Hendra could not scream. She had no breath for it. Her arms and clothes were spattered, and her eyes and nostrils burned with the vile stench of her betrayal.
She dropped to her knees, the Lor’yentré slipping from her bloodied hand.
Telai!
Shrieks filled the air, a raw, collective outcry of shattered youth. Hendra sat silent, the knowledge of what she had done locking her in place like a stone effigy. No sight or smell existed beyond the sickening cloak she wore.
Telai! Answer me!
She heard dogs barking.
Dogs? Where did they come from?
Someone was shaking her. “Leave me alone!” she shrieked.
A strong slap wrenched her head aside. The sunlight and the blood and the stench vanished.
She was lying on her back. Tenlar crouched near, one arm tight around Slink’s chest as the dog struggled toward her. The rest of the dogs stood at the edge of the firelight, straining at the end of their leashes, their frenzied outbursts fading to growls and a few gruff barks.
“Tenlar?”
“Thank Orand. I’m here, Telai! Are you all right?”
Telai tried to sit up, then lay back, breathing heavily. She lifted a hand, then froze: red fingernail marks ran across her palm.
“What happened?”
“You were screaming. And I mean
screaming—
like you were being stabbed to death or something. Scared the living Hendra out of me.”
She covered her face, shuddering. “
Don’t say that name!
”
“Telai—what’s wrong?” Tenlar set his hand on her arm. “You’re shaking like a leaf!”
His touch took some of the horror away. Her breathing slowed, and she flexed her arms and shoulders to quiet the tremors. “Help me up.”
Tenlar wrapped his arm around to lift her. The fire had burned low, so she sat in her blankets again while he added more fuel. Slink nuzzled his head onto her lap, but Telai could only stare into the flames. Eventually he gave it up and curled beside her.
Telai struggled to find her voice. “How long before daylight?”
Tenlar poked the fire with a stick. “It’s so dark around here it’s hard to say. An hour or two, maybe.” He glanced at her. “Your voice is a little hoarse. Some hot broth will do you some good.”
Telai nodded, her stare still fixed, desperate for anything to rid the lingering images from her mind. Tenlar hung a pot of snow over the fire, then sat beside her again.
“Perhaps if you started at the beginning,” he said after a few minutes.
“Not now. I’ll tell you in the morning.”
Once the snow melted, Tenlar threw in a packet of bullion. Telai sipped the broth as soon as it was ready. It strengthened her, and she smiled at herself, noticing that his attentive ways didn’t seem to bother her anymore. She nearly asked him to stay by the fire, but there was no need: he reached in his coat, pulled out a whet stone, and started sharpening his Fetra—his refuge during those awkward gaps in their conversation. She doubted a sharper blade existed in all of Ada.
Yet what could even a Master Raén’s sword do against the power she had witnessed? Now she understood the nature of the evil that had taken root, long before Urman and his followers set sail on that fateful journey. Now she understood the depth of Heradnora’s madness.
She shuddered. The hollow scrape of stone against steel was the most helpless sound she had ever heard.
8
Bitter News
What we learn from history says more about us
than it does our ancestors.
- Telai, 13
th
Grand Loremaster of Ada
TELAI WATCHED
the fading fire as if deciphering hidden messages from the coals. Though the morning gloom still held sway beneath the towering trees, they had already packed, ready to resume their journey to whatever fate lay in store. Tenlar sat near, the occasional fidget or shuffling of feet betraying his impatience.
“I want you to promise me something,” she asked.
“Anything.”
“I never want to hear you say that name again.”
“You mean Hend—”
“Yes!” she snapped, cutting him off. Then she frowned and squeezed his arm in apology.
“I’ll do my best,” he said. “But it would be easier if I knew why.”
“Don’t be too sure of that. I always suspected a few things about Ada’s past—little discrepancies that would end my career if I brought them to light. Never
this
.”
“You’re a little dazed, that’s all. Give yourself time.”
“You weren’t there. You didn’t see what I did.”
“Well, if it’s that important, shouldn’t you tell your people?”
An eruption of bitterness fueled her limbs, and she jumped to her feet. She circled the fire, kicking dirt to quench the flames, then stood fast as the smoldering mix fought for survival.
“How can they believe what they refuse to hear?” she muttered.
Tenlar rose, keeping a discreet distance. “Can you at least tell
me
?”
She shot a quick glare at him. “You think you’re any different?”
“Don’t
you?
”
“I don’t know. I don’t know what to believe anymore.” He stepped closer, but she held out her hand to stop him, and turned away.
“If it’s so terrible, just blurt it out! Otherwise it’ll keep eating at you.”
Telai clasped her hair as if to tear the words out of her head. She had spent all her life seeking the truth, digging further and further into the past. Not once had she ever questioned the wisdom of it.
“Telai, what’s wrong?”
She lowered her arms and faced him. “Our traditions and beliefs, even the oldest of our legends—they’re nothing but a lie, Tenlar.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Heradnora! She fell from the sky in a ship, just like Caleb and Warren. She was jealous of the people chosen to live here.”
“Chosen? What do you mean? Chosen by whom?”
“Who do you think?” she cried. “Rennor and Ksoreda and all the rest. They’re our ancestors!”
It took him a minute to answer. “That’s impossible. Heradnora is the worst evil—”
She shook her head, silencing him. “Only because of the Lor’yentré, Tenlar.”
He stepped forward again, a gesture of appeasement. “I’m just a soldier, Telai. The only thing I know is my duty to Ada. As long as we hold on to that, what does it matter where we came from?”
“You don’t understand! All my life I’ve worked so hard to discover the secret of Ada’s past.” She spread her hands to either side. “I finally got what I wanted—and it’s turned everything I know into a big filthy lie!”
The last word echoed and died. She wrapped her arms tight, fighting an ache in her gut as real as any illness could inflict. The days and the months rolled back to the wind-swept grass of central Ada, where she had first met Caleb. Now she knew what it must have been like for him: a stranger uprooted from everything he had ever known.
“I don’t know what to say,” said Tenlar. “I’ll probably never fully understand what you just saw, let alone be of much help. But can you trust me enough to let me try?”
“How can you possibly help me with
this
?”
“By telling you something I should have told you years ago—about why I took the Oath like I did.”
“Why are you bringing that up? There’s no mystery. You couldn’t convince my mother I should join the Raéni, so you flew off in a rage to honor your precious duty.”
“It wasn’t rage—quite the opposite, in fact.”
“I won’t play any more of your games, Tenlar. Spit it out!”
He held his hands out in appeasement. “Garda wasn’t the only one I talked to. I went to Loremaster Acallor, too. He said you were the most gifted student he’d ever known.”
“Well, I’m sure that’s a nice thing for him to say, but what does this—”
“
Please
, Telai. He told me you had an uncanny ability to see things from a completely new perspective. He said you’d probably be Grand Loremaster someday—
if
you put your mind to it.”
Telai parted her lips, speechless for a moment. “Acallor said
that
?”
“He made me swear not to tell you. You were only sixteen, after all,” he added with a wink.
“Are you saying—”
“I could see it happening—the way you kept looking at him like you didn’t want to hurt his feelings.” He shrugged, an expression of regret more than helplessness. “I couldn’t let you throw something like that away. Nor could I refuse to take the Oath and place a burden of guilt on you, let alone myself. So I just—well—gave things a little push.”
For a long minute she wrestled with his words, navigating a bewildering mix of fury, reluctant admiration, and wounded pride. “After all these years, you let me believe—” she breathed, then tightened her hands into fists. “Curse you, Tenlar! Why didn’t you tell me?”
A wistful smile softened the regret in his eyes. “I was afraid you’d take it the wrong way—like I was manipulating you or something.”
Her arm twitched with the urge to slap him. “Well, guess what, Master Raén? You were! And you’re still at it!”
Tenlar reached for her hands, but she pulled away. “Telai … if you want to hate me, then so be it. I’ll pay that price.”
“Price? Ah, yes. A noble sacrifice for the good of Ada. You’re just like all the others—on and on about their precious
duty
. But it’s always
their
definition of the word, not mine.”
“Maybe you’re right. Maybe they
are
too blind to see, or too afraid. But Acallor was right, too.”
“Now you’re coddling me!”
His face hardened. “Stop it, Telai! Lower your shield for once, and listen.” He paused, but she gave no hint one way or the other. “I don’t think that old man has an intuitive bone in his body. I
know
I don’t. But I saw something in his eyes that day of the council. Now I know it in my heart: you were meant to go on this quest.”
“You’re talking nonsense, Tenlar.”
“Am I? Perhaps I manipulated you a little last night. But you were the one who took the plunge, not me. You had the courage to open your mind to the truth.” He shook his head. “If that
doesn’t qualify you to be the Grand Loremaster, then
nothing
does.”
His words, drilled home by an unmistakable tone of sincerity, stopped her cold. All this time she had been railing against those who tried to shackle her with the chains of duty, when in truth it was herself she feared the most. For she was the Grand Loremaster of Ada—not just in name but deep down to her bones, impossible to deny.
Tenlar smiled—another quirky, mischievous grin that charmed its way past her anger. “Getting pretty good at this, aren’t I?”
Telai gritted her teeth. “Damn you!”
“Again? Anyway, let me make up for it. You take the lead today. After all, it’s time I shut up and let the Grand Loremaster do her duty.” He cringed at Telai’s widening stare. “Um … maybe I shouldn’t use
that
word anymore, either
.
”
She walked to her sled, lifting her hood to hide a reluctant smile.
♦
The light was nearly full now, and they started off, winding their way through the mist-filled corridors between the trees. The sense of watchfulness never faded. Telai, strangely drawn by forces she did not understand, was so sure of the correct route that she changed course without a word, veering sharply to the northwest.
The sun arced overhead, at first sending rare shafts of light to the forest floor, until it vanished altogether. The trees soared ever higher. Inch by inch their girth expanded, foot by foot their height increased, until Telai began to doubt her own eyes. Huge branches, far above and monstrous in the gloom, seemed to merge and grow from one tree to another like bridges.
“
Ykéa!
”
Tenlar’s shout snapped her away from the spectacle. Too late. Her sled crashed against a massive root and fell to one side, Telai along with it. The dogs only made it worse, tangling their harnesses and snapping at one another in their efforts to free themselves. Tenlar stopped alongside to help sort things out, calm and soldier-like, speaking no word of reproach. A quick inspection revealed no sign of damage or injury. From that point on Telai forced herself to stop gawking and concentrate on the trail.
The snow cover thinned to two or three inches, either because of lesser snowfall or else tons of it held in place by the soaring canopy above; whatever the reason it slowed them, for the runners dragged, and the dogs panted heavily in the cold air to keep the loads moving. Telai and Tenlar added their own strength to the handles, and they were soon too occupied to give much heed to anything beyond their immediate surroundings.
Suddenly they emerged into a wide clearing, and came to a halt.
It was flat as a frozen lake, some three hundred feet in diameter and covered in a thick blanket of snow. The surrounding forest stood so high that the wintry afternoon only cast a pale gloom on the clearing, while the trees seemed to regard these intruders with somber expectation. There was little doubt in Telai’s mind that they had reached the end of their journey at last.
They unharnessed the dogs, fed them, and sat on their sleds munching strips of smoked venison. As Telai put aside her awe and examined the place with a more discerning eye, she noticed that the trees encompassed the glade in a perfect circle, every one the exact same distance apart. The only plausible explanation was that some ancient forester had planted them in this fashion, but she couldn’t shake the notion that they had grown there of their own design.
In any event they were so focused on the trees overhead they failed to notice anything on the ground. Telai was the first to spot it.
At the center of the circle grew a little pine only a few summers old. Barely half its slender branches cleared the snow. Anywhere else it would have meant nothing. Here it drew Telai like a magnet, and as they rose from their sleds and edged closer she realized that the growing sense of direction originated from this insignificant little tree. It looked so small against the backdrop of its giant companions. Yet she sensed a vague supremacy or power surrounding it, as if it was greater than the others in ways no mortal sight could detect.