by D. L. Kramer
"You'll try," Paki countered. "From now on, I'm keeping my sword with me." He stood up. "Are you okay with this? Honestly?"
Bear nodded again and laid back down. "I'm okay with you being Nahtan," he said. "Just trust me next time."
Paki nodded. "I will," he promised, walking to the door. "Even if it kills me." He walked out as Bear chuckled behind him.
Nahtan's Way - Book 3
Prologue - But the gods were unable to hear him
There was no way to describe the emptiness felt when their gods abandoned them. Hadn't they learned to quit fighting? Hadn't they begun speaking to each other and learning to live together? In the end, their efforts weren't enough. Perhaps if a cleric had survived the final battle, he might have called the gods back for their spirits as their bodies died. But the clerics and other holy ones were often the first killed.
If only they could foresee their mistakes.
The last to die were an odd assortment. Among them, an elder, a healer, a warrior, a mother, a mage. The mage was wiser in death than in life, and taught the other spirits to bond together to ease some of the loneliness. The healer was gentle, but blamed their abandonment on those who had fought the wars, specifically the warrior who held her even as she died. The mother had lost her family in the final battle and was inconsolable even after her own death. The elder simply observed and advised, much as he always had. The warrior refused to accept the curse given to them.
As time passed, most forgot who they were and the circumstances that brought them to their empty wanderings in the barren, long-dead land. Most eventually left, seeking their own way in other parts of the land. As spirits, they could only wander a land where nothing grew and nothing lived, prisoners of their own making. By the time new gods came to replenish the dead land, only two spirits remained together: the mage and the warrior.
They watched as one god created two daughters for himself, naming them and blessing them. There was another god, but he watched silently and showed no interest until the younger daughter was born of the world's chaos. Next, the god and his daughters began restoring the land, coaxing life from the most stubborn of places. Among the first life was a forest, thick and deep. It was here the youngest daughter made her home, and it was here the mage and warrior watched.
Regret stirring within his soul, the warrior became desperate to reach the gods, to beg forgiveness for what they had done to the land. But the gods were unable to hear him.
Turning to the mage for assistance, the warrior learned to will himself into their existence. The mage could manifest himself as any of the strange creatures in the woods. The warrior learned the lessons, and became a baby in the gods' own manner. It was the mage who brought him to the goddess' home, carrying him gently between his teeth as he walked in the shape of a lion.
The goddess and her servants welcomed the strange baby into their home, but the silent god despised him from the beginning. To save him, the goddess sent him back to the lion. The mage cared for the warrior, hoping he would grow to confront the gods again and find the repentance he sought. The silent god found them soon though, and tried to destroy the infant's soul. The mage attacked as the lion, only to die again along with the silent god's incarnation, this time at the hands of a woodsman. Spirit once again, the mage watched helplessly as the woodsman took the warrior from the cave and back to the goddess' home. Silently, he hoped the young goddess could protect him. From there, the warrior was taken away by the father-god and his soul eventually hidden among the gods' mortals.
Knowing the silent god still searched for the strange soul, the older goddess wrote a fate for the warrior that would hide him well until he was strong enough to fulfill his destiny. The warrior was born to a poor family far from the place where his destiny would crown. While young, he was taken from the family and his birthname forgotten. After several years, fate moved him to those who would protect and teach him. While there, he would learn of the prophecy of a warrior and king, not realizing it spoke of himself. When he reached his eighteenth year, his birthname was revealed and he was set upon the path to restore order to what was lost.
None of the gods realizing this spirit had already once held the fate of a world in his hands.
One - "He's got a point"
"Ye're goin' to get trapped," Kile advised, leaning against the training yard fence.
Nahtan ducked under Gharald's sword, bringing his own up between them and blocking the next swing. His back was nearly to the fence rail, and the corner just a short distance away. Light flashed off the swords from the torches lit along the fence, the rest of the stronghold dark in the late night. The only sounds came from the horses in the corral and the fight in the training yard.
"No, I'm not," Nahtan returned, flipping the sweat-soaked hair from his eyes. He knew exactly what he was doing. He just hoped he could manage it before Gharald wore him out and found an opening.
"You know," Janec said from beside Kile. "It could be you in there again."
Kile chuckled. "And I'd beat 'im again, too," he promised. "Just like I beat ye every time ye tried to arrest me."
"Not for lack of trying," Janec shrugged.
"Probably," Nahtan replied to Kile, not turning his attention from Gharald. He'd come to dread the fights with Kile. He always lost, and only found a small amount of comfort in knowing that everyone lost to Kile.
Finally, Gharald stepped to the side, intending to push Nahtan into the corner. Nahtan blocked the next swing with his sword, pushing outward and twisting the blade sharply. His left wrist complained, shooting pain through his hand as the swords crashed against the top fence rail. Nahtan stepped forward, driving his left elbow into the underside of Gharald's forearm, making him drop his sword while Nahtan dropped his own. Pulling the dagger from his left forearm sheath as he moved, Nahtan grabbed Gharald's cloak and turned him, holding the dagger against his throat.
"If that sword of yours wasn't so damned heavy," Gharald managed. "You wouldn't be able to do things like that."
Nahtan smiled and released him, resheathing his dagger. "If my sword wasn't so damned heavy," he leaned over to pick up the two-handed longsword. "I wouldn't be able to do most of the things I do." His left hand refused to grip the weapon tight enough to lift it to the sheath on his back and he shifted it to his right.
"Let me see that," Kile nodded to Nahtan's wrist.
Nahtan sheathed his sword and stepped up across from Kile, holding out the bound wrist while Gharald retrieved his own sword. The wrist had been getting weaker, but the damage done to it in his fight with Bear was permanent, taking much of the strength from it. He was forced to keep it tightly bound now to give it the support it once had.
"It's because that sword's so heavy," Janec said as Kile unwrapped the wrist. "You should have been bracing it from the time you first picked up a weapon."
"It didn't bother me then," Nahtan shrugged. His heart raced from the night's fighting and he felt very much alive. As the cool autumn air dried the sweat on his back, he shivered, wishing he had brought his own cloak out.
Kile held up his hand with Nahtan's, as if they were going to arm wrestle.
"Push," he instructed.
Nahtan did so, knowing that without the wrist braced, it would give out when pressed against Kile's stationary hand. He had barely applied any pressure when the wrist buckled.
"Ye're goin' to have problems on the battlefield," Kile shook his head and released Nahtan's hand. Nahtan started wrapping his wrist again.
"I'm sure Halona knows about it and will arrange something," Nahtan smiled.
"I wish I could be so sure," Kile returned.
Nahtan looked up at him, his dark eyes meeting Kile's. "You are," he said evenly. Kile's faith in the gods was as absolute as his honor. There was no reason to question either one.
"He's got a point," Gharald commented.
"That's enough from both of ye," Kile said. "I think ye're wrist 'as had enough for one night, too," he finished, looking back
at Nahtan.
"I know it has," Nahtan agreed. Rather than walking down to the gate, he climbed over the fence and dropped to the ground. "Rena's going to have my head for doing this much to it."
The small group turned toward the keep, leaving the torches for the watch to extinguish. Inside, they bid each other goodnight and turned their separate ways.
Nahtan stepped silently into his room, careful not to disturb Rena. He realized his care was pointless when he saw her sitting by the window. She hadn't felt well the last couple of days and he'd encouraged her not to wait up for him.
"You're not as late as last night," Rena said quietly, turning to him. Her light brown hair fell in soft strands down her back, trimmed edges framing her gentle face.
Nahtan pulled his sword off over his head and arm, leaning it against the wall as he walked to her.
"They also didn't all come after me at once tonight," he said, putting his arms around her. He inhaled by her hair, immediately calmed by her scent.
"They're just trying to help you realize what it's like in battle," Rena pointed out.
Nahtan paused for a moment, searching his reborn memories from his past lifetime. "I can't remember anyone able to handle a sword like Kile," he finally told her. "I think he could safely sit out the practices." Some memories had been coming back to him, fitting together and reminding him in small bits of who he had been. Most was still vague, or a complete blank, however. He knew there had been battles, but little else than that.
"Then it's all the better for him to be there," she turned and kissed him lightly.
Nahtan was surprised to feel how cool her lips were against his.
"What's wrong?" he asked, stroking her hair.
Rena turned back to the window and took a deep breath. "When you lived before," she began. "Did you have any family?"
Nahtan thought for a moment, then shook his head. "None that I remember," he answered. "Though I'm sure I had to have parents at one time." He waited for her to continue.
"I--" Rena paused and he felt her swallow. "I--think I might be pregnant," she finally managed. She turned to look up at him and he could see tears building in her eyes.
"Pregnant?" Nahtan repeated, searching her face in the pale moonlight. So many emotions surged through him at once with the thought. Before he could sort them out, another thought struck him almost as heavily. "You can't have children because you're not really mortal," he pointed out. Rena was one of Jensina's servants, sent to take a mortal form to help guide him along Halona's destiny for him.
Rena nodded as her tears spilled onto her cheeks. "I'm not sure," she said hesitantly. "But, all the signs..."
Nahtan pulled her into his arms and held her against him. He knew she must be frightened nearly to death.
"It'll be okay," he whispered, his own heart pounding. He stroked her hair, trying to reassure her, but not sure how.
Nahtan leaned against the open window of the upper study in Herridon Hold. The keep had fallen into greater disrepair since the last time Mo'ani was there, but they had found several usable large rooms. Rena wanted to come with him, but Nahtan asked her to stay at the stronghold. Herridon Hold was no longer protected by its outer walls, and he didn't want her here where she could be exposed to any church guards who might be scouting the area.
Herridon Hold was several leagues west of the stronghold and outside the Mo'ani's usual patrols. Kile placed guards throughout the nearby woods, but they weren't as familiar with the area here and it would be easier for someone to slip past them.
A brisk breeze blew against him and he was glad he'd worn his cloak. The morning sun glinted off the gold embroidery around the hem, the pattern of Jensina's Symbols telling everyone he was the last apprentice Mo'ani would train himself.
While most everyone readily accepted him as a cloaked Mo'ani warrior, he hadn't been sure they would accept him as Nahtan. It took a couple of months, but as Mo'ani predicted, everyone at the stronghold eventually accepted that, too. Nahtan openly accepted any challenges from those who questioned him and his opponents always left the training yard convinced. For those that didn't challenge him, Mo'ani's assurances seemed to be enough.
So much had taken place in such a short time. Immediately after his fight with Bear, riders were sent to each of the holds with a sealed message asking the holds' lord or lady to come to the stronghold. The riders had left in early autumn, and Nahtan found himself worrying that those with the longest distances to travel wouldn't make it before the first snowfall, especially Lord Valin and Jerai.
He knew he was taking a chance having everyone come here now. Their holds would be in the hands of their lieutenants, and they stood a chance of being snowed into the mountains at Mo'ani's stronghold. Hopefully, Zakris would keep the holds safe until they could return to them. He needed to hear their thoughts and advice before he and Bear left for Bear's village.
"Lord and Lady Bavol are starting up the mountain path," Bear said, appearing beside him. "They should be here in a few hours." He brushed his long black hair behind his shoulders and tied it with a strip of leather. The fine strands of his silky black hair nearly reached his waist and only needed the slightest breeze to move it.
"I just hope I'm doing the right thing," Nahtan sighed. He twisted his wrist under the strips of cloth, trying to scratch it.
"It's easier this way than you spending six months traveling to all of them," Bear pointed out.
"I suppose," Nahtan shrugged.
"What's with you?" Bear asked, leaning on the opposite side of the window.
Nahtan looked at his friend, wondering if he should tell him about Rena. He started to shake his head, but Bear interrupted him.
"If you don't tell me, I'm going to beat it out of you again," he threatened.
"No, you won't," Nahtan returned. "I have my sword this time." His friend's method of getting him to admit who he was in front of the entire stronghold had become almost as well known as the prophecy of Nahtan.
"So what is it?" Bear pressed.
Nahtan met his friend's eyes. "Rena thinks she might be pregnant," he said. When Rena told him her suspicions a couple of nights before, he'd been hit with so many emotions he still couldn't name them all. Excitement, fear, doubt...he remembered those because they were still there.
The thought of a family of his own had never occurred to him, and he found a certain amount of comfort in the idea. Rena was growing awfully weak, though, and he was concerned a pregnancy might be hard for her. If he had to choose, he'd rather have her than any children.
Bear raised both his eyebrows. "Really?" he asked. "I thought she couldn't--you know, because she's not really like the rest of us."
"That's what we thought," Nahtan said. "Meda said none of the three of them could have children because they weren't directly part of any family, so they couldn't influence any of the family lines." That reason had only prompted questions none of them could answer. Meda seemed as puzzled by it as Rena, and Pater Isak had only stated his trust in the gods' decision.
"So what if she is?" Bear asked.
"I don't know," he admitted. "This isn't exactly the best time for a baby to be born."
"Would ye quit disappearin', lad," Kile's voice came from the doorway, interrupting them. Nahtan turned to face the captain of the guard, brushing his dark hair away from his eyes. "When we left, ye were downstairs." Kile and Adie came into the study, Adie carrying an armful of rolled maps. She dropped them onto the oversized table in the center of the room, catching the few that rolled toward the edge. Tossing her head, her red hair moved easily back behind her shoulders from her topknot. As always, she moved with the sure, subtle movements of her former profession. Kile's weathered face and sense of presence spoke of nothing more than the officer, nobleman and warrior he was.
"I couldn't see very far from down there," Nahtan said, coming over to the table. His look asked Bear not to say anything, and his friend nodded.
"And he's so nervous he's about to get
punched," Bear added, joining them by the table.
"Try it," Nahtan invited.
"Maybe when you don't have the sword," Bear decided.
"Bear said Lord and Lady Bavol are on their way up the mountain," Nahtan said, looking at Kile. "Any sign of anyone else yet?"
"Not yet," Kile shook his head. "Though I'd expect Lord and Lady Corydon shouldn't be too far behind."
Nahtan nodded his head and began looking through the maps. "I guess we don't have any choice but to wait then," he sighed. Pulling out one of the chairs, he sat down in it and unrolled the map for Herridon City as Bear sat beside him.
Evaine and Matthios arrived within a few hours, just as Bear predicted. They were shown to the upper study by one of the Mo'ani guarding the ruined keep. Nahtan, Kile, Bear and Adie were all sitting around the table, several of the maps spread out in front of them, when the door opened on the elderly Lord of Bavol Hold and his second wife.
Evaine stopped in the doorway as Matthios moved to sit in one of the chairs. He hadn't recovered entirely from his illness a couple of years before, and Nahtan noticed for the first time a slight shake to his hands. Matthios didn't look the least surprised and only nodded at Nahtan, his sharp eyes as alert as they'd been nearly eight years before when Nahtan had first met him.
"So it is you," Evaine said. Her blonde hair was twisted atop her head and held with a jeweled pin. Her dress was a deep red and fit perfectly. As usual, the bodice was cut lower than most women would ever dare.
Nahtan met her eyes and smiled. "Yes," he nodded.
"I'd wondered." Evaine walked to the chair beside Matthios' and sat in it as she nodded to Kile and Adie. Her gaze fell on Bear. "Red's a very good color on you, Sewati," she complimented, nodding to his cloak.
"Thank you," Bear returned her smile and bowed to her. "As it is on you, m'lady. How's Ke doing?"
"Very well," Evaine answered, nodding at his compliment. "He should have his cloak before the first snow."
