by Lexy Wolfe
Ash yawned as Terrence and Ophilia joined the rest at the table. “Did you not sleep well?” the younger man asked.
“Hm? Oh, I just stayed up later than I should have writing yesterday’s journal entry.” He ignored the skeptical looks he got from both his lifemate and former apprentice. “I will not return until late from the archives again tonight.”
“I do not understand what you think you are going find there,” Storm grumbled as she finished her food. She took her glass of water and drained half of it. “What has happened, has happened. What will happen, will happen. Knowing why is unnecessary.”
Ash pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing. “We have had this discussion before.”
“No. It has not been a discussion yet! It is you telling me why I am wrong to be angry and you still spending every waking moment among dead books.” She stood and pointed at Jaison and Bella. “And do not tell me they are not quite dead!”
The man held up both hands. She hid her smile behind her glass, hair slipping forward to conceal her face. “I would not dream of it, Alanis na’Zhekali.”
“Alanis!” A sharp gesture toward Ash followed Storm’s exclamation. “We are supposed to be Alanis na’Zhekali together, but I may as well be alone! You said you would help me, but you are doing nothing. Nothing! Is it your Forentan blood that drives you to lie?”
“Lie?” He stood up, his pride pricked and stung by the truth within her accusations. His cheeks were flush with shame. “I did not lie to you!”
“You do.” Her hand slashed the air between them in a decisive gesture. “You lie to yourself as well!” She spun on her heel and stalked to the grassy ledge, the drizar dropping from above. “I go to commune with Thandar. I will return. Eventually.” She climbed onto the beast’s back and they leapt away.
Izkynder broke the silence that had taken over the room. “Mama? Aunt Storm owie?”
“No, sweetie,” she assured, hugging him with one arm. “She is only a little grumpy.” His skeptical expression and crossed arms were so comical, the adults could not help but laugh.
Ash remained silent, lost in thought. Before he could speak, everyone got up, heading out to various destinations or activities. Lips pressed together, the mage sat back with a frown. “She is right.”
Terrence grunted, his feet sliding a few inches as he blocked Skyfire’s blow with both arms. He tried to ignore the yells from those watching as he could only defend himself from the onslaught of punches and kicks. He grimaced at the shrill noises of Petal and Chitta as the forest sprite and desert chitan circled around them. He raised his forearms to protect his face, bracing himself.
Skyfire’s fist merely bumped him. As Terrence unfolded from his protective huddle, the tall Desanti man grunted. “No more training for today. It would do neither of us any good. I have no need to hurt you and you are beyond learning anything from my attacks.” He frowned. “You are more distracted than usual. Is something wrong?”
“I do not know,” he admitted, catching the towel a watching Unsvet Guardian tossed to him. He wiped his bare chest and arms, pausing to look at his bare right shoulder with chagrin. With the Githalin mark divinely concealed, no one beyond the tribe knew the significance of his circular pendant emblazoned with crossed swords. The sight of his Illaini mark covering his forearm caused more than enough of a stir. “I have been restless since we returned from testing.”
“I have noticed.” He looked to their audience. “Train. Or don’t. Tomorrow, Storm will test your progress.” The Unsvets and Adepts traded looks as the pair headed toward the main tunnel entrance.
The sound of combat drifted after the pair of men as they walked away. Terrence could not help but smile. “Do you think they will keep up with training once we are out of sight?”
The taller man shrugged one shoulder. “Some of them. They are better than they were when we first arrived. It is an improvement even if they don’t reach Swordanzen standards.”
“If Storm’s expecting anyone to attain her level of skill,” he began.
“She does not. It takes a lifetime of dedication to do that.” Skyfire’s teeth flashed in a brief smile. “I am the only one who ever matched her, and she pushed me to it.”
Terrence wanted to laugh, but could only sigh. The other studied his profile, concerned. “What is wrong, Sumyr?”
“Am I a disappointment to you and Storm, Skyfire?”
“Of course not. Why would you even think that?” He stopped, turning to wave a hand toward the training yard. “Because you are not at their level? Psh.” He crossed his arms. “She is critical of the Unsvets’ skills because many are near a hundred years in age. A Desanti craftsman has better techniques than most of them.”
“Or a Forentan mage?”
Skyfire frowned. “I know we can seem unreasonable, Sumyr. But we do not think poorly of you. We began learning to fight the moment we start to walk. You only began real training after Dzee stabilized her bond to you in Forenta. Those idiots have decades on both of us, and most fail to compare to the least martial of our people. We are proud of your progress. We do not judge you as we do them.”
“You are a mage, not a Swordanzen.” Both men turned to Jaison as he approached them. “Give yourself some credit.” The distant kinsman of Storm’s birth tribe considered the young man. “Who has been filling your head with nonsense about not comparing to the warrior whose temper even gods dare not cross?”
Skyfire studied Terrence as the mage looked away and crossed his arms. “Ophilia?”
“No!” He colored. “Well. Not directly. I would discuss my restlessness and she thought maybe I’m worrying about trying to prove I’m worthy to bear a Desanti blessing.”
Jaison shook his head. “I do not recommend saying that to Storm. You know how she feels about questioning the Totani’s choices.”
“Dzee gave me the choice to be her Githalin. She did not force it on me. I chose to keep it. Unfortunately, she had been lost for so long, none remember her. But when they do accept her as one of Lord Desantiva’s divine servants, the Desanti people will have expectations of me and challenge me to prove my worth. If I cannot prove myself worthy as a warrior—”
Skyfire considered. “By the time we become adults, we have nearly a decade of learning how to fight. Even when you are distracted, you are on the same level as a child ready to seek their adult name from the Totani.” He sighed. “But, we have believed only Githalin could be Swordanzen, which you are not. You are right to be concerned. The challenges will be relentless unless your victories are decisive.”
Petal circled the three before landing atop Terrence’s head. She hung onto his hair and lowered herself to look in one eye. “You are not warrior. You are mage. You must learn to fight as mage.”
“But mages don’t fight,” Terrence argued, irritably trying to remove her, grimacing as she held on tight. “Would you let go? You know it irritates me when you are so near my eyes.”
“Warriors can learn reading and writing. Mages can learn fight,” she pointed out. The forest sprite loosened her grip. Unprepared for the sudden release, Terrence flung her away. She tumbled, then stopped, hovering a moment before circling back. “Same things, different paths.”
Skyfire made a face. “The bug has a point. As much as I dislike northern literacy, it has its uses.” He considered. “I had not thought about it, but Ash used magic to fight. Quite often.” A faint smile touched his lips. “Anything can be a weapon. Perhaps he would be a better instructor than Storm, Jaison or I. He knows what mages are capable of better than any of us and ways to use it in situations not taught in your Magus Academy.”
“Ask Ash?” Terrence bit his lip, ignoring Petal as she resumed her perch atop his head. He fidgeted with uncertainty as the three resumed walking back to their dormitory. “I don’t know. He’s been busy in the archives of late and I don’t want to be a bother—”
“Terrence, what would irritate him more?” Jaison asked in bland tones. “You bothering
him for help with something or you not going to him at all?” He ruffled the younger man’s hair with affection, sending the forest sprite into the air with a squeak. “If I remember correctly, he felt particularly bad he did not give you the attention you deserved when you were still an apprentice. To deprive him of the chance to make up for that—”
Terrence waved his arms in irritation. “All right, all right! I’ll go talk to him. After I get a bath.” He made a show of sniffing himself then wrinkling his nose. “I reek after today’s training.” His pace increased to escape the brotherly torment of the two warriors.
When the young mage was out of sight, Jaison glanced sideways at Skyfire. “Do you think he will?”
“I do not know. He is as difficult to predict as Storm.” The darker man smiled. “But I do know he is very clever, especially when there is no time to worry about Forentan ‘propriety’ or perceived limits on his abilities and strength. If the idea is in his mind that his mage arts could be used in what is viewed as warrior activities, he may explore the possibilities himself.”
Jaison made an agreeable grunt in response. “I do not envy him. It is daunting enough being the only one of your kind when there were others before you. At least there are histories to guide your way. I cannot imagine not having anyone come before you.” Skyfire sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, drawing a concerned look from his companion. “You okay?”
“No. But I do not wish to talk about it.” Jaison frowned, but did not press the matter. “We should continue your practice of the Desanti tongue.”
The man studied the rock in front of them as they walked. “When should I go to find my adult name? What will I need to do when—”
“You’ll know when. As to what you will need to do? I have no idea. The trial is as ambiguous as the testing to become a Guardian of Time.”
“It fits the individual. Which means I could fail, even as long as I have lived.”
“Any test can be failed.” Skyfire looked at him, his expression serious. “It is less a matter of age than of self-discovery. For some, it is more physical. Others, not as much. But once the trial is begun, you cannot return without your name.” He resumed walking, Jaison lagging behind a pace. “That is what may kill you. The land is unforgiving.”
Taylin stormed out of her and Mureln’s bedroom, hands on her hips. “Emil na’Zhekali! Where are you? I swear, I will tan your hide when I get a hold of you.” Seeing no one in the dormitory, she headed down the tunnel in search of the gypsy man. “What are you teaching my son? He is too young to learn about brothels!”
With Izkynder settled on his hip, Mureln walked out of the bedroom, his expression bemused. “Mama mad,” the boy observed.
“Yes, she is.” The master bard wagged a finger. “Just because you know how to make her angry does not mean you should.”
One of the other doors squeaked as it opened a crack. “Is she gone?” Emil asked in a quiet voice.
“For now,” Mureln assured. “She should be calmer by the time she returns.” His regard held no sympathy. “I warned you not to talk about pleasure houses in front of Izkynder. He is not only a sponge but a mirror for everything he observes around him.”
The wiry gypsy walked into the main room, holding his hands out helplessly. “He ain’t that old. Like, what? A year? I know you Vodani grow up faster than us and Desanti faster still! I dinna think he understood!” Behind him, Emaris snorted and shook his head. The smaller man scowled over his shoulder. “Ye don’t need ta add yer two coppers, ye lunk.”
“Emil lunk!” the boy crowed, clapping his hands.
The wiry gypsy stared at him. The men unable to repress their laughter. He put his hands on his hips, trying to look angry but failed miserably. “Yer gonna keep us all on our toes, ain’t ye, lad?” Izkynder smiled charmingly. “He be yer boy, Mureln. No doubt about it.”
Emil thumped his brother’s shoulder. “C’mon, I wanna visit Itena t’day. Gods know when Storm an’ Ash’ll decide it’ll be time t’ head out. It’s gotta be b’fore the weather starts gettin’ cold again.” He mock shivered. “Jus’ thinkin’ ‘bout winter travelin’ makes me want Itena t’ warm me up. Bet ye want yer lass warmin’ ye up, too, eh?” The mute giant nodded, happily following his smaller brother out into the tunnel.
The bard studied the youngster, continuing to wear a smile. “Indeed he is my son.” He leaned close to kiss the boy’s cheek, pausing to murmur in his ear. “Hide how much you know if you want, but do not pretend to be stupid.”
Izkynder looked at his father, pure curiosity in his eyes. “Why not?”
“Because people can get very angry when they find out you are smart, especially if you are smarter than them.”
“Why?”
“Oh, there are lots of reasons.” He shifted the boy to ride piggyback. “Mostly because they don’t like feeling tricked. Many trust what they see on the outside is what is on the inside, too. When you pretend to be stupid instead of just hiding your intelligence, and then they find out you are smart, possibly smarter than them, they think you were mocking them.”
The boy frowned, pursing his lips. “I don’t mean to make fun of anyone. That makes heart owies and I don’t like those.”
Mureln smiled. “I know. I don’t like them, either.”
The two rounded a bend and stepped out onto one of the upper ledges where a spring-fed fountain poured over into another farther below. Izkynder asked, “Will Mama hate Uncle Emil because of me?”
“Hate him?” The man shifted to let his son slide down to the edge of the pool. “I don’t think so.” The pair sat on the thick grass, looking out toward the distant World Spine mountain range. “But we don’t want her mad at him all the time, or she might like him less and less.”
Izkynder pursed his lips. “That’s bad. Emil is family. Family should love family. That is what Aunt Storm and Uncle Ash say.”
Mureln leaned back on his hands, crossing his ankles. He smiled when his son imitated his pose. “Family always loving family would be ideal, yes. It doesn’t always happen like that though. Not everyone is perfect. But neither of them really had families, so they never had anything but dreams of having one of their own. Dreams have a bad habit of being without flaws.”
“Bad things killed their families.” He crossed his arms. “I hate the bad things.” He looked up at Mureln. “Aren’t we their family now?”
The bard chuckled. “It’s rather complicated. I’ll explain it to you after I understand all of it better myself.”
Chin jutting out, Izkynder scrutinized his father, his eyes sparkling with gold flecks, similar to Skyfire when he focused on his spiritwalker vision. He sighed dramatically. “Oh, okay,” he finally agreed. He rolled over, picking at the grass. “Would everyone hate me if they knew how weird I was?”
“Weird in what way?” Mureln returned, with a maddening serenity.
The boy flopped onto his back. “I’m growing up too fast. Especially here.” He tapped his temple. “They all talk about it when they think I’m not listening. Mama worries about how she’ll explain me to everyone when we leave. And Aunt Storm and Uncle Skyfire always act like they did something horrible and feel bad about it.” He sat up, hugging his knees against his chest. “I wish I was never born, then no one would be unhappy.”
Mureln’s easygoing expression evaporated, and he moved closer to his son, pulling him into a one-armed embrace. “Shards, Izkynder, don’t think that way. No one is unhappy because of you. They’re unhappy because of themselves. And staying here longer than we had intended is only giving them time to feel unhappier because they focus on what they think they did wrong.”
The boy looked up with a frown. “I don’t understand. They didn’t do anything wrong.” He tugged the blood crystal pendant out. “If Aunt Storm and Uncle Skyfire hadn’t protected me and Mama, then Uncle Almek would have died. That would have been bad because that would make the Timeless One real sad. It’s not good when gods are sad. Uncle Emil said so.
”
The man’s eyes crinkled in amusement. “Uncle Emil can be very wise when he lets himself.” Mureln hugged the boy tighter for a moment. “They love you very, very much and want you to have a better childhood than them.” He leaned closer to stage whisper, “You know Aunt Storm challenged Uncle Tyrsan when he was Dulain and chased off the midwife? All because they talked about taking you away after you were born?”
His eyes went very wide. “She did?”
“Mm hm. She didn’t get to be a child very long, and sometimes she couldn’t save other children from bad things.” He tapped the blood crystal. “You were important to both her and Uncle Skyfire. Enough they were willing to give their own lives to protect you so you could be born. They very nearly did. After your mother saved Almek, they almost didn’t wake up again.”
The boy’s eyes widened. He looked down at the pendant he cradled. “I am glad they didn’t die,” he said in a small voice.
“We all are.” He kissed the top of his son’s hair lightly. “We all are.”
“So why is everyone unhappy? Uncle Almek is okay and Mama is okay and Aunt Storm and Uncle Skyfire are okay and I am okay…I don’t understand.”
Mureln quirked a wry smile. “Because they think they might have done something wrong because everything they did to keep you safe made you different. Not that different is bad,” he said before Izkynder could speak. “But none of them had happy childhoods. If they realized how fast you are growing up, they might believe they stole your childhood away, too. A time when you can feel safe and protected and play without a worry in the world. At least, that is the ideal they imagine childhood to be. And that is why they feel bad.”
“You don’t? Uncle Emil told the Unsvet guardsmen that I was born because you weren’t paying attention.” Mureln arched an eyebrow. “He wasn’t lying! I checked.”
“Just because I wasn’t paying attention doesn’t mean I didn’t want you. And no, I don’t feel bad you are growing up so fast.” He put his hand over his heart. “It means more to me that I didn’t lose you at all. Growing up doesn’t mean never playing or not being silly. It just means knowing when you need to be serious.”
