Beloved Son

by Carole Cummings

  Wil was determined not to shudder. “You know where Wheeler is?”

  “He’ll be here shortly, so let’s get you as ready as we can, all right?”

  “Skirmishes,” Léaf panted as he bulled his way over to Dallin. He dropped a quick, cursory bow and absently swatted the long wet waves that had come loose from his messy braid from out his eyes. “Bealde’s squadron lost a few, but she managed to secure the Temple. She’s sent for Gebyld to fortify the perimeter but fears the runner may not have made it across the line. Your Creighton is there with two squadrons, so Bealde is up to almost a full battery now. She sends word to the Shaman—The enemy has reconnoitered and is trying to concentrate its attack here, but the Weardas followed as they drew upward and inward. The battle lines are many and holding, but all of the enemy now aim for the Temple. Healdes and Wisena hold the Bounds against a full battalion of Commonwealth soldiers, though no word has come back yet as to whether any shots have been fired.”

  Léaf paused to catch his breath.

  “She also said Wisena says to tell you their orders from Wheeler were to invade and subdue by any means necessary, and to arrest Ríocht’s Chosen for his personal interrogation. You, Shaman—” Léaf’s teeth set tight, and he lifted his chin. “You are to be executed on sight.”

  Wil’s head was spinning with all the dismaying information, but Dallin merely nodded as though he was already fully aware.

  “The runner made it and Gebyld is on her way, not to worry. Thank you, Léaf. Sit down before you fall. It’ll all be over shortly.”

  It was surreal. The quiet here was like a soft, soothing blanket, and Wil had been so worried about his own aches and what they might or might not mean, when all the while there were actual battles going on who knew how far above. People dying.

  “How many is a battalion?” Wil asked faintly.

  “A thousand men.”

  Dallin’s reply was calm and even, but that didn’t make it any less shocking. Wil’s heart took a jolt in his chest.

  “A thousand? Plus all the Brethren?” He shut his eyes tight before looking back into Dallin’s unruffled gaze. “Surely there aren’t enough of the Weardas to hold them all back? Lind will be overrun.”

  Unaccountably, Dallin smiled. “They’re outnumbered at least ten to one, if it comes to it. The Weardas are not the only ones who carry weapons. No Linder forewarned is defenseless. Anyway, Wisena’s already got Wheeler’s men convinced they arrived just in time to stop an invasion, and he’s ceded command to Shaw. A soldier wants a general, and Shaw’s reputation will do what no direct order from Wheeler ever could. Unless Æledfýres prevails”—there was only the barest hint of an angry grimace—“which he won’t, Lind and its people are safe from Cynewísan’s guns for the moment.”

  “Did you know all this before?” Thorne asked from behind.

  Dallin looked over his shoulder. “I knew Shaw would be necessary. I’ve been… keeping track.” And that was all he would say, it seemed. He looked again to Wil, took careful hold of his arm, and pushed him lightly back. “Let’s get you ready, shall we?” He nodded at Singréne.

  Wil’s eyes narrowed, but he let Dallin and Singréne guide him until he was stretched out on his back on the stone floor, Andette’s heavy coat cushioning Wil’s bare skin from the chill that was still seeping in through his damp trousers.

  “You said Wheeler will be here shortly.” Wil couldn’t help how his eyes darted over toward the pocket of darkness that concealed the tunnel Dallin had indicated. “How shortly?”

  “I’d say within the hour.”

  Wil took as deep a breath as he could, then blew it out slowly, trying to calm the thumping of his heart. He watched with only half interest as Singréne slid a small charm between his palms, the way Calder had done that first day in Chester when he and Shaw had prayed over Dallin. Wil’s hand unconsciously wandered to his trouser pocket, outlining the shape of his little Sun and Moon charm within. Singréne delicately pulled the crystal pendant from where it had slid on its chain down to the floor by Wil’s shoulder and laid it in its place on Wil’s breastbone. Eyes closed, Singréne centered his big hands over Wil’s chest and began to sing, low and gorgeously deep. The words were indistinct, but Wil recognized the familiar cadence of the First Tongue.

  “You know—” Dallin slipped his hand around Wil’s; instantly Wil felt the soothing magic of Singréne’s song redouble, felt the unconscious power leaching from Dallin’s hand into his own. “I know where they are.” Dallin’s tone was steady and low. “He’s only got one squad with him. I could….” He met Wil’s curious gaze with one that was even but hard. “I could collapse the tunnel.”

  He could. Wil didn’t doubt Dallin had the power. He could feel a tiny fraction of it running through him, after all. And Dallin wanted to, Wil could see it. Dallin had likely been thinking about it since they’d arrived down here, but he’d waited—waited for Wil. Everything about this is your business, Dallin had growled at Wil last night, even as he’d been trying so desperately to withhold his suicidal plan from Wil, trying to keep things from him to protect him, and not quite managing the lying part of it. Servant to the Aisling—Dallin down on his knee before him, that Wil remembered all too clearly, and though the interpretation of “servant” seemed to vary from one person to the next, Wil thought Dallin’s definition the most definitive. It warmed Wil, but still… he didn’t want it. He didn’t want a servant at all, any more than he wanted to be one.

  “Is that what you want to do?” Wil’s muscles were relaxing without him even having to work at it, Singréne’s song and Dallin’s magic winding into Wil’s bones, soothing the aches despite everything else.

  Dallin rubbed at his face with his free hand, rough fingers scratching over at least a day’s growth of thick red-gold beard. “Part of me, yes. Part of me still wants to get rid of Wheeler while I can and get you out of here, go into hiding until we’re stronger.”

  Singréne’s song didn’t pause or hitch, but his eyebrows rose and his gaze flicked to Wil’s, hung for but a moment before he shut his eyes again. Wil kept looking at him, wondering, before he too closed his eyes on a relaxed sigh. The pounding in his head was receding, and the pain that radiated from his chest and all down his arm was edging back. Dallin had been right—it really wasn’t the leaf. Wil’s relief was pure and perfect.

  “I’m not sure we can get any stronger.”

  “Maybe not, but….” Dallin shifted, his hand tightening around Wil’s. “We could stay ahead of them, at least for a while. And perhaps when a new Cleric is chosen…. I mean, I can feel Wheeler, so it stands to reason—”

  “Dallin.” Wil kept his eyes closed and his voice soft. “What do you want to do? I mean, what do you really want to do? What’s the best strategy, Shaman?” Dallin didn’t answer, but then, he didn’t really have to. “You don’t want to run and hide.” Wil made it as gentle as he could. “You don’t want to leave Lind to itself. You can’t. It isn’t in you.”

  Again Dallin’s fingers tightened around Wil’s, this time almost painfully. He was silent for quite a while, the power seeping from his hand to Wil’s keeping pulsing time to the rhythm of Dallin’s slow breathing, like it was an extension of his body.

  “I want you to live, Wil. I want us both to live.”

  Wil nodded. “So do I. I know you don’t really believe that, but I—”

  “It isn’t—”

  “—but I promise you that I would like nothing better than to live a very long life, learning as slowly as I possibly can all the ways there are that will make you smile at me like you did by the Stair.” Wil’s mouth turned up gently at the corners. “You’ve a beautiful smile. Has anyone ever told you that?”

  “No. I don’t think so.”

  What a horrible pity.

  “I’m not afraid of Wheeler.” Wil opened his eyes. “You’re stronger than him—you said it yourself. He’s trying to take from you, he’s trying to take from your people. And you can’t stand
that someone like him has control of the Commonwealth’s military. You want him, and you want to see his eyes when he realizes you have him. You only want to collapse the tunnel because if I let you, that means I’m afraid enough that I’ll let you talk me out of the other.”

  “Wil—”

  “I want to live.” Fierce now, because he really meant this, every bit of it. “I want to know everything about you, even those things you don’t want to remember. I want to learn your every thought, your every feeling. I want to get to know the ten thousand nuances of your every kiss. I want to watch Lind learn and grow beneath your hand, and I want to find out all the things I can do, find my place, and stretch myself into it.” He paused, dismayed and warmed both at the slight glimmer in Dallin’s dark gaze. “If I have anything to say about it, Dallin, I promise you this one thing—I want us both to come out the other side of this.”

  Dallin nodded, sincere agreement, but his sigh was sad and resigned. “And how do we do that, d’you suppose?”

  Wil closed his eyes again, Singréne’s song and Dallin’s warmth pouring into his every crevice now, soothing everything that hurt, even his heart.

  “She told me to give you my keys. Said we’ve more than two choices, but She wouldn’t tell me what the others were. She also said I’ve all the pieces of my puzzle, which pissed me off a little, because you’re the one obsessed with puzzles. Told me to use my gifts—all of them, She said, like I wouldn’t use everything anyway, or something—and then She said I don’t even know all of my gifts, so….” He frowned and squinted up at Dallin through drooping eyelids. Amazingly, Wil thought he could fall asleep here on the cold stone floor of Fæðme, waiting for the Cleric. “I don’t know what that means, really, but if I find any keys, I’ll be sure to hand them over.”

  “More riddles.” Dallin almost growled but too obviously held it back. “I suppose that’s where the Old Ones get it from, but it would surely—” He stopped, staring down at Wil with a deep, thoughtful frown. “You mean She implied you’ve more gifts than the ones we know about?”

  “I… guess?” Wil shut his eyes again and let himself drift on the gently flowing brume of consoling healing. “Implied lots of things, in fact, but you know how that goes. Or….” He frowned. “Well, no. She said I already knew, although I beg to differ, but that doesn’t seem to make a difference.” He sank deeper into the thick coat. “All in all, it was more than I’d expected it to be, but… maybe it’s ungrateful, but I still wish They’d just say things.”

  “Huh. I think maybe—” Dallin went silent for a moment before Wil felt him shift. “Not all your gifts come from the Mother or the Father.” It sounded like Dallin was talking to himself, musing. “But if not Them, then…?” Singréne’s song stuttered somewhat, grew slightly louder, and the power pulsing from Dallin’s hand intensified. “You get the pushing from Síofra, because Síofra got it from him.” The cadence of his words had gone slow and deliberate. “That man,” he said, almost reluctantly, “in Dudley.”

  That man in Dudley. Fírinne. The man they’d questioned. The man Wil had pushed until he couldn’t stop, and then… and then he’d pulled it back. The man Wil had refused to look at after, because he didn’t want to see what was left in those blank eyes, afraid to know, afraid he might understand the emptiness, the void where a man used to be.

  Soulless.

  You do not yet know of what you are capable. You do not yet know all of your gifts.

  Dearg-dur.

  Soul-eater.

  Blood to blood.

  Wil’s eyes snapped open and stared, sightless, up into shadow. “Oh,” he wheezed, shocked and sickened and altogether too certain. “Oh… fuck.”

  6

  DALLIN WATCHED Wil’s expression slide from blankly stunned to revolted to pissed, then settle back slowly into blank. All but his eyes—burning, outshining the polished stone in the river’s bed, boring tight and tense into Dallin’s. And Dallin knew exactly what it all meant.

  “Right.” Dallin gave a short, sharp nod. “Can you get up?”

  He barely even waited for Wil to nod back before Dallin hauled them both to their feet, pausing only for a second or two to make sure Wil had his balance before calling for Corliss and Thorne. Because if Dallin faffed about, if he let himself stop and consider it all, he might end up balking altogether.

  “I’ll want everyone armed and watching that entrance,” he told Corliss as she helped Wil into Léaf’s overlarge tunic. “He knows Wil and I are here, but he doesn’t know you are. You’ll have surprise on your side, plus a half-dozen Linders who can move like cats. Have them flank them from the shadows, disarm them, and we’ll deal with what comes after. The arrogant pillock only brought ten men with him, so you should be able to do it without firing a shot.”

  “And what will you be doing?” Corliss shot a look of blatant concern between Dallin and Wil. Wil merely shrugged and opened a hand toward Dallin.

  “Other things,” Dallin said.

  “But what about…?” Corliss frowned, her fingers unconsciously brushing the grip of her sidearm in its holster. “He’s got magic, hasn’t he?”

  “He’s no match for Fæðme. Or for me.” Dallin made it deliberately cocky and added a sly wink that made Corliss grimace and roll her eyes, but it seemed to soothe any nerves that might’ve been building.

  Dallin waited for her to get about her business, obviously glad to have something to do, someone to direct, before he turned to Thorne.

  “Protection spells. You’re right, I’m not practiced, and I don’t want to take chances. Can you—?”

  “Runes.” Wil’s voice was quiet but curiously resonant. His eyes were locked on Thorne’s, somber. “Made of the stone of Fæðme and the water of the Flównysse.” He sent a sharp, steady look up at Dallin. “And the blood of the Shaman.”

  And just how d’you propose to get that? Dallin almost protested but only groused, “Not all of it, I hope,” and flattened his mouth into a scowl he didn’t really mean. If Wil said it must be so, then it must be so.

  Wil turned his gaze back to Thorne. “All should be Marked.”

  “I agree most heartily,” Thorne answered, gravely approving. “Any particular charms you would urge?”

  Wil shrugged. “I expect you’d know that better than I.”

  Thorne gave him a look that said I wouldn’t be so sure, but he nodded and accepted the charge. He clapped his hands as he bustled away, called, “Incense!” to the other elders, and confiscated two of the Linders to start the business of gathering chips and dust from the stone that laced the floors of the cavern and pounding it into powder. Dallin supposed they’d come and find him when it was time to make his own ghoulish contribution.

  “Blood?” he murmured to Wil under his breath. “Really?”

  “Baby,” Wil murmured back.

  Dallin tried to keep the scowl but couldn’t. “Just thinking it’s a bit on the dramatic side. Then again, it is you.”

  Wil returned just enough of a smile to make it clear that the jab was accepted in its spirit, then abruptly sobered. “I wouldn’t ask anything of you that wasn’t necessary.”

  It was heartfelt and filled with things that any other time would have warmed Dallin to his toes. Now it chilled him.

  “Ask it all, Wil. You understand that, don’t you?”

  A weary sigh and a quick, gentle squeeze of his hand was all he got for an answer.

  “How much longer?”

  “Listen….” Dallin trailed off, gathering as much calm composure as he could. “You know my way is safer. Wheeler… he’s an unknown, unpredictable. If you try, just for one minute, to come at this from an objective angle, you have to see that—”

  “How much longer?” Implacable and just on the edge of hard.

  Dallin kept his jaw from clenching. He pulled his hand away and scrubbed at his stubbly chin with a bitter sigh.

  “Not much.” His arm throbbed, hot and dull. He stretched it straight and flexed his finge
rs. “And here I am, going into battle with my good arm gone stupid.”

  “Don’t think you’ll be needing your guns.” Wil held own right arm stiffly across his torso. “It’s fine for now,” he said when he caught Dallin’s glance. “I’m fine for now. Well.” He looked down. “Relatively speaking, anyway.”

  “Wil—”

  “No.”

  Dallin’s mouth tightened. “You don’t even know what I was going to say.”

  “It doesn’t matter. It all amounts to the same thing. He’s dying, and She doesn’t want Him to. I don’t know why She can’t help Him, but I do know She would if She could. We’re all there is, and it’s down to us. Maybe this was the only way from the beginning, and we were just fooling ourselves with choices that weren’t real.”

  “Torturing ourselves, more like. And it isn’t as though this is a perfect solution to all our problems.” Dallin’s hands fisted, a pulsing spark of aching heat sliding up his right arm. It felt good, it felt real, so he did it again. “If we had more time, maybe… maybe we could learn how to direct it better. No commander would lead his troops into a battle with these kinds of odds, Wil. No commander would march on the enemy without first collecting all the intelligence there was to gather and drilling his troops until they were sharp and ready. We’re not ready for this.”

  Wil shook his head, mouth tight. “If we tried to get out of it now, something else would happen to force us to it. Time’s running out—don’t you feel it?”

  Dallin pinched at the bridge of his nose. “You think She’s set all this up? You think She’s pushing us about on some otherworldly chess board?”

  Because Dallin didn’t believe that for a second. If She had that kind of power, She could have taken care of all this Herself. Dallin had seen Her urgency, had felt its unmistakable tension, and he didn’t think any of this was some kind of test of Her Aisling or Her Guardian set up by Her own hand to prove their strength or faith. She needed them, and so did He.