by Dana Marton
I lifted my face to his, illuminated in the light of the fire, and for once I did not fear the hunger of his gaze. He must have seen the change, for his dark eyes narrowed. And still he neither moved nor talked.
With brazenness I did not know I possessed, I pressed my mouth against his. How warm his lips were under mine, how gentle the strong arms that came to encircle me. I sought the warmth of his skin with my hands, my fingers parting his shirt and gliding over hills of muscles.
He held still, allowing me to explore him without hindrance. Then, as my hand slid down his chest and across his hard stomach, he captured my wrist with a groan. “If the Kerghi will not be the death of me, you surely will,” he said in a ragged whisper against my lips before he took them.
“You should rest, for you had a hard journey,” he whispered into my neck some time later.
I smiled at the strain in his voice. “And if I do not wish to rest?”
He reclaimed my lips before the last word was out. And then he claimed the rest of me, or rather, we claimed each other.
* * *
The following day, I traveled to the Forgotten City under heavy guard to ask the Seer about Onra. I stopped by the cave to greet the Guardians and see how they fared and found them in low spirits.
The Guardian of the Gate mourned the gate’s loss to the enemy, while the Guardian of the Cave consoled him. The Guardian of the Scrolls sat in the back, much in the same place his father used to, the same unhappy expression on his face. He was around the age Lord Gilrem had been, but there was a solemn quality to him rarely possessed by a man so young. Maybe too young to shoulder the responsibility he had, I thought as I considered the Guardians’ strange customs.
“Greetings, Lady Tera.” He stood. “Have you come to look at the scrolls?”
I was about to say no but ended up nodding. Maybe by some miracle writing had appeared on the third scroll since last I had seen it. The Guardian of the Cave opened the rock, and I followed the Guardian of the Scrolls into the tunnel and waited when he stopped to hesitate at a crossroad.
When we finally reached the chamber that contained the scrolls, I found them the same.
No help from anyone, then. Not the Shahala, not the First People, not the Seela—they would not leave their valley but would die in the city of their ancestors, the Guardians had told me. Frustration pressed against my temples as I followed the young Guardian back.
I did not reclaim my seat by the fire. “I shall visit the Seer.”
The Guardian of the Gate looked up, his face glum. “She is on a journey. She has been gone for three days.”
“I did not think your people traveled,” I responded, surprised.
“Her body is in her hut, but her spirit has flown.”
“For so long a time?”
He frowned. “It is unusual. Some worry her spirit might have been captured.”
I shuddered at the thought, glad I had not known of that possibility when I had “traveled” with her to Mernor.
The Guardian of the Cave walked outside and looked at the city that spread below. “I shall go and visit her.”
“And I with you.” The Guardian of the Gate stood with sudden determination and shook his shoulders as if shaking off a dark weight.
I looked after them for a while, until the Guardian of the Scrolls offered me some fruit and cheese. We sat on coarse wool blankets, facing the fire. Winter was upon us again.
“I miss your father,” I said.
His shoulders sagged, his father’s robe hanging on his lanky frame. “Everybody does. The other Guardians use whatever excuse they can to stay away from me. I think looking at me reminds them what they lost.” His lips twisted into a sour smile, the sharp lines of his face seeming even more severe. “I am the only one who did not know my father well enough to miss him.”
I could feel the pain in his heart as if my own. “He always spoke fondly of you.”
His face lightened at my words. “I wish I were more like him.”
“I never knew my true father, but all my life I wished I were more like my mother.”
He looked at me with surprise, so I added, “My powers came to me late. I used to fear I did not inherit any at all.”
“I feared the same.” He caught himself and fell silent, nothing but the sounds of the crackling fire between us.
“You are not as fast yet as your father, but you found the scrolls each time.”
“I do not feel them,” he said miserably. “They call to me not. My father followed their voice. He would have found them with his eyes closed. I follow the carvings on the walls.”
“Maybe it is so,” I said after some thought. “Maybe now that the scrolls have been opened, they do not need such a Guardian as your father was.”
He looked up, his face twisted into an expression of anguish. “But do you not see? That is even worse. The scrolls are the sole purpose of my life, as they were the sole purpose of the life of every man in my family before me.”
“Some traditions are so old they seem to be as inevitable as the sunrise. But they are just traditions. Not unchangeable.”
He shook his head.
“Maybe the scrolls call you not. Maybe something else does. The blood of the First People flows in the veins of the Guardians. I am certain you have some gift.” A quick shift came into his eyes, and I pushed. “What is it?”
His answer took a long time coming. “I can see things.”
“Are you a Seer, then?” My heart quickened. Maybe he could tell me how Onra fared.
He shook his head. “Not like a Seer. I see people not from the outside but within.”
“Their innards?” I often saw that as I healed, blood vessels and bones, the source of the injury.
“The things that are in their hearts.” He hesitated before he went on. “The first time I saw you, in your heart you thought I looked like my father, and you felt sad because your heart was so full of love for him and he was gone. And you thought I was angry.” He fell silent for moment. “I was. Because nobody ever had so much love in their heart for me.”
“I am sure your father—”
“He only met me when I came for my training. He felt fond of me, as you said. Impatient for me to take the weight from his shoulders.”
“Your mother, then.”
He looked away. “She did not want to be chosen. She loved another man and, after I was born, married him. They had other children, ones born out of love, not duty.”
I watched his face. “I called your father ‘grandfather’. May I call you brother?” My heart filled with love for him, and he must have seen it, for he nodded.
“I am searching for a friend who is like a sister to me. Will you help me, brother?”
He hesitated. “No one ever asked me to perform such a task.” He looked into the fire, then back at me. “I cannot tell you where she is, but maybe I can tell you how she fares.”
I nodded, buoyant with relief.
“Tell me about her so I might recognize her heart.”
“She is brave and generous and a true friend.” I recounted how she had helped me with the beetles, how she had stepped forward to save me, how she was taken. And the rumors too, about her babe. I talked about her until he could see her in my heart.
He closed his eyes and went still as I spoke, so still I was not sure if he could hear me, but I went on. Darkness had fallen outside before he opened his eyes.
“She mourns her stillborn son. Her heart is filled with grief,” he said. “And love for you. She misses you and hopes you fare well.” His face was somber.
“Anything else?”
“She is surrounded by many with hearts as dark as the night. Like wells they are, deep and cold, as if they could swallow other people’s spirits.”
I shivered at his words and looked up as the Captain of the Guard appeared at the mouth of the cave. “Forgive me, Lady Tera, but the High Lord would not want you to stay outside the city gates this late. We should return.�
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I stood, sudden guilt rushing through me. I had forgotten about the time. The guards had been waiting for me in the cold outside. I thanked the Guardian and embraced him as I would have a true brother, then returned to the palace.
But no sooner had I settled into my chamber at Pleasure Hall than Batumar sent for me, as he had every night. He too seemed troubled but smiled when I entered his chamber. “Any news from the Forgotten City?” he asked as he enfolded me in his arms.
I soaked up his strength and said nothing for a moment, letting the steady beating of his heart under my ear soothe me. His warmth and his scent enveloped me, and like a small animal into a nest, I burrowed into the safety of his embrace. If only we could stay like that forever. But our enemies had gathered, and like the night, their darkness spread over the land.
I drew a deep breath. “The scrolls,” I said without moving. “If they hold help for this war, I cannot see it.”
And then the rest of it tumbled forth, my disappointment in the vague prophecy of the first scroll and the old legends of the second, my frustration with the empty third.
“I fear we cannot vanquish this enemy. I fear what will become of our people. In my dreams, I see us like tiny grains of sand washed away by the high tide as the dark waves crash into the shore.”
He tightened his arms around me for a long moment, then pulled back to look into my eyes. “The Kerghi hordes are a powerful army, perhaps the most powerful in the world. For many years, they have conquered undefeated. And now they believe they cannot be defeated, and their enemies believe them undefeatable.”
I nodded, understanding better than most the power of belief. I had seen many gravely injured who lived because with every drop of blood in their body they believed they would, and others with lesser injuries who readily relinquished their spirits.
“But if someone stood against them and won a single battle,” he went on, “it would show the rest of the world that the Kerghi are not invincible.”
“And the defeat would show the Kerghi warriors that their army is not as strong as they believe.”
He smiled at me. “One such battle could turn the tide.”
We talked at length about that, and about the Guardians, and Onra, and the coming siege. Ten thousand Kadar warriors assembled to protect Karamur—three thousand had perished while guarding the Sacred Gate on the other side of the mountain, all the small plateau could fit. The city mourned their loss and offered sacrifices in their names to Rorin.
The Houses of all the warlords had been fortified, and as many of the surrounding townsfolk as could be had been brought within. They were protected well, although the warlords had each brought troops to Karamur where the main battle was expected. Refugees filled the fortress city of the High Lord, the fields around it covered so thick with tents and makeshift huts I could barely see the ground.
Scouts reported that the enemy had gathered on the other side of the mountain, near the gate where more and more arrived each day. As soon as they stood ready, they would march on Karamur, hoping that once the city fell, the island would be open before them.
In the meanwhile, the Kerghi had sent groups of mercenaries across the land to scout any possible points of resistance. Some were slain by Kadar warriors, others reached far south. Grim accounts of their deeds found their way to Karamur. They did unspeakable violence in some Shahala towns.
Not long after that news, the first of the Shahala refugees also reached us, and their numbers grew with each passing day. From them I learned the fate of the port city of Sheharree, how the enemy had slain the Elders and carried off many of my people to be slaves, for they had heard of the healing power we carried in our blood. My heart near broke at such dark tidings, and I spent many a night crying in Batumar’s arms.
The days were a different matter, however. As busy as Karamur’s men were preparing for the battle, the women had their share of work and then some. I led to the forest all who were young enough to climb and old enough to be trusted to pick the right herbs. We stayed within sight of Karamur, not daring to risk the deep woods. Still, we gathered much medicine.
The older women stayed behind to keep the cooking fires going and prepare bandages. Everyone had their task, even the children. They patrolled the streets and reported any piles of hay and dry wood or waste that might catch on fire from fire arrows. These were required to be stored in the cellars by their owners. As an additional measure, the water pumps were going all day, and every available pail and tub filled up, lining the streets.
I had planned on visiting the Seer again, hoping she had returned from her journey and could look for Onra, but the enemy surrounded us sooner than we had expected, and before long, we were trapped within the city.
The host of refugees who had until then occupied the fields outside the walls were now all crammed inside. The streets and houses filled with women and children; the men took turns guarding the walls.
Outside Karamur, in a large half circle, spread the Kadar army from cliff wall to cliff wall, Batumar among them. On the far side grouped Lord Karnagh and his men, along with their tigers that seemed ready to pounce on the first order, restless by the warriors’ side. Thus the defenders of good faced their enemy.
I watched with Leena from the palace roof as a group of enemy warriors separated from the rest, their leader dragging a woman by the arm. They stood too far for me to see her features, but I recognized Onra with my heart.
They stopped a fair distance from Batumar. They seemed to be bartering, although I could not hear the words. The opening of the gate would be their price for Onra’s life, I was sure. And even as I waited, I knew the answer Batumar would give.
My heart stopped as the enemy warrior lifted a gloved hand. I watched, paralyzed with horror, as he struck Onra on the temple, and she folded listlessly to the ground at his feet.
For a moment, silence as deep as a grave covered all living creatures. No birds took flight; no leaves rustled in the wind, for the wind had stopped in shock to watch such evil. Then a tall lance rose above the others within the enemy rows, and upon it a small body, speared through the middle.
A cloud of arrows pierced the air, so thick it covered the sun. And darkness indeed fitted that sad day, and I was for a moment even glad for it. I did not want to see the dead babe limp on the tip of the lance, or our men falling outside the gates.
The Kadar archers responded in kind, and so it went, back and forth, until a wall of bodies lay before each army. And then a deafening roar rose from the Kerghi warriors as they climbed over the bodies and charged, one man carrying the tall lance in the front like a flag. When the weapons finally clashed, the sound was that of thunder, only blood soaked the ground instead of rain.
I rushed from the roof then, for I knew soon I would be needed to treat the wounded. But night fell before the first of them came in, for none would leave the battle until the fighting ceased for the day.
Frightful their wounds gaped, from weapons that must have been the work of the darkest spirits. One man had his arm nearly torn off by but a single blow; another had the bone of his thighs smashed to pieces.
Through the night, I healed, with the women helping and the Shahala by my side. And there were many healers among them, so we were able to save all but the ones who did not reach us in time. Those we had seen to returned to their captains at once, except for the few whose injuries were too grave and needed the power of time to complete what the healers had begun.
At first light, the battle continued, and from the palace roof, I saw that the enemy had lost more men than us, and yet so great their numbers were I did not think it would make a difference. Our army stood still vastly outnumbered, even hopelessly so, although I refused that thought each time it tried to enter my overwrought mind.
The warriors fought on for seven days, and I healed for seven nights. Each day we lost less than the enemy, as many of our wounded were able to rejoin the fight, but still the Kerghi advanced toward the city.
/> By the morning of the eighth day, we could no longer see the battle from the palace roof, for it raged directly under the city walls. So I climbed the parapet, and many women with me, to watch our loved ones and pray to the spirits and the goddesses for their safety.
But our protectors had turned their backs on us, for the enemy cut off Batumar and his guards from the rest of his warriors, and fought their way through the Kadar defenses and reached the gate.
I trembled as I watched them trying to break the thick oak planks down and hugged Leena with relief when I saw they could not. But then they carried armloads of dry branches from the forest and piled them high against the gate and set the pile on fire.
“Water!” I ran down and shouted to all in the streets to bring water, as many pails as they could.
We soaked the gate from the inside, and some ran up to the parapet and threw water on the fire that burned below them. Many of those were hit by enemy arrows and fell to their death, but they defeated the fire and saved Karamur.
As I leaned over the wall, tipping a large jar to make sure the last of the smoldering embers were out, I saw Batumar fighting with the most fearsome of men, the leader of the enemy horde.
I recognized his red hair as it spilled from his battle helmet and spread upon his shoulders. Woldrom.
He had come, then, I thought, to kill with his own hands the man who had embarrassed him at Mernor. I saw another Kerghi as he circled behind Batumar. I shouted but could not be heard over the clamor of battle.
As I watched, the Kerghi swine thrust his sword into Batumar’s back and twisted it before pulling it free. Batumar fell onto one knee, and Woldrom swung his double-edged sword. Its blood-soaked blade, like the dark bird of death, cut through the air.
The Shahala have a saying: “A lifetime can pass but in a moment, and some moments last for a lifetime.” Time stopped as I watched the sword fly toward Batumar’s neck.
I had the power to send my spirit into Batumar and heal the wound that made him weak, so he could fight back. But if I did, he would kill Woldrom, and I would be as responsible for the taking of that life as if I wielded the weapon myself.
