Birthrights_Revisions to the Truth Read online

  “What do you see?” Kutan pointed up, prompting Whym to prop himself on his elbows so he could scan the tops of the surrounding trees.

  “What? I don’t see anything.” He thought the question a test since Kutan had adopted Stern’s teaching methods.

  “No, in the sky. I used to play this game with my father during trips—finding shapes in the clouds. Of course, he could never just play. Every game had to have a lesson.” Kutan altered his voice to mimic his father. “We look in the same direction, yet see something different. Imagine what strangers might see.”

  “He had a point,” Whym said, thinking of how much his own perspective had changed since the apprenticeship began. “What people see and believe depends a lot on who they are and what they’ve experienced.” Whym rested his head again and looked up to watch a fox chasing a rabbit across the sky. “Did I tell you my folks think the Council arranged my apprenticeship?”

  “What?” Kutan twisted his torso toward Whym. “I hope you corrected them.”

  Whym thought back to how the fiction had relieved his parents’ anxiety. “Nah, they were happy with their own truth.”

  Kutan sighed and lay back down. “It must be nice to have parents waiting for you. I never knew my mother. And I was just a boy when Marvil killed my father.”

  “Marvil?” Whym’s secret grew suddenly heavier and harder to bear.

  “Yeah. I told you my father was a merchant, but the trading was a cover. He was a messenger for the resistance until he was betrayed to the Council. Marvil accepted the whisper from Fink. Then he took my father’s head while I watched.”

  To Whym, Stern’s and Kutan’s relationship had been a puzzle with missing pieces. The grisly truth he’d just learned filled in much of the puzzle’s picture. “You were with him?” How terrible it would be to witness your own father’s murder!

  The memory tightened Kutan’s jaw. “He tried to protect me. I was still pinned beneath his body when Stern arrived. He came to warn us but arrived too late.”

  “That’s horrible!” Learning about his friend’s ordeal put Whym’s own worries in perspective. He better understood the nature of the relationship between Kutan and Stern, and was ashamed he’d begrudged their closeness. It also accounted for Kutan’s incredible skills. He’d been apprenticed for most of his life. “You must hate Marvil.”

  Kutan shrugged. “I hate the Council for issuing the post. I hate whoever betrayed my father. Marvil was just doing his job. You can’t hate a man for doing his job.”

  “I could,” Whym disagreed, well-acquainted with hatred thanks to the twins. “Stern might say ‘hate only weakens the hater,’ but I’d hate him until my last breath.”

  “Once you get to know someone, it’s harder to hold onto such feelings. Stern hired Marvil to bring me back after I ran away, so I spent a lot of time with him. He’s not a bad guy.” Kutan sat up and a half-smile crossed his face when he saw Whym’s shock. “Don’t worry, he also knows Stern’s a leader in the resistance. There’s a lot he knows. Unless someone releases a lucrative post or whisper for us, he’s no danger.”

  Stern hired Marvil? You ran away? Kutan had revealed more of his past in the last few moments than he’d revealed in all the moons prior. The answers, though, only multiplied Whym’s questions.

  Kutan stood, cutting off the conversation. “We’ll camp here tonight. A good scrub will be worth the lost travel time. Bathing won’t be pleasant once the weather turns.” He moved toward his pack and turned back when he reached it. “Clean your clothes as well. We’ll risk a fire to dry them.”

  .

  .

  Kutan was right. Scrubbing the grime from his body with the clean water of the nearby stream had refreshed Whym.

  “Go ahead and start the fire, then string up the clothes.” Kutan added his dripping pile of clothing to the pile in Whym’s arms. “I see some roots we can cook tonight.” They’d foraged only a little as they’d hiked, so something fresh would be a welcome change from dried food.

  Whym carried the armful of washed clothing to camp and had the clothes hung and the fire spitting and snapping by the time his colleague arrived carrying several fist-sized bulbs that looked like a cross between an onion and potato. Kutan dropped them into the dirt beside the fire. “When I said a fire, I didn’t mean a warning beacon.”

  Whym looked toward the flames. “Too big? I just thought—”

  “Never mind. It’ll die down. Next time, though, how about saving some of the forest for later?” Kutan gave a wry smile and squatted next to the wood Whym had stacked nearby. “At least the clothes’ll dry.” He selected a few sticks, whittled the ends into points, jammed them into the bulbs, then leaned them against rocks to roast.

  Unprompted, he resumed the earlier conversation. “I ran away a couple turns after Stern brought me to the Wildes. Father had told me he came from a town north of Bothera, near the Blight. I wanted to find my relatives then search for my mother.”

  “And Stern hired Marvil to stop you?”

  “Not to stop me. To bring me home when I failed.” Kutan was snapping pieces from the twig in his hands and tossing them into the fire. “He followed me. I was just a boy. It wasn’t hard. Went to darn near every village along the Blight, but no one had heard of my father. Marvil didn’t reveal himself until I’d given up searching.”

  “Then he brought you back?”

  Kutan shook his head. “First, he took me to the Horu village in the Fringe where my parents met. My father had gone there turns before to warn them the Council would attack. My mother was living with the Horu at the time, studying their culture and their claims of magic.”

  The timing didn’t make sense to Whym. “But that would’ve been way before the war in the Fringe? It only started a few turns ago.”

  “It wasn’t war like now, but the Council’s been raiding the Fringe tribes since the Oracle issued the prophecy. Stern thinks it the Fens’ doing. Keeping a force near Bothera prevents the Oracle and the tribes from growing close.”

  Whym remembered Stern’s theory, but he’d heard it before he even knew of the existence of a resistance. The concept now made more sense. “Did the Horu know what happened to your mother?”

  Kutan threw what was left of the twig into the fire, then bent to spin the roots so the browned side faced away from the flames. “All that remained of the tribe was the stone staircase leading to where their temple had stood. The Council had razed the village and slaughtered the Horu around the time of my birth.”

  “Did you ever find out about her? Who she was or where she went?”

  Kutan gazed at the sky where a waxing moon had appeared. “My father would never speak of her. From his friends’ stories, I learned she had reddish hair and blue eyes like me.” He put his hand to the cheek covered by the birthmark. “And she gave me this. Guess it runs in the family.”

  “But how do you know she’s not Horu—that she was just studying with them?”

  Kutan picked up another twig and started snapping off the end like before. “Salazar.”

  “You believe him?”

  Kutan broke the twig in two and dropped both sides. Then he stood and tested the dryness of the clothes hanging across from them before answering. “I do. I mean, I did.” He turned back to face Whym. “It was Salazar who put the idea in my head to find my family.”

  “He also said you’re half Faerie.”

  “Not half.” Kutan squatted and pulled one of the browned roots from the fire. “He said my mother was from a Faerie tribe called the Akapinga. And…he said my father spoke truthfully, but I searched the wrong side of the Blight.”

  “Both are Faerie?”

  Kutan tossed the bulb to Whym, who bounced it from hand to hand to prevent it from burning his skin. “I didn’t know my mother, but I spent enough time with my father to know he had no magic. Salazar’s a liar. There ar
e no Faerie, no Stewards, no magic in this world. Plus, Marvil told me how he found us. It was Salazar’s message we were carrying. I can’t prove it, but I bet it was Salazar who betrayed my father to the Council.”

  Kutan’s reaction at the waterfall now made more sense to Whym. “But what about Stern? Doesn’t he know anything about your parents?”

  Kutan cut open one of the bulbs for himself. “Not that he’ll tell me, at least.”

  “How could he keep your family history secret from you?”

  “We all have our secrets.” Kutan raised his eyebrows. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

  Whym, worried by Kutan’s raised eyebrows, took a bite and swallowed while debating how to answer. The bulb was bitter and dry.

  Before Whym spoke, Kutan stood and pointed at the bulb in Whym’s hand. “You didn’t eat the skin did you?”

  Whym noticed Kutan had sliced his open and was scooping out only the inside of the bulb with his knife. “Yes! Why?” His throat started to constrict, but he didn’t know if poison or panic was the cause.

  “Did you swallow it?”

  “Yes!” Whym answered while spitting out what remained in his mouth.

  “Oh, no! Here.” Kutan thrust his water skin into Whym’s hands. “Drink!”

  Whym gulped down the water until the skin was empty, spilling much of it on his chest in his haste. “What now!?”

  Kutan paused then grasped Whym’s forearm as one would to deliver bad news. “Eat more.” Then he laughed so hard he snorted chewed pieces of puckeroot from his nose. “The skin’s a little dry. Just thought you might need a drink.”

  “You—” Whym couldn’t help but appreciate the well-executed prank. “You got me.” He pointed at Kutan and attempted a solemn face of his own, but his smile unmasked him. Kutan had truly become the brother he’d always wanted.

  They ate puckeroot until their water skins were empty, then peed on the fire and crawled, satisfied, into their hammocks. But as Whym stared into the starry sky, the hammock swaying with his restless shifting, his own secret gnawed at him. Kutan opened up to me. I should do the same. He finally worked up the courage to come clean, revealing everything in a single breath. “Ansel made it to the cottage. I captured him. When I was out, Marvil broke in and took his head. I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you before.”

  “I know.” Kutan turned away and pulled the blanket to his chin. “You have Stern’s key.”

  The Vinlands, Chapter 27

  .

  .

  .

  The young read the world around them like a book, easily led by the words on the pages. But wisdom isn’t gleaned from reading nor bequeathed by the passage of time. Wisdom is the discovery of the words omitted. The Truth is this wisdom, the discoveries of many generations recorded to help those who follow its teachings avoid the tribulations of their forebears. With the Truth in the Council’s hands, the people of the Lost Land will never again suffer the scourge of tyranny.

  .

  —Luka Ellenrond,

  Founding Father of the Council of Truth

  .

  .

  The Vinlands

  .

  .

  .

  .

  Whym studied the day of Ansel’s death over and over again in his mind. Could I really have switched keys and taken the wrong one? He’d planned to wait until morning to check, so it wouldn’t be obvious to Kutan. But he couldn’t sleep without knowing. He quietly rolled out of his hammock and fished the key from his pack, watching to see if his fellow apprentice would turn. He didn’t.

  Whym brought the key close to his eye but couldn’t make

  out the mark Stern had placed on the bottom to indicate its owner.

  He knelt by the ashes of the night’s fire to hold the key close to glowing coals their urine had missed. He saw the mark. It is Stern’s key!

  “Don’t worry. He doesn’t know.” Kutan turned over. “It’s his fault for not trusting you.”

  Whym’s stomach dropped. His colleague had caught him—both in keeping the secret about Ansel and in not trusting his words. “How did you know?”

  “The night we returned, you were too pleased to see us. I noticed the key while eating your rabbit stew. The next morning, I insisted Stern tell you his plan. That’s why we climbed Sentinel Mountain.”

  “You knew the whole time but said nothing?”

  Kutan turned the finger of blame back toward Whym. “You knew and said nothing.”

  He had a point. Whym thought back to the many opportunities he’d had to open up to Kutan, both before and after the start of the journey. “Why didn’t you tell Stern?”

  “Which is harder to bear—Marvil intercepting Ansel before we could catch up, or that he was killed in your own home with the help of your apprentice?”

  Whym put himself in Stern’s position and better understood his master’s reluctance to open up. I’ve blamed him for not trusting me. But I could barely swallow the truth about seekers that first morning. What would I have done if he’d told me then about the rebellion and his plan? Whym didn’t know the answer, but he doubted he’d have taken it well. Maybe I needed the experience with Ansel to prepare me.

  Kutan rolled back over. “Get some sleep. We have more than a half-day of hiking to make up. I want to reach Colodor before it snows.”

  .

  .

  “How much farther?” Whym complained. It had been several days since Whym had confessed everything to Kutan, four moons since they’d left the cottage in the Wildes. They’d not talked more about Kutan’s past or the incident with Ansel since, but Whym still felt closer to him than ever before.

  “Head east. You now know all I know of the directions.” Although he’d not voiced his concerns, Whym could sense Kutan was worried the journey was taking longer than expected. His patience had worn as thin as their food supplies. “All I remember from the one time I went with my father to Colodor is, when you see the mountains in the distance, you’re still a few days from the city.”

  They’d passed several towns and farms where they could have stopped to get their bearings, but they were staying off the roads and away from people as Stern had directed. But with every day and every cluster of houses they passed, the temptation of finding a fire, a hot meal, and information grew.

  They’d depleted the last of what they’d brought from the Wildes, and were now dependent upon foraging and hunting to eat. Whym enjoyed putting into practice the skills he’d learned in the Wildes, but the extra time needed to secure food further slowed their progress toward Colodor. “You know what sounds good?” Whym picked at his handful of walnuts, unsure the effort to crack them open was worth the meat they’d yield.

  “What—a hot meal, a comfy mat by a hearth…a girl who won’t cry?” Coming clean about what happened with Ansel had felt so refreshing, Whym had decided to recount everything that had happened on his visit home. It had been a mistake. “Such a weak lover you made her cry?” Kutan teased again.

  Whym gritted his teeth but ignored the jab. “I was thinking a nice fried egg with some cracked black pepper and a slice of toast to soak up the yolk.”

  A timely growl of Kutan’s stomach answered. “That settles it. The next town we cross, we’re going to stock up and figure out where we are!”

  They trekked the balance of the afternoon without passing a town, though they could see smoke not far in the distance when they stopped for the day. The next morning, Whym woke with a nervous excitement and was relieved Kutan agreed to skip their exercises and head toward the smoke. Aldhaven was carved with a fancy script into a sign at the edge of the town. Chips of paint still clung to the decaying wood, remnants of a long-lost prosperity.

  “You sure?” Whym asked as he scratched the swollen bump of a mosquito bite on his elbow.

  “In and out.” By Kutan�
��s expression, he was far from sure.

  A stone wall encircled the town. As they drew closer, though, they could see the wall was in ruins, each spot where the stone remained intact bracketed by piled rubble. As they passed through the unguarded arch that was once the city gate, Whym noticed the town was in no better shape—the buildings in varying stages of disrepair.

  “Maybe we should wait for the next town,” he whispered. “I don’t know what’s happened here, but I sure don’t want to spend any longer than necessary in this place.”

  As they neared the central square, they encountered a line of naked, dirt-covered men huddled together, their ankles bound and shackles closed around their necks. The end of the chain connecting the shackles was wrapped around a hitching post with a wooden water trough beside it. A greasy-haired man leaned against the trough, a whip dangling from his hip.

  “Snakes’ knees,” Whym muttered, “what’s that?”

  “Miners.” Kutan had told Whym about the slavers that supplied the mines, but neither had expected to see them in person until Colodor. Kutan swerved to the other side of the street and headed toward the tiny market, a few tables set up in the opposite corner of the square.

  “You boys lost?” A shaggy-bearded man rose from the steps nearby to intercept them, his clothes as filthy and unkempt as the growth on his face.

  “Just picking up supplies.” Kutan tried to step past, but the man moved to the side to remain between them and the market.

  “Need a lady?” he simpered, exposing two rows of rotting teeth.

  “No! Thank you.” Kutan moved the man aside with the back of his arm, then strode past.

  The bearded man made no further attempt to block them but watched their every step, sending shivers down Whym’s back. “You boys ought learn some manners,” he called after they passed.

  “In and out,” Kutan reminded under his breath as they reached the market. The smell of fresh-baked bread had already set Whym’s mouth to watering. Despite the rundown town, the slaves, and the creepy man they’d passed in the square, he was suddenly feeling better about their decision to stop.