“Tonight?” asked Dar.
“Hai, Muth Mauk. She said it must be dark.”
“Tell her I’ll meet her.”
After the messenger departed, Dar went alone to the Great Chamber. She extinguished her lamp when she reached it. The moon had risen and its soft, dim light illuminated the room. She climbed upon the throne and waited for Muth-pah. The matriarch arrived shortly.
“May Muth la bless you, Muth-pah.”
“Shashav, Muth Mauk.”
“I’m glad for this chance to speak with you, for I’ve thought much about my visit with your clan. After we entered darkness together, did you know I’d be queen?”
“Perhaps I should have known,” replied Muth-pah. “Yet I didn’t. Visions are always vague. Besides, our clan had waited generations for your arrival. We expected someone glorious.”
Dar smiled. “Not some barefoot washavoki?”
Muth-pah returned Dar’s smile. “Certainly not. I thought you were queen’s harbinger, not queen herself. Only when I arrived here, did I learn you were Muth Mauk.”
“So you were surprised.”
“Hai, but it made sense. But I didn’t ask to see you to speak about that,” said Muth-pah. “I have gift for you. Heirloom of my clan. It was made by Velasa-pah himself”
“It must be precious.”
“It is. There’s only one in world.”
“What is it?” asked Dar.
Muth-pah gave Dar a dark cloth pouch containing a heavy object the size of a woman’s fist. Dar opened the pouch to reveal a smooth, black stone. The darkness permitted a faint glow to be seen within its depths. It moved like a luminescent fog, shifting in shape and color as Dar watched. “That is Velasa-pah’s Trancing Stone,” said Muth-pah.
The stone grew warmer as Dar held it, heating her hand instead of the reverse. “Is it magic?”
“Hai. Like you, Velasa-pah was once washavoki. Washavokis speak of Dark Path where spirits go upon death. Do you know of it?”
“I do.”
“It’s said spirits leave their memories behind as they journey upon this path, and I believe this is so.
Velasa-pah’s stone allows those who hold it to find those memories and relive them. He created this stone after Tarathank fell, so he might recall perished loved ones. Yet, be warned that such glimpses can be perilous.”
“How?”
“They can disturb your chest. Some memories are stronger than others. Those of great fear or sorrow are especially potent. I don’t know what Velasa-pah saw, but I know it brought him sorrow. He said that when he gave this stone to my ancestors. He also told them that this stone was meant for you.”
“Me?”
“Queen from west.”
Dar glazed at the stone, fascinated but wary. “How does it work?”
“Hold it in dark and think of one whose memories you seek. They will come.”
“Have you ever used this stone?”
“Only once.”
“What was it like?”
“I can’t speak of it. Forgive me, Muth Mauk, it’s too painful.”
“Shashav for this gift.”
Muth-pah bowed and departed.
Dar sat in the dark gazing at the mysterious stone. Its shifting colors fascinated her and also the idea that she might experience moments from departed lives. Her mother immediately came to mind, but the traumatic memory of her death in childbirth made Dar rethink the choice. Dar could easily see how reliving that night would open old wounds.
Dar also thought of Twea. Her death was even more terrible. But it was also mysterious. Who killed her? Dar didn’t recall Muth-pah saying that the stone revealed only moments that were fearful or sorrowful. Besides, my dreams of Twea are already painful. Could the stone’s visions be any worse? Dar imagined not and yielded to temptation. Holding the stone, she thought of Twea.
What happened next seemed less real than waking life, but more vivid than any dream or memory. She was staring down at two bare feet. They were small and dirty. One foot swung from side to side, its big toe marking a crescent in the dirt. Above the thin legs was a ragged, oversized shift. Dar realized those were Twea’s feet, as seen from Twea’s perspective.
“Look at me!” shouted a woman’s voice.
The view changed to a hard-faced woman whom Dar had never seen before. Yet she knew the speaker. Twea called her Auntie. “Ye’re garbage,” said Auntie. “Yer mother throwed ye away. That’s why ye can’t sleep in the house.”
The image faded to be replaced by another. Dar recognized the setting. It was one of the army’s encampments in enemy territory. Dar saw Taren stirring the porridge pot, and then she spied herself. She was dusty from the day’s march and burdened with a load of firewood. Then—since this was Twea’s memory—she felt a surge of love. It was so intense that she dropped the stone.
Dar was alone in the Great Chamber, still experiencing Twea’s love. She believed I was her mother! Seen from the child’s perspective, it didn’t seem impossible, and Dar understood how need and imagination had made it so. She never told me.
Dar held the stone again and was in a different place. It was dark. She was in a wagon bed, hidden under a coarse cloth. There were shouts and screams horrible to hear. Weapons clanged. She was anxious and terrified. WhenisDar coming? She said she’d get me.
There were soft thumping sounds at the rear of the wagon. Someone moaned. Dar recognized the sounds, though Twea did not. They were arrows striking someone. Taren’s just b^ killed, thought Dar, steeling herself for what she knew would follow. Still, she gripped the stone, reliving Twea’s last memory.
The cloth is jerked aside. “Dar?”
Not Dar. Soldiers. She had served them porridge just that morning. One speaks. “Nay, birdie. Dar’s been hurt. We’re here to take ye to her. Where’s she at?”
“I don’t know! She said wait here!”
“Are ye sure, birdie? Dar’s hurt real bad. She needs ye. Needs ye now.”
“I don’t know where she is! I don’t know!”
Sobbing.
“She’s useless,” said a soldier. “Do we take her to Kol?”
“Nay,” said the other. “He only wants Dar. He said do it here.”
A sword blade flies out. It feels like burning. It’s sticking in my chest! Blood! My blood! Burning. Growing darkness. Burning. Nothing.
The Trancing Stone fell from Dar’s hand, yet pain lingered in her chest. Not the pain of a sword strike, but pain equally as hurtful. Dar wailed with grief and rage. Gradually, rage dominated. It colored the darkness red.
“Kol!” screamed Dar. “Kusk washavoki!” W&shavoki filth! “Ga dava-tak fer!” You killed her!
Thirty-two
Although Kovok-mah pined for Dar, he found life in the garrison an improvement over that in the palace. Two barracks had been refurbished for the orc guards. Their circular walls made them feel homier and each contained a proper hearth, which vented through a hole in the ceiling. Reed mats covered the dirt floors, the rough stone walls had been plastered, and wooden doors replaced the hide door flaps. Better yet, another barracks had been turned into a bath with a flagstone floor, a stone bathing pool, and means to heat the bathwater. Even the food had improved somewhat. It was still served by woe mans. They and the black-garbed Queen’s Men were the only washavokis within the
The gates of the garrison were always open, and sons went freely into Taiben to serve at the palace. Two orcs guarded the queen by day and another two by night. This number bothered Kovok-mah, for it seemed inadequate. While two armed and armored urkzimmuthi were formidable protectors, he knew they could be overwhelmed. Separating the queen from her troop of orcish guards seemed foolish to Kovok-mah, and he worried that Dar would be displeased by the change.
Kovok-mah had felt isolated ever since Zna-yat had left for the royal hall. He had received no news or instructions from Dar, and Sevren hadn’t visited the garrison. Kovok-mah had yet to send his report to Dar. He wanted to deliver it personally, but feared that would jeopardize her. After vacillating for days, Kovok-mah acted. He wrote out his account and asked Garga-tok to provide a courier. Watching the messenger depart, Kovok-mah nearly ran after him to trade places. Instead, he returned to the barracks. He opened his pack and withdrew the tunic he had worn on the night Dargu slept in his arms. He had not washed or worn it since. Kovok-mah held the garment to his face, breathed in Dar’s scent, and sighed.