by M. D. Grimm
Gust looked over his shoulder. “What did you tell him?”
“The truth.” She stepped up to his side, and they both watched Dakar sleep.
“He wants Lance hanged.” It wasn’t a question.
“Indeed, he does.” Kissa shook her head. “Then Kafele and I explained to him exactly what happened, and he grew silent. He cannot condone his son’s behavior but no parent wants to see their child harmed. Lance could have killed him.”
“He didn’t.”
Kissa stepped in front of Gust and met his gaze. “It is all I and the sheriff can do to keep Lukman and the council away from Lance. He needs to control himself or he will be thrown out before he’s fully healed. It won’t be long before the council demands that they meet him.”
Gust quickly told her all he’d learned about Lance, what he’d observed. He stressed as much as he could about Lance not being a danger. He also told her about Brutus and Mandissa’s confirmation of his divinity.
“I was in trouble, and he defended me the only way he understands. I’ve already spoken to him about it. I’ll speak to him again. Please reassure the council that I have him in hand.”
Kissa sighed and shook her head. “With little effort he could have ended Dakar’s life. We need to be careful around him.”
“We all have the capacity to kill,” he whispered, his stomach knotting. He ignored her implications that Lance would ever harm him. Lance was not Dakar, he knew that for certain. “Snet made sure of that.”
Kissa regarded him in silence before gently cupping his shoulders, kneading his muscles. “You would never take anyone’s life.”
His muscles tensed, and he narrowed his eyes. “If I ever face the monster who killed my parents, I will gladly take that burden.”
Kissa tightened her grip. “You are a healer.”
Gust stepped away from her. “Don’t stand there and tell me you wouldn’t stab that monster in the back if you had the chance.”
Her expression tightened and she turned away. She walked to Dakar’s bedside and dampened a soft cloth from the bowl of water sitting on the table before dabbing his forehead.
“We belong to Anknet, not Snet or Mawn. We heal and we preserve. We don’t kill, and we don’t seek vengeance.”
“Speak for yourself.”
Kissa snapped upright and glowered at him. “You would do Mawn’s work now?”
Mawn was the devourer of souls that were found unworthy after being weighed on scales against one of Ysys’s feathers.
“If she isn’t doing it, why shouldn’t I?”
“Damn it, Gustum!” Kissa slapped the damp cloth on the table in pure frustration and pain. She presented her back to him, and he felt like an ass. Her shoulders shook slightly before they tensed. “Don’t you think I want my brother back? Your mother who was like a sister to me? Do you think I have not felt pain as you do?”
Gust lowered his gaze to the floor. “You didn’t see them. You didn’t see what that monster did to them.”
It had taken a couple of day’s hard ride to reach the village as soon as a messenger had arrived, saying it had been attacked by the warlord Ulfr and his gang. Smoke had still filled the air as did the putrid scent of death and blood, despite the clean-up underway. In the mess he’d found his parents’ bodies, stacked with the rest, ready to be burned. Their heads, along with a few others, had been placed around Snet’s shrine in gory tribute, though they were set beside their bodies when he’d arrived. He’d sobbed as his heart had broken into thousands of pieces. The survivors of the raid and the only priestess to care for the shrines had told him what happened.
If others hadn’t held him back, Gust would have charged after Ulfr for bloody revenge. And would have died in the process, he knew that. That would have been fine with him. The pain had been unbearable. Still was, when he dwelled on it. He curled his hands into fists and clenched his jaw.
“I did not need to see them to know,” Kissa whispered. “You were right to let them burn where they died. To quickly send their souls to rest in Osys’s halls.”
Gust closed his eyes and took deep breaths. “I’m going to bed. Lance should probably have new clothes and shoes. His current ones are too small, and I want to take him on a tour of Thebys tomorrow.”
“I would avoid Lukman’s property. Please be careful, Gust. Stay alert.”
“Right.” Without another word, he left.
Kissa managed to find a bigger tunic and robust sandals from the donated pile of clothes that fit Lance quite well. Lance’s face brightened when Gust presented the items, though it still wasn’t a full smile. What would it take to get him to really, freely smile? The only time Gust remembered such an expression was when Lance had reunited with Brutus.
Gust also brought a large bowl of water with a soft cloth so Lance could bathe himself and tame his long hair a bit. Lance appeared amused when Gust pointed out his wild hair which, indeed, did reach the middle of his back. Lance also hadn’t shaved since arriving and dark gold scruff was starting to hide his cheeks and chin. Gust and the other men in town didn’t need to shave since they didn’t grow hair on their faces, not like those of paler skin. The bruises and swelling on Lance’s face had nearly entirely disappeared, revealing his appealing countenance. Once the bruises were gone completely, Gust planned on encouraging Lance to shave.
Lance opened the door and stepped out, freshly cleaned with his long hair pulled back in a sleek tail. The sleeveless tunic was dark blue and emphasized his eyes as well as his muscled arms. The breeches and sandals were black and showed off his toned legs. He still looked intimidating, and if they added a sword to his ensemble, no one would mistake him for anything but a warrior. Gust struggled to get his body under control. There was no denying he was handsome, and the contrast between his docility and aggressive natures was too intriguing to stay away from.
“Let’s grab some breakfast before I show you around Thebys. Sound good?”
Lance nodded, his lips quirked up to one side.
It was still early, the sun low, when they stepped outside. Gust took a deep breath of the crisp morning air and smiled as his community began their morning activities. Gust headed off to his left, and Lance fell into step, listening silently as Gust pointed out the different businesses and family house clusters. He found himself giving a rather accurate summary of the different families and their general beliefs and placement in the town’s hierarchy.
Lance would nod and look to where Gust pointed. However, it didn’t escape Gust’s notice that Lance’s eyes never stayed still. He was alert and aware, and if he’d been a dog, Gust was certain his ears would be pointed straight up. Interesting. Was he expecting an attack? I was broken and trained and molded into a weapon. That is all I am. That is all I know. I don’t have any other purpose. Lance’s words from last night resonated in Gust’s head. It made him all the more determined to show Lance a different sort of life.
Every time Lance looked at him, Gust felt the warmth and intensity of his gaze. His powerful focus, even for such a short moment, made Gust’s gut clench and his heart speed up. He’d never had anyone’s undivided attention before, and it felt like a physical touch.
“We have one of the best healer apprenticeships in this region of Cairon,” Gust said with no small amount of pride. “Then we send them out across the kingdom and sometimes, if the new healer is really ambitious, we send them to Swenen. But we hesitate to encourage them to go to Grekenus. I know that kingdom probably needs healers more than the others but the war is unpredictable, and we don’t exactly want to send our healers to their deaths. The gray jerkins should protect us but in times of war, even healers and priests aren’t immune to harm.”
Lance cocked his head. “I thought healers were trained at the Hill of Tarran, like priests or bards. I mean, minstrels.”
“Many are,” Gust said. “Then they set up somewhere and train all that come to them. My aunt’s mentor came from the Hill. He trained both her and my… my parents.�
�� Gust cleared his throat. “He passed away in his sleep last year.”
“He was old, then?”
“Very old,” Gust said with a slight laugh. “We’ve had several minstrels here over the years but they never stayed long. Just enough to sing some songs, get some free lodging, and make our ladies swoon.” He grinned. “We’ve had a bit of an influx in recent days because of the festival. Enough of our people know Taris that we can educate our own children without help from someone trained at the Hill.”
“I, uh, noticed last night and this morning that many are speaking a different language.”
“Coptin,” Gust said. “I can teach you some if you want.”
“I’d like that.”
Gust waved to a few people that crossed their path and didn’t miss the quick and curious looks toward Lance. Some were hostile or fearful. It wasn’t the time nor the place for Gust to set them right, and he had to wonder if he should be more afraid. Sure, Lance was always gentle toward him but that was when he was dreadfully wounded. He was still a warrior. Although, try as he might, and despite Kissa’s ominous words, Gust simply couldn’t imagine Lance as a heartless slaughterer.
He was more like a child, eager to learn.
They turned a corner just past a blacksmith’s forge when five children, none yet close to puberty, came barreling toward them, determined to catch a wayward ball. Before Gust could do anything, the ball bounced off Lance’s leg, hit the side of the baker’s house, then sat innocently in the dirt. The children skidded to a halt, panting and sweaty, gaping wide-eyed at Lance. Gust wondered when the last fair-skinned person had come this far south and realized it was more than a decade. Not surprising the children gaped in wonder.
Lance glanced at Gust, then the children, then the ball. He took a step and retrieved the object of desire. Instead of handing it to the children, he set it on the tip of his finger and spun it with his other hand. Gust gaped as the children did as the ball stayed obediently on Lance’s finger, flinging bits of clinging dirt as it spun like a top.
Lance did smile then. Fully, innocently. He dropped the ball and bounced it twice on his knees before grabbing it with both hands.
“This is a fine ball,” he said before handing it to the smallest child in the group. She took it, blinking rapidly.
“How did you do that?” a boy asked. Gust thought his name was Menes.
Unfortunately, Menes spoke in Coptin, and Lance glanced at Gust.
“He asked how you did that.” Gust eyed Menes and said in Coptin, “And shouldn’t you lot be at your lessons?”
“We’re on a break,” Menes said defensively.
Lance glanced between them before everyone fell silent, waiting for his answer. He appeared rather shy as he shrugged. “Years of practice.”
One of the other boys snatched the ball away and raced off, trying and failing to spin the ball on his fingertip. The other children sprinted after him, demanding the ball.
Out of the corner of his eye, Gust noticed Miann, one of the younger council members, watching them. She was the only teacher they had at their modest school. She taught reading and writing and history. But if the wealthier families wanted a more formal education for their children, they had to send them to Apys. She wasn’t a minstrel or scribe but her father had been. She had connections to others of the guild. He waved at her, and she waved back, regarding Lance with puzzlement.
A rusty sound came from Lance’s throat as he watched the children, and Gust realized it was a laugh. It was short-lived, so Gust couldn’t enjoy it.
“You are just full of surprises, aren’t you?” Gust said, hand on his hip.
Lance glanced at him before looking away and shrugging again. Gust patted his shoulder, and they turned to the section of Thebys that housed the temple dedicated to the gods. Gust was proud of the beauty of the temple and shrines and the attention put into them. Many villages and towns nearby didn’t have the resources to create their own houses to the gods and either had to settle for modest shrines or travel to other towns to worship. Most of the funds had been raised by the town, and their artisans volunteered their time and skill to their temples’ creation.
Mandissa and Kurzun tended the temple and lived off the offerings of the town. They went about their quiet ways caring for the structures and taking any offerings into the inner sanctums, which also doubled as their living quarters. Each temple was required to have at least a priest and a priestess. Larger ones had more. Other places with only shrines could only afford one priest or priestess to care for all of them. They weren’t truly part of the town but separate, independent. They had dedicated their lives to their respective gods and seemed to lead quiet, content lives. The grand temples of the gods lay in the heart of the kingdom, the Hill of Tarran. All priests and priestesses were trained from there and then sent out across the three kingdoms.
The interesting aspect of the Nifdem Empire was the lack of a united religion. The three kingdoms retained their ancestral gods and none of the emperor’s seemed to want to change that. Gust suspected it was because none of them wanted to have their reigns toppled because they destroyed the wrong gods’ temple. Considering the very Nifdem Empire they ruled was formed from a demi-goddess, as legend stated, and each kingdom had a story, and claimed to “own” her, and have the correct origin story, it was also wise to embrace all rather than piss off a deity.
As a result, the emperors embraced all the gods and took young folk from the three kingdoms to train them up in accordance to their heritage. They were then sterilized, took vows of celibacy, and ceremonially pledged their lives to the gods.
Gust came back to himself and noticed Lance staring at Snet’s temple the hardest, saying nothing. Then he gazed at Anknet’s, brows furrowed, deep in thought. Gust wanted to ask what he was thinking about and got the sense such a question wouldn’t be welcome.
He gently touched Lance’s arm. “Come on, let’s go the bakery. Aren’t you hungry?”
Lance drifted his gaze over the other shrines, looking a little lost again. Then he turned to Gust, and his expression cleared, softened.
“I would like that.”
Before they went even a few steps, the same group of children ran in front of them, cheering in delight. How long did breaks last? He couldn’t remember. Ray, a girl about seven years old, spotted them and grinned widely at Gust.
“Come on! Nawa finally says their ready!” she cried. “Come on Gust!”
Gust grinned as the children vanished around a corner. Lance gave him a questioning look.
“You want to see some puppies?” he asked.
Lance’s brow shot up, and he nodded vigorously, his lips curling just a bit at the corners. Gust led them to one of the only two-story cottages in the town. It belonged to a council member, Nawa, who bred wolfhounds. Six clumsy puppies ran around, yipping in delight as the children descended. Other adult dogs milled around the front, receiving affection as well. If any of them stood on their hind legs they would be taller than most of the adult men. But the puppies were the perfect size for the young children.
Before Gust could say a word, Lance hurried forward and dropped to his knees. One of the puppies spotted him and trotted over, tongue lolling out and tail wagging. Lance scooped the pup right up and nuzzled his face. The puppy eagerly licked him, straining to be even closer. Lance cuddled him close, and Gust’s heart melted and ached at Lance’s pure happiness. Then Lance turned to look at him with a great big grin, face beaming like the sun.
Gust grinned back. Finally, he got him to really smile.
“They’re so cute!” Lance said, his voice higher pitched, his face flushed with excitement.
The puppy wiggled to be let down, and Lance set him down gently. Then the puppy romped around Lance before clamping down on a part of his sandal and tugging. Lance chuckled and sat on his butt, twitching his foot a few times in play. The puppy let out a cute growl and tugged with all his little might.
Gust snorted a laugh and sat do
wn next to Lance, delighted by the puppy’s antics. It didn’t escape his notice that the adults stared at both of them. He doubted any of them could reconcile their beliefs about warriors and Lance’s behavior with the puppy.
He hoped he could show the council members firsthand that Lance wasn’t a danger. Taking him on a tour of the town not only had the advantage of giving him time with Lance and learning about him, it also showed other people who he was. A bonus was observing how well Lance moved, which indicated his rapidly increasing health. He didn’t appear as stiff as mere days before and the careful way he’d once moved no longer appeared necessary. Gust couldn’t determine if it was the sacred ink, the herbs, or Lance himself, or all of the above, that accounted for his swift recovery. It didn’t really matter. By the gods, it could be all Brutus’s doing as well. The lore regarding the magic that divine creatures harnessed was vague and contradictory.
They stayed there playing until the puppy simply collapsed from exhaustion and promptly fell asleep. Lance tenderly scooped him up and brought him to Nawa who had watched them with a beady eye ever since they arrived. She lost some of her hostility when she noticed Lance’s careful treatment of the dog. He was still smiling when he handed the puppy back.
“He will be a strong, fearless dog when he grows up,” Lance said.
“Considering his lineage, that’s to be expected,” Nawa said, not unkindly.
“Thank you,” Lance said, “for letting me play with him.”
Her expression softened. “You’re welcome.”
With a last long look at the puppy, Lance turned and they walked away. He sighed softly, his smile disappearing. Sad to see it go, Gust gently nudged Lance’s arm.
“We can come back tomorrow. You just won over Nawa, and that old lady doesn’t like anyone.”
Lance nodded silently, expression inscrutable.
“Let’s go to the bakery now and get something to eat,” Gust said, leading the way. “Then we can swing by Ally the blacksmith. She’s the best we have. What do you say?”
Lance’s stomach grumbled and he appeared sheepish.
