The Reawakened

by Jeri Smith-Ready

  The young man’s eyes sparked. “Speaking of fire, have you seen Sura yet?”

  Lycas tilted his head. “My daughter, Sura?” He looked at Rhia. “Isn’t she in Kalindos?”

  “She’s at my house,” Rhia replied.

  His stomach went cold. “Sura—is at your house?”

  She nodded. “And your granddaughter, too.”

  His mouth twitched with a sudden panic. “Why didn’t you tell me? You could’ve sent a message.”

  “And have it intercepted? The Descendants would come for her in a moment. I didn’t want her to end up like her mother.”

  From the corner of his eyes, Lycas saw Dravek squirm and cross his arms.

  Rhia squeezed Lycas’s forearm and smiled. “We’ll go home so you can finally meet her.”

  He put his face in his hands, feeling like an idiot. “I already did.”

  Sura sat at the kitchen table, rereading the note she’d left for herself.

  Lycas was here. Now at Galen’s house with Rhia. Dark hair, deep voice, big. Scary. Rather rude.

  She wondered if she’d written the note earlier tonight. She’d found it here after putting Malia to bed.

  What if he left town without coming back? She couldn’t remember his face. What if she never saw it again?

  A knock came at the door, and she scrambled to open it. Too late, she saw the sign telling her to wait for the code word.

  She recognized Dravek and Vara, and the small woman in front of them looked like an older version of the Rhia she remembered from her childhood.

  The large man must be—

  “Sura…” he said. “I’m—” He let out a gust of air. “Forgive me. You must think I’m a complete bastard.”

  She met his gaze and lifted her chin. “Technically you are a bastard. As am I.”

  In the corner of her eye she saw Dravek’s jaw drop. Lycas, however, merely smiled.

  “Do you remember me coming here earlier?” he asked her.

  She shoved her note at him, then gripped the edge of the door to hide her shaking hands.

  He read it and laughed. “Scary, heh? Good to know.” He glanced at the sky. “It’s raining.”

  She backed up and pushed the door wide. He let the others precede him, then crossed the threshold, still swaggering a little, despite his words of contrition.

  “Lycas, this is your daughter, Sura,” Rhia said pointedly.

  “Yes, thank you,” he replied through gritted teeth. He shoved a mass of wet black hair out of his face and looked at Sura. “I’m afraid I made a bad impression before.”

  “Apparently so.”

  “You deserve better.”

  He lifted his arms halfway, then dropped them to his sides. She hugged her elbows and rounded her shoulders to signal she did not want to be embraced.

  The room fell silent. Everyone seemed to be fascinated with a different corner of the house.

  Sura shifted her feet. “I guess you want to meet Malia,” she said to Lycas.

  “Who?”

  She stared at him. “My daughter.”

  “Oh.” He rubbed his face. “Sorry. I didn’t know her name.” He glared at his sister.

  “You never asked.” Rhia yanked off her rain cloak and hung it on a peg. “Try not to scare her, too.”

  Sura picked up the lantern, opened the bedroom door and tiptoed to the crib. Her father appeared suddenly beside her, and she wondered if he always walked with such stealth.

  Malia was sleeping with her head turned to the side and one arm stretched in the same direction, as if she had fallen asleep in the middle of reaching for an elusive object.

  “Don’t wake her for me,” Lycas said softly. “I know how fragile sleep can be at that age.”

  Sura’s hand tightened on the top rung of the crib. “How do you know that? Do you have another child somewhere?”

  “No, I—”

  “Are you sure?”

  “As sure as I can be, and you’re right, I don’t know how babies are at that age.” He held out his palm, cupped. “When I left you, I could hold you in one hand.”

  “I was two weeks old.” Her whisper faded. “Two weeks.”

  “I know. I’m sorry.” His hand moved toward hers along the crib rail, then slid back. “I take it she gets that red hair from her father. Is he a good man?”

  “From what I remember.” Guilt twinged her chest again, for the pain she’d caused her former mate. “He’s a Deer.”

  “He must be a good father, then. He’d always hear the reason why a baby was crying. I could never figure that out.”

  Sura wondered if she’d cried more before or after he walked out of her life.

  “Look,” he said, “I know what you and Etarek did, having this baby to help our people. And of course, I can never repay you for saving my life.”

  “Saving your life?”

  “I would’ve died at Velekos if I hadn’t entered the third phase.”

  “Oh.” Her head seemed to spin. She would definitely have to write that down. “How are your powers?”

  “Fine. Nothing strange, like Thera. Probably because I knew nothing of your plan to have this child.”

  “That’s fair. It wasn’t your fault.”

  He tapped his fingertips on the crib rail. “I changed my mind. I’d like to hold her, even if it wakes her up.”

  Sura swallowed the lump in her throat. “Go ahead.”

  Lycas put his hands halfway into the crib, then withdrew them, put them back in, then drew them out again. “Maybe you’d better—”

  “I’ll get her.” She set the lantern on the dresser, then leaned past him to pick up Malia. The child stirred without opening her eyes. Her mouth worked as though she were nursing, and one foot kicked out as she was lifted from the crib.

  Lycas crooked his arms to let Sura place Malia in them. She carefully slid her own hands out from under the child so he was holding her alone.

  The harsh lines of Lycas’s face didn’t soften, but for a few moments, his breath came quick and rough. Sura turned away, then straightened the bedcovers, which were already straight, and wiped off the nightstand, which was already clean.

  “I don’t know what to say,” he whispered.

  “You could start with ‘congratulations.’”

  “That seems insufficient. And inappropriate, considering the circumstances.”

  “I’m happy to have her.” She fought to keep the edge out of her voice. “In spite of everything.”

  “Congratulations, then.” He said it with finality, which seemed to indicate he was ready to set Malia down.

  “You can put her back if you want.”

  “Oh. All right.” He sounded relieved. She didn’t begrudge him his lack of grandparental instinct. No doubt he was more accustomed to holding an enemy’s broken head than a fragile infant.

  Malia woke fully when he put her down. She started to cry in great gasping wails. Sura watched Lycas’s face to see if he would wince at the sound, but he didn’t.

  “Sorry,” he said.

  She picked Malia up and rubbed tiny circles on her back, not knowing exactly why. “Let’s bring her out there. My notes tell me she likes having lots of people around. She loves Dravek especially.”

  “Maybe he reminds her of you.” He retrieved the lantern and held open the door. Sura kept her expression neutral as she passed him to enter the kitchen, where Vara and Dravek sat at the table.

  Rhia set a mug of ale and a cup of water in front of the two empty chairs, then reached for Malia. “I’ll get her back down. The four of you need to talk in peace.”

  Sura reluctantly let her aunt take the child, then sat next to Dravek. His hand drifted over the back of her chair as he gave her a comforting smile. The need to touch him made her ache inside.

  Lycas sat across from her and rested his hands on the table. “Sura…” He stopped, as if the word felt strange in his mouth. “All of you. I need you for a special operation. We’ve stolen weapons, sabotaged
roads, invaded garrisons. But there’s one thing even more precious to the Descendants.”

  He reached in his pocket and withdrew a shiny maroon sphere, which he rolled to the center of the table. Sura’s stomach curdled.

  “What’s that?” Dravek said.

  “It’s a grape,” Sura replied. “They make wine out of it. They send the best of it back home and use the rest to sedate the Asermons.”

  “And Velekons,” Lycas added. “The Ilions depend on this crop more than wheat or barley or any vegetable. Their own vineyards in Ilios were nearly wiped out by a pestilence fifteen years ago, when I lived there. It’s one of the main reasons why they invaded our lands.” He jutted his thumb over his shoulder. “Many of those vines are maturing this year, and from what I’m told, the hot, dry weather this season has been ideal.” He popped the grape in his mouth. “The harvest begins in two weeks.”

  Sura’s heart raced as she realized his intentions. “You want to burn the vineyards.”

  He raised his eyebrows at her. “How did you guess?”

  “When I lived there, it was all I could think about.”

  He leveled a solemn gaze at her, as if just now realizing all she had suffered under the occupation.

  “We’ll burn one,” he said, “and hold the rest hostage. The ransom will be the release of all political prisoners.” He looked at Sura. “Including your mother.”

  She drew in a quick breath. What if it worked? With the resistance members free, surely they all could expel the Ilions from Asermos.

  “Won’t they just put troops to defend the vineyards?” she asked Lycas.

  “Then that’s a different kind of success,” he said. “Forcing them to redeploy from other areas, which will be weakened as a result. Either way, we keep them on the defensive.” A corner of his mouth twitched into a smile. “Besides, placing a soldier out in the open, in view of our archers, is one step away from building his casket.”

  “I’ll go,” Vara said. “I want to kick the Ilions out of Asermos, the way they kicked me out. I want to meet my grandchildren.”

  “Thank you.” Lycas nodded to her, making water drip from his hair onto the table. “Your third-phase heat vision will help with night operations.” He examined Dravek and Sura. “Vara told me that together, you two can control fires and even start them from nothing.”

  “She told you—?” Sura glanced quickly at Dravek. He blinked and tilted his head in a subtle gesture that said her father didn’t know the source of their power. Sura sat back in her chair. Maybe their training had grown tamer in the last year.

  Vara cleared her throat. “I explained to Lycas how well you and Dravek have learned the maneuvers I’ve taught you.”

  “I’ll go.” Dravek’s hands clenched. “I want to destroy these monsters and everything they love.” He turned to Sura. “I know you do, too.”

  Sura’s desire for revenge surged, but was quickly swept aside by a wave of guilt. “What about Malia?” she asked Dravek.

  “Etarek and Kara could care for her until you get back. She needs more time with her father, anyway. But it has to be your choice.”

  “Yes,” Lycas said. “I won’t ask you to leave your daughter.”

  She looked him in the eye and spoke in a low voice. “No, I expect you wouldn’t.”

  The edges of his mouth tightened. “I regret the pain I caused you and your mother.” He leaned forward, and she felt the weight of his stare. “But let’s get something straight. I don’t regret leaving to go to Ilios. Everything I did was for my family and my people, especially you. I sacrificed everything to make sure you lived in a land of freedom.”

  “You failed.”

  He shook his head slightly. “Not yet.”

  Sura ran her thumb over the nicks on the rim of her cup. Could she do to Malia what Lycas had done to her? Did she have a choice?

  Of course she had a choice, but not one she could live with.

  “I’d like to speak with Dravek alone,” she said.

  “I understand.” Lycas stood, scraping his chair against the wooden floor. He met Vara at the door. “I’ll stay at your mentor’s house tonight,” he told them. “We leave in the morning.”

  Sura’s throat was too thick to let her reply. She couldn’t watc him walk out her door. Though she’d been only a few weeks old the first time he’d done it, her mind had recreated the moment.

  She’d lain in her crib in the corner, crying. Her mother sat at the table, as Sura was now, refusing to cry.

  The door closed behind them. Dravek got up to lock it, then sat down again, this time across the table instead of next to her. In the other room, Malia began to cry again, and Rhia’s low voice responded in soothing tones.

  “Don’t you have a son?” Sura asked Dravek. When he nodded, she said, “How can you just leave him?”

  “How can I ask others to leave their children and fight in my place? I want Jonek to have no memory of what it was like to live under oppression. I want to end this, now.” He jabbed his finger against the table. “The sooner those prisoners are free, the sooner it’ll all be over.”

  “What if they don’t let them go?”

  “Then we burn every vineyard.”

  She closed her eyes, imagining the green hills of her home turned black and scarred. “All that beautiful farmland.”

  “It’s only fire. Kalindos burned to the ground ten years before I was born. Now you can hardly tell anything happened.”

  She remembered tall, healthy trees covering his home village, and felt a sudden longing to return. To be anywhere but Tiros, where she couldn’t remember one day to the next.

  Her memory was an even bigger issue. “What if I forget the battle plan and get someone killed?”

  “Vara and I would be with you.” He leaned forward, dark gaze intense on her face. “And you’re brilliant with fire in our training.”

  “How? Don’t I forget what I’ve learned from the day before?”

  “No. Somewhere in your mind or your body, the memory sticks.” He gestured to her bedroom. “Before Malia, you didn’t know how to change a diaper, but now you do. It’s the same with our training. You can still learn, Sura. You just don’t remember learning.”

  She felt more confused than ever. “I don’t remember anything at all.”

  “Trust me, when the time comes, you’ll know what to do.” He started to reach across the table, then pulled his hand back. “Part of me wants you to stay here, where I know you’ll be safe.”

  “Nowhere is safe in this world. We need to change that.” She took a deep breath, then blew it out. “I should feel sad at leaving Malia, but I barely know her.” She put her face in her hands. “Will I ever be a real mother to her?” Her throat tightened her voice so that it pitched up. “Why does Snake hate me so much?”

  She heard Dravek leave his chair and come to her side. He slid his arms around her.

  “Don’t.” She tried to get her elbows inside their embrace so she could push him away, but he held her too tightly. So she surrendered, curling her arms around his neck and clutching his back.

  If she concentrated with all her strength, perhaps she could nail this memory to the wall of her mind, so that it would never fall through a hole into eternal nothingness.

  05

  Tiros

  Rhia was up before dawn. It was getting harder to sleep in this house, the air so heavy with memories of Nilik. On this day, the anniversary of his death, she thought she would choke on it.

  She fed the chickens and collected the eggs from the henhouse, then stumbled in the darkness through the small yard back to her home, which no longer felt like her home.

  Marek was sitting alone at the end of the table when she returned. His elbows were propped on the surface, his hands folded in front of his face. He stared at the front door as if waiting for someone to walk through it.

  “Good morning,” she said, in a whisper that in the utter stillness, sounded as loud as a roaring wind.

&nbs
p; He turned his head and didn’t speak at first. She set the lantern atop the stove and started to put the eggs away.

  “Rhia,” he whispered. “Come here.”

  She sat beside him, and he took her hand. His face, shadowed by the lantern light, looked drawn and weary.

  “We should meet the evacuating Kalindons in the mountains,” he said in a hoarse voice, “help them find their way to Tiros.”

  She cocked her head at him. “But several of them have already been here. They know the way.”

  He hesitated, staring at their joined hands. “They might run out of supplies.”

  “I’m sure they have enough. There’s no reason to leave anything behind.”

  He fell silent and let go of her hand. His gray gaze settled on the door again. Dark circles rimmed his eyes.

  “Marek, what’s this really about?” she whispered.

  “Maybe they don’t need us.” He looked at her, and her heart twisted at the sight of his sadness. “But I need them. I know you know what day it is, why neither of us slept last night. I can’t stay here in Tiros. It feels…dead.”

  “I know.” She brushed a lock of pale brown hair behind his ear, wishing she could take his pain and make it hers alone. Maybe seeing his people, reconnecting to Kalindos in its time of need, would bring some life back into his eyes.

  “We’ll go as soon as Corek gets back from his Bestowing,” she said. “It’s just a few days. Maybe he’ll—” She stopped herself, not daring to voice the hope that Damen’s son would be Raven.

  “Thank you.” Marek leaned forward and kissed her, softly. “Thank you,” he said again.

  A voice came from the top of the stairs. “This time I’m going with you.” Jula crept down the steps and stopped halfway, eyes glittering in the lamplight. “No arguments.”

  Rhia looked at Marek. “I forget. Which of us are the parents?”

  He smiled at their daughter. “Of course you can come. But only if you find someone to take care of the animals.”

  She sat on the step and put her chin in her hands. “What if we let Etarek and Kara and Jonek stay here? That way Malia won’t have to move. She’ll miss her mother as it is.”