The Seeker

by Elizabeth Hunter

  Rhys pulled a stool from under the table. “Uriel was known for keeping the peace and had very few enemies, even among the Fallen. He was also incredibly powerful.”

  Meera grabbed another stool and sat next to Rhys. “Which was why they had such an extended period of calm. There was one major battle that we have recorded songs for. The Pakup Kun—the red water—where the archangel Nalu and his sons attempted to eradicate the Uwachi Toma. They failed.”

  “According to written accounts I could find, Nalu failed because the Wolf slew him with her song.” Rhys raised his eyebrows. “Her song alone. It’s the only account of an angel being killed without a heavenly blade in Irin history. Do you understand why Sari and Orsala went a little mad when your mother said she might be alive?”

  Meera ignored the question. “That victory led to something of a golden age for the Irin in North America. There were roughly five hundred years of peace before new angels came with European colonists and there were further conflicts. But during that peace, Uwachi Toma culture thrived. We just don’t have much record of it because written tradition wasn’t as valued as oral.”

  “But you have some of the songs.”

  Meera smiled softly. “Pieces. I’m always looking for more.”

  Rhys was fascinated. “Social structure?”

  “Matrilineal but surprisingly patriarchal for Irin people.”

  “Agricultural?”

  “Their economic base mirrored the native people. They did farm, but they also hunted in the bayous. Fish, shellfish, and alligator mostly.”

  “Mound building…,” Rhys muttered. “Did the native people in this region build mounds in the bayous? How is that possible? The bayous look like flooded forests.”

  “They are.” Her face lit up. “But go deep enough and you’ll find many, many shell mounds where small villages flourished. The Uwachi Toma lived all along the rivers and bayous here, most escaping notice by humans for years.”

  “Language?” Rhys asked.

  “Various. Atawakabiche and her clan spoke an early dialect of the Natchez language. The pieces of songs and history I’ve been able to capture have been in the Old Language, of course, but I’ve also recorded stories from a few singers who spoke Tunican languages.”

  Rhys was watching Meera, not the map. She was pushing every scholarly button he had—Max would have called this a “nerd party”—but she was also pressing other, more personal buttons. Her mind was relentlessly fascinating. Her curiosity was such a mirror of his own, he didn’t know quite how to react to her.

  He said, “You studied this before you came to America.”

  “Yes.” She rose and walked to the corner to open a drawer.

  “That’s all?”

  She glanced over her shoulder. “What do you mean?”

  “You’re not going to tell me what drew your curiosity? You must have spent hundreds of years studying with your mentor. When did you have time to—”

  “Three hundred ninety-five.” She withdrew a map and walked back, still not looking at Rhys.

  He blinked. “What?”

  “I spent three hundred ninety-five years under Anamitra’s tutelage.”

  “Studying Irina history?” Rhys couldn’t even imagine. He’d thought a hundred years at the academy was grueling.

  “Yes.” She moved the weights and rolled up the previous map. “It’s not as you imagine.”

  “How so?”

  “Learning with Anamitra…” Meera gazed out the dark window as a car’s headlights swung past. “It wasn’t study. Not like the scribes think of it, anyway.”

  “But your life was not your own,” Rhys said, suddenly understanding her fierce need for privacy. “Not until you came here.”

  “My life still isn’t my own. That’s not the way it works.” She rolled the new map out, stopping when Rhys put a hand over hers.

  The jolt of her energy made his heart race. She let out a long breath and closed her eyes as Rhys eased her fingers open and pressed her palm to his. Meera’s shoulders relaxed. She rested her forehead in her other hand as Rhys let her magic flood his senses.

  “What are you doing to me?” she whispered.

  “You need this. Too long in isolation—”

  “Causes a dangerous buildup of soul energy that can lead to anxiety, loss of focus, and in extreme cases, hallucinations.”

  “That’s right.” That wasn’t why he was doing it. He just wanted to touch her. Wanted to ease some of the burden he saw in her eyes. “What happened in Udaipur? Why did you leave?”

  She pulled her hand from his, breaking off the connection so abruptly Rhys felt as if something inside him had torn.

  “This is where the Wolf lives.” She spread the map and repositioned the weights. “Not that I have an exact location, of course.”

  * * *

  He forced himself back to the reason he’d come to New Orleans. “Why here?”

  Meera pointed to a neat red dot that lay on a bend of the Mississippi River where the state of Mississippi butted into the state of Louisiana. “Because this is where the last major battle occurred, which was the battle that killed the Tattooed Serpent.” She moved her finger southwest to the bend of another river. “This is the last-known sighting of the Wolf after her brother was killed.”

  “She could have traveled.”

  “And this…” Meera spread her hand over a large area of the map marked in green. “This is the Atchafalaya Swamp. Somewhere in here is where our sister Sabine was lost. And somewhere in here was where the Wolf found her.”

  They were sitting in the living room across from each other, drinking red wine that Meera had opened after dinner.

  “So Sabine,” Rhys started. “She sounds… eccentric.”

  “Eccentric is one way of putting it.” Meera tapped her finger on her wineglass. “She’s wounded. It’s nothing a healer can fix. Not by normal means. Alosia, the haven’s healer, has tried. I’ve tried. Most of the time she is calm but erratic. She’ll work in the fields for a few days but then she might try to cut someone with a cane knife. She’ll say it was a joke later, but we all have our stories.”

  “She’s dangerous.”

  “Yes.” Meera shrugged. “She’s not the only Irina with scars.”

  Rhys knew how true that was. “But you’re certain she’s met the Wolf?”

  “From the bits and pieces I could pick from her memory, I’m certain of it.”

  He thought about everything Meera had told him, about the wounded singer running from the violence of the Rending. About the mysterious “fox woman” who found her and saved her in the swamps. About the disparate signs and clues Meera had already accumulated.

  “So the Wolf saved Sabine and someone—we have to assume it was her—delivered Sabine to a haven after the danger had passed.”

  “Yes, to the haven that used to exist around Lafayette. It’s gone now.”

  He waved a hand. “Immaterial. Other than that, no one has seen the Wolf for hundreds of years. Why?”

  “She’s powerful. A legend. If she’s remained hidden for all this time, it must be her own choice.”

  Rhys wasn’t terribly sympathetic to singers with vast amounts of knowledge they didn’t want to share. In their world, knowledge wasn’t to be hoarded. It was how they managed to survive.

  “We need to find the Wolf,” he said. “Tell me more about Sabine’s mate, Roch.”

  “Not her mate. But he loves her completely.”

  “Who is he?”

  “He’s younger than Sabine—he was born in the Lafayette haven. Very smart. Very quiet. His parents were part of the Acadian-related Irin who came from the north a long time ago. Old Ones, some others call them. They lived in the bayous until the Rending.”

  “So Roch knows this area well.” Rhys pointed to the map.

  “He knows more than you,” she said with a laugh.

  “I know plenty.” Rhys fought back a smile. “I just don’t know much about swamp navigation.�
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  “Clearly.”

  “And I may not know much about the Wolf. Yet.” He reached for the wine bottle and refilled their glasses. “But I do know about finding people.”

  “This singer isn’t going to show up on a database.”

  Rhys sighed. “Databases are only one of my tools. I was trained by my father, who was and remains the most tenacious librarian I know.”

  “A tenacious librarian?”

  “The most tenacious.” Rhys smiled. “And if there is anything a librarian prides himself on, it is finding information even if we have to hunt.”

  Meera smiled at him. “You like the hunt.”

  He licked a bead of wine from the edge of his glass. “The hunt is the fun part.”

  Meera shook her head. “Well, now that you have an idea of what we’re looking for, I truly hope you can help. Sabine is impossible, but perhaps there is an avenue—”

  “Would Roch help us?”

  “Roch?” She looked up. “Why?”

  “You said the Wolf helped Sabine once. She’s old. Very powerful. Maybe she can help her again.”

  Meera looked skeptical.

  “If we can convince Roch it will help Sabine, he’ll help us find the Wolf. If he’s Acadian, his people lived in the bayous for hundreds of years. He would know the stories. Know the storytellers.”

  “Probably. And?”

  “Stories could be the key. Folktales. Legends.” Rhys frowned. “Who lives in the swamp now?”

  “Not many people. It’s huge. The basin is over three thousand square miles. A lot of that space is uninhabitable to modern people.”

  He shrugged. “Good. That narrows down the pool of people who might have had contact with her. Not a bad thing.”

  “I’m not sure what you’re getting at. I’ve interviewed many humans. Hunters. Guides. Residents. As many storytellers as I can find. As far as I can tell, no one has seen the Wolf or anything like the “fox woman” that Sabine describes. Did you see the drawings in my office? The Uwachi Toma had extensive tattooing, both scribes and singers. If a human or Irin saw the Wolf, she would be noticeable.”

  “I’m not talking about the Wolf.” He shook his head. “No, she wouldn’t be seen unless she wanted to be seen. I’m talking about Sabine. Stories about a lost woman. Stories about Sabine.”

  Meera frowned. “She was lost over two hundred years ago.”

  “I know.”

  “And humans don’t live that long.”

  “But stories do,” Rhys said. “I need to see her and talk with her, and then I need to do some research of my own in this swamp. It’s very possible you were asking the wrong questions.” He curled his lip. “There are going to be mosquitos the size of house cats, aren’t there?”

  “In the bayou? Probably.” Meera looked skeptical. “You think I was asking the wrong questions?”

  Rhys cocked his head. “How many people say no to you?”

  Her dimple almost winked at him. “Not many.”

  “And no Irin, correct? Anyone who knows you gives you exactly what you want.”

  Meera frowned. “You make it sound like I’m a spoiled brat, and that’s not—”

  “No, you’re not spoiled. You’re too self-aware for that. But you’ve mostly dealt with Irin people in your life, people who were taught to deny you nothing.”

  “And?”

  “You asked questions and humans gave you answers, correct?”

  “Yes.”

  Rhys smiled. “Did you ever think they might have been lying to you?”

  “Why would they lie? I was asking very mundane questions. I recorded notes. You’re welcome to listen to them. They would have no reason to lie.”

  “Except that you’re an outsider,” Rhys said. “They don’t know you. You talk differently. You look different. Maybe they’re racist. Maybe they’re bored. Maybe they simply don’t want to give you what you want because they’re contrary.”

  “So humans would lie to someone asking for information for… no reason at all?” She looked utterly confused. “That makes no sense.”

  “People often don’t make sense. Human or Irin. They don’t fit into formulas. They can be equally wonderful and awful, sometimes in the same day. I’ll ask different questions, and I won’t believe their words. I’ll believe the look in their eyes and listen for what they’re not saying.”

  She still looked uncertain.

  “Think of it this way,” Rhys said. “You’ve spent your life studying the past, but a very specific past. I’ve spent my life learning myriad ways to tease the past into the present because I don’t have your magical ability or resources.” He held up a hand when she started to speak. “You’ve done an extraordinary job with what you have. And I have no doubt you’ve been able to help Sabine more than any other singer, save perhaps the one who found her and saved her life.”

  “But?”

  “But I’m here and I’m happy to help. You’ve seen all my research, most of which is only a prelude to what you’ve done. But I do have skills and resources. I’ve found people even angels were trying to hide. Let me find Atawakabiche.”

  A shadow passed behind Meera’s intense gaze. “And then?”

  Rhys took a deep breath. From her reaction the night he killed the Grigori soldier at her gate, he could guess what Meera’s opinion was going to be, but he’d been up-front since the beginning. He didn’t want to hide anything now.

  “I think you’re right. If she’s in hiding now, it’s because she doesn’t want to be found. But we need balance in our world. We need the knowledge she holds. If she knows martial magic other Irina can use, I will ask her to share it, and I will then share it with our allies.”

  Meera set her wineglass down and walked into the kitchen.

  Rhys rose and followed her. “I know you don’t like that.”

  “I hate it.” Meera was rinsing dishes and putting them in a rack on the counter. “How will bringing more war into the world—more violence and potential for violence—solve anything? We should be talking to the Grigori, free and bound.”

  “And how do you propose we do that?” Rhys crossed his arms over his chest. “Do you think they’ll be content to meet us for tea and give up their hunting?”

  “I can make them listen.” She turned to face him. “Do you understand? I can make them listen to me.”

  The passion in her eyes softened his resolve. “I don’t doubt that. But Meera, there is only one of you. There are so many of them. The Fallen rape and deceive women every day, each birthing sons and daughters who drain the life from them.”

  “I can stop them. We can stop them without killing.” She stepped closer. “Tell me the truth, Rhys. How much of this war is still based in revenge for the Rending?”

  The arrow hit pointed and deep. “Didn’t Anamitra lose her own mate? I still have my parents. You still have yours. Do you know how rare that is?”

  “I do know, and my heart aches with it. But we must be stronger than vengeance. When do we forgive? Most Grigori in the world today had nothing to do with the Rending.” She cut her hand to the side. “The guilty are dead, Rhys. The victims are at peace. We have to move beyond this. We have to rise together.”

  Rhys spoke past the grief in his throat. “And how can we do that when our wounds are still bleeding? There is evil in the world; I have seen it with my own eyes. Should we battle the Fallen with an embrace?”

  She frowned. “I know we cannot. That’s not what I’m saying.”

  “I want peace as much as you do. I fight, Meera. Every day I am on watch for enemies who would kill the people I love. But I dream of a day when the most conflict I face is academic. When I can argue about points of study instead of survival strategies.”

  “You say you want peace.” She spread her hands to the side. “But you work for war.”

  “I fight in a war that will lead to peace. Do you really think all the Fallen will just crawl away and give up their power without a fight?”

/>   “No.” A voice spoke from behind him.

  Rhys spun around, drawing his throwing daggers from their hidden sheaths. He spotted Vasu and sent his daggers hurling toward the Fallen, but the angel blinked out of sight and the daggers embedded themselves in Meera’s smooth green wall.

  “Missed me again,” the angel said from a perch on the counter.

  Rhys reached for Meera, shoving her behind him before he drew two more daggers.

  “Stop!” Meera yelled. “Stop putting holes in my house. Vasu, what are you doing here?”

  Rhys turned on her. “You know him?”

  She opened her mouth, but no sound came out.

  “It’s complicated,” Vasu said. “Ava doesn’t like it when you try to kill me, Librarian. She told you the last time.”

  Rhys pointed at Vasu. “You do not show up at the house and talk to the children without permission. She told you that, and you ignored her.”

  Vasu leaned back on the cabinets and stuck his lower lip out like a petulant child. “The children are amusing and enjoy my games.”

  “They don’t know what you are,” Rhys growled. “They don’t know about your sneaking around, trying to—”

  “What about you?” Vasu asked. “Why are you here with my Meera? Did she ask for you to come? No, she did not. Her interfering parents asked for you. And they have ulterior motives. If she knew—”

  “Everyone be quiet!” Meera stepped between Rhys and Vasu. “Are you…” Meera blinked. “How— I don’t… I don’t even want to know. Rhys, Vasu had a curious and respectful relationship with my great-aunt, and I’ve known him since I was a child. Vasu, I know my parents called for Rhys. I don’t want to know what you think their motives were because it doesn’t matter.”

  Rhys thought it did matter, but he shut up. He was taking perverse pleasure in seeing the small, curvy woman lecturing the fallen angel like he was an errant child.

  “He’s going to help us find the Wolf and help Sabine, and that is what matters. And I told you the other day that you were absolutely not allowed to interrupt me when I have company.”