Ahi’rea stopped near a young woman who was stooping over a basket, taking a moment’s rest in the midst of setting up her tent.
“Rahi’sta,” Ahi’rea said. The woman looked up through the sun-reddened hair across her face. The fiery tones gave her a wild and dangerous look, one that Ahi’rea knew was fitting. She was a fierce fighter, though she had not been involved in the disastrous raid.
“Greetings, Ahi’rea. How is your father?”
Ahi’rea glanced back at Haaph’ahin, who sat, stonelike, staring at Revik. She considered her answer. “I am not sure. He seems distracted since yesterday. Perhaps less upset, though. How is your little one?” She stepped closer and knelt, gazing at the sleeping form of Rahi’sta’s child nestled in his traveling basket.
Rahi’sta smiled. “Tired.” Her own exhaustion strained her voice. “Journeys are difficult for him still, but he grows stronger every day.”
Ahi’rea smiled up at her. Rahi’sta’s child had been the first born alive in the tribe in two years. They all felt great concern for the baby, especially now, for his father had been one of those Revik had so recently killed. “And how are you?”
Rahi’sta looked down. “I almost wish I’d been there with him, but my place is here. We both knew that, and we both knew the risks. I’m sorry about Haruu’na, too.” Ahi’rea nodded her thanks.
“Ahi’rea,” Rahi’sta said, going back to work on raising her tent. “Why are we keeping that hellspawn alive?” She nodded toward Revik across the camp.
“We will decide that tonight, after the Sending.”
“We should have left him tied out in the plains today,” Rahi’sta said as she set a tent stake.
“We may yet. Despite who he says he is, my father is sure that he is not Lasivar’s son. He is probably just another one of Halkoriv’s spies or servants. He has sent soldiers cloaked with dark power against us before.”
Rahi’sta looked up from her knots. “You sound doubtful.”
“No,” Ahi’rea said, “There has just been a lot to think about. Be well, Rahi’sta. Take care of your little one, and yourself.”
Rahi’sta wished her well and went back to work. Ahi’rea continued on her way, stopping from time to time to offer a word of encouragement or comfort. Thanks to her Sight, it was assumed Ahi’rea would be an elder soon—at a much younger age than was customary. Her opinions were respected in the tribe and her guidance already sought by those who trusted her over her father.
As she neared Revik, Ahi’rea noticed him watching her approach. Hate welled up in her and the image of Revik running Haruu’na through flashed before her eyes. She wanted to rush up and kill him right there. Bound and weakened, with a single spear thrust he would be repaid in kind for what he had done. She drew near, quieting such thoughts and turning her attention to Revik’s guard.
“You,” Revik said, addressing Ahi’rea in Cheduna. She looked at him, concealing her surprise at being spoken to. He had not said a word to anyone since the incident with Haaph’ahin. His eyes were wide, as if he had just realized who she was.
“What do you want?” she asked in Huumphar. She understood a few words of Cheduna, but not enough to speak to him without sounding foolish. When he did not respond, she tried again in her accented Gharven, the northern tongue.
He started and paused, looking down, and spoke in perfect Gharven, but hesitantly, as if unsure of himself. “You look different.” Revik stared at the area on her arm where he had wounded her. The cut was gone, a thin, pale line all that remained of the deep slash. “If you can heal yourself, why not heal the others?”
He spoke without accent. Few southerners could speak the guttural northern language well. Ahi’rea narrowed her eyes, considering this new development.
“I cannot,” she said. “I have no command of Storm. I can heal myself, but not others.”
“I could,” Revik replied, “before.”
“You are from the North.”
He looked up sharply. “I am not.” He recognized that there was no point in lying, however, and continued, “I may have been born there, but I am from Feriven. These lands are one.”
“One land for you and the rest who will bow to your king,” she answered, drawn in despite herself. “Peace for fearful slaves who live as your lord pleases, the sword for the rest.”
“The powerful have earned what they have, and if it were not right, the rest would reject it,” Revik answered, smiling. “It is only right. You, and your people, chose your own fate, chose war over peace.”
Revik’s calm only made Ahi’rea more furious. “Your lord and his ancestors attacked us! We wished only to be left alone! Your ways are not ours, your king not ours! Why should we follow commands we do not believe? Why should we bow to that filth?”
“King Halkoriv is a great man.” Revik voice rose. “And you should bow because he is stronger! If you had only submitted to his will you and the North and all the others would be at peace! Because of the stubborn foolishness of your ancestors, you will all die!” A small crowd had begun to gather to witness the exchange between the prisoner and the seeress. Revik’s voice was a shout. “You will be crushed and wiped from these plains! The flame of the South will burn you all away!” The waning light of sunset grew darker around him as he went on. “Why do you continue to resist? You cannot stop us, and your actions bring only more death! You are beaten!” He rose to his feet. The darkness grew thicker, unnatural. “Unless you realize the error of your ways you will all be killed, as your fathers and mothers before you were!”
“Enough!” Ahi’rea’s balled fist caught Revik full in the stomach. He doubled over and dropped to his knees, gasping. His wounds lanced pain through him in waves.
The shadow dissipated. Revik looked up in fury and pain, breathing through clenched teeth.
Ahi’rea’s breathing was heavy with rage. “If you are so much our better,” she said, leaning down, “why is it that you are now bowing to me?” Revik spat blood on the ground and met her eyes. Ahi’rea stood, smiling humorlessly, and strode away through the crowd.
—
That night, Haaph’ahin led the way to the hilltop. Ahi’rea carried a necklace she had made for her mother as a child, along with Haruu’na’s doeskin cape. Others bore weapons, clothes, and other items which had belonged to those they had lost. The rest of the Huumphar carried bundles of grasses and wood. Revik was brought along, he assumed, for lack of a better way to keep watch over him. Small, ceremonial pyres were built for those lost and left behind in the disastrous raid. They, like the ridges built onto the hilltop, radiated in a circle around the platform of the Monument. Many a sorrowful or hateful eye watched Revik where he sat off to one side, bound and silent.
Each of the deceased had a Sender, one of their loved ones or friends who took on the responsibility of singing during the ritual. Ahi’rea stood at the head of Haruu’na’s pyre, facing the center of a circle formed by the other pyres and their Senders. Haaph’ahin was behind her. Rahi’sta stood to her right, over the small pyre for her husband. She held their child, but otherwise she was alone. All was quiet but for the crackling of the spreading flames as the pyres were lit. The air was still, and the sparks flew high overhead, flickering and vanishing in the night sky. Revik didn’t know who began, but one clear voice rang out, echoing through the ruins of the Monument. One by one the Senders lifted their voices, each beginning the chants in the same ancient words. Their chants diverged, many strands flowing apart and weaving back together as they sang. The other Huumphar, outside the circle, were silent but for a few sobs and moans of grief.
Revik tried to ignore them. The killings were justified. Not only had the plainsfolk chosen to resist all this time, they had massacred an entire garrison of soldiers by the time Revik attacked them. Looking down and studying the ground, he attempted to shut out the haunting voices and flickering firelight.
He was still in pain. Ahi’rea’s blow had been stronger than he had expected. He would have to av
oid underestimating her if he were to escape. He was annoyed that he had not gotten the chance to ask how she had blocked him from his powers, and was even angrier at himself for losing control and revealing that they were returning.
He had not expected to be beaten by anyone ever again after he defeated Cunabrel. Although he had torn through the other Huumphar with ease, Ahi’rea had stopped his rampage almost as effortlessly. How her eyes had blazed. Though he could not recognize her power, she was a force to be respected. He saw her across the hilltop and watched for a time, trying to pick out her voice from the chanting. Even standing still, she was a thing of grace. The flames picked out the muscles in her legs and her sun-bleached hair reflected the fire’s light.
He realized he was staring, admiring her even. He turned his gaze to the ground again, disgusted with himself. She was an animal, an enemy—possibly one of Feriven’s greatest foes. Revik tried to clear his thoughts of her, but the chanting invaded his mind. Waves of sound crashed against him, sweeping him down, threatened to drown him. He fought against the tide, gasping like a drowning man. His sight faded as if he were consumed by dark water.
Flickers of memory arose, unbidden. Some were memories that had been mere fragments he had been unable to place, and others he did not recognize at all. A small, log house with earthen floors, covered by straw mats and sheepskins; a vast forest surrounding a cultivated orchard; two men and a woman, standing on the Monument, knives raised over bound and naked sacrifices, eyes blind and rolling in fear. High cliffs facing the warm north; his mother and father, their faces still lost to him. Feeling his skin and bones and guts and life fall away, burning and freezing, agony, casting barbs of darkness into waiting and open flesh; and finally, a night of flame and terror; a woman clutching a small boy close. Nearby, a man held a sword, his back to a door. Someone was slamming against it. An axe head drove through it. The boy looked at him. “Remember,” he said.
The chanting rose in his ears. That night had been the last time his mother had held him, the last time before he was snatched away, before the long dark of Cunabrel’s cell. The young plainsfolk woman sang for her mother that night. Revik had barely thought of his parents since Halkoriv had rescued him. Only the concept had seemed important. Not until now had he thought on what he had lost. The unfamiliar memories felt like those of another, but at the same time felt as if they belonged to him in a way that nothing else had in his entire life. Even his name had begun to sound foreign to him.
Revik did not weep for his parents or Ahi’rea’s mother. He did not allow himself. However, for the first time he could remember, he knew remorse.
—
When the Sending ended, several of the Huumphar convened to discuss what was to be done with their prisoner. They needed to move early the next morning—the red glow to the southwest and the columns of smoke told them that the Cheduna were still coming, and the chances that they had seen the Sending fires were great. Ahi’rea, Ruun’daruun, Ken’hra, Haaph’ahin, and others remained atop the Monument, with Revik under guard not far away in case they felt the need to question him.
Ken’hra suggested they spear him and be done with him. This was seconded by Ruun’daruun and many of the elders. They looked at Ahi’rea and Haaph’ahin expectantly.
She paused and shook her head in disagreement. Surprise was immediate among the others.
“Rea,” Ruun’daruun said before correcting himself. “Ahi’rea, he’s one of Halkoriv’s creatures. A weapon. He killed so many.”
An elder said, “He is a danger. Why do you want to keep him alive?”
“I do not,” Ahi’rea said. “I want him dead as much as the rest of you.”
“Why, then? Why shouldn’t we be rid of him now? He is not the real Lasivar, even if Halkoriv thinks he is…” Ruun’daruun trailed off and smiled.
“A bartering chip—Halkoriv thinks he’s someone important,” Ken’hra said.
“No,” Haaph’ahin interjected. “He has surely realized by now. From what Ahi’rea has told me, Halkoriv may have had a direct link to this warrior somehow. Once the link was cut, he had to realize that it was only his own will driving this man, not true sorcery.”
Ken’hra broke in, frustrated. “No, wait. This is ridiculous—are you telling us that all this time, Halkoriv thought he was raising Lasivar’s son as his greatest weapon, and he was wrong? That he did not know, even when directly linked to him, that he had the wrong man? Halkoriv is many things, but he is no fool. It must be some trick.”
Haaph’ahin smiled joylessly. “That is the nature of the power Halkoriv wields—his greatest strength and weakness are one.” He took a deep breath, gathering his thoughts. “If the tales and my Sight hold true, then Halkoriv’s ancestors forsook Sight, Self, and Storm—true sorcery—long ago. One of them, a man called Sitis, sought a means to become immortal. He succeeded, after a fashion, but all that survived, freed from its human shell, was his greed and rage, his lust for power and blood. The Ravenous Spirit.”
“Since that time, all Sitis’ descendants have sought immortality, but all have only been consumed by the power they wield. Instead of sorcery, they command the Ravenous Spirit, as long as it lets them. They can perform feats beyond the ability of most sorcerers, but their power betrays them to its own gain. It would seem that in this case, the Ravenous Spirit blinded Halkoriv to the true identity of his chosen heir.”
“But why?” Ahi’rea was still angry at her father, but knew he was still wise and knowledgeable. She knew no more than the others about Sitis. “Why would it mislead him? What does it stand to gain?”
“I could not say,” Haaph’ahin responded. “Sitis was mad even before shedding his life. I do not know if the Spirit even has motivations we can understand. It only speaks to those of the same line as Halkoriv, or those they have infected with it. I only know that it has grown stronger during the war. Once, it was all Halkoriv could do to bring a storm against us or strengthen his warriors. Now, he controls the winds with ease and renders our women barren, our children sick. Perhaps it feeds on death and despair and saw only the chance to gorge itself by the deeds of this false Lasivar.”
“In any case, he’s useless to us now,” Ruun’daruun said. “Halkoriv knows he had the wrong man.”
Ahi’rea spoke as Haaph’ahin opened his mouth to respond. She stopped, yielding to the elder, but he motioned for her to go on. She grudgingly accepted the unspoken gesture of contrition. “I am not sure, but we may have a use for him still. He claims that he can heal others. At first I did not believe him—I thought no one could do that. However, it sounds as if with the command of this Spirit, it might be true. It would not matter, except—I think he is beginning to recover his power. Without it I do not think he could have traveled as he did, and I noticed something when I spoke to him earlier.” She glanced over at Revik, still sitting quietly on the other side of the hilltop. “But if he is recovering, he is dangerous. And if what you say is true, he must be one of Sitis’ line. Otherwise he would remain cut off and Halkoriv would have to restore his power for him.”
Haaph’ahin nodded. “I have noticed his recovery as well. I do not think he is of Sitis’ line. It would be strange if there were more of them than Halkoriv and he did not know. That is what troubles me—it seems the Spirit has a hold on this false Lasivar, a hold he thinks he can control. Halkoriv did something in trying to combine true sorcery with Sitis’ power. Indeed, I do not think the boy even remembers his own life before Halkoriv took him. His memory, what I could see of it, was… corrupted. Hazy.”
“As if Sitis is blocking it to keep him from changing—from realizing that he is not who he thinks he is.” Ruun’daruun sounded pleased that he could follow the discussion. Ahi’rea listened. Sorcery was not something Ruun’daruun understood, but the mind of a warrior was. “If he learned the truth, it would shake his core—make him question his purpose, his training, everything. He’s fighting for a person who has manipulated him and because he thinks he’s the son o
f a hero. Take that away, and he’s just another man, one who was lied to and used.” Ruun’daruun stopped and looked across the hilltop at their prisoner. “Maybe he’ll turn—hold a grudge against Halkoriv. He must have useful information.”
“Not likely,” Ahi’rea said. “He might hold such a grudge if he came to believe the truth, but how would you feel about the people who shattered your life?” No one answered. “No matter what we tell him, the only way he will believe us is if I or my father can heal his mind, if it can even be done. However, I think we may be able to convince him to help our sick and wounded.”
“Why would he do that?” one of the others snorted.
“To save himself,” Ahi’rea said. “If we convince him that we may let him go, he might cooperate.”
“Let him go?” Ken’hra shouted. “He’ll just come back again to kill us!”
“I said convince him—not that we need actually do it,” Ahi’rea said. There was a murmur of approval, although some—Ruun’daruun among them—looked uncomfortable. It was not a crime to lie to outsiders, but some viewed such actions as a breach of honor.
Haaph’ahin’s voice, gravelly, but strong and resonant, suddenly rose. “There is another matter with which he might help us. The true son of Lasivar is still alive, I am sure of it. I cannot See him clearly—I have never met him, have nothing of his. Without something to guide the connection, it is like searching the horizon at night. But,” he said, his eyes fixed on the space before him, “he might. The power of Sitis does not have the same boundaries, and since his power is returning, we may get something of use from him before we are rid of him after all.”
One by one, the others nodded. Ahi’rea was silent. She was not convinced that finding Lasivar’s son was the answer they sought. “Do we really want him calling on this Spirit? Could it control him? Bring Halkoriv down on us?
Haaph’ahin was grave. “I do not know—but I think it is worth the risk if we can find the true Lasivar.”
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