“No, Ashi. You can’t blame yourself for this. Seijon knew the risks when he begged you to take him with us.” Magnes came up and knelt beside the body.
“He was only a child!” Ashinji brushed a strand of hair off Seijon’s forehead. “How could he possibly have known? It was my job to protect him, and I failed.”
“It was all of our jobs, Ashi,” Gran rasped. She had emerged from her trance and now stood behind him, and when Ashinji turned to look up into her face, he gasped with dismay. The light and strength that had always been a part of her had burnt out, and at any moment, she might crumble into ashes.
“Gran, please, you must sit down!”
The old woman shook her head. “No. If I sit now, I’ll not be able to get up again. I must keep moving, at least until we’ve cared for the boy and left this place.”
“I promised Seijon I’d get him to Alasiri. How am I going to keep that promise now?” Ashinji shook his head and a tear fell to splash on Seijon’s bloodless cheek.
“Back in ancient times, oak groves were sacred to our people,” Gran replied. “It will be a fitting resting place for the boy. Take a lock of his hair, Ashi, and bury it when we reach home. That way, you can keep your promise, at least in a small way.”
His gaze never straying from Seijon’s face, Ashinji tried to rise, but could not make his legs obey. Sudden, crushing weariness had pinned him to the earth.
“Gran, something’s wrong with me.” He had to struggle to lift his head to look at the mage. “I feel so tired.”
“You expended a lot of energy doing what you did, Ashi.” Gran squeezed his shoulder. “You are young. It won’t take you nearly as long to recover. Rest awhile before you and Magnes take care of the boy.”
“I’ll get started.” Magnes bent to retrieve a sword dropped by one of the slavers. “This will make digging easier.”
He walked to the nearest tree and began scraping at the hard soil between two of the twisted roots fanning out from its base. Ashinji watched for a few moments then struggled to his feet.
“I’m all right,” he said in response to the consternation in Gran’s eyes, but in truth, he wondered how much longer he could keep moving. Focusing his mind on the task at hand, he managed to dredge up a reserve of strength left untouched by the flow of magic. Scooping up another discarded sword, he joined Magnes and together they chopped into the stubborn earth. The labor kept Ashinji’s mind off the part he had played in the destruction of the slave catching posse.
When they judged the depression deep enough, Ashinji and Magnes threw down their swords. Ashinji bent to gather up Seijon’s torn body in his arms. Carrying the boy as gently as if he were sleeping, Ashinji then laid Seijon into the grave. With Gran’s small belt knife, he severed a lock of the boy’s russet hair then he and Magnes covered the body, first with a webbing of branches and then a fill of soil and small rocks. To finish things off, they veiled the top in a thick covering of dead leaves. Magnes piled a small cairn of stones to serve as a marker.
When they were done, the three of them lingered beneath the spreading limbs of the ancient tree, loathe to depart, yet knowing they must. To Ashinji’s heart, it felt like abandonment, even though his head knew the folly of that notion. Seijon was dead and beyond any feelings of abandonment. Even though the boy had been born on the streets of Darguinia and knew very little of the elven religion, it comforted Ashinji to believe the Goddess would recognize one of Her own and gather the boy’s soul into Her eternal, loving embrace.
“Goodbye, Little Brother,” Ashinji whispered. “I’m so very sorry.”
Wordlessly, Magnes helped Gran up on her mare, then mounted his piebald gelding and waited. Ashinji twisted the lock of Seijon’s hair into a knot and held it out to Gran who tucked it into her waist pouch. He then swung on his horse and the three of them left the grove behind, riding down the side of the hill through the grisly aftermath of Gran’s magical defense. It would be several days before the terrorized remnant of the slave posse got back to Darguinia to report their defeat, and by that time, their quarry would be beyond reach.
Ashinji looked back over his shoulder and, for an instant, thought he saw a small figure standing at the edge of the grove, a shadow really, backlit by the glow of the dying sun. He blinked and the figure disappeared.
He fixed his eyes on the northern horizon. The exhaustion he had kept at bay until now pulled at his limbs once more. He covered his face, weeping, and thought about how badly he needed to feel Jelena in his arms again.
***
They took shelter that night inside an ancient mound whose sides had partially collapsed, allowing access to the burial chamber below. Many such mounds dotted this part of the country, along with crumbling walls and weed-choked towers, the remains of an extinct civilization that had once ruled here. Magnes explained that no one knew much about the mound builders. Their world had fallen long before the coming of the Soldarans, and folk hereabouts viewed them with a mix of awe and superstitious dread.
“No one will bother us in here,” he stated. “I’m certain the locals give this place a wide berth. They won’t dare approach, no matter what they see.”
The rubble from the cave-in made a convenient ramp on which to lead the horses down into the burial chamber. Looking around, they could see robbers had looted the grave long ago, leaving behind only a few pottery shards and fragments of animal bone.
After Ashinji and Magnes had cleared an area of debris and had unpacked their meager supplies, Gran spread a blanket on the floor and lay down, closing her eyes. While Magnes built a small fire, Ashinji scrounged some sticks with which to hang their chicken over the flames.
As the bird began to sizzle, dripping fat into the fire, greasy smoke rose through the ragged hole in the roof and swirled away into the star-spattered sky. Ashinji assumed spit duty, turning the bird at regular intervals so it would roast as evenly as possible. After a while, Magnes moved to wake Gran but Ashinji shook his head.
“You won’t be able to rouse her. She’s in a profound state of trance, something practitioners call ‘mage sleep’. I doubt she’ll stir for at least another day,” he explained.
“You look done in, yourself,” Magnes said. “Maybe you should try some of that ‘mage sleep’”
“I don’t know the technique. I’m not trained.” Ashinji rubbed eyes stinging with fatigue. “I’ll be all right in the morning, I think.”
They ate their meal in companionable silence, washing it down with swigs of tepid water. When they had finished, Ashinji set aside a portion of the chicken for Gran, then banked the fire while Magnes saw to the horses. The animals whickered and stomped restlessly as Magnes did what little he could to groom them. “They’re hungry,” he commented. “We’ll have to let them graze a bit tomorrow.”
“I hope you’re right about folk not wanting to approach the barrow,” Ashinji replied. “I’d hate to have to fight off horse thieves.”
Magnes grunted and shook his head. “I’m sure the locals are convinced this place is haunted. They won’t risk getting themselves snatched and drained of their life force by some hungry ghost.” He chuckled, then added, “Or by a soul-stealing elf!”
Ashinji tossed a blanket onto the packed earth and lay down with a grimace. “Ai, Goddess, but this ground’s hard,” he sighed. Magnes, finished with tending the horses, threw his own blanket down beside Ashinji and settled on his back. The two young men lay for a while in silence, staring at the shadow-cloaked ceiling of the barrow.
“I saw what you did to those men, Ashi,” Magnes said, breaking the quiet. “I had no idea your magic was so strong.” In the dark, his voice sounded a little awed.
“I didn’t know, either. I mean, Gran has told me my Talent is very powerful, but it’s been blocked since childhood, for reasons that don’t seem very compelling right now.”
A wave of guilt washed over him, so powerful and bitter it tore a sob from his throat.
“What kind of a monster am I, Magnes?
” He looked at his friend and sensing the other’s confusion, added, “I murdered two men. ”
“What are you talking about, Ashi? You didn’t murder…”
“Yes, I did!” Ashinji cut him off, nearly choking on the pain. “The…the one man, he, he…Ai, Goddess! He begged me for his life! I could have let him live, but…but I, I…”
“Ashi, please don’t do this to yourself,” Magnes pulled him into an embrace.
Ashinji covered his face with his hands and gave in to his tears, so lost in self-loathing he could not accept or acknowledge the comfort his friend offered.
How can I ever face Jelena again? How can I even think of touching her, making love to her, with the blood of a murdered man on my hands? When she finds out what I’ve done, she’ll hate me. Goddess, I couldn’t live with that!
“Ashi, Ashi…please…” Magnes murmured, stroking his hair. “You did nothing wrong. Those men attacked us. We were defending ourselves. You are not a murderer. Gods, I can’t stand this!”
Magnes pried Ashinji’s hands from his face and kissed him.
Ashinji gasped and recoiled in shock.
Magnes jerked back, nearly falling into the fire. “I…I’m so sorry, Ashi!” he stammered. “I only wanted to, to make you feel better…I didn’t mean…” He fell silent and looked away.
Ashinji let out a ragged sigh. The storm had passed, leaving behind a quieter, but no less intense guilt in its wake.
“Magnes.”
Magnes flinched, as if stung by the sound of his name.
“Look at me…please.”
The two young men stared at each other for several heartbeats. In the semi-darkness, Magnes’ eyes gleamed with such raw need, Ashinji thought he might weep anew.
“Ashi…” Magnes whispered, breathing hard now as if locked in a fierce struggle with something he dare not allow to win.
Trembling, Ashinji hugged his knees to his chest, afraid of this perilous new landscape he must now traverse. He chose his next words with care.
“Magnes, you are, and will always be, my friend,” he murmured, “But…”
“No, Ashi. You don’t have to say anything. I know, believe me. I know all too well.” Magnes squeezed his eyes shut, and a single tear leaked out, sparking in the fire’s glow. “You are Jelena’s husband, and I know how much you love her. I’m human, you’re an elf. We’re both men. I know all this!” He groaned and covered his face with shaking hands. “But, it still hurts to be so near you and not be able to…to…” His voice stuttered into silence.
Ashinji swallowed hard and raked his hands through his hair, unsure of what to say to ease his friend’s pain.
“This makes no sense to me at all.” Magnes dropped his hands and continued in a hoarse whisper. “I’ve never been attracted to other men before, never, until the day I met you. I felt something for you from the very first moment. I locked those feelings away, buried them deep, especially when I saw how you looked at Jelena. I don’t know why they’ve chosen to resurface now.”
“We’ve been through a lot together,” Ashinji replied in a gentle voice. “I owe my life to you, Magnes. If not for your healing skills, I would have died a slave. That kind of thing forges an unbreakable bond between people. It creates a kind of love.”
“Love is a very strange thing,” Magnes replied. “I loved a girl once, back home in Amsara. I still love her, but she’s married to another man, and even if she weren’t, it would be impossible for us to be together. Yet, I still hold on to the fantasy that I could actually have a life with her.” He stared at the barrow ceiling as he spoke, as if doing so made it easier to confess all of the secret agony in his heart.
“I don’t want to feel this way about you, Ashi. It’s too confusing and painful! I’ve got to push this out of my heart somehow, yet find a way to hold on to that other kind of love we can share.”
He looked into Ashinji’s eyes.
“I love you, Ashi,” he declared. “There, I’ve said it once and I promise I’ll never say it to you again. Now you must promise me you’ll say nothing to Jelena about any of this. I couldn’t bear the thought of her knowing how close I came to betraying her trust.”
“What you’ve said to me will always be just between us, I swear,” Ashinji replied. His heart ached at the profound sadness in Magnes’ eyes, but he knew he could never give his friend what he so desperately wanted.
For a while longer, the two young men regarded each other in silence, then Magnes said, “You have to find a way to forgive yourself for what you had to do, Ashi.”
“I don’t know if that’s possible.” Ashinji picked up a stick and stirred the dying fire.
“Yes, it is.” Magnes extended his hand as if to touch Ashinji’s arm, then let it fall to his lap.
“Then you must take your own advice, my friend,” Ashinji said.
“What do you mean?”
“Your father’s death was an accident. You need self-forgiveness as much as I do, Magnes.”
After a few heartbeats, Magnes nodded. “I have to go home, put things right with Thessalina and face what I did,” he said. “I just pray it’s not too late.”
“Trust your sister to see the truth,” Ashinji replied.
“Jelena once told me she thought you were the most beautiful thing on this earth, Ashi,” Magnes murmured. “She was right.”
“No, my friend,” Ashinji replied, his voice catching as more tears threatened. “I am so far from that. My wife is the most beautiful thing on this earth, not me.”
Magnes sighed and shook his head. He lay down and turned away from Ashinji, as if he could no longer bear to look upon what he so fervently desired but could never have.
For a very long time, Ashinji remained awake staring into the fire, too exhausted and emotionally raw to sleep. When he finally did lie down, he could only toss and turn.
When the sky beyond the broken edges of the barrow turned pearl gray with the coming dawn, Ashinji rose and climbed the rubble slope out onto the side of the ancient grave. He sat cross-legged in the dewy grass and watched the sun lift itself over the horizon to begin its daily journey across the heavens.
When he heard the scuffle of footsteps on the slope behind him, he didn’t need to look to know who approached. Magnes came up beside him and held out a hunk of cheese and a piece of bread. Wordlessly, Ashinji took the food and began to eat. Together, they stared into the distance, two friends sharing a meal in the quiet of the morning, each one knowing nothing would be the same between them ever again.
A Change of Heart
You have a body for me?”
“Yes, Highness,” the old man said. “A man of middle years, dead less than a day.”
“Excellent. Take me to it.”
Prince Raidan Onjara did not fear death, having witnessed it many times during his long career as a physician, but as he followed the elderly healer along the dirt path leading to the man’s cold room, he felt a twinge of apprehension.
What if the plague could not be stopped?
The prince had arrived in Tono three days ago. Since then, he had examined the bodies of five victims, though none had been fresh enough to yield acceptable samples.
All five were okui and had recently come into contact with hikui folk. According to the local Chief Constable, many people in the district had fallen sick, and the purebloods now seemed to die as easily as the mixed-race folk. This had led to some ugly confrontations, and increasing demands by some okui that all hikui be forced to leave the district.
With Lady Odata away in Sendai for the war council, the thankless task of keeping the peace in the valley now fell to her eldest son, an untested youth just barely of age. Raidan had felt no surprise when the beleaguered chief greeted his arrival with such overt relief.
Having no time to spare for anything other than the mission that brought him to Tono in the first place, Raidan had been forced to declare himself unavailable for peacekeeping duty, much to the consternation of the chief and his
staff.
From first light to well after sunset, Raidan and his small escort rode from one farmstead to the next, interviewing the healthy and examining the sick. From modest cottages to prosperous manor houses, the prince encountered the same thing; people feared the plague and the imminent invasion by the Soldarans—purebloods and mixed bloods alike.
That evening, as the prince and his men dined at a local inn, word came to them of the old healer and the newly deceased man lying in a cold room behind the healer’s cottage. Not wishing to waste a single moment, Raidan abandoned his dinner and took to the saddle, leaving his escort behind.
Trudging along behind the old man, his worn leather satchel bumping his back, Raidan made a mental list of the samples he needed: blood, saliva, hair, skin, and discharge from any swellings or sores.
Let my brother scoff and cling to the belief that magic is the only way! The future lies with science, not magic, and if the elven people are to advance, they will have to give up their reliance on Talent and embrace the new learning.
That is, if we manage to survive both the plague and the Soldaran invasion.
A three-quarter moon hung like a clipped silver coin amid a thick field of stars. The old healer led the way through a stand of trees to the side of a hill, holding a bull’s-eye lantern above his graying head to light their way. Its golden beam fell upon a stout wooden door set into the side of the grass-covered hill.
“He’s right inside, milord Prince, lying on the lowermost shelf at the back,” the old man said. He gripped the heavy iron ring handle and heaved the door open, then led the way along a sloping passage deep into the interior of the hill.
The passage ended in a circular chamber constructed of tightly fitted, whitewashed stone. Raidan looked around, impressed with the old man’s workroom. Wood shelves, filled with a variety of pots, jars, and caskets, ran along the curve of the walls on either side of the door. A complete kit of dissection tools hung on pegs attached to a table at the center of the room. At the very back, three shelves had been recessed into the wall. Only one held an occupant—the lowest, as stated.
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