was proof of the god Varrin’s strength and Koth’s superiority.
“What was the captain’s response?”
The woman’s face hardened. “That if we’d had the sense to walk north and seek Koth’s protection before the Destroyer had come, we would not be walking in search of our children afterward. So never will I forget that shining mail.”
Lizzan’s face burned. Apparently not all of Kothan’s soldiers had known guilt and relief, only superiority. “I am sorry that was said to you. It was cruel.”
“It was not you. And your armor does not shine so bright.” Her gaze slipped over Lizzan’s scarred features. “You fought.”
“And lost.”
The woman laughed suddenly. “As we all have. So what is your story, that I might pass it on to all who travel through here?”
“It’s not a tale worth repeating. I led my soldiers into a battle that we should have won, and they were slaughtered.” And the river seemed so very loud, almost loud enough to drown her voice, for her words sounded so weak and watery. “But I alone survived. So I was named a coward, my family was shamed, and I was exiled from the realm.”
“You are right,” the woman said. “That is not a tale worth repeating.”
It was not. Lizzan’s throat ached and burned, but the water in her flask did nothing to ease the hot constriction.
“Do you know,” said the woman, gesturing to the statues that stood on either side of the river, “the rope between them has never unraveled or broken, though the boat has been replaced many times. And over generations, as the faces wear away by wind and rain, they’ve been recarved into the stone.”
“You think the rope is truly made from Nemek’s hair, then?”
She shrugged. “Who can know? But it is said that Oana’s baths are blessed by Nemek the Healer. Anyone who crosses the river in that direction is greeted by Nemek’s young and beautiful face, so the traveler will know that healing lies ahead. In the opposite direction, as you enter the jungle filled with disease and wounds that fester, you see the withered and distorted face. But I have been to Nemek’s birthplace. I have seen where Mother Temra erupted them into the world with two faces: the healer and the disease. And there I learned that everything I believed about Nemek was wrong. These statues are wrong. In truth, that aged face belongs to the healer.”
“That cannot be.” It was contrary to everything Lizzan had ever heard.
“It is truth. For who better knows the value of healing than someone who has been sick or wounded or old? And what is more unthinkingly cruel than disease—or someone who is young and beautiful and has never known pain? Perhaps when those statues were first carved, the faces were correct. But over time, as people began to say that Nemek’s beautiful face was the healer, as that story was told again and again and as the statues’ features withered away, the wrong faces were carved into them—and it became a truth set in stone.”
Lizzan glanced from one statue to the other, trying to believe it. “Truly?”
“Truly. And that is why I will not repeat the story you just told me,” she said. “Because I suspect it is not your story, but the story that was told about you. And I will not recarve your face.”
“It has already been carved enough,” Lizzan agreed with a laugh, though her eyes were burning. “And my story is also not worth retelling.”
“Then is it worth hearing? Because I have little else to do now. And neither, it appears, do you.”
Lizzan did have much to do. She needed to find a way to cross the river—though the rope between the statues had given her an idea. Perhaps a foolish one, if she fell into the river while wearing chain mail and burdened by all of her belongings.
But no need to rush. The caravan moved slowly. The ferry might still arrive before Aerax did.
And that, Lizzan supposed, was the place to start. “There is a prince—”
“Of course there is!” The fisherwoman cackled. “A handsome one?”
Unable to stop her own laugh, Lizzan nodded. “He is very fine to look upon.”
“I knew this would be the better story.” The woman checked her line before settling in again. “Is he a villain?”
“He is.” Lizzan’s grin faded. “Though perhaps only in my telling of it. And he did not start off that way.”
“Then how did it start?”
CHAPTER 6
AERAX
With his task of finding the High Daughter finished, the Hanani stallion returned