Chapter 24 TAAR #2
Seemingly unaware of Halamar—though I suspect that is far from the truth—Tassa continues: “Kildorath tried to talk me into marriage yet again, immediately upon his return. He believed our union would solidify his chances of not only taking over Rocaryn Tribe, but also potentially uniting the other Licornyn tribes under his rule.”
“Good luck to him on that score,” I mutter.
Tassa sniffs. “So I told him. I told him as well he could have fun trying without me at his side as some sort of puppet maelar.”
“How did he take that?”
“Oh, he kissed me. So I punched him in the jaw. After which he got aggressive, and Halamar . . .” She glances at her cell-mate then sighs and tilts her head back, staring up at the circle of paling sky above.
“Well, they tossed us down here when word of your approach arrived. Wanted to keep us out of the fray, I suspect. And so I thought we would remain, alone together until we starved to death. Only now they’ve thrown you in after us, so . . .”
“Starvation forestalled,” Halamar murmurs.
“Yes. You’re nice and meaty.” Tassa pinches my arm. “A little tough, maybe.”
I roll my eyes. “Surely cannibalism isn’t our only option.”
“Got any better ideas?”
“Perhaps a living ladder. If you stand on my shoulders, and I stand on Halamar’s—”
Halamar grunts.
“All right, if Halamar stands on mine . . .”
“Now you’re just being ridiculous,” Tassa snips, and wraps her arms around her knees, hugging them tight.
It is ridiculous. I know it full well. This whole situation. “I doubt we’ll be left to starve,” I say in an effort to forestall despair. “Onor Gantarith would not stand for it.”
Tassa’s face goes still.
“What is it?”
“Gantarith is dead,” Halamar says in a low voice. “He sided against Kildorath and prophesied disaster for all who turned their backs on the last luinar of Licorna. Kildorath slew him where he stood.”
A cold stone settles in the pit of my gut.
Gantarith and I had our differences, particularly of late, when he proposed the ceremonial murder of my wife as a way to break our velra bond.
But I know the old priest always sought to do right by the people and took responsibility for their spiritual welfare to heart.
As the last high priest of the last Holy House, his role was both a burden and a grace.
Now he’s dead. And what will become of religious order among the remnants of Licorna? Will nothing of our culture, of our once-mighty civilization, survive?
“So did you have a plan?” Tassa asks abruptly.
I lift my chin, my expression dull. “A plan for what?”
“To save us. To protect our failing borders and the ilsevel blossoms. To rid our world of the vardimnar. Had you come up with another magnificent strategy or scheme, or were you too busy kidnapping your wife again?”
“My last plans for world-saving did not turn out so well.”
Tassa goes still for a little while. I can’t decide if her silence is a relief, or if I would welcome another interruption of my own self-flagellating thoughts. Finally, in a hushed tone, near a whisper, she says, “I heard you used the virulium. In the heat of battle.”
I nod. Then I bury my face in my hands. The virulium is still present, burning deep inside me. Unpurged, always hungry.
“I understand,” Tassa continues gently. “Sometimes I think I would like to down a dose of the Demon’s Kiss myself and—”
“No!” I turn sharply to my sister, my eyes catching and holding hers. “Don’t say that, Tassa. Never again. Whatever happens, you must stay true to the goodness in your heart. Stay true to the memory of our mother and—”
My tongue trips over the next word: father. Once again the strange accusations spoken by Larongar Cyhorn fill my head, darkening the horizons of my mind. I don’t want to believe them, would give anything in the world not to believe them. But I do.
The sound of approaching footsteps draws my attention. “Oh, huzzah,” Tassa murmurs. “Sounds like they’re coming to execute us at last!”
For all her blithe words, I feel her quaking beside me. I hate to see my fearless sister reduced to trembling terror. I take hold of her hand and notice that Halamar has taken the other one.
Heads appear above, silhouetted by sky. Thuridar and Birenthor, both friends and war-brothers these many years.
I trained with Birenthor as a young man, under Thuridar’s supervision.
And yet, looking up at them now, I see the faces of enemies, men I fought only last night in my struggle to give my wife a chance to escape.
“Taarthalor Ragnataarthane,” Thuridar says, his voice echoing strangely against the stones. “Talanashta Estathanei.”
“Present,” Tassa answers dryly, very nearly disguising the shudder in her voice.
“You are both summoned to stand before Chief Kildorath Hardorthane.”
“Oh, it would be my pleasure,” I respond, and hold up my bound hands, “but I seem to be rather tied up at the moment.”
There is no immediate answer. Both faces withdraw, and we are alone for some moments.
Then a stout board secured to a strong rope is lowered down into the cell.
I know I am meant to sit on it, cling tight to the rope, and let myself be hauled to the surface.
Tassa, Halamar, and I all stand, backs against the wall, and watch its descent.
When it is low enough, I catch my sister’s gaze. “Ladies first?”
She grimaces. “I’d really rather not. What if they’re planning to execute us the moment we emerge?”
“Would you prefer to stay down here and starve to death with Halamar?”
She glances at her former love. He shrugs and raises one brow.
With a curse, Tassa approaches the board, awkwardly wraps her hobbled legs around it, and grips the rope with her bound hands. Not a comfortable position, but she looks secure enough. Just before it rises, Halamar steps forward and, much to my surprise, kisses my sister on the mouth.
She jerks back, scowling at him. “What was that for?” she snarls.
“In case they kill you. I would never forgive myself if I didn’t kiss you one last time.”
She stares at him, eyes bulging from her skull. Then, “Shakh!” she yelps as the board begins to rise, hauled upwards bit by bit by a powerful, unseen licorneir.
I don’t truly believe they will kill her, and yet I wait with bated breath as she reaches the top of the well, and strong arms haul her out of sight.
My ears strain for sounds of a death scream, but I hear only Tassa’s voice speaking shrilly: “Get your hands off me. I’m perfectly capable of walking on my own. ”
I breathe out a short sigh, and soon the board is lowered again. I look at Halamar. “You?”
“I wasn’t invited to this particular banquet,” he points out.
I nod. My throat is suddenly tight, and I find it difficult to swallow. “If this is the end, Halamar . . . if I do not see you again . . .”
“I’m not kissing you, Taar.”
I swear, I could punch the man. Why must he have disappeared into velrhoar so completely these last few years? Why did I lose the friend I once knew, and why must he only reappear at this final, bitter end?
But at least he’s here—not quite the man he was, perhaps, but a version of him I recognize. Testimony to the power of my wife’s gift and the healing her song wrought in him.
Without another word, I mount the board, grip the rope, and tug to signal my readiness. Halamar holds my gaze as I am hauled up and out of the cell, leaving him behind.
Thuridar and Birenthor are joined by other Licornyn riders along with a dozen stern Rocaryn warriors to escort my sister and me into Elanlein and through the dark temple passages.
Every face among them is familiar to me, every soul one I would count as a friend.
I could make a bid for escape, fight for my freedom and my sister’s, and take many of their lives before they inevitably cut me down.
But how could I bear to commit such a sin? To kill my own people?
It is chilling to walk these dark passages, which were once a source of holy comfort to me.
The ilsevel blossoms, which have always grown in profuse vines along these walls, seem strangely wilted, their vibrant petals blackened on the edges, as though they’ve been touched by a poisonous hand.
The holiness which I once breathed in the air of this place has fled, leaving behind a subtle stench of rot.
Something is wrong here—deeply wrong. But I am unable, in my present state, to fathom it.
“Taar,” Tassa says suddenly, stumbling along beside me, her gait awkward with her feet bound.
“Taar, I want you to know, I don’t blame you.
I meant what I said . . . I did like her.
When I got to know her. She was . . . she was brave and determined.
She could take a fall and a hit, and she never once backed down. ”
Are those tears I hear, choking her voice? I can discern little of her expression in this darkness.
“I don’t know if I’ll ever truly understand what you did or why you did it,” she continues. “But I do understand why you love her. And I hope . . . oh gods, I hope she was worth it. All of this and whatever happens next.”
I wish I could find words to answer, some miraculous phrase which might begin to express what Ilsevel means to me.
None will come; and I’m not certain it would help in any case.
So I merely reach out with my bound hands and touch my sister’s arm.
“You are the truest friend and companion a brother could ask for,” I say.
“Thank you for standing with me, through thick and thin. And I am sorry. I am sorry, Tassa. For failing the promise I made to our mother.”