The Priest

by Rowan McAllister

  “My Yan was not allowed many fine things in his life. I may have gone a little overboard indulging him since we’ve been together. But it makes him happy, and that’s all that really matters.”

  Girik might have said and felt any number of things in that moment, but he was too tired to try to make sense. Instead he nodded dumbly and slumped against one ugly painted wall.

  “There is cold water in the pitcher to drink.” The wizard lifted a hand and a bowl on the stove began to steam. “There is hot water in the basin to wash. I only ask that you remove your clothes and boots before climbing into the bunk, considering what is spattered all over them. The rest is up to you. We will have hot stew and bread ready for you when you wake. If you leave the clothes outside, we’ll wash them with ours. Oh, and keep the hound on the floor.”

  With that, the wizard left, and Girik dredged up a final reserve of energy to strip both himself and Tas and wash whatever muck remained on them. He awkwardly hefted Tas into the bunk, probably adding more bruises to both of them in the process. Then he tossed their clothes out the door, mostly so they wouldn’t stink up the place, and climbed into the narrow bunk. He didn’t fit in the tiny space, but the mattress was so very soft and Tas needed his warmth. The last thing he heard before dropping off was Bayor letting out a grunt and thumping onto the gaudily carpeted floor below them.

  Chapter Seventeen

  THE SMELL of roasting meat pulled Girik out of the cloying depths of disturbing dreams. His stomach growled, but the bed was so soft he didn’t want to leave it. His mother would nudge him awake when the food was ready. He could drift for a little while longer.

  Strange laughter coming from outside made Bayor growl, jerking Girik out of the half sleep he’d been floating in. He surged upright, only to crack his head on the low ceiling of the wagon.

  “Seven hells!” he hissed, rubbing the quickly forming lump.

  Soft light still streamed through the multicolored round windows at either end of the bunk, reflecting off of strands of crystal beads and painting Girik, Tas, and the already garish interior with even more clashing hues.

  “It’s like a rainbow vomited in here,” he grumbled.

  When the pain subsided enough for his eyes to clear, Girik bent and searched Tas’s face. Tas was still pale and almost hollow-looking, and Girik’s heart squeezed.

  “You have to wake up, Tas. Open your eyes, okay?”

  A soft knock interrupted his pleading.

  “Yes.”

  “You okay? Heard thump.”

  It was the dark-haired little one. Girik could handle that one at least.

  “Yes. I just hit my head on the ceiling. Things are a bit tight in here for someone my size.”

  The young man poked his head around the door and smiled reassuringly. He disappeared for a moment and returned with a bundle of folded cloth.

  “Clothes,” he said, setting them by a small cabinet near the door.

  Girik’s eyebrows shot up. They looked clean and dry.

  “How long have I been asleep?” he asked, dismayed.

  The young man waved his arms. “Few hours.”

  Girik frowned until realization dawned.

  Right. Wizard.

  Though why a man with that kind of power would waste it on drying clothes, Girik couldn’t fathom.

  “Food?” the young man asked.

  Girik’s stomach grumbled loudly, and the young man laughed. He really was quite pretty when he smiled. Girik could see what brought that wistful little smile to the wizard’s face when he spoke to him… and why a wizard might ornament his home to this appalling degree to make him happy. Glancing down at Tas, Girik got a little wistful himself until the young man cleared his throat.

  “Food, yes?”

  Something occurred to Girik, and he might have smacked himself on the forehead if the roof of the wagon hadn’t already done it for him.

  “Do you speak trade tongue?” he asked in that language.

  The man’s eyes lit up. “Yes! But I’m surprised you do. I’m Yan, by the way.”

  “Girik,” he replied with a nod. “And my mama insisted. I never knew why, since our traders are almost all Rassan. It was a game we used to play. I’m a bit rusty, but if it’s easier for you, I can try.”

  “My Rassan was that bad, huh?”

  “Not so bad, but you’re still learning, and I suppose we’ve all got some talking to do.”

  The dread he felt must have crept into his voice, because Yan laughed again. “We can wait until your friend is feeling better. How is he?”

  Girik worried his lip and ran the backs of his fingers down Tas’s cheek. Tas’s skin was cool to the touch despite the stove’s warmth and having Girik and several blankets wrapped around him for hours.

  “I don’t know. He still hasn’t woken, and he’s cold.”

  “I could offer something, but I’m not sure you’ll take it.”

  Girik glanced up and nodded for him to continue.

  “As you’ve probably guessed, Lyuc is a man of many talents. One of those is a certain amount of healing. I think he might be able to replace some of the energy your friend lost.”

  Girik was shaking his head before Yan finished, but Yan pressed on. “I know you’re suspicious. You have every right to be, of course. I’ve heard Rassans believe any magic beyond what the brothers wield is considered evil, and I don’t know if I can convince you otherwise.”

  Girik’s eyes shot involuntarily to his shoulder bag, hanging from a hook on the wall. Tas’s stone was in there, and if the wizard was to be believed, what it had done was evil enough. Maybe all magic was evil, and the brothers had only tamed it to be a force for good. Maybe….

  His head ached for an entirely different reason, and he gritted his teeth. He was not the person who should be pondering these things. This was not his lot in life.

  “Could your wizard make the stone give Tas’s energy back to him?”

  Yan bit his lip, seeming to fumble with this topic almost as much as Girik. “I don’t think so. We have—I mean, Lyuc doesn’t use the stones. He would like to know more about them, but he— Oh, hells, he could probably explain this much better than I can.”

  “You’re doing fine.”

  The side of Yan’s mouth turned up as if he knew how much Girik would rather speak to him than to the wizard. “Lyuc says all magic is the same. It comes from the same place. It’s just how people tap into it that’s different. So if it’s the same, then it can’t be any more evil than what the brothers wield, right?”

  There was a certain logic to that, but Girik was still too far out of his depth to simply hand Tas over to a wizard. After a few more seconds’ deliberation, he sighed and shook his head. “Last time, Tas slept a long time before he woke. I think I should give him at least that much again.”

  “Last time?” Yan asked, his thin black brows shooting up to his forehead.

  Girik winced. Maybe he shouldn’t have told him that. He needed to stop talking until Tas was awake and could help him figure things out.

  He’d already spilled the beans on this one, though, so he nodded. “Yesterday.”

  “He did this yesterday too?”

  Yan’s concern only aggravated Girik’s anxiety over Tas, but he would wait. He would keep Tas warm, and he would wait a little while longer before making a decision Tas might hate him for, or worse, one that might do Tas more harm than good.

  “Girik?”

  Girik shook his head and clamped his mouth shut. After a few seconds of silence, Yan sighed. “I understand you can’t trust us yet, but I promise you, we don’t want to do either of you any harm. This is a lot to take in. Believe me, I know. Take some time to think. I’ll bring you some stew and bread and feed the stove as well. And I’ll set a few stones by the fire and bring them to you to help warm your friend. Nights are chilly up here near the mountains. You’ll need all the help you can get.”

  Yan closed the door behind him, and Girik was left with Bayor st
aring up at him expectantly. He winced as the full meaning of the words sank in. The strange threesome outside had been nothing but nice to them, no matter what they were. He and Bayor and Tas had essentially thrown them out of their home—although he wasn’t exactly sure where the Spawn slept, and he probably didn’t want to know. He just couldn’t decide what else to do. Focusing on Tas was really all he could manage.

  Yan returned after a few minutes, carrying two big bowls of steaming stew.

  “Don’t get up,” Yan said as he climbed into the wagon.

  He set the first bowl on the floor for Bayor and handed the second to Girik in the bunk.

  “You certainly are wedged in there, aren’t you.”

  Girik smiled his gratitude and nodded as he shoveled a heaping spoonful into his mouth.

  “I can only imagine. It’s a little tight with Lyuc and me, and I’m, like, half your size. Both of you are a lot taller than any of the Rassan traders I’ve ever seen. Is everyone in your village like you?”

  Girik had just stuffed his mouth full again and struggled to chew and swallow so he could answer, but Yan chuckled. “I’m sorry. I can be a little curious about, well, everything. You’re obviously hungry and probably still tired. Lyuc is used to me constantly asking questions by now, but that doesn’t mean you should be. I’ll leave you alone.”

  Girik swallowed quickly and shook his head. “It’s all right. I—”

  But Yan had already backed to the doorway. “Get some rest. We’ll talk later. And there’s plenty of food for your friend. Just let us know when he wakes and we’ll warm some for him.”

  Girik was almost disappointed when Yan left. The wagon was a bit still and quiet without him there. Bayor had happily inhaled the contents of his own bowl, so even the awful wet slurping of his hound had stopped. All that was left was the far too quiet sound of Tas’s shallow breathing, the occasional crack and pop of wood on the fire outside, and the sporadic murmur of conversation from the others.

  With a little wiggling, Girik could reach the small counter by the stove without climbing out of the bunk. So, when he’d finished his bowl of stew, he set it there and settled back in to keep Tas warm and to worry.

  He had too much rattling around in his mind to fall asleep again, but his body needed rest too, so he kept himself still and tried not to think about the aches and pains of being wedged into the cramped space and unable to shift to allow better blood flow to some of his extremities. Tas continued to sleep like the dead, and Girik’s stomach twisted itself into knots, agonizing over what to do and all the what-ifs.

  Long after the sounds outside the wagon had ceased and the light streaming through the multicolored windows had faded, Tas finally stirred and groaned.

  “Tas?”

  “Girik?” Tas croaked hoarsely.

  “Yes. How do you feel?”

  “Water?”

  There was no way Girik could get out of the bunk without jostling Tas, no matter how careful he tried to be, but he hadn’t left the water pitcher within reach, so he had no choice.

  Tas grunted at one point and Girik banged his elbow painfully on something, but he managed to extricate himself, hopefully without doing Tas any real damage. He filled the cup he’d used earlier and guided it into Tas’s hand in the dark.

  When he’d emptied the cup, Tas groped for Girik’s hands and handed it back to him. “Thank you.”

  “More?”

  “Yes, please.”

  The pitcher was almost empty. Hopefully there would be enough moonlight for Girik to find the stream to refill it.

  “Where are we?” Tas asked as soon as he’d taken a few more gulps of water.

  Girik winced. “The strangers’ wagon.”

  “Strangers…? Oh, I think I remember seeing someone before I fell. They said… something.”

  He sounded so groggy and confused, Girik wanted to climb back into the bunk to comfort him, but he didn’t. Once Tas fully woke up, and if he had any strength left at all, he wouldn’t be thinking of cuddling. That wasn’t his way.

  “What happened?” Tas asked, his voice strengthening. “And where’s Tasnerek?”

  The last was asked with some of the old sharpness Girik had come to expect, and Girik’s lips curved a little, even as he sighed. He should have relished their quiet interlude more while he had the chance. He would have, if he hadn’t been so worried.

  After fumbling around a bit in the dark, Girik found his bag and pulled the crystal and chain out. “It’s here. The wizard took it off your neck. He said the stone was hurting you. Is that true?”

  “Wizard?”

  Girik winced again and ducked his head. He’d chosen his words poorly as usual. He held the necklace by the chain, careful not to touch the stone. Even in the near complete darkness inside the wagon, Tas had no trouble taking it, though Girik could tell by the lack of movement afterward that Tas made no attempt to put it on.

  “Tell me what happened. I don’t remember anything beyond the Spawn charging at me and Tasnerek fighting me.”

  “When I saw you go down, I went to help—not that I was much use. I shot the thing, but it didn’t stop. Then the strangers came. The woman cut the Spawn’s head off, after the wizard stopped its charge.”

  “They killed it?”

  “Unless it can survive without its head.”

  “Damn! That means its Wraith is somewhere out there. Thank the gods it didn’t bond with any of you, but it means we’re right back where we started.”

  “Well….” Girik let the word hang in the air for a bit before he sighed and slumped onto the bench. He was still tired, and he had a feeling he needed to be sitting down for this discussion. His head already ached just thinking about all the thinking he was going to have to do to catch up with whatever was going on. Bayor whined and put his head in his lap, and Girik scratched the coarse fur to comfort himself as much as the hound. “You should probably talk to the wizard about that. I have a feeling he knows how to handle Spawn, particularly since he travels with one… at least I think that’s what she—he—uh, it is.”

  “What are you talking about?” Tas replied absently, as if he’d been lost in thought and had barely registered that Girik was speaking to him.

  “The wizard, outside. Tas, he made the ground open up without a talisman or hymn… or anything. He set the Spawn on fire by lifting his hands. He has a ball of magic smoke hovering behind him, and I can’t even imagine what that’s supposed to do. I’ve never even heard of anything like it except in the old tales of the gods. I won’t blaspheme and call him a god, but I’m not sure what else to call him other than wizard.”

  “You saw him do these things?” Tas asked, his voice much stronger and sharper.

  “Yes.”

  “And he’s in league with a Spawn?”

  “She had glowing red eyes, and she was a horse for a while.”

  “Did her eyes glow before she killed the boar-Spawn or after?”

  Girik worried his lip for a second, trying to remember. “I don’t know. But you said there were two, and I didn’t see anything else. I think she has to be the other you felt.”

  Tas let out a groan that Girik wholeheartedly seconded. Thank the gods, Tas was awake now so he could take on some of the burden. Girik really didn’t want to be in charge of making any more decisions for them.

  “Where are my robes?”

  “By the door. They washed and dried them for you.”

  “They did what?”

  “They said they made extra food too, and I was to let them know when you were awake so they could heat it up for you.”

  “A wizard and a Spawn made us dinner and washed our clothes?”

  Tas’s voice was almost pained, and Girik couldn’t stop a chuckle. It sounded even more ridiculous when Tas said it. After hours of worry and fear, the release actually felt good. What else could Girik do at this point but laugh?

  “Actually,” Girik said, stifling another chuckle, “I think their companion may
have done the washing and possibly the cooking. He seems pretty ordinary, if that helps.”

  After another groan, some rustling and thumping from the bunk let him know Tas was trying to get up, and Girik moved from the bench to the door to find the stack of clothes Yan had left.

  “Are you sure you shouldn’t rest some more? The wizard made it sound like your holy relic nearly killed you.”

  “I think it might have if he hadn’t stopped it, somehow. I remember now. I felt a rush of power, and Tasnerek’s surprise…. He spoke to me. Tasnerek spoke to me. Yesterday too, though I didn’t want to believe it. Not one chronicle of the Thirty-Six mentions the stones speaking. He’s never done it before, but I know what I heard and what I felt. Between that and what waits for us outside, I can’t just sit in here and hope it all goes away. I have to do something, even if I have no idea what.”

  “But you could wait until you’re stronger before you have to deal with it.”

  Tas let out a raspy, breathless chuckle. The exertion of climbing out of the bunk had been enough to wind him. That didn’t bode well for any kind of confrontation.

  “I have a feeling, even at my strongest,” Tas replied, “I wouldn’t be much good to us against what you’ve described. I might as well face it and get it over with.”

  When he felt Tas’s hand latch on to his upper arm for support, Girik sighed and grabbed the bundle of heavy wool that was Tas’s robes and the soft, fine linen trousers and shirt underneath. He handed them over without comment and stood still while Tas dressed, occasionally helping when Tas lost his balance in the small space. After letting Bayor out to give them more room, he tugged on his own coarser clothing and retrieved their boots from where he’d left them by the door.

  A nearly full moon rode high in the cloudless sky when Girik opened the door, and they both sat on the back end of the wagon to pull on their boots by moonlight. The fire had died to embers a short distance away, but a pair of small glowing red eyes watched them from a set of shadowy lumps on the far side. He felt the moment Tas spotted them too, in the way Tas’s body tensed. Probably out of habit, Tas reached for something on his chest, but stopped midmovement and allowed his hand to fall back to his side.