by Lexy Wolfe
“She asked after the fact. And I was naïve,” he whispered harshly, eyes still averted. “If she had not been Totani but a true—”
“Are you so certain it was naïvete? Or was it instinct?” He gave the other’s shoulder a light shake. “No, you do not have the experience I had by your age. Be grateful for that,” Ash stated with such grimness, Terrence looked up to meet his gaze. “There are three kinds of masters. Those who memorize all their lessons, perform adequately on all the tests, but have no experience beyond the halls of the academy. The ones who have learned to face known situations through repetitious training and similar encounters. And those with the capacity to adapt to unique, unfamiliar conditions with the knowledge they possess.
“Our people have favored the first because it is easier to judge when someone is a master. Unfortunately, it has become a matter of how much memorized information you can spout without notes.” He clenched his fists between them, miming grabbing something. “Not understanding it with the thoroughness needed to know how to apply it outside of the original situation it was learned through.”
He quirked a wan smile. “But those few who comprise the latter. Those are who the world needs to lead the way through changes we are poised to usher in.”
“I don’t…I don’t understand,” Terrence stammered. “I don’t compare to you. Why me? Master Nolyn or-or anyone would have been better suited to be—”
Ash rolled his eyes. “You were not being compared to me at all when Mother chose you to be Her second Illaini. I relayed to Her the same things I told the masters about you during our journey from Forenta to Desantiva and back. The decisiveness you displayed during the stable fire in Ganessi. Your initiative to leave with me to expand your experience. Your instinct to trust an entity in need of aid when even Storm would have killed her.”
Terrence paused, momentarily confused. “You did not tell the masters Dzee was a Totani?”
The man shook his head. “No. They had no need to know anymore details about Desantiva than that much. It is up to the Desanti what they allow to be known beyond their borders. We have caused them enough damage.”
“But you did nothing to them! Even Avarian died because of the attack on the warriors. Hells, he was attacked before the Great War.”
“Could he have protected them better? Was he naïve in believing no one would commit such atrocities as they had? For the love of gods, his twin brother tried to destroy him! Zhekali gave up immortality to save him from his own brother’s attack.
“He could have warned the Desanti of the dangers so they could have prevented the devastation. Something more than nothing.” Ash shook his head with a heavy sigh. “Regardless, Avarian was reborn many times, and never had I tried to reach out to the warrior folk in any of those lifetimes. I would not have encountered them in this one but for Taylin’s visions that brought Almek to Forenta.”
Terrence’s expression belied his intense desire to refute the fault Ash took for his actions and decisions in previous lives. The man smiled sadly. “They are bitter lessons that I have learned since he led us out of our land. Do not wish them on yourself. You have a lifetime to acquire your own regrets. And it may be a benefit that your perception is not tainted by second guessing what you did in the past.”
The two had walked to the intersection where the racial halls met. Ash turned to lean against the smooth, bare wall. “Do you want to tell me what kindled the recent intensity of your sense of inadequacy?” When Terrence blushed, he stated, “I am not mocking you for what you feel. You are not alone in feeling inadequate.”
He blinked. “…You, too? But you always seem so certain…Oh. That’s your mask Storm talks about.”
He smiled a little. “It is. But don’t be fooled. She has her own, too. We all do.” He gestured aimlessly with one hand. “Don’t try to emulate me so much, Terrence.” At the other’s uncomprehending expression, he pointed out, “You are trying to figure something out without asking anyone for help. Needing assistance does not make you stupid, or weak, or lazy.”
“Some think it does,” he muttered, eyes on the floor while he scuffed the worn stone.
“We used to believe the Desanti were gone. Or that they were murderers or little more than beasts.”
Terrence smiled wanly. “What we believe is not necessarily right.”
Ash nodded once. “Exactly.”
Heaving a huge sigh, he finally confessed, “I’m trying to find how to use mage abilities as a warrior. Skyfire says you have used magic like a weapon, but I didn’t…want…to bother you.” Scrunching his eyes shut, he waited for the other to reach over to smack the back of his head. “Sorry.”
“Mm.” Ash crossed his arms again. “Doesn’t Dzee have any guidance for you? For all intents and purposes, she was the mage of the Totani.”
“Other than allowing her to use her magic through me? Not really. Even when she was alive, everything was about physical combat. Desanti trained everyone in their martial arts, no matter their vocation.” He shrugged. “But I do not have the time to devote to learning how to fight to a level I could face a Swordanzen.”
Ash frowned. “Why not? You are a Dusvet Guardian. Time should not be an issue unless…” He tilted his head. “Something is wrong.”
“I don’t know. I have been…restless,” Terrence moved both hands in a helpless gesture. “I can’t figure out what it is that bothers me. I have tried scrying, but I see nothing. I cannot calm my mind to meditate. I even asked Dzee and the Knowing One. Neither has an answer. At least, none they can give me.” He rubbed his temples, letting his exhaustion show. “I have not yet asked the Timeless One, but…”
“It would be daunting to speak directly to one of the ancient trinity. Especially if you have not exhausted all other avenues of trying to discover the issue.” He straightened away from the wall and put his arm around the younger man’s shoulders. “However, I can help you with using magic to fight. It will still require regular training, as the Desanti do, until it becomes instinct.” He grinned. “We could even use temporal energy to do the same. It has been something I have thought about myself since we arrived here.”
Terrence arched an eyebrow. “Really?”
“Indeed.” They started walking away from the intersection. “Mages have always been considered at a disadvantage to warriors due to speed. For instance, a warrior needs only think and then act to swing a sword. A mage must focus their minds and will through words, and the time it takes for that to be realized. Remember the one-eyed lupine back before Almek came to Forenta?”
Terrence shuddered. “I wish I could forget it. I had never been more terrified.”
“I tried burning it, but we know now it was being unnaturally controlled and it kept coming, albeit slower. I feared that it would take too long for the rock to reshape in time to impale it, so I pushed harder, touching on temporal energies. And it had not been the only instance I had to touch time and mingle its energy with Forentan magic to that extent. If not for stretching myself so often, I would have succumbed to the backlash then. I was closer than I cared to admit. If it had not worked, I would not have been able to stop it before it reached us.”
A frown settled on Terrence’s features. “Then how can a mage hope to compete with a warrior?”
“By pushing yourself to expand your capacity, and being efficient with what you do.” Ash shrugged. “And using the simplest spells to accomplish what you need. Bennu had Nolyn and I trained in many fields that those who were not mages learn. I thought it was pointless but now I understand why.”
Terrence tilted his head, puzzled. Understanding dawned in his eyes. “Avarian’s lessons.”
“Zhekali’s lessons,” Ash corrected, his smile sad and affectionate.
The sunstone-lit intersection of tunnels that led to the na’Zhekai’s dormitory, the bathing cavern, the servant’s hall and Sanctuary remained quiet. The Dusvet gypsy brothers paused in the shadows of the dorm hall, glancing around the luxurious grotto
of thick ferns surrounding a springfed pool “Look clear to ye, Emaris?” The larger man nodded. “Good. Been gettin’ more difficult ta avoid everyone lately.” He rolled his eyes at his mute brother as he signed. “Feh. Don’t worry s’ much. I’d like ta think I be gettin’ better at keepin’ my feelin’s to m’self. C’mon. Itena’s expectin’ an answer.”
Several measures into the servant’s tunnel from the intersection, they paused by a section of poorly lit corridor, touching the wall beside it to open the hidden door. A chill, unexpected voice startled them both.
“What sort of answer requires you to avoid your tribe?”
Emil yelped and stumbled back as Emaris turned. The two collided and fell over into a tangled pile. “Storm?!” Dressed in black, fiery hair drawn tight against her skull in a severe braid, the Desanti woman crouched in the shadows. Her green-gold eyes flashed ominously as she stared hard at the pair. “Ah, heh heh. Ain’t nothin’ important.”
The man scrambled back on all fours until he ran into Emaris when she leapt at the two, landing scant inches from them. “Do not lie to me!” she hissed. “Is it that Guardian who hides her mark? Is she trying to turn you against the tribe?” Their eyes went wide when she slipped her knife from its sheath.
“What? We ain’t turnin’ against no one!” Both held stock still, waiting, not daring to move, focused on the glimmer of the blade in the dim light.
Storm’s eyes narrowed before she sheathed the knife and stood up. “If you do not wish to be na’Zhekali, I can release you from the bayuli-volsha.” Though her tone was chill, her emotions were not quite concealed. Hurt, grief, guilt trickled out.
“Oh, good gods,” Emil muttered under his breath, both he and Emaris scrambling to their feet. Each man grabbed one of her arms to stop her. “No, Storm, we do no’ want ta leave th’ tribe. That’s th’ reason we were goin’ ta talk ta Itena.” Her eyes looked in theirs searchingly as he explained. “She wanted us ta get fergotten so we could disappear like ‘er and do what we’d done most of our lives.”
“And what was it you did that they would demand you abandon your family?”
Emil and Emaris traded a look, the mute man nodding toward the unhidden door. “C’mon. We’ll explain. But no’ here.” She hesitated until they turned back to her. “Please?” Without a word, she followed them.
STORM’S APPEARANCE FROM the tunnel into Gypsy’s Grotto caused a stir among the gypsies. The children and half of the adults scurried into the sleeping shelters, the rest drawing weapons. The Desanti woman crossed her arms, her expression thoroughly unimpressed.
Both gypsy brothers stepped between the others and Storm. “Hold on!” Emil called. “Do ye really want ta rile up two gods by attackin’ Their chosen?”
In a swirl of plain brown skirts, Itena walked toward them, gesturing to the warriors to stand down. Her dark eyes moved past him to study the Desanti woman. She managed a small, wan smile. “You are angry with me, Githalin Dusvet.”
“Githalin.” The Desanti’s voice held the cold edge of one of her blades. “I will not share a partial title with someone who tries to make my tlisan betray their tribe.”
Emil flinched when Itena looked at him. “Storm, wait, it no’ be like that—”
She spun on the man, her fierce glare making him pale. “Do not say it is not like that! You said she wanted you both to be forgotten. You know I do not forget family. You know I cannot.”
He tried to put his hand on her arm. “Ye know I know, but—”
“But what? She made you consider it! You were avoiding everyone so you need not confess it until too late.” She brushed his hand away. “So you could be ‘forgotten’ easier.” Eyes flashed with hurt and anger. “I made you choose between me and your people.”
“Ye dinna do nothin’ but accept a couple o’ lunks inta yer heart,” he shouted at her. “We are choosin’ you an’ th’ tribe over what we use ta be. Sure, it’ll take us a while ta get used ta bein’ somethin’ different, but—”
Storm interrupted, frowning. “What were you before that you cannot be now?”
Itena studied the three, then turned to her people, clapping her hands. “We have a most esteemed guest! Let us show our respects to the gods and give hospitality to a Dusvet Guardian and Githalin Swordanzen.” She offered a deeply respectful bow to Storm, then gestured to the marble benches around a low rock slab that served as a table. “Please, do make yourself comfortable. I expect your conversation with Emil will take some time.”
“You have been intimate with her,” the Desanti woman stated to the smaller man as they walked.
The smaller gypsy tripped and stumbled several steps. “Ah, well, yeah. Ye know, they ain’t got pleasure houses up here an’ it be a long way down ta Sharindel.” He scratched behind his ear, sheepish.
“I cannot fault her for a lack of taste in mates.” She sat stiffly, fixing her raptor-hard eyes on him. “But it gives her no right to steal from my tribe.”
Emil sighed. “She wasn’t trying t’ steal us. She was offering t’ help us be what we canna be no more.”
“Which is?” She looked at Emaris as the man signed for several moments. Her head tilted to one side, puzzlement supplanting anger. “Ghost guard? They serve the Seeing One?” Both nodded. “Why didn’t either of you or Mureln tell me? If I had known, I would have told you being part of my tribe would harm your duty to another god.”
“Well, see. We ha’ never told him until a few months b’fore we went ta get our Guardian marks.” Emil leaned forward, elbows on knees. “And was only b’cause it slipped out.”
“You were brothers to him for ten years and you hid this from him?” She looked down, thoughtful. “That explains the tension among you back then.”
“Yeah. He were right pissed at us. Thought we dinna trust ‘im, but it weren’t that a’tall. Th’ duty of th’ ghost guard is ta see, not be seen. Keep things in balance where we ken wi’out bein’ discovered. Since, ye know, some ain’t too happy about bad things happening, and will start expecting good things all th’ time.”
Her eyes searched his speculatively. “They are marked as Githalin are?”
“Nah. It be more upbringin’ an’ a way o’ life, ye see. Not everyone be cut out fer it, since it usually means leavin’ the rest o’ th’ clan. We got lucky, findin’ Mureln ta travel with.” He glanced at Itena.
“Seers are those who are given the blessed mark of the Seeing One,” the woman stated, holding up her right palm to display the metallic symbol of an eye. “Those who would receive the Timeless One’s blessings are known as Oracles.” She placed a silver tray with several cups and a carafe of water. Taking a sip from the container itself, she poured for all four of them.
Storm picked up her glass, sniffing briefly before drinking. The three gypsies waited until she spoke again, letting her process what she had been told. “All my life, I was taught it was a sin to hide what you were. As if the blessings of the gods were a mark of shame, not honor.”
Itena smiled a little, cradling her cup in her hands. “I think They would prefer to have Their servants seen. Unfortunately, divine marks draw attention and change behavior as a result. Those with something to hide may hide deeper or become hostile to the mortal servant. For those such as us, it is better to be able to be visible or invisible at will.”
“And they make it impossible to hide.” Storm sighed, closing her eyes. “As does a soul bond to a tribe.”
Emil reached out, squeezing Storm’s hand. “I tol’ ye. We be makin’ th’ choice ta stay wi’ you an’ th’ tribe. Family be more important.”
She pulled her hand away, avoiding his gaze. “Duty comes before everything! You had your duty to the Seeing One before you became na’Zhekali. I have no right to expect you to give that up.”
With a growl of frustration, Emil grabbed Storm’s wrist. “Stop it! Duty to family is just as important as to any god!” He met her glare for glare. “Emaris an’ I brought ye here because ye be family an’ th’ gy
psies here be family.” His voice softened. “I trust ye both. An’ I am not turnin’ against m’ people. We just ain’t gonna be able ta go ‘round unnoticed.”
A wide-eyed child carrying a bowl with breads and cheese approached, looking between Emil and Storm. “Couldn’t your family learn to be ghost guard, too, Githalin?”
The woman shook her head solemnly. “I must obey the laws of the Heart of Desantiva. It will be difficult enough when those come in conflict with the Timeless One’s demands one day.”
“Well, see, that be th’ main reason why we dinna talk ta ye,” Emil told her. “We know ye do no’ like people hiding who they be. Especially hidin’ divine marks. We dinna want ta make ye angry.”
“I do not. But if concealment is encouraged by other gods, it would be arrogant of me to criticize those who follow Their edicts.” She sighed, closing her eyes. “The na’Zhekali are no longer only Desanti. I must learn about and understand the new gods.” She got to her feet, setting the glass down. “Forgive me my temper, Emil, Emaris. When you are ready, I will undo the bayuli-volsha and free you of my curse.”
Both men jumped up, catching her arms to stop her. “Storm! Why are ye being so boneheaded? I already said we—”
“You must stay here to see your child born,” she stated. “You may as well hold to your lives as ghost guard, since gypsies can know of them, but the rest of us cannot. I cannot forget family.” Calloused fingers brushed his cheek with a touch that spoke farewell. “But I will keep your secret.”
All three stared at her as she headed out of the tunnel. Emil met Itena’s, her eyes dilated and her hand on her abdomen. Emaris caught his brother by the arm before his knees gave out, helping him onto to the bench then signing to the child. He bobbed a bow. “Yes, Dusvet! I will find the strongest alcohol we have!”
The massive gates protecting Sanctuary opened to admit Jaison and the patrol he had accompanied. He looked up with a smile when he heard Izkynder calling his name loudly, watching the bard approaching from the direction of the herbalist’s garden.
