by Grace Draven
Kursak pointed to a landmark east of the road, rising from the fen itself like the back of a water-born beast breaching the shallow waves. “Am I seeing what I think I’m seeing?”
She squinted, wondering the same thing Kursak did. “Who’d put a barrow in the middle of a fen?”
“Someone who hoped its location would prevent others from cracking it open.” Kursak pivoted in a slow circle, taking in their surroundings. “At least we know for sure we’re headed toward higher ground. The barrow isn’t half submerged.”
Dread welled up inside Halani. She knew what he was about to suggest.
“Do we want to pay it a visit?” Seydom peered at the barrow as hard as she and Kursak had. “To get to it, we’ll have to get wet. Again.”
These men were her friends, her family, and she loved them dearly, but they suffered the same bewitchment her uncle did: the irresistible temptation and thrill of barrow raiding. And it always involved her. “It isn’t worth our time,” she said, praying they’d agree and leave the grave be.
Kursak’s eyes were narrowed, and Halani could almost hear the plans whirling inside his head. “Maybe. Maybe not. We’re not far from it. It’s close enough to reach on foot, and while the ground might not hold a horse or a wagon, it should hold a person without sinking them. We can just take a quick look.”
“And if we find something?” Halani flinched at her use of “we,” knowing her slip of the tongue had just revealed her willingness to help despite her misgivings.
“When have the dead ever minded when we did?”
“That barrow wight in Carridosh two years ago sure minded.” Seydom responded to Kursak’s glare with a perplexed expression. “What? It’s true. The thing almost caught Halani and nearly took your arm off.”
Halani hadn’t forgotten that incident. She still woke from the occasional nightmare about it with a scream trapped in her throat.
“What about Malachus?”
She silently thanked Seydom for asking the question hovering on her lips.
One of Kursak’s eyebrows rose. “What about him?”
“If he sees us and says something to folks in Icsom’s Retreat or especially Domora, it could go badly for us. Most people are as quick to hang a barrow raider as they are a horse thief.”
“I don’t think he’ll say a word, even if he disapproves.” Kursak’s knowing look made Halani’s face heat. “Halani?”
She frowned. “Just a look around. That’s all I’m agreeing to. You know I don’t like this, and I don’t fancy fighting off an angry wight.”
“Fair enough. The three of us plus Tursom. I’ll get him when we’re ready. Seydom, you fetch Halani. We may not even need lamps for the trek if the sky continues to clear. The moon will give us plenty of light.” A wary glitter shone in his eyes. “I think it best to keep it just between us. The more who know what we plan, the greater the chance someone will slip and mention something to Malachus.”
“But you said—” Seydom began, only to have Kursak cut him off.
“I know what I said, and I stand by it. Besides, if he planned some malice, he has more than enough to see us all hanged and Halani burned since he saw her dowsing a trail for us. I just think he doesn’t need to know everything we do.”
“Because it’s wrong and unsavory?” Halani stared at the two men. “Repulsive and detestable?”
“Save your righteous indignation for another time, Halani.” Kursak’s brow knitted. “You know as well as I and Seydom that barrow raiding has saved us more than a few times from a lean winter and empty bellies.”
“This is summer, and we have wagons stuffed to the roofs with supplies.”
“No one’s making you go. Feel free to stay in the caravan and pretend we didn’t have this conversation.”
She blew out a defeated breath. There was no possible way she’d let them go to the barrow without her. It was her earth magic that helped them avoid wights, and only once had it failed her, or rather, she failed it. “I’ll be waiting in my wagon. Just tap one side twice. I’ll come out.”
The thought of their evening raid on the barrow troubled her enough that even Malachus’s lessons didn’t hold her concentration the way they usually did. The two sat on a blanket on the perimeter of a makeshift circle built around a cluster of braziers. Kursak had agreed to a communal supper but not the fire.
“Not enough room,” he said. “And I don’t care if we have leagues of water around us. One stray spark leaping from wagon to wagon, and we’ll be burned out and homeless in less time than it takes to piss.”
Happy to stay put for the evening and socialize, no one argued, and they made do with blankets and the braziers. Halani had offered her help with the cooking but was sent on her way with instructions to pay attention to Malachus’s lessons so she could learn something and pass it on. At the moment, she was failing.
“You’re far away tonight.” He eyed the square of brazier ash they were using as her practice board for writing her letters. “That’s the third letter you’ve drawn backward.”
She set her stick down. “Forgive me. I’ve been lost in thought all day. It’s made me a poor student.”
Malachus scraped the faulty letter away with his foot. “Then we’ll take it up another time. It won’t do either of us any good if you can’t focus.” He settled into place once more. “Do you want to share what’s troubling you?”
Oh, gods no, she thought. And see the disgust crawl across his face when she did? The idea made her shudder. Instead, she grasped onto something that plagued her as much as the barrow raiding. “Once we’re off the fen road and turn to Domora, what will you do? Ride to the west as you originally planned?”
His features hardened, reminding her of that moment when he awoke from a restless sleep to discover her holding a pillow as if preparing to suffocate him. The expression had given her pause then. It gave her pause now. “Maybe. I think I’m fairly close to what I seek. I just need to determine which direction I turn.”
His cryptic reply didn’t answer her question, and she suspected his words had been carefully chosen for just that purpose. She didn’t pursue it, though her curious nature tempted her to do so. Instead, she changed the subject. “Will you read from your book tonight or tell the story of Pernu and his draga?”
Malachus leaned back on his elbows, the perfect picture of relaxed contentment. “The second, and I wish to borrow the story Gilene told you, if you don’t mind.”
“I don’t mind at all. Stories are meant to be shared, not hoarded. If Gilene’s adds to yours, that can only be a good thing.” She’d looked forward to his telling of the creation story the brotherhood believed and raised Malachus to believe. One more small thing he’d leave behind when he rode away to resume his journey. One more thing for her to treasure.
The growing crowd around the braziers and the call to supper ended their more private conversation, and soon they were surrounded by chatty, jovial free traders happy to share food, ale, wine, sympathetic rants regarding the weather, and praise for those who helped fix the supply wagon.
Night fell dark but clear on their gathering, and there was much admiration of the heavens and the unobscured stars. The moon hung bright above them, and plenty of teasing and banter regarding the superstition that such a moon blessed women with fertility and men with virility passed back and forth among the group.
“You can sleep outside tonight,” a scowling Yeris informed a terrified-looking Kadena as they both stared at the moon and then at their large brood surrounding them.
It wasn’t long before numerous calls for a story erupted from the crowd, with one young clear voice rising above them all. “Tell us about Pernu and Vuri Silyn!” One of Kadena’s children, the one who’d expressed his boredom with the story of Kansi Yuv and “old Golnar,” met Malachus’s eye. “You said you’d tell that one.”
“So I did.
” Malachus glanced at Halani as if asking for permission. She nodded enthusiastically, as eager as Kadena’s boy to hear the tale.
Malachus stood up and asked for the loan of a pipe and tobacco. Halani didn’t realize just how many pipes the free traders possessed until Malachus made the request. He carefully prepared the pipe Kursak passed him, all the while stoking the audience’s anticipation until it grew into a palpable thing. Halani grinned. He might not claim to be much of a storyteller, but he had a natural instinct for how to work the crowd into a white-knuckled eagerness to hear what he had to say.
“This is a short story,” he said between smoke puffs. “And begins with the goddess the Savatar call Agna.” Every person leaned forward, instantly ensnared. “What do you call the lands of the Savatar?”
“The Stara Dragana,” the crowd replied.
It was the name everyone within Empire territory used except the Nunari, and their term for the steppe matched that of the Savatar: the Sky Below. While Halani had only glimpsed the edge of the steppe from one or two of the trade roads the caravan traveled, she found the term fitting.
“The Stara Dragana,” Malachus repeated. “It sounds very similar to ‘draga,’ doesn’t it?” Several people nodded. “That’s because it means Womb of the Draga. The Savatar believe the draga was created by their fire goddess, Agna, her first and most powerful child. In my country, we believe the first draga was created by the sky god, Pernu. Her name was Vuri Silyn. She was the first draga but not Pernu’s first child, though she was his most powerful. Pernu had created Man and Horse first. Their mothers were Ninsurgha, goddess of earth, and Suela, goddess of rivers. Pernu grew jealous of his wives because while Man and Horse had affection for their father, they loved Earth and River more and often ignored Pernu.”
He paused then to sip on the pipe while his audience digested his words. Nathin spoke into the waiting silence. “My da barely knew I was alive, and didn’t much care one way or the other. Man and Horse were lucky to have a father like Pernu.”
Malachus tipped his head toward Nathin. “Pernu certainly thought so. His resentment over his children’s neglect and disregard grew until it became a rage. He wrecked the skies, sending rain heavier than anything we’ve seen these last few days to drown the land and destroy the crops.” The crowd gasped in tandem, and it wasn’t just the children who wore wide-eyed expressions. “The rivers burst their banks, tore trees out of the ground, and swelled the oceans.” He raised his arms as if beseeching the sky. “Lightning scorched and burned anything that didn’t lie beneath the water. The animals made by Ninsurgha and Suela to live alongside Man and Horse died beneath the sky’s fury until Man and Horse begged him for mercy for the world. Their pleas fell on deaf ears, so they turned to their mothers to implore Pernu to calm his anger.”
Pernu sounded like a spoiled toddler, in Halani’s opinion.
“Ninsurgha,” Malachus said, “Pernu’s first and most beloved wife, bargained with him.” That garnered several approving whistles from the audience. “If he calmed the clouds and stopped the rain, she would give him another child, one who would love only him. He agreed, and together they created the draga Vuri Silyn, favored child of the lightning god, Pernu. She was greater than Man or Horse in size, more powerful, with the wings to embrace her father’s sky and the heritage of fire. Ninsurgha loved her as much as Pernu did and gifted Vuri Silyn with many powers of earth, but she abided by her bargain with Pernu and gave the draga to her father to raise. In return, the rains paused, the rivers no longer raged, and Man and Horse once more governed that over which Ninsurgha and Suela held dominion.
“The sky, though, it belonged to Vuri Silyn and her descendants, their inheritance from Pernu until the last draga falls and returns to Ninsurgha’s arms in death. For lightning has always and will always love the draga.”
Malachus bowed to enthusiastic applause with several in the audience bellowing, “Another! Another!” He shook his head and stepped back to the circle’s edge. “I’m done,” he said. “I don’t have the treasure trove of stories in my head that Halani does. I’d need another day to remember one or two more.”
“Your turn, then, Halani,” Seydom called out.
Like Malachus, she refused. “I don’t think so. I’d much rather sit here and bask in the story of Vuri Silyn.” And the residual bewitchment of Malachus’s voice as he spun words with a sorcerer’s skill.
Another child waved his arm to catch Malachus’s attention. “So does that mean Golnar was Vuri Silyn’s grandchild?”
Malachus nodded. “More of a grandchild of a grandchild of a grandchild, but yes.”
The boy, a couple of years away from a cracking voice, frowned. “Maybe Kansi Yuv shouldn’t have killed Golnar, then.”
Beside Halani, Malachus went rigid, though his expression didn’t change. She stared at the boy, impressed by the insight in one so young.
Malachus remained unmoving and seemingly unmoved by the boy’s remark, and Halani decided it best to deflect the crowd’s attention from him. “Have Nathin tell everyone how he convinced Ruviti to marry him.”
A few groans followed her suggestion, including Nathin’s. “We’ve heard that story a few times,” one free trader groused.
“And it’s funny every time.” Kursak, sitting on one side of Nathin, shoved him with his shoulder. “Go ahead, Nathin, tell your version of it so I can watch Ruviti stab you with that brazier fork she’s holding.”
The crowd laughed and turned their attention to teasing and coaxing Nathin to once again share his proposal story. Halani’s deflection had worked.
Malachus emptied his spent pipe and gave it back to Kursak. He returned to Halani and held his hand out to her, saying nothing, though his gaze asked many things of her. She entwined her fingers with his, and they left the camp. No one commented and no one followed, though more than a few speculative gazes tracked their progress into the wagons’ shadows.
As soon as they were out of the crowd’s sight and hearing, Halani pressed Malachus’s hand between hers and grinned. “You can’t leave us. Ever. You have to stay and be the second storyteller. With tales like that, we will enthrall whole cities and be showered in belshas by worshipping crowds.”
She barely had the words out before he pulled her into his arms and kissed her. Hard. This wasn’t the gentle exploration of the previous time that grew by degrees into a simmering cauldron. It was fiery, desperate, thought destroying and soul capturing.
As quickly as he initiated the kiss, Malachus ended it to stare into her eyes. He cupped the back of her head with one hand, while the other lay flat against her back, holding her so close to him, their shadows melded into one misshapen silhouette, and his heat enveloped her in a cocoon. “What story can I tell that will bewitch you into coming with me when I leave?”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
His question sent her heart crashing to the ground and tears flooding into her eyes. How she wished her answer might be different. “There isn’t one. As much as I might wish otherwise, my place is here. It will always be here for as long as . . .”
“As long as Asil lives,” he finished. His body, strung tight as an archer’s bow, relaxed, the intensity of his expression becoming melancholy. He sighed, a mournful sound, and kissed her forehead.
Halani gripped his tunic. “You say you have to leave. Can you not come back?” Please come back.
His hand stroked her hair. “I don’t know, Halani. If I didn’t, it wouldn’t be because I didn’t want to.” More than moonlight shone in his dark, dark eyes.
She stared back. “If I asked you to wake with me in the morning, would you?”
It was a dangerous question with all manner of answers. The risks were numerous, the joy anticipated, the heartache guaranteed. He would leave, and she would tell him goodbye without asking to go with him or begging him to stay. She didn’t believe they’d cross paths again, and if a night i
n his arms resulted in a child, that child would never know its father, just as Halani never knew hers. The difference was that this man would care.
Malachus brushed his thumb over her cheekbone. “Do you truly think we’d sleep to wake?”
“No, I don’t.” She hoped they wouldn’t. Time was too short and too precious for sleep.
They kissed again before he said, “Are you sure?”
She took his hand and led him down the wagon line to where the provender wagon he used was parked. “I’d invite you to my wagon, but it isn’t uncommon for people to knock on my door in the middle of the night for some draft to soothe a troubled stomach or an aching head.” A truth cloaking a lie. She shoved away the guilt.
He opened the door, ushering her inside the wagon’s dim interior. A brief blaze of light made her squint before the flame inside the lamp he’d lit settled.
Time. There was very little left, and Halani chose not to waste it on regrets or inane chatter. She stepped into Malachus’s welcoming arms and took her turn at kissing him.
She started at his hairline. His forehead was smooth under her lips, cool to the touch. His breath whispered along her chin, and the flutter of his eyelashes tickled her jaw. She moved to his temples, then down to his closed eyes. The fragile skin of his eyelids twitched as she gently grazed them before kissing a line across one cheekbone, over the bony bridge of his nose to the other cheekbone. His cheeks, clean-shaven, unlike those of the other men in the caravan, were smooth against her palms.
He remained perfectly still during her exploration, except for the rise and fall of his chest, which quickened as his breathing shortened.
Halani bypassed his mouth, smiling when he uttered a faint protest. The protest changed to a low sigh when she pressed a kiss to his neck, following the strong line there that flowed into his collarbone. He tilted his head back to give her better access, and she rewarded his cooperation with a small swipe of her tongue in the hollow of his throat. This time a soft groan escaped him, and his hands, idle at her waist, flexed, pressing into her flesh.
