“Ah...then you have never been to Quieness.”
“No, but my brother…” Wing started to say before catching himself. “I never have. But I cannot imagine any edifice there rivaling the likes of this.”
“Oh, some do, but even I find this a welcoming place to practice and learn.”
Wing figured he was meaning the art of combat for which Lant had said Monteray was renown, but he did not ask.
Monteray walked over to a fine set of stairs that led to a single chair at the top. He sat down on the steps and invited Wing to sit beside him. Wing did so, holding the rolled papers in his hands. Slowly, he handed them to Monteray.
Monteray took the plans and unrolled them.
Sitting next to Monteray, Wing saw, out of the corner of his eye, the slight tremble in Master Monteray’s hands as he held the pages, as his eyes passed over the handwriting.
“If you don’t mind,” Monteray said, clearing a hitch from his voice, “I will need some time. Please make yourself at home. Perhaps Sep or Kate can show you around.”
Wing got to his feet and quietly left. He was relieved Monteray had released him. He’d felt not only his own disquiet at having, at last, given over the Plan, the single purpose he had clung to since leaving Rieeve that horrible night, but Monteray’s as well. It was, Wing realized, Monteray’s first time seeing his old friend’s handwriting since the fall of Rieeve, that, he, too, was trying to understand how to say goodbye.
Wing eased the Mietan doors shut and stood briefly, before turning away and walking back toward the river. At the edge, he stopped, listened briefly to the sound of the breath in his lungs before turning his focus to the sound of the water, remembering snow melting from his hair as he’d knelt over Commander Lant’s grave. It was little enough, he thought, for such a great life to be laid in a shallow grave, in secret, in the cold and dark of the storm that had swept Rieeve that night, presided over by only Wing himself.
Thinking back on it, Wing could hardly fathom what he’d done, but then he’d been no more able to understand it at the time. Not then, nor since had Wing been able to adequately say goodbye, to acknowledge in even the smallest way all that had been lost that night.
“Farewell, Commander,” Wing said.
The thought then of the rest of their people lost on that night tied up Wing’s chest and pushed tears into his eyes. And then he felt something brush up against his hand. He looked down to find Lucin.
“Hello there,” Wing said, wriggling his fingers over Lucin’s head. “There’s not very many of you either are there? It seems we are both endangered species.”
His knowledge of Lucin’s presence before its mother had attacked and his asking Rhusta to rescue the cub had been done out of pure instinct; Wing barely remembered either moment. But it had been important; there were so few of either of them. The loss of Lucin would have been significant. Just as finding Nien and Rhegal was significant when Wing had thought that he was the last of his own kind.
“Well,” Wing said, “I’m heading back to the cabin. You coming or staying?”
Chapter 63
Feels Like Home
W ing glanced down from atop the roof to see Nien coming out to join him and Monteray.
Nearly three turns had passed since Wing had come to Legran. He and Nien — Sep — had begun work with Master Monteray on the completion of the south wing of the main house. It had been difficult at first, his body still recovering from the fall and the shy’teh attack as well as the atrophy of muscle and sinew during the long weeks of immobility. But the work was helping to strengthen him again and not only physically. The familiarity of being on a roof with Nien and with Master Monteray, whose presence reminded him so strongly of Commander Lant, lent a golden hand to healing his mind and spirit as well. Every so often, he’d spot Lucin, stalking along the other side of the river going to or returning from the mountains where he went to hunt. Wing doubted any of the others ever noticed him at these times, Wing’s keen eyes meeting those of the growing cat in a way that reminded him of the mammoth shy’teh he’d met so very long ago, lost and alone, his arm caught in a giant rusty trap. And there had been the other shy’teh, the one upon the ledge the day he, Carly, and Nien had, thanks to a fall he’d taken, discovered the Caves of the Shy’teh. He was pleased that Lucin had found a place for himself and had learned to do some hunting on his own. Other than sleeping in the cabin, Lucin still kept his distance from the others, coming to Wing during the day or evening when Wing was alone.
“Wing!”
Cut from his reverie, Wing walked across the roof and looked over. He found Nien’s face shining up at him.
“Anything else we need up there before I come back up?!” he called up.
“No!” Wing called back down.
Nien started the ladder and Wing found himself smiling.
He and Nien and Master Monteray had fallen into a familiar, easy pattern. At first, Wing had been uncomfortable, afraid to become attached, accustomed to a new life, a new family. But it had been all too easy, all too natural, and as the days beneath the sun atop the roof flowed one into the other, he forgot to remember the distance he thought he wanted to keep, and accepted the gift of normalcy, routine, sameness. He nor Nien talked anymore of Rieeve or of the Plan in the evenings in the cabin. Rather, they now talked about the work, what needed to be done, what could be done better. They’d talk about the mystery of Monteray’s past. What they’d make for breakfast or dinner when it was their turn to cook. He’d think about his conversations with Monteray’s young nephew, Call, whom he’d met that first day in town and who had been out often since, also lending a hand with the construction project. It had even become less strange to call Nien, Sep. Wing had come close to slipping a couple times in the beginning, but now it had become habit, almost like nickname.
As Nien climbed, Wing made a short appraisal of how they were going to proceed. And then he noticed a splitting log.
“Uh oh,” he said to himself, hearing Nien surmount the ladder onto the roof with a huff.
Wing grinned at him and pointed at the splitting log.
Nien grunted. “Why didn’t you tell me that before I climbed up here?”
“Because I was ruminating.”
Nien looked at him, Wing shrugged, and Nien laughed.
“Yosha,” he swore. “Not like I need the exercise.”
Wing chuckled as Nien retreated back down the ladder.
“You’re cruel,” Monteray said to Wing.
The glint in Monteray’s eye made Wing laugh and they both laughed again as Nien hollered up at them: “I heard that!”
Night folded upon them before they knew it. Soon thereafter they heard Kate calling them in for dinner.
“Well,” Monteray said. “That’s it for today.”
Gathering their things, the three headed in, companionable in a way suggesting a lifetime together and bond of shared blood, not only a few turns and most of lived in half truths and worlds unspoken.
Wing had never dreamed he would be so content, so happy again. Before coming to Legran there had been only shadow and death in his future. Then there had been the brief glimmer of a life in the wild, with Lucin. But now it was as if this were the only life he’d ever known, here with the Monterays, Lucin, Call, and Nien. Everything fit, days under the sun atop the roof with Monteray was like having a wise uncle, Kate a gentle reminder of motherliness, kindness, and love. Call had become something of a little brother, and Tei, a troubled and sometimes troublesome half-sister. And Wing would find himself going for days, able to forget what had happened on the other side of the mountain range separating the Valley of Legran from the Valley of Rieeve, and the threat those great mountains seemed to hold at bay.
With his arms extended behind him, Wing lay on the floor, leaning against a wall of the cabin after dinner, settling into the familiar comfort that was his brother’s presence and Lucin, curled up behind him, making a nice headboard. They talked quietly as Nien sharpen
ed his small whittling knife and Wing rested, eyes closed, listening to the soothing sounds of Nien’s carving and the river through the open window.
A knock on the door interrupted the quiet and Wing opened his eyes.
Nien looked at him with a curious tip of his head, got up and went to the door. To both of their surprises they found Master Monteray on the other side.
“Mind if I come in?” Monteray asked.
“Of course not,” Nien said.
Wing stood uncomfortably, grabbing over a chair from the small table. Lucin slunk across the cabin and hid himself behind Nien’s bed and the far wall.
“Thank you,” Monteray said. “Am I interrupting?”
“No,” the brothers said in unison.
Monteray chuckled as he swung the chair around and sat down. “You know, the way you two get on, one would almost think you’re more than new acquaintances, or even friends.”
Startled, Wing and Nien glanced at one another and then at Monteray.
“It’s not a problem if you are,” Monteray added helpfully. “In fact, it would explain a lot.”
“It would?” Wing asked.
“Well, you and Sep, the first time you saw each other at the dinner table; that was a pretty big moment. And then you fell in together so naturally after that, I thought…”
Nien was clenching his hands so hard his blue-black knuckles were almost white.
“Oh, e’te, well that, that was…” Wing started to say, but Nien shot him a frigid glance. Wing paused. Looking at his brother, he begging him silently: It’s time to let it go. You knew this time would come. No more lies.
It was clear Nien would rather Monteray think them lovers than tell him the truth. But that would do no one any good in the long run. The truth would come out, eventually. Slowly, the last vestiges of stubbornness in Nien’s eyes began to fade. Wing felt sorry for his brother, but he also knew that Nien was being forced in a direction he should have chosen for himself many turns ago.
“We’re not lovers,” Wing said at last. “We’re brothers.”
Monteray’s eyes shifted to Nien. “You have no first family?”
With a hitch in his throat, Nien replied, “None that I know of, or even remember. Flashes of my birth mother, that is all. As I am for Wing, Wing is now all that remains of my family.”
Tension pulsed through the room as Monteray said: “Nien. Why have you waited so long to tell me?”
Nien’s head shot up. So did Wing’s.
“You know my name?” Nien said at the same time as Wing said, “You know his name?”
“I have known for some time who you are.”
There was a heart beat of silence. “Which one of us?” Wing asked.
“You for sure,” Monteray said to Wing. “You,” he said, looking back at Nien, “I was not certain about at first, though I suspected.”
“How?” Nien asked.
Monteray tapped his left shoulder with his right hand. “The clothing you arrived here in had a leather shoulder mantle. Upon it was sewn a symbol. Let’s just say, I recognized the style.” He grinned and added, “There was also the little detail of you not understanding the Preak language when Kate spoke it to you.”
“Ah,” Nien said.
“Considering your condition at the time,” Monteray continued, “I thought it best to let you take things at your own pace.”
“And I thought you were particularly kind considering the shaky sentiment toward my…” Nien hesitated. “Of Preaks, here.”
“Yes, that. Well, ancient history lives long in the minds of many in Legran. I have never been much attached to it. Kate and I only desired to keep you safe so that you could rest and heal. Preak, Rieevan, Legrander — what is that to me?”
“We didn’t know,” Wing offered.
Monteray raised an eyebrow. “Did you not?”
The brothers fell silent with chagrin.
They did know. From everything Commander Lant had shared with them over the revolutions about Master Monteray there had never been the slightest question regarding Monteray’s character and the faith Lant had in him. Wing and Nien’s belief in that faith was the reason they’d both come to Legran in the first place. But what they’d been through had placed a shadow over this knowledge and trust, caused them to doubt. And then they’d gotten to know the Monterays for themselves and the reasons for going back to the truth had become insignificant, even foreign — they had become happy with what felt like a new life.
“I am sorry,” Nien said. “Had I been more myself when I’d first arrived…”
“I know,” Monteray replied. “And your wariness has been earned by my people, if not by myself.” Monteray left off there, and when he raised his face again there was a gleam in his eye. “Allow me to get to the question I came out here to ask, and now that everything is in the open, it will make the question easier. I have a friend coming to visit and I was wondering if you, Wing, would mind staying in the cabin while she’s here. She has something of an entourage and there’s more room in the house for some of them, if not all, than here in the cabin.”
“I’ve wanted to stay out here all along, but we were…”
“Keeping up pretenses,” Monteray said.
“Yes,” Wing said apologetically.
“Very good.” Slapping his hands against his knees, Monteray stood. “We can haul out extra furnishings tonight or tomorrow morning.”
“Tomorrow will be fine,” Wing said.
“All right, I’ll see you two early, then. It’s your turn to cook breakfast.”
As Monteray opened the door, Wing called after him, “Master Monteray.”
Monteray turned back.
“You said you knew that both of us were from Rieeve. How did you know that I — ?”
“Was more than a messenger from Lant?” Monteray paused, considering. It appeared to take only the briefest internal inquiry before he was resolved. “You are acquainted, I believe, with a man who calls himself Rhusta?”
Wing’s eyes widened.
“Well, he is an acquaintance of mine through Commander Lant. Customarily, I visit him a couple times a season. On my latest trip, you were there.”
Wing’s jaw gaped.
“You never knew it,” Monteray said. “I arrived only a couple days after your encounter with the shy’teh.” Monteray nodded at Lucin, eyes gleaming from the corner of the room behind the bed. “I went with Rhusta to find him the morning I arrived. Pathetic little thing he was then. I thought he was already dead and his mother had attacked you for nothing.” Wing felt his heart go still. “Rhusta told me what happened in Rieeve,” Monteray continued. “And he told me about you” — he indicated Wing. “It was then I told him that a warrior of Preak origin, wearing the clothing of the Rieevan Cant, had shown up at my place.” Monteray looked to Nien. “That is where your identity was confirmed to me.”
“Commander Lant knew Rhusta was still alive out there? He was still in contact with him?” Wing asked.
Monteray’s features saddened. “Lant never told you.”
Wing shook his head.
“I’m not surprised. Rhusta doesn’t want anyone knowing about him — where he is, or that he is. Commander Lant honoured that. What I have told you Rhusta left to my discretion to tell you.”
More than a couple turns were lost to Wing after the shy’teh attack. It was not a surprise that he had no recollection of Monteray’s visit. “I don’t know what to say.”
“No need to say anything,” Monteray replied. “We’re just happy to have you here.” And with that he nodded to them, turned again, and went out, gently closing the door behind him.
The brothers sat in silence after Monteray’s departure. It felt as if their new world had been pried open and the old one poured in. Wing didn’t like it. It was clear neither did Nien.
“I need some air,” Wing said suddenly.
“I’ll join you.”
Together, they walked down to the edge of the river, Luc
in slipping out the cabin door behind them and trotting ahead. The evening breeze cooled their skin as they sat, looking up at the towering mountains. Nearby, a fish jumped, and the setting sun caught a glint of fluorescent scales.
“By the way,” Nien said, wanting to change the subject he knew was on both their minds, “who’s Rhusta? And what’s so hush-hush about him? Lant never said anything to me about him.”
“Nien,” Wing said, “Rhusta’s real name is Rhegal.”
Astonished, Nien said, “He’s out there? Alive and well? Why didn’t you tell me?”
Wing shrugged. “It hadn’t come up.”
“You don’t wait for something like that to ‘come up,’ you bring it up.”
“Sorry.”
“And those marks, those scars? Monteray mentioned something about Lucin’s mother…”
The first time Nien had asked Wing about Lucin, Wing had been vague, saying only that they’d fallen in together while in the mountains.
“Yes,” Wing said. “Lucin was ill and I think his mother was feeling overly protective. Rhusta and I were in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
Wing could tell Nien had about a thousand more questions, but he didn’t want to talk about the scree field or the shy’teh. He and Nien both had new scars upon their bodies. There was the limp in Wing’s leg and the shoulder he used with economy. There were the blankets that always lay at the bottom of Nien’s bed, never over him. But mostly there were all the things they could not say; all the questions Wing knew they both wanted to but could not ask.
“Well,” Nien said, “I’m sorry.”
Wing nodded. “The shy’teh that would have lived was replaced by the one that might not have.” He shrugged. He looked over at Nien.
Nien met his eyes, and between them was the knowing there’d always been. They understood one another. The details didn’t matter so much.
Falling into the gathering gloam, Wing pondered how greatly both of them had been changed since that night and, conversely, how little had changed between them as brothers. And now it was out in the open with the Monterays. That felt good. He still would have preferred for them to be free of the past, of who they were. But that had been a fantasy. At least there would be no more sneaking about.
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