The Seeker

by Elizabeth Hunter

  Her strength humbled him, but he also knew why she wanted to fade. Meera was resisting it with every breath in her body, but Rhys understood. He understood even if he didn’t agree.

  Our world needs her. It needs them.

  Ata finished her song, but Rhys didn’t move. Meera was still in the fullness of her power though she looked exhausted. Her eyes were closed as she sat planted in her spot on the bare ground. The morning sun touched her skin, turning the warm copper to gold before his eyes. He imagined gold written on her skin, gold mating marks he would write, a gold vow over her heart.

  Sha ne’ev reshon.

  Ata rose and walked over to him. “Water? I’m getting some for your woman. She’ll be tired when she wakes.”

  “Please.”

  Ata went to the water jug and raised the wooden lid before she filled two drinking gourds. She set one next to a meditating Meera before she came back to Rhys. Meera was rocking slightly, her eyes closed, her energy effervescent but fading.

  Rhys continued to watch her as Ata sat next to him. “Have you seen her kind before?”

  “Yes.” Ata’s eyes were shadowed when she passed him the gourd. “We had a somasikara of our own once. She was killed before she could pass on her memories.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  Ata shrugged. “It is the way of history, scribe. I hope you understand your duty to protect this one.”

  “I do. Though she’s pretty good at protecting herself.”

  Ata glanced at Meera, who had stretched prone on the ground, soaking up the earth magic that surrounded her. “I will teach her songs to use against the Fallen and the Grigori. I will give you both that. When she takes my memories, she’ll be even more powerful, but she’ll still need a keeper to make sure she protects herself from herself.”

  Rhys’s heart beat faster. “Does that mean you’ve decided to share your martial magic with us?”

  Ata gave him a crooked smile. “I don’t think she’s the one who wants it.”

  “She may not, but she needs it. You were the only Irina in legend able to slay a Fallen with only the sound of your voice.”

  She flinched. It was so minute, Rhys almost missed it.

  “The only one?” she asked. “No one else figured out how to do it?”

  He nodded.

  “I told her modern Irin were stupid.” Ata rose to fetch her own gourd of water. She came back and sat next to Rhys again. “Tell me, scribe, why do the Irina need this power? Aren’t the scribes willing to protect them?”

  “Of course we are, but we also respect balance. Right now the only way we know to kill the Fallen is with a heavenly blade. And only scribes can wield a heavenly blade.”

  “And there are only so many black blades in this world.”

  “Exactly.”

  “My brother held one, but it was taken by the French when they killed him.”

  “How was he killed?” A warrior like the Tattooed Serpent would not have been easy for a band of Grigori to kill, much less any human.

  “He was killed by deception and dishonor,” Ata said. “And that is all I’ll say about that. My mate, praise the heavens, died honorably in battle as he would have wanted.”

  Her mate? Rhys blinked. “I didn’t know you were mated.”

  Ata stared at him. “What?”

  “We don’t have a record of your taking a mate. The stories we have say that you and your brother fought together and that you’d chosen a warrior’s life.”

  “So you assumed I’d never mated?”

  Rhys was speechless. “I haven’t really thought about it much, to be honest. In the stories—”

  “The stories, the stories, the stories. I am not a story. I am a person. And my mate was the other part of me.” Ata’s eyes were fierce. “He was my reshon. How in Uriel’s name did you think I sang the magic that slayed the angel?”

  Rhys blinked. “What?”

  “Who is stronger? Mated Irin or unmated?”

  Oh damn. “Mated, of course.”

  “And strongest are those mated to their reshon. It has always been so for Irin, why would you assume it would be different for Irina?” Ata shook her head in disappointment. “Here’s the truth, scribe. The martial magic that slayed Nalu died the day my mate did, because it was only together that we were strong enough to take down an angel, and he died in the effort.”

  “Did they know?” Rhys asked. “Did the Grigori—?”

  “Of course they did. The Grigori have always known our weaknesses. That is all they have to study. While we work to build lives, they only think of death. They have no creation, only destruction. And it is far easier to destroy than to create.”

  “And yet you want to destroy your life instead of create new magic.” Rhys set his drinking gourd down and held his hands out to her. “I know that is the way it has always been. I can’t understand your loss, but I do feel it. I also know that we are trying to change the old ways. Meera is trying to change them. I am too. Otherwise, what do we have but endless war?”

  “Life is war,” Ata said. “Anyone who tells you otherwise is trying to lower your defenses.” She rose and started to walk away.

  “Wait,” Rhys called. “What does this mean? Are you going to teach us the martial magic the Irina need? Ignore what we’re asking of you for a minute. If you truly believe that life is war, if you’re truly ready to die, don’t you want to give your sisters every weapon possible so that they can take up the mantle of guardian when you are gone?”

  Ata stopped and turned. “You speak with sense. That’s a fair question.”

  “Is that a yes?”

  She looked at Meera, then at Rhys. “I know you think I’ve been ignoring your words, but I haven’t. Is she your mate?”

  His heart sank. “I want her to be.”

  “Until she is your true mate, I can teach you nothing. The magic I know only works in tandem.”

  Ata walked away, leaving Rhys sitting on the edge of the mound, staring into the morning forest.

  “She had a mate?” Meera asked. “Everything makes so much more sense now. When was he lost? Was it during the battle with Nalu? Are you certain?”

  “Are you hearing what I’m saying?” Rhys asked. “Do you understand what she said?”

  “We have to mate and she’ll teach us the Irina martial magic? I still don’t like the idea of using it, Rhys—especially considering that it sounds like it might be very dangerous to you if her own mate was killed—but I am willing to concede that killing the Fallen may be the only path to true peace. Until we can free more of the Grigori, we can’t effect fundamental, structural—”

  “We have to be mated in order to learn this.”

  “I heard you.”

  Rhys paced back and forth in the small space the hut afforded. “Maybe there’s some way to learn it without being mated. If she teaches you the Irina part, then perhaps I can use my empathy to access her memories. She’d have to be willing but—”

  “Wait.” Meera rubbed her eyes and took another drink of the tea Ata had brought her. “I’m confused. Didn’t I just agree with you?”

  “You really need to be resting right now. I know it’s hot in the hut, but I can move a pallet into the shade outside. I can see how much that took out of you this morning.” Rhys knelt down beside her and took both hands in his. “Does my touch help or is it draining? Tell me how to help.”

  “It helps, but what would really help is you explaining what the problem is.” Meera frowned. “I mean… you’re the one making the argument that I should be your mate.”

  His heart ricocheted between mad rejoicing and crushing disappointment. “Yes.”

  Her expression was resolute. “And Ata is saying that we need to be mated to learn this magic.”

  “Yes.”

  “This is a once-in-a-lifetime offer, Rhys.”

  He wanted this, but he didn’t. Not this way. Not another obligation. He wanted to wipe away the infuriating mask that had fallen over her face
. He gripped her hands and said nothing.

  Meera continued, “While I have my issues with Irin tactics and council policy, we cannot ignore the opportunity this is. Being able to preserve this knowledge is—”

  “Don’t fucking say it,” he bit out. “Don’t tell me you’ll agree to be my mate because it’s logical or strategic or whatever fucking argument you were just going to make.”

  Meera’s mouth dropped open. “You were the one telling me last night that reason dictated—”

  “I was teasing,” he bit out. “I was playing with you.”

  “You’re not making any sense,” she said. “Wanting me as a mate was a joke? A tease?”

  “No, of course not. That’s not what I’m saying.”

  “You’re not making any sense. You say you want me as a mate, and Ata says we need to be mated to learn this magic. Don’t you understand I’m agreeing with you, Rhys?”

  “Don’t you understand it would kill me if you chose me because of an obligation?” He stood and stepped away from her.

  Her face was stricken. “Rhys—”

  “I will not be another burden you take on your shoulders to fulfill a role you are duty bound to perform. When you become my mate, it will be because you want me so much you’re mad with it. It will be because you love me as much as I love you. How can that be confusing?”

  Her eyes were wide. “You say you love me, so you don’t want to be my mate?”

  Rhys had to get away from her. The temptation to just say, “Yes, of course I’ll be your mate! How about now?” was too strong. “Not like this.” He shook his head. “Not like this, Meera.” He left the hut and walked across the mound and down the stone steps leading out to the bayou. He grabbed the closest boat he could find—a narrow dugout canoe of sorts—and he pushed off with the pole leaning against a cypress tree.

  He needed to get away.

  Far away.

  Heaven and circumstance had just handed him everything he’d ever wanted.

  What the hell was he going to do?

  Rhys coasted into the bayou, keeping the mound in distant sight. He had no illusions about his navigation abilities. He’d be turned around in minutes if he wasn’t careful.

  He kept to the main channel and listened to the birds calling overhead. Alligators slid like silent sentries into the water as he passed, and fish jumped, lazily snacking on the bugs that circled.

  “It’s her training,” a voice said behind him.

  Rhys spun and nearly knocked the boat over reaching for his knives when he heard Vasu’s voice. He turned, but there was no one behind him, not even in the distance.

  “You’d be very foolish to try to hurt me,” Vasu said from overhead.

  Rhys spun again to see a young man who looked to be in his late teens perched on a cypress branch overhead. A line of crows alighted behind him. They were the only crows Rhys had seen in the bayou.

  “Believe it or not,” the fallen angel said, “I’m trying to help.”

  He resisted throwing a knife at the creature. Barely. “What are you doing here?”

  Vasu shrugged. “I can’t be on the mound. Not even I want to deal with that earth magic. It’s very old.” He rolled his shoulders. “Makes my skin itch.”

  Best not to question the Fallen too much about things like Irina earth magic. “But why are you here? And what were you saying about Meera?”

  “I was saying that it’s not her fault she doesn’t see things like you do. You were raised with very common notions about love and family and your role in life. Meera had different lessons.”

  “Her parents are mated. They love each other. It’s very obvious.”

  “Yes, but that love grew over time. They were arranged. They expected to arrange Meera’s mating as well. For them, duty comes first. Always. It is the rule of the Tomir and of Udaipur. Patiala loves her daughter, but she gave her up when her gift became clear because that was what tradition demanded. Yet she does not love her daughter any less than your mother loves you. That sense of honor is quite beautiful really. Very rare in Irin society these days.”

  “I don’t want Meera to take me as a mate from duty.”

  “She won’t be able to see past it now. The duty will always come first. If she sees a mating with you as something necessary for the greater good, she will not hesitate.”

  Rhys’s heart sank.

  Vasu cocked his head. “Why does that distress you?”

  “I wanted her to choose me.”

  “She will choose you.”

  “But not because she wants me for me,” Rhys said. “Why am I even talking to you about this? It’s not like you’d even understand.”

  “I understand selfishness very well.” Vasu swung his legs. “I am mostly a very selfish creature. I only have very brief moments of generosity. And most of those are because I get bored unless something distracts me.”

  “There is nothing selfish about wanting Meera to choose to be my mate instead of doing so out of obligation.” Rhys started to pole away from Vasu, but the damned angel only disappeared and reappeared on another branch in front of him.

  “Of course it’s selfish. The outcome is the same, only your ego feels the wound. You will be mated. She will love you as deeply as you love her. You are reshon after all—which is the only reason I am trying to help you at all. I don’t care about you. Only Meera.”

  “Why?” Rhys propped his arm against a tree. “Why do you care about Meera?”

  Vasu frowned. “Because she’s interesting. Anamitra was interesting, but Meera is… more. I like the way her mind works. Her vision amuses me.”

  “Selfish.”

  “Yes.” Vasu stood and hopped to another branch. “I told you that already.”

  Why was he arguing with the Fallen? He hated to admit it, but Vasu was right. The outcome would be the same. He had no doubt that he could make Meera fall as deeply in love with him as he was with her, especially once their magics were linked.

  Why did it matter?

  It just did.

  Was he being selfish? If he was, it wasn’t for himself. Or was it? He didn’t want that shadow hanging over their relationship. Didn’t want Meera to ever question why she had chosen him.

  But did it matter to Meera or just to him?

  She won’t be able to see past it now.

  Rhys was very afraid that the angel was right.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Meera was stripping palmetto leaves with Ata. “Men are infuriatingly emotional.”

  “I agree.” Ata split the palmetto leaves with her teeth and wove them into the sturdy basket between her legs. “I often told Akune that he needed to cool his temper.”

  “He has been the one pushing to be mated ever since he found out we were reshon. And I wasn’t averse to mating, I just wanted to be sure he was certain of his feelings and not purely operating on fate.”

  “Being reshon doesn’t guarantee a happy mating,” Ata said.

  “Exactly!”

  “It merely guarantees you are mating the person heaven designed for you. But if you’re a miserable person by nature, you still might be unhappy with that.”

  Meera paused. “I’m not a miserable person.”

  “You don’t seem to be. If Rhys is resisting the mating now, perhaps he avoids happiness.”

  Meera frowned. “Rhys doesn’t avoid happiness. That’s not what this is about.”

  Ata curled her lip. “He likes to complain.”

  “But in a teasing fashion,” Meera said defensively. “He’s not a negative person. It’s just his sense of humor.”

  Ata shrugged. “Perhaps.”

  “He’s a very generous person. Miserable people aren’t generous.”

  “You know him better than I do, so I will leave you to judge that. Perhaps he’s fickle and his feelings have changed.” Ata reached for another strip of palmetto. “You definitely want to avoid a fickle mate. His feelings would be changing all the time. You’d never be able to depend on
him.”

  “Rhys is very dependable,” Meera said. “He’s not fickle.”

  “Odd for his feelings to change like that then.”

  “It’s not about his feelings,” Meera said. Or was it?

  “Don’t you understand it would kill me if you chose me because of an obligation?”

  Did Rhys fear that Meera would regret their mating? That she would come to resent him? That he would someday be an obligation?

  “He would never be an obligation to me,” Meera said.

  Ata looked up. “Who said that? A mate is a gift. Especially a reshon.”

  “Yes, Rhys said the same thing.” Her fingers felt frozen. He’d said exactly the same thing.

  “I am your reshon, Meera. I don’t consider that an opportunity. I consider it a gift.”

  She’d been surprised. Taken aback. No one but her parents had ever cared for her without obligation. The Tomir guarded her. The singers of Udaipur served her and learned from her. But Rhys… he didn’t owe her anything. Nothing at all. He wanted Meera for herself. He said he loved her for herself.

  Meera didn’t know what to do with that love.

  Ata reached for another palmetto strip. “Perhaps he is simply brooding. My mate did that occasionally. Men need to brood.”

  “Maybe.” Meera picked up another palmetto frond. “That must be it.”

  “Finish that frond,” Ata said. “And I’ll teach you another song.”

  “Can I record it this time with my digital recorder?”

  “I don’t care what you do,” Ata said. “But make those strips narrower.”

  Hours later, Meera was loading the digital file of Ata’s weaving song into her computer, and Rhys still wasn’t back. She had asked Ata if she could sense him close by, and Ata had told her not to worry, so she tried not to.

  She did more weaving.

  She weeded the garden.

  She made preliminary notes about the grammatical structure of Ata’s language, as much as she could discern from its relation to the Natchez language and the way the Uwachi Toma had tied their language and the Old Language together in spells.