Hand and Talon (World of Kyrni Book 1)

by Melonie Purcell

  Without an answer, Sorin slipped out the door.

  “Maybe she means the burl what the tree gived me,” Dane said, before shoving the bite in his mouth. Where he was putting the food was anybody’s guess.

  “I don’t think so.” She looked over at the mage, but the woman seemed preoccupied as she started wandering around the room collecting supplies.

  Dane shrugged, scraped the last bit of the stew directly into his mouth, and stacked the last of the bowls. As he headed toward the door, Krea could see the little bulge of his belly. He was going to be sick tomorrow.

  Chapter 13 – Blessing

  As Arie busied herself arranging things for what Krea assumed was the blessing, Krea turned and stared down the long, dark passage that opened up opposite the door and wondered what was down there. Some stories about mages talked of treasure and others of bones, but nobody really knew.

  Krea glanced up when the door opened, but it was only Dane. She had the distinct feeling Sorin was deliberately stalling out by the river. She couldn’t figure out what was wrong with him, but the presence of the mage had definitely soured his mood. Of course, the woman unnerved her to no end as well. Either that, or he felt guilty for not telling her about the ritual that was about to happen. If he didn’t, he should.

  While the mage rummaged around, Krea and Dane stole away to the farthest corner of the bench and tried to become invisible. Dane looked better after having eaten, but he still had dark circles under his eyes and a sick, pasty color to his face. The little pelt needed a good night’s sleep, and watching him, she had a feeling it was going to start soon. He could barely keep his eyes open. She was just envisioning the wonderful straw mattress that awaited her at the inn when Sorin pushed through the door and deposited his load of clean dishes on the end of the table. He glanced around.

  “What of Dane?” Sorin asked.

  “He will be fine right where he is,” Arie said. “Come, let us begin.”

  A blanket woven with intricate symbols now covered the floor, as did several small dishes filled with an array of leaves, flowers, and stems. Soft smoke that smelled like mint and sage wafted up from an incense plate burning on the table. A pile of thin leather thongs sat next to a knife and what looked suspiciously like the contents of a bird’s nest. She wasn’t about to ask, though.

  Sorin waved her over to the washbowl. She glanced over at Dane, but his fight with sleep was already lost. His head rested on the table, burl tucked safely under his chin.

  Finally satisfied with the setup, Arie joined them by the water basin. She had dimmed the lamp for the ceremony, but even through the faint flicker of the small hearth fire, Krea noticed Sorin’s rigid posture. She didn’t blame him. She didn’t exactly forgive him, either.

  “You couldn’t have asked for a better blessing than the one you are about to receive, Krea,” Sorin said, giving her a pat on the shoulder. “Nowhere in Shaylith would there be a place so perfect as this to seek the goddess’s will and offer the sacrifice.”

  “Sacrifice?” Krea jerked back. “What sacrifice?”

  Arie picked up the pitcher of water and held it over the basin. “That’s up to you.”

  Up to her? What in the name of the blessed goddess did that mean? Up to her! None of this had been up to her. She hadn’t chosen to turn into some monster in the alleyway. She hadn’t called down proth from the sky, and she sure hadn’t asked to go trudging through the woods for weeks on end with an angry caller. If it had been up to her, none of this would be happening and she would be helping Onin pack his cart to leave Trasdaak.

  Sorin held his hands over the basin and closed his eyes as Arie poured the water over them. Krea had seen this part done several times by the priestesses standing outside the regent’s gate. She guessed he was offering thanks to the goddess for something. Maybe he was asking her forgiveness for not warning Krea about what would happen at the mage’s house. Whatever he prayed, it made him feel better because he took a deep breath of relief and smiled for the first time since coming into the broche. Then he looked down at Krea and nodded toward the basin.

  “Close your eyes and thank the goddess in your own way,” Sorin instructed, taking the towel off the table and drying his hands. “Ask her to make you ready, and be sincere.”

  Krea nodded, made the sacred symbol of the triple spiral in the air, and then closed her eyes as Arie poured the water over her hands. She let the water run through her fingers and took a second to feel the strangeness of it. She tried to form words for the goddess, but all that came out was a feeling. A feeling of wonder and worry and protection all wrapped together like Dane’s burl. There were no words to express what she felt. Instead, she just focused on the feelings and let them flow out of her.

  When Arie stopped pouring, she opened her eyes and looked around. They were both watching her, but neither said anything, and Krea didn’t volunteer. Instead, she took the towel Sorin offered her and watched as Arie handed him the pitcher and sought her own restitution while he trickled the water into the basin. She closed the ceremony with a wave of her hand that made the small hearth fire sputter, and then pointed them over to the blanket. “Krea, sit on the blanket with your legs crossed in front of you, but remove your shoes first. Sorin, please kneel right here beside me.”

  Sorin’s face contorted, and without even asking, Krea knew he was thinking about his lost link. She wondered what kind of bond a caller and a kyrni must form for the loss to be so painful. “Milady,” he said. “You do know that Krea cannot be bound to me?”

  Arie poured several drops of oil into one of the tiny stone dishes waiting beside the blanket and nodded. “I am aware, Tal. I can’t explain why, but Krea is to be bound to no one.”

  “Is that normal?” Krea asked, feeling more uncomfortable with each passing second.

  Sorin shook his head. “Nothing about you is normal.”

  She gave him one of her better sideways glares, but he didn’t take the bait and before she could stall further, the mage was talking again. She chanted something in the same strange language she used before and slapped her hands on the ground. Magic swelled up around them and rushed out in every direction. Krea stared around the room, trying to catch her breath, but nothing looked any different. “Krea,” she said.

  Krea looked from Sorin to the mage, but neither seemed to have noticed. Arie grabbed her bowl and continued on. “We do these things to remember where we came from and what we are here to do,” Arie began, taking a pinch of mixed seeds from one of the bowls and adding it to the oil. “We start as the seed. Shapeless. Helpless. Unable to make our own destiny.” She took a stone carved with symbols like those on the blanket and crushed the seeds, mixing them with the oil.

  Then she added another drop to the bowl and chose a small stem of what looked like betony. “We are nourished by the goddess and placed that we may grow.” She ground the stem into the mixture and again added a drop of oil. “We receive everything we need from the world that Nordu has created.” An ash leaf dropped into the mix along with another drop of oil. “And when our time is upon us, we stretch out and are received once again by the creation that has sustained us.” From the pile, Arie chose a spoon of blue powder and a handful of blackberries. She ground them with the stone, making the concoction in the bowl dark blue. “Sorin, the prophecy.”

  Sorin cleared his throat and recited the prophecy in the old language. Krea couldn’t understand a word of it, but listening to the soft words fall with such delicate grace from his lips made a shiver run down her spine. When he finished, he recited the translation.

  “My child has turned on the truth of her heart

  She must turn again or be from me apart

  On the day of severance, when her choice is none

  I shall call out from creation the unity of one

  From the head of beast will cry songs of man

  And from the heart of man will pour beast again

  On that day, she will cry in fear

  She
will gaze on the whole, knowing death is near

  From the creation of two, Justice will call

  At the feet of the one, my child will fall.”

  “What does it mean?” Krea whispered.

  Sorin shrugged. “The lady will make it clear when it is time for us to know. Until then, it is our duty to remember it and pass it on. I will teach it to you on our way to Shaylith.”

  “Krea, do you choose to keep the prophecy and serve the goddess?” Arie’s question was spoken in such somberness that the air seemed to turn to mud.

  Krea hesitated. She had always served the goddess in her own way, but why did she have to make a formal commitment? What if she didn’t? Would the goddess strike her down? Maybe she would take away the kyrni gift, and Krea would be normal again? That thought gave her pause. Normal again. As if she had ever been normal. As much as she hated to admit it, Sorin was right. She had never been just like everyone else. She had always been different, because she had always been kyrni.

  Krea looked around the room over to Sorin, and finally at Arie, whose pinched expression said Krea’s reply shouldn’t have taken so long. Krea decided on honesty. “I have never served anyone before. Only myself. I don’t know if she will want me.”

  Sorin sucked in a surprised breath and nearly choked. Apparently, that had been the wrong answer. Through his coughing, Arie spoke. “You are kyrni. The answer to that is obvious, is it not?”

  Again, Krea paused, but then finally shrugged. “I will do my best.”

  After a pause, Arie nodded. “That is all that is ever asked of us.” It sounded to Krea like a concession, but she would take it. Arie chose a finely-pointed stick from among her supplies. Krea held her breath as the mage stirred the purple mixture with the dull end, then flipped it over so the surprisingly sharp point was swimming in the paste. “As a mark of your service, I call you kyrni and mark you with the symbol of the chosen.” Arie dipped her stick into the mixture, grabbed Krea's left arm, and turned it over. With the stick, she drew a winding spiral extending halfway up Krea’s forearm. “Nature and our goddess are eternal.” She dipped the stick into the bowl again and added three dots traveling down her arm to just above the wrist. “The stages of nature are three: birth, life, and death.” Finally, she drew a single line just above the wristbone that circled her forearm. “Then there is the rebirth, and the circle is complete.”

  Krea stared at the murky purplish patterns on her arm and frowned. She had a bad feeling about this. Something didn’t sit right, but she couldn’t put her finger on the source of her anxiety. Maybe it was just that between Sorin and the mage, the magic in the room made it hard to breathe. Maybe it was the way they seemed to be shoving her through this process. Whatever it was, she didn’t like it, but she couldn’t think on it more because Arie was talking again.

  “Krea, you have stated your willingness to serve, and you have heard the command set before you. What sacrifice do you offer to bind you?” Arie asked, still holding Krea’s arm in her hand.

  “I don’t know what you mean,” Krea said in a rush. “Do you want me to go find something to kill, or pledge to stop doing something?”

  Arie’s brows rose slightly as she turned her disapproval onto Sorin, which made her that much more unnerving. “The sacrifice is usually something you offer to bind the agreement you just made with the goddess. It’s symbolic, of course. A picture of Nordu giving you her blessing, and you giving back your service.”

  “Oh,” Krea said. “Like the bloodlock.”

  “Is that your sacrifice? Do you choose blood?”

  Krea glanced back down at the paste on her arm, then over to Dane, still fast asleep at the table. She thought about the loireags and the burl and the proth and Sorin, and all of it. It was too much. She didn’t want this even if it wanted her. After an eternal silence, Krea finally shook her head. “I don’t think we should do this. I don’t want to be bound to anything. I just want to go to Shaylith so they can make me normal, and then get on with my life.”

  The mage stared at her in shock and then looked over at Sorin. “Does she know what this means?”

  Sorin shrugged. From the look on his face, Krea guessed even he didn’t know what it meant. “She has no instruction,” he said. “I didn’t expect the ceremony to take place until Shaylith. Perhaps I should talk to her first.”

  After considering his words, Arie slowly nodded. It seemed to Krea that the mage should be talking to her, not Sorin, but she didn’t care. She was ready to be done with this strange place. Arie pointed toward the water basin. “Caller, I need a towel, please. I must remove the runes on her arm.”

  Sorin stood to grab the towel as the mage turned Krea’s right arm back over to show the sticky, wet patterns. Krea started to prop herself up with her left hand, but yelped the second her hand met the blanket. She yanked her hand up and stared at the offending drawing stick now buried in her palm. With a deep breath, she grabbed the protruding end and pulled hard. Blood trickled down her palm. She moved to wipe it on her breeches, but before she could touch it, a thin line splintered up Krea’s right forearm and split open.

  Krea's scream was swallowed by an earsplitting crack that ripped through the room. Magic erupted into the air like steam from a kettle. It swirled around, making the air sweaty and suffocating.

  A low hum blocked out all other sound. Krea yelled again as a searing pain shot up her arm. Then the room filled with a light brighter than Sorin’s sunballs.

  Across from her, she felt Arie scurry away. She thought she heard the woman scream, but the hum was too loud to be sure. Then, just as abruptly, a dead calm fell around them.

  When her vision finally returned, Krea saw Arie pushing herself up off the floor where she had apparently fallen trying to flee the blinding light. She stared, white-faced, at the now blood-splattered blanket. Krea knew without looking that it was her blood and that it had come from the arm she now cradled. Dane, too, was wide awake and on his feet, staring at Krea in wonder.

  With some reluctance, Krea pulled her throbbing arm away from her chest and stared in disbelief. Sorin shoved aside a stool that had tangled in his feet and rushed over to help, but he didn’t touch her. Instead, he peered over her shoulder, his expression the mirror of wonder and horror that she felt. Where the dirty purple smudges of Arie’s paste had been, bloodred lines now glared up at them. A perfect spiral wound into a tiny red dot too fine for any stick to have made. Three small, red spots not as large as her smallest fingernail extended from the spiral down her arm. The tail of the spiral trailed between them. Where the single line of pasty red had once circled her wrist, two deep red bands were now etched into her skin. In the narrow space between the bands, a single word appeared in symbols that Krea had never seen before.

  Arie bent down and retrieved the fallen bowls with a trembling hand. Across the room, Dane dropped back onto the bench.

  “The goddess has apparently claimed you, whether you like it or not,” Arie whispered, her voice as shaky as her hands.

  Krea twisted her wrist back and forth in the firelight, trying to see the strange symbol. Taking a deep breath to work up the nerve, she brushed a tentative finger across the bloodred spiral. Nothing happened. Her arm hurt, but the symbols themselves didn’t hurt at all, and the red pattern stayed put. She examined her fingers in the flickering light. Nothing. No red paste. No nothing. Whatever was left wasn’t rubbing off.

  Sorin watched her for a moment. She didn’t argue as he took her wrist and studied the symbols. After a moment, he asked the mage, “Do you know what it says?”

  Arie shook her head and twisted Krea’s arm to get a better look. “I have no idea. It is in the ancient runes. That much I know. But I can’t even guess as to its meaning.”

  “What ancient runes?” Krea asked.

  “The runes of the drykir,” Sorin explained.

  Arie brushed her finger across them, giving Krea a questioning glance to see if it hurt. Krea shook her head. She looked up at Sor
in. “Have you ever seen anything like it before?”

  “I’ve seen some of the letters inscribed on the temple in Shaylith.” He also rubbed the dark red lines. “But I don’t know what it means.”

  Dane shifted at the table, no doubt checking on his oak. “Do it hurt?” he asked.

  “Aye!” Krea confirmed, staring down at the offending appendage. “It feels like my skin was just peeled away and put back inside out, but it doesn’t hurt to touch it. It’s weird.” She pulled her arm back and glared over at the mage. “Why don’t you know what it says? If you know they are runes, you should know what they say. After all, isn’t that what you do?”

  Arie’s hands still shook as she set the bowl she was holding back on the blanket and straightened her skirt so she could stand. “I don’t know what to say.”

  “Well, neither do I,” Krea snapped, lightly tapping the red lines around her wrist. “This is not good! Tell me we’re at least done with the ceremony.”

  “Well, not exactly, but I’m a little afraid of what may happen if we go on. There’s nothing to be done about it, though. We are to be obedient, and in the face of what just happened, I think you would agree we must finish the ritual.”

  Arie's commitment was wavering. Krea didn’t know what to say in the face of such faith. She didn’t want to finish the ritual, but it was more than clear that the goddess had other ideas. Still, she’d had her fill of surprises tonight. “Now, hold on,” she said, scooting off the blanket. “What’s supposed to happen next? Maybe we should be done.”

  Arie shook her head. “We must finish. What will happen next is what will happen.”

  Easy for her to say; she wasn’t the one who had just been branded. She did have a point, though. With far less enthusiasm than Arie, Krea scooted back onto the blanket and waited.

  After a few deep breaths, Arie dropped to her knees and braced Krea with a hard stare. “We worship the goddess, Krea, and as women, we must act as her priestesses. You are female, chosen to bring life into the world and commanded to protect it. You are a caretaker of Nordu’s creation. This is no small privilege, and you must never lose sight of your responsibilities as a woman. I charge you with this calling.”