Child of a Dead God nd-6

by Barb Hendee

  Perhaps Osha had spent too much time with these outsiders. He had many shortcomings that made Sgaile doubt his suitability to be Anmaglahk. It would not serve the young man to sympathize with humans.

  "Wynn is safe," Sgaile said. "You served your purpose well."

  "Purpose?" Osha blinked, and his gaze wandered toward the aft hatch. "Yes, Sgailsheilleache… a pleasant duty."

  Sgaile stiffened.

  "There is no pleasant or unpleasant for Anmaglahk," he said coldly. "There is only your purpose to fulfill for your people. If you cannot hold this above all else, you have no place among us."

  Osha's jaw dropped slightly, like an ignorant boy regretting an error he did not understand. "Forgive me," he stammered. "I meant no… I live in silence and in shadows. I am Anmaglahk."

  Sgaile offered no reassurance. Putting Osha at ease would be no kindness.

  "See to our charges," he said. "Bring them supper."

  "Yes, Sgailsheilleache."

  As Osha walked to the hatch, Sgaile turned to the rail, watching the coastline and dwelling on Magiere. Perhaps he should chastise himself as well.

  Most Aged Father rested within the root chamber of his great oak. Alone for a moment, he tried to quiet his restless mind.

  Father?

  He opened his eyes at Hkuan'duv's voice and placed a hand on the living wood of his bower.

  "I am here," he replied, concerned, for Hkuan'duv would need a tree for his word-wood to function. "Where are you?"

  I halted the ship to go ashore so we could speak. Hkuan'duv hesitated. I have been in contact with the informant you arranged. Sgailsheilleache's ship anchored for six days, and he took Leshil and the human called Magiere ashore. By the location described, I believe Sgailsheilleache took them to the haven of the Chein'as.

  "What?" Most Aged Father tried to sit up.

  When they returned, Magiere bore a canvas bundle, which the informant had not seen when they departed. It was of sizeable bulk.

  Most Aged Father had been shocked when he first learned that Sgailsheilleache had continued to accompany Leshil. But guardianship was a difficult burden to put aside, especially for one such as Sgailsheilleache, who clearly felt his oath was not yet fulfilled, misplaced as it was.

  Father? Hkuan'duv asked. Is there more concerning this purpose… that I should know?

  Most Aged Father was troubled. Since leaving Ghoivne Ajhajhe, Sgailsheilleache had made no reports. Now he had made an unscheduled stop near a place no human should ever know. Had Sgailsheilleache taken Leshil and that undead woman into sacred fire?

  Father, are you still with me?

  Most Aged Father's frail body flushed with indignant heat. Oh, the answer was obvious.

  Brot'an'duive-the Dog in the Dark-betrayer of his people. But why would the deviant Greimasg'ah want Sgailsheilleache to do this? Why, when he knew what it would cost once the truth came out?

  This breach was all Most Aged Father needed to begin planning the swift end of Brot'an'duive.

  Father?

  "Yes, I hear you!" Most Aged Father hissed, and then calmed, weighing his next words. "Sgailsheilleache's loyalty is unquestionable, but his purpose has been twisted by one among our caste who works against us… like that traitor, Cuirin'nen'a. If he now serves a purpose that neither he nor we know fully, then this object the humans seek has greater import than I first thought. Upon your return, speak of it to no one, even among our caste. You will bring it only to me."

  Another pause and Hkuan'duv replied, You have no reason to doubt.

  Most Aged Father leaned back shakily in his bower. "In silence and in shadows," he whispered.

  Was there no limit to Brot'an'duive's treachery?

  "What is wrong?" Wynn asked, closing the cabin door. "What has happened?"

  Chap dropped his haunches to the floor, but he sent no words into her head.

  Magiere roughly tossed her coat onto a bunk. She dropped on the bunk's edge, looking tired and drawn, as Leesil sank to the floor beside Chap.

  Daylight had faded, and Wynn took out her cold lamp crystal, rubbing it briskly until a glow filled the small room. Her curiosity-and worry- sharpened with the light, and she glanced over at the strange bundle in the corner by the door.

  "What is in there?" she asked.

  Magiere leaned back, her jaw working beneath tightly pressed lips, as if uncertain how to answer.

  "Talk to me!" Wynn demanded.

  "Ooeer-ish-ga," Leesil whispered.

  Wynn spun toward him. "What?"

  uirishg, Chap corrected for Leesil's badly spoken Elvish.

  Leesil sighed. "I think we met another one of your forgotten mythical people."

  Wynn stared at him, but she flooded with excitement.

  uirishg was an ancient Elvish name she had learned from recorded myths gathered by her guild-a legend of five races matched to the five elements of existence. Of these, Elves and Dwarves were known. Wynn had considered the other three no more than fancy, until…

  She had followed Leesil and Magiere into Droevinka, and they had uncovered the hidden crypt below the keep of Magiere's undead father. And one of the Seyilf-the Wind-Blown-had appeared at Magiere's trial before the an'Croan's council of clan elders.

  Spirit, Earth, Air, Fire, and Water.

  Essence, Solid, Gas, Energy, and Liquid.

  Tree, Mountain, Wind, Flame, and Wave.

  Elf, Dwarf, Seyilf… and…

  "Which race?" Wynn asked.

  "The one left in the iron crate," Magiere said.

  In the hidden crypt, Leesil had discovered one set of remains near an age-crusted iron crate. Beneath the grime and dried rust, Wynn had found gouges in the metal. Whatever it had held had tried to claw its way out. The skeletal remains near the crate were as dark as its iron, and the bones of its toes and fingers ended in curved obsidian points. Its skull was small, with sharpened charcoal gray ridges in place of teeth.

  "Just listen," Leesil said, but he faltered, looking to Magiere. "I don't even know how to start."

  "Show her," Magiere said.

  Wynn did not wait. She rushed for the bundled canvas and tumbled it open upon the floor.

  "Sgaile took us down… somewhere under a mountain," Magiere began. "A small, black-skinned creature came out of a deep fissure, carrying those things. The winged blades were for Leesil, but it tossed the other two at me."

  Wynn was spellbound by the four objects. A pair of winged blades, not unlike Leesil's, yet made of unmistakable metal. The other two left for Magiere-a long and heavy hiltless dagger of the same material, and… a thorhk?

  But the engraved characters upon it were not Dwarvish, although it was shaped like one of the collar adornments worn by some of their warriors. Wynn turned her frustration on Chap.

  "Well, say something! You were supposed to be my eyes and ears."

  Chap dropped his head upon his paws. Chein'as-the Burning Ones.

  But then Magiere began recounting all she remembered, and Wynn listened intently.

  "Before we could leave with Leesil's blades," Magiere said softly, "it shrieked at me, and left those things."

  "Sgaile wasn't happy about it," Leesil added. "He had no idea, and I don't think Brot'an and my mother had anything to do with those."

  "It knew me…," Magiere whispered. "The gift-bearer was hurting… or in mourning."

  Wynn glared at Chap, but he remained silent. What was wrong with him? He had made her a promise. She turned back to Leesil.

  "We have already learned that you and Magiere were created by opposing sides," Wynn said, "for a conflict yet to come, though the sides of that conflict are somewhat ignorant of each other. And the Fay seem to want neither of you involved. The an'Croan ancestors saw Leesil as a future savior, and Chap believes Magiere is to lead an army for the long-forgotten enemy that Most Aged Father fears. Both of you have rejected these paths, but now… with these things…"

  Wynn looked down at the items and lingered upon the ruddy-colored circ
let.

  "Perhaps these old peoples, Chein'as and Seyilf, do not care how or why either of you were made. They either offer their help… or are asking you for help."

  "Help with what?" Leesil snapped. "Enough already! We'll find this orb thing, keep it from Welstiel… and then we're done!"

  Magiere stretched out a hand to Leesil, and he rose to join her on the bunk.

  Wynn shook her head in resignation. She had no wish to upset them nor to make them think she wished either to succumb to a purpose others thought they should serve. She only wished she had been in that cavern to understand more of what happened.

  "You had better start explaining," she growled at Chap.

  No.

  Wynn's stomach rolled, more at his denial than at his voice in her head.

  I can only clarify what Magiere and Leesil can tell you. That is my word to Sgaile.

  His rebuke stung, for Chap had made a promise to her. And now, that meant nothing compared to his word to an anmaglahk?

  Wynn could not even spit out a retort, so she snatched up the circlet- or tried to. She nearly toppled off her knees at its weight, and then slammed it down before Chap's nose. He flinched.

  "What is this thorhk for?" Wynn demanded.

  Leesil wrinkled his brow at the strange term.

  I do not know, Chap answered. Sgaile did not recognize it either.

  "What about the chein'as?" Wynn pressed. "And do not tell me that you did not delve its memories… I know you!"

  "Enough!" Magiere warned. "And where did you get the name for the hoop? A torc?"

  Wynn ignored her.

  Chap fidgeted on the floor, reluctant to look at the object. Wynn's ire waned at the suffering in his eyes. He shuddered.

  I saw the gift-bearer's memory of a loss, when one of its own… one that meant something to it… was taken by Ubad.

  Wynn repeated Chap's words for the others, and Magiere sat upright with widened eyes.

  "That… fiend came to the chasm?" she whispered sharply. "How? We barely survived a short time on the plateau."

  Leesil tried to pull her back but she resisted. Chap recounted all that he had seen in the forlorn being's memory as Wynn reiterated for the others.

  I could not tell the gift-bearer that Ubad is already dead.

  Chap's blue crystalline eyes strayed to the hiltless dagger-as did Magiere's-then he laid his head down, gazing at the thorhk.

  It seemed the blade given to Magiere had been some plea for justice, but the thorhk brought Wynn only doubts and questions.

  "Let me know," she grumbled at Chap, "if there is anything more you can tell… that might help."

  Chap lifted his head, and his doggish brows wrinkled in an echo of Magiere's perpetual scowl.

  Wynn put a hand on his head. He bucked it sharply off with his snout, but then lapped his long tongue between her small fingers.

  "Wynn," Magiere said, "how do you know what to call that thing?"

  "Thorhk?" she answered hesitantly. "It is an old Dwarvish term for a circlet shaped somewhat like your open-ended loop. They are made of semi-flexible braided metal, and often worn by a Thanae-an elite dwarven warrior, sometimes in service to one of their high lords."

  A knock sounded. Wynn climbed to her feet, stepping over Leesil's shimmering new blades, and opened the cabin door.

  Osha stood outside with a tray of food, and the aroma of roasted fish and herb-garnished potatoes surrounded Wynn.

  "Thank you, Osha. Will you join us?"

  He would not meet her eyes and merely handed over the tray.

  "Whatever is wrong?" she asked.

  Osha turned away, heading back for the hatch stairs. Wynn stared after him.

  Six days alone with him and she had finally begun to think they were friends. Now he would not eat or speak with her? It seemed that no matter how much they learned of each other, as elf, an'Croan, or anmaglahk, Osha might always be a stranger.

  Wynn closed the door with her elbow and turned as Magiere slid to the floor, leaning her head against Leesil's leg. Sadness welled inside Wynn-or was it loneliness?

  She reached back in her memory, seeking a moment of intimate comfort. All she recalled were evenings sitting close to Chane over a parchment, drinking mint tea, his strong hands tight around his cup. During the battle in Toret's house, he had abandoned the fight and thrown her over his shoulder to flee. She had fought and kicked him, until she realized his true intention was to remove her from harm's way.

  Chap was watching her sternly.

  Wynn flinched, hoping he had not been wandering in her memories. But when she settled beside him, handing out small wooden plates, her stomach rolled once more.

  And I think of Lily.

  She reached out to softly stroke his back.

  Magiere took the plate Wynn offered, and another knock sounded at the cabin door. She waved Wynn back down as the sage started to rise and went to the door herself.

  The last face she wanted to see outside was Sgaile's.

  He averted his eyes and clutched at a long and narrow paper-wrapped bundle. He also held a seamless wooden tube about the length of his forearm. The narrow container looked much like the wood of the rain barrels in elven homes-one perfect piece, except for the unadorned pewter cap.

  "May I enter?" he asked.

  Magiere almost slammed the door in his face. Six days with Sgaile, most of it blindfolded, left her with little patience, but she stepped back. He entered with a respectful nod and crouched near the pile of gifts.

  "Before our ship left Ghoivne Ajhajhe," he said, "Brot'an'duive gave me things for you, Leshil."

  Both Leesil and Chap narrowed their eyes at the master anmaglahk's name.

  "I did not understand their purpose," Sgaile went on, setting down the wooden tube, "until I saw what the Chein'as gave to you."

  He tore open the paper bundle, exposing a matched set of long padded bars of leather.

  Magiere was mildly curious. Before she could ask, Sgaile picked up one silvery winged punching blade in the pile and then rolled one bar of padding over. Its backside was split cleanly down the center between its edge stitching.

  Sgaile spread the slit with his thumb and carefully slid the back of the blade's wing into it. There was a narrow ledge of metal along the wing's back that Magiere hadn't noticed before, and it slid smoothly into the leather. The padded bar settled perfectly along the back of the wing.

  Magiere remembered the day Leesil had bolted across the border at Soladran.

  He'd viciously assaulted Darmouth's forces hunting down peasants who fled for safety. When he returned to the city, a blow from a sword had smashed one of his blade's wings into his forearm, leaving him black and blue for days.

  But with the padding, and those half-hoop braces sprouting midpoint from the wings, these new blades would be far more stable and sure on Leesil's forearms. Still, she knew he wouldn't touch them.

  Magiere had no doubt who'd designed and requested those blades from the Chein'as. And who better to improve on Leesil's original blades than someone who'd been killing all his long life?

  Brot'an was up to something-again.

  Before Leesil spit out his rejection, Chap snarled and rose on all fours. Head low, he growled at Sgaile, and clacked his jaws sharply as he barked twice for "no."

  "Stop it!" Wynn said.

  Chap ignored her, closing on Sgaile, who froze at the dog's rage.

  "Don't bother," Leesil added. "I prefer my own weapons."

  Sgaile stared at Leesil in bewilderment, as if he'd been insulted for no reason. He turned his eyes back on Chap and asked, "Why?"

  "Because those are Brot'an's doing," Wynn said tiredly.

  "Shut up, Wynn!" Leesil growled.

  Magiere grabbed his arm, and Leesil turned his angry gaze on her.

  "Brot'an's the one who tricked Leesil," Magiere explained, "into finishing his mission to kill Darmouth. And Leesil… doesn't want anything to do with him. Neither does Chap."

  "D
o you not understand?" Sgaile said and held up one silvery winged blade, turning it slowly in the air. "No such thing has ever been made by the Burning Ones… only anmaglahk blades and rare items for elders and other honored ones. Brot'an'duive may have requested Leshil's new blades- but that is all! No one tells the Chein'as what to make."

  Magiere wasn't sure she believed that, no matter that Sgaile did. But weapons were only tools, and these new blades looked better than Leesil's own.

  "They're just weapons," she said to him. "You choose how to use them… nobody is going to make you do anything."

  "Ah, so you're perfectly comfortable with your 'gifts, are you?" he returned.

  Magiere clenched her teeth. She wanted to smack him for turning things back on her-and because she couldn't think of a way around his counter.

  She twisted about, looking to the hiltless dagger and that thing Wynn called a torc.

  "The dagger needs a hilt," she said suddenly.

  Sgaile looked down at the blade and then to Chap, waiting.

  Chap shook himself all over. With one last snarl, he circled away around Wynn.

  Sgaile let out a deep breath as he set down Leesil's new blade. He picked up the long dagger and, with a nod to Magiere, turned and left.

  "Happy now?" Magiere asked Leesil.

  He glared back at her. "Oh, I'm overjoyed."

  "But what about this?" Wynn said. "Sgaile brought something more for Leesil."

  Magiere glanced back to find Wynn had retrieved the wooden cylinder that Sgaile had left with the other items. The sage popped the pewter cap and peered into the narrow tube, then she frowned, glancing nervously at Leesil.

  "Well?" Magiere asked.

  With a sigh, Wynn tilted the tube, and out slid a narrow shaft of wood-a bare length of branch. And Magiere recognized it immediately- the branch of Roise Charmune.

  When Leesil had gone with Sgaile to the burial place of the an'Croan ancestors, he'd been given more than a new name. Leafless and barkless-yet somehow alive-the slick, fine-grained slip of branch had been needed to prove Magiere's innocence in the face of Most Aged Father's claims against her. And here it was again.

  Magiere heard Leesil's groan even before she looked back to find him with his face buried in his hands.

  Sgaile closed the cabin door and paused in the hallway. Between Leshil and Chap's deep hatred of Brot'an'duive and the rejection of gifts he himself could not fathom, he felt at a loss. Magiere's contentious nature had broken the stalemate, but the whole exchange had left him exhausted.