by Lexy Wolfe
THE DESANTI LED the group into the massive butte and through several tunnels that spiraled up into a cavern that opened out to a sheer cliff face. An older woman who appeared to be in her fifties looked up from where she sat at a fountain that had been lined with polished metals and gemstones. Her confusion changed to fear seeing the pair of glimmering marks on the Dusvets’ cheeks. “Leryen? Are you trying to incite the wrath of the Raging One’s—?”
The man turned to Lyra, releasing her abruptly and lowering his eyes with sudden humility. “Forgive me, Dusvet. Please, allow Grandmother to see your weapon.”
Bewildered, the fair woman spoke to the elder. “Do not be angry with him. I was only startled.” She held out the bow again. “I believe he wants you to see my bow.”
Grandmother covered her mouth with one hand and her heart with the other. “By Uskesta’s wings,” she whispered.
Lyra’s expression turned deeply worried. “Is something wrong, …ah, I do not know the proper title to use?”
“I am Elder Hinina Vi’linu, Dusvet Guardian. My tlisan are fond of calling me Grandmother.” She hesitated. “I may touch it?” At Lyra’s nod, the old woman reached out shaking hands, resting on the bow with deep reverence. She looked up in awe. “It is not dead! How is this possible?”
“Not dead?” Tyrsan asked, his question echoing the others’ unspoken one. “But it is not attached to a living tree. How—?”
“The tree this bow came from still lives. All things crafted from wood are stronger if the parent lives and the craftsman knows what they are doing. It is a talent of my family,” Lyra replied, perplexed how the woman knew. “My bow is an heirloom that has been passed down to many generations of women.”
“It is hard to imagine but…” Hinina at the Dusvet Guardians. “This looks very much like the wood of a tree that used to flourish within our lands before the life was torn from it.” She guided them to a small chamber and uncovered a table. Under a sheet of glass, a space held many slivers of wood, each resting by an etching in baked clay of leaves or the drawing of a tree. “This is all that is left of what once thrived in Desantiva.”
“It is said that one day, the giants who stood guard over the souls of the people would return. And with them, sand and rock would be cooled with living green again,” Leryen stated. “The Vi’linu—my tribe—have passed along the ancient knowledge and stories of our ancestors faithfully so when they do, we will be ready to protect them.”
The other na’Zhekali traded quizzical looks, sensing a tangle of emotions from the pale Forentan woman. “That is…very admirable, Elder Hinina. Could you…could you tell me more about Desantiva’s trees? I love all types of plants and I would like to honor their memory learning of them.” The elder smiled and nodded, waving to them all to sit with her in a circle on the tiled floor.
True to her name, Storm walked through the forest of tents and pavilions exuding such a foreboding presence, many unconsciously or consciously moved out of her and Ash’s path. Some outright fled out of sight.
With less effort than he would have required when they had first met, Ash kept pace with her. When he noticed her beginning to slow, he continued walking at her angrier speed so she was drawn to follow him. After some time passed, they found themselves along the bank of a pool of water in a large oasis devoid of any but animals and plants.
Storm looked around, a delicate frown creasing her expression. “This is the place we met after meeting in the market.”
Ash smiled faintly. “It is, yes. It is special to me for having spoken with you here. I treasure all the memories I have of our first days together.”
She arched an eyebrow, studying him with skepticism. “Why? We hated each other. I brought hurt to you constantly. I wished death and suffering on you! Why would you treasure such terrible things?”
“I don’t know if we really hated each other.” He looked at the reflections on the water. “When I look back, I remember trying to convince myself I loathed you. But I knew I did not. The fact that I did not…disconcerted me. You were constantly in my thoughts when there was nothing else to concern myself with.
“I was confused and perhaps a little angry with you.” He looked at her, his fingertips caressing along her jaw. “Why were you stirring feelings that were not the animosity we were supposed to have for one another? Why did I have the desire to protect you? And why in the world did your suitors rouse such suspicion toward them in me?”
She clasped his fingers, slowly pulling his hand from her face, her eyes averted though she did not release him. “Sumalen was a darkborn and you were strong in Guardian talent. Your instincts told you he was a threat.”
“Skyfire was not. He is like a brother to me now. But then…then I was keenly jealous of him.” Shifting his hand to take hold of hers, he drew her to sit on the sand and grass along the water. “But we had both sought out this place to find peace. You have been tense since the testing. I thought you could use the peace and quiet in a familiar location.”
The woman bristled, glowering at him. “You think I am weak?!”
“I think,” Ash stated slowly, “that no one can always be strong.” Instead of trying to offer physical consolation, he looked away, watching the moonlight glisten off the ripples the breeze caused. Arms rested across his up-drawn knees. “A branch that never yields to the winds often snaps without outside support.”
Back stiff, Storm crossed her arms. Her scowl could not hide the lines of exhaustion on her face. “I do not need anyone else. A Swordanzen must stand on their own, or fall in their failure.”
“You do not need to stand alone, Aelia. Remember when we were in the Rumblelands with your divine father and your Totani family?” He did not waver as he watched her profile, waiting until she turned to meet his eyes before continuing. “A student must master the patterns. The master can change them. You are every measure a master.”
Even in the moonlight, he could see her face darken when she looked away. “There are reasons the patterns were made,” she argued.
“And there are reasons they must change. Most of all, so a Swordanzen need not fall due to exhaustion of body and spirit. Desantiva needs those who passionately love the land, the people, the Raging One Himself. You have the power to change them for all of them. And for yourself.”
“I cannot change the patterns just to suit myself! I will not blind myself with my own selfishness.”
She flinched when he put his hand on her shoulder. “Then think about your tribe. They need you. You are Alanis. We…are Alanis.” He hesitated, then added in a bare whisper, “I need you.”
“You do not,” she countered in a hiss. “Not since the testing where you finally completed Avarian’s task. We will not follow the other in death any longer. Now…now I am a liability to you. You are always strong. I have never known you to falter. You have born my temper. You have held my soul to life. You have healed my soul. What have I done that could warrant breaking the ancient patterns?”
Ash tilted his head, studying her profile again. “Zhekali gave Avarian his life by saving him.” Before she could argue what Zhekali did as being the past, he continued. “More than that, you have given me my life by saving…me. I lived my life clinging to expectations, but they had always been empty. I have no memory of what happened to me as a child in Andar, or any of my parents or siblings or…anyone. I had no family or friends I knew beyond Nolyn. Even my grandfather was only a mentor and master to me, and while I love him now, then…” He sighed. “Then, he was a means to an end, and that was becoming the most powerful mage to live, just so none could dominate me.
“I had nothing but duty and fighting for respect and a place in the social hierarchy. I do not know if I ever truly had love for my divine mother in my heart.” She blinked at him, her anger cooling to confused concern for him. “I had fulfilled everyone’s expectations of what they believed made a great mage. No one realized how lacking I was.”
“I…do not understand. You were powerfu
l.” She frowned. “You are even more so now.”
A bitter smile touched his lips. “Of course. A mage is expected to study and learn, to practice and master the arts. To push themselves to be stronger than any other. To serve the edai of the Knowing One, and enforce them. But I felt…empty.” He lowered his eyes and closed them until he felt her fingers on his chin, looking up into hers. “Many times, I wanted to turn my back on all of it. Leave the academy. Leave Forenta altogether. Go somewhere no one else was so I could be alone.”
“You would not have endured solitude,” she stated. His own exhaustion saturated his expression as he simply watched her. “You wished to die?”
“What did I have to live for before you were a part of my life? Yes, there was Dessa, but she only reminded me that I was flawed, not strong enough to protect everyone. Forentan society forced me to isolate myself to survive.”
“Nolyn,” she began.
“I knew nothing how my death would potentially affect him through the bond we had forged between each other. Even had I known, I would have thought he would be better off free of my stigma. The hurt of loss is brief and life goes on once it is passed.” He took her hand, pressing her palm against his cheek. “Terrence stirred something within me, but I had made provisions to request Ellis take him as apprentice if anything happened to me. It was only a matter of time I would come up against some darkling-tainted creature strong enough to kill me. My life would end. And my loneliness.” He exhaled, falling silent for several moments.
He turned a sad, tired smile to her. “All that changed after I met you, Aelia. You and your fiery passion and fierce determination that the cold knot inside me began to melt. I admired you, for your beauty and strength, your purity in heart and action. No deception, no ulterior motives.” His smile faded to worry, dark eyes studying her searchingly. “You have fought for so long to be strong.”
She crossed her arms and turned away. “I have had no choice! I would shame my father if I allowed myself to be weak.”
Ash smiled sadly. “Beloved. My heart. There is no shame in moments of weakness. It means only that you have tried to be strong for too long without respite.” She bristled at his words, offering a token resistance as he pulled her against him, holding her close. “Trust me to be your strength for now. One day, I will need you to do the same for me.”
Storm sighed, finally uncoiling and leaning into him. “It is not easy for me to do. Trust does not negate instinct. Most of my life has been spent standing alone.”
“I know.” He kissed her hair lightly. “Aelia, Thandar is not gone. Your bond is flawed, not broken.” He tightened his arms around her when he felt her begin to tremble. “Quiet your mind, bring stillness to your heart and seek those tendrils that still bind you both. I am sure he is as distressed as you have been.” She nodded, closing her eyes as he held her.
It was not until the sky began to warm with the coming dawn when Storm inhaled sharply, a ragged sob escaping. “He is there! So far away, but there.” Ash grimaced when her embrace nearly crushed him, but he made not a sound of complaint. “He is so tired. So weak! I have never known him to be like this ever. I have to find him. I must!”
“And you will,” he assured her with steadfast confidence. “The na’Zhekali will aid you. We are your family.”
“I know, but…” She sighed. “There are things that must be done here before we can begin.”
“And before those,” he murmured, nuzzling her hair, “we must eat and sleep, else we will not be ready to properly deal with the sorts like the Alanis Su’alin.” He released her with great reluctance so they could get to their feet.
“I still want to kill him,” she grumbled. “My patience with him is thin. He lives now only because Skyfire asked me to let him live. I think I made a mistake in acceding to his request.”
“Perhaps, but that is something to rectify once the Time of Gathering is over.” He could not help but smile when Storm swore colorfully. “I must admit, you have an incredible imagination.” He laughed outright at the querulous look she gave him.
As dusk approached, the tribes began to rouse with the na’Zhekali being no different. They sat together for breakfast before the gathering of all of the tribal leaders. The drastic change in their temperamental leader was marked.
Without looking up from her food, Storm asked in bland tones, “Why are all of you staring at me like that?” She flicked a look up as everyone suddenly fixed their eyes on their plates. Except for Nolyn, who seemed bemused, and Tyrsan, who continued studying her without shame.
“Perhaps all you needed was a good night’s sleep,” the mage suggested. “Or rather, a day’s sleep.”
“You do wish for me to advocate for you to be a liaison between my people and yours, do you not?” Storm asked, her voice and demeanor bland.
Nolyn propped his cheek on his fist, his smile broadening. “She is getting your sense of humor, Ash.”
The man arched an eyebrow at his brother. “I do not have a sense of humor.”
“Exactly.” Ash smirked at his brother, shaking his head. Nolyn sighed, looking down at his plate. “Given the…reception I received, I am not sure if I should be liaison. Another might serve better than I would.” Star looked at him with apprehension. He managed a wan smile of reassurance. “My body is healed, my heart. I have just had time to think now that I see the realities. Relying on fanciful expectations was disastrous.”
“But if you are not the voice for your people to mine,” she began in worry, clasping his hand tightly, “then why would mine have reason to want to have a voice to yours? Why would they want me? There is fear and distrust of Su’alin.”
“It does not matter what the people want.” Storm stated. The sharpness of her voice startled everyone into looking up at her. “If you serve your people with every fiber of your being…”
“…Then what matters is what the people need,” Ash finished. He wiped his mouth with a napkin and got to his feet. “Come, Aelia. It is time we show Desantiva the true colors of the na’Zhekali.”
She squinted at him thoughtfully as she stood up as well. “Is that what you treewalkers call a play on words?”
“And if it is?” He offered his arm to her, smiling as she slid her arm along his.
“Then you do have a sense of humor. A strange one.” The two walked out of the pavilion. “Always with the words! Written, spoken. If there were other forms they could take, you would obsess over them. I do not understand this fascination with words.” He just laughed.
Nolyn got to his feet slowly, watching the pair leave. “Is there a problem?” Seeker asked as he offered his hand to Star.
“As long as I have known him, I do not remember if I ever heard Ash laugh. He barely smiled in all the years we’ve been friends.”
Izkynder jumped up onto the table, standing in front of Nolyn. “Aunt Storm fixed Uncle Ash like he fixed her.” He put his hand on the other man’s chest over his heart and smiled brightly. “Like Laurel’s mommy fixed you.”
Star hugged the boy. “You are very wise.”
“Like his mother,” Mureln stated at the same time Taylin said, “Like his father.”
“Oh, my teeth are going to fall out with all this sweet lovingness,” Bella complained with an eye roll. “Come on, Jaison.” He blinked when she grabbed his hand to pull him after her. “I have wanted to see a gathering of chieftains since I was a little girl.”
“Dare I ask why?” Jaison asked, the others chuckling at the keen reluctance to hear the answer.
“Are you kidding? Do you have no idea what is considered Desanti propriety?” Bella waved her good arm wide. “Where else do leaders wrestle to settle a disagreement? In nearly no clothes! Some of the finest specimens of men and women, too. They are so stodgy everywhere else.” Tyrsan sighed, putting a hand to his shaking head while the others laughed.
SPACES AROUND THE massive, bowl-like depression were marked off for each tribe behind their chieftains, generally reserved
for the most important members. The rest had to find space near the upper rim. The Desanti kept well clear of the Dusvet Guardians as they settled behind Storm and Ash.
The last of the chieftains and the elders had barely settled when a large man stood up, posture filled with prideful indignation. He scowled as he pointed toward Ash. “A defiler has no place in the tribal circle!”
The chatter among the other Desanti exploded in a wave of excited sound as those still finding places to sit hurried settle. Quickly filled to capacity, more people crowded the rim of the depression to watch with keen interest.
Izkynder frowned, clapping his hands over his ears as the noise level grew. He smiled and looked up as Mureln covered them. “Thank you, Papa. They are loud!” The man winked at him.
The moment Storm stood, the roar dropped to whispers like an audible flinch. Green-gold eyes flashed in the sunlight. “You dispute my right to name who serves by my side as Alanis, Chelik Vi’linu?”
“I dispute an Outlander sharing the same rights and privileges as the voices for any tribe!” The man thumped his fist over his bared chest. “We are born of the people. He is born of the defilers. No matter what he has done, it does not change his blood.”
Sensing the pang of emotion from his brother, Ash looked over his shoulder at Nolyn, watching him put a comforting arm around Star as she held Laurel close, her eyes shut tight. He frowned, lips pressed together, then stood, putting a hand on Storm’s wrist as she grabbed her knife. Their eyes met for several minutes until she relented without a word, crossing her arms and resumed her seat on the plain woven rug.
The gathered fell silent as the mage stood and methodically removed his robe and tunic, folding them neatly and placing them beside Storm. He turned to face the belligerent man, arms crossed over his well-muscled chest. His physique, while not as sharp in definition as the Desanti, was not soft as the growing whispers noted. On his hip, the desert Naming Blade he had received from the Raging One shone in the light of the setting sun and the many torches illuminating the inner circle.
