An Elegy of Heroes

by K. S. Villoso

  He was silent longer than she was comfortable with. “You had dreams,” she admitted at last. “You said, stay back. I’m just Enosh. It sounded like you were fighting someone.”

  “Fighting a thing.” His face tightened. “You don’t want to know. So call me that, if you want. Just not in front of anyone else. I meant what I said. Back in the palace, that was me. You’ve got the power to undo me, now.” He took a deep breath. “What will you do with it?”

  She kissed him. Sunlight, she thought, her lips quivering because she had never done this—had never willed herself to kiss someone before. He tasted like sunlight. She pulled away and he lightly pressed his thumb along her jaw. He looked thoughtful.

  “You didn’t have to save me. Not like this. You could have gotten yourself killed. Rajiat wasn’t going to hurt me.”

  “Gods, woman. You’re scolding me at a time like this?”

  “I just wanted you to understand that I’m not being grateful. The father had a kind soul, Enosh. The son wouldn’t have fallen too far from the tree.”

  “How long will you last in life, thinking like that?”

  “This long at least.” She pressed her hand over his face and smiled. “Go back to sleep. I’ll send that letter and get you some food.”

  “And then?”

  “And then? You pathetic fool!” She laughed softly, stroking his cheek, and closed the door behind her.

  “A Jinsein,” Enosh remembered telling Thiar. “You hire Jinseins?”

  “Not usually on purpose, no,” was Thiar’s drawl reply.

  He pursed his lips and looked down at the man from the balcony. He couldn’t have been more than twenty-five—average-height, wiry muscles, curly hair, and dimples that belonged to a life softer than this. Enosh wasn’t pleased. A Jinsein among Kags? He knew the Kago interbred frequently, but he wasn’t buying it. Jinseins were notoriously clannish. And the man looked pureblood—the last thing he needed was someone with divided loyalties in his retinue.

  He shook his head. “I’m sorry. Not him.”

  Thiar looked displeased. “Just from his race? He’s one of my better men, when it comes to that. Father was a merchant. Could help you do sums along the way.”

  He had to stop from laughing. “I don’t need help with our accounts, Sir Thiar. We just need solid, hired men who aren’t idiots.”

  “Oji’s done jobs for us as far as Dageis. He doesn’t need supervision and he’s about as trustworthy as you can get. Can’t help that he’s a Jinsein, and if that’s your problem with him then there’s nothing we can do. Gaven could do your job, but he’s in Cael right now. Maybe Rok—”

  A young man had appeared and began talking to the Jinsein. Enosh allowed Thiar’s babbling to fade in the background and leaned closer to the balcony. The man was a Gorenten. There was no mistaking the angle of the jaw and the turn of the nose. The Jinsein slapped him across the shoulder and he happened to look up while he laughed. His eyes were the blue-grey of the sea on a stormy night. Enosh knew that from as far away as where he stood because he still remembered saying that the night he was born.

  His first thought was, No. It couldn’t be. And then, he’s back in Gorent. He’ll be chief. He and Ailat must have at least a child or two by now.

  But he didn’t know that, because he’d never written (didn’t think it made a difference, figured his brother wouldn’t bother to read or reply). He drew back and checked that the glamour was still working. The realization that he’d done that jolted him. That man down there, he couldn’t be Kefier, couldn’t be his brother, because for one thing he was embarrassingly taller than Enosh was now and that was just unacceptable. His stomach turned. Eight years ago, he would have gone down to him, would have grabbed him by the shoulder and wrapped his arms around him to hide the tears. Eight years too long. What was he doing here?

  He must’ve been silent longer than he thought, because Thiar suddenly appeared next to him and coughed. “That one,” he said, because Enosh was staring at Kefier. “He’s not exactly signed on with the faction. Oji there took him in a few years ago. He might be good for the other job on your list here—transporting the substance through Gaspar? We don’t exactly know yet who can handle it or not.”

  Enosh tried hard to look nonchalant. “You’ve already suggested a group for that. We’ll try them first and take it from there. Anyone who can’t stand the fumes must be well-compensated for their time.”

  “You don’t have to do that. These men know what they’re signing up for.”

  “No, but their families don’t. Funerals can be expensive.” Kefier was walking away now, and it took all his strength not to run after him. He tightened his jaw and walked away.

  That was two years ago, and as much as he didn’t want to think of that day, it was difficult not to on a rare afternoon such as this, with torrents of rain pouring over the eaves in Kalthekar. Because the air was normally so dry, the effect was like a steam bath, which to his misfortune was one of those things they didn’t have much of in Gaspar. If he was in Hafod, perhaps...

  If he was anywhere but here...

  Enosh closed his eyes and sucked in a lungful of the clammy air. When he had allowed her to call him by that name, he had no idea how much it would undo him. It was ridiculous. It was only a name. Yes, most people hadn’t called him that in years, not since he had told Jarche to stop because his head was messed enough as it was and if he didn’t forget, even for just a little while, he would lose it all.

  Now he was sitting on that hard, narrow bed, watching the horrible Gasparian rain and trying not to think of the rains back in Gorent. It wasn’t just ridiculous: it was petty. That tinge of homesickness did not belong in his thoughts. He ought to deal with it like he dealt with Kefier—accept that he’d done as much as he could and then let it go. If his brother had gone and gotten himself killed in those mountains, then that was that. The importance lay in the bigger picture.

  He heard the door open and pulled himself up. “Did you find—” he started. And then he saw who it was and the colour drained from his face.

  “What’s the matter, my boy?” Yn Garr asked. “Not happy to see me?”

  Enosh drew a deep breath. “I just didn’t expect you to be here.”

  Yn Garr regarded him for a few moments. “You look much better than I thought. Healthier.”

  “I’ve been on the mend.”

  “Have you? Good. You can then explain to me what you’ve been doing the past few weeks. I didn’t send you here to vacation with your Jinsein whore.”

  Enosh’s face remained deathly calm. Only his twitching fingers, curling into his palms, betrayed his emotions. “I had to maintain relations with Al-ir. The men you sent very nearly undid all my work. But I’m sure you already know that.”

  “I know that. I know everything you think I don’t know, Enosh.” He felt a twinge, hearing the man speak his name. “Does this maintaining of relations have anything to do with the Lord of Al-ir’s death? How did that fit into any of your plans?”

  “I didn’t kill him.” Even as he said it did he realize he had spoken too quickly. Yn Garr’s presence always did that to him. He swallowed and tried to straighten himself. “I’m almost well, Yn Garr. I’ll be back in a couple of days.”

  “To do what?” Yn Garr snarled. “Gaven’s running things just fine without your help. A half-breed.” He glanced around the room with a look of distaste. “Take your sweet time,” he added. “Send word when you tire of your whore.” He strode out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

  Enosh turned to the window and the rain and thought, this isn’t fair. I’m not a child anymore. But even after all these years, something about the old man sent his insides quivering. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Yn Garr had promised he would one day be an equal. Yet here he was, lecturing him like they were back in Gorent, as if all he had done for him in the years between then and now amounted to nothing...

  The doorknob clicked and he froze. But it was only
Sume. “It only took a couple of markets, but I have them. Dried lavender leaves.” He didn’t let her finish. He got up, closing his mouth over hers hungrily, and locked the door behind her.

  “Enosh...”

  “I’ve waited long enough,” he whispered, grazing his teeth over the tip of her ear. She murmured an assent. He led her to the edge of the bed, never once taking his eyes off her, and pulled her dress over her head. Her skin looked milky-white against his own. “You’re beautiful,” he said, surprised that he meant it.

  She flushed and started to cross her arms over her bare chest. “You probably say that to everyone.”

  “Not everyone.” He ran his fingers along her collarbone. She shivered. He suddenly remembered the way she looked that night she offered herself in exchange for her nephew: her eyes fierce, her jaw set, the wind whipping her hair. He was convinced that if he tried hard enough, he could still smell the sea-salt on her. The thought of that stirred him. He pushed her back to the bed, kissing her, his hands on her breasts and then down. She uttered a soft gasp, but didn’t try to stop him like last time.

  When the time came, he didn’t think she would bleed. He had never seen that in a woman before and tried to pull away in a moment of panic. But she held him, dark streaks running down her thighs, and whispered something in Jinan. Then she kissed his neck, her hands on his shoulders, and urged him on. He did, confused, wondering if the expression on her face was pain and feeling entirely out of his element.

  But she was warm and soft in his arms, and soon he stopped caring. When it was over, he rolled to the side and closed his eyes. He felt her move and then, unexpectedly, her arms around him. That was new, too. He didn’t know what to think.

  “We’re going to have to find a new inn,” he said, feeling uncomfortable in the silence.

  “This bed too small?”

  He chuckled, turning to face her. “Creaky, too.”

  She grew serious. “I saw him leave. The Kag. There’s no other Kags in the inn, so I figured he was visiting you. Your master, was it?”

  “Nothing escapes you. Yes, that was the glorious Yn Garr. And yes, I would rather he not know where we are until I’m ready to face him again. I am not—as you can tell—at my best.” He tried to smile at her.

  “I’ll talk to the innkeeper. Enosh—” She finished by leaning over him and kissing him softly. He could feel her heart beating. He still didn’t understand, but when she left, he found it hard to think of anything else. It was beyond disconcerting.

  They stayed thirty days in Kalthekar. He’d had enough lying bedridden in a run-down inn and pulled enough money from his accounts to ensure long days of sampling excellent Gasparian fare. The nights they spent in a tangle of satin sheets and hot baths.

  It was the longest he had ever hidden from Yn Garr’s prying eyes. For a time, he was almost convinced that this was all he needed—that he could live like this the rest of his life. He could buy a couple of horses, catch a ship in Aret-ni, and travel to wherever their hearts desired. People had been content with less.

  But a morning came when he woke up, and she was still asleep, and he found himself staring in the mirror, at the aging face that so resembled his father. Had it already been fourteen years since his death? More? I am closer to your dream than you ever were, he thought, running his hands through his hair. Yet look at me pissing it all away because I cannot bear an old man’s scrutiny.

  It was easier when he was younger. Back then, it was easier to gauge what Yn Garr wanted—a memorized line here, the proper arrangement of a spell there. Now that he was older, Yn Garr was starting to treat him like an incompetent, no better than the Boarshind he loved to hire because they were cheap and dispensable. Worse, even. He took a deep breath and with fumbling hands found the letter he kept in the drawer. It had arrived two days ago by an unknown courier who left as soon as he found him.

  You’re no longer heading the operations at Al-ir. I’ve fixed that little problem. Forget about it and report to camp. The directions are here. Report to Gaven for your orders.

  Report to Gaven.

  Maybe he was overthinking things. But shouldn’t that have said, Gaven will have your orders? Or, I’ve left your orders with Gaven. Report. He didn’t like the way Yn Garr used the word so abruptly. Of late, he had started wondering what his role was in the man’s grand schemes. He had power over most of his holdings, it was true, but Yn Garr continued to act without his knowledge. Continuing with the excavations despite knowing what Enosh came all the way out here for—that was not just a deliberate act meant to piss him off. He wished it was. But there was something else in there, and his only proof was that he had known Yn Garr long enough.

  He heard a faint rustling. He returned to lay beside her and felt himself smile, in spite of everything, when she turned to lay her hand on his bare chest. He leaned his head on hers. “Go back to sleep,” he heard her murmur. “You are too restless.”

  “I am more than that,” he replied, closing his eyes. His lips brushed over her cheek. “Promise me you’ll stay.”

  “The sun hasn’t risen yet and you’re already thinking the strangest things.”

  “I mean it. I’m really starting to get used to having you around. I—I wouldn’t know what I’d do if you’re not here tomorrow.”

  “Oh, Enosh.” She kissed him, long and lingering.

  Gaven was waiting for them when they reached the river camp. One of his hands was bent and there were dark bruises creeping along the back of his arm, but he still looked insufferably smug. A half-breed, with ancestors that ran the alleys like rats, Enosh thought, looking at him. Not a man with the blood of princes in his veins, of someone destined to unite the northern islands under one rule. He felt the familiar anger stirring inside him and fought to keep it down.

  “So you’re overseeing the excavations now,” he said, nearly spitting the words out.

  Gaven threw a scroll at him. “Straight from Yn Garr’s hands.”

  He drew aside and unrolled the scroll. He read it once, and then twice. A cold bead of sweat formed along his forehead. So, he thought, smiling in spite of himself. This is what the old man had in mind. I was right all along.

  He turned to Gaven, who had tipped his head forward. “Should I start the preparations?”

  “Go ahead,” he said. He turned to Sume, picked up her hands, and kissed them. “You’re brave, aren’t you? You’ll wait for me until I’m done indulging that insufferable old man.”

  “What’s happening?” she asked. After those long days and nights in Kalthekar, it felt strange to see her back in this—his world. She didn’t belong there. I feel like I could drown…surrounded by land. It was unfair how her words back then had so precisely echoed thoughts he had never voiced out in all those years.

  He twirled her fingers in his and kissed them, one by one, and imagined her standing at the edge of the sea before he said, “We’re heading out today to Lake Enji. I am to lead a hundred and ten hired men in an attack against Bannal and his mages and not die in the process, so Ab help me.”

  Chapter Five

  “You’re an hour late,” Moon said, appearing in an alley behind him. She smiled and reached up to touch his arm.

  Kefier frowned. After more than two months in Enji, he still found it easy to get lost. The grounds were vast, easily the size of a small city. There were places to eat at and stores to buy from, and some of the mages had their own quarters separate from the main keep. “That’s because you were probably lying about the streets not changing when my back is turned.”

  She laughed. Despite everything, he was starting to look forward to these small meetings. It provided a break from his monotonous days. “I got this from the toothless guy around the corner. Think she’ll like it?” He produced a wooden carving of a mountain lion.

  Moon bent over to look at the figure in his palm. The details were intricate, and even the fur and whiskers were rendered with surprising care. “Teamu is really good with these, isn’t
he? Have you seen his dioramas? They’re so life-like.”

  “What makes you think they’re actually not—you know—alive?”

  She slapped him on the shoulder. “Come now, Kefier. That isn’t actually how being a mage works, you know.” She affectionately leaned towards him as they walked. “Teamu’s skilled, no question about it. But he’s more a scholar than a mage nowadays. When he was younger, the agan that ran through him allowed him to change the direction of the wind. It wasn’t the most sophisticated of gifts.”

  “In Dageis, sail-ships relied on people like that. If he was any good at it, he would’ve been well-respected.”

  “Ah. Because Dageis is such a wonderful place, with the agan peddled left and right like a common thing, and slave-ships floating freely in her waters. You do know about the slave-ships, right? Nothing but prison boats made for the sole purpose of allowing mages to practice their blood rites.”

  He winced, as if struck, and felt the memory of pain running across his back. “Of course I know,” he mumbled.

  “I’m sorry. It is an old argument among mages. We have had many, over the years, flee to Dageis, wanting the freedom they think they can find. There, the agan is not mistrusted as in Jin-Sayeng, or made out to be nothing but parlour tricks like in the Kag. And it certainly isn’t like here in Gaspar, where they think of the agan as a gift bequeathed from the gods.”

  “You make that sound like it’s a bad thing.”

  “Some of us just want a normal life. You remember how worked up old Dalgon got, taking us home?”

  “His fears weren’t exactly unfounded.”

  “May the gods bless his soul for it. But imagine that, every moment of your life. People waving palm fronds over you as soon as they learn you’re a mage. Having to hide what you are if you want to be left alone. So they run to Dageis, which is all well and good if Dageis wasn’t completely the opposite of everything else. Marked by the agan and you are as ordinary as can be. Unmarked, you are no better than a worm. There must be a better way, don’t you think?”