by Harmon, Amy
Her eyes were so wet and bleak, he didn’t know how he would ever walk away. She stared at him, the candles of the sanctum making his shadow jump on the walls, a family of jealous gods surrounding them, taking her from him.
“Say my name,” she insisted.
“Alba.” He said it slowly so he wouldn’t stutter.
“Promise me with words that we will be together again.” She wanted to see if he spoke the truth.
“I w-will s-see you a-g-gain.”
She sighed heavily, but he could see that she believed him. She’d been staring into his eyes for too long. All her life. And she always knew when he lied.
19
Dusk had gathered around the temple, and so had the chieftains. Dred had intended to keep his plans and his claim of Bayr to himself, but word had spread. Six warriors of Dolphys stood with him, braided and booted, their horses readied and their camp broken. For most people it was unwise to ride in the night, but the wolves had no difficulty traveling in the dark, and the warriors of Dolphys preferred it. Dred was eager to depart. Dagmar would tell the king when the boy was gone. A new guard would have to be appointed for the princess, and an increased presence would be demanded in and around the temple.
But the boy was resisting.
The hours had stretched on while Dred and his men waited, impatient to be on their way.
Aidan of Adyar planned to leave at first light, Benjie of Berne as well. They would travel north together before the Chieftain of Berne and his men split off for the east where the cliffs and the sea divided the two clans. Lothgar and Josef typically traveled much the same way, heading west together before their journeys diverged to Leok and Joran. Erskin would travel south at dawn as well, though he and his warriors seemed reluctant to return home. Erskin’s lands had been hardest hit in recent years, and though the conflict had ebbed with the harvest, no one believed it was over. The tournament had been a respite Ebba’s clansman could ill afford but desperately needed. Erskin had spent much of his time during the tournament warning of an onslaught and petitioning the other chieftains for support and supplies. Ebba was the southernmost part of Saylok, the tail of the star, and the peninsula with the calmest seas and the clearest coastline. They were the most exposed, and they’d paid dearly for it.
It was Erskin who saw Dred and his men waiting outside the temple. It was Erskin who divined his intentions.
“You made a claim for the Temple Boy, Dred. Is that why you tarry?” Erskin asked.
Dred considered not answering. His men shifted and their horses chuffed. It was obvious they were waiting for something, and Dred was patient enough for elaborate lies.
“Aye. He’s accepted my claim. He’ll be riding with us tonight.”
Erskin did not argue. He simply turned on his heel and strode off to gather reinforcements. Erskin had been too long at war. He feared for the temple, for the heart of the clans, and he needed the king’s favor. Dred knew then that they wouldn’t be leaving without a fight of some sort.
Dred cursed and turned to face his clansmen.
“I am taking my grandson to Dolphys. He will be a credit to the clan. I ask you to stand with me in this.”
“We should leave ’im, Dred,” young Daniel grunted. “He doesn’t want to go. We’ve been waiting for hours and there’s going to be trouble. Mayhaps the Temple Boy should remain at the temple.”
“And mayhaps I should have left you in Dolphys. But I didn’t,” Dred shot back, his eyes swinging to the lad. Daniel wasn’t much older than Bayr, and he’d been dogging Dred’s heels for the last year, the youngest warrior in the clan. Daniel was a nuisance—as were all untried warriors—but Dred had never spurned him. The boy grimaced in chagrin.
“I’ve never seen his like. The Temple Boy belongs in Dolphys,” Dakin muttered, his hand gripping the hilt of his sword. Dakin’s hair was as red as the blood in his veins and his thirst for a fight was ever-present. He lived for the melee and was the reason they’d won. Dred had little doubt he’d enjoy a skirmish for the road. The rest of Dred’s men grunted in agreement, but Dred hoped it would not come to that.
Dred threw back his head and howled, calling to his son, warning the temple and all its inhabitants. His clansmen joined the chorus, and Dred willed Dagmar and Bayr to appear before he had to draw his sword and storm the halls.
Within minutes, the purple-robed keepers descended the stone steps, surrounding the Highest Keeper, all in black. Dred sought Dagmar, trying to locate him in the identical robes of the brethren who stood with their faces hidden beneath their hoods, a row of slighter, smaller figures behind them—the daughters of the clans.
Dred howled again, urging Bayr to join him. But it was too late. The chieftains, led by Erskin and the king, were striding into the temple square, three dozen warriors following behind them.
“You cannot claim him, Dred,” Erskin shouted as they drew near. His voice was bold but his gaze begged understanding. Dred would not extend it.
“I can and I have,” Dred spat. “He is my daughter’s son. He is my grandson. I have no other. I would not deny you, Erskin. Why do you seek to deny me?”
“He is the Temple Boy. He swore to guard the daughters of the clans,” Lothgar of Leok bellowed, his gold beard trembling after the words. “We stood on these steps, gathered around this flame, and Bayr of Saylok promised to protect them the way he has protected the princess. He cannot break that vow. He must remain on the temple mount.”
For a moment, Dred was silent, stunned at the development. He had not been present the day the daughters were brought to the temple. He had not seen the Highest Keeper light the torch and promise that it would continue burning in their honor. He had not seen Bayr swear to serve the daughters of the clans; Chieftain Dirth had been there that day. But Dred had heard the tale.
Bayr stepped out from among the robed keepers, his warrior’s braid so long it touched the blue sash tied around his waist, an indication that he had been claimed. His shoulders were set and his hands clenched, and Dagmar was a step behind him. There was only one thing to do, and Dred didn’t hesitate. He gave away all he had ever wanted for something he instantly wanted more.
“You cannot deny a clan their chieftain,” Dred roared.
The men at his back grew still, and Bayr drew to a halt halfway down the steps. Dagmar froze beside him. Silence woke and reared her head, and shock galloped at her heels.
“What chieftain?” King Banruud growled.
The row of purple shifted, and the Highest Keeper emerged, his hands folded, his black lips curled, his eyes invisible beneath the drape of his robe. He halted behind Bayr, a small, black bird hovering over a beast. The king and the chieftains balked, and Dred heard the metallic whisper of swords being drawn. The warriors at the king’s back were prepared to battle, but Dred kept his eyes on Banruud.
“Dolphys has yet to choose. The boy must go before the clan to make a claim.”
“You will be chieftain, Dred of Dolphys,” the king retorted. “We all sat at council when it was decided.”
“One old man for another?” Dred asked. “That is not in the best interest of my clan.” His clansmen shifted again, and Dred willed them to hold their tongues.
“You have the blessing of the keepers, the support of the chieftains, the nod of a king. Why do you insist on claiming the boy?” Aidan of Adyar asked, his voice thoughtful, his gaze shrewd.
“I am not the best choice. If given the opportunity, I have no doubt my clan will choose him.” He pointed at Bayr, and all eyes followed his finger.
“Father,” Dagmar said. It was only one word and not loudly spoken, but it was said with a reverence Dagmar had never bestowed upon his sire before. Dred’s doubt dissolved, and his heart swelled.
“He is not yet grown,” Erskin argued. “How can he lead a clan?”
“Have you killed a man, Bayr of Saylok?” Aidan asked, turning his eyes up the steps to where the keepers hovered around the Temple Boy.
Bayr n
odded once. “Yes.”
“Have you bedded a woman?” Lothgar boomed.
“Th-there w-was no b-bed,” Bayr stammered.
Lothgar grinned and the men at Dred’s back relaxed infinitesimally.
“Sounds like a man to me,” Aidan said. “Looks like one too.”
“He has protected the temple and the princess since the king was crowned. He has not failed or faltered. But he has a clan, and his clan has claimed him, and you cannot deny us our chieftain,” Dred pressed, sensing victory.
He watched Dagmar wrap his hand around Bayr’s arm, willing him to yield, to trust. And Bayr stayed silent though his eyes were wide and terrified, and his gaze pled for explanation.
“The clan has not made their selection. Your people have not spoken. You cannot speak for them, Dred of Dolphys.”
“I can’t. But the boy must come to Dolphys and be heard,” Dred insisted.
Bayr’s face grew as pale as the temple steps.
“This is a farce,” the king argued, his tone glacial.
“It is not,” the Highest Keeper intoned from the shadow of his hood. “Dred of Dolphys is a man of vision.”
Erskin scoffed and Lothgar folded his powerful arms in disbelief. Dred was many things, but a visionary was not one of them, and they all well knew it.
“He forsakes his own claim to the chiefdom for another, better man,” the Highest Keeper hissed. “Would you do the same? I can think of many warriors in Ebba and Leok who would lead their clans with great distinction.”
“The clan will choose him.” Dagmar’s voice rose, strong and sure. “I am a keeper of Dolphys. In the temple, it is I who represent the clan. Bayr of Dolphys has my blessing.”
“He cannot forsake Saylok for a single clan,” Banruud protested.
“He is not a slave, not a supplicant, not the son of the king,” the Highest Keeper said. “He has fulfilled a duty and will now fulfill another. When you were chosen as king, Sire, you did not break an oath to Berne. Someone took your place. Someone will take his place.” The Highest Keeper’s voice was so mild—and cutting—none could disagree.
“And if he is not chosen?” Lothgar interrupted.
“If I am n-not chosen . . . I w-will return,” Bayr promised, and Dred wished for Thor’s hammer to fall upon the boy’s head. Damn his loyal heart. If he was not chosen, Dred would kill him.
But the boy’s vow eased the tension in the chieftains, and Aidan of Adyar grasped his braid with one hand and his sword with the other. “He’s been claimed. Let him go. If the Norns will it, he will return.”
Lothgar of Leok mimicked the gesture, but Erskin of Ebba and Benjie of Berne did not. The king’s face was a mask of indecision, his big legs planted, his arms folded, his shoulders set. Still, no one stepped forward to hinder the boy’s progress as the keepers parted and Dagmar escorted Bayr to Dred’s side.
Dred did not look into the eyes of his son or the boy who walked beside him. He feared what he would see there, feared his own reaction to the raw emotion rippling around them, to the parting that was about to take place.
“To Dolphys,” Dred shouted, daring any man to disagree.
“To Dolphys,” the warriors behind him bellowed, and as one they turned for their horses.
“To Dolphys,” Dagmar ordered, his voice low and full of love.
And the boy obeyed.
“Please don’t be afraid. I am . . . I am not supposed to be here . . . in the castle. But I knew you would be sad,” Ghost whispered. She’d come through the tunnel that led from the sanctum to the king’s throne room and then made her way to Alba’s chamber, terrified that she’d be spotted, certain she would be found, yet unwilling to stay away. The grief on the temple mount was a thrumming heartbeat, but Alba would feel Bayr’s loss most keenly. She had been raised beneath his wing, and the years ahead would be cold.
Alba sat up from the rumpled blankets of her bed. No one had braided her hair for the night or bade her change into bedclothes, and she still wore her day gown and leather slippers on her feet.
“Why would I be afraid?” Alba asked, wiping at tearstained cheeks.
“Sometimes the way I look frightens people. I have been told I am even more terrifying in the dark.”
Alba studied her thoughtfully. “You look like the moon,” she murmured.
“I do?”
The little girl nodded. “The moon isn’t scary. The moon is the only light in the sky.”
“What about the stars?”
“I can’t see the stars tonight.” Her voice turned dull as though she’d suddenly remembered all that had transpired. She lay back down on the pillows.
“Can I comb your hair and help you get ready for bed?”
The girl sighed and sat up again, pushing her unkempt hair from her eyes. “Very well. Grandmother tried to help me. But I was a beast.”
“A beast?”
“Yes. I screamed and growled and scratched, and I made her go away.”
Ghost was grateful the old queen had tried. “Why did you do that?”
“Everyone else goes away,” Alba said. “Even when I am not a beast.”
“I will not go,” Ghost said soothingly as she picked up the brush on the gilded stand beneath the looking glass.
“The servants say my father is a beast too,” Alba confessed.
Ghost stiffened but began brushing Alba’s hair, disentangling one silvery lock from another.
“It’s true,” Alba continued in a whisper. “He is. He hurt Bayr. And Bayr had to go.”
“He hurt Bayr?” Ghost asked. No one had told her this.
“Bayr would not fight. I saw him, and I was afraid. I ran away.”
“Has he hurt you?” Ghost determined in that moment that if the girl said yes, she would take her from the palace, and somehow, someway, they would leave Saylok and never come back.
“Just my heart.” It would have sounded pathetic coming from a grown woman, romantic and silly, but from this child it was a sharp blade in Ghost’s chest, and it put her at a loss for words.
Alba seemed soothed by her presence and made no effort to fill the silence, though her head was bowed and her sadness palpable.
“Where I am from, your name means ‘sunrise.’ Did you know that?” Ghost asked her, desperate to brighten her thoughts.
The little girl shook her head.
“You were born just after dawn. The night had been so long and the pain so great . . . and then the sun peeked in through the window and welcomed you into the world.”
“Did my mother tell you that story?” Alba asked.
Ghost could only nod.
“Did Bayr go to be with my mother?”
“No. Oh, no, Alba. He is not as far as that. He has gone to be with his clan.”
“I want to go too. Where is my clan?”
“All of Saylok is your clan. The keepers are your clan. The temple girls. I am your clan.”
“Princess Alba of Saylok,” Alba murmured, and Ghost closed her eyes in silent supplication.
“Princess Alba of Saylok,” she agreed, willing it to always be so.
“Do you promise you won’t disappear?” Alba asked after a time, her voice slurred and sleepy.
“Yes. I promise.”
“Do not let him see you, Moon Lady.”
Ghost smiled at the name. “What did you call me?”
“Moon Lady,” the little girl muttered, and she yawned widely. She crawled into Ghost’s lap and laid her head upon her breast. “Don’t let Banruud see you,” she entreated. She called the king by his name as though she felt no affinity for him at all. She yawned again, and her body grew slack with approaching slumber. “He makes people disappear.”
Ghost had expected an empty sanctum, and Dagmar’s presence in the shadows made her start and clutch at her heart.
“Where did you go?” he whispered.
“The princess . . . I went to see the princess. She is so alone.”
“Yes. She is. We . . . all
are.”
“But she is a child.” Her voice was harsh, and Ghost flinched in remorse when he raised his bruised eyes to hers.
He nodded, and even in the wavering glow of the candles that circled the altar, she saw him swallow, his throat churning out words he didn’t say. His face was wet and his shoulders hunched. She sat down beside him, a space between them, wanting to comfort him the way she’d comforted Alba and fearing his rejection.
“I climbed the bell tower so I could watch them go. The view toward Dolphys is clear for miles,” he whispered.
“You’re bleeding,” she rebuked him.
“When I couldn’t see him any longer, I drew a rune of sight to show him to me. When it weakened, I drew another. And then another.” His hands were pocked with puncture marks. “I cannot do that again. I will drive myself mad trying to watch over him. I am a keeper, not a god. Seeing him will do me no good. It will do him no good. And it is a misuse of the runes.”
“You will ruin your hands,” she whispered.
He clenched his fists, hiding the wounds. She relented, reaching for him and drawing his hands into her lap. He clung to her hand as though he were drowning. Around the wounds, his palms were so rough and scarred it was a wonder he could feel her touch at all. He trembled and his eyes found hers.
“I have no defenses this night, Ghost. None. I cannot see purpose. I cannot see the dawn. Not even in the runes. I only see the darkness and my own despair. You should leave me.” He rose from the bench, but he didn’t step away and he didn’t release her hand.
“Does my presence give you comfort?” she asked, rising beside him.
“Yes.”
“Then I will stay.”
He shuddered once and his hand convulsed around hers. She brought his left palm to her lips and pressed her mouth to the center. She thought of Alba, who had crawled into her lap and buried her face in her chest, and she wondered who had received the most from the exchange. No doubt, it was Ghost, and comforting Dagmar would be the same.
“Comfort is not love,” she murmured, reassuring him, and she kissed his other palm.
“It is a form of it,” he whispered. Then he pulled her into his arms and laid his cheek on her head. Ghost made herself breathe, resting her hands on his back, wanting to stroke the long lines but standing still within his embrace instead.