From Darkness Won - Jill Williamson [76]
I am here, Master Cham. And I feel no pain, though I am out of my physical body.
Averella’s ears itched. She tried to scratch them, yet her fingers passed into her head, finding nothing solid to scratch.
Achan Cham.
What do you want, Master Cham? You said you would leave me be. Can you not hear me? Averella did not know what else she could possibly say. This man had heard her in the temple garden. What could have changed?
Master Cham spoke to her several more times through the rest of the night, but he never seemed to hear her responses. She did not understand anything. What had happened to her? What was storming? How could her mind be outside her body? Why did she have no memory of how she came to be this way? Why did the Levys slander her name as if she were a wanton woman?
Her ears itched. Duchess Amal.
Joy surged inside her. Mother! Where are you?
Duchess Amal.
Yes! I am in Sitna. Lord Nathak holds me captive. He plans to take me to Mahanaim tomorrow. Without an escort!
Duchess Amal.
Averella’s joy fizzled. Mother?
Silence stretched on. Crickets chirruped outside. Lady Fallina’s soft breath held a steady flow at Averella’s bedside.
Merciful heart! Why could no one hear her? Averella started to cry, though no tears left her eyes.
“Be gentle!” Lady Fallina scolded.
“We won’t drop her, m’lady,” the toothless guard said as he and the bearded guard heaved the casket off the floor of the bedchamber.
Averella shuddered, knowing her body lay inside the sanded pine box. She must truly be dead. But where, then, was Arman? For this could not be Shamayim. All believers went to Shamayim when they died. It was written.
Not knowing what else to do, Averella drifted along with Lady Fallina and the men, staying with her body as they carried the casket down the spiral stairs and out of the keep to a wagon in the inner bailey. Two more guards helped lift the casket into the back.
“There are three more crates to be loaded,” Lady Fallina said. “I will show you where they are.”
The guards followed Lady Fallina back into the keep, leaving Averella’s body alone with the driver sitting on his bench.
“What took you so long, boy?” the driver said. “We’re set to leave soon.”
Noam, the lanky peasant who had snuck into the keep yesterday, approached the wagon, leading two horses. But today he wore the orange tunic of a stray. “I had to wait until they were shod.”
Averella watched the young man so closely that she didn’t see Gren until the peasant woman was crouched by the wagon’s wheel. A beefy man squatted down beside her. The same man who had caused the diversion so Noam and Gren could sneak inside the keep.
“Can you help me?” Noam asked the driver.
“You want me to do your job?”
“Just hold the reins of this one while I hook up the other. I’ll be done faster and out of your way before Lord Nathak arrives. I’m sure you’d like Lord Nathak in good spirits for the long journey.”
“All right.” The driver climbed down, but before he could take the reins from Noam, both horses took off at a run toward the temple.
“Help me!” Noam cried, leading the driver in a chase that took them both away from the wagon.
The beefy man dropped two bulging linen sacks into the wagon then hoisted himself over the side. With a quick flick of his wrist, he pried up the casket’s lid with a knife. He slid the lid back and lifted Averella’s body out. Holding her close, he jumped off the wagon and carried her to a small cart. He dropped her inside, covered her with linen sacks, and pushed the cart toward the inner gatehouse.
It all happened so quickly, Averella could only stare.
Gren lifted one more heavy sack into the back of the wagon. She pulled herself up, loaded all three sacks into the casket, and slid the lid back into place.
“What’s this Poril sees?” a man’s voice said.
Averella turned to see an old man with a dusting of white hair standing on the other side of the wagon. He was as tall as the beefy man who had taken her body, maybe taller, though his hunched posture made it difficult to tell.
“Master Poril.” Gren jumped down off the