“Yes.” He lowered his head. “I know you preferrr my brotherrr.”
Did she? She’d been infatuated with Fitch, dazzled by his good lucks and his prowess. His flattery had made her feel valued, but when she was in trouble, wounded in the forest, it was Edvard who’d come back for her. And now he’d changed for her.
As a human, Edvard had been almost as handsome as his brother. As a shandy he stole her breath.
Fitch had proven himself false and small. Edvard had not only a warrior’s heart, but compassion.
“But if you give me a chance, I’ll prrrove myself,” Edvard vowed.
Rhiain butted him gently with her head. “Don’t be silly. You’ve alrrready prrroven yourrrself. And I don’t preferrr yourrr brrrotherrr.” Purring, she rubbed her head against his.
Edvard nuzzled back, almost knocking her over. Much joyful wrestling and purring followed. She couldn’t wait to take him home and show him off to her mother and Dyl and the other shandies!
Chapter Twenty-Six
Lance opened one eye; the other seemed to be glued shut with blood. What—?
The thin, hungry cry of a baby brought his head up with a jerk. He sat up too fast, and promptly vomited as pain slammed into his head like an axe. Fortunately, his stomach didn’t have much in it. He spit to clear the taste and very carefully turned his whole body, trying to get his bearings.
He was still in the hollow log where Sara had given birth, but the light was much dimmer now. The baby lay beside him, feebly kicking his legs, skin chilly. Lance carefully gathered the little mite against his chest to warm him.
He was achingly small, but the Goddess didn’t come so he must be healthy, just hungry. Where was Sara?
And then he saw the body.
Heart thumping, throat dry, Lance reached out and his fingers brushed cold flesh. Dread filled him, but the body proved to be Nir. Sara must have killed him; a stab to the heart it looked like.
He peered into the dimness. “Sara?”
A shape leaned against the hollow log a few feet beyond the body. “Are you hurt?” he asked.
She didn’t reply, but he thought she blinked.
He crawled to her, moving slowly, the babe still clutched to his chest. Despite his care the pain in his head almost blinded him. Don’t pass out. You’ll drop the babe.
He touched her hand, unspeakably relieved at the feel of warm flesh. She lived. “Sara?”
Empty eyes stared into his.
Ah, Goddess, no...Grief stopped his breath in his lungs, made his heart stutter in its rhythm. Loss opened inside him, a black pit.
The babe squirmed against him and cried. It was a relief to turn his attention back to his son, to study the tiny fists and rosebud mouth.
Lance had held many newborns in his life, but seldom for long. He’d usually handed them straight back to the mother to cuddle and nurse.
Grief stabbed again. He wouldn’t be handing the baby to Sara. She might drop him.
But the babe had other ideas. From his cries, and the way he screwed up his red face, the little mite was hungry. And there was only one source of food nearby. Head pounding, Lance leaned against the log wall. “Sara, lie down,” he said firmly. “The baby’s hungry.”
For a long moment, she didn’t respond, then she obediently reclined on the floor. It was as if his words had to travel a long distance to reach her.
Lance laid their son across her stomach, pulled down her bodice and helped the babe’s searching mouth find her nipple. The baby had a hard time latching on and kept losing suction and crying again, but eventually he filled his stomach enough to fall asleep.
Sara continued to lie there, breast bare, eyes open, but vacant.
Lance let out a long sigh and finally asked, “Did you give the baby your soul?” He knew the answer, but he had to hear her say it.
“I gave the baby back his soul.”
He ought to be angry at her for breaking her promise, but he understood all too well why she’d done it. If the Goddess had allowed it, he might have made the same choice. The Sara he loved wouldn’t have been able to live with the knowledge that she’d stolen her child’s soul.
He dropped a kiss on her forehead. “Thank you for saving our baby.”
He picked up the sleeping infant and placed him against his own shoulder, then closed his eyes and leaned against the curved log wall. Their safety nagged at him. If Nir had found them, others might, too, but he wouldn’t make it twenty steps with his head pounding like this.
The throbbing combined with his grief to keep him from sleep, but the darkness made it easier to speak to Sara, because he didn’t have to look into her empty blue eyes. “If we find that your plan to earn Qiph magic failed, do you want to live like this? Or would you rather die?”
Another long pause. Was the interval getting longer? “I don’t know.”
Lance tried again. “Do you remember what it felt like to have a soul?”
“Yes.”
“What would Sara-with-a-soul want to do? Would she want to live as you are now?”
“No.”
No. He hadn’t thought so. A dull ache in his chest joined the one in his head, but the decision was surprisingly easy to make this time around. He would abide by her wishes.
“Will you kill me now?” Sara asked dispassionately.
“No. There’s still a chance your plan might work.” Lance huffed without humour. “And if it doesn’t I’ll need to find a wet nurse.”
Heart heavy, but lightened by his child in his arms—Sara’s child—he fell asleep.
* * *
Lance held his son tightly and gaped.
Morning light revealed the full extent of Willem’s Lifegift: a mighty river flowing to the sea at the bottom of a red-and-yellow stone canyon deep enough to lose a hundred Legions in.
He checked to make sure Sara was still where he left her, even farther back from the canyon edge than he was. It had to be close to a mile deep and just as far across. The exposed layers of rock glowed rosily in the dawn’s light while those still in shadow were edged with purple.
As wondrous as the Republic’s engineers were, they couldn’t bridge this.
Gotia was safe from Fitch and the Legions. Cut off. Like Kandrith behind the cliff wall of the Red Saints.
Lance turned to Rhiain. To his relief and delight the two shandies had found them before dark the previous day. Their account of Fitch’s actions after the battle had disgusted, but not surprised him. But this...Awe shivered through Lance’s muscles. “You say Willem gave his Lifegift?”
Rhiain nodded her great head. “Yes.”
Lance shook his head in wonder, then stopped as renewed pain pulsed behind his forehead. Slow and easy does it. A moment passed before he could speak. “He was a good man, and a good leader, but he always deferred to Fitch. I’m astounded...and awed.”
“It was yourrr example,” Edvard said. He’d prowled all the way up to the lip of the canyon. “You opened his eyes and showed him the slaves werrre Gotians like him. And you stood up to Fitch and didn’t let him bully you.”
Lance didn’t think he’d set such a wonderful example, but he didn’t argue.
“It took six saints to create Kandrith. Willem did all this himself. One man.” He smiled slowly. “Do you know what this means? The story will spread everywhere. This is the spark Wenda wanted. It will enflame more rebellions. Primus Pallax will be kept busy for decades trying to put out the fires. And he’ll lose. More and more pieces will be carved out of the Republic.”
The thought gave him a fierce satisfaction. Kandrith would be safe.
“Where to now?” Edvard asked.
“Tolium. I need to find a wet nurse and see Esam, a Qiph scholar I know.” Yesterday, Lance had briefly told them how S
ara had inadvertently stolen the baby’s soul, then gifted it back when the baby was born.
Rhiain flicked an ear. “Why do you need to see a Qiph scholar?”
“I need to talk to him about the Qiph Holy Ones.” He hesitated, then plowed ahead. “There’s still a small chance for Sara.” He explained Sara’s theory that she might be able to earn the spark of magic needed for a new soul by following part of the Qiph Way. “That’s why she sold herself into slavery. And the Goddess knows that bastard Nir didn’t give her an easy time of it.” His teeth ground together when he remembered her battered body.
Rhiain cocked her head to one side. “You don’t sound verrry hopeful.”
“I’m not,” he admitted. “This was Sara’s idea, not mine. Even if the Qiph Holy Ones are willing to overlook the fact that Sara only followed part of their Way, and the Men’s Path at that, how can they do what the Goddess of Mercy cannot, when the Holy Ones aren’t even full gods?”
“Then why go?” Edvard asked. “We won’t be able to go with you into Tolium. It will be dangerrrous.”
“Because I owe it to Sara and our son to try everything in my power to bring her back,” Lance said. Even if he himself had given up hope.
* * *
Since Tolium’s bridge had been swept away, they crossed the Tolus River a mile upriver from where Willem’s new river merged with it, at a rough timber bridge laid down by Pallax’s engineers.
Fortunately, the Legions and Fitch had already crossed, and the few stragglers remaining scattered when Rhiain and Edvard bounded into sight.
Lance wished he could take the shandies with him into Tolium, but the city guards would bar the gates. He would’ve welcomed the shandies’ support; his legs felt shaky, his head pounded like a drum and the newborn nestled in the sling across his chest made him feel vulnerable.
And then there was Sara. He hadn’t appreciated before how much difference the spark of the baby’s soul inside her had made. The old soulless Sara had listened to him and obeyed. This one didn’t care. The last echoes of her souled self had faded overnight. She’d neglected to chew and choked at breakfast. She moved like a sleepwalker and had to be constantly prodded. What would he do if she decided to lie down in the middle of Tolium and refused to move?
“This is a disasterrr in the making,” Rhiain growled, when they sighted Tolium’s smoke-stained walls and it came time to part ways.
Lance couldn’t even disagree. “I have to.”
“No.” Edvard planted his solid body in front of Lance and pushed him back with one paw. “Rhiain’s right. Send a message to yourrr Qiph friend to meet us outside the gates.”
Leaving Sara and the two shandies napping in high grass he approached the road. A middle-aged man hailed him before he reached the gate and thanked him profusely—Lance had healed the man on the battlefield. He readily agreed to take a message to Esam. Lance just hoped the Qiph was still in town.
Within less than an hour a brown-skinned young man in green-striped robes hurried out of the gates. Lance waved to attract his attention.
Esam spared only a glance for the two drowsing shandies, holding out his hands in greeting. “Lance! I am pleased to see—” His voice dwindled as he caught sight of the sleeping baby. “Your child is born? Did it work?” he asked anxiously.
Wordlessly, Lance gestured to Sara.
One glance at Sara—branded, shaven, eyes soulless—made Esam recoil. “By the Holy Ones, no.” He cursed in his own language. “I never should have let Blorius sell her.”
Lance had had a number of thoughts in that direction himself, but he let them go now. What was done, was done. “Knowing Sara, I doubt you could’ve stopped her.”
Esam shook his head, making the beads on his braids clack together. His brow furrowed.
“As for whether or not her mad scheme worked, I was hoping you could tell me.” Despite himself, Lance caught himself holding his breath. Hope could be very hard to kill.
“Me?” Esam’s eyes widened. “I am just a Scholar, not a Pathfinder.”
Lance fought to hold on to his patience. Not knowing was unbearable. “Is there a Pathfinder with your party?”
“No. They do not travel to the Republic.”
It would take a month to travel to Qi. Lance judged Sara wouldn’t last that long. “Then you’re the closest thing to an expert we have,” Lance said firmly. “These Holy Ones are your gods. How do you pray to them?”
“The Pathfinders—” Esam stopped and took a deep breath. “There is a ritual, but I do not know if it will work for Sara since she hasn’t followed the Holy Path for Women.”
“What is the Woman’s Path?”
“Water-bearer, Mother, then Dowser.”
“Sarrra has carried water,” Rhiain pointed out, rising and stretching luxuriantly. “And she’s a motherrr.”
Water-bearer for a few months, mother for only moments, but...she had made a mother’s choice, based on a mother’s love. “And the Men’s Path?” Lance asked. Surely, the more stages that applied to Sara the higher her chances?
“Camel-herder, Warrior, Scholar, Slave and Pathfinder.”
“So only Slave then.” Lance squashed down his disappointment, reminding himself again how unlikely it was that any of this would work. He was only doing this so that when it came time to let Sara go he would know he’d done everything in his power to save her. “Can you do the ritual using those three steps? Water-bearer, slave and mother?”
Esam shrugged helplessly. “We can try.”
They held the ceremony a short time later, right there in the field. Esam poured water over Sara’s head to symbolize the Water-Bearer. She stood blank-faced while the water trickled down her head and into her eyes. Next, Lance briefly folded her arms around their son where he slept in the sling across Lance’s chest. Her hands fell back to her sides as soon as he let go.
After each gift, Esam murmured something in the Qiph language. Finally, he draped a slavechain over her shoulders and repeated the phrase one more time.
Nothing happened. Just as Lance had expected. Crushing down the bitter taste of disappointment, he went through the motions. “Did...?”
Esam shrugged helplessly. “I’m not a Pathfinder.”
“You’rrre a prrriest,” Rhiain said to Lance. “Ask the Goddess.”
Lance sighed. He wanted this settled. “Do any of you have any small wounds or bruises you’d like to be healed of?”
“I scratched myself on some berry bushes.” Edvard wrinkled his muzzle, showing a thin red line.
Lance bent and cupped the shandy’s muzzle. As the healing flowed out of him, he called the Goddess.
She opened the portal and stood half inside of him. What is it, my child?
Her presence brought him a measure of peace, giving him the patience to explain Sara’s plan to follow part of the Qiph Holy Way one more time. Each time he said it aloud, it seemed more preposterous. “Do you know the Qiph Holy Ones? Can you intercede with them on Sara’s behalf?”
They are already here. The Goddess stepped behind his eyes and shared Her vision. A shining man and woman with Qiph features appeared beside Sara. They glowed, but lacked the commanding presence of Loma. The man wore his hair in a multitude of dark braids threaded with green beads, but the woman was white-haired and stooped with age.
Dangerous hope began to unfurl within Lance. Surely the Holy Ones wouldn’t be here if Sara’s plan had failed?
They’re waiting for Sara or a Qiph Pathfinder to speak to them.
Lance cupped Sara’s chin, but she looked right through him. “Sara, you need to ask the Holy Ones for help.”
No response.
Helplessly, he turned to the Holy Ones himself. “On behalf of Sara, I beg your help.”
Lance expected them to ignore him, but the tiny w
hite-haired Holy Woman responded almost instantly, speaking to Sara.
“Dear child. Though you are not of our people, you have followed Our Way. Slavery is the hardest path. Few choose to walk it.” The woman reached into...somewhere...and brought forth a glowing green seed. She folded Sara’s fingers around it. “Here is the magic earned by your ordeal, but we have not the power to make a new soul of it. That is for your gods and goddesses to choose to do or not.”
The Qiph Holy Ones faded away. Sara stared blankly at the seed in her upturned palm, but at least she didn’t drop it.
“Goddess?” Lance asked. Pleaded. His heart choked his throat. The rebirth of hope was painful.
Of course, Faithful One. Loma reached out to the glowing seed of magic and breathed Her mercy into it. The glowing ball brightened slightly. “That is all the help I can give. Alone, I cannot create a new soul. You need a miracle.”
To his ear, She sounded sorrowful, but determined. She expected to fail. Nevertheless, She lifted Her voice before despair could crush him. “Bas, my brother, will you aid me?”
Lance was startled by the appearance of the God of Miracles, a radiant, chubby-cheeked man, whose voice boomed. “Of course! I love a challenge. You had but to ask.” He, too, bent and breathed on the sphere of magic. “And now I will perform a second miracle—bringing all of Our Brothers and Sisters here.”
A pantheon of gods and goddesses blinked into existence. Some appeared surprised, some irritated, but all stayed. The Goddess still stood inside Lance, using him as a portal. Her presence allowed him to see the other gods and goddesses, but it hurt Lance to look directly upon their luminousness. He could not have said if they were Temborian or Elysinian or Gotian, only that they were blindingly beautiful and their voices would be engraved on his memory forever.
A chestnut-haired god stepped forward. Loma silently identified him as Jut, God of Travellers. He made a robust figure, skin tanned and wind-burned above his beard. “This one was refused hospitality in one of My temples. This gift I owe her.” His breath made the green seed glow briefly orange, like a hearth.
Then came Jut’s twin sister, Jita, Goddess of Horses. Equine ears peeked out of her chestnut hair, which rippled like a mane, and her deep brown eyes were wide set. “Sarathena has always treated My people well. She saved one from the cat shandy’s appetite.” She, too, breathed on the seed of magic.
Soul of Kandrith (The Kandrith Series) Page 47
