“How old are you?”
“I do not know. How old are you?” She snapped the question back at him. His questions were vexing. Perhaps this was why she always travelled alone.
Her irritation didn’t deter him however. “I stopped counting my summers when I stopped adding braids.”
“You told me you were never a warrior.”
“I did, didn’t I?” For someone caught out in a lie, his expression was distinctly lacking any hint of shame. “I cut the ends of the braids off and set them on the steps of the temple the night I left my village.”
Her fingers started to come up, seeking the braids in her hair. She stopped herself and lowered her hand back to her side. Why were they there? Had they always been? She couldn’t recall.
His question from the prior night played back in her mind. If you are neither god nor demon, what are you?
He chuckled wryly to himself then glanced sideways at her. “Isn’t it somewhat ironic?”
“Isn’t what ironic?”
“That the Keeper, the one whose purpose it is to remember, has forgotten herself.”
The sound of engines gave her something else to focus on. The flyers that had passed only moments ago were coming back around. She stopped and closed her eyes, watching their spirits approach. There was a malicious intent in them. They had decided the lone traveler was worth some sport after all.
“You should leave the road.” She opened her eyes.
Naago had set down his hard case at the edge of the road and was putting his pack down next to it. “There is nowhere to hide here.”
She glanced around. The dunes had receded away from the road and the small patches of desert grass offered no solace. There truly was nowhere to go.
The flyers sped up to them and spun to a stop, forcing Naago to shield his eyes with one hand from the spraying sand.
He must be growing weary of that.
The red-skinned youth sneered down at him, open disdain in his gleaming gold eyes. He was the absolute opposite of the brute crossbreed warrior she had punished in the arena. He was strong, but lean rather than bulky, and his pointed teeth weren’t oversized enough to interfere with his speech. His long mane rippled like liquid fire. It was no wonder arrogance flowed off him. He was beautiful, an example of crossbreeding gone right.
“It is a long road to travel alone, stranger.”
Naago gave a slight nod. “That it is, friend.”
The red youth snorted and a few of his companions snickered. “I am no friend, but I’ll make you a friendly wager.”
Naago held his silence, watching the youth, alert, but calm.
“Defeat me in single combat and I’ll give you my flyer to speed your journey.”
“And if I lose?”
The gold eyes flashed and he grinned, showing off his teeth. “You’re free to continue, if you’re still in a condition to do so.”
“If I refuse to fight?”
“You also die.”
Naago heaved a weary sigh and pulled off his hat and jacket, adding them to the pile at the edge of the road. The crossbreed hopped down from his flyer, leaving it hovering, and drew a long, graceful curved sword from a sheath strapped to one wing. He stood no less than a foot taller than the Endless man. At the very least, his reach would be superior.
He nodded to the sword at Naago’s hip. “You prefer the blade?”
Naago drew his sword. It was half as long as the red youth’s blade, exacerbating the reach imbalance. “I do.”
“Be careful,” the Keeper murmured, stepping back from them still unseen.
Naago gave an almost imperceptible nod and moved toward his opponent. The crossbreed swirled his blade in a showy circle. Naago swept in without warning, his speed forcing the youth to make a hasty block and spring back out of reach. The other crossbreeds called out teasing jeers at their companion, but the gleam of amusement in the red youth’s eyes had changed to something more sinister. The mane of flame darkened a shade.
He sprang at Naago then, sweeping his blade with unnatural speed up and into Naago’s chest, only the Endless wasn’t there when the point thrust forward. He had twisted to one side and brought his blade around, catching the crossbreed with a shallow cut along his ribs. The youth let out a roar of fury. His opponent had drawn first blood. That very clearly wasn’t how he envisioned the fight going.
They engaged again, blades flashing with speed no normal man could hope to follow, coming together with the bone-chilling clash of steel on steel. The others had fallen silent, captivated by the intensity of the combat. A line of red appeared across Naago’s shoulder, a shallow wound. There were two more cuts along the youth’s ribs now, a trio of identical slashes bleeding down his side. The two were well matched in speed and strength, but the Endless man had more refinement and skill. The crossbreed was also falling victim to his own temper. He made a reckless dash in and came away with a fourth slash opened in his side of an equal length and depth to the other three.
They faced one another, the crossbreed breathing hard.
“Do not insult me!”
Naago looked almost relaxed, still holding his sword as if it weighed nothing. “Don’t be so eager to die.”
It was much too late for reason. The agile youth sprang in fast, his blade sliding harmlessly past as Naago dodged. Then Naago twisted around to strike the crossbreed in the back of the head with the pommel and kick his feet out from under him when he staggered before the blow. The crossbreed hit the ground with a grunt and rolled over. He got up on one knee and wavered there, shaking his head as if to clear it. Dark blood streamed through his mane from a wound on the back of his head. He reached for his sword where it had landed next to him, but stopped when the point of Naago’s blade touched his chin.
“I will kill you if you come at me again.”
The youth moved his clawed hand away from the weapon.
“Good.” Naago turned his back on the crossbreed and walked over to gather his things.
The Keeper moved closer to the youth, watching the burn of hatred in his gold eyes. When Naago walked past him toward the flyer, the youth snatched up his sword and lunged. She grabbed the blade with her right hand, becoming visible to them, and the fine metal snapped in two, half of it falling to the ground. Naago, who had spun to block the attack, his weapon again in hand, looked down in surprise at the half of the blade now lying between them.
The crossbreed looked down at it too, then at her. Tears welled in his gold eyes. He dropped the remains of the weapon and knelt, bowing his head. His companions were already knelt where they stood upon the decks of their flyers, their eyes to the ground.
“Forgive me, Keeper,” the youth blurted.
Why had she intervened? It was not her place to meddle in such things, though there was something very familiar about the youth kneeling there, almost as if she had not only seen him before, but in this very pose. She said nothing. There was no precedent for the circumstances.
Naago sheathed his sword. “Shall we go?”
Again, she said nothing, following him silently to the hovering flyer. He hopped up and offered her a hand. She shied away from it, stepping up on her own. The flyer was a new expensive model with a support stand for the pilot and another that pulled up out of a compartment behind it for a passenger or instructor. The body was painted red with gold flames upon the wings and black stripes down the center, a custom job designed to complement its striking crossbreed pilot.
Naago tucked his things into a small cargo hold in the back then locked the secondary stand into place, moving with efficient haste. They buckled in and he pressed in the throttle hard, leaving the crossbreed and his companions behind in a cloud of sand.
The wind parted around her, blocked away by the barrier of the cloak. She closed her eyes, imagining that wind running through her hair. While he drove, she felt each subtle shift in body position, change in throttle pressure, and movement of the steering rods as if she piloted the craft herself.
The anxiety brought on by her inappropriate intervention faded and a smile curved her lips. She flew.
CHAPTER SIX
They made much better time with the flyer, and the lack of conversation forced on them by the wind gave the Keeper a reprieve from the questions she knew he would ask. It didn’t save her from the questions going through her own head though. Not the least of which was, if she truly dreaded his questioning so much, why didn’t she leave? What kept her there with him? She’d never travelled with someone else before, not in this incarnation or, as far as she knew, in any others. Why do so now?
When they finally stopped at a traveler’s haven a little after dusk, she sat on the wing of the flyer and waited while he went to pay for a cabin. There were many such places in the desert and, with a swift means of travel like the flyer, one could jump between several of them in the course of a day.
When he returned, she moved back to the center and sat there while he glided the flyer over to park in front of the rented cabin. He smiled as he unlocked the door and held it open for her. She liked his smile, it made her feel less alone, not that she’d ever noticed her aloneness bothering her before he pointed it out.
He went about lighting a fire in the fireplace to keep away the chill of the desert night. They sat in chairs before the fire, eating a scant meal in silence. Afterwards, he brought out the case he had been carrying and began to release the latches. She looked on, curious to know what waited within.
“You did not break my sword when I turned it on you at the hotel.” He didn’t look up from the case while he spoke. “Why not?”
Now the questions came. He’d held off longer than she expected, though she would have been happier if he skipped it altogether. “You were defending yourself against an intruder. It would have been wrong to deny you your weapon because of that. The crossbreed used his blade with corrupt intent. Had he killed you with that strike, it would have polluted his spirit.”
Naago gave a derisive snort. “I suspect your intervention comes a little too late for that one.”
“Not entirely. His spirit dances on an edge. There is still time for him to change his path.” Why had the crossbreed seemed so familiar? What good was a memory that retained nothing but dead spirits and their pain? She shook her head, pressing her hands to her thighs to keep them from curling into fists.
“So that was why you stopped him, to protect his spirit.”
“No.”
He gave her a thoughtful glance, perhaps expecting her to expound upon that answer. When she didn’t speak, he gave a small shake of his head and opened the case.
“A violin?”
He smiled lovingly at the polished wood instrument as he lifted it from the case with careful hands. “Your tone says you expected something else. A weapon perhaps?”
She had in fact expected a weapon. It was rare that she misread someone that completely.
For several minutes, he turned single-minded attention to the instrument, looking it over and polishing the dark wood with a soft cloth he pulled out of the case. When he was satisfied with its condition, he began to pick at the strings and adjust the pegs to tune it.
“You are the only one of your kind, correct?”
“I am.” She sat back in her chair and gazed into the fire, listening to the sounds of the strings. Where would this line of questioning lead them? It was like a game in a way, one she wasn’t sure she liked playing.
“So what happens when you die?”
“I do not die.”
The angry sound of a string picked too hard reverberated through the cabin. He pressed his palm over the strings to quiet it. “Even gods can die.”
She relaxed a little, pleased that she now understood what he was asking. “You wish to know what happens when this host, this body, dies. When that happens, another host will be chosen to take its place.”
Even knowing he couldn’t see her face within the protection of the cloak his cold stare gave her that uncomfortable squirm in her gut again.
“Are you saying the body you wear is not your own?”
The brief comfort of understanding whisked away. She sensed that their conversation was heading to dangerous places without comprehending exactly why. Was there some way to answer the question without increasing the distress she sensed growing in him? She tried to pick her words with care. “I would say that it is mine, for I wear it.”
“But you didn’t always wear it? It belonged to another?”
The reality of the situation wasn’t that simple. The body still belonged to its original wearer and it belonged to the Keeper. In a way, the Keeper also belonged to it, for she couldn’t function properly without it. It would be hard to explain that to him in a way he would understand.
For simplicity’s sake, she settled for answering exactly the question he had asked. “Yes. It belonged to another.”
“Who did it belong to?”
She shifted in the seat and her right sleeve slid back, revealing the hand with the black roots woven around it. His gaze moved to that hand. Her hands were all he had ever seen, hands that would look human if not for the roots upon the right one. She resisted the urge to cover it up. “It belonged to another.”
He turned back to his instrument and continued tuning. When he was satisfied, he drew the bow and began to play. A slow lament filled the cabin. She closed her eyes and watched the notes in violet and blue, rising from the wooden instrument and swirling around them. The spirit within her flesh—umahk-ra, Naago would call it—stirred, responding to the sweet mournful music. That spirit was often restless and she let it go now as she sometimes did, giving it freedom to join the dance of light. It moved apart from the body, its bright glow drifting out into the mixing of light that was his music, carrying a portion of her awareness with it.
The music screeched to a jarring stop. The spirit snapped back into her and her eyes opened.
Naago was standing, glaring warily at her, the bow and violin hanging forgotten in his hands. “Let me see you.”
Umahk-ra-uden. Spirit thief. She was a fool. This man could see spirits and he had seen the form of the one she carried within her.
He set the instrument on the chair and stepped closer. “Let me see your face.”
She rose and started to back away, but he grabbed her arm, his grip tight enough to cause pain. There were many ways she could make him suffer for that. It would take little more than a thought and the powers that resided in the black roots would give him the pain of all those she had kept. That much pain all at once would almost certainly kill him. It would, at the very least, drive him mad. A mere thought to put him in his place.
And yet, his anger, his distress with her… This was something new. Something she hadn’t experienced before and some part of her sparked to life in response, compelling her to wait and see how this moment played out.
She stood motionless, her breath trapped in her throat.
He released her arm. “Let me see.”
It was more an insistent plea than a demand this time. She lifted her hands. Flickers of pain swept through her arm and shoulder, racing down the right side of her back and up to her right temple. Everywhere the roots touched her skin there was a flash of pain. She had endured much greater pain fulfilling her purpose as Keeper. The warning was easy to ignore. She drew back the hood.
His gaze took her in, her eyes, her face, the tendril of root that peeked out of her hair at the temple, the five braids. Outrage stormed up in his spirit so strong that she almost cowered from it, but she would not allow herself such weakness. She was the Keeper.
His expression darkened. “You took the body of an Endless warrior.”
The resentment in his voice made her chest ache. “No. As the Keeper, I do not choose my host body. It is given to me… or rather, I to it. I can only accept what the Blooded Women choose. They tend to take Endless warriors if they can because the body lives long and the spirit of ascended Endless is not as susceptible to the corruptions that can
afflict the spirits of other beings.”
His anger still flared around her, hotter than the fire, though he was hesitant now. Unsure where to direct his emotions if she were not to blame. “Who did this body belong to?”
Her hand rose up to touch the ends of the braids. Five braids. Five years as an ascended Endless warrior. A word came to mind in the Endless tongue. “Umahk-ra-en-mahde.”
“She was a spirit walker.”
“Yes I... she... was.” Is. Her thoughts became cluttered, as if too many were trying to come to the fore at once. Some of those thoughts tasted strange, as if they came from someone else. Something more than merely the spirit of the host stirred within her now.
“I know her umahk-ra still lives in this body. I could see it just now while I played. What became of her thoughts and memories?”
“All of that exists still. Within.” She put a hand to her chest. She is part of the Keeper or the Keeper is part of her. “The same way her spirit…” umahk-ra. She stumbled on the mental correction, losing her place for a moment. Meeting his eyes, full of anger and yet still yearning to understand, she found her place again. “The same way her spirit still exists within this body.”
He closed his eyes. The muscles in his jaw worked almost convulsively with the chaos of emotion that rent the air around them. After a moment, he returned to his chair and picked up the violin, positioning it under his chin. The bow touched the strings and another lament filed the cabin, this one not sweet as the first, but despairing. Still standing, she closed her eyes again and watched the notes move around them in darker colors, watched the diamond-like sparkle of slow tears moving down his cheeks. She stood still, keeping the spirit leashed inside this time. The tears stopped seconds before the song did. She watched the glow of his spirit as he set down the bow and walked over to her again.
“She was beautiful.” His voice was soft, sorrowful.
She opened her eyes to see his hand rising toward her face. Did he actually mean to touch her?
A familiar sensation nagged in the back of her mind and she tried to push it away.
The Keeper (The Endless Chronicles Book 1) Page 5