La’tiera woke to the soft singing of birds and bright sunshine pouring in through the wagon’s windows. She felt rested, which surprised her. Thinking about the dancing the night before made her feel better.
Lalu sat on the other bed doing some stitching.
“Good morning. Sleep well?” Her moving hands never slowed, the needle going in and out.
“Yes, thank you.”
“Breakfast is over there on the table.” Lalu inclined her head toward a built-in set of drawers.
La’tiera sat up slowly, her nose curling slightly as she smelled fear-tainted sweat on her nightclothes. “Will I be able to bathe?”
The old woman grinned. “I guess that depends on your definition of bathing.”
La’tiera stared at her, not understanding.
Lalu set her stitching aside and got up. From drawers opposite the set holding her breakfast, she lifted the top and revealed a hidden washbasin with water and several folded cloths.
“I’m afraid that while we’re traveling, this is the best we can do.” She returned to the bed and gathered up her things. “There are drying cloths in the drawer beneath that one. If you’ll bring the cloths and your shift outside once you’re done we’ll make sure they get washed.”
La’tiera waited until she was gone before leaving the bed and approaching the water-filled bowl. This was how they bathed? She stared skeptically at the minuscule amount of water as she compared it to the huge bath she normally used. There was no way she’d be able to clean her hair. Not with this. How could they stand it?
Deciding to use what she had, if she wanted any kind of bath at all, she removed her shift and stepped closer to the basin. It was then she noticed the simple mirror attached to the lid of the compartment. She could see herself in its reflection, but the image was not as clear as in the one she had at home.
She checked the birthmark of the Eye on her chest, remembering the green light she had seen when she’d wakened from her vision. She ran her fingers over it, and frowned—the area felt different from before. It was almost as if she’d developed a bump there, but though she studied it in the mirror, she could see no difference. Was it changing?
Shaking her head, she stopped trying to see it and picked up one of the cloths. Though she glanced around she saw no oils or creams. The cloth felt coarse against her skin. She didn’t much like it.
After cleaning herself as best she could and putting on the clothes she found folded at the end of the bed, she ate breakfast. She wasn’t excited by the simple fare but ate it all. She noticed the shirt, like her own clothes, was cut close to the neck to keep the Eye hidden.
Cleaned, full and dressed, she figured she was as ready as she would ever be to face the world. So, gathering her dirty things, she opened the door to the wagon and stepped outside. She found Lalu sitting on the tailgate’s edge waiting for her.
“Ah, there you are. I was starting to wonder if you’d decided to spend the day indoors.”
La’tiera decided to ignore the comment. “Where did you want me to put these?”
The old woman chuckled. “Over there where Tersa is working.”
Glancing in the direction she pointed, La’tiera spotted the dancer by a large shallow tub. Kyr stood beside her, emptying a bucket of water into it. Hair in a ragged bun and sleeves pushed back to the shoulders, she was rubbing something up and down on a board partially sticking in the water. Behind her, between two trees, lines were strung up, and articles of clothing hung from them, dripping onto the grass.
La’tiera approached, watching what Tersa was doing with growing curiosity. Mela had always taken her clothes away each day and brought them back smelling clean and fresh, but she’d never had any idea how they got that way.
“Lalu said I should bring these to you?”
Tersa gave the bundle an ugly look. “Just set them there, please.”
She did as directed.
“Do you have any experience with laundry, by any chance?” Tersa asked.
“No, I’m afraid I haven’t.” She wasn’t about to admit she’d never seen it done before.
Tersa let go of the garment she’d been working on and shook the soapy water off her fingers. “Here, let me see your hands.”
Not sure why, La’tiera put them forward for inspection. Tersa turned them over and looked at her palms and fingers. Like Dal’s, Tersa’s hands were calloused and rough. At the moment, they also looked red and chapped. In comparison, hers were smooth and white, except for where she held her brushes and charcoals.
“That’s what I thought.”
“Is it bad?”
Tersa grinned. “No, it just means I can’t rope you into doing this for me. These hands are too pretty to ruin.”
La’tiera felt embarrassed by the statement, though she wasn’t entirely sure why. “I–I’m not allowed to do any work.”
Tersa laughed. “Not allowed? Wouldn’t that be grand!” The dancer’s eyes were bright as she tucked an errant curl behind her ear. “Off with you, then, before I’m tempted to have you do something forbidden.” Still laughing, she returned to her work.
La’tiera walked away not totally understanding what was so amusing. Kyr sheepishly nodded at her as he came by with another bucket of water. Rostocha and Mishal both greeted her as well from the table where they looked to be repairing one of the drums.
A flurry of giggles from the other side of the wagon tugged at her attention. Turning that way, she felt Lalu’s eyes following her wherever she went.
Aya and Dal were practicing some simple acrobatics, a group of six young children watching closely, trying to emulate them. They were having a great time laughing at one another as they tried to match the players. She noticed Dal kept most of his movements slow, giving the children plenty of time to see how he was doing things. She could see his muscles straining with effort as he laughed along with them. Aya, however, had no mercy on them, doing all her tricks as fast as possible.
La’tiera drifted a little closer, using a tree as partial cover, not wanting to intrude. She now had the opportunity to study the children a little closer, unlike the day before. Like Aya, they all seemed to be smaller versions of adults, their faces rounder, softer than the grownups’. These would be the adults of the future, the ones to whom her sacrifice would mean the most. She smiled watching them—their dirty faces, their laughter, their smiles, the endless energy. Had she been that way at their age?
Her gaze slipped over to Dal. She wondered what he’d been like as a child. He looked so comfortable with them, enjoying himself as much as they were. He seemed so open this way, so carefree, more like when they’d first met than the serious man he became once he learned she would be giving her life away. How could they be the same person?
“Is he yours?”
She jumped at the voice behind her. Turning around, she found a young woman, her face and arms tanned from being outdoors, a filled bucket of oats in her arms.
“Mine?”
“Sure, the black-haired handsome one. It’s a straightforward enough question, isn’t it?”
La’tiera stared at her bland face. “Ah, I’m sorry. But I really don’t understand what you’re asking.”
The girl raised an irritated brow. “Are you paired with him or is he a free man?”
“P–Paired?” La’tiera’s eyes grew wide. The woman thought that she and Dal…?
“You’re a pretty thing but kind of slow, aren’t you.” She shifted the bucket to her opposite hip.
La’tiera blushed. “No, he’s not mine. Not anyone’s, as far as I know.”
“Even though he only danced with you?” A crooked smile lit her face. “Well, that’s very interesting.” With her free hand, she reached up behind her and loosened her brown hair so it would fall freely to her shoulders. “Tell me, how long is the troupe planning to stay here?”
“A day or two, I believe. I don’t really know.”
“You wouldn’t, would you. But a few days—this is getting better and better. With the Trial coming, we must do what we can.”
La’tiera didn’t like her tone. It occurred to her that perhaps this person planned on trying to make Dal hers in some way. She wasn’t sure she liked that but couldn’t say why.
“By the way, what do you do for the troupe?”
She felt her throat go dry. What should she say? Then, she realized she could tell the truth—this girl might be able to help her. From her actions so far, she somewhat doubted she’d believe her, but the tale might still get back to the head of the village and then somehow back to her uncle. She at least had to try.
“Actually, I—”
“She’s an artist.”
La’tiera glanced guiltily back over her shoulder at Dal’s unexpected intrusion.
“Is that right?” The village girl smiled at him, her eyes brightening. All that because of him?
“Painter’s Guild asked us to see her safely to Sais to fill a position there. In exchange, she’ll help us figure out some decorations for our wagons and do sketches we can sell as well.”
La’tiera shivered as he placed an easy hand on her shoulder. How could he lie so easily? It sounded like the truth.
The girl gave her an unhappy look. “Is she any good?”
“Come back later, and she’ll draw your picture for you. My treat.”
The smile came back on full force. “Really?”
“It would be my pleasure.”
La’tiera could hear the returned smile in his voice. She liked it no better than the girl’s.
“Shierla!”
The girl glanced to the right. “I’ve got to go. But I’ll make sure to come by after my chores are done. Maybe tonight you might save a dance for me.” She gave him a half-curtsey, made awkward by the bucket she was holding, her eyes never leaving his. “See you soon.”
“Until then.”
La’tiera stared unhappily at the ground, having missed out on a chance to get help but also bothered by what seemed to have gone on among the three of them.
Dal’s hand left her shoulder. “That was close.”
She turned around to face him. “How could you lie to her like that?” She felt her face grow hot remembering other falsehoods he’d told. Those had come easily as well.
Dal frowned. “Lie to her like what? You’re an artist, and we are keeping you safe while escorting you to another city, though admittedly not Sais. It would prove hard to protect you if we went along telling everyone the truth whenever they asked.”
It didn’t make her feel any better. “But what about the rest of it? She now expects me to do a drawing of her, but I have nothing to work with. How will your lie help you then?”
“Oh, that’s not a problem.” He grinned. “Come on.” Grabbing her hand, he set off toward the farthest of the wagons.
As he dragged her along, La’tiera was hard-pressed to keep up. Gasping for breath, she waited outside as he ran into the wagon. Moments later, he reappeared carrying a small bundle.
“After I found out how much you liked to draw, I picked these up in town. I hope they’ll do.” He extended the package toward her. “I would have given it to you sooner, but I hadn’t found a good time.”
Staring at his excited face in surprise, she took the wrapped bundle and peeked at the contents. Inside were a small nondescript box and a leather satchel. In the box she found ten charcoal sticks and in the satchel a short stack of thick paper.
“I don’t understand. Why would you do this?” She looked up at him, her heart beating faster, confusion washing over her. He had betrayed her, and now he gave her gifts?
She saw his cheeks redden before he looked away. “I just thought you would enjoy them. It’s a sort of apology for the rough way I knew we were going to have to take you away from there.”
La’tiera stiffened at the words, but seeing his truly earnest expression didn’t have the heart to spoil it by saying what she thought. Nothing he did would ever make up for the fact he’d ripped her away from her home, though with this, he did bring back something truly important to her.
“Thank you.” She decided not to meet his gaze.
“We truly only want to help you.”
She said nothing, knowing it wouldn’t do any good.
“La’tiera! La’tiera!” Aya ran up to her. “Gire and Lessy are going to show me around. They said there’re lots of animals here. You have to come, too. It will be really fun!” She grabbed onto her arm as if her answer had already been delivered.
La’tiera looked down at the girl then out into the village. Animals, she would get to see animals. She didn’t resist as Aya pulled her away, her own steps quickening. Dal followed them.
The village was a small one, or so Aya informed her, with one large communal building that served for village functions—the village council, storage and a myriad of other things. Most of the homes ran along one side or the other of the main road, though a few were farther off, closer to the wide array of cultivated fields. A tavern/general store took up space at one end of town. Close to the communal building was a small stone structure Aya pointed out as the local shrine for the Four Gods.
La’tiera stared at it as they came near. Banners, streamers and other colorful decorations covered it from top to bottom, making sure there was no way it would be missed. The whole concept of worshiping and praying to Gods who were no longer there was incomprehensible to her. She expected a lecture or some such from Dal, but he said nothing as they took a look inside.
Fresh flowers and foodstuffs covered a small shelf before four statues in the vague shapes of people. The walls were painted behind them, showing a young man with an open eye on his chest and the Herald crossing the sky.
Fascinated, she was also reminded how little time was left. But why would they do all this? What did they think giving long-gone Gods tribute would accomplish?
Her attention turned to an old woman kneeling before the statues. The woman stood up and turned, sensing them there.
“The time is near, children. The Herald is in the sky again.” She pointed upwards. “Make sure to say your prayers every evening. Ask them to give the Bearer strength.”
That said, and followed by long looks to make sure they’d heard her, she shuffled outside. La’tiera watched her with barely concealed wonder. They prayed to the Gods for them to help her? Might they do such a thing?
Two of the children quickly rushed forward and planting kisses on their palms, touched the statues then ran back out. La’tiera shook her head and followed them out. The old woman didn’t need to worry. She possessed strength enough to do what needed to be done when the time came. Still, she felt grateful for the support. She wondered how many other villages or cities were now trying to send her strength. She wouldn’t fail them.
Aya’s two friends took them everywhere, almost as full of energy as she was. They showed them the enclosed yards behind most of the houses, homes to small gardens and domesticated animals like chickens, dogs, cats, cows and goats. Each one was a wonder to La’tiera, finally be able to see the drawings from her books come to life. Their strong scents, their strange habits and the noises they made—it was all amusing, enlightening and strange. Her hands tingled with excitement as Aya brought one of the cats over for her to pet, cradled in her arms. The fur was so soft and smooth. She was surprised when touching it made the creature thrum and emanate a strange vibrating sound. For a moment, she thought she’d done something wrong, until she noticed the contented, slit green eyes of the creature, gazing on her as if telling her how privileged she was at being allowed to touch her.
The dogs scared her a little, as one happy bouncing pup decided he wanted to leap into her arms, though he was half as tall as she was. Dal saved her from the continuous attention, laughing as he saw the half-horrified, half-thrilled expression on her face.
Horses seemed so large up close. She knew people could ride them, but she thought their backs were awfully high, and she had no idea how they got up there. She was surprised to see they had whiskers, something never depicted in her picture books.
Along with the animals, La’tiera saw the people of the village as they worked—churning butter, washing clothes, feeding the animals or tending their gardens. Some were in the fields of corn and grain but were too far away for her to really make out what they were doing. Everywhere she looked she saw ribbons in the colors of the Four Gods. Some homes had miniature shrines facing in the direction the Herald traveled, all filled with sweet cakes, shiny stones and other offerings. She let it all wash over her, absorbing everything she could, though there was much she didn’t entirely understand.
“We’d best be going back,” Dal suggested a couple of hours later. “Lalu will be cross if we don’t make it for lunch.”
Aya bid her friends goodbye and promised to look for them later. As they strolled back, La’tiera was tired, but her mind raced with all she had seen so far.
They congregated at the table behind the half-circle of wagons and ate. Once they were done, Aya got pulled by Bentel to help her with some chores, and Dal excused himself to take care of some of his own. La’tiera stayed at the table, more than content not to be doing anything at the moment, still absorbing all she’d seen before. She set Dal’s gift on the table and stared at it, not reaching for the charcoal or paper though her hands itched more than ever to draw.
Lalu sat on the steps to one of the wagons, keeping an eye on her but otherwise leaving her to her own devices.
Dal’s kindness puzzled her, as did his enjoyment of her wonder at the things she’d seen today. Everything he did seemed to speak of him as a kind, nice person, but she couldn’t understand how that could be when he was also the same man who had kidnapped and lied to her. Could people be both good and evil?
“Say, what have you got there?” Tersa dropped onto the bench on the other side of the table, eyeing the chalk and paper.
“Dal gave them to me,” La’tiera said. “So I can draw.”
Tersa reached out and felt the paper. “That’s interesting.”
“What is?”
Tersa’s dark eyes met her own. “This paper.”
“It’s the kind I normally use,” La’tiera admitted. “Is there something wrong with it?”
“No. But paper is expensive, so I don’t want to think about how much more this special kind would have cost him.”
“I don’t understand.”
Tersa stared at her for a long while, as if not believing her. “Hm, maybe you don’t, at that.” She tilted her head, exposing her graceful neck. “I keep forgetting you’ve lived all your life locked away like a cask of wine in a cellar.”
La’tiera didn’t truly grasp what she meant by this, either, but wasn’t going to ask and look like a fool again—one point of ignorance at a time.
“Won’t you explain it to me?”
Tersa leaned forward, placing her arms on the table, the scent of soap and sweat wafting from her in soft waves.
“I don’t know if I’m the best person for this, but I’m willing to give it a try.” She closed her eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. “The things you had at home, they’re a lot different from what we have. Different from what you’ve seen that the villagers have—the clothes, the food, the houses.”
La’tiera fingered the rough fabric of her simple skirt beneath the table. She thought of the thatch-roofed buildings, the bitter wine, the thick breads, the hard bed she had to sleep in.
“Yes, they’re very different.”
“Any thoughts on why that would be?”
She blinked, not having thought about it before. “Because my uncle is a viscount and he was born to the important job of protecting the people and lands of the area—because he strives to work for the good of all.”
Tersa nodded. “That’s true. But what is also true is that he charges for that protection in the form of taxes and tribute—money, in other words. And those who have money can buy better or more things than those who don’t. Don’t you think everyone would want to have the things he has?”
She’d never thought of that. “I guess so. But not everyone is highborn.”
“So, you don’t think Aya should have nice things just because she is a foundling?”
La’tiera quickly shook her head. “I never said that.”
Tersa sighed. “I told you I wasn’t made for this. Let me try to say it another way. The fact your uncle has more money than most means he can have finer things than anyone else. Most people, however, have no choice but to purchase what they can afford. That paper is more than most people can afford.”
La’tiera nodded. “So, you’re saying Dal should not have gotten this for me.”
“Right. He is not a noble, he collects no taxes and I’d wager getting you those things took a nice chunk if not most of what he had. Meaning he now doesn’t have money for other things he might need. You should be flattered. He’s normally pretty close with his earnings.” Tersa gave her a knowing smile.
La’tiera stared at the paper, realizing she had no idea of the trouble giving her this might cost him, or what it was to do without, which because of her he might now have to.
“Maybe I should give them back.”
“Oh, no! Never do that! Men giving women presents is something we want to encourage. As much and as often as we can.” Tersa laughed. She got up to go. “If you don’t squander them and treat them as important, he won’t care about the expense. And, as it should, it might entice him to buy you more.” Still laughing softly, she headed off toward one of the wagons.
La’tiera stared after her, totally confused by the conversation. At first she thought Tersa was trying to make her understand how the gift would make trouble for Dal, but now she was encouraging her to try to get more from him. It made no sense!
How many other things did she not understand and would have to stumble through before her uncle found her? She’d never thought the actions of others would be so confusing. In all the stories you always knew what everyone was thinking and what everyone was about. Reality was altogether irritatingly different.
Staring once more at her gift, she pulled out one of the pages and ran her fingertips caressingly over it. She would not squander the pages. She would doodle with sticks on the ground or ashes on a table, only using the paper when she was sure of what she wanted to draw. She would treat them as the rarity Tersa implied they were, like the entertainments her uncle arranged on occasion for her. That she understood quite well.
She placed the paper back inside the satchel.
* * * *
Late in the afternoon, the troupe gathered one by one back at the table. Bentel brought out large bowls of soup, and bread, Aya putting smaller empty bowls before each person. Using the ladle in the first bowl, each of them served themselves. La’tiera hesitated, not sure if she should as well, so Aya decided to take care of it for her. She scooped soup into the bowl once, twice and looked to be aiming for a third time when Rostocha made her stop.
“She’s not the only one eating, you know.”
La’tiera stared at her bowl, almost filled to overflowing, and wondered how the child expected her to eat it all.
“But Bentel says food is good for you and makes people happy,” Aya said. “And I want La’tiera to be very happy.”
“We all want that, sprite, but you keep giving her food and you’re likely to kill her with it.”
Laughs rang all around. La’tiera felt embarrassed at the attention, but was also grateful for Aya’s feelings. Hearing them talk as if they actually cared about her felt strange.
There not being enough room at the table for all of them, some brought over stools and sat back from it. Collecting her bowl and some bread, La’tiera gave up her space and sat down in the shade of a nearby tree. Aya never sat, running back and forth as if too full of energy to stop long enough to eat properly.
The others ate and talked of everyday things—the coming weather, Rostocha’s conversation with the village leader, the mood of the villagers, the state of their crops. They reminded her of her conversations with her uncle—except these went both ways, for everyone had something to contribute. There was a warmth to their camaraderie she had never experienced before. This must be what it was like to be part of a true family—this feeling of ease and commonality, of give and take, of friendships forged by work, love and happenstance.
Before she thought of what she was doing, she’d set aside her bowl and opened her satchel. This she must capture, this was worth putting down on velum. Using the back of the satchel as her drawing surface, she took one of the charcoal sticks and drew.
By the time the others were done with the meal, she had the main outlines done, the picture she wanted planted firmly in her mind. There was Lalu’s cackling laughter, Rostocha’s harsh face and gentle eyes, Tersa’s playfulness, Kyr’s quiet shyness, Mishal’s love for his wife and music, Bentel’s kind heart, Aya’s blasting energy and last—Dal. Dal’s bright presence and joy of life.
She saw them clearly, as clearly as if each one were posing before her to be captured by her hand. She idly rubbed at the spot on her chest where the Eye sat but hardly noticed the gesture, the need upon her to capture all she had seen and more.
“That’s us!”
La’tiera almost jumped at the unexpected voice. She realized she’d forgotten everyone and everything, totally lost to her work. Aya stood beside her, a wide smile on her face as she looked down at her drawing.
“And that’s me!” She pointed to where La’tiera had drawn her playing peek-a-boo from beneath Bentel’s skirts after stealing Kyr’s roll. “And there’s Lalu and Rostocha and Bentel and Dal and Tersa and Mishal and Kyr. But, where are you? Why aren’t you in the picture?”
She looked up into the girl’s confused features and felt her heart lurch in her chest.
“This is your family, Aya. I don’t belong in there.”
The girl’s eyes flashed. “Who says so? I’ll make them take it back!”
“No one said anything.” She didn’t understand why this upset Aya, and wasn’t sure she could explain that kidnap victims weren’t normally considered family members. Or at least, she didn’t think so. “Tell you what. If I draw another picture of the troupe, I’ll make sure to put myself in there as well, okay?”
The frown didn’t totally leave the girl’s face, but she slowly nodded. “You promise?”
“Sure.”
Green eyes stared fervently into hers. “You’re a part of us now. You were always meant to be a part of us.” Her expression was serious.
Not knowing how to tell her it was never meant to be, La’tiera decided to say nothing. Instead, she dragged her attention back to the drawing and added to the background the details of the wagons and hints of the village beyond.
The sun was slowly lowering on the horizon when she added the last stroke.
“You’ve been sitting here a long time. Are you all right?”
She’d just tucked the drawing away into the satchel when Dal spoke from behind her. He leaned against the trunk of the tree, his arms cradled behind his head, a long thin blade of grass hanging from his mouth. He was looking toward the setting sun.
Closing the satchel the rest of the way, she had a sneaking suspicion he’d been standing there watching her for a while and she just hadn’t noticed. “I got carried away with what I was doing. I’m done now, though.”
She tried to stand, only to realize her legs had fallen asleep long ago. Grimacing at the returning blood flow, she half-stumbled to her feet. Suddenly, Dal was there beside her, steadying her when it looked like she might fall.
“I’ve got you.”
Her skin abruptly felt hot where he was touching it. She tried to get her balance back as quickly as she could.
“I’m all right. Thank you.”
He let go of her, his eyes smiling. She pretended not to see it.
“Might I ask you a question?” She picked up her satchel.
“Please.”
“Last night you said that I was meant to live. That you’d seen this. What did you mean?”
He sent her an askew glance. “Do you really want to know? You probably won’t want to believe me.”
She wasn’t sure if he was serious or not. “Try me.”
“Like Rostocha told you, he belongs to the fifth tier of Watchers. I belong to the second tier. There are a total of seven.”
La’tiera moved away from the tree, leaving him to follow. “What does that have to do with my question?”
If her bluntness annoyed him, he didn’t let it show.
“The Watchers have been around for thousands of years, their sole function to protect the Bearer and to make sure the knowledge of the test is not lost. The group has gone through many incarnations over the ages. At the time of the pact, it was a religious sect. But the world got bigger, the belief in the Gods waxed and waned and the sect grew too heavy and filled with self interest. Four hundred-fifty-seven years is a long time between Bearers, and I’m not proud to say there have been those who’ve used the cause to line their own pockets.
“Now, the sect is more dispersed, no longer affiliated with any country or government. The Word and finding the Bearer are the most important things, and so now we entertain, spread the knowledge far and wide so no one will forget, so they understand the signs when they see them. Entertainers are welcomed everywhere.”
La’tiera wondered if that’s also how they’d spread the wrong knowledge about what she needed to do. It was fortunate her parents took her to the viscount.
“We have branches in all the major cities. The histories are kept in the halls, where the lives of the Bearers have been documented. They also have schools to teach our craft and for many other things. But though the troupes keep the knowledge of the Bearer alive, not all are Watchers.”
“I still don’t see how—”
“Members are chosen from the children of the troupes. When a child reaches the age of eleven, they are sent to one of the thirteen main centers to witness a ritual. It’s there that they’re shown the truth, where we’re told what is expected and why it must be. Not all join the sect then, but all have seen the truth. The sect itself is for those who wish to learn more, those who feel they can pledge their all to the cause.”
Dal rushed around her, bringing her to a stop. His earnest eyes sought hers. “It was during the ceremony that I came to know what I told you. I touched one of the relics left by the Gods. The object showed me what was expected and why. It was a gift left behind by them so we would never doubt, so the demons would not win because we had forgotten. It’s where we’re going to take you, so you, too, can touch it and receive their message.”
La’tiera tore her gaze away. Could there be such relics? Did the Gods truly leave something of theirs behind to keep the knowledge of the Trials alive so humanity would always have a chance to win? It made sense, but…
“And what is expected?”
“Four hundred and thirty-eight years from the time of the last test a child is born wearing the mark of the Eye. Nineteen years later, the Herald appears, and on the first full moon after the celebration of the Bearer’s birth the portal will open. At that time, the Bearer will be tested one final time, facing the demons in the flesh. If he or she is strong, the Bearer will face the demon and repel it back from whence it came. But if the Bearer does not stand against it, does not use the Eye, the demon will consume them and rip the passage open to our world so they can come and go at will. All of humanity would become playthings for them.”
La’tiera shook her head in denial but said nothing, knowing she’d asked to hear this.
“Were you ever told that the Eye has power? That it is more than a symbol?”
This caught her attention. “What do you mean?”
“The Eye possesses the power to show the truth—possible futures. It’s the reason why you have the dreams, the ones used by the demons to try to break your will. But though it is used to test you, it can also help you by showing you the truth of things. For each Bearer, this gift shows itself in different ways. The Bearer before you saw the truth in pools of water. The one before saw it when playing music. Yours should be fully active now, telling you we speak the truth about everything we’ve told you, but it’s not. It should be more than just a birthmark, but it isn’t.”
La’tiera unconsciously touched the Eye through her shirt, remembering how it had felt different to her that morning.
“I suspect that necklace the viscount made you wear has something to do with it. But I’m hoping now that it’s gone, if you can figure out how the power manifests for you, then maybe…”
Could it be true? Could she have a power that would enable her to make sense of all this?
“You actually think I can do that?”
“I do. And I think it might manifest through your art,” he told her seriously. “Remember when I told you the story of the princess? How you drew those incredible pictures? I believe that was the Eye working through you. It’s how I knew you were the one.”
She considered this, the frown already creasing her forehead deepening. She looked at the satchel that hung from her side. A number of things suddenly added themselves together, and hot anger followed. She turned on him.
“So, your gift to me—it…it wasn’t an apology. It wasn’t about friendship. It was only so I would have what was needed so I could bring forth my power and see the truth as you see it? Is that what it was for?!”
Dal took a step back at her vehemence, raising his hands as if to keep her anger from burning him.
“No! Please don’t misunderstand. Sure, I was hoping there’d this benefit, but when I bought it I was only thinking about—”
“I don’t want it! Do you hear me? I don’t want anything that comes from you!”
She threw the satchel at him, her eyes stinging. Just like when she’d first met him, this had nothing to do with her, nothing to do with who she was but only with what she was. She didn’t like it! Before Dal could recover and say anything else, she ran.
“La’tiera!”
Ignoring him, trying not to feel the pain inside her, she ran away from her captors, from her past, from her duty, everything. She knew Dal would come after her, for the Eye—it was all he cared about. If it wasn’t him, it would be one of the others. But she didn’t want to be found, she wanted to be alone—alone as she had always been, where things made sense and no one hurt you like this.
With tear-blurred vision she headed for the village’s cultivated land, toward what Aya had said were cornfields. She dove into the wall of cornstalks, fleeing between the neat, narrow rows. Thick long leaves tried to snag in her hair and clothes, but she barely noticed. She ran, heedless of her path, until her sides flared with pain and her lungs felt on fire. Gasping, she allowed herself to finally stop and collapse on the ground.
None of it meant anything—the dancing, the gift. All he and the others cared about was her destiny and the Eye and nothing else. But why did she care? It didn’t matter. Her life would be over in days. So why did it hurt so?
She hid her face in her hands and wept.