AFTER FOUR DAYS of construction, the two large fleets were nearly finished. As the three councilmen, and their cavalry of around fifty, secured them one last time, Isaiah saw two horses approaching from afar. When he saw her, he momentarily managed to set aside the thought of how outrageous this plan – his idea – really was. Her head was covered by a deep cherry-colored cape. She was wet to the bone, but when seeing him she waved – smiling joyously as if it’d been a sunny, worry-free day and not one where it seemed likely they’d either drown from the rain or the river stream.
“How does someone go out looking for their grandfather and end up partaking in a Dabárian revolt?” Despite the seriousness that lurked behind the playful tone of her question, Isaiah felt himself involuntarily grinning. He saw her noticing and blushed as her brown horse stopped in front of him.
“I’ve been wanting to ask you the same, Lady Tara.” He reached for her white, gloved hand and helped her down from the saddle. The gesture seemed to please her, though she showed no signs of needing any assistance. Her escort had already turned his horse south. With little less in common with Dabárians, Zuras were not much fond of water either.
“I’m sure there are other things you’ve been wanting to ask as well?” She suggested and though not bothered by the rain, he led her towards the fortress’ wall for shelter.
“How have you been?” The casualness felt odd to him, and still, somewhat mandatory.
“Wonderfully safe. It’s been a little slow in Duroya lately, so I appreciate you finally bringing me into some proper danger.”
“I’m sorry… I shouldn’t have brought you here – nor allowed myself to be brought I believe.” After the Parda it was as if some part of him had understood something. Some very profound answer he wasn’t certain he’d even had the proper question for. It’d been accompanied by a strange courage that had made everything seem in order. A wordless knowing that had dissipated over the past days and left him wondering what in Araktéa’s name he was doing – what he’d done. Tara shook her head, and a drop of rain ran down the left side of her plump cheek.
“That’s alright, dear. We both brought ourselves here, and you did right by sending for me. I’m here to help, and you will need it. As I’m sure you’re well aware of – you’re all way in over your heads.” She smiled like she often did – like someone who knew everything – and Isaiah hoped she was not being completely serious in her remark.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” She asked.
“You’re wearing pants.” He said stupidly. “Like the northern women.” He added.
“You don’t think it suits me?”
“Oh, yes. I’m… just surprised.”
“Riding here in a dress wouldn’t be practical, would it? Besides, I might have a bit of northern blood in me.” She winked at him, and Isaiah was about to say something when Harvey approached them.
“You’re the Lady… the healer woman?” He asked, his tone remarkably less crude than during the council meeting, which was the last time he’d bothered speaking with Isaiah.
“Yes, I’m Tara.” she said, and instead of returning her smile, he looked down nodding uncomfortably while twisting around in his heavy, wet uniform.
“Liv is asking to see you.”
“Very well, then – I’ll come and be seen.” She said, taking an elegant step away from the wall.
“To be continued.” She nodded at Isaiah, and then walked along with her courier, as the people close by glared in her direction.
A few hours later the fleets were all set to drift them down the river. That was not to say anyone but the commander himself looked ready. It was him and Devus – who’d left his role as book protector in turn for fleet-building commander – everyone seemed to look towards in need of hope and encouragement. Isaiah sensed Devus was different in Dabár. Older and heavier in his movement, with his dark, leathered tunic and furred coat. His face, too, was more serious, but he seemed content with the heavy task at hand, and much more confident about the plan than Isaiah now felt.
“I’ve doomed us all. We’ll drown because of me. Because they think I know things – because you told them that I entered those bloody woods.” He said, as he approached him. He’d quite suddenly started to feel very certain about this fact, but Devus just shook his head grinning, losing five years in an instant.
“I’m being quite serious, Devus.”
“Oh, come now, you never said anything about you going to the Parda was a secret. It’s something you should be proud of – anyone else here would be and are. Trust me…” Isaiah shook his head, and Devus sighed.
“And it will be fine. These are skilled men, and my father seems certain about what he’s doing.” He assured him.
“Your aunt Liv seems to highly disagree.”
“Yes, well. That is her task in a way… to be disagreeable. I’d say she does it fairly well.”
“Job as what? His sister? I have a feeling she doesn’t like me. And she’ll hate me once this fails.”
“Oh, I’ll assure you she doesn’t like you – but it isn’t personal, she’s just skeptical by nature one might say. And she’s not my father’s sister, she is just… my aunt. We’re like a large Dabárian family here – bound by disagreement and intrigues rather than blood.”
“Well, I apologize in advance for killing your whole family.” Isaiah muttered.
“You need to calm yourself, Isaiah.” Devus said, irritated that his steadiness seemed to have strayed away. “Why don’t you focus on something else? Like the fact that the lovely Lady of Duroya is coming with us. I swear, whenever I think I know you, and that you’re done surprising me, you prove me wrong.” Isaiah looked at him, suddenly confused.
“Are you talking about Tara?”
“Yes – Lady Tara of Duroya herself. You never mentioned you knew her.”
“Are you saying she’s the Lady of Duroya?” Devus’ brown eyes widened at this implied oblivion.
“Well, of course she is. The Patron of Duroya died around a year back – then she became the first woman to continue the patronage of an Araktéan city alone. The council was quite delighted you had a connection to her, and they had no idea she was a healer as well. This just keeps getting more and more marvelous.” Devus stopped talking as he saw the horrifying look on Isaiah’s face, thinking he at least had given him something else to think about.
“You really didn’t know any of this?”
“I didn’t…” Not only had her husband died, but he’d been the Patron of Duroya – and she was a true Patroness.
“Come on lads, we’re ready to sail!” Emory waved at them, as he and some Agátis (the large, pale faced tribal people of the north) prepared the horses to drag the fleets to the river. “There is no sail.” Isaiah thought, wishing he’d chosen to stay behind.
As they reached their starting point, it didn’t help that the rest of the cavalry started looking increasingly less confident, as they secured the fleets one final time. There were about thirty other people who’d followed them there, and as they pushed the fleets out from the mud, allowing them to rush down the river, every single passenger screamed. They had to move to the shore to lift fallen trees and rocks out of the way five times within the first two hours. After this, there were fewer obstacles and three of the men fell overboard. There was no saving them, as the river’s force left them with no choice but to hold on tight while it carried them south. Fortunately, as the sky gradually turned into a darker shade of gray, a tree had fallen just at the edge of the Deltan border to Nahbí.
“We need to stop here for the night. I know a place we can stay where there’s room for all of us.” Tara said, or commanded perhaps, as all forty-four of them stumbled off the fleets. They looked towards Nicholas, visibly discouraged and fatigued.
“You heard the Lady. Pull them up to the land. We’ll continue tomorrow morning.” Some of them still river-sick, and others plainly exhausted, used their last forces to drag them up to the shore. Then they made their way through the dark mud, falling over each other like heavy drunks, until reaching Tara’s shelter. It was a cave. A long, large cave, hidden behind some fallen pines. Fortunately, the Dabárians were resourceful even in utter exhaustion, and soon they had fire by the opening. Everyone took turns to reheat themselves, while agreeing that being cold from hours of wetness was a very different kind of cold, than that of the Dabárian winter air. The only one who seemed unaffected by the journey’s hardship was Tara. She stood inside the cave, looking unimpressed by, though not directly judging, the northerner’s vomiting and shivers.
“Are you certain they’ll manage this sort of mission?” Isaiah overheard her asking Nicholas as the two of them walked deeper inside.
“Most of them have been training for this their whole life. I’m as sure as you could be about a matter such as this one. They’ve been ready for years...”
“I hope you’re right. The stars are aligned now, so it is at least time for something to occur.”
“We’re the right people, m’lady. And our prophecies suggest the same as your stars do.”
“Have you told him about it?” The conversation lulled or got so whispery Isaiah couldn’t hear it anymore. He felt certain they were talking about him.
As the fleet riders had gotten some warmth back in their bodies, they huddled together upon their animal hives to sleep. Isaiah was surprised to see Tara laying down only a few feet in front of him. Other than Nicholas himself, it seemed he was the only person who dared being close to her. Devus had told him before, most Dabárians were particularly superstitious and frightened by anything even resembling sorcery.
“What are you thinking about?” She asked in a quiet voice.
“Nothing.” He lied, resisting to turn from his back to his side.
“You haven’t quite advanced to that degree yet.” She teased him, and for the first time he understood what she was talking about. That ease. The ease he’d sensed he lost.
“Perhaps you could read my mind, then.” He suggested.
“You should be aware that by saying that, you’re giving me actual permission.”
“In that case, I take it back. You never told me you were the Patroness of Duroya...”
“A person can have many roles, and this one wasn’t relevant when we met. Besides, you didn’t ask me who I was.”
“I guess you’re right.” He realized, at last, turning towards her.
“Did you and Nic talk about me earlier?” For the first time since he’d come to know her, her eyes revealed the slightest of surprise. Healers did perhaps not know everything, but Tara knew something important – something he sensed he needed to know.
“We did.” She confessed.
“I have a feeling you’re keeping something from me.”
“An inkling is what you have – and you are right.” She said, biting her lower lip. “First, I want you to tell me if you know anything about where Cyra might be.”
“I don’t. She… left me at the gates as soon as we reached Nagár.” Tara raised her eyebrows at this. Then she sighed as she stroke a strand of black hair behind her ear.
“I’ve known the girl since she was born, she’s always allowed me into her dreams – but I haven’t been able to see anything for days…”
“She didn’t mention you’d known each other for that long.”
“Did she mention something else of importance?”
“Like what?” Tara seemed to search his eyes for a hint of an answer.
“She didn’t tell me about her business in Nagár if that’s what you mean.” She took a breath and got a little closer to him, so that she could whisper even more quietly.
“The reason she went was to kill the king.” He looked at her, and he thought he should have felt more surprised, but somehow, he didn’t. It seemed nothing could truly surprise him anymore, and he’d already felt certain she was on some sort of outrageous quest.
“Does Nic know this?”
“He suspects it’s what has happened. Nothing has been confirmed yet.”
“I didn’t think the Dabárians were looking for a violent revolt. Devus told me this would be more of a war of words.”
“They don’t, but Zuras want revenge. And Zuras do as Zuras wish – I’m sure you’ve learned that by now.”
“No wonder she left me behind…”
“Don’t assume too much, Isaiah.” He gave her a puzzled look, and her eyes, nearly black in color that night, softened again.
“I didn’t think it appropriate for me to tell you this… it seemed better that she would tell you herself…”
“If you had told me she was going to kill the king, I would have never gone with her. I would have never gone to the Parda at all…”
“That is not what I’m referring to.” Tara interfered.
“What then?”
“Cyra is… she is your sister.” As Tara finally said it, she was met with a blank expression that was followed by one of astonishment. She knew a great lot more would need to be said on the matter, but with the current lack of details, this truth was a clear one. An unshakable fact nobody could argue with – one she herself had witnessed.
“She can’t be.” Isaiah mumbled at last. But she could – of course she could. To believe his mother was the only one his vile father had impregnated on his journeys. Suddenly, he couldn’t believe he’d never wondered about it before. Wondered if he was his only son. Whether there was someone else.
“Did she know this all along?”
“Why do you think she was so eager to bring you with her? She wanted to get to know you…”
“And still, she left me at the gates.”
“She had her reasons, and there is much more to it than you think, but I suggest we’ll talk about it in a more private setting.”
“Yes. Once we arrive at the fortress, I’ll… I will find somewhere private.” He stuttered and Tara nodded. Her hand – though slightly colder than normal – felt warm on his cheek. He opened his mouth to say something, but it became a gasp instead, as he noticed something moving in between them.
“What in the nine hells is that?” People hushed at him, tired and oblivious to the presence of what looked like a long, legless worm in lizard’s clothing.
“It’s just a snake. Don’t worry, it won’t hurt you as long as you leave it be.” Tara said, her hand leaving his cheek. “In fact, it’s a good omen…” she whispered, stroking the snake’s green, shelled skin as if it’d been a newborn lamb. “I haven’t seen a serpent since I was a little girl.”