by Lexy Wolfe
Doom glanced at Tiwaz as she crossed her arms, smiling at the color in her cheeks at the oblique praise for her desire not to desecrate the dead. He looked back when Bura’an spoke, pointing. “Watch, the Eyes of Keth are being put in place.” He pointed to two pairs of burly men bringing two large chests to the newly installed skull. Giant blue diamonds easily the size of a child’s torso rested in the chests. The men reverently, carefully set them into the skull’s eye cavities. Barely visible, like the flickering of a candle, they began to glow softly. Cheers echoed through the chamber, people hugging one another in joy when the task was completed.
Bura’an turned to the small group, his eyes glimmering with unshed tears. “You have brought healing to our temple. We are forever in your debt, young ones.” He looked to the front. “You have helped to restore a piece of the glory we once knew, renewed our bonds to our gods. Nama,” he said to Aurora. The white wolflen bowed and left the chamber briefly, returning with a box with ornate carvings.
The man lifted the lid and took out a pendant on a long chain, turning to Doom first. “Please, accept these symbols of our most noble gods as thanks.” Indulging the man, the gromek lowered himself to allow the pendant to be draped around his neck. “You are always welcome as children of the Dragonway.”
Doom looked at the pendant as Bura’an put another around Tracker’s neck. “It looks like those coins I have,” he noted to Tiwaz.
When the high priest came to Tiwaz, the woman swatted the pendant out of his hand, sending it skittering across the stone. The ringing sound brought utter silence in the temple, broken by the sound of weapons rising suddenly. She glared at the high priest who raised his hand. The sound of weapons lowering echoed in a soft rush of sound. “I did not come here to join any temple,” she snapped. “Keep your ‘reward’ and your gods. I do not need either of them.”
“Ti,” Doom started to say, his expression creased with worry.
Lora stepped up, trembling with indignation. “How dare you turn your back on those who have given us so much?” She dared get in Tiwaz’s face. “What right do you think you have to disrespect them here in their house?!”
Tiwaz’s eyes narrowed dangerously, her voice cold and fists clenched. “What right do I have?” she whispered, her voice growing louder. “What right do I have?” Lora skittered back when the gladiator ripped the thongs that secured her wrist bracer, brandishing her horribly scarred wrist. Even Bura’an recoiled in horrified shock at the sight. “This gives me the right! For years, I prayed to the gods. All of them. I prayed for them to save Doom from our master. This was all I got in return.”
She spat on the ground near the fallen medallion. “No god got me out of slavery. My friend did. Because he wanted to. They wanted him to abandon me. He asked for nothing from me in return but what I have always given him.” She looked at the exposed wrist. “Gods believe they own mortals. I belong to me. Not them!”
The high priest watched her with sad, watery blue eyes. He lowered himself to pick up the medallion. Putting his hand over his heart, he said, “Forgive me for not properly introducing myself. I am named Bura’an, high priest of this temple. Many are pleased to call me Father.” Looking away from Tiwaz, he asked Tracker, “How are you known to your tribe?”
“Tribe name belongs to tribe,” he stated. “Tracker is pack name.”
“Ah, you follow the path of a long and proud wolflen tradition,” Bura’an observed. He turned to Gareth. “Well met, Bard Tavarius. Many colorful stories have preceded you.” Gareth colored. The corners of the priest’s eyes crinkled at his light coughing. “We are honored that you grace our humble home at long last.”
“The honor is mine, Father,” Gareth replied. He watched him, seeing the priest’s intentions. He clasped his pendant and glanced at the upper levels where the crossbowmen watched. He prayed silently Tiwaz didn’t raise a hand to the man again.
Doom glanced at Tiwaz as Bura’an posed the question of names to him, unsure how to answer and aware the man touched on probably the most sensitive topic to the former gladiator. “My name is Thrahx Vaug. But I prefer to be called Doom.”
“Both are noble names, though I will always consider you the Temple Son.” Turning to Tiwaz, Bura’an caught her hand. He turned it palm up to place the medallion in it, closing her fingers over it. “And even if you never come to us again, we will consider you the Temple Daughter.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “You do not ask for my name?”
“I do not have to,” he replied gently. “I can see in your eyes, you have not found it yet.” She jerked her hand away from him, backing away a step. Looking at the altar, she scowled when the eyes seemed to pulse softly, as though they blinked. She spun on her heel and stalked out without a word, throwing the medallion aside. Looking at Aurora briefly, Tracker turned to catch up to his pack-sister.
Gareth sighed, closing his eyes. “Sorry, Father. She is a bit temperamental.”
Doom picked the abandoned medallion up, looking to Bura’an apologetically. The man held up a hand, silencing him before he could speak. “No. Do not apologize for her or yourself. We will not offer forgiveness because there is nothing to forgive,” he told the gromek. “Our doors are always open to you, Thrahx Vaug. But for now, go. Your friend needs you.”
SEVERAL DAYS PASSED since the visit to the Dragonway temple. Tracker prowled the surrounding forest before he found whom he tracked. He sighed in relief to find Tiwaz seated on the fallen tree by the waterfall near the village. She looked up when he rested his hand on her shoulder. “I was worried about you,” he said in his native tongue. “You are more troubled now than before we went to the temple.”
“I won’t be running away again,” she replied dully, speaking common. She looked at the medallion that Bura’an had given to her, sunlight glittering off the emerald in the dragon’s eye more than the three other chips of gemstone. “You and Doom and Gareth and Kerk and everyone can stop fretting like I am incapable of controlling my impulses. You would not let me leave before. I see no change that would allow me to do so again.”
He sat beside her, putting his arm around her and pulling her against him gently. “We worry because we do not like knowing you are in pain and feel bad that we cannot do more than be present for you.” The wolflen nuzzled her hair, murmuring, “We know you are not addled.” He followed her gaze to the medallion. “Sulnar the Emerald-Eyed.” He touched his hanging around his neck. “I think Veridian the Ruby-Eyed would have been more suitable to you.”
She glanced at his medallion, then looked back at hers. “I owe a debt to her. She removed the shackles my master had put on me.” Without warning, she stood and flung the medallion over the side of the waterfall. She would not meet his startled eyes, “I will honor the bargain, but I refuse to be collared. I will never be a slave again.” She glanced at him. “I did not think wolflen believed in gods.”
“We know they exist, but we have none of our own. Aurora is unusual among my tribe, and not just for bearing pure white fur. The dragon gods accept all races, but few wolflen feel the calling to serve them. But there is no shame in choosing to serve them in some capacity.” He shrugged when she turned a narrow-eyed glare at him. “It is not slavery. The dragon gods do not demand servitude. None force it upon others. It is a matter of choice. They choose who they help as much as we choose whether to pray to them or not. It is a balance we find acceptable.”
“You have been going to the temple to see Aurora,” Tiwaz pointed out. She sighed heavily, looking away. “It is good. You deserve friendship better than I have given you. I have been a poor friend. And a poorer pack-mate.”
“Cat-Sister, you saved my life at the risk of your own when you did not know me enough to call me friend. That, if nothing else, earned my friendship. I demand nothing else of you.”
She looked up at him. “Would you have been my friend otherwise? If things had been different?”
“You imagine that had we not hunted together for the win
ter games, we would not have been friends?” Tracker looked into the distance, lost in thought for a time. “No. For us not to be here, like this, it would have meant you never having come to Bralden. Or Doom not being a hunter. Or Doom being a hunter and not teaching you fast enough so you would come to us to learn hunting so you could help him.. It would have meant many things not happening that had. I believe fate brought us together.” He nuzzled her cheek. “You are my pack-sister.”
“You should not be forced to run with outsiders. We are not wolflen. You should share intimacy with your own kind. Choose a mate and bring children into the world.” She leaned forward, face in her hands. “I have stolen from you what had been stolen from us. Your people.”
The wolflen regarded her with sadness. He put his hand on her shoulder. “You have stolen nothing from me. No, you are not wolflen, but you are my pack-sister, regardless. I bristled when my sire placed me with you and Doom-Not-Demon, but not because you were not wolflen. Because I was too proud to believe I needed to run with anyone.
“Yes, one day, I will choose a mate. I will choose another pack among my people to run with when your destiny and mine diverge. It will not change my love for you.” He tried to catch her eye. “For now, it is my choice to run with you and Doom-Not-Demon. I am proud to call you my pack-sister.” He rubbed her back lightly. “Why does this trouble you so? Do you no longer wish to be part of our pack?”
“It is not that. Being part of this pack is not what troubles me. It is just…Destiny. I feel as though I have no choice in my life. My former master stole my life from me. Doom stole us away from him.” She held her hands out, looking at her palms. “Doom and I had nothing but each other. Bralden is the first place we truly can call our home. But I have lingering fears that it will be stolen away from us. And I am…tired. So very tired.”
Tracker frowned. “Only the eldest among us express exhaustion as you do, but they had lived long, sometimes hard lives, had many cubs who have had many cubs. You are too young to—”
“I feel what I feel, Tracker. I cannot alter that.”
“Cat-Sister,” he stated intently, cupping her cheek to turn her face towards him. “Around others, call me Tracker. When it is just us, call me Growrlazh.”
Her eyes widened. “Your tribal name? But wolflen never tell those outside the tribe. I am not—”
“You are part of the tribe, no matter what race you are.” He took her hand, putting it over his heart. “We run together, do we not?”
“Yes.” She closed her eyes and looked away. “But we should not. The tribal elders do not approve of you continuing to cleave to outsiders. They do not speak kindly of us together.”
“They do not know you as I know you,” he replied softly. “Someday, it will be different. I know one day, you will find a mate who will fill the emptiness in your life, and you will have many children. When that day comes, perhaps our children will run together as we had. But for now, I run with you and I am happy.”
They sat together in silence, watching the horizon. “Come with Doom-Not-Demon and I to the temple. They are wise and generous. Perhaps they can help you find the life path you would wish to walk.” He added before she opened her mouth to argue, “It would please Doom-Not-Demon. He feels he betrays you when he abandons you to the forge for anyone, especially for gods.”
“But I told him it matters nothing to me if he chooses to…” She sighed and let him pull her against him as her shoulders slumped in defeat. “If it matters to Doom so much, I will go.” He just rubbed her arm reassuringly, saying nothing more.
TIWAZ LOOKED IN Kerk’s shop after parting ways with Tracker. She smiled as the burly smith rubbed his gloved hand across his brow, the boy working with him leaning on the bellows, panting in exhaustion. “Ian, be a good lad and go fetch the ale, would you. I am utterly parched. Once we have all the scraps melted down, I’ll show you some leatherworking techniques. Requires more attentiveness than muscle.” The boy looked relieved and scampered off to the back.
“I am home,” Tiwaz called.
The man turned around in surprise, a wide smile brightening his flushed features. “Ah, lass, glad to have you home. Would you terribly mind getting supper started tonight? I am running a little late today and Doom isn’t home yet.”
“Of course,” she replied. “I promise I won’t burn it again.”
Kerk laughed heartily. “You didn’t burn it the last time. A light scorching is good for the digestion.” He smacked his abdomen comically, drawing more of a smile out on her face. “It was perfectly edible. Was my fault for distracting you, nattering away about the old days.”
“I like your stories. I just need to be able to divide my attention better.” She smiled at Ian, who turned brilliant red and averted his eyes shyly.
Her smile faded as she entered the house and went to her and Doom’s room. She hesitated, her hand resting on the handle. Then she took a deep breath and took a step inside. She exhaled heavily, shoulders slumping in defeat.
On the table between their beds sat the medallion she had thrown over the cliff into the waterfall, still glittering with water droplets. She dropped on her bed, looking at it in silence. “You do not own me,” she hissed.
Of course not, a feminine voice no louder than a strong breeze whispered.
She stiffened, glowering as she looked around the room. Seeing no one there, she looked back at the medallion. The emerald in the dragon’s eye seemed to blink. She pinched the bridge of her nose, squeezing her eyes shut. “Sulnar the Emerald-Eyed?”
Yes.
“I owe a debt to you for removing the glyphs.”
You do, yes.
“Why are you speaking to me? Gareth told Doom gods don’t talk to anyone much. Is it time to fulfill my debt to you?” Resigned to an affirmative answer, the woman braced herself for the dragon god’s response.
The ripple of draconic laughter tickled Tiwaz’s mind like the brush of a feather. I am speaking to you because you seem to need someone to speak to. Nothing more.
Tiwaz stood, walking away a few steps. She paused at the door with her fists clenched, back towards the medallion. “Why would I talk to you? I don’t trust you. You’re a god.”
For most, being a god is all the reason needed to speak to any of us. More demands than you could shake your sword at. Often followed by begging when the demands go unanswered. Occasionally, there are those who show simple, honest gratitude to us. But their level of trust too often depends on how much we have given them.
Except for children. We do love listening to children. They are so refreshingly honest and they do love to talk to us, telling us about their days or dreams. Sulnar paused in her wistful reflection, her attention returning to Tiwaz. You, however, are different. Like a child, you are refreshingly honest. However, all you want is for us to go away.
“And I am disappointed because you stay.” She turned back to glare at the medallion. “Would you go away if I wanted you to stay instead? Then I could still be disappointed and you would be gone.”
Sulnar laughed merrily. Oh, you are a little spitfire, aren’t you? Good. I like that. Tell me. Why do you distrust us so? What have we done to inspire such a dim view in your eyes?
“What have you done?! It is what you have not done!” Tiwaz seethed. “Alimar stole us away when we were seven years old. At least, Doom remembers he was seven years. I have no idea how old I was. I have no memory of before. I do know what we suffered for ten years. Ten years. That is longer than we had been free. I should have been able to kill Alimar! I should have died on the sands.” She dropped to the bed, her face in her hands. “I shouldn’t even be alive.”
Tiwaz looked up in surprise when the dragoness agreed without hesitation. Yes, perhaps you shouldn’t be alive. But the fact is, you are alive. If you had died, you would not have the chance to correct the fact that heinous excuse for a human being lives still. The woman looked at the medallion, blinking as she listened. You feel guilt for the past. You should not
. For someone so young and so abandoned, you did remarkably well.
“Doom said he hid in an abandoned temple far below our former master’s land. He said, after he had bound my wounds, he dreamed about a strange woman coming to him. It was you, wasn’t it? You told Doom he should have abandoned me.” Her voice reflected a challenge to deny that fact.
I had, yes. Until that moment, I did not know either of you existed. None of us had. Our reach into the mortal realm is tenuous at best, save for through temples that have not been desecrated, or where we once called home when we were still mortals. That dark-hearted sorcerer had poisoned the land he claims as his own, blurring it to all divine eyes.
It was when he entered one of our lost temples that we could hear Thrahx Vaug despite the shackles that muted him. You hovered on the edge of death, a place ruled by powers greater than ours, and the magic in your own shackles and the glyphs combined deceived us. It would have been more practical and easier to help a single, able-bodied gromek alone. His unwavering loyalty to you piqued our interest. As time passed, we saw not only what he saw, but what he did not.
“Wait.” Tiwaz sat up straighter, her expression troubled. “Alimar was the reason our prayers were never answered? He said there was no such thing as gods. I believed him.” Her fists clenched. “Am I really that naïve?”
No, you are not. Within his domain, Alimar spoke the truth. He and his power are unnatural. Corrupt. Even the darkest gods have no desire to deal with him because his loyalty is to himself alone and he would betray them just as quickly as anyone else if it furthered his ambitions. Sulnar’s voice gentled. I have no shame in admitting that we were wrong to dismiss you. Thrahx Vaug’s tenacity protecting you was and is well founded. In you and Thrahx Vaug, we see hope.
She knelt by her bed and pulled out the carved box she kept her personal treasures in. She picked up the medallion with the ruby-eyed dragon, and sighed heavily, shoulders sagging. “None of you are going to go away, are you? Even if I do not pray to you, you are always going to be somewhere.”
