The Reawakened

by Jeri Smith-Ready

  “Good idea. They can move into Sura’s room as soon as she leaves today.” Rhia looked at the lightening sky outside the window. “Which won’t be long. I should wake her.”

  As she headed for the door of the ground-floor bedroom, she heard Jula whisper to Marek, “Can Corek come with us, too?”

  Rhia knocked softly on Sura’s door, then entered. It was tricky, introducing her to a strange new world every morning. Today she would let Sura wake up, meet her daughter for the seventieth “first time,” and eat breakfast before hearing the news that she would be leaving Tiros and Malia with her father. If she still wanted to go, that is.

  Rhia sat on the edge of the bed. “Do you know me?”

  Sura nodded. “Aunt Rhia.” She rubbed her eyes, then glanced at the window. “It’s early.”

  “It’s a big day. I’ll explain in a while.” She set the lantern on the nightstand. “For now, just read your notes.”

  Sura blinked and yawned. She seemed unusually calm, but maybe the early hour had dulled her ability to panic.

  Rhia tiptoed to the crib. Malia was still sleeping and didn’t smell like she needed changing.

  “Your daughter’s fine for now. Breakfast will be ready soon.”

  Sura sat up in bed and gave another sleepy nod.

  It pained Rhia to think of how much her niece was suffering so that a few people might progress in power. Though it had saved Lycas’s life, she doubted the justice of the process. The simple act of reproduction was certainly no guarantee of maturity. She thought of Endrus the Cougar, and others her age, who would have been just as strong as their peers, but for lack of children. The whole system seemed to cause untold misery, on top of what her people already suffered.

  Rhia went back to the kitchen, where Marek was already cooking breakfast. His posture seemed straighter now, as if he’d shed a burden. It would never completely leave him, or Rhia. But every moment in this house added to its weight, and the thought of leaving Tiros gave her a strange sense of hope.

  She sliced the bread, then turned away so she could pretend not to see Marek toss a piece to Hector. The dog reared on his hind legs to snatch it from the air, then trotted beneath the table.

  From Sura’s room she heard the sliding of a dresser drawer. A few moments later, another, then a third, opened and shut.

  “She’s up now.” Rhia put a hand on Marek’s back. “Save some bread for the humans?”

  He gave an innocent shrug. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  She knocked on Sura’s door and entered when beckoned. Fully clothed, her niece turned from the dresser with an empty travel pack. She set it open on the bed, where a pair of pants, a shirt and several pairs of socks lay arranged.

  Rhia stared at the bag. “You’re packing.”

  Sura froze, clutching the straps. “Shouldn’t I be?”

  “Where are you going?”

  Her face crumpled. “Then it was a dream. My father didn’t really come, did he?”

  Rhia stepped forward carefully, as if the moment could break if she trod too hard. “How do you know he came?”

  “Because I was there.” Her brow furrowed. “Wasn’t I?”

  Rhia took in a deep breath. “You remember. Oh, Sura.” Unable to contain herself, she lunged forward and hugged her niece.

  “Wait.” Sura wriggled out of her embrace. “What was wrong with my memory?”

  “You couldn’t make new ones. You’d leave the room and come back not knowing why you were there.”

  “I did?” She put a hand to her head. “When?”

  “Since before Malia was born. Do you remember?”

  “No.” She squinted at the floor. “I remember last night, when Lycas came.”

  “The first or the second time?” When Sura hesitated, Rhia added, “Was he alone?”

  “No, you and Vara and Dravek were there. He asked us to help him burn the vineyards.”

  “What about before that?”

  Sura’s eyes scanned the walls, as if the answer were painted there. “Nothing.”

  “Sura, I think your punishment is over.” She wanted to hug her again, but didn’t dare. “As of last night, you stopped forgetting.”

  Sura didn’t seem to share Rhia’s happiness. She just looked confused. “Why now? I’m not being a good parent. I’m leaving my child.”

  Rhia took her hands. “You’re leaving to protect her world. Maybe it’s a sign you’re doing the right thing.”

  “How?”

  Rhia sat on the bed with her. “When Marek was your age, he couldn’t control his Wolf powers. He had no choice but to turn invisible at night, because he’d become a father before he was ready.”

  “You mean with Nilik?”

  Rhia breathed deep, letting the pain of her son’s name pass through her chest. “No. He had a mate in Kalindos, two years before he met me. She and the boy died in childbirth.”

  Sura’s eyes widened. “How terrible.”

  “But when Marek came to the aid of Asermos in its first battle with the Descendants, Wolf gave him his powers back.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “He was ready to take responsibility for someone other than himself.” She glanced toward the kitchen, remembering how Marek had looked when he came to Asermos that night, her first glimpse of him in the moonlight.

  “Then my father was right to leave me,” Sura said in a flat voice. “I guess it’s what the Spirits wanted him to do.”

  “That didn’t make it easier on you and your mother. War makes everything simpler and more complicated at the same time.”

  Sura gazed at the crib. “I barely know Malia, but she knows me so well.”

  Rhia slid her arm around her niece’s waist. “She’ll know you the rest of your life.”

  Sura’s mouth tightened, then she whispered, “I’m afraid she already has.”

  Sura tried not to look as miserable as she felt. It wasn’t the steady rain seeping through her coat or the wind that made its hood a useless barrier against the water. It was the absence of Malia that made her feel empty and heavy.

  Her body seemed to have a better memory of the child than her mind did—she only remembered meeting Malia last night, but when she’d picked her up “for the first time,” her arms knew just how to hold her and rock her.

  That bodily memory now made her want to curl up into a ball and cry. But her father was watching her, discreetly, from the other side of the campfire as he tossed a rope over a high tree branch to secure their food from bears. She was careful not to sit too close to Dravek on the tree stump they shared.

  She focused on the fruit and bread Rhia had packed for the troop. They had traveled quickly today, far up into the northern hills where they would avoid Descendant detection, and had had no time to hunt. But one of the rebel fighters, a first-phase Kalindon Cougar named Endrus—apparently a close friend of Dravek’s stepfather—had met them at this campsite with two freshly killed rabbits.

  Faint thunder rolled across the sky, and rain sizzled on the campfire. Lycas looked up as he fastened one end of the rope to their food pack.

  “One more day of rain,” he said, “and the vineyards will be hard to burn.”

  “Naw,” said Endrus. Lounging on his side, the Cougar picked a piece of dinner from between his teeth. “Such a dry year, a little rain won’t make a difference. Those vines are as brittle as an old man’s bones, I tell you.”

  “They’d better be.” Lycas grabbed an apple from the food pack, then tied it shut. “The faster it burns, the sooner we can get out. Fewer casualties.” He hoisted the pack high above their heads and tied the end of the rope to a stub of a branch on the tree’s trunk.

  “Speaking of casualties,” Sura said to her father, “is it true you have the archers maim the Descendants, shoot them in the legs, so you can slit their throats?”

  “It’s the most humane way to kill a man.” He sat on the ground without a grunt. “It’s fast, and with a sharp enough d
agger, almost painless.”

  “But that’s not why you do it, is it? You do it because that’s how livestock are killed, and it humiliates the Ilions to be slaughtered like animals.”

  “Does it?” He peeled the apple and gave Vara a sly look. “I hadn’t heard that.”

  “Sura,” Endrus said, “there’s a reason behind every tactic. First of all, we can’t let any of them live. They’d run to their superiors and give away our position.”

  “And except when we were at the garrison, taking prisoners slows us down,” Lycas pointed out. “We survive by staying mobile.”

  “I understand all that.” She tugged her cloak tighter around her neck. “But why slit their throats?”

  Endrus answered her. “If the Ilions worry they’ll be killed in a dishonorable way, they won’t want to come out to the hills to fight us. It’s the only way a few hundred fighters can scare an entire army.” He tapped his temple. “We get into their heads.”

  “They want us in open combat.” Lycas tossed his apple peel to Endrus. “We won’t give it to them.”

  “Until we’re good and ready.” Endrus gnawed the peel. “So, Dravek, how are things in Kalindos? When I left ten years ago, they were starting to get weird.”

  “Weird how?”

  “Going back to the old ways. More rituals and prayers. Longer feasts. There was even talk of bringing back naked weddings.”

  Sura surprised herself with a laugh. She could have sworn Dravek was blushing, but it might have just been the campfire glow.

  “Uh, well.” Dravek scratched his chin with one hand and jabbed her in the ribs with his other elbow. She laughed harder. “I haven’t seen many weddings. Usually people just show up for the reception.”

  “I saw one last year.” Sura smirked at Dravek. “It was magnificent.”

  “Didn’t you get married last year?” Vara asked him.

  He rubbed his face again. “Yes. I did.”

  “And were you naked?”

  He pulled back his shoulders and lifted his chin. “Gloriously so.”

  The others laughed long and hard, and Endrus nearly choked on his apple peel. Sura felt her spirit begin to lighten.

  Vara finally yawned. “Who’s first watch tonight? Someone other than me, please.”

  “I’ll do it.” Lycas wiped his utility knife on a clean rag and slipped it back into one of his many pockets. “Sura, you’ll join me.”

  She shoved the last piece of bread in her mouth. With a last glance back at Dravek, who attempted an encouraging smile, she followed her father into the dark.

  She hurried to keep up, slipping on the wet leaves, but he had disappeared. “Where are you?”

  “Over here,” came a voice to her left, followed by the crunch of teeth into an apple. She stepped out in that direction and promptly tripped over a root. She cursed and kept going, with a slight limp from a sore toe.

  A hand grabbed her elbow. “Stop, before you fall into the ravine.” Lycas led her a few steps to the right. “There’s a rock behind you. Sit until your eyes adjust.”

  Sura obeyed. The pines’ thick canopy blocked the cloudy sky’s stingy light.

  “I apologize,” he said. “I forget sometimes that others don’t share my night vision.”

  “I’m not much of a sentry.”

  “That’s not why I asked you out here.”

  “Ah, well, if you were hoping for a cozy little father-daughter chat—” she stood and brushed off her trousers “—I think sleep would be a more productive use of—”

  “Sit.”

  She sat. It was as if he’d yanked the strength from her knees. She glared at him.

  “You think I can’t see the look on your face?” he said. “Stop it. You won’t get special treatment because you’re my daughter.”

  “Not even a nice word at my funeral if I died?”

  “Sura.” His voice came low and soft. “If you died, I’d destroy the world.”

  Her breath caught, then she cleared her throat. “Really, there’s no need. A haircut and a month of mourning will do.”

  “Shut up and let me speak.”

  She shrugged. “Since you ask so nicely—”

  “Now.”

  She closed her mouth, turning her lips under her teeth to remind herself to keep it that way.

  “All who follow me believe in the cause with every last speck of their souls. The cause is not peace, not reconciliation, not better treatment under Ilion law. The cause is nothing less than liberation. We won’t stop until we drive the Descendants from this land forever. Do you support that?”

  “I do.” She felt it in her bones.

  “Would you give your life for it?”

  She hesitated, thinking of Malia. But all this was for her, anyway. “Yes. I’d die for the revolution.”

  “That’s not what I asked.” He came closer to her. “There’s no such thing as a glorious death. The days of martyrdom are over.”

  Her stomach clenched as she thought of Mathias, burned alive in his own home.

  “In a war like this,” Lycas said, “survival itself is a victory. When we live, we live to fight another day. Our mission is to make them get sick of the war before we do.” He put his hand on her shoulder. “So when I ask if you’ll give your life, I mean your life, not your death.”

  She nodded, trying not to squirm under his touch. “My life. All of it.”

  “Good.” He squeezed her shoulder and let go. “Now if—”

  “And my death,” she said, “if necessary.”

  “It won’t be.” He took another bite of apple as he stepped away. “You’ll have adequate protection.”

  “You’ve never taken fire into your body and given it out again. Soldiers and archers can’t protect me from that.”

  “Your training and judgment will protect you. I trust you, and you have to trust me as your commander.” He paused, chewing. “Do you?”

  “Yes. As my commander,” she added under her breath.

  “Thank you. Go get Dravek so I can speak to him.”

  She stared at Lycas, whose outline she could now see in the dark.

  That was it? A philosophical pep talk from the father she hadn’t seen since she was two weeks old?

  She got up and started to walk away, then stopped.

  “Anything else?” he asked.

  “What happens when they set my mother free?”

  “If, not when.” He made a noncommittal noise in his throat. “It’s up to her whether to join us.”

  “Do you miss her?”

  He snorted. “That has nothing to do with anything. The revolution needs her.”

  “What about you?”

  “What about me?” His voice turned harsh. “Sura, if you’re on this mission because you hope your parents will miraculously reunite—”

  “Don’t insult me. I just wondered if you still care about her.”

  “It was nineteen years ago.”

  “So the answer is no?”

  “The answer is irrelevant. Now send me your Spirit-brother and go to bed.”

  She stumbled back to the site, cursing every rock she tripped over and pretending her father was on the other end of her foot and her words.

  Dravek lay asleep in his bedroll. She knelt beside him and tugged his sleeve.

  “I’m awake,” he murmured.

  “Lycas wants you.”

  He sat up alert and reached for his shoes. She noticed a tiny white shirt lying atop his pack, which he was using as a pillow. “What’s that?” she whispered.

  “Oh.” He gave an embarrassed smile and picked up the shirt. “It’s Jonek’s. I figured for a day or two it would still smell like him.” He took a quick whiff, then dropped it back on his pillow. “More or less.”

  Sura untied her own pack, then pulled out one of Malia’s baby blankets.

  They started laughing. “A couple of brave warriors, aren’t we?” he said.

  “Keep it down over there, you two,” Vara growled.<
br />
  They glanced over at her, then Dravek dipped his head to whisper in Sura’s ear. “I’m glad you came with us, or I’d have had to pack one of your shirts, too.” He sprang to his feet and disappeared into the darkness.

  Sura laid out her bedroll next to Vara, then quickly changed her clothes. Before repacking her bag, she tiptoed over to Dravek’s bedroll and stuffed it with the shirt she’d worn all day. She smiled as she returned to bed.

  All in the name of the mission.

  06

  Tiros

  Rhia lurched out of bed at the knock on the door. It wasn’t concern for who it might be that made her hurry down in total darkness, avoiding the fifth stair’s creaky left side. It was the fear that Malia would wake and start to cry again. Since Sura had left, the child seemed to do little else.

  She reached the door and spoke through it in a low voice. “Password?”

  “Sparrow.”

  She jerked open the door. Corek stood on the porch, the lantern in his hand casting an orange glow onto his stubbled, sunburned face. She checked the dark street behind him. “Are you alone?”

  “Yes. I came home before sunrise to avoid the crowds.”

  Her breath caught. Raven had come for him? Or not?

  He glanced past her, and she waved him inside, though she briefly considered making him tell her what his Spirit was first. As he passed, she realized he’d grown taller and thinner in the last year since they’d been in Velekos.

  Corek set the lantern on the table and looked around the dark kitchen. “This house is the same as I remembered it from years ago.”

  “That makes one of us.”

  He cast her a sympathetic gaze. “Nilik avenged my sister’s death. I can never repay him, or you, for his sacrifice.”

  “It’s not as if you asked him to do it.” Her hands fidgeted with each other as she waited for the news. Corek was so like his father Damen, mysterious and taciturn. Compared to Jula’s constant chattering, she found his reticence refreshing, despite her own momentary edginess.

  “You must be hungry after your fast,” she prompted, hoping it would spark discussion about his Bestowing.

  “I ate the food Galen left me.” Corek turned to the wall next to the front door, where the family’s fetishes hung on pegs—a black feather for Rhia, a gray and white one for Jula, pieces of wolf tail for Marek and Kara (and a fox tail for Marek), and a spoke of deer antler for Etarek.