by Cat Bruno
“You will be Governor one day, Jiang,” she haltingly answered, realizing that they were near the temple.
“Am I to forget you? Only to be reminded of our time together when I hear stories of the green-eyed girl who earned laohu stripes?”
Embracing him, she sighed, “Jiang, you have known that I could not stay in Tian. Would you rather not have met me at all?”
When he would not answer, she released him and climbed the stone stairs. The hour was late, and, overhead, the sky was clear. A crescent moon offered little light, although Syrsha did not need any as she untied the sash at her chest. Once loosened, the blouse fell open, and she let it slide to the bricks. Somewhere just beyond the treeline, Jiang watched.
Next, she stepped out of the billowy skirt. Without clothing and her hair unfastened, Syrsha stood, reminding him that she would never be of Tian.
Her hands found the rough-spun robes, but she hesitated. Instead, Syrsha pulled her leather armor free, the silver wolf head alit and beckoning. When her leggings and vest were laced, she nearly wept.
She did not seek to dishonor the temple rules, so her swords remained shelved. However, she would not wear the acolyte robes again.
Let them know me for who I am.
Aldric spotted her first, for the others were asleep.
“You smell of magic,” he half-accused.
“Better to smell of magic than of blood,” she retorted.
For the first time in days, Syrsha slept in peace under the temple roof.
*****
In the moon following her miscarriage, Queen Assana had become despondent. Much of the time, she was abed, although Pietro had just received word that she had called for him. As he walked the hallways of Ravenfold, he thought on what she might require. He had replaced Becca as the favored healer, despite the loss of the babe. Tanic, as well, was now much loved by Assana, and often sat at the Queen’s bedside.
As he entered, he was not surprised to see the Lightkeeper gently brushing the Queen’s hair, although the task was better suited for a serving woman.
“Pietro has come!” Tanic happily cried as he neared.
His liking of the woman lessened each day, yet she still offered him a chance at freedom, which was enough to force him to answer, “How lucky I am to be welcomed by two so lovely!”
In truth, Assana appeared wan and purplish crescents had formed below her eyes. Her hair, although untangled, had thinned, for she had eaten little in the last moon. She looked, Pietro realized, much like the bird for which the castle had been named.
“The Queen has the most splendid idea, Pietro. I can hardly wait for her to tell it!”
“How are you feeling?” he asked as he placed his fingers to Assana’s neck, feeling for the strength of her life pulse.
After removing his fingers, she stated, “None of that just now, Pietro. There is much to be done. I have decided to join my husband, and I want Tanic and you to accompany me.”
Few words could surprise him as hers did, and he quickly looked to the Lightkeeper, knowing it must be she who had suggested the plan. Tanic had privately mentioned her desire to join her brother as the Royal Army marched north, for Ravenfold had grown dull, more so for one accustomed to the King’s City.
“The King will not allow it,” he uttered, nearly in disbelief.
Gleeful now, Assana explained, “Oh, it will be a great surprise when we find him! Think on how happy he will be to have his wife at his side when he frees Cordisia from the shadows of the Dark God!”
Her voice loudened and cackled, and, for a moment, he thought her overcome with madness.
“Such an idea is unwise,” he countered, trying to refrain from chastising the Queen.
Pietro had not chosen his words carefully enough, and Assana barked, “You should not speak to your queen so, healer!”
Tanic, trying to make peace, set down the brush and chimed, “The war will be ahead of us, Pietro. And no threat shall come from behind.”
“What you propose is far too dangerous, Tanic. If the Queen seeks to join her husband, then she must send word and request an escort.”
“I will do no such thing,” Assana interjected. Her eyes had darkened and now shined. “Delwin will be overjoyed when he sees me, and the gods will bless us with another babe.”
With a small gasp, he cried, “My Queen, you must do nothing of the sort!”
Waving her hand and deepening her voice, Assana warned, “If you will not act as my healer, then I will have Becca accompany us. And have you sent back to the King’s City.”
The threat clear, Pietro quieted. He wanted nothing more than to strike at Tanic for her role in the plan, yet the Queen eyed him closely, as she would for the next moon, he suspected. Again, he cursed ever meeting his distant kin, King Delwin.
“I only seek to keep you safe, my queen,” he mumbled, bowing slightly. “It will be no easy journey, and will become more treacherous by half when the snows come.”
“We shall leave within days, well ahead of the snows. The traveling party will be small, with only a handful of my guards. Fret not, Pietro, for the gods sent word as I slept that another babe will be born to me.”
He knew her to be mad then, but speaking so would only end with him imprisoned in the King’s City, as he had been before she had need of a healer. She interrupted his thoughts by asking of his days spent on his Healer Journey. That time, so long ago, had faded from his memory, and he admitted as much to the women.
“Our travels shall be just the same, Pietro. All three of us will wear the robes of healers, which will grant us safe passage,” Assana told them.
“A Healer Journey must always be on one’s own,” he objected.
“In times of peace, that was the case. But, now, with the darkness spreading, none would question why three healers travel under guard and together. You worry overmuch, Pietro. Tanic and I talked all night on how we might reach Delwin. Help me dress, Tanic, so that I can speak with Luchio about readying our supplies. Pietro, prepare a list of what you will require, and I will see that Luchio gets it.”
A curt nod served as dismissal, and Pietro departed. As he returned to his room, he realized how little choice remained to him. He was prisoner still, unchained, but a servant to the whims of the Queen, who thought only on having another babe, despite the risk to her own life. A true healer might have protested more, he realized. Yet, he had never completed his Healer Journey and had never earned the title of Master Healer. Even with it, Pietro mused, he would still need to answer to the Queen and support her folly.
Moon years before, on a battlefield much like the one she sought to travel to, his life had altered. He had lived, unlike Bronwen and Master Ammon, but the life had not been a desired one.
Just then, he realized what Tanic, unknowingly, had done.
She would do what he had not been able to. She gave him reason to visit the Tribelands. He had little time to prepare an antidote to the tallora, two moons or less, he figured.
While the Royal Army, with King Delwin at its lead, dipped its arrows and swords in the poisoned sap, he would be nearby, with bottles full of a cure. By then, Pietro hoped, he would have chosen which side to support.
*****
20
For the last half-moon, the group had traveled west. Lerric had not known how slowly the Royal Army moved until his Lightkeepers had joined. At such a pace, it would be another moon before they reached the outer border of the Tribelands. On their own, the Lightkeepers could have made the journey in less time, but they required the protection that the Royal Army offered. On the morrow, he would send word to his sister, who had stayed on at Ravenfold. With the disappearance of the Elemental, her position at the side of Queen Assana must become her focus.
It was Lerric’s fear, one that he shared with no one, that the King might enlist the Crows as ally, for he had done such once already. Crow was no better than Wolf, even if it was the High Lord of the Wolf Tribe who had killed King Herrin. Lerric
did not know for certain what Delwin had planned, for he was not part of the King’s Counsel. With his sister’s help, that might change.
When last he had sent word to Tanic, he wrote of her new responsibilities. It had become more difficult for the messenger pigeons to return, and Lerric did not expect to receive a reply. He did expect her to obey.
The hour grew late, and, ahead, the Royal Army halted. They would make camp for the night, which would delay them further. To his side, another Lightkeeper rode.
“We have not even reached the Levandia River yet,” the man groaned.
“The Dark Ones go nowhere, Shantell. In truth, they have lived in Cordisia longer than most and have learned to wait,” Lerric explained.
“To wait for what? I have not heard such suggested before,” the man replied.
“Do you not recall your early lessons? Cordisia was once home to gods without interference from mortals. The Dark Ones have long desired to return to such a time. Why else do the Lightkeepers fight?”
The fair-haired man’s forehead furrowed and his lips puckered in thought. He was a newer recruit, one who had answered King Delwin’s call to expand the Lightkeepers, after his father’s death at the hands of the Tribesman. Around them, the others slowed, not to listen, but to ready to dismount.
Into the silence, Shantell answered, “To keep Cordisia safe. To protect our mothers and sisters from those who would rape and murder them. To allow our children to sleep without fear. There is no place in Cordisia for such darkness, Lord Lerric.”
His thoughts were common ones among the younger Lightkeepers, those who were second sons or impoverished laborers. They had joined to defend, or had pledged so. But most had joined for glory and to bear witness to the final battle. The one that would banish the Dark Ones from Cordisia for eternity. More than coin even, these men and women chose to fight for honor, to defend a Crown that often had done little for them.
But Lerric allowed the man to continue to believe such, as he did with the others. For honor or for coin, for family or for glory, they would fight still.
There were few who fought as he did, who understood the history of the battle between god and man. Only the most aged and the wisest of the Lightkeepers understood.
The true fight was one for peace.
*****
Zhang-Wei kept true to his word, and as Syrsha sat for the morning meal, Master Ru approached. The shihon appeared displeased, with reddened cheeks and a ruffled robe hanging from his shoulders askance. Syrsha did not rise, although she dropped her head in a slight nod.
“What is the meaning of this?” he spouted, throwing a rolled parchment onto the bench.
Even without reaching for it, Syrsha noticed the silver seal, the mark of the Governor broken in half by the letter’s opener. Soon, all of the temple would know of Zhang-Wei’s decree. It would serve none for her to lie.
“The Governor has given me his backing. There is talk that the Emperor might be in attendance, for he makes his way to Dengxi even now,” she answered.
“You openly mock our rules,” he sputtered, growing more agitated.
With a lifted palm, Syrsha explained, “Master Ru, you misunderstand me greatly, I fear. If I have learned nothing else during my time in Tian, I have at least learned of respect and honor. I seek nothing more than to honor Sholin as many have attempted for moon years and beyond. Would you imply that there is no honor in challenging the laohus?”
Around them, others listened.
“There is nothing more sacred than the laohu battle,” he hissed.
More calmly, Syrsha stated, “With more time, I would study and earn the rankings here as any else might. But, my time in Tian grows short. You will find none who love the laohu as I do, Master.”
“You know not of what you speak, child!” he interrupted hotly. “Unless I am mistaken, you have not laid eyes upon them since your entrance.”
She was not surprised to hear that the great cats were now guarded, and sighed, “I need not see them to know them. If such was the case, I would have long forgotten both my mother and my father.”
Her words only confused him further.
“Shihon, you know me not, for I come from a land with foreign gods. I ask nothing more of you but this: let the great cats judge me. Pair me with your fiercest one, the one most untamed. I care not. Either I will die or I will not.”
“You have a madness about you,” Ru breathed with quiet words that burned her cheeks and curved her lashes.
As he stepped from the squat table, he called, “Your death is your own.”
His words, heard by all who supped, silenced the room. Even after he fled, the whispers did not return. It was not until the diauxie entered that Syrsha ceased smiling.
In Common, he seethed, “If I had weapon, you would not walk for a quarter moon or more.”
“Was it Aldric who told you?” she asked, reaching for a morning roll.
The layered pastry fell from her hand as Otieno yanked her from the bench. Across her chest, the moon-threaded wolf shined against the ebony leather. His gaze lowered, until he noticed what she now wore. He was no longer too strong for her to counter, yet Syrsha did not struggle against him. When Otieno dragged her from the room, she stumbled after him, tightening her ward, but resisting all other urges. It was not until they were both outside the temple doors that he threw her to the ground.
As she rolled away from him, he lunged forward.
This time, though, she was faster.
Jumping to her feet, she cried, “Will you strike me? Have you been too long without your swords?”
His hands dropped to his sides.
When he next looked up at her, Syrsha stepped backward. Around her, the warm air hummed louder.
“Do you know who I once was, faela?”
She could not make sense of his question, for his words echoed under the bright Tiannese sun and collided with stony walls and manicured trees. Otieno did not scream them, nor did he threaten.
Instead, they cut her much like his hidden Greatsword might. Never before had her Akkachi sounded so pained, as if his past haunted him anew. Cossima had not been far enough to silence the girl’s sobbing. Even Tian could not offer the diauxie solace.
“My death is my own,” she mumbled, repeating Master Ru as she understood why Otieno’s face had darkened.
“Akkachi, please,” she begged.
Raising his hand, he told her, “You are wrong, Syrsha. Your death is not your own. Nor will it ever be.”
“Can you not trust me?” she cried out.
As if she had not spoken, Otieno said, “Your mother was not like us, faela. And, because of that, she did not understand what gifts the Great Mother gave to me. She was a healer and walked with the light of the gods behind her. Yet, when she came to the Cove, she came with shadows.”
He needed to say no more. By then, Caryss had been with child. Still, he continued.
“At first, Caryss thought of me as little more than a swordmaster, for I did not have the same darkness in me that she had seen in the High Lord. It was only when she asked me to eliminate your shadows that I knew she had understood.”
“Syrsha,” he called, his voice broken and strained, “I could take it from you, these dangerous desires that grip you without mercy.”
“You would have me become nothing!” she wailed, knowing that what he offered would strip her of all power.
“Faela,” he hummed, “You would be queen still and walk with stars in your eyes.”
Shaking her head in an attempt to forget his words, Syrsha proclaimed, “Starlight disappears without darkness as ally.”
Waving her off, he said, “Once more I will ask, in your mother’s name. Would you have me make what is dark light once more?”
As he waited, watching gravely, her knees weakened. Otieno had been teacher and jailor, friend and foe. He had been father even, but he had never revealed what the Great Mother called him. Even now, shrouded in sadness and knowledge, h
e would not name himself true.
Standing taller, she answered, “I could ask the same of you, for I am not blind to what you are.”
“You are not Covian, Syrsha, despite being accepted by the Great Mother.”
With a bitter laugh, she said, “Each land we visit names the gods differently, yet they all wear the same masks. What happens when those masks fall, Akkachi?”
“Guard your tongue,” he hissed.
Shaking her head, Syrsha stated, “In Tian, the gods are different. Much like the fennidi, they accept that both star and shadow must exist. I had thought you to know such as truth, too, Otieno.”
Into the silence, she added, “When they see me caged with the laohu, Tian will rejoice. For they recognize that only in darkness does the light shine brightest.”
“I only seek to keep you safe,” he argued, although his voice had dulled. “How did you convince the Dengxi ruler to intervene on your behalf?”
“His son is half in love with me,” she shrugged.
His brows raised and his lips parted, as if he would question her more. But she watched as his acceptance grew, as if she had become beyond his reach.
Before he could further query, Syrsha neared. “I harmed no one, and, if Jiang does love me, it is as Syrsha and not as god or as queen.”
“You name yourself god,” he chided harshly, his eyes wide and unbelieving.
“I am no god,” she told him. “But they will fear me the same.”
“I know not if you are wise or foolish,” he growled.
Laughing freely now, she answered, “In Tian, I am both.”
“You will arm yourself with daggers.”
Syrsha knew that he spoke of the laohu fight, and she quickly nodded, without explaining that no weapons would be allowed. Unlike the kyzkua, she would have nothing, not even armor. But the Islander had quieted, if not in full acceptance, then resignation. Again, she silenced her face so that he would not know how she lied.
There was more that Syrsha could say to him, but she had little time to ready herself for the great cats. First, she would need to visit Mistress Min-Xi. After embracing Otieno, she rushed off, calling out that she would return by the evening meal.