Cephrael's Hand: A Pattern of Shadow & Light Book One

by McPhail, Melissa

  “May we speak, Trell of the Tides?”

  Trell lifted his gaze to her. “That depends,” he said, pushing to stand a head taller than her.

  “On?”

  “On whether you plan to tell me the truth or another contrivance.”

  She looked at him warily. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

  “I’m sure that you do.”

  Fhionna exhaled her displeasure. “Why do you insult me this way, Trell?”

  “My lady,” he replied evenly, “we are putting our lives in your hands. The least you can do is tell us honestly what threat we face on your behalf.”

  “Bandits,” she retorted exasperatedly. “We told you from the beginning—”

  “You told me a carefully crafted lie,” he cut in, holding her gaze. “I didn’t believe it by the Springs of Jai’Gar and I don’t believe it by Naiadithine’s Tears.”

  Her eyes flew wide, and she drew in her breath with a hiss, staring at him. She clapped one hand across her mouth and whispered, “You speak the river’s sacred name!”

  Now it was Trell’s turn to falter. The phrase had just found its way onto his tongue. He had no idea whence it had come.

  Wide-eyed, Fhionna lifted slender fingers from her own mouth and placed them gently across his lips. Her touch sent tingles through his flesh, waking inconvenient stirrings of desire. “The Mother reveals herself only to those most worthy of her daughters’ trust,” she confessed. Trell kept his silence as she searched his eyes with her own. “My astonishment knows no bounds, yet now I understand why the Mother led us to you in the bazaar. Naiadithine has taken favor on you, Trell of the Tides.”

  Trell was increasingly surprised by the things that no longer surprised him. There was something about conversing with shape-shifting Sundragons that changed one’s perspective on the world and everyone in it. He believed that Fhionna spoke the truth, and he wondered what he could have done to so gain the goddess Naiadithine’s eye. Surely his meager offering was not worth her favor.

  Fhionna dropped her hand from his lips—much to his disappointment—and turned her gaze upriver where the dark water tumbled and frothed. “It is not to protect ourselves that we spoke untruths,” she confessed then, casting him a demure gaze full of entreaty, chocolate lashes framing her water-clear eyes. “I would you to know that, Trell, for there are some who say our motives are ever selfish, and it is unfair to bespeak us thusly. Our sister-kin Lily is as dear to us as our own flesh and blood, and…” her tone hardened as she added, “and we will do whatever we must to protect her.”

  “Fhionna, if I’m to help you three, I must know what really happened and what you still fear. I need to understand the enemy we face.”

  Fhionna caught her lip between perfect teeth and nodded. She took his hand and led them along the banks. When they were quite alone, she found an outcropping of stone to settle on and beckoned Trell to sit beside her.

  “Lily, our sister-kin,” she began as he moved to her side, “is the daughter of a powerful Nadori lord. Her father planned to sell her in marriage for personal gain, as so many of you mortal men do, but Lily had already pledged her troth, unbeknownst to her father, to a young man from a family currently out of favor with the ruling princedom. When Lily’s father learned of her interest in the boy, he did everything in his power to see the young man banished. Lily was devastated. Aishlinn and I couldn’t bear to see her in such a state, so we…we offered to help her stay in touch with Korin.”

  Fhionna tucked a lock of her honey-brown hair behind one ear and turned her aqua eyes to Trell. There was something so alluring about her in that moment that Trell found it hard to breathe. Perhaps she was enchanting him, as she claimed. The closer he was to her the less self-control he seemed to posses, and every motion she made aroused and enticed him. Even Vaile had been resistible, but Fhionna was…electrifying. The desire to possess her was nearly overpowering.

  “…other reasons as well,” Fhionna was saying, “but she realized she had to flee the pal—that is, I mean, her home. Aishlinn and I helped Lily send word to Korin, who’d taken refuge in Xanthe, and he agreed to meet us in Sakkalaah. We all traveled safely into the Akkad, as we were able to follow the rivers, but three days out of the Bazaar Lily’s father’s men caught up to us. We escaped with our lives into the river, but only just. When we dared return to land much later, they had ransacked our supplies and run off with our horses.”

  “And they hunt for you still?” Trell asked, trying to look at her without also seeing images of her face lifted to his, her body arched beneath his own, her gaze rapturous.

  “We think so,” Fhionna said. She looked up at him, and suddenly Trell saw his own desire reflected in her gaze. Her breast rose and fell with her quickening breath, and a budding flush came to her cheeks. Their eyes locked.

  Trell’s entire body came alive. His craving to possess her resonated with Fhionna’s own yearning to be possessed, and desire flooded heat to his loins. “Fhionna,” Trell breathed, knowing only her.

  “Trell,” she whispered.

  And then his mouth was on hers and they were in each other’s arms. Trell cradled her body as they tumbled into the dry grass, wanting her with every fiber of his being. The taste of her was a feast for his senses; her tongue was berry sweet, the skin of her throat scented with vanilla, and her breasts—his mouth longed to suckle them, to feel her nipples harden beneath his tongue even as they hardened now beneath his thumbs.

  Fhionna’s fingers were tangled in his hair, her tongue thirstily seeking his. They clung to one another breathlessly; Trell felt the beat of her heart pulsing, her breath feeding him as she straddled his hips, grinding against him. He found her breast with one hand, the other buried in her hair, and—

  His desire vanished.

  Trell stilled in her arms, appalled and confused. A barrel of ice water upended over his head could not have done a better job of quenching his lust. Even as he struggled to understand what was happening, he heard a whisper echo in his soul.

  He is not for you, daughter.

  Fhionna sucked in her breath with a gasp and jerked free of Trell’s embrace. Her tongue left the taste of cinnamon in his mouth as she rolled off him. Her cheeks were flushed from their passion, but she couldn’t have looked more dismayed.

  Perplexed, Trell pushed up onto his elbows.

  Fhionna drew her knees into her chest and covered her face with both hands. It took a moment for Trell to realize she was crying. He sat up and gathered her into his arms. This time there was no flame of desire, no tingling in his skin, no lustful thoughts. She cried into his shoulder as he gazed confusedly over her head at the rushing river.

  Goddess, do you protect me from your daughter’s spell?

  As much as he’d wanted Fhionna only moments ago, he felt no sorrow that the spell had been broken, no longing for what might have been; only a fond feeling remained, strangely without regret.

  The entire encounter was so baffling that Trell didn’t even attempt to seek understanding, much less an explanation. He wasn’t sure he really wanted to understand; the idea that the river goddess could extinguish such heated desire—that a god could have more control over his body than he did—was unnerving.

  Finally Fhionna lifted her face from his embrace, pressed her wet cheek against his own and hugged his neck. “Forgive me,” she begged, a bare whisper. “Please, please, forgive me.”

  Utterly bemused, Trell replied, “On the condition that one day you will explain this to me, Fhionna…I forgive you.”

  Her aqua eyes seemed liquid as she smiled gratefully and took his hand. “I will.” She pressed a chaste kiss to his palm. “Thank you.”

  Trell ran a hand through his unruly dark hair and gave her a crooked grin. “Well…,” he said awkwardly. Pushing to his feet, he offered a hand to help her up. “Where…uh, where were we?”

  “We need to speak with my sister.”

  Fhionna took his hand and drew him quickly back towa
rd the others. “Please know, Trell…Lily wanted to tell you from the beginning, but we…my sister and I…our kind…” She turned him a look of sudden fury. “There are terrible, evil men who hunt us for sport and others who delight in torturing a daughter of the river by seeing how far from her source they can take her before she expires—every moment of it in unbearable anguish. So we are wary of trusting men with our secrets.”

  Trell imagined he would be too.

  They met Aishlinn and Lily coming the other way, obviously looking for them. Aishlinn regarded her sister warily as she neared. “What happened? I heard—”

  “I told Trell everything.”

  “Fhionna! We agre—”

  “He spoke the river’s sacred name, sister!” Fhionna cut in sharply.

  Aishlinn closed her mouth with an audible clap.

  Lily looked shocked. She reached tentatively toward Trell. “Naiadithine spoke to you?”

  Trell looked to the river, rushing cold and deep beside them. Rather than answering, he said, “You mentioned this trail was unsafe, Fhionna. Is that because you think the men are near, the ones chasing you?”

  They all exchanged a worried look, and then Fhionna nodded.

  “And how do you know?”

  “The river…told me,” Aishlinn said hesitantly. She held a stubborn look in her eyes, as if she expected Trell not to believe her. “I…listen to the riversong.”

  Trell regarded her thoughtfully. After a moment, he asked, “How much can the river tell you?”

  “Only as much as she knows.”

  “But these men are careful,” Fhionna explained. “They know we can follow their movements if they drink from the river, or cross it, or travel close to the water’s edge, so they stay as far as possible from the Cry and her fingerlings.”

  “The streams feeding—” Lily began to explain.

  “I get it,” Trell said, cutting her off. “So what can you tell me, Aishlinn?”

  The latter’s expression fell. “Only that they’re near.”

  “Downriver? Upriver?”

  She shook her head. “I’m sorry. The river doesn’t know. She had the barest sense of them, and…”

  “This isn’t particularly helpful, Aishlinn.”

  Her haze hardened. “It’s not an exact science! Riversong is cacophony. You try sometime and see how well you do!”

  She spun on her heel and stalked off.

  Trell gazed after her, bewildered.

  “She is frustrated,” Fhionna explained gently as her eyes followed her sister. “She wants to help—we both do.” She wrapped a slender arm around Lily’s shoulders and pulled her close. “We can’t bear the idea of anything happening to our sister-kin. We feel impotent, and we aren’t…used to these feelings.”

  Trell turned her a discerning look. “Aishlinn said you had gifts. Can they be of use to us?”

  “Not if the men stay far from the water. Our power lies within the Cry.”

  Lily turned and buried her face in Fhionna’s embrace. “I never should’ve run away! I’ve endangered all of you—and now Trell of the Tides and these good men also!”

  “No Lily.” Fhionna took her firmly by the shoulders. “It is not wrong to love, and you should not be executed for daring to give your heart to one of your own choosing.”

  “Korin waits for you in Sakkalaah, my land,” Trell said. “We must get you to your true love.”

  Lily lifted her eyes to his. “These are dangerous men, Trell of the Tides. They are well trained in warcraft and willing to trade their lives for their liege lord’s cause.”

  “That’s to be expected,” Trell said with a shrug.

  Lily gazed wondrously at him. “Do you really have no fear, sir? You ask for nothing from us to risk your life for me. Are life and limb meaningless to you?”

  Trell took no offense at her words, for her tone was one of honest inquiry. He let his eyes stray back downriver toward the Khurds. He could just make out glimpses of their dun-hued turbans moving about. “The reasons men fight are many, Lily,” he returned quietly, thinking of the countless men he’d known, commanded, befriended and buried. “Sometimes they consider life and limb, as you say, but mostly I think their motives lie elsewhere…beyond themselves, really. Some fight for gain, of course—or revenge—but among true fighting men, self-serving causes are few. Of those I’ve met, some fight for honor, others for faith, but…I think many men fight in the hopes of just finding something they can believe in.”

  “And you?” Fhionna asked. Her beautiful eyes searched his. “Why do you risk your life?”

  Trell held her gaze. “Because you asked it of me, my lady.”

  The day passed slowly after such a morning, and the company traveled in silence wrapped in their cloaks against the chill afternoon wind. Trell conferred with the Khurds, sharing what he’d learned, but they decided to continue on the same path, for it was the most direct route to Sakkalaah. They agreed to stay alert, however, and two of the four Khurds made sure to ride at a distance ahead or behind, scouting for signs of trouble.

  As they rode, the wide river remained cold and forbidding, at times looking angry where it fell into whitewater, but more often seeming to hold a dense and terrible secret in its swirling, twisting depths.

  Naiadithine.

  She lurked there, everywhere and nowhere. Naiadithine’s Tears, Trell had named the Cry; the true name of the river had been the goddess’s gift to him,that her daughters would trust in him. It was said the tears of thousands fueled the Cry’s savage current, but Trell wondered now what the real story was, what man or child Naiadithine mourned in every drop of her water-blood.

  Trell spent far too much of the day watching the depths and pondering the nature of his own intimate connection with water. It was a strange feeling to know oneself as the object of a god’s interest. There were some who said gaining the eye of Angharad or Thalma, what goddesses the Northmen named their Ladies Fortune and Luck, was a boon beyond imagining; but Trell rather suspected that gaining a god’s notice only meant a lot of trouble on the horizon. He didn’t imagine the gods looked upon mortals with much respect—What are we to them but frail and inconsequential creatures?—and he didn’t relish the idea of dancing to the puppet strings of any immortal. Rumors of those living happily in the thrall of a god must’ve been spread by men who’d only dreamed of the encounter. The real thing was disconcerting at best.

  Yet Naiadithine seemed to have no agenda of her own for Trell, and he couldn’t help but wonder why she’d brought his cause to her breast as her own. He found himself growing ever more grateful to her even as he rooted deeper into her debt.

  The women equally kept to themselves as they rode. Fhionna remained contrite over their noonday encounter, and Lily had taken to casting Trell unreadable looks, most of which he missed on account of his own brooding disposition. The Khurds took turns scouting ahead and behind, ensuring their safe progress.

  It was only once, late in the afternoon, that Kamil came to Trell with news.

  “I found signs of passage,” said the Khurd in a low voice, reining his mount in close so their horses walked flank to flank. “More than a dozen horse.”

  Trell gazed ahead.“Bandits? Or Nadoriin?”

  Kamil shrugged.

  He turned to him.“Show me.”

  Kamil heeled his mount forward, and the two of them broke away from the party to canter a mile or so down the trail.

  At the edge of a branching canyon, where a smaller river flowed into the cry and the earth remained soft from the recent flashflood, a sandy hill was trampled with hoof prints.

  Trell dismounted and bent to study them.

  “Nadoriin,” he declared after a moment. He waved Kamil over. “Here, look.” He pointed to the prints. “See, these are all large horses. Their hooves are as wide as my hand. Like Gendaia,” he added, nodding to her. “Not desert-bred.”

  Kamil hunkered down at Trell’s side. “Bandits often take the horses,” he pointed out.


  “Yes, but they’d have many different breeds among them. These are all uniform from one to the next, with no variation in the size of the prints. Likely Saldarian warhorses.”

  Kamil regarded him appreciatively. Then he straightened to peer down the canyon, which curved away to the south, the view obscured by trees.

  “Do we follow them?”

  Trell studied the route. It looked too inviting. “No,” he said, his gaze flinty. “We move on.”

  The sun was nearing the rim of the gorge when they stopped to make camp. Trell remained concerned over the Nadoriin being so close, but he kept his thoughts to himself so as not to frighten the women. Twenty horses could mean twenty men, and he didn’t like those odds. The campsite they chose had a clear view in all directions, but on a cloudy, starless night like this one, it wouldn’t provide much of an advantage.

  They set up shelter and picketed the horses and Sherba close-in, to better utilize their keen senses for any warning they might provide. They made no fire to preserve their night vision, and the men ate in silence while the ladies took their food into their tent. Trell took the first watch, but as the night grew on with nothing untoward happening, his apprehension began to abate. Perhaps his fears were misfounded.

  Still, sleep wouldn’t visit him even after his watch was over, so he lay on his pallet with hands behind his head gazing into the deep dark sky and brooding over his future as much as his past.

  Her footsteps drew his attention, but he recognized her light step. “Hello, my lady. Come to bewitch me again, have you?”

  She settled down beside him and drew her knees in close. “Never again.” Fhionna sounded embarrassed. “You have my heartfelt promise.”

  “That’s a shame.” Trell turned her a wink and a grin.

  She broke into a smile and admired him openly. “The Mother knows what’s best for her daughters,” she confessed with a wistful sigh, “but I couldn’t have chosen a better man for a mate than you, Trell of the Tides.”

  Trell exhaled heavily. “I have no idea of my own birth. I would not will the same fate upon my own child.”