Prophecy's Burden: Chapter Three

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Merrus didn’t press Chel about the bodies until they had reached the Jerome River.

“Ah,” said the man as they neared the glistening water. Without looking at Merrus, he said, “This would be the Jerome, then. A fine river. Longest on the continent.”

“And the second widest,” muttered Merrus.

Chel looked at him in surprise. “Well, yes. I suppose you have seen River Callain, having been to Jaharta. That one’s the widest, they say.”

“And the second longest,” said Merrus, smiling in memory. He shook his head. “I once knew someone, a merchant I traveled with when I first went to Jaharta. He thought it was funny.” He hadn’t thought about Edward in years. Merrus was fairly sure the merchant was long dead, as it was on this very river he and Merrus had been captured by bandits. Merrus, to his eventual luck, had been carted to Ceenta Vowei and managed to escape, but Edward had not been there and he had never seen the man again.

Chel shrugged. “Those merchants are an odd lot,” was all he said. He pointed to a spot upriver. They had just left the forest, the road leading on toward a wide stretch of muddy flatland, and there was nothing to obscure their view of the riverbank for runs in either direction. Merrus looked where Chel was pointing and saw something that looked like a dock except that it was completely level with the river. A large, flat wooden raft tied up next to it. Directly across the river was an identical dock, and a series of ropes were strung across the river, their ends tied to both docks.

“That’s the ferry,” Chel explained. “There are no bridges over the Jerome, so we’ll have to cross on that.”

“On that raft?” said Merrus, feeling a tiny knot of anxiety start to roil around in his stomach. “But the wagons have wheels. We’ll roll right off into the river.” When he had come this way with Edward all those years ago they had started out on the south side of the Jerome, and there had never been a need to cross over.

Chel laughed. “They know what they’re doing, the lot who run the ferry. I’ve crossed it loads of times. They have blocks, see, that they put around the wheels to keep the wagons from rolling, and those ropes all across the river are there for guides, to keep everything moving smooth and straight. This isn’t a cheap operation; the king makes sure these men are paid well to make everything as safe as possible.”

Merrus nodded weakly; he still wasn’t convinced, and he wasn’t fond of water. Once before he’d fallen into a river and been swept downstream, and it wasn’t an experience he wanted to repeat. The wind coming off the river suddenly changed direction and Merrus got a good whiff of what they had stashed in the back of the wagon. He wrinkled his nose in disgust and turned to Chel, but the man seemed not to have noticed the smell.

“Don’t you think we should do something about the bodies first?” said Merrus, trying to drop a not-so-subtle hint.

Chel raised one eyebrow at him. “Like what? They’re fine where they are. They’re not going anywhere.”

“Yes, but they’re starting to smell a little ripe.”

“That’s what happens when you’re dead,” said Chel, as if he was discussing what he’d had for breakfast that day.

“But won’t they say something?” Merrus waved a hand toward the ferry dock. As the wagons drew closer he could see there were at least three human males sitting in front of a small wooden house-like structure set back from the river. All of them were watching the approaching wagons. “Don’t you think they might find it strange that you have two dead bodies in your wagon?”

Chel shook his head. “They’re all former soldiers, like me, and they’ll know why I have them.”

Merrus sighed and looked back at Bediwyth, who had gone even paler and looked queasy. He wondered what was bothering the boy.

The wagons reach the dock and Chel motioned for Bediwyth to stay back, while he maneuvered his wagon onto the dock, which was so low that the river what occasionally washed up over it, leaving the wood dark and wet and spotted with small puddles. Chel and Merrus climbed down from their seat, and the three men stepped up and unbridled the horse. One began coaxing the nervous animal on to the raft while the other two slowly pushed the wagon on after it. Chel made his way back to Bediwyth’s wagon, and the boy jumped off to let the soldier take over, his face full of relief.

Bediwyth glanced sideways at Merrus as the salkiy came to stand next to him while Chel handled the second wagon. “You don’t look happy about this crossing.”

Merrus shook his head.

Bediwyth sighed. “Nor me. It’s a clear day and the current’s not fast, and Chel always tells me that the men know what they’re doing, so I know it won’t go wrong. But I hate crossing the river just the same.”

Merrus looked at him, wondering why the boy was telling him all this. He locked eyes with Bediwyth for just a moment before the prince shrugged and ducked his head away. “It’s stupid,” he said. “It’s just a stupid river.” He looked and sounded very much like Atro at that moment, and Merrus knew right then and there that his first order of business when he reached Byret was to send a message to Atro. Okkand and Ceenta Vowei were trading partners; surely Merrus would be able to find some way to get a letter to Jaharta via the Okkandian Court. He had no idea if Atro had succeeded in getting his city back, but he could probably send the letter to the Emperor. He hoped the Emperor would pass it on. The Emperor of Ceenta Vowei was the very man who had banished Merrus, but it hadn’t been out of malice, just out of some strange literal enactment of the Jahartan rule of law, which required someone to be punished for every criminal charge made. Atro had been accused of his own father’s murder even though he’d had no hand in it, and instead of merely forgetting the charges the Emperor had insisted that someone must be punished for the crime before Atro could be fully absolved. None of it made a bit of sense to Merrus, but since he had never planned to stay in Jaharta anyway he had confessed to the murder and taken the life banishment.

So he was fairly certain the Emperor would allow Atro to receive a letter that Merrus sent.

“All aboard,” Chel called cheerfully from the raft, where the horses and the wagons were now securely fastened down. He waved to them, holding on to one of the ropes with one hand. Merrus noticed that the three men were standing as far from Chel’s wagon as it was possible to get on the raft, but they also never said anything during the whole crossing.

Both Merrus and Bediwyth stepped tentatively on to the raft, Merrus freezing as it tilted slightly from their weight. Chel laughed again.

“They know how to make a raft, Merrus, it’s not going to tip over because of you, especially since you and Bediwyth together probably don’t weigh more than me.” He grinned wider. “Although your combined worrying might do some damage.”

“Shut it, Chel,” growled Bediwyth. He moved to the center of the raft and huddled up against his wagon, holding on to it as if his life depended on it.

Chel only laughed harder and Merrus gritted his teeth and tried not to shriek when the raft gave a little jolt as the men untied it and it started drifting into the river’s current.

The crossing was slow and Merrus nearly chewed his lip bloody. It turned out that the current looked a lot faster close up. Even with the men carefully guiding the raft by holding on to the ropes it listed up and down and swayed back and forth, and Merrus got down into a kneeling position, hooking his fingers through the wooden slats on the floor of the raft, so that he wouldn’t lose his balance. The horses snorted and looked terrified and tried to stamp their hooves, but they were too tied down to move that much. After what seemed like an eternity the raft reached the opposite dock and Merrus nearly threw himself off of it and on to dry land. Bediwyth followed more slowly, throwing a nasty glare at the river.

“I won’t go to Seena again until there is a proper bridge across that river,” he spat.

Chel overheard. “If there was a bridge there’d be no way to let the merchant boats through.”

“Dig canals,” said Bediwyth dismissively. “That’s how they do it in Jaharta. This isn’t a major trade river anyway.”

“You know Jaharta?” said Merrus.

Bediwyth looked at him, his large dark eyes wide with surprise. “Well,” he stuttered, seemingly at a loss for words, “I know of it, of course. I’ve never been there. Seena was the first time I’ve been away from Okkand.”

“What were you doing in Seena?” asked Merrus, his curiosity piqued. More informal this Okkandian Court may be, but what was a prince, presumably the heir to the throne, doing on dangerous travels with only a retinue of three? Good fighters or not it wouldn’t take much to outnumber and overwhelm them, as they had all learned firsthand.

Bediwyth gave him such a cynical look that Merrus actually took a step back. “Sorry,” he muttered. “Not my place to ask.”

Bediwyth shrugged and looked over at Chel, who was still maneuvering the wagons off the raft. “I’m not upset. I just didn’t know salkiys got curious about such things.”

“We get curious about much the same things that you do,” said Merrus.

“They care what humans do?”

“Not so much,” Merrus admitted. “But I’m not exactly normal.” He smiled weakly, surprised that he could say it as carelessly as that. Before, when he had still lived in his birth village, his strangeness had seemed a curse and even a death sentence. The other salkiy children in his village had not liked anyone different. But now, after all he had done and seen, he realized it was something he would just have to live with, and living with it away from other salkiys was best.

“No,” said Bediwyth. He peered closely at Merrus, the first time he had ever done so. “Are you a half-breed?”

Merrus’s blood froze until he realized what the prince was asking. “No,” he said. “I haven’t got a drop of human blood in me.”

Bediwyth continued looking at him, wary. “But you were at the Court of Jaharta. You lived there. With humans.”

“For a number of years, yes,” said Merrus, confused. He had already told Bediwyth and Chel the shortened version of his life up until this point. The things he didn’t have to keep secret, anyway.

“So you know the Lord Councilor?” said Bediwyth.

“I knew Coucilor Martyn,” said Merrus, forcing the name through his lips. There was still a mystery surrounding how Atro’s father had died. There was a part of Merrus that suspected he had done it, though not deliberately. All that had happened that confusing night was still nothing more than a jumble of bright lights and loud noises and heart-bursting terror in Merrus’s mind. He knew it had been him and Martyn trapped in a dungeon cell by Lindjer, one of Martyn’s advisors, and Mynlai, Atro’s salkiy mother. They had plotted together against Martyn, and part of their plan included drugging Merrus. After that point, when he had been trapped in the cell, groggy and half-blind, Merrus’s memories made no sense. But he was almost certain that it had been his own spell, haphazardly conjured up in a addlebrained attempt to deflect Mynlai’s attacks against him, that had gone awry and killed Martyn instead. It was a source of guilt that Merrus never poked at too hard, in case it crippled him. In the eyes of Ceenta Voweiian law he had paid for his crime with his banishment, which was actually far less severe than what he should have gotten since it had mostly been for show, but the possibility that he had murdered an innocent human with his Gifts would be with him for the rest of his life. He almost wished he would someday remember that night more clearly, because maybe then he could make peace with what had happened.

“Oh,” Bediwyth was clearly disappointed with this answer. “I had thought you might know of Lord Atro.”

Merrus’s ears perked up at the sound of his friend’s name. “I do know him, actually. Is he . . . do you know if he’s the Councilor now?” He hadn’t thought to ask his new companions of news of Ceenta Vowei, but of course human governments communicated with each other. He could have hit himself for being so stupid.

“Yes, of course, for almost a year now,” said Bediwyth, but his tone said that he had no desire to discuss the ascendancy of the Councilorship.

Merrus closed his eyes and thanked the Goddess. Atro had gotten his city back!

“Is it true?” Bediwyth asked.

Merrus opened his eyes. “Is what true?”

Bediwyth looked around, as if making sure no one would overhear them. Chel was still standing by the riverbank, having an animated conversation with the three raftsmen. Merrus distantly hoped they were demanding that Chel get rid of the dead bodies.

“You know,” Bediwyth continued, his voice low. “That Atro is really a half-salkiy himself.”

Merrus paused. He didn’t know how to answer, because he didn’t know how open Atro was being about his lineage. Lindjer had told the people of Jaharta Atro’s secret, but it seemed that outside the city it was only rumor, not a given.

Bediwyth nodded, as if Merrus had confirmed his suspicions. “I understand discretion,” he said, “and I won’t ask you to betray him. Believe me when I say that my reasons for asking have little to do with politics.”

“Then why are you asking?” said Merrus.

Bediwyth shrugged and didn’t answer, and suddenly Chel was there with the wagons, grinning and gesturing at them to climb on. It only took Merrus a moment to smell that the bodies were still safely underneath their tarp. He made a face and turned toward Bediwyth’s wagon, but whatever openness the prince had exhibited before was gone now, and he was lounging across his wagon seat, taking up the whole space in a clear message that he didn’t want passengers. Merrus sighed and climbed up next to Chel, forcing a smile.

#

“I would speak with you, my lord.”

Atro looked up from the fountain, in which he had been twirling his fingers, to find Shyrn standing over him looking concerned. Atro flicked his fingers a few times, shaking off the excess water and feeling a little guilty. He really should have been doing paperwork, but the lovely spring day outside his office window hadn’t allowed him to concentrate for very long. He’d snuck out of the Main Hall and to the fountain, where he had been lazily gazing into it, his hand making patterns across the top of the water.

He sometimes considered trying to see the future in the water. Some salkiys had the ability to do that, and he had shown signs of the future-telling gift before. Never, though, did his efforts to direct his visions in either fire or water amount to anything. What visions he had were very rare and only came to him in his dreams. He didn’t have enough talent to bring about visions in any element.

“Yes, Lord Shyrn?” Atro said, standing up. At his full height, the older man came only to Atro’s chin, but Atro was used to being taller than almost everyone around him. He had surpassed the average adult height of a Ceenta Voweiian male when he was fourteen years of age.

“Walk with me, please,” said Shyrn, indicating toward the gardens with a tilt of his head. “There are things we need to discuss.”

“Of course,” said Atro, wondering if Shyrn was going to lecture him for neglecting his duties. He felt a flush of anger at the thought of an advisor lecturing a Councilor, but immediately regretted the thought. Lord Shyrn knows far more than I do. Besides, he doesn’t lecture, just tries to point me in the right direction.

He wished he had understood that when Martyn was alive. It still pained Atro, some nights when he couldn’t sleep, to think that for the last year of his father’s life they had spent more time arguing than anything else. By the time Atro grew to appreciate his father the man was already dead. Atro had been so rebellious in the year before his Proclamation, so sure that he knew what he was doing.

Lindjer had caused terrible damage to the city and the Court, not to mention Atro’s family’s name. He was responsible for the deaths and suffering of hundreds. He was the reason Atro had spent two years of his life running and hiding. But in many ways that had forced Atro to see beyond his own desires and arrogant whims. Because of Lindjer, Atro was no longer a child, sheltered from the realities of the world by the four imposing stone walls of the Court.

“It is about my daughter, Atro,” said Shyrn as they moved down the path away from the fountain. Shyrn regularly dropped Atro’s title, something the Councilor didn’t mind in the least.

“Hopina,” said Atro, frowning.

Shyrn sighed and looked around the Courtyard as if to make they were alone. “She is . . . restless. I am of the mind to force her to marry, whether it be to you or someone else. I would know your answer.”

“She hasn’t agreed to my proposal?”

Shyrn shook his head. “No. She believes she has her heart set on someone else, someone who is entirely unsuited for her.”

Neither man said Edward’s name, but Atro knew who they were talking about. The merchant who had been so helpful in the daring plan to regain Jaharta for Atro was not currently in the city. Even his supposed feelings for Hopina had not swayed him from making a journey to Okkand for the spring to sell his wares.

“I think he understands that,” said Atro, thinking of Edward. Why else would the merchant leave, if not to try and persuade Hopina that their union was not blessed?

“Hopina does not,” said Shyrn. “Atro, I do not want to force her hand. I understand that she is young and not experienced in the ways of love. So is everyone, at her age. But I fear that she will do something drastic in her quest for true love. I feel I have no choice but to do this.”

“We’ve discussed this before, Shyrn,” said Atro, looking not at him but at the apple orchard in the back of the garden. “I won’t force any woman’s hand. She must come to our marriage willingly.”

Shyrn looked hopeless for a moment. “There are those that would gladly take my daughter in marriage, willing or no. But that is exactly why I am wary of giving her to any of them.”

“I understand,” said Atro. “I just don’t know . . .”

“Lord Shyrn, Atro.” A third figure approached them, bowing her head slightly. Long blonde hair fell over her shoulder. “A man is here to see you.”

“You could have sent a page, Jay,” said Atro. “It’s not your job to deliver messages.”

Jaishlin Mor’tague, the head of his personal guard and another one of his staff to make a habit of addressing him informally, regarded him closely, her green eyes flashing indignantly. “It is my job when someone asks specifically for you. How else am I supposed to protect you?”

“Of course,” sighed Atro. “Who is this man?”

“He claims he is from the Emperor,” said Jay, her nose in the air. “I had to take his weapons. I will have to replace those guards at the gatehouse on the river. They are supposed to remove the weapons of anyone who wishes to pass, regardless of who it is. Or who it claims to be.” Her eyes darkened.

“I know that, Jay,” said Atro. “Take me to him.”

Atro and Shyrn walked back to the front of the Courtyard, Jay leading the way. Near the main gates of the Court stood a man dressed in the livery of the Emperor of Ceenta Vowei. He looked nervous as Jay approached him, and Atro wondered what else the woman had done to him.

“Lord Councilor Atro,” said the man, sweeping into a low bow as Atro approached. “I am a messenger of Emperor Sheldon. He sends greetings and would like to know if you would join him for dinner this coming Lastday.”

Atro regarded the messenger for a moment. A personal invitation from the Emperor? This was more than a formal state dinner, and something not to be refused. “I accept the invitation,” he said.

“It will begin at first sundown,” said the messenger, bringing forward a small envelope. “Details are in there.”

“Yes, thank you,” said Atro, taking the envelope. He had a feeling the letter inside contained more than just the details of a dinner, but the reading of it was something to be saved for when he was alone.

Atro nodded at Jay, who reluctantly returned the messenger’s dagger to him. The messenger bowed again and left. Shyrn turned to Atro, looking impressed.

“I did not know you and the Emperor were still so close.”

“Yes,” said Atro, giving no more details.

Shyrn seemed to realized he was treading on ground that was none of his business, so he smoothly changed the subject. “So what of our earlier conversation?”

“I don’t know,” said Atro, glancing sideways at Jay, who was still standing next to him at attention. She would skin him alive if she knew what they were talking about, even if Atro personally didn’t like the subject matter. Jay was from Kandel, where women enjoyed far more freedom and autonomy than Ceenta Voweiian women. Even Kandel’s primary rulership was female, and considerations of gender were never made in the army or any other trade, just considerations of talent and skill. Or at least that was what Jay had told him numerous times. Atro had never been to Kandel, and had little exposure to those who were from there. Jay was the first he had known personally, and she was a little more . . . patriotic than most.

He hoped so, anyway. The thought of a nation full of people just like Jay made him shudder.

He really did like her, though. Perhaps even more than he was supposed to, though his brain often shied away from that thought as if fully thinking it would not only make it true, but would broadcast it to everyone around him.

“I would have an answer,” said Shyrn, looking frustrated.

“An answer to what?” Jay said.

Atro glared at her. “In your days of personally guarding the Empress of Kandel, was it acceptable to stick your nose in business that didn’t concern you?”

She looked properly chastised. “No.”

“The same rules apply here.”

“Does that mean you are asking me to be your personal guard?” Her eyes twinkled again.

The woman was impossible. “No. I’m sorry, what I meant to say is that you’re excused.”

Jay bowed, not quite hiding the smile that crept across her face, and moved off in the direction of the Private Hall.

Shyrn watched her go, shaking his head. “You do make odd friends, Atro.”

“Somehow,” Atro agreed.

“So,” said Shyrn, business-like once more. “My daughter?”

“I can’t say that it would be a chore to have her as a wife,” said Atro. “I’m fond of her. But I have to stand by my convictions. I won’t force any woman to marry me.”

Shyrn nodded. “Then I will have to try once again to convince her.”

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