Oathen (29 page)

As she’d changed out of Geret’s shirt and into
the clean tunic Narjin brought, Sanych had thrown the stained white
shirt on the floor, then immediately regretted it. She’d scooped it
back up, grateful for his act of kindness. Then back on the floor
it went, as she realized it was likely the shirt he’d worn during
his last night aboard the
Princeling
.

When Narjin came to fetch her to the dining
area, Sanych trod on the shirt and didn’t look back.

She followed Narjin down the hallway and into
a large room where several of the rescuers sat and talked on low
padded benches set near the stone wall. Others set dishes of food
upon an enormous round table which had a wide slot cut all the way
to the center, where a place for one was prepared. She didn’t see
anyone she recognized.

Turning to Narjin, she asked, “Where are the
others who were with me?”

“They are being tended to,” Narjin answered.
“Please, sit with me. We mean you no harm. You are safe
here.”

Sanych sat gingerly, her thighs and bottom
still tender from the hours-long escape from the
farmhouse.

Narjin sat beside her. “I won’t ask you any
questions until we’ve explained ourselves,” Narjin said, offering
her a wide basket stacked with fresh flatbread. Sanych took one and
bit into the warm food, savoring its herbed flavor.

“I’ll take one of those, too,” Rhona’s voice
came from behind, and the pirate reached a bandaged right arm over
Sanych’s shoulder, snagging an oval of flatbread from the basket.
Munching, she sat beside the Archivist, sporting a pale blue tunic
that came to her knees.

Forcing down the tide of negative emotions
inside, Sanych looked at Rhona’s bandage and murmured an
apology.

Rhona swallowed her bite of bread and leaned
in close, commandeering Sanych’s gaze. “You saved my life, in spite
of everything between us. Odds are I wouldn’t have done the same,
and now I’m all mixed about you. Blood-crusty
dirtwalker.”

Sanych blinked, hearing a hint of approval
behind Rhona’s tiny smile. “Well, you’re welcome. Stubborn
wench.”

Rhona’s eyebrows shot up, and Narjin
chuckled.

“How is Ruel?” Sanych asked.

Rhona looked down at her bread, thumbing its
rounded edge. “He’s not doing well. He passed out on the ride here.
They told me they’ll send word to another group, see if their
healer can come and help him. There isn’t one here. It sounded like
their healing isn’t up to Meena’s usual.”

“Who is this Meena you keep mentioning?”
Narjin asked, but before Sanych could formulate an answer, Geret
and Salvor walked in, sporting new clothing as well. Salvor sat
beside Rhona, with Geret on his far side. Others began to gather
around the table.

“I’m glad to see us all safely here,” Ahm
said, stepping to the center of the table slot so all could see
him. “To those we have recently freed from the Cult of Dzur i’Oth,
we welcome you to sup with us. Any who fall prey to those evil
masters of shadow and death are our unwitting brothers and sisters.
It is part of our mission, to free those the cult wishes to use in
their dark rituals and see them safely out of harm’s
way.

“So, please, join us and eat. Let us soothe
your wounds and give you aid, and be assured that we ask nothing
more of you than your silence about our existence.”

“Fair enough,” Salvor said, “but whose
existence should we refrain from mentioning?”

Ahm smiled. “We,” he said, holding out his
arms to include the table’s other occupants, “are the Scions. And
we do not exist.”

A distant pounding echoed down the stone
hallway that led toward the front of the refuge. Instantly the
Scions went on alert. Chairs toppled as the spellcasters and
warriors spread throughout the large room, readying for
battle.

“We were followed!”

“Why didn’t the alarms go off?”

“How’d they get past the traps?”

A muffled voice carried through the door.
“I’ve had just about enough of magical tricks and traps today, and
your invisibility spell is giving me a migraine, so if you don’t
mind, how about we just open this door and you give me back my
people. Or,” the voice allowed, “we can do this the hard way. But I
warn you, I’m already cranky, and it’ll only go downhill from
there.”

“Meena!” cried Geret and Sanych in
unison.

Ahm jerked his head. “Your friend?”

“Yes! Please, let her in!” Sanych
said.

Ahm strode down the hallway, a dozen of the
Scions with him. Sanych followed as well, not caring who else
accompanied her.

“All right, Meena,” Ahm said at the door,
“Sanych says we can let you in. We mean you no harm, and your
friends are safe. I’ll open the door now.” He gripped the large
handle and tugged the thick door open. The relative warmth of the
afternoon, whipped into swirling winds by the curve of the cliffs
outside, blew into the room.

The black-clad body of a brunette woman lay on
the red gravel outside the door. Other Scions gathered around Ahm,
looking around in consternation, and Sanych pressed through them.
Meena was nowhere to be seen.

“Meena? It’s all right,” Sanych called out.
“Ahm’s telling the truth.”

“Ah, there you are,” Meena said, appearing
next to the corpse. Kemsil also came into view, groaning at her
side. The Scions pulled back in surprise.

“Can you do something about the spells you
have protecting your cozy little mountain lodge here?” Meena asked
Ahm. “I’m certainly not comfortable, but they’re going to drop
Kemsil to the ground in a moment.”

A middle-aged man with receding sandy hair
said, “He’s got some form of shielding up. It’s getting a mouthful
of interference from our protection spells. If he shuts it down,
he’ll feel better.”

“Pemketh is right,” Ahm confirmed. “The cult
cannot sense us here. There are dozens of shielded pockets
throughout the caldera valley. Some are ours, some are theirs, and
some are just odd natural formations of earth magic. Your friend
doesn’t need to shield you within our lodge.”

“That interference is what helped us see your
hideout. An unexpected if painful benefit of mixing magics, as we
recently learned.” Meena turned to Kemsil. “You can turn it off
now,” she said, leaning a hand on his shoulder.

“No,” he murmured, shaking his head, though it
caused him pain. “Have to keep you safe.”

She frowned in worry. “Kemsil, we
are
safe. You’ve protected me all day. You deserve a rest.
Please.”

He hesitated a moment, then nodded and touched
a symbol on the gauntlet. The inset ring in the gauntlet he wore
sucked the orange light out of the air in a heartbeat, and Kemsil
sagged to the ground with a quiet whimper. Meena and Ahm caught him
before he cracked his head, and she healed him with a gentle
touch.

Ahm’s eyes went wide.

“A thousand thanks,” Kemsil gasped, sitting
up. “Perhaps two thousand.”

“The least I could do, my friend,” Meena said.
She turned to the Scion leader and tipped her head in the direction
of the body. “The others died miles ago. We had to leave this one
alive to trace you.”

Ahm nodded, scanning the treeline. “Your day
has been as taxing as ours, no doubt; come inside and eat with us.”
He waved an inviting hand. “We’ll talk afterward.”

As soon as Meena stepped inside the door,
however, she pulled Sanych aside into a fortified alcove. “Let me
have a proper look at you.” Her hands clasped the girl’s face; her
green eyes were crowded by worry lines. “Did your magic crack? Did
it hurt you? Another five minutes and I would have been
there.”

Sanych heard Meena’s defensive tone. “It
cracked,” she replied, “and it did hurt…in a way. It was just…it
overwhelmed everything else, like when we fell together off the
Aldib cliff. Deep inside, I still knew you were coming though. The
bald man in charge was going to bleed Rhona and me to cast some
spell on the others to make them talk, though. If my magic hadn’t
cracked right then, I might have panicked.”

“Bloodmagic.” Meena spoke the term as an
epithet.

“Ruel’s hurt, Meena,” Sanych said,
remembering.

“I’ll find him.” Meena put her hands on
Sanych’s shoulders and sent her healing energy through the girl’s
body. Sanych felt her bruises and scrapes melt away into
nothingness.

“Thank you,” she breathed.

“Such fervency for the health of a mere
pirate; should I mention your concern to him?”

Sanych opened her mouth to protest that that
hadn’t been what she meant at all, only to see Meena holding in a
chuckle. She gave the older woman a glare as Meena turned down the
hall to find her great-great-grandson.

Sanych trailed after the others and sat down
next to Rhona at the round table. A short while later, she caught
sight of Meena returning with a perfectly healthy Ruel at her
side.

Rhona stood with a cry of triumph and slapped
him on the shoulders. Ruel exchanged brief greetings with Sanych
and the others as well. Meena slipped among them, lending a healing
hand.

Soon, Sanych realized that the members of the
secret society had paused whatever they were doing, and now stared
in interest and surprise at Meena. There was an awkward silence.
Sanych slipped into her seat beside the Shanallar, hearing Rhona
and the others sit beside her.

Meena turned to Ahm, who had risen to his feet
in the table’s center slot, a thoughtful look on his face. “Thank
you for saving them,” she said. “I wish I had known your group
existed. It would have saved time.”

Ahm’s expression deepened into a calculating
squint.

“What? Do I have dead cultist in my hair?”
Meena asked, ruffling a hand through her short red
locks.

“Your healing magic is very strong,” he said.
“And you are very familiar with it. Are you like us, able to
manifest your magic only in the vicinity of active earth elements?
Or is there something different about you?”

Everyone hushed, and Meena stepped to the edge
of the table across from Ahm, meeting his eyes. Sanych wasn’t at
all sure anymore that these people were on their side. The look she
shot down the table to Geret and Salvor was returned with equal
concern.

“I pray I am unique,” Meena said, addressing
the entire room. “Four hundred cycles ago, eleven members of the
Cult of Dzur i’Oth tried to sacrifice me to gain immortality for
themselves, using the
Dire
Tome
’s magic. For some
reason, the spell failed to take, and I alone survived. I haven’t
aged since that day, nor have I scarred. My body heals of its own
will, and I can heal those around me with a touch. I can do this
anywhere, on land or at sea. The cult’s spell is permanent, and
I’ve encountered nothing in the world that can affect its hold on
me. I can be stopped, with extreme difficulty, but I can never be
completely killed.”

The room was silent. No one moved; all eyes
were riveted on Meena.

Ahm’s mouth opened, then closed. He swallowed.
“
Jacasta
. Jacasta Triserren.”

Meena flinched back in surprise. Sanych
gasped, feeling her memories start linking.

“How do you know that name?” Meena asked,
staring.

Ahm seemed overwhelmed; his hands fluttered in
excitement and eventually grasped each other tightly. Murmurs shot
around the table.

“Let me tell you a short story, Meena, if I
may,” Ahm said, bowing his head to her. “The founder of our
organization ultimately lost both her parents to the machinations
of the Cult of Dzur i’Oth. She dedicated her life to creating a
series of semi-independent cells that could stand up to the cult,
be prepared to defend themselves as well as innocents, and work
together to destroy the cult entirely. Though it has been many
generations, we have not yet managed to completely eradicate Dzur
i’Oth. Yet, they have not eradicated us either. We battle each
other in the heady magic-riven underworld of Shanal. We are always
struggling to bring the light into darkness, while the cult
constantly threatens to consume us and devour the land again, as it
once did during Queen Anzadi’s War, or, as we call it, the Cult
War.” Ahm’s eyes hadn’t wavered from Meena’s, nor hers from his.
“Can you tell me the name of the founder of the Scions,
Meena?”

Meena blinked a few times, her face a still,
pale mask. Sanych bit her lip, wondering if her guess would be
correct.

Meena swallowed and spoke into the silence.
“Her name was Imshi. Imshi Triserren, my daughter. The only child
Arisson and I ever had.”

“Yes,” said Ahm, his voice low, gentle,
excited. “And we,” he waved an inclusive hand at the silent,
absorbed Scions, “are her descendants. You might call this a family
business. Perhaps a family obsession. Our full name sums us up: we
are the Scions of the Shanallar.” He spread his arms. “And we
welcome you home at last, Jacasta.”

Meena blinked, and two tears spilled over her
cheeks, falling onto the tabletop. Rhona looked between Ahm and
Meena. “Seamother? Does this mean we have dirtwalker
cousins?”