Binding of Truth: To aid in determining lie from truth.
Best enhanced with doe herb and the scent of funeral bane. To be undertaken only by those well versed in communing with the Mother. The strength of the blood of the recipient will determine the spell’s efficacy.
—WISDOM OF THE FOLK
“Who are you?” Coal, the clan’s Protector, asked, his voice thunderous. Mooriah stifled a wince. She’d never liked the man who used his fists liberally for even the most benign of offenses. Crimson, Ember, and Rumble stood in a line next to him, standing over Fenix. The chieftain had included both of his potential heirs in this interrogation, probably to evaluate their leadership styles.
Mooriah and Glister were seated next the prisoner who lay upon the ground in the justice chamber, unable to sit upright. Mooriah held the censer of incense and a fan, wafting the smoke over to him, Glister sprinkled him with herb water every few minutes. Both were used to keep the prisoner calm, as the Binding of Truth often agitated people.
Oval sat cross-legged at Fenix’s head, deep in meditation with the Mother to monitor the man’s answers. An incision made just above his lip was part of a spell that had transferred the knowledge of the speech of the Folk to Fenix so that he could speak and understand them.
“I am a visitor,” Fenix replied. Fortunately, his eyes were closed, and Mooriah did not have to worry about becoming distracted by their odd shade.
“A visitor from where?” Coal questioned.
“Far away.” He sounded wistful.
Crimson grunted and crossed well-muscled arms. “Were you sent here to steal from us? To plunder our valuables and take them back with you? Speak, Outsider!”
“I was sent to observe. I found myself in a cave and saw the jewels embedded in the wall. I did not realize it would be considered stealing to take one.”
“Hmph.” Crimson was not satisfied in the least.
“What were you sent to observe?” Ember asked, voice soft.
Fenix rolled over and groaned. Mooriah suspected he was acting a bit, playing up his pain and injuries. She appreciated the performance. “Why does my power not work in these caves? I should be able to heal myself, but I cannot.”
“So you are a sorcerer?” Coal’s voice rose. “We are protected from your magic here.”
If he was an Earthsinger, he was an unusual one. Though Mooriah had only ever seen her father on his rare visits, she knew that the Singers bore similar features—quite different to Fenix’s. She wished he’d answered Ember’s question, what was he supposed to be observing?
Crimson let out an annoyed sigh. “This interloper from the Outside has nothing of interest to relay. He is sentenced to death. We will have no one desecrating the Mother in such a manner, ignorant or not.”
Next to him, Rumble smiled while Ember’s expression stayed carefully blank. But his gaze flashed to hers for a moment, and she recognized sorrow there. She pressed her lips, keeping her own emotions in check. Why did either of them care what happened to a stranger? She could do nothing to stop it. She just hoped his death would be speedy and painless.
Swift footsteps raced down the tunnel towards the chamber. A messenger stopped there, bowing low. “Forgive me, Chieftain, but the sorcerer has arrived.” The young boy’s gaze flitted to Mooriah, and her breath caught. “He wouldn’t wait, he said he needs to speak with you immediately.”
Emerging from the darkness behind him was a hooded figure. His brown cloak hid his features, but Mooriah recognized the walk. He stepped into the chamber, moving past the messenger and bowing before the chieftain, before removing his hood.
“I’m sorry to interrupt, but this is urgent,” he said, voice gravelly. “I must speak with my daughter.”
She swallowed the lump in her throat. “Hello, Father.”
Seated across the fire from him in the chieftain’s quarters, Mooriah studied her father, Yllis. It had been close to eight years since she’d last seen him. His hair was coiled in thick, silver locs, which cascaded down his back. The coloring was that of an old man, but he was only in his mid-forties. His face was still unlined, but stress and strain had changed his hair color too early.
Over the years, he had visited to check in on her at seemingly at random intervals. Always he asked how her studies were progressing, how her control of her Song had improved. He showed a detached sort of interest in her life but nothing of the love and care she saw between other fathers and daughters. He did not hug her or murmur endearments. Once he’d stroked her face and looked at her mournfully before leaving.
Now, seated next to Crimson, he sipped tea. Oval and Murmur were there as well, both remaining quiet. Ember and Rumble sat just behind their father, not included exactly, but observing. Soaking up knowledge for the day one of them would become chief.
“Why have you come, sorcerer?” Crimson asked gruffly.
Yllis was solemn. “I bring news of the war to you.”
Crimson waved an arm. “We care nothing for your war. Whether you Outsiders annihilate yourselves or not means little to us.”
“Even if many of those killed are your kin?”
Crimson sniffed and sipped from his drinking bowl.
“We are all kin when it comes down to it,” Yllis said softly, staring into the fire. Ember frowned, but no one else acknowledged his statement.
“Father, what of the war? I thought there was peace now because of the Mantle. Why are you here?”
Yllis’s eyes had deep circles beneath them. He looked haggard, as if he’d gone many nights without proper rest. He took a deep breath. “I came for you.”
All the breath left her body. She tensed, childish hopes living entire lives within her.
“I need your help.”
She struggled to keep the disappointment at bay. Of course he had not come to take her away with him, to be a real father. She was far too old for that anyway—she was a woman grown. What need did she have for a father? Ember’s gaze upon her was like a physical touch, but she kept her attention on her father’s face. His skin was so like hers. Familiar, but foreign.
“You need my help with what?” she croaked out.
“The Mantle separates the two lands and has paused the conflict between the Earthsingers and the Silent—those with magic and those without. This is true. It protects us from one another, but in the east, on the side with the Singers, there is still strife. The fighting has changed, it’s now more clandestine. The man who caused the war, who calls himself the True Father, has an uncontrollable lust for power. He steals it from the people, draining their Songs and taking them for himself. The Mantle keeps him trapped, locked in a land full of Earthsingers who fall victim to him.”
Misery suffused his face. “There are those in the east who oppose him and who are willing to fight. I am helping them, but the True Father has begun looking for ways to destroy the Mantle and unleash himself upon the world. The barrier is strong but could be stronger. I have been endeavoring to reinforce it at its most vulnerable point, its cornerstone, but the working requires something I do not have.”
Understanding dawned and Mooriah’s eyes widened. “Nethersong?”
He nodded, grave. “Yes, daughter. I know the strife of the Outside means little to you all down here. The Folk exist beyond the complications of what we go through, but this is still important. The True Father is trapped in a web of his own making, but I fear what it would mean if he were freed to roam the world with his stolen Songs. It could very well impact the Folk.”
“But how could Nethersong help?”
“I have long studied ways to combine the magics. We have successfully mixed Earthsong and blood magic and caused it to do things impossible with just one or the other. I have discovered that adding Nethersong can be quite potent. It can help form an additional layer of protection, one which I hope will not be necessary—my goal is still to defeat him—but I want to ensure there is a failsafe.”
Mooriah chewed on her lip. “I will help if I can.”
“It must not interfere with her studies,” Oval spoke up. “When you brought her to us all those years ago, it was for good reason. We accepted her on certain conditions.”
Mooriah bristled, her face growing hot.
“It is vital for her to master control of her Song, for the good of all, I know,” Yllis replied evenly. “This task will only aid in her study. It will give her hands-on application, not mere practice.”
Murmur swayed in his seat, eyes closed. His breathing was shaky, like it was when he received a vision. After a moment, he held up a hand and opened his eyes. “Something is coming, but I cannot see it yet.” He sighed heavily. “It will come in its time, but your father is right. Your control is admirable, but you must better understand the use of your Song.”
Oval huffed. “True, but that work is of a lifetime. She has also made a commitment to her apprenticeship that cannot be shirked.”
“I’m quite certain I can do both, Exemplar.”
His heavy-lidded eyes displayed some skepticism, but he merely nodded. “See that you do, else your position will be forfeited.” Along with her hopes of becoming a clan member.
She should tell her father no, reject him the way he had always rejected her, but she could not bring herself to do it. Silently cursing her weakness, she grit her teeth.
Murmur peered at Yllis and stroked his chin. “Your work on the Mantle’s cornerstone, would it benefit from the help of another Earthsinger?”
Yllis frowned. “Certainly, but none can cross the Mantle save me. All the others are locked in the east.”
“Not all,” Murmur said, looking at Oval significantly.
The elder shaman shook his head. “You speak of the Outsider? He has desecrated the Mother and must be punished.”
“His work on this would benefit the Mother, protecting Her from a scourge of sorcerers from the Outside descending upon Her. It would offer restitution for his crime that his mere death would not.”
Oval shrugged. “It is for the chieftain to decide.”
Mooriah held her breath as everyone looked to Crimson. The chieftain turned to his sons, seeking their input. Rumble spoke up first.
“The penalty for his action is death, we must hold fast to justice.” He crossed his arms, eyes flashing.
Ember tilted his head. “I believe that the prisoner’s blood would sully the Mother. Better he offer a redress and benefit Her in some way and then be exiled with the knowledge that if he ever returns, he will be killed.”
Crimson tapped his chin, considering. “Impure blood such as his should not be further spilled inside the sacred Mother. I will leave him in your custody, sorcerer. And you,” he motioned to Ember, “ensure that he never returns.”
Mooriah held back the sigh of relief. She shot Ember a grateful look. He gave an almost imperceptible nod. Though she was taking on this new task, she still had to find the time to meet with him and help him. It was more obvious than ever that he would be the far better choice for chieftain.
She turned to her father. “When should we begin?”
“As quickly as possible.”