“And how are we to prove she’s Solurn’s heir?”
“Look at her,” Hosh barked. “She bears the marks of the Moon’s Chosen and the Solanyan Sun, and she is as resilient as the Wyvern, having survived the mountains and the desert.”
Kron looked unconvinced. “That’s to be believed on your word alone?”
“And she has Solurn’s unity staff,” Hosh added.
“Does it sing to you?” Kron asked, suddenly more interested. He stepped closer, and Rea struggled to meet his gaze.
“A little. Only twice now.”
“Can you make it sing again?”
“I...I don’t know how,” Rea admitted.
Kron’s brow dropped skeptically, and he propped his hands on his hips. “That will not do. Pagro will expect some proof.”
“Give her time,” Hosh said.
“Who is Pagro?” Rea had too many questions, and not enough answers, and Hosh hadn’t exactly detailed what was expected of her. She inferred that she was to unite the realms of LouMorah before this Aberon launched his next attack, but she couldn’t even say how many territories LouMorah was broken into or where they were.
“Pagro is the chief of the Mandoratti,” Hosh answered as Kron’s mouth had gone slack in response to her question, his eyes widening with surprised concern. “Mandoratt Forest is the closest realm from here, and the Mandoratti were quite fond of your father.”
“Fond?” Rea made a surprised face of her own. “As fond as this one is of Solanyans?”
The question had merit, even if Rea had only just discovered her connection to the people. She supposed it made sense—the sisters’ resentment of her and the way she looked—but how much worse would it be with the other tribes of LouMorah? What would they think of her? Those who had suffered most at the hands of the Solanyans especially.
“The Solanyans turned their backs on your father,” Kron said. “And they will turn their backs on you, as well, li’rashka.” His lips peeled back in disgust, exposing the length of his curved eye teeth. “Do they teach nothing at that temple?”
Rea’s nostrils flared, but she said nothing. It appeared that Kron cared little for either of her peoples, and he seemed certain that the Solanyans would want nothing to do with her. Rea suspected that not many of the Moon’s Chosen were missing her right then either. So, where did that leave her?
“There are still loyal Solanyans who will fight at your side,” Hosh said, putting his hand on her shoulder.
“Fight?” The air fled Rea’s lungs. “The Moon’s Chosen do not engage in combat.”
“Lyra was not so squeamish,” Kron said, then turned and headed for the well, ignoring Rea’s gasp of outrage.
“Lyra was a priestess,” she insisted. “She would have never taken a life.”
“She took at least one. I saw it with my own eyes.”
“You lie!”
“You wish.” Kron snorted and picked up the bucket sitting on the lip of the well. He tilted it back for a long drink and then poured the rest over his face and chest, rinsing the sweat from his skin.
“Come, solcessa,” Hosh said, taking Rea by the arm and leading her back inside the dwelling. “We will worry about the fighting later. For now, let us focus on making the staff sing for you again.”
“And if it won’t,” Rea said through clenched teeth, “I’m sure it will at least make a pleasant sound against Kron’s fat head.”
Chapter Eleven
AT THE TEMPLE OF THE Moon’s Chosen, the daughters were taught to read and write. They studied the legends surrounding the Great Mother and memorized prayers and chants, and they learned about the formation of the West Ridge and how they’d been blessed by the Moon in order to thrive atop its highest peaks, away from the tribes of the lowlands.
But they did not learn magic.
Magic was reserved for those who were Called to the Sisters of the Moon, the sect Rea had longed to join. The healing and protection spells the Moon’s Chosen were known for were passed from priestess to priestess, along with the responsibility of maintaining their sacred community in the mountains.
Magora’s magic seemed more intuitive. She had learned much on her own, her true Calling undeterred and nurtured by the Mother without Lady Cora’s knowledge. Rea had witnessed her work on more than one occasion, but she would have never dared to ask the old sister to teach her. Not without being Called to do so.
Rea was uncertain if magic was a part of the Calling that had led her into the desert. While an enchanted staff had sung to her, and mountains had parted to grant her passage, the magic hadn’t originated from her. She was not its master. If anything, it held sway over her, as it had the night of the Calling when she’d danced in a wild ring with the other daughters.
Still, she paid careful attention as Hosh inspected the staff, rolling the coarse wood between his fingers and sniffing the handprint beneath the knotted whorls.
“Was that made by Solurn?” Rea asked, a frown tugging her brows together. She sat on a stool at the table while Hosh paced before the hearth.
“It was a gift, actually.” He held the staff up to the light spilling through the far window. “The Beast King gave it to your father after he took an arrow through the thigh for him.”
“The Beast King?” Rea wasn’t sure she liked the sound of that. She chewed her bottom lip and tried to envision a man as large as Pooka or Kron’s sand yak as she waited for Hosh to explain.
“The Beast King rules over the grasslands along the eastern coast of LouMorah, south of the vale of elves,” he said as if it were something everyone knew. Everyone except the sacred race of women who had isolated themselves in the West Ridge away from the warring heathens—heathens that Rea now felt more linked to than those who had raised her.
“How many realms does LouMorah have?”
“Just the five that I know of,” Hosh said. “The West Ridge, Mandoratt Forest, the vale of elves, the grasslands, and New Solanya. There are smaller territories shared between some of the realms, lakes and mountain ranges, islands off the eastern coast.”
“What about the desert? Which realm does it belong to?” Rea asked, earning a grin from the old sage.
“The desert belongs to no one, and so I belong to it.” He crossed the small room and handed the staff back to her. “When I last saw this in your father’s sure grip, it was dressed with tokens of fidelity from all of the five realms. Though only a few of the Moon’s Chosen aided us on the battlefield, your mother fastened the largest moonstone I’ve ever seen right here.” He traced a finger along the top whorl of the staff.
“Did the staff sing to Solurn, too?” Rea touched the dark handprint burned into the wood, nestling her own hand within the indentation. He must have been a large man, too, she thought. “Did he know magic? Was his hair the same color as mine?”
“One question at a time, solcessa.” Hosh chuckled. “The staff did sing to him, though it was Lyra’s magic that stirred it to. And yes, the golden hair comes from your Solanyan side. Mine was gold once too, a very long time ago.” He ruffled a hand through his wiry white mane, drawing a small laugh from Rea.
“How did my mother make the staff sing?” She cocked her head as she turned back to the stick in her hands. It had been so animated before that Rea questioned whether it was the same staff at all. “Why did it sing to me in the first place? I know no magic.”
Hosh scratched his chin and glanced through the window near the table as he joined Rea. Kron was still at the well, drinking and bathing and watering his sand yak. The beast slurped from the bucket like a starved lamb who couldn’t find a teat. Pooka lingered nearby, nickering under her breath as she waited for a turn.
“Lyra was special.” Hosh sighed fondly. “I always assumed the melody was inspired by her love for Solurn. The staff only sang when he was near it. I suppose Lyra’s love for you could have encouraged the same, if a bit of her magic remained in the staff.”
Rea thought of the Magora on the drying bluff,
and the odd sense of dread she’d felt when the staff did not call out to her then. “Or perhaps the last of the magic was exhausted when it Called to me within the temple.”
“The temple could have amplified it. I always suspected the moonstone helped as well,” Hosh said.
“What happened to it—to all the tokens?”
He gave her a sad smile. “They were returned to their realms, the alliance Solurn forged between them died when he did. The last letter I received from Magora revealed that your mother had given the moonstone to Lady Oleena to ensure you would be raised as a daughter of the Moon.”
“You exchanged letters with Magora?” Rea remembered hearing the old sister mention Hosh by name, but there had been no time to ask how she knew the sage.
“We did,” Hosh said. Then he pressed his lips together and exhaled loudly through his nose. “Until my last pigeon didn’t return.”
“Pigeon?” Rea frowned.
“Small gray bird with a lovely rainbow neck,” Hosh said, wiggling his fingers at his throat. “They’re the sacred messengers of Solanyan royalty.”
Rea’s eyes widened as she realized he was talking about the rock doves. The sisters had intentionally cut off all communication by keeping the birds for poultry—a sacred bird, if that were not terrible enough—and she had plucked over a hundred of the pitiful things stark naked only days before.
Rea quickly changed the subject, hoping Hosh hadn’t noticed the flush creeping up her neck as she held out her crystal necklace. “This is all I have. Magora made it. Do you think it might work?”
“I think trying couldn’t hurt.” He glanced out the window again and smiled. “Ah, Kron is finished at the well. I’ll invite him inside for a bit so you can have the Sun to yourself. Meditate, chant, dance if you must. Perhaps something will come to you.” He shrugged hopefully. “In the meantime, I’ll search my books for anything that might be of use. If your mother’s magic is not in your blood, perhaps we can appeal to your Solanyan nature. The Sun often appeals to blood sacrifices—”
“I’ll stick to the chanting for now,” Rea said, holding up a hand as she stood. With the memory of the slaughtered birds and Kron’s claim that her mother was a killer still fresh in her mind, Rea did not want to hear about blood sacrifices.
“As you wish.” Hosh dipped his chin in a conceding nod. “If you change your mind, there are plenty of screwhorn antelope on the edge of the desert between here and the forest, and Kron is an excellent hunter.”
Rea made a face but did not share her opinion of the sage’s hateful nephew. Instead she asked, “What does li’rashka mean?”
“Hmm?” Hosh’s bushy brows rose, and then he barked a clipped laugh as if remembering when the word had been uttered. “It’s, um, a term of endearment among the Mandoratti—like my dear or sweetheart.”
“It didn’t sound so endearing when Kron said it.”
“Eh.” Hosh tilted his head from side to side. “The Mandoratti language is not the most elegant tongue.”
Rea harrumphed. She clutched the staff in one hand and stood, ready to exit the house as soon as Kron made his entrance. Between his grating attitude and his sheer size, the man set her teeth on edge.
There was the pitying variety of respect, the sort she held for the Sisters of the Hearth, and then there was the fearful kind instilled by the priestesses and Tawndra’s whip. What Kron stirred in her was something else entirely.
There was certainly fear, but also awe and loathing. She had not imagined the barbarians from the north to be so beautiful, and she had not expected to be so crestfallen at his mockery of her Calling. Why should she, one of the Moon’s Chosen, care what a warmongering lowlander thought of her sacred duty?
Kron stalked through the doorway and immediately claimed the stool she’d abandoned. His pale eyes turned on her as he tore through a piece of jerky, his sharp teeth ripping easily through the meat.
Rea’s stomach rumbled, and she remembered that she had not yet eaten. Hosh waved a hand at the ledge behind her.
“Help yourself, solcessa. While you are my guest, what’s mine is yours.”
Rea nodded her thanks and found one of the sticky blocks of grain. She took a bite from one corner as she retraced her steps to the entrance, but before she had exited the house, Kron doubled over with a howl of laughter. A more awkward and reserved humor pinched Hosh’s face.
“Why don’t you let me cut up some prickly pear for you, solcessa,” he said, rising from the table. He went to the ledge and picked up one of the spiny gourds before finding his knife.
“What’s wrong with the grain?” she asked, squinting down at the block in her hand as she sucked the sticky bits from her molars.
“Nothing at all,” Hosh insisted, though the pitch of his tone suggested otherwise.
“You saw fit to pack it in the saddle for me.”
Kron snorted. “And what did poor Pooka think of you eating all her feed like a greedy chipmunk?”
Rea stopped chewing and frowned at him. “We shared it. Do your people not eat grain?”
“Grain is for the animals.”
“Not enough bloodshed for your liking?”
“And I suppose the sacred maids who look down upon the rest of us do not consume meat in the mountains?” When Rea did not answer, Kron lifted his chin proudly. “The Moon’s Chosen are hypocrites. They always have been.”
“There is not enough vegetation to sustain us in the mountains,” Rea tried to explain. “We raise sheep and...birds, as decreed by the Mother.”
“Decreed by the Mother.” Kron scoffed. “I have a mother, too. She said I should take a wife and stop visiting old fools in the desert—yet here I am.” He squinted out the window at the sand baking under the sun. “You are lucky we are not all such obedient children, li’rashka. You managed to survive the journey from the West Ridge, but without my help, you will never find your way through Mandoratt Forest.”
“You will help her then?” Hosh asked, his breath hitching hopefully.
Kron frowned at Rea. Then he glanced down at the bar of grain still grasped in her hand. She almost returned it to the ledge but changed her mind at the last moment.
The Moon’s Chosen did not cower before anyone but the Mother and her sacred attendants. Rea didn’t care that she was only half-blooded. The Moon had still Called on her, and she was determined to answer with her head held high. She lifted the bar of grain slowly and took a large, forceful bite.
Kron smirked. “Make the staff sing, and I will see you safely to the five realms.”
Rea turned toward the ledge where Hosh continued to chop fruit. The old man moved around well enough for his age—better than Magora anyway—and there didn’t seem to be anything wrong with his vision or hearing.
“Why can’t you take me?” she asked around her mouthful of grain.
A nervous laugh whispered past his lips. “Solcessa, I am an old man. I was advisor to your father, your grandmother, and your grandfather. I’ve seen two wars devastate the Solanyan people and turn their hearts to ash. I cannot bear to witness a third.”
“Will you at least come to the forest with us?” Kron asked. “You will be safer there, at least for a while. Pagro would welcome you as an advisor.”
“That is what I fear most.” Hosh brought the plate of fruit to the table and slumped onto his stool. “My advice has caused nothing but trouble for anyone who’s taken it,” he said with a heavy sigh. “Here I can feed the desert my magic and make it near impassable for the Harom. This is where I am most useful.”
Rea swallowed, and her eyes drew back to Kron. She did not like the idea of being left alone with him without Hosh to soften the edge of his hateful words. He did not look thrilled by the idea of traveling with her either.
“Why are you still here?” he snapped. “You should be working with that staff. We leave in the morning.”
“What if I can’t make it sing?” She looked back to Hosh, her teeth grinding at Kron’s harsh voi
ce. Hosh squeezed her arm and gave her a soft smile.
“Of course it will sing. Do not forget, solcessa, you were Called to this task by the Moon and Sun.”
Kron snorted again at the mention of the heavenly bodies. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ve been called, too,” he said, grasping the front of his leather trousers as he stood and stalked through the doorway and around to the side of the house.
“Kron’s an acquired taste,” Hosh assured Rea. “He means as well as you do.”
Rea wanted to believe the sage, but well-intentioned or not, she still didn’t care for the crude warrior. For now, she tried to push him out of her mind and focused on making the staff sing.
“Try singing to it,” Hosh advised. “Maybe it will reply.”
Or perhaps Kron will laugh at me for being an idiot girl who sings to sticks, Rea thought. Still, she nodded obediently and headed off for a patch of sand beyond the well.
Chapter Twelve
WITHOUT THE WIND BLOWING at her face and robe as it had on Pooka’s back, Rea found the sun in the desert unbearable. Even in Hosh’s sleeveless robe, she felt herself begin to perspire almost immediately. The sand was hot on her feet, too, so she sat down cross-legged, tucking the robe beneath her, and laid the staff over her lap.
Rea closed her eyes and sent up a familiar prayer to the Moon, even though she could not see her. It seemed the only proper way to begin. There were no rules at the temple forbidding prayer to the Sun—it just wasn’t anything the Moon’s Chosen ever considered, given their namesake.
She tried to imagine how a prayer to the Sun might sound. The heat and blinding light and talk of blood sacrifices did not inspire reverent words in her. She debated going back to the house to ask Hosh for help, but she had seen enough of Kron for one day. He would only serve as a distraction.
When she finally gave up on the Sun, she tried more of the Moon chants and hymns she had learned growing up in the flatlands and studying at the temple. When she ran out of those, she even tried the crasser ditties the Sisters of the Hearth liked to sing.
Daughter of the War Page 9