"Yes, the minister is blessed. But, Nara, you aren't gifted. And you aren't blessed. I truly don't know what you are."
"Don't know what I am? I'm a person, Bylo!"
"Of course you are. But you are also something more."
Or something less, she thought. She remembered the stories in church about Kai's sinister servants.
"Am I a demon?"
"Certainly not!" He rose to his feet and headed back to the kitchen.
But she wasn't so sure.
"Bylo?"
Silence again.
"Bylo!" she shouted, standing suddenly and knocking over her chair.
Bylo turned. “I don't have anything to tell you, Nara. I don't know!"
She picked up her chair and settled back into her seat, shoulders drooping in disappointment and defeat. He didn't know.
"Why would I not be announced tomorrow? I will surely be, right?"
"Not necessarily," he said as he took a bite of his dinner.
"Why not?"
Bylo seemed to ponder his answer a moment. "No gifts will be found."
"Why not?"
"Gifts are rare, Nara."
An insufficient answer and he was clearly avoiding the truth. And her gaze.
"Bylo!"
He turned to face her. ”Okay, okay. Taylor will announce no gifts because he can't."
She screwed her face up at him, perplexed. "What does that mean?"
"Nara, no gifted have been announced in Dimmitt for many years. Don't you find that odd?"
She did find that odd. One of the nearby villages announced a child five years ago, and another had announced one a few years before that. Dimmitt was suffering a long, dry spell as far as gifts were concerned.
"Why haven't we?"
"Nara, someone has to imbue the ceppit, and we have no harvester here. Nor do we have the money to fill it—it costs much more than it does to imbue ink.“
It took a moment for her to absorb his words. Of course, the ceppit! The dagger used to pierce the hand of each child during the ceremony was a receptacle of power. The power stored therein was a catalyst that awakened the latent magic of the child. If it was empty, there would be no announcement.
"Wow, how long have you known the ceppit was empty?"
"I've always known."
A long pause ensued as she contemplated what this meant.
"Nara, I was in Fairmont, long ago, before I found you. Once I located you, I needed to keep you safe. There are records in the grand archive of the Ministry of War and Justice, records of announcements from throughout the Great Land. Records that might provide clues on where I could hide you."
Nara found it odd how he mentioned the Ministry of War. The words ministry and war seemed ill-suited partners. War was anything but a ministry. Despite the questions that tried to work their way out of her mouth, she let him continue.
"Having learned through my research how expensive it was to hire a harvester, I concluded that in the poorer parts of the Great Land there would be villages that couldn't afford to hire one."
"But they still hold announcement ceremonies," she said.
"Exactly. It's a legal decree."
"And why is that?"
"The queen needs gifted for her armies, Nara. There are many gifts, and almost all have some value in war."
Goosebumps rose on her forearms, and she grabbed a blanket off her cot, then wrapped it around herself as Bylo continued.
"I figured any village so poor that it could not afford to imbue the ceppit would bear a significant record of empty ceremonies."
"You chose Dimmitt to hide me?"
He nodded.
"We can fix it," she said after a moment.
"Fix what, my dear?"
She looked up at him.
"The village. Dimmitt can't have a proper announcement. There could be gifts all over the village, and those gifts are Dei's blessing. Our town has been robbed, but we can fix it."
"No! Absolutely not!"
He let go of her and stood to his feet suddenly, his face growing red. "I forbid it."
His reckless movement caused a cup of water to fall over and drench the table, then drip onto the floor. His eyes widened, and she couldn't tell if it was from rage or from the shock of his own anger taking control of him. The gentle monk forbade nothing, and he had never shown such anger, causing her to tremble partly in surprise and partly in fear. He gritted his teeth, clenched his fists, then walked over to take a seat at his desk.
"I should never have told you," he said, leaning his elbow on the desk for support and hanging his head. "I'm a fool."
Now she knew why he never explained—his reluctance was clear. Oh, how he must have been proud to hide her here, and how he must now be angry with himself for leaking the secret that would unravel it all. She might cure Dimmitt's poverty by bringing overdue gifts to this little town, but she would do so at the risk of revealing her own talents. It would be worth it.
Despite Bylo's discomfort, she resolved that the needs of the village were of greater priority. "You've always told me to hide my talents. Nobody has trained me. I don't even know what I can do. Maybe I could have helped, these past years. Brought money to Dimmitt. Fed my friends. But you said to be quiet, so I was. I won't be quiet anymore, Bylo. I won't."
He didn't say a word.
"We may not be able to help everyone tomorrow," she said. "But if we break the news to the village, we can announce everyone for the last decade or more. Think of it!"
Nara's heart warmed at the thought of bringing relief to her impoverished friends and neighbors.
Bylo turned to her with a pained expression. ”If they announce you with an imbued ceppit, Nara, who knows what will happen? I've never heard of anyone like you, not even in stories. You could die, or they might find out you're not like anyone else. You're not just a gifted. Who knows what people would…" he said, his voice cracking. "And I might..." he choked on the words, "... might lose you."
From across the room, she saw the agony on his face, his usually bright eyes now tired, melting her heart. She wanted to go to him, but her mind raced as she weighed her love for this man against the welfare of hundreds. She came to her decision quickly.
Bylo put his head on the desk, knocking over a small tray holding quills and a stylus. He made no move to gather them and was motionless for a time.
"I love you too, Bylo," she said, knowing his turmoil. "And I won't do it."
He lifted his head, apparent relief chasing the anxiety away from his aging face. "Really?"
"I swear it," she said, but had no such intention. She didn't lie often, but this was different. People were suffering, and she had a way to help. She needed to help.
Nara got up, put the blanket back on her bed, and went over to Bylo, squeezing his shoulder and smiling. As she walked toward the kitchen, she thought she heard a sigh of relief. After tidying up the kitchen, she headed toward her cot. "I'm off to bed. Long day."
"Good night. And... thank you, dear. I'm sorry."
She spent a moment brushing her hair so she wouldn't wake with it in knots, then slipped under her blankets, turning away from him as she did so.
Bylo snuffed out the lantern and headed to bed himself. As he closed his eyes in the darkness, head on his pillow, an uncomfortable doubt crept into his thoughts. It couldn't be that easy. Nara had given up fast, and that wasn't like her.
For years, he had feared a knock at the door that would take her away to strangers who would use his child as a weapon. He thought of the stories of gifted in battle, how innocent women and children often fell under the destruction wrought by the magic. Nara would not be able to endure it, he was convinced of this; she would sooner take her own life than preside over such havoc.
He thought of the day he carried her away from the orphanage. If tomorrow didn't go well, would they be required to run again? With frustration, he prayed to the god who never answered.
Dei, if you allow evil here, I'll carry h
er away again. I swear it. As many times as it takes.
A flapping of wings called his attention to the tree outside his cracked window. A short time later, an owl hooted softly. Bylo glanced at the moon that seemed to fill the clear, dark sky. From time to time he turned, looking across the room to make sure Nara was still sleeping on her cot. Eventually, fatigue overcame his suspicions, and slumber captured him.
4
Defiance
Nara lay on her cot pretending to sleep, her thoughts lingering on Bylo's secrecy. Anger welled up at what seemed like a betrayal—not just of her, but of the entire village. The ceppit needed power, and she would fill it tonight.
Bylo didn't fall asleep quickly, but once he had, she made her move. The rain pit-pattered on the roof, giving her ample noise cover to steal away. Her exit out the front door was soft but still disturbed a white owl in the nearby tree. Ruffling its feathers, the bird turned its head to face her disapprovingly.
Darkness reigned, and none of the village folk were out, but she moved with caution to avoid waking any dogs that might announce her skulking. The walk to the church took longer than it should have, or maybe it just seemed that way. What she intended could not be undone, and the risk weighed heavily upon her. This was a bold move and she knew it, but felt compelled to continue. It might be the first act of her life that would make a difference. A real difference. A way to help.
Was that the only reason, or was there more? Did she want to imbue the ceppit to help other people, or was this also a way to feel some power of her own? A way to defy her destiny as the girl who must remain quiet, who could not be noticed. The girl who kept secrets.
Being announced in front of the whole village would end those secrets. Nara would be a gifted, and people would take notice of her. She would be seen as valuable. Important. Yes, she wanted that, too.
Upon arrival at the church, she found a window near the back door. She slid it open, pulled herself up over the sill, and landed inside on her bum. Holding her breath, she listened and waited, hoping Father Taylor was slumbering in his room down the hallway.
After a few moments of silence, she rose to her feet, tiptoed to Taylor's study, and tested the door handle. Unlocked. After turning the knob, the door fell open a few inches, but the agonizing creak that came was enough to wake the dead. Fear of discovery paralyzed her, and she heard the priest grumble something in irritation from his room, bed squeaking as he shifted in his slumber. A moment later, the silence resumed. Proceeding into the room, she squeezed through the open doorway and moved quietly to the sacristy behind his desk. Just a fancy footlocker, the chest sat on the floor beneath Taylor's threadbare, stained ceremonial robes that hung on a wall peg above. It bore a padlock.
Curse it! What now?
Kneeling down, Nara inspected the lock in the near darkness, but her only allies were a few stray moonbeams sneaking in through his study window.
Old, rusty, and rarely used, the lock failed to disengage after a hearty tug. Then, as she did when imbuing ink, she closed her eyes and reached down into her energy, grabbing hold. Swirling patterns danced about her vision as she wrapped the power around herself and descended. The internal workings of the device became clear to her—the tumbler, the cylinder. All it would take was a little push. . . click!
Opened. With a thought!
Victory swelled inside her, and she wished to share it with someone—to tell Bylo or Mykel. As quickly as it came, the pride abandoned her. There was nobody she could tell.
Focusing again on her task, she removed the open lock and lifted the lid on the chest. Inside, she found two shiny goblets, several metal plates, and an engraved wooden box. Opening the box revealed a prize: the bladed bone-handled ceppit, unwitting focus of the evening's controversy. She moved her hand to reach out, then stopped, compelled to consider more deeply.
The potential implications of her actions tonight brought a concern. Burgling the church, breaking into the chest, grabbing a strange weapon so she could enchant it with magic that would reveal her talents to the village. Was she a criminal or just a fool?
Thoughts of warning came to mind. Might she hurt someone she knew? Sure, the discovery of a cursed was rare, but if things went wrong, could she justify her actions?
Ultimately, she decided that she had come this far and couldn't stop now. The problems of this poor town, this home that she loved, could be cured with a few good announcements. That the ceppit hadn't been imbued for so long was the true crime, one she could not allow to continue.
With new resolve, she grasped it by the handle, inspecting the blade in the faint moonlight. This was the closest she had been to the valuable relic that was sometimes seen in church ceremonies. It now seemed plainer than she remembered. A chunk of bone formed the grip, and metal wire had been pounded into grooves, forming a design that reminded her of Bylo's drawings and the patterns she sometimes saw in her mind when using her talents. The blade itself was only a couple of inches long, though the handle was twice that. An odd-looking thing, for sure, and clearly no use for hunting, cooking, or whittling. Crafted for one purpose only. Magic.
Although heavy, she sensed its emptiness. An odd feeling, reminiscent of holding an empty bowl or perhaps a cup before filling it with water. But not just empty. Hungry. New doubts crept into her as she held the implement that carried so much meaning. It did not seem like a talisman that brought reward, nor a mechanism for inviting joy or celebration. It was dark and deadly and might bring destruction. She should put it back in the box and run from this place as if her life depended on it.
"What am I doing?" she whispered, then thought of the village folks and bit her lip to stop any further protest.
She summoned courage, dismissing her fears. There was no choice. Squatting behind the desk, she gripped the knife with both hands. Closing her eyes and reaching deep within, she drew upon that reserve of something inside—of energy, of spirit. She poured it into the blade.
At first, it seemed like exhaling, but at the end of her breath, she ran out of air. The ceppit did not care for her discomfort and kept pulling, with increasing insistence. Sucking harder, the relic leeched Nara's strength like a parasite. It had become a monster that had taken a bite of her, enjoyed the taste, and resolved to consume her entirely. Weakness spread through her legs and they failed, dropping her to the floor. She tumbled onto one side, still gripping the knife firmly with both hands in panic and confusion. She willed her fingers to release the handle of the blade, but they disobeyed.
As she despaired at her foolishness, she bit down on her tongue. The physical pain, surprise, and taste of blood directed her attention from the dagger. The shock of it loosened her grip, and she dropped the knife to the floor, where it stuck in the wood, blade first, with an audible thud.
Horrifying! Is that what harvesters experienced when they imbued something? Her essence was being robbed. Her soul. No amount of money would be worth that job.
Footsteps shuffled down the short hallway outside the office. Father Taylor! When she fell over and dropped the knife, she must have made an awful racket.
With no time to spare, she managed to quickly and quietly place the blade inside the chest and close the lid. She noticed that it was lighter now that it was imbued, an odd side effect she had not expected. She replaced the padlock and retreated from the sacristy.
The priest opened the door while she sat under the desk and brought her legs to her chest as tightly as they would go.
Don't breathe.
The light from his candle danced around the room, blinking in and out, reflecting off the padlock she had forgotten to latch.
Don't see it. Please don't see it.
She heard the priest take a step inside, but then he paused. Nara hoped he was convincing himself that he had imagined things. When he closed the door and shuffled back to his room, she sighed in relief.
After a long wait, it seemed safe to move again. She snapped the rusty padlock shut, then closed the study door and
snuck back down the hallway. At the back of the church, she lifted the window, slipped over the sill, dropped to the grass below, then ran home for all she was worth.
On her way back to the cottage, she wondered about the ceppit. What a horrible thing it was! Yet, she had overcome it. As she approached her home, she thought upon the consequences of her actions tonight. Would tomorrow bring victory, or tragedy? She snuck into the cottage and set a damp head on her pillow. Only then did she realize her fatigue. Not just tired but exhausted as never before. She prayed before falling asleep.
Oh, Dei, if you’re there, please help us in this. Please don't let it be a mistake.
5
Memories
Bylo woke early, last night's conversation with Nara lingering in his thoughts. He glanced at her cot. She slept, but he was not fooled into thinking that her slumber was a precursor to inaction. The girl was clever but naive, although that was largely Bylo's fault. He had never told her the truth about who she really was and how much she mattered.
He thought back to the day it all had become clear to him, more than twenty years ago. He remembered the fear. And the soldiers. It was the last day he ever saw his friend.
Veneti Monastery
West of Fairmont
642 P.B.
Bylo had been sleeping in his cot when Phelan woke him with excited chattering.
"They have it wrong," Phelan said. "They misunderstand!" His unkempt white hair, deeply wrinkled skin, and body odor gave witness to both his age and recent lack of hygiene.
"I was trying to sleep," Bylo said as he struggled to rise. "What are you talking about?" he asked, eager for the reason he had been so rudely awakened.
"The runes have meaning, Bylo. Phyili. The twins." Phelan spoke quickly, his eyes sparkling with enthusiasm. "There is no longer any doubt."
Bylo scratched his own head, further mussing his tousled, greying hair. The sounds of boots in the hallway outside the room announced another patrol of soldiers. The queen's men had swarmed the monastery in recent days, with no explanation given by the abbot.
The Godseeker Duet Page 3
