see our camp a moment before Yori sees us. She springs up from her blanket and races toward us. It’s all I can do to brace myself before she barrels into me, close to tears.

  “You’re alive!”

  “Of course we are.” I hug her back. “The Feast’s still in process, after all.”

  Savi touches my arm. “Yor, Rai’s back.” And I understand. My sister only got me back from the dead recently. She just thought she lost me all over again.

  “I’m here, Yori,” I promise her.

  Yorchan pulls back, looking sheepish, but her eyes are red, and dark circles rim them. “I was so worried. We spent all night trying to think of a way to get you out.”

  We rejoin the others at camp. Forziel reports, “I kept Yorchan distracted for you, so she wouldn’t worry too much.”

  Hoenna groans and throws his head back. “Not this again.”

  “D’you want to hear my joke?” Forziel continues, ignoring Hoenna and not waiting for us to reply. “What did the lion and the hawk name their kid?”

  Yori rolls her eyes and intones, “I can’t imagine.”

  Forziel starts laughing halfway through saying, “I don’t know, why don’t you axex them yourself?”

  Yori’s mouth twitches with the effort it takes to keep from smiling. I smile a little, more out of fondness for Forziel than from his joke.

  “It’s not true,” Forziel explains when he calms down. “The axex don’t come from lions or hawks, but it’s funny every time.”

  “Are you still telling that joke?” a familiar voice calls. “Let the Champions be.”

  Lounging on Savi’s blanket, lazy grin on his face, is Nhardah.

  He stands. “We’re reunited at last.”

  Before I make the conscious decision, I’m running to him and throwing my arms around him.

  “Umph,” Nhardah grunts. “I’m glad to see you, too, Raiballeon.”

  “You have no idea how much we’ve been through,” I mumble.

  Nhardah gives me a squeeze and pats my back. “Daughter, you and young Saviayr handled it admirably, I’ve been told.”

  I pull back and frown at the Firstborn. “Admirably? We nearly drowned, and Savi almost fell to his death, and then we were trapped—and bats attacked us! And this sword.” I loose Luemikaroeth from my sash and hold it up to Nhardah. “Did you know this sword could glow? Why didn’t you tell me? What took you so long to find us?”

  “Peace to you,” Savi says behind me, really smiling for the first time since Yrin’s dungeon. Nhardah beams at him, and the two embrace. “We’re glad you’re back. A lot’s happened since we parted. The baby?”

  Nhardah inclines his head. “It took more finagling than I anticipated to return the child to her family, but she is well and on her way to the coast now. Evidently her village was one of the last Maraian groups waiting to join the work projects along the shore. I caught them the night before they moved.”

  Yori taps my elbow, an old habit of ours. “That’s where I was when you were marrying Saviayr. The clans are all on the coast.”

  “Now,” Nhardah says, “tell me of your adventures.”

  Forziel groans. “This is gonna take a while. I’m gonna go exploring, if that’s okay with you. Don’t start on the good stuff till I’m back.”

  I don’t know what Forziel considers the good stuff, but he’s gone before I can ask.

  Savi and I take turns telling Nhardah of our adventures, with Hoenna and Yorchan filling in details we forget. Through it all, Nihae listens with her head tilted and Hoenna knits. I watch him out of the corner of my eye, wishing I could join him with yarn and a crochet hook.

  I don’t want the responsibility of telling Nhardah of Aia’s new definition of his descendants. When I hesitate at that part of our tale, though, Savi nudges me.

  I wrinkle my nose at him but say, “Nhardah, the next bit was...a little crazy, and I understand if you’re upset by it—we all do.” Savi, Yorchan, and Hoenna nod, while Nihae looks at us and follows our lead. “But it wasn’t my intention. I didn’t plan to⎼”

  Savi takes my hand, successfully cutting off my ramble. Yori says, “She did a thing where her voice changed. It sounded like she was hundreds of people talking at once.”

  “It’s called a Voice of a Multitude,” Hoenna says. “Honestly, you’re Maraian. How do I know that when you don’t?”

  “How do you know that?” Yori asks, curious.

  I nudge her. “He was adopted by Maraians, remember?”

  Nhardah smiles at us. “What did you say with the Voice of a Multitude, Raiballeon?”

  I can’t meet his eyes. “I said, ‘All who follow Aia-Thaies and seek to know Him are Maraians.’ At least, I think that’s what I said.”

  “That’s it, word-for-word,” Hoenna confirms. “It’s engraved in my memory.”

  We all still, watching Nhardah for his reaction. He rests his chin in the gap between his thumb and index fingers and looks at the ground, then looks at the sky. When Nhardah looks back at us, I hold my breath and expect disappointment.

  Instead, he speaks in a calm voice. “Do you know what tongue we spoke in Elcedon?”

  The others look at me. “N...no?”

  Nhardah nods slowly. “It was the first language, the perfect language, in which we could—but I won’t bore you with lessons in linguistics. This is what you should know:

  “Nowhere is that tongue still spoken. The kaites remember but do not speak it out of grief for what happened in the Rending. I remember, but with whom should I speak in the language that died with the last of my peers? It was in that tongue that Aia spoke His promise to me beside the clear Lake of Living Water, and I have translated it as best as I could. But that word that I translated as ‘descendants,’ it has more meaning than just those who carry my blood in their veins. It has an idea of everything that passes on after you, the impact your life has on the course of Orrock’s history and future. Perhaps a more apt translation would have been ‘legacy,’ though it does carry more of a feel of human legacy.”

  The Firstborn looks straight into my eyes. “I am not mad, Raiballeon. I was too limited in my interpretation of Aia’s promise, and He has kindly opened all of our eyes to the wideness of His plans for hope. It is only right that He claim whomever He will as His people.”

  After that, I’m able to relax more for the remainder of our recounting. I still chastise Nhardah for hiding Luemikaroeth’s power from me when we tell about escaping in the Ruined City.

  Nhardah just smirks and looks at Savi. “Did you find anything interesting about Elgarnoseth?”

  Savi stares at Nhardah. “No. Should I have?”

  The Firstborn doesn’t answer, but Savi watches him closely for any clues. “Please, continue,” Nhardah says.

  While we do, I notice Savi surreptitiously run his fingers over his sword. Nothing changes about Elgarnoseth, at least not that I can see.

  We have just finished telling about our last encounter with the sultan when Forziel skids back into camp. He clutches his stomach.

  Hoenna frowns at Forziel. “What are you doing? Don’t go running around the capital. You’ll draw unnecessary attention to us.”

  “You gotta come see this,” Forziel ignores Hoenna’s warning. He points behind him. “The water…”

  Instantly, Savi meets my eyes. “The second sign,” he says, and we break into a jog.

  Forziel leads us down the great ramp
that encircles the capital. Part way down, we draw even with a gigantic wooden wheel. Buckets dangle from the outside of the wheel, which hangs by spokes on a pole driven into the mesa’s side below us. When I crane my neck, I see a bucket tip as it reaches the wheel’s zenith. It pours its contents into the vat at the top of a water trough. Down below, buckets disappear into a trench running with water from the mighty Havilim.

  The scent hits us: Sharp and scarlet rot, a stomach-turning stench all too familiar for anyone who has lived near a Maraian village. My memory of this smell clips my pace, and it takes all my effort to keep moving forward.

  The water wheel rises against the sky, and the odor is stronger than ever. Savi staggers and falls to his knees.

  “I went all the way down and was checking out the river. The water—it was just full of dead fish all of a sudden, and the reeds there turned limp and sludgy,” Forziel rambles. “Everything in it is dead.”

  I pinch my nose, suck shallow breaths through clenched teeth, and kneel next to Savi. His face is white like sun-bleached cotton. He stares blindly at the hard ground. “Savi?” I rub his shaking shoulder.

  He grips the frayed hem of what used to be my dress but is now little more than a short tunic. “It’s just like that day,” Savi chokes out.

  “Hey, we don’t need to go any closer.” I pull him up. With Savi leaning heavily on my shoulder, we stumble back up the ramp. Only when the smell and Savi’s gasps diminish do I ask if he wants to talk about it.

  “I...did I ever tell you my first memory?” He is still shaking, and his voice quivers, too.

  “I don’t know. Start telling me about it, and I’ll let you know if you have.”

  Savi rubs the heel of his hand over the sheen of sweat on his forehead. “It was when I was four. Mama sent me to the river for water, and I always went to a special gap in the reeds, just big enough for my pail. That’s what they tell me, at least. That day, something was different. It smelled...well, I waded into the river and found a box.”

  I know what’s coming before he finishes, and it makes my stomach more upset than the smell did. I hold him tighter, wishing that could change the past.

  “It was a box with a dead baby in it. A Maraian baby who suffered alone in its too-short life, because of the cursed Izyphorns.”

  No one should have that as their first memory. Anger boils in me.

  A wet trail shines on Nhardah’s dark cheek. “Aia, bring justice,” he whispers more to himself than to any of us.

  “They should suffer,” Forziel declares. “Izyphor oughtta know how bad they treated us.”

  “Yes,” Yori says, quiet and firm.

  I think of the kaites, who spoke of forgiveness and trusting Aia to mete out vengeance, and close my eyes. The breeze wafts a fresh wave of vile stench over us, and my stomach protests. Like Forziel, I crave vengeance, but my deepest training warns adamantly against it. I don’t know what to say.

  “Then it’s a good thing they’re not letting us go right away,” Savi grunts. “From what Rai has prophesied, their reluctance will bring them suffering.”

  “Then I guess we’d better wait to go back to the palace,” I say. “Aia’s shown Himself greater than Havil, but the sultan and royals can deal with the smell for a while longer.”

  Chapter 35

  The next morning, guards usher us into the shaded depths of the palace, where the sultan and royals huddle. Perfumed rags cover their noses and green pallor tinges their faces. Even here, the stench of the dead river fouls the air.

  One of the royals—the young one with the poufy pants—says, “We relent. It was wrong for us to pollute the rivers with the corpses of your infants, and the divinities are correcting us. You no longer have to cast them into the river. Only please ask your Aia to cleanse our streams.”

  This feels more like a victory than their last concession.

  “Will you free His people?” Savi asks. “You’ve seen just a glimpse of what He’s capable of.”

  The sultan drums his fingers against his leg. “If we did, would the rivers run clean?”

  “Yes,” I answer.

  The sultan waves a couple fingers. “Well, then, let us see it.”

  I try to rein in my smile while I look up at the ceiling. I never dared hope we’d win freedom this easily. “Father, Aia, please let the rivers run clean.”

  Just as before, the sultan orders a servant to go check the water fountain. While we wait, the royals whisper together, casting glances at Savi and me. We shift on our feet and hold our heads high.

  The slave bows low when he returns and reports, “The death has gone from the water.”

  The Izyphorns look at each other. Some raise their eyebrows, some frown; all look disturbed. The sultan gives a curt nod. “Someone summon the magicians. They shall duplicate this feat.” He takes off toward the palace’s entrance.

  “What?” I cry. “Wait! You promised to free us. Where are you going?” I follow him, Savi and the royals close on my heels.

  The sultan raises an eyebrow. “I never promised; you assumed. You wouldn’t expect me to give up at the first sign of challenge, would you?” He says this last part with a glance behind me. “Besides, our magicians may prove greater in strength than your Aia. I would be a fool to not put your sign to the test.”

  I scowl, but before I can argue further, we are outside. The Feasters congregate in the courtyard, as close to the palace as the guards will allow. They call out questions when their rulers appear. “What is happening?” “Why has Havil struck us?” “Is Api displeased with our Feast?”

  The sultan and royals stop a safe distance from the mass. As the sultan stretches out his hands, palms up, the crowd quiets. “My people, be assured the divinities are not displeased with us. We are witnessing the evil witchcraft of these two Maraian slaves, who speak ill of our divinities and claim sponsorship from an imaginary god. Do not let yourselves be frighttened.”

  I clench my jaw. How dare he? But all I dare say is a soft, “Saviayr is a freedman.”

  Savi touches my elbow. His look is clear: We will go along with the sultan, for now.

  The magicians stagger out, bearing the sloshing basin again. While they clunk it down and prepare, the sultan points at them. “Our magicians will prove that these two insurgents are nothing more than heretic slaves.”

  The magicians bow. “O our sultan and O our royals, we will again surpass the sign that the false divinity gave. It is easy to change flowing water, where one may poison the water’s source and consequently affect all that flows from it. We shall change standing water.”

  As before, the magicians begin circling the water and chanting in the tongue of the aivenkaites. A hot breeze shoots by and plunges into the water. The liquid contorts but does not change color. Still, the magicians chant on.

  I find myself praying against them, silently begging Aia to thwart the aivenkaite in the water and prove the magicians to be charlatans. That thought turns my eyes from the water to the magicians themselves. One of their eyes darts around the courtyard. Then his fingers curl into his long sleeve and powder floats down to dust the surface of the water.

  Immediately, clear transforms into turbid taupe, and sulfuric fumes swirl up from its surface. Everyone cheers.

  My mouth is open to protest when Savi’s fingers slide from my elbow to curl around my wrist. I jerk my head to look at him. He looks at me out of the corner of his eyes, shakes his head just a little, and whispers, “Don’t. They won’t believe you, and it won’t change their minds about Aia.”

  I lean closer and hiss, “But it’s wrong! The magician is tricking them!”

  “And Aia can take care of that,” Savi insists. “Discrediting the magician the way you want to will only land us in more trouble.”

  He’s right, but I’m not happy about it. I bite my tongue and glower. As soon as the magicians drag the basin away, I step boldly into their place. “Your sultan tells you not to be afraid,” I say. “He tells you that Aia is ima
ginary. He is mistaken. What have your divinities done for you? It is Aia who formed Orrock, Aia who created life, Aia who guides the stars, Aia who sends rain, Aia who makes plants grow, Aia who sustains you in every way—and it is Aia who can cause you suffering beyond your imagination, Aia who can cut your life short with impunity.

  “You should be very afraid.”

  I’m growing very aware of my voice now, so I feel the change instantly. It thrills and frightens me in equal measures. “‘You oppressed my people, forcing them to sleep among rodents and insects. So that you may know that I am greater than Tivan Firebringer, Api of the Harvest, and Zyphor Groundshaper, your beds will crawl with the same.’”

  As before, my voice returns to normal as soon as I finish pronouncing the sign. Savi falls in beside me as I stride into the crowd. The Feasters flinch away from us.

  Shrieks burst from the houses before we even reach the residential quarter. A woman runs out into the street, stamping her feet and shaking her whole body. “Beetles!” she screams. “Mice and maggots!”

  “Ew, ew, it’s a worm—a worm!” shouts a child.

  “Scorpions!” The newest call echoes up and down the street, accompanied by wails. “Tivan Firebringer is angry again!”

  I shudder. Savi murmurs to me, “They made these beds themselves.”

  I still don’t know what to think, whether to call for justice or mercy. But I don’t feel sorry for the Izyphorns, especially not after the sultan’s betrayal.

  Back at the camp, Yori greets us in tears. “Mama isn’t doing well.”

  “What happened?” Savi asks, looking past her. Nihae sits on a rock, scowl on her face.

  “She hit me,” Yori says.

  “What?” we exclaim in unison. Savi jerks his head back to Yori, and I look her over for a mark. “Where? Why?”

  She brushes my hand away. “Relax, I’m fine. It didn’t hurt, but still. I was just trying to get her to eat something.”

  “And she hit you?” Savi asks in disbelief.

  Yori stutters, so Hoenna says, “We think she forgot who your sister was for a moment.”