Voice of war, p.20
Voice of War, page 20
part #1 of Threadlight Series
It was incredible how much she’d managed to do the day after giving birth. Sure, threadweavers healed faster than others, but no one healed that fast. The pair of them were a mess. Both so beaten and broken that they were hardly recognizable from the man and woman they’d been only days before. Yesterday, they were nobility. Today, they were nothing.
Chrys took a seat on the bed. “The elders offered to help with Aydin. I wasn’t sure what to tell them, but it sounds like it might be a good idea. Give you more time to rest.”
She looked down at their child, sleeping peacefully in her arms. “If they have silksap milk, a night nurse would help so I could get some uninterrupted sleep.”
“I’ll ask around, but we’re in the middle of the Fairenwild. I’m not sure they have many food options.”
“It is quite strange.”
Chrys nodded, looking around the room. “It’s even more strange to think that this is home now.”
Iriel stared at him, silent for a moment before she spoke. “No, it’s not.”
“It’s not as bad as it seems, and we’re safe here.”
“Not that bad? We’re living in a forest like a bunch of savages.”
“Come now, Iriel. There’s nothing savage about these people.”
Her voice rose. “Have you forgotten that I just had a child? I don’t want to raise a baby in the forest!”
“You think I want to?” he asked. “Of course, I’d love to be back home! But the reality is that our child is different. We don’t have the luxury of choice.”
“There’s always a choice,” she replied.
“And where would you have us go?”
“A small town outside of Felia? A quiet island in Kulai where no one knows us? Anywhere else! I don’t understand why you’re acting like the Bloodthieves won. We got away. We can do whatever we want.”
Chrys took a breath, kneading his temples in a vain attempt to rub away the headache. “And how would that work out for Aydin? You think in Felia or Kulai they’ll treat an Amber-eyed kid any better than the people back home? At best, he’d be bullied his whole life.”
“And you honestly think that it will be better here? Aydin will be different no matter where we live. We might as well live somewhere we’re happy.”
“We could be happy here.”
“That’s where you’re wrong. Maybe you don’t care because you don’t have to take care of a baby but let me make this very clear: I will never call this place home.”
She was infuriating. Unreasonable. Stubborn as stone. They were safe in Zedalum. Aydin would be accepted. She wasn’t thinking through the consequences of leaving. He wanted to scream that she was being foolish. And, stones, his head was pounding. The pressure near his temples had been rising ever since he woke up. He wanted to take a pin, jam it in, and let it all out.
Mmmm. I can be quite convincing. Let me speak to her.
The pressure intensified with each word. He leaned forward, grabbing his head. Leave me alone! Not now!
“This is on you, Chrys. Figure it out, because I’m not staying here.”
Mmmm. I can help.
“Are you even listening to me, Chrys?”
Mmmm.
“Get out!” Chrys yelled, his hands still clutching the sides of his head. His fingertips were white with pressure as he squeezed tight against his skull.
“Are you serious? I’m your wife, not a damn soldier you can send away because they displease you. You need to figure this out,” Iriel exhaled in disbelief, anger flashing in her eyes. She opened her mouth to speak again but, when she looked at him, she knew something was wrong. “Chrys, what’s happening right now? Are you okay?”
He was a dam on the verge of collapse, and the voice of the Apogee was the last tap. He broke. Tears poured like a river down his bruised face. It was too much. After everything they had been through, after everything they had lost, he couldn’t deal with the Apogee anymore. He couldn’t keep the secret to himself. He couldn’t do it alone.
Chrys looked up, his eyes red with agony. “Iriel, something is wrong with me.”
She placed Aydin on the bed and grabbed hold of Chrys as he cried onto her shoulder. “Talk to me, Chrys. What is wrong?”
He wanted to tell her—he’d wanted to tell her for years—but the fear of letting her see the darkest parts of his soul was too much.
“You’ll think I’m crazy.”
“Never.”
He knew it wasn’t true, but he wanted to believe it. He wanted to believe that if anyone could see past his problems and still accept him, broken as he may be, it was her. But the world is cruel, and people act rash when expectations misalign with reality. What if she didn’t accept him? What if she thought he’d gone mad?
But, then again, what if she didn’t?
“It started during the war. I don’t know when, maybe after the first battle. A voice. I started to hear a voice.” He let the words sink in, expecting a deluge of questions, but instead she sat quietly, listening. His voice shook as he continued. “It’s the Apogee, Iriel. I’m not the Apogee. There is something inside me, or someone, that begs me to hand over control. But when I do, it kills everything. I don’t even remember the slaughters they say I committed in the war. The battles I’m said to have won are cloudy at best. By the time I understood what was happening, I’d killed some of our own men. I swore to never let him out again, but his voice is there. Every time I get angry, I hear him. ‘Let me out. Let me out. I can help if you let me out.’ I thought I could control it, but I’ve lost control of everything else in our life. I just don’t know if I can do it anymore.”
“Oh, Chrys.”
He shouldn’t have told her. It was foolish. If ever she needed him to be strong, it was now. He could see it coming. The pity. The shame. She would never look at him the same. Every piece of insecurity and fear that had built up over the past five years came rolling through him like a ghostly tremor. There was no turning back now that she knew the truth. Her husband was broken. Unstable. A clay pot turned dry, cracked to the core, fit to be cast out.
But her eyes, soft as silk, met his own. “You’ve fought this alone for all these years? I can’t imagine how exhausting that must have been. You should have told me.”
“I couldn’t. I…” He trailed off.
They both sat, neither speaking. Chrys stared at the floor, feeling the weight of the silence as each moment passed. His chest was a boulder dragging him into the ground. Pressure continued to build up in his head. What did he expect? That she would be happy? That she would smile and tell him “It’s okay”? It wasn’t. He wasn’t. None of it was okay.
“I had a neighbor when I was a child.” Iriel finally broke the silence. She nodded her head as she recalled the memory. “His garden was beautiful, full of bright colors and exotic flowers. People from all over the city would come to see it, but they were careless. They stepped on his grass, picked the flowers, and muddied the walkways, so, he closed it off with a wall. But people still came. He added decorative stonework and ivy that bloomed in the springtime. It took all his time to care for the wall, but everyone admired him greatly for it. One winter, the people stopped hearing from him, and when my father went to his home to check on him, he saw the garden for the first time in years. It was dead. All of it. He walked on cracked stone, over thriving weeds and dead flowers. The neighbor had been neglecting the garden to care for the wall. My father walked into the house, and you know what he found? The man had taken his own life.
“Chrys, it doesn’t matter how beautiful the wall is if the garden inside is dying. No one can live like that forever.”
He struggled to breathe. She’d seen his withered garden and she accepted him, nonetheless. In that moment, his load lightened. The weight remained, but a weight held by two is easier to bear.
Her hand rubbed away his tears. “It’s you and me, Chrys. You don’t have to fight this alone.”
Chapter 21
Iriel lay asleep on the bed as Chrys snuck out of the room. She’d spent the last hour holding him as he’d let out five years of bottled up emotion. The relief was tangible. Oddly enough, if none of this had happened—if they were still back in Alchea in their quiet home—he wasn’t sure he ever would have told her. At least one good thing had come of it all.
As he peeked out of the room, he looked for any sign of the grouchy, elderly woman. She was gone, so he meandered down the hallway. He passed a young Zeda boy and couldn’t help thinking of his friends back home. His mother. Luther and Emory. Laz and Reina. Even their crazy, old neighbor, Emmett. The thing that sickened him the most was knowing that Jurius was working for the Bloodthieves. Henna was smart but, if she couldn’t piece it together, who knew what the Bloodthieves would do? And Malachus. The Lightfather only knew what the Great Lord would do when he discovered the betrayal.
Chrys looked down at the wooden floor as he walked, rubbing at his sore ribs. No give. A lodge on top of the trees and the floor felt more solid than an Alchean home. What about when a rainstorm struck? Winds must have done a number on the city.
He found his way to the lobby where a young girl sat alone. Both sides of her head were shaved and the top of her hair was pulled back into a ponytail. She was reading a book. Stones. They even had books. He thought about talking to the girl—children are often great at sharing things they shouldn’t—but instead moved toward the doorway.
He imagined the sprawling treetop metropolis before the door even opened. The bright sun would be beating down over the wide-set buildings, and people would be bustling back and forth across busy wooden paths.
But the door opened before he reached for the handle.
Willow Valerian, tired and covered in dirt, nearly crashed into him as she entered.
He took a step back, bewilderment plastered across his face. “Mother?”
She was the last person he’d expected to see. The tightness in his chest loosened, and the flares of pain seemed to subside.
Her fatigue changed to joy as she threw her arms around her son. Tears ran down her cheeks. “Oh, Chrys.” She squeezed him with maternal ferocity. “I knew you were alive.” She spoke the words quietly, personally, as if she had been doubting their truth for some time.
Chrys held her close, then pulled back for a moment. “We’re all okay, but how are you here?”
“I’m a stubborn woman. Is Iriel well? I can’t imagine.”
Chrys nodded. “Tired, but well.”
“And Aydin?”
“Sleeping.”
She exhaled. “There is so much to tell you, Chrys. But I really must speak with the elders. Come with me. I imagine many of your questions will be the same as theirs.”
Willow turned and gestured to a Zeda man standing behind her. Chrys hadn’t seen him, but assumed he was a guard similar to the one that had followed them to the lodge.
She led Chrys down the hall toward the elders’ council room. They passed a side table that held a bowl of Felian oranges, the sweet scent filling the air. Finally, they reached the council room, and Willow knocked. Without waiting for someone on the other side, she pushed the door open.
Inside, Elder Rosemary sat conversing with Elder Rowan and, quite surprisingly, it was Elder Rosemary that donned the frown. As the door opened, they both turned and looked. After a moment of confusion, disbelief took over.
“Gale take me. It cannot be. You’re alive!” Elder Rosemary smiled wider than a feytree.
Willow walked into the room. “I could say the same about you.” She smiled and hugged the older woman with a love that Chrys couldn’t understand. “Less surprised about you, Rowan. You’ve always been as stubborn as stone. The winds couldn’t take you if they tried.”
Elder Rowan smiled, something Chrys had yet to see. “Second only to you, my old friend.”
“I see you’ve met my son,” Willow said, gesturing to him. “Chrysanthemum.”
Elder Rosemary laughed, shook her head, and laughed again. “Of course, he is. He has your eyes. I should have known. The Father of All has a wicked sense of humor, doesn’t he? I suppose the age lines up. And Chrysanthemum? A good Zeda name.”
“Chrysanthemum?” he asked. Chrys’ head was spinning. His mother was acting like she was from Zedalum, but was that even possible? They were from Felia.
Willow gestured to the chairs at the table. “Everyone, please sit. I imagine we could all use a little explanation.
“Chrys, I was born in Zedalum. I was raised here and fell in love here. You were born here.”
Chrys’ mind reeled. He was born here? He was a Zeda? All these years believing he’d been from Felia, escaping an abusive father. Was none of that true? He could feel each beat of his heart pounding against his bruised ribs.
“Two days after you were born, before we’d given you a name, I had a vision. It was me, but it wasn’t me. I told myself to take you away. That a storm was coming and the Fairenwild wasn’t safe. When I told your father that I was going to take you away, he didn’t believe me. No one did. He said I was being foolish and irrational, and that the pregnancy and birth had confused my mind. He had guards watch my family’s house to make sure I did not leave. I waited a few days for emotions to settle and, when the opportunity arose, I took you and we left. You are not from Felia. You have Zeda blood and a Zeda name. This place is your birthright.”
Chrys closed his eyes. He tried to process her words, but his mind was so exhausted that he felt like a man trying to catch the sun. “Why would you lie to me about this?”
“I always meant to tell you but, by the time you were old enough to understand, it was a life so distant from us that it would have made no difference.”
Chrys’ eyes were cold, a myriad of emotions stewing in their depths. “It would have made a difference to me.”
Willow took in a slow breath. “You have every right to be angry. If I could go back, maybe I would do things differently. But there is more. When you disappeared from the temple, I was taken to Endin Keep for questioning. They think you are planning to overthrow Malachus or some nonsense that Jurius has planted in their minds. That’s when I heard that they’d captured the priest that you’d escaped with.”
“He’s alive?”
“As far as I know, yes.”
Elder Rowan shook her head and smiled. “Pandan that old dog.”
“Pandan?” Willow choked on the word.
“You didn’t know?” Elder Rosemary brought a hand to her cheek.
“I spoke with him. Surely I would have recognized him.”
“You spoke with him?” Elder Rosemary and Elder Rowan both said.
Willow stared down at the table as she spoke. “It was dark. His eyes were covered, and his mouth was gagged. He’d been tortured. He only spoke to me through gestures. If I’d known…”
A fire inside of Chrys ignited, embers of truth flickering deep in his soul. Was it possible? After all the time he’d spent with Pandan, could it be? He barely uttered the words. “Is he my father?”
Before Willow could answer, Elder Rowan blurted out, “Your father’s dead, boy. Pandan’s your uncle.”
The room warped in Chrys’ vision, spinning and growing in surges. It was hard to focus on any one thing. He looked to his mother, but her eyes were vacant. Chrysanthemum? Flower boy? Stones. He should have made the connection. Every Zeda he’d met had a name derived from nature. Laurel. Alder. Rosemary. Rowan. Willow. His mother was a Zeda. He was a Zeda. The man who’d saved him was his uncle. The man who’d sacrificed himself was his uncle. And he was being tortured by Jurius.
“My little brother,” Willow whispered. Chrys could see the pain in her eyes. She’d spoken to her own brother and hadn’t recognized him.
Chrys straightened his back. “We have to save him.”
The others turned to him. Elder Rowan huffed out her disapproval. “You grounders are far too hasty. It’s dangerous, and Pandan knew what he was getting himself into.”
“He sacrificed himself to save us! And he didn’t even know who we were! We owe him our lives. We have to do something.”
“Calm yourself, boy,” Elder Rowan sneered. “He knew the dangers when he left. He’s been in Alchea for nearly twenty-five years. You don’t think he knew exactly who you were? He did what he had to do to protect his nephew and the child. Take the gift he’s given you, and let him pass with honor.”
He knew. Of course, he knew. The priests had records of everyone; it must have been simple for Pandan to figure it out. But why hadn’t he contacted them? It didn’t matter. He’d saved them. It was time to return the favor. “I refuse to rest while a member of my family is killed on my behalf.”
Willow looked to Chrys and smiled, shaking her head. “You may have met your match, Rowan. Chrys, we’ll figure something out, but you and I are the most wanted criminals in all of Alchea, and two of the most recognizable. Even with your current disguise,” she gestured to his bruised face, “it’s suicide.”
Elder Rosemary nodded. “The priority is your son. We still haven’t figured out what to do with him yet.”
“Aydin?” Willow raised a brow. “What about Aydin? Did something happen to him in the Fairenwild?”
Elder Rowan and Elder Rosemary both looked to Chrys. They each dared the other to explain. With puckered lips, Elder Rowan nodded. “The child is an Amber threadweaver.”
The moment lasted forever as the words sunk in. “I thought that was just a myth.”
“We’d be better off if it was.” Elder Rosemary rubbed her temple. “There are only two types of naturally occurring threadweavers, Sapphires and Emeralds. Our people know of two other types, Amber and Obsidian, but these are not naturally occurring. They are created, so far as our records say. But how, we do not know. The last known Amber threadweavers died centuries ago. No one has seen one until now.”
