That girl was too smart by half. And twice as bold.
12
Seeing
Crone's Hill, near Eastway
Evening came, and the old woman prepared her dinner alone in the cabin. Well, sort of. He was often there. Other than her mostly silent companion, however, she had found herself alone in recent years. He first came to her long ago, and at the time she wondered if He was merely a product of her imagination. A periodic respite from the centuries of solitude. Sometimes she still wondered.
And oh, how loneliness now permeated her days. Even when she attended to her duties at the nearby abbey, she rarely interacted with the clerics there. The holy men paid scant attention to the slow-moving groundskeeper who did no more than trim the hedges and rake the leaves. It wasn't just that she looked old. Her hair had gone silver as a young woman, but it wasn't the only characteristic that betrayed her longevity. Her frame had sagged and her face was riddled with wrinkles. Her left eye was deformed, shrunken, and perceived nothing. Her right eye was cloudy and did not see well anymore. Long ago, she had taken to wearing a patch over the left eye, more for the comfort of others than for herself. Beyond her appearance, however, she felt old and found it difficult to hide the feeling from others. Her movements were slow and careful, and her manner conveyed a fatigue residing deep within.
She told herself that she wasn't old; she was seasoned. A chuckle escaped her throat as she rubbed salt on the bits of squirrel meat, then dropped them into the pot on the wood-fired stove. Thinking back over the years, she pondered her place in the world and how she came to be here, waiting. Waiting on Him. How much longer could she continue?
She harrumphed, chiding herself for allowing such a melancholy mood and dismissed the self-pity as she stirred the carrots, potatoes, and meat. Still, a quiet fog of depression lingered a bit, in her heart if no longer in her mind.
She carried a bowl of stew to her table, then returned to the cooking stove to check on it. Opening the loading door revealed that it had cooled; the wood burned to ash. It was her only source of heat, and if she didn't rekindle it, she would awake to a cold house in the middle of the night. She took a bite of potato, then went to the front porch to bring inside more birch logs to stoke the flames. As she opened the door, the wind blew at her fiercely, and her shoulder-length silver hair danced about in the gust, straining against a bone hairpin that kept it swept up on one side. Then, her eyes opened wide and her body went rigid as a seeing struck her. He spoke.
Anne.
Weeks had passed since last hearing His voice.
They are coming.
She stood in the doorway a moment, rigid, gazing out at nothing. In her inner eye, she saw travelers in need of her guidance and protection. After a time, she recovered from the vision and closed the door. She shuffled back to the table and took a seat.
"So you finally sent them, did ya?" She spoke to an empty room.
You are ready.
"I am old! My strength is gone!"
Her shoulders slumped as she stared into the bowl of food. A hard time was coming.
"You should have sent them long ago."
In my own time. Do as you're told.
"Or what? You'll let me die?" She stirred the food with her fork but didn't take a bite. "I've been asking for years to rest, but you've left me to rot here."
He didn't respond. So be it. Such a long wait, but perhaps she could finish things now. It was a good thing He gave her to do, or so He had always said. She had prepared long ago with the expectation that the task would have been completed by now. She had never expected to wait so long, and resentment had long since replaced her enthusiasm. She often wondered if she had been forgotten, or if the delay had been intended as punishment for her past sins.
So, they are finally coming. She had yearned to hear those words ages ago. All the years, all her adventures, all her mistakes.
"You better help me with this. I mean it."
Hunger pangs sprang up within. Not only would she need her own strength for what came next but all the strength He could send her as well. She hoped He would be true in this. She did not have what this task required, but of course, that had always been His way. They were coming to her in the twilight of her days, requiring her to depend all that much more on Him. It made for a scenario where He got all the credit, robbing her of any glory for the accomplishment.
She ate the bowl of stew, then served herself another. As she chewed her food, she carved an ornate design into the wood of the table with one of the tines of her fork. Light. Yes, that was it. She carved another. Earth. Harder, but still one of the easy ones. She carved a third. It was wrong, and she bit her lip in frustration. She tried again, much more slowly, deliberating with each stroke, and eventually revealed a design in the wood far more complex than the previous two. "That's protection, isn't it oh majestic procrastinator?" She looked up, but He didn't respond to her irreverence.
She would remember. Then she would teach. But there would be pain.
Part Two
The discovery of the receptacle as a reservoir of power has been both a blessing and a curse. With it, the ceppit could be constructed, the gifted identified, and the dominance of the Great Land established. But it has brought strife. The holy power of Dei should be cherished and preserved. Instead, the throne and the church have loosed it for their own purposes. Evil acts by evil men.
The Oracle on the eve of her execution, Ankar, 305 PB
13
Roads
City of Junn
Four Days after Announcement
When Mykel awoke, he was in a bed, looking up at the ceiling. Sounds of activity came from outside an open window. Where was he? He looked at the back of his right hand, expecting to see a gaping wound from the ceppit but finding nothing but a thin scar. He looked to his right to see Nara by his side.
"My hand. Healed. How long was I asleep? And where are we?"
"Four days," Nara said. Her bright-green eyes glowed even more than usual as her smile grew. "And we're in Junn."
In a city? Why?
He reached for Nara's right hand, only to find it wrapped in a bandage, clearly still healing. "I remember Father Taylor stabbing my palm. It hurt, but I thought I would be fine." He looked into her eyes. "Then the darkness. And the cold. I thought I was dying, but I saw your face. What happened, Bitty?" He normally used the nickname when she was vulnerable, not when he was suffering himself. She squeezed his other hand affectionately, and he suspected that the reversal was not lost on her.
"It drained you, Mykel. You were dying, and I ran to you. When I kneeled to help, it was draining me too. But then Dei came, a great light, and filled us both. He saved us."
"But how could that happen? How could it kill me unless…"
"Yes," she said.
"…I'm a cursed?" The thought of it struck a chord deep within him. It was the worst thing that could happen at an announcement, and it spoke much about what his future would look like. Cursed. Destined for death, or to be on the run forever. That must be why they had left Dimmitt.
"I don't like that word," she said, squeezing his hand again. "And you didn't die. You're fine."
But he wasn't fine. His hand might be healed, but he was far from fine.
As if oblivious to the effect that the news had on him, or perhaps deliberately trying to distract him from it, Nara explained how Bylo wasn't her father but instead a kind man who had adopted her from an orphanage in Fairmont.
“And I have my own magic. Magic that I never told you about.”
“What?”
“Yes, Mykel. I’m gifted, or something like that. Bylo swore me to secrecy.”
She went on to explain that her magic came long before the announcement ceremony, and that she could see things, and imbue ink. Magic that she had kept secret from him and from everyone in Dimmitt. She explained that she didn’t understand it, nor did she really know how to use it. His eyes widened in amazement at her tale, and with shock th
at she had kept such things from him.
"I wanted to help them. Our village. I really did, Mykel. But I didn't know how, and Bylo wouldn't let me. I showed Sammy where to lay his traps, though. Where all the coneys hid. So you could both eat."
So that's how Sammy always got so lucky.
"It's ok. It's not your fault, but why didn't you ever tell me?" he asked.
"Bylo wouldn't let me say anything. He was afraid, somehow. Of me, perhaps. Or what they would do with me. You aren't afraid of me, are you?" she asked.
"Of course not," he said, but he wasn't so sure. Exactly what magic did she have? More than one gift? "So, you're a blessed?"
"I don't know. Neither does Bylo."
"Don't worry. I could never be afraid of you even if you had a dozen gifts. Just don't turn me into a frog, okay?"
But they didn't laugh. No joke could banish the tension that was now in the room. Nara had magic. He did not. On the contrary, he was a cursed. What had he done to earn such a horrific fate? In his life thus far, he had lost his mother, been unloved by his father, been separated from Sammy, and would now be pursued by the church as an abomination. If he had ever felt unworthy of her before, it paled in comparison to how he felt now. She was destined for wealth and power, but he was destined for execution. Had he displeased Dei so much that he deserved this punishment? Or was there some dark power at work in him that required destruction?
"And there's more, Mykel. Much more. Magic runes. Bylo has been studying them for years. I could never tell you before. Bylo forbade it. But now…" Nara stopped and bit her lip. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that. Bylo wanted to tell you, and he should. It's his secret, not mine. I hate secrets."
Mykel dismissed her words, still lingering on his own flaws. "Nara, if I'm cursed, what does that mean? Am I a danger to you or Bylo? And why didn't I die? Cursed always die, don't they?"
"You could never be a danger to me, and you're alive because Dei saved you. And because Bylo carried us."
"Carried us?"
"Yes, if you can believe it. He'll tell you."
"What will happen if the church finds me?"
"Let's not talk about that."
"They'll kill me, Nara. They have to."
Nara's eyebrows furrowed, and her lips pursed in irritation. "They will never find you," she said. "Say no more about it."
Bylo entered the room and closed the door behind. When he came closer, Mykel forced a smile, but anxiety made it difficult to be truly grateful for the man's efforts.
"Nara told me how you carried us, Bylo. Thank you."
"I'm sure she didn't tell you everything," Bylo said, moving a chair to sit near the bed where Mykel rested. He spoke about runes as a preface to his own confession about a tattoo he had placed on Mykel's hip. He talked about scripture and margin illustrations, and how imbued ink gave power to those symbols. He told how he had inked Mykel's tattoo in the dark, on the run. He made excuses for the permanency of it, talked about trying to heal him with a surface rune, and how time and light were running out. He apologized multiple times.
Mykel interrupted him. "It's okay, Bylo. I forgive you. You saved me. Thank you."
"I worried about the effect it would have on you, son, since you're a cur—" He cut himself off.
"Since I'm a cursed. I know."
"He didn't mean—" Nara said. Bylo gave an awkward expression.
"Yes he did, but it's okay," Mykel gave Bylo a charitable smile. "I don't know what to call me, either."
Mykel reached down with his hand to rest it on his hip. There was something there; he could sense it.
"I have two of those now," said Bylo. "One on each thigh. It's easier to hide on the hip, but when I tattooed myself to test the strength rune, it was difficult to reach higher." Pride seemed to lace his voice as he described his work. "They do nothing once they lose their magic. The larger they are and the better the ink, the longer they last. But when the magic fades, they are just decorations."
"I'm not so sure," Mykel said. "It feels alive."
Mykel closed his eyes, still holding his hand on his hip, and thought of the tattoo. A bright pattern appeared in his mind, alive and hungry. His eyes snapped open in surprise.
"What happened?" Nara asked.
"An image appeared in my mind when I closed my eyes and thought of the tattoo. It seemed… hungry."
Mykel pulled down the cloth of his trousers, exposing the tattoo, his hand shaking with anxiety.
The design on his hip bore the same symbol as the one from his thoughts. He had known what it looked like before ever actually seeing it. Chilling. Something odd was going on here. Although surely with good intentions, had Bylo wrought some sort of dark magic? Alert now, Mykel sat up in the bed. Strange things were happening, and if people chased them, strange things might become terrible things. News of being cursed, Nara's gifts, and now a magic, hungry tattoo all spurred Mykel to action. Staying here was not an option, and although he might not escape these circumstances, he felt determined to go somewhere. Despite the emotional exhaustion, his body felt strong.
"Bylo, can we leave tonight?" Mykel asked. "I can travel."
Nara, still kneeling next to the bed, looked at Bylo, who glanced back at each of them.
"Let's go, then," Bylo said.
Bylo assembled their things and visited a nearby mercantile that sold them another pack, some salted pork, blankets, a thin tarp, and some socks. Bylo placed the pack on Mykel's back, and they set off to the north.
"I want to go to Fairmont, where you found me," Nara said. "I want to find my sister."
"Nara, we can't," Bylo said.
"Why not?"
"You know why. Soldiers. The church. They will have a description of you and Mykel even before we could arrive. You'd be conscripted into service, and Mykel would be executed."
Executed for being cursed.
"We're going to Eastway," Bylo responded. "I know someone who might help us at the abbey there. Brother Alen, who is now the abbot."
"You know an abbot, Bylo?" Mykel asked.
"Yes, well, I used to. He was one of the brothers at the monastery where I worked. Long before I met Nara."
"But an abbey is like a church," Nara said. "Won't they be chasing us?"
"Alen won't," Bylo answered. "At least I don't think so. If he won't help us, or can't find a safe place for us to live, we'll just go east. To the Yukan."
"I can't leave Sammy," Mykel said.
Bylo sighed. "I don't think you have any choice, son."
"Because I'm cursed. I'm a danger to him, is that what you're saying? That the church will come after me and Sammy could get hurt?"
"I don't know," Bylo said. "But for now, you should stay away."
Mykel looked to Nara, and there was compassion in her eyes, but she said nothing.
"Do we just hide forever?" Mykel asked. "That doesn't sound like much of a life."
"We'll talk about it later. For now, both your safety and Nara's depend on getting far away from here."
Although he didn't disagree with that, Mykel didn't like the sound of heading toward an abbey filled with church folks. Not with his new status as a cursed. Nor did he like heading out toward the Yukan, far from his home. He thought of the Windblown Wastes out west where criminals and loners were known to dwell. Would that be a better place to find sanctuary for a time? Perhaps Bylo was right. Mykel was ill-prepared for big decisions such as this, and there didn't seem to be any good choices.
As they walked through the streets of Junn, Nara stayed close to him. They looked about and spoke of the wealth that surrounded them. Wagons and horses moved along the roads, laden with goods and people. Many folks wore nice clothing, the children looked healthy, and the delicious smells emanating from taverns and inns invited them inside.
"Mykel, they all have shoes," Nara said. "Every child."
"I noticed that."
"We need to go back to Dimmitt. As soon as we can," she said.
"For S
ammy."
"Yes."
They walked for several hours that night, stopping when they could no longer see the lights of Junn behind. They set up camp well off the roadway but did so slowly. Despite years of manual labor, fatigue from the walk seemed to have affected Bylo more than it had the youths, and the old man complained more than once. After a fire had been started, Nara rummaged through the packs to assemble a modest meal of lard and biscuits while Mykel gathered water from a nearby brook. They bedded down without interruption, and despite the fatigue, Mykel was grateful that they had made good time. If someone was after them, as Bylo suspected, Junn might not have been a good place to stay for long.
The next morning ushered in a full day of travel. They passed merchants and nobles, and even an entertainment troupe that rushed along as if late for a show. Whenever they saw someone on the road ahead, or heard footsteps or hooves from behind, Bylo directed them to cover themselves with their hoods and mind their own business. He explained that the delay in Junn had given pursuers from Dimmitt a chance to catch up to them.
In the late afternoon, as they saw soldiers approaching, Bylo urged Mykel and Nara to be particularly quiet. Once the men got closer, however, it was clear that they were battered. Some had bloody tunics; others wore bandages around their heads. In the bed of a wagon that accompanied them, several more could be seen lying prone. Wounded, or dead? Perhaps they were returning from a battle on the fringes of the Great Land. Everyone knew about the barbarian incursions, but Dimmitt was isolated, and Mykel had never seen the evidence of war up close. The fatigue and despair on the soldiers' faces remained on Mykel's mind through the rest of the day.
They could have walked longer that day, but Nara had begun to slow significantly, and stopped talking. Neither Bylo nor Mykel needed to ask if she was enduring a headache. Assured of their safety for the time being, they stopped well before sundown to prepare a camp on the back side of a hill. While far enough off the road and sheltered from direct observation by other travelers, they weren't so far away that they couldn't hear the occasional horse or wagon as it ambled by. Despite the obvious fatigue from hours of walking, Bylo seemed to find the strength to go fishing while Nara slept, and he collected several good-sized trout from a nearby lake. Mykel tried to duplicate the effort, but recent events had rattled him, and while his thoughts were elsewhere, he sliced his finger open with a hook. Bylo gave him a clean rag to wrap around his finger, and Mykel abandoned his fishing efforts to gather more firewood.
The Godseeker Duet Page 9
