by Cat Bruno
She sat atop him now and could feel his body gently shuddering. He only moved at all because she allowed it.
“Which purpose did you seek, Jiang?”
His lips curved upward, and he lifted his arms, in silent, teasing protest.
“Perhaps what I want is the love of a demon with jade-green eyes. Who appears after nightfall to haunt and hunt me both. Who I fear, but desire.”
“You should not fear me, Jiang,” she objected, although her words were not convincing ones.
Where she had kissed him, her lips burned.
Jumping from him in a swift move, Syrsha called out for him to show her the courtyard. When he rose, the lustrous blanket slid to the floor, revealing the half-clothed man. Syrsha’s cheeks flamed as he came toward her, and she thought herself wrong for her earlier belief. Here, framed by drapes of red satin hanging from massive columns, he walked to her as if he was god-touched.
“Give me a moment to dress,” he murmured.
“Come as you are,” she pleaded, overcome with warmth.
“What if I am seen?”
Jiang now stood a step in front of her, gazing at her with round eyes full of questions. She watched as fear and passion battled there, and suddenly realized that it would always be so. And not just with Jiang. All men would view her in such a way. Awe-struck with both longing and fear. Behind her, wind hissed through the window, tossing her hair across her face and shielding her thoughts. A momentary reprieve.
When the air calmed again, she explained, “There are ways to remain hidden.”
Syrsha understood then how it must be. She must not lie to Jiang, even if he would never know her truly. His fear, for it could not be masked, saddened her. But, more, it awakened her. She would not pretend that it was not so.
His eyes, onyx and shining now, did not close as he reached for her. With his hands in her own, he kissed her, in acceptance of who had come.
As Jiang led her from the room and into a candlelit hallway, she weaved a soft ward over them. The magic was a small one, and he would not even know that she had done so. Even when they exited onto the courtyard, Syrsha did not relinquish the ward.
Fog filled the air, and Jiang shivered.
“I can call for fire,” she whispered, knowing that her words were reckless ones.
“Who are you, Syrsha?” he breathed.
Here, in Tian, so far from Cordisia, none had knowledge of the Tribe or of the Western gods. It would not lessen his unease if she tried to explain.
“Will you ask me so each time you see me?” she teased.
When he had not answered, she added, “Tell me instead who you are, Jiang.”
As they walked through the large courtyard, Syrsha eyed pink peonies blooming from gray, craggy rocks. On the outer edges, magnolia branches angled out, the flowers a lighter shade than the peonies. She had never seen anything like the garden, not even in Cossima. Wooden benches, stained a dark red, sat along the paved path, offering welcome and respite. Blackened stones, some half as large as the benches and nearly invisible under the gray sky, dotted a flowing stream.
The stream was narrow, no wider than Syrsha’s arm, but whistled as it curved through the courtyard. Nearby, smaller rocks provided a resting place for delicate, white blossoms.
When Jiang noticed her gaze, he said, “Those lans are my mother’s favorites. They are more prize to her than her children, I think.”
“I have seen nothing like them,” she admitted as they paused to kneel beside the stream.
“You have not yet seen my favorites,” Jiang told her, pulling her up.
He walked her toward the back of the garden, where the rambling stream emptied into a silent pond. Surrounded by high grasses, the pond had come as a surprise. On top of it, pads of green leaves floated, some holding many-leaved flowers. The water was dark, reflecting both sky and leaf, but the blooms shined bright, their faded red petals surrounding a yellow core.
“What are they called?” she asked, pointing toward a blossom that sat just beneath an arched bridge.
“Lians,” he whispered as his lips fluttered across her neck.
“Are all Tiannese gardens so peaceful?” she mused aloud.
“Few are so large as this one, except, of course, the Emperor’s,” he answered as his kiss trailed across her shoulder.
“What of the bridge?”
Laughing after so many questions, Jiang lifted his head. “Come. You should see the garden from above.”
The skies had not lightened, but the storm had not yet arrived as the two stood in the center of the bridge. Jiang had not been wrong, for the view of the garden from the raised bridge was striking. Blossoms mixed with slate, water with wood. There was a balance here that Syrsha could not recall ever feeling. Surrounded by such peace, an easy contentment flooded over her.
While she stood staring upon the courtyard, she not once thought of the coming war.
“It must be difficult to leave this,” she murmured.
“You would not have to ever do so, Syrsha, if you could stay in Tian.”
“In a few moons, I will return home,” she told him softly.
Jiang stepped in front of her, blocking the sight.
“Be my wife,” he begged, wrapping her fingers inside of his own.
His words were simply stated, although she recognized them to be genuine. For Jiang, even though he meant them, knew it would never be so.
“I cannot stay in Tian,” she whispered, her green eyes unchanged.
He did not argue. And, for that, she pulled him close.
There, on a small bridge over serene water, Syrsha kissed him anew. The ward still hummed around them, for none could make her drop it, not even Jiang.
Desire now concealed fear, as Jiang looked upon her as any man might look upon a woman. She was no god, not here, nor was she Wolf or demon.
She was Syrsha, daughter of Caryss.
In the peace of the Tiannese courtyard, Syrsha forgot that she had been born to be the Dark God’s weapon. And she allowed herself, for this night, to be only a woman. Syrsha gave no protest when he removed her robe. She gave no protest when he placed her upon the mist-dampened bridge. The ward hummed, echoing his kisses. At the edges of her eyes, shadows dwelt.
On this night, the darkness would not win. Each time she kissed him, her gaze shined brighter. But even the lovemaking could not convince Syrsha to abandon the ward.
*****
“There are others who are better versed in runelore, Lord Conri,” Tigorra admitted as Blaidd readied for the calling.
“If you cannot reach Gregorr this evening, then I will visit Ohdra,” the High Lord answered hastily, watching as the woman examined the small, painted stones.
Jarek sat nearby, although it would not be he who time-walked. Instead, Tigorra would attempt to dream-visit the other fennidi. In truth, Conri could make little sense of the undertaking, except that his nephew would offer Tigorra assistance. The Tribe could do much, but dreamwalking was not a skill he had mastered.
“You need not say much,” he told the woman. “Inform him that the faela must return at once.”
Tigorra nodded from her seated position on the grass. Blaidd, whose power was still not understood, lowered himself until he was opposite of Tigorra. Here, under a starlit sky, none knew what would come of the earth magic he used as a supplement to his own. But Conri would not risk his father learning of their attempts. No Tribe magic would be offered.
“When you were just a cub, we played a game of runes. Do you recall it?” Tigorra asked Blaidd.
Nodding slowly, he answered, “You would make me memorize the runes, then try to match them with the earth magic.”
“As you must do now,” she instructed. “This will be easier than when you were a cub. There is but one rune to match. It is the dreamer’s mark, which grants visions in sleep. We need not leave this courtyard, Blaidd; rather, we must send our thoughts forth to Gregorr. His own runes will not be far from his body, and
he should receive our word in short time.”
Without further discussion, the fennidi began humming, her voice deep and dull, steady and enduring. When she began to sing, Conri listened. Ancient words echoed and drummed, deep and swirling. Beside her, Blaidd drew a dagger across his hand.
“Brother, do not wake, but hear my call. It is time to bring Syrsha home, to the Tribelands and to her waiting father. War comes and her army gathers. The High Lord and the Storm-Bringer have joined. Ships and men are Syrsha’s to command.”
Conri thought she would say no more, for her commands had been simple words. But, in a final plea, Tigorra sang, “I call upon you to wake now, Gregorr, and remember your dream.”
She continued to hum, although the sound softened until the room was silent once again. Blaidd awkwardly wrapped his bleeding hand in strips of linen that lay near his side. Tigorra, her aged, green skin lighter now, slumped forward, and Jarek rushed from his chair. As he lifted the tiny woman in his arms, she roused enough to assure Conri that she had been able to enter Gregorr’s dream. Jarek carried her from the room, for she would need to recover with sleep.
When the Elemental returned, the High Lord stated, “Now we must wait, for Syrsha will not be able to send word.”
“Lord Conri,” Jarek began, “Have you considered what you will do if Delwin reaches us before Syrsha does?”
Without pause, Conri answered, “On the morrow, I will order all Wolves to gather here.”
The words had long been readied.
“What are your numbers? The Lightkeepers are rumored to have swelled to a thousand or more. And the Royal Army tallies are far higher, many times that amount. Even with Blaze’s army and Azzaro’s ships, we are few compared to many.”
“You are comparing man to Tribe,” Conri grumbled. “I do not fear these Lightkeepers, even with their chards of black-ice. As for the Royal Army, fire and storm will make easy prey of them.”
“Call for the others,” he added, subdued now. “You are not wrong to consider how we must prepare.”
Neither mentioned what must be done if Syrsha did not arrive at all.
*****
18
He woke with his runes spilling from the pouch at his waist. As Gregorr’s sleep-swollen fingers gathered the slate stones, he suddenly paused.
Throwing the runes into his pouch, he ran from the room, searching for Syrsha, who often slept elsewhere. None had asked why she did so, but Gregorr understood. Ever since she slept outside the temple, the great cats had quieted.
Soon, he found Aldric, who often woke early, seated near the inner courtyard, glancing at a scroll with Tiannese markings. As he neared, Gregorr called out, “Where is the faela?”
Aldric set the scroll next to a small mug of steaming tea. “I would guess her to be in the anjin rooms.”
If the mage wanted to ask more, he did not have time, for Gregorr raced to the western side of the temple, realizing as he did that his feet were bare. The sun had risen, but the hour was early. Few would be training so Gregorr continued on until he stood outside the slatted and curtained doors. Pushing at them gently, he peered inside, only to find the rooms empty.
Slower now, the fennidi made his way back to Aldric, who rose as he neared.
“What has she done?” Aldric asked in a hushed tone.
With a wave of green-stained fingers, Gregorr abruptly said, “Tigorra, who resides with the High Lord, sent word last night as I slept. A dream visit, as it is known among my kin. I had not thought to do the same, but it was effective and well-considered. Her message came from Lord Conri himself. He begs Syrsha to return.”
Aldric, whose whitened skin had become sun-darkened since Sythia, cried aloud with surprise and hurriedly placed a hand to his mouth.
“Do you remember aught else, Gregorr?” he questioned, although his hand did not move.
“She made mention that the Storm-Bringer has joined with the High Lord.”
Gregorr’s words, just as Aldric’s had been, were spoken quietly and quickly, with an urgency that had been absent in over fifteen moon years. The news was unexpected and welcome, yet both men were right to fear it all the same.
“He has left the King’s City,” Aldric restated as if he did not believe the words. “This can only mean that war has come at last.”
Throwing the parchment onto the bench, Aldric said, “We must find Syrsha at once. And Otieno, too. Once they are told, I will begin making the arrangements for us to depart.”
As they swiftly walked from the courtyard, Gregorr rubbed the runes, warming them in between his wrinkled fingers. Within the hour, he would attempt to send word to Tigorra. First, they entered the sleeping rooms, with Aldric whispering to Otieno what had occurred. The diauxie often slept poorly on the small cots, for half of him hung from the side, and he listened with dazed eyes.
“How long will it take us to return to Cordisia?” he mumbled, wiping at his face.
“Less than two moons, if we travel by sea. In a moon and a half, we can arrive in Xandria, a port city much like Cossima. A ship will bring us just south of Xandria, and we can hire a guide or horses for the short distance north. From what I have read, it is a short trip over land. From there, finding a ship will be quite easy, and, in less than a half-moon, we will be in the Tribelands.”
“There are rumors of the Eastern Seas being favored by pirates,” Otieno warned. “Even is Cossima, this was known.”
“By land requires more time than we can spare,” the mage argued. “My hands will heal soon, and Syrsha grows stronger each day. We need not fear any attack.”
After Otieno dressed, the men searched the temple for Syrsha. The morning meal was being served, and she would soon be required in the anjin rooms. It was in neither the dining rooms nor the training ones that they found her. Instead, Gregorr spotted her near the main entrance, as if she had just returned.
When she noticed them approach, Syrsha halted. Gregorr sensed a light ward about her, but made no mention of it. Instead, he directly addressed her.
“Tigorra, the fennidi who arrived in the Tribelands after our departure, used a dream rune last night to deliver a message from your father.”
Unaffected and at ease, Syrsha laughed, “The High Lord sends word through sleeping sprites these days.”
Her moods often shifted from moments of fire-laced anger to moments of icy indifference. Now, she joked, her voice sharp with jesting.
“We have little time for another of your tantrums,” Gregorr scolded.
She quieted, then added, “I did not know such was possible.”
“For women, it is often easier,” he explained. “And only used with matters of real importance.”
“What has happened?” she asked, stepping close enough that Gregorr noticed a flush across her cheeks.
For a moment, he thought of her mother. Still, he told her, “The High Lord requests that you return.”
“Requests?” Syrsha stammered, shaking her head as if she could not understand his words.
“It was not a demand, faela. I know not how to describe it. But there is more.”
Beside him, Aldric and Otieno listened, alert and concerned. Syrsha looked to them both, yet neither spoke. Her cheeks had whitened now, and her eyes searched for answers.
“Jarek is with your father,” Gregorr finally half-whispered.
“He is in the Tribelands?” she cried.
After he told her to quiet, Gregorr said, “Your army amasses, faela, and I would think that Queen Ohdra will soon join them.”
“You would have me leave Tian on the morrow,” she interrupted, unable to hide her displeasure.
“It will not be so soon, for Aldric must secure our passage. The sea route will be fastest, he promises.”
Shaking her head, she mumbled, “More time has been wasted, Gregorr, for I have none but Liang to accompany me home. It was not to be so!”
Before he could disagree, Syrsha stared at him and clearly stated, “I need a half-mo
on.”
“I would have thought you ready to be gone from Tian,” Otieno interjected.
Gregorr understood why she would not leave, although the others did not. He knew that Syrsha would not depart from Sholin Temple without first having challenged the great cats. Her memories of Sythia had proven to be false, and she would not let it be so with Tian as well. Syrsha could ill afford to be wrong twice over.
To make peace, Gregorr added, “It will take Aldric as long to ready our supplies.”
She began to walk away, but turned back.
“How did Jarek come to be in the Tribelands?”
Shrugging, Gregorr told her, “I know not. But I was at his side when he pledged to keep you safe, Syrsha. He is, I think, a man of his word.”
“Blaidd and the Islander must be with him as well,” she remarked, although her gaze was fog-filled, as if her thoughts were elsewhere.
“I must find Master Ru,” Syrsha called out over her shoulder as she hurried away.
For a moment, the three men stood watching her, before Gregorr said, “I will find Sharron and tell her what we plan. Aldric, I know our available coin runs low. Your task will not be an easy one, I fear.”
As they parted, Gregorr thought on the words that he had not said. More than the others perhaps, he could hear what Syrsha did not speak. Otieno had taught her well, and, ofttimes, her gaze was masked. Yet she was young, while he was of an age where wisdom came quickly and without conceit.
He did not tell the others that Syrsha might not need a ship at all.
*****
By the time that she reached the anjin rooms, Syrsha had decided that she would not leave Tian without challenging the great cats. The mats were full of students who she did not recognize, for she would now train with those who had reached the second level. Most were a few moon years older than her previous classmates and still quite young. As she walked to the back of the room, nearly all of them watched, for it was impossible to not have heard talk of her. She tried to smile shyly at a few, but her thoughts were still too heavy.
Master Ru had not yet arrived, and the orange-robed man at the front of the class was no one she recognized. As she tried to place him, Liang entered, although Otieno did not accompany her.
