Tobar stood and as if on silent cue, the circle of men rose. “The Al Lycal was once a time of celebrating, of erasing grievance, of joining our tribes together in marriage,” Tobar began. “Tonight, as is fitting, we dined under the stars and let the One witness our hearts and our deeds. We have begun anew, throwing old hurts and misunderstandings into the ancient fire. And if the looks my maidens have been giving the Zorcani and Rabishi warriors are any indication, next year we will celebrate marriages. But now, there is still something left undone.” He turned to Sara. “We asked you to linger because of the debt owed to you by the People and the deep respect we have for you and your loss. We would not see you without a tribe and though we could bicker about which tribe you belong to, you belong to all. So on behalf of a united People, I would ask you to become one of us.”
Sara started. Tobar knew she couldn’t stay. How could she? Did he think now that Zeynel...?
Tobar’s eyes sparkled under the night sky. “You will take us with you, remained tied to us, even as you journey across the mountains.”
She glanced from face to face then back to Tobar. “I would be honored.”
Durriken stepped forward, unrolling the ancient rug of the People. The Regents moved to stand in the middle of their history. “Here, Ilythra, will your name be written so that after our bones nourish the soil, our children’s children will know what you have done to restore peace to the People.”
Sara flinched at the name but accepted Tobar’s hand. Since Zeynel’s death, they no longer called her Sara and she couldn’t get used to Ilythra and what the name represented.
“Stand with us. Be one with us.” Tobar extended his arm, palm-up.
Gunari withdrew a knife, which gleamed with firelight. “It is an ancient ceremony not often performed. Do you consent?”
A tremor rushed through her body. “I do.”
Gunari handed the knife to Tobar. “This blade was forged by Sabo-Wen himself and kept by the Zorcani Akier. It is sacred.”
Tobar brought the knife to his forearm and drew it across the skin. Bright red blood welled in a thin line. He stretched his arm toward Sara. “Drink.”
Metallic notes joined the cinnamon and honey still on her tongue from the feast as Sara took Tobar’s blood into her mouth.
“You are now blood of my blood, flesh of my flesh. You are Heleini.”
“Will you take of my blood?” Niku asked. Sara locked her gaze with his as she brought his arm to her mouth. The dark of his irises rippled as her lips touched his skin. “You are now blood of my blood, flesh of my flesh. You are Rabishi.”
Gunari stepped forward, offering Ilythra the blood welling from his arm. “And mine, Healer?”
She again lowered her lips.
When she raised her eyes, Tobar smiled, his face solemn. “You are now one of the People, Ilythra. Neither Heleini, Rabishi nor Zorcani, but all three. You are a symbol of our unity. Neither time nor circumstance will break that bond. You are family. We are sworn to you.”
“I am honored.” Her throat felt tight as she examined the three very different men. “I am honored and I am proud to belong to such a People.”
* * *
The moon had begun to sink into the horizon as Tobar walked Sara back to her tent. The light from the stars caressed his face and settled in his eyes. He reached for her hand and took it, intertwining his fingers with hers. Electricity raced through her body, leaving a hollow feeling deep in her stomach. She stared at their hands, amazed how natural and right her hand felt cradled by his.
He paused and she saw they were outside her tent.
“The sun will be up soon. Would you like to watch its rebirth with me?” Tobar’s voice was low. Sara shivered as she met his gaze. She stepped closer to him, feeling the heat of his body, breathing in his fragrance. “No, Tobar. I want you to love me.”
One side of Tobar’s mouth twitched. “Will you ever cease to surprise me, Healer?”
“I hope not,” Sara said as she led him into her tent.
Chapter Forty-Two
Sara ran a finger along Tobar’s collarbone then down his shoulder. He was beautiful—not pretty, but beautiful. Various scars marred the smooth flesh. She wondered how he got them all.
The spring sun already crested the outside tents to light up his skin until it glowed with life. Yes, life. Tobar made her feel alive in a way she’d never imagined. Spring had come too soon. She’d spent the rainy season with the Heleini, mourning, laughing, sharing and loving. She’d watched Tobar with pride as he governed his people and loved him with intensity when she came to his d’jalla every night. Her eyes filled. All good things must end.
“If you keep doing that, you’ll be late for breakfast.” Tobar’s dark eyes glittered in the weak light.
Sara kissed the skin her fingers had just traced. “I thought you were sleeping.”
With a smooth movement, Tobar pulled Sara on top of him. She pushed herself up on her hands, gazing down at his face, fighting the sorrow that threatened to overwhelm her. Today, after breakfast, she would leave.
“Liar.” Tobar fingered the pendant that hung between them. “Not much escapes your notice.” He ran a hand down her spine.
“You keep that up, Heleini, and we won’t get out of here until after midday.” A part of her longed for him to continue, to stay in the shelter of his arms as long as possible, to ignore the world outside and all the responsibilities that awaited her there.
He reached to stroke her cheek and a shudder ran through her body. Tobar seemed thoughtful, his eyes distant. “I’ve a gift for you.”
“For me?”
“Do you see anyone else here?” Tobar kissed her nose then leaned to one side and fumbled with the lid of a trunk near his d’jalla. He pulled out a necklace of delicate silver links with three blue stones encased in fine silver wire.
Sara’s breath caught in her throat.
“I’ve been working on this—”
“You made it?”
Tobar’s expression spoke of mock hurt. “I do possess a measure of talent.”
“So I’ve noticed.”
Tobar’s grin lit his face. His kiss was firm; when he withdrew, his expression sobered. “Healer, do me the honor?”
Sara reached for the necklace. It was similar to the one Chavi wore, but not exact. Understanding dawned. The blue stones represented Tobar’s family.
Tears threatened. “Tobar—” Her voice broke. “You know I can’t—”
Tobar kissed her lips, silencing her. “You can’t stay. I know.” He glanced down at the necklace in her hand. “I am only a man, Healer. No one man can hold a legend.” Anguished eyes sought hers. “But please let me give you something of me to carry with you.”
Sara blinked, not wanting tears to blur the image of his face. “I’ll carry you with me everywhere I go.” She stroked his cheek. “But I have nothing to give in return.”
Tobar shook his head. “You’ve given me far more than you’ll ever know. This—” he waved his hand around the tent, “—all of this has been a gift. You don’t mourn a gift because it doesn’t last nearly long enough, you treasure its memory.” He took her hand and kissed her palm. “To the end of my days I will look to the horizon, think of my Wanderer and love you.”
Tobar rose from the bed, taking his warmth with him. He reached for his trousers and cinched them around his waist. Sara knelt in front of him, wrapping the lacings around his calves. He shrugged on his tunic then the long vest; Sara rose before him, naked save for Ilydearta around her neck. He reached around her and secured the new necklace before stepping back. He gently touched the blue beads. “This is how I will remember you.” His voice was strained. “To the end of my days, Wanderer.”
Sara closed her eyes, not wanting the memory of him walking away from her, but she
heard his soft tread pause and the rustle of the tent flap as he lifted it, then the finality as it swung back into place. His departure left a vacuum, an emptiness that couldn’t be filled. I’ll never see him again.
She rested her hand above the three blue stones. “To the end of my days,” she whispered to the empty tent.
* * *
Breakfast had been a lengthy affair. Almost all the Heleini had approached her to pay their respects or touch her tunic. All but Tobar. Danladi had clung to her side, his eyes too large and full for his face, but he did not cry and the restraint tore at her more than tears would have. He was being brave. The sun was not high in the sky and already, she was tired.
Now, she was back in her tent, sitting on a padded cushion and watching Chavi refold a blanket for the third time. Everything was ready, her gear on the finest of Tobar’s horses, a final gift from the Regent. She only had to rise and go but something kept her rooted. Chavi. She watched the woman. Chavi had never shown her any signs of a jealousy Sara knew was there. Perhaps it was the Heleini woman’s breeding, culture, or because she was sure Sara would leave and no longer be an issue. Either way, Sara couldn’t understand and refused to think of Tobar in anyone else’s arms. A fact Chavi lived with daily. Her throat felt dry.
Sun poured through the tent’s open flaps, letting in the cool morning air. Chavi stepped through and paused as though pierced by the light. She approached, then knelt and placed her head on Sara’s lap. “To you, Healer, I owe everything. You returned my son to me, not once but twice. You have as much right to call yourself his mother as I do. You will not stay, if only for a little longer?”
Sara stroked the delicate material of Chavi’s head covering, tucking a few strands of ebony hair back into place. In her place, Sara would not be so generous. She fought the image of this woman taking her place with Tobar when she was gone. No. It was never my place. I took Chavi’s. The other wives’. I do not belong here. “I can’t, although part of my heart will remain with the People. Chavi, as far as Danladi, I did only what I had to do, what anyone would do.”
“No, you are wrong. You did what you had to do, but not what anyone would do.” She raised a tear-stained face. “You have a place among the People and in our hearts.”
Sara smiled. “Then remember me.”
* * *
A single drop of blood marred the pristine sliver setting and mimicked the deep red of the stone, yet he did not loosen his grip.
The pain did nothing to ease the anger and frustration coursing through his body. He stared into the remains of his campfire. Detail by detail, step by step, seasons and seasons of planning all gone. He took a deep breath. But perhaps not wasted after all.
The Shamyrddin-enki was dead. Bredych savored the memory of that one’s life snuffing out like a spent candle. He now knew the mettle of the stone keeper. A smile turned his lips. A challenge. This would be fun.
Bredych rose to his feet and considered the horse before him. Desert bred, a noble animal. Like those that raised him. He’d think of another fate for the People of the Faisach. Bredych shook out his long cloak. The colorful trader clothes had been replaced by something more regal if less comfortable. It was time.
He’d lingered in these wastelands too long. He had other matters that required his attention. Pulling out his knife, he approached the horse, cut the hobble and swatted the animal on its rump. The animal ran down the mountain toward the plains and the Heleini. “Consider it a parting gift.”
There was little time and more expedient methods of traveling. His footsteps crunched on the newly fallen snow as he made his way down the path. A flash washed the glittering crystals in a wave of red and then there was only the wind to keep the rocks company.
Epilogue
She stood on a plateau, the reins of a horse tangled in her hands. She stared out over a valley, no more than a verdant green crevasse between towering mountains topped in ice. Her chest expanded as she filled her lungs with the promise of the spring air, rich with moisture and hope, before turning for one more look at the Faisach, now a featureless golden plain stretching into the horizon. The wind whipped dark hair into her eyes and with a deft movement, she secured it behind her ears. She knew the barrenness of the scene was an illusion. In that stretch of forbidding land, she’d found more life and more death, more joy and more sorrow than she’d ever known. Texture. If she had been born from the sea, then she’d been tempered by the Faisach and honed by its people.
Her horse snorted, shaking its head as though eager to be off. She reached for a staff tied with her gear, a silver ring on her finger catching the light of the sun and responding in a blinding flash. She’d walk into the valley. It seemed fitting. The wood, smooth and warm, fit her hand as thought made for her. Zeynel’s staff. A small puff of dust rose into the air as the staff found purchase on the rock-strewn soil. Her mentor had been right. He’d become part of her somehow, a part of who she was, who she’d become. She could hear his voice in her head, feel him along the harmonies of Teann. Everything that has ever happened is imprinted into Teann. She now knew it was true and because of this, he would never really leave her.
She took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the pendant against her chest and the lighter impression of three small blue stones nestled just under her tunic. The edges of her mouth lifted, not enough to call a smile, but enough. She turned and stepped toward the valley, wrapped in her memories like the arms of a lover but looking toward the future with the hope of those she left behind.
A breeze blew, carrying the scent of flowers, moist fertile earth and a name: Ilythra. She had met who she would become.
Yes, the name fit now.
* * * * *
If you’re looking for more engrossing fantasy stories by Shawna Thomas, then don’t miss the next installment in the Triune Stones series.
Journey of Dominion
Ilythra is on a quest to reunite three ancient stones. She was given Ilydearta—now she must find Crioch and Eolais. After crossing the mountains north of the Faisach, Ilythra encounters Mohan, a Benai, trying to steal her horse. Prompted by Teann, she accompanies him to find his brother. On their journey she discovers Crioch’s keeper and leaves Mohan to follow the keeper to a small kingdom where he is a noble...
Discover the rest of the story in May 2013.
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About the Author
Winner of a 2011 Romantic Times Readers’ Choice Award for her debut book, Altered Destiny, Shawna Thomas can’t remember a time she wasn’t making up stories. Once she put pen to paper, there was no looking back.
Shawna lives in California where, when she’s not writing or editing, she tends to her seven children, gardens, bakes and drinks lots of coffee.
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ISBN: 978-14268-9507-4
Copyright © 2013 by Shawna Thomas
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