Calistin could not imagine a better tour guide. "You can show me where my people…" He amended, "Where our people originated. So much history-"
"No, Calistin." Colbey looked out over the Northlands with a clear wistfulness that defied his words. "I can't go with you any farther."
Calistin's heart felt as if it froze in his chest, no longer beating. "But… I… need you. Now most of all."
"No," Colbey repeated. "You never needed me. I just satisfied my urge to assess and interfere."
Calistin supposed the immortal Renshai spoke truth, yet he knew his life would have taken an entirely different turn without their meeting. "How will I ever know if I mastered those maneuvers you taught me?"
"You'll know. And you'll invent the rest and more. You have the drive, Calistin. And you're lucky enough to have the build and natural talent, too."
"But it will take me years."
Colbey laughed so hard, several children looked up curiously from their wool gathering, and Treysind smiled broadly.
Even Calistin could not stop the corners of his mouth from twitching upward. "Am I that funny?"
"Apparently, you inherited at least one thing from me. My damnable impatience. And that, Calistin, is no fair gift." Colbey glanced into the sky with an almost apologetic look. "I suppose it goes hand in hand with practicing oneself into oblivion in a quest for perfection. We cannot wait for anything and find fools nearly impossible to suffer. And it is that very curse that makes it impossible for me to accompany you any longer."
Calistin knew Colbey had been born in Renshi, had lived there for some time prior to the tribe's banishment. He had participated in the long and ancient exodus which had resulted in the Renshai leaving a trail of destruction and devilry through the West and East, earning the hatred of all the peoples of the world. "You're saying you don't want to look upon the world of your childhood?"
"I'm saying," Colbey said slowly, "that I can't. Everything an immortal does on Midgard leaves a mark well beyond his intentions. If I enter a city of Northmen, there will be a battle, and it will not end well for Aerin. I no longer have a right to participate in mortal combat, no matter how much I might crave it."
Calistin supposed he understood, but he yearned for Colbey's knowledge more than anything in the world. Like a drug, it had entered his system and become all-consuming. Nothing mattered but his next practice; it gripped him with all the raw, basic desire of an addiction. "Then I'll give up my battle.We can go back West, and you can train me."
Aside from a pained wince, Colbey ignored the suggestion. He had made his point. He had come merely to talk, and that decision had had consequences far beyond his intentions. "Calistin, I came to tell you something that I never actually said. Every time I broached the subject, we wound up burdened by explanations, in a different place."
Calistin studied his torke, trying to focus on his words rather than his own urge for just one more spar. Colbey's leaving bothered him beyond this one need. Once the elder left, Calistin would find himself with too much time on his hands to ponder all the information dumped upon him. He would have to decide how he felt about his past, his family, his blood. He would have to consider emotions he would rather pack away forever. His very platform, his understanding of reality, would collapse beneath him. "It's about my soul, isn't it?"
Colbey nodded, his expression unreservedly sober. "Your only hope to enter Valhalla comes through the bloodline you otherwise would never have needed to know. Had it not been for the spirit spiders, I would have left your situation as it was, your family foundation solid, and your mind unfettered with concerns for heredity."
Calistin lowered his head, uncertain. He waffled between wishing he had never found out and rage that no one had told him as a child. Once, he had demanded to know why his parents had kept this secret from him; another time, he had berated Colbey for telling him at all. He had a right to know where he came from, yet that knowledge came with pain and burdens for all involved. He realized now that he struggled with the same ambivalence about knowing what to do for his lost soul. "Without a soul, what hope do I ever have of reaching Valhalla? The purpose to which I dedicated myself since infancy, to which all Renshai dedicate themselves from infancy, no longer exists."
"The Valkyrie should never have told you."
Calistin might have agreed, had Colbey not since offered him hope. "But then I would have died worthy and never found Valhalla."
"Yes," Colbey agreed, "and her mistake opened the way for me to help you. Because now, instead of interfering with mortals, I'm only making up for another immortal's lapse. Calistin, I believe your only hope of finding Valhalla is the same way I did it."
"Immortality?" The suggestion confused Calistin. "But you said I'm not immortal."
"You're not," Colbey explained. "Yet."
Guarded hope arose, mingled with confusion. "Yet? Isn't immortality something you're born with?"
"Usually." Colbey glanced at the wool gatherers to assure none of the children came near enough to overhear their conversation. Though Northern, they also likely understood the Western tongue. "Because it's extremely rare, even since the beginning of the world, for immortals and mortals to interbreed. And, of course, you realize even immortals can be killed, they simply don't die of disease or age."
Calistin had never paid much attention to such details, or anything that did not pertain directly to Renshai and swordcraft. "I've heard elves have an end age. That they're not true immortals."
"Semantics." Colbey seemed resigned to the necessary tangents that allowed him to make his point. "Elves live centuries at least, millennia at best. When an elf 's time comes, his soul gets recycled into the body of a newborn. Without a passing, there can be no new elfin life. Cyclical immortality some call it, but immortality nonetheless. The Cardinal Wizards, when they existed, had a similar system. They chose their time of passing, and their souls joined that of their chosen successor, which allowed each to become subsequently more powerful." He winced at some distant memory. "Unfortunately, in my opinion, it also made them more and more crazy. Whether or not the previous Wizards became spiritual guides and assisted with magic, it could drive a man beyond insanity to have the thoughts and voices of others in his head."
Treysind finally spoke, "Sounds like ya gots firsthand 'perience."
Colbey made a noncommittal gesture. If he did, he would not discuss it. "The point being that there's not much history to go on when it comes to mortal/immortal crosses. There are no known examples of Wizards or elves interbreeding with mortals until Princess Ivana."
Calistin grimaced. The grotesqueness of that child had driven every elf but her mother into hiding.
"But, as near as I can figure it, the few of us with a significant amount of divine blood can earn our immortality."
Calistin asked the only question he could. "How?"
Colbey met Calistin's gaze levelly, like a man speaking truth, not stalling or playing. "I don't know."
Nevertheless, Calistin huffed out a loud sigh. He hated social games and nearly always lost them. "You don't know? Or you don't want to tell me?" He added angrily, "Let me guess: you want me to figure it out for myself because that's part of the whole damned process."
Colbey only stared, as did Treysind.
Calistin tried to explain his overreaction, but it only came out sounding more bitter. "Look. When it comes to battle, I'm the…" He bit off the word that usually came next: "best." He could not speak it in front of Colbey, who had already shown himself to be the superior warrior. "… one you want," he finished lamely instead. "But I'm ignorant about a lot of other stuff. Even simple things. I just never…"
"Had the chance to learn it?" Colbey suggested. "Never had the need?"
"Yes," Calistin snapped defensively. "It's the only way to become the best at something. To live it from sunup to sundown and into your dreams. Because every moment you're eating, sleeping, or engaging in unnecessary conversation or entertainment, you're missing a chanc
e to improve your skills. And time is one thing you can never get back."
Colbey bobbed his head thoughtfully. "Thank you, Calistin. I can't say I haven't lived those very words at certain times of my life. But I do hope you spared some time to learn the Northern tongue, because you're going to need it for the next few weeks or months." He pursed his lips, "Unless, of course, you intend to walk into the first tavern you see and announce your tribe. Then, I can virtually guarantee you won't need to know any other words."
Calistin snorted. "I can handle myself against dozens of Northmen."
"But eventually, the hundreds that follow will overcome even you. Is that how you want to die?"
"It's how every Renshai wants to die."
Colbey did not say another word, but his brows slid upward.
Treysind's face revealed all the emotion the others did not. His features creased in agonized worry, and he wrung his hands in frantic circles. "If ever' Renshai wants it, how's come they don't jus' all do it?"
"Yeah," Colbey said taking up a position directly beside Treysind. "How's come they don't?" Although he mimicked the boy's speech, he did not do so in an insulting manner, and Treysind clearly took no offense.
"Because," Calistin started heatedly, then paused to consider. As he did so, his mood went from heated to less so, and finally to embarrassment. He felt the warmth move from deep within him to only the surface of his skin. "Because deliberate suicide is only courage if there is no other way."
"Go on."
"If one chooses a course of action solely for the purpose of dying, it… it…" Though Calistin had heard it from his mother and other Renshai, he could not remember the rest of the quotation.
Treysind gave it his own twist. "It's jus' stupid."
"Couldn't have said it better myself." Colbey smiled and winked conspiratorially at Calistin. It was one of his own famous sayings his charges had mangled.
Calistin could not help grinning. It was the first time he and Colbey shared a joke at Treysind's expense rather than his own.
Colbey turned serious almost immediately afterward. "I'll leave you with this: First, don't hurry. With or without true immortality, your divine blood will cause you to age far slower than even the average Renshai. The gods do nothing quickly. Immortality can never be won overnight or with a singular action. It will require you to think, to emote, and to behave in a manner that makes you worthy of Asgard at all times. Competent swordsmanship, Calistin, will not be enough. Until now, your ignorance may have helped you, but-from this point on-it can only hurt."
Calistin licked his lips and closed his eyes, suddenly terrified for reasons he could not wholly understand. His life, once so simple, had become complicated beyond all reason. No longer could he hide behind his strict dedication to his sword. Other matters demanded his attention, and the Renshai no longer tended to his every other desire, obviating his need to think, to consider, to grow. He raised his head to beg reassurance, to ask one more question, then another, to prevent Colbey from leaving him when he most needed guidance. But, when he opened his eyes, the old Renshai was gone.
CHAPTER 38
Never despise your enemy, or you may lose the chance to research his strengths and weaknesses.Too many wars are undertaken with faith in one's own genius and the belief that the enemy has none.
-General Santagithi
The stream bubbled merrily through the mountains, a silver sliver reflecting sunlight into Saviar's eyes. He perched on a deadfall that bridged the water, his legs dangling, right hand clasped around Chymmerlee's, the left clutching a flat stone. He drew his arm back, flicked his wrist, and sent the stone skipping.
Chymmerlee counted aloud, "One, two three, four, five… six. You beat me."
Saviar watched the rings widening from each touch, then his stone sank, leaving a wake of tiny bubbles.
"And with your left hand." Chymmerlee gave their entwined hands a shake. "And I thought I was so good at this."
Saviar did not bother to mention that which hand he used did not matter. Renshai trained to use both equally; any tendency to favor one got fixed in childhood drills. He pulled her hand toward him, drawing her along, and pushed forward for a kiss.
"Saviar!" Subikahn appeared out of nowhere.
Startled, Saviar dropped Chymmerlee's hand, reaching for a sword hilt, leaping in front of her to guard her. Instead, his quick movement sent her careening from the log. She tumbled gracelessly into the muddy stream with more thud than splash.
Subikahn's tone changed from one of excitement to horror. "Sav-ee-ar!" He charged into the water.
Aghast, Saviar stared at Chymmerlee in the stream. Sitting, the water came up to her waist, her clothing soaked, face and hair a mucky mess. "Chymmer, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." Helplessly, he ran first one way, then the other, trying to divine the fastest way to her. Jump, you idiot. He sprang into the stream, the weight of his landing spraying Chymmerlee and Subikahn, who had grabbed her elbow to help her out of the water.
An instant later, Saviar found himself standing in brown water up to his shins, staring at his brother and his friend splattered head to toe in wet filth. Subikahn graciously held Chymmerlee's arm, his hair dripping plant matter and mud.
Realizing he had only managed to make things worse, Saviar flushed. "I'm sorry," was all he could think to say. "I was trying to help."
"Yes," Subikahn noted, shaking the mess from his hair. "How thoughtful. Thank you."
Saviar looked at Chymmerlee, waiting for her to slap him, to cry, to call him something worthy of the idiocy he had just displayed. She started shaking, gently at first, then harder. Laughter emerged from her, sweet and bell-like. She stooped, scooped up a handful of mud, and threw it at Saviar.
Saviar could have dodged it, but surprise held him rooted in place. The mudball hit him in the stomach, slapping against his tunic, then running in a wet line back into the water. He remained in place until the second handful of mud sped toward him. Then, he attempted to duck. Mud splattered into his hair as it whizzed by, the bulk of it missing. "You… wench," he sputtered.
Subikahn joined the action, dredging up handfuls of muck and hurling them at his brother.
"Hey," Saviar yelled. "Hey!" Opening his mouth turned out to be a bad idea. The mud tasted of fish and greenery, and he spat out bits of rock and filth. "All right, then! If that's how you want it." He grabbed his own muck, feeling a ball smack against the top of his head as he dropped into a crouch.
It devolved swiftly. Water splashed in mighty, man-made waves, mud flew in all directions, shattering into watery bits as it hit a target. It became a three-way war, as Chymmerlee's aim betrayed her and she hit Subikahn one too many times.
Saviar laughed, careful to keep his lips clamped tight as he did so. Mud weighted his feet and gushed over his boots to leave him wading through mush. His filthy, sodden clothes clung to every part of him, and his hair dripped large clumps of grime. He had to squint to keep the mud from his eyes, though he could see it clinging to his lashes. Whenever he tried to wipe it away with the back of a hand, he only wound up adding more. He could not remember the last time he had had so much fun.
Shielding her face, Chymmerlee giggled, finally wading to shore.
Saviar stopped, an unthrown mudball dissolving through his fingers. He sneaked a glance at Subikahn, who looked like a man-shaped swamp monster. "Truce?" he suggested.
Subikahn lowered his arm.
"Do I look as bad as you two?" Chymmerlee asked, stripping mud from her hair.
"Worse," Subikahn exclaimed before Saviar could say something more comforting. "But, then again, Saviar was smart enough to anticipate the battle by shoving you in first."
Saviar cringed, wishing Subikahn had not mentioned the initiating event, even in jest. He liked Chymmerlee's reaction to his foolish and clumsy mistake. So many women would have gotten angry and flayed him, at least verbally, for it. "I really am sorry about that. I didn't mean to-"
"-cheat?" Chymmerlee supplied; and
, now, Subikahn laughed.
"No." Saviar thought back to how the mud war had started. "I didn't expect to get startled by my brother running up sounding like he had news of great import, then accidentally sweeping a beautiful girl off her balance." The smile disappeared from his face. "Did you shout out my name for an actual reason?"
Chymmerlee smiled at the compliment, the movement barely cracking the mud on her face.
Subikahn brushed futilely at his clothes, his demeanor growing more serious. "Actually, I did." He glanced at Chymmerlee, then apparently decided she had paid enough to hear the news as well. "Remember how I told you I saw a small army pass through the lower woodlands last week?"
Saviar nodded. He had not believed it, thinking Subikahn had misinterpreted what he saw. "And another one, a smaller one, yesterday."
"Yes," Subikahn confirmed. "And a bigger one today. And, this time, I talked to some of the soldiers."
Saviar froze. "You did?"
"They were Northmen." Subikahn shook like a dog, dislodging large chunks of drying muck. "I think they liked meeting an obvious foreigner who could speak their language."
Apparently more surprised by Subikahn's revelation than concerned for passing armies, Chymmerlee chimed in. "You speak Northern?"
Saviar held his breath, wondering if his brother was about to reveal their secret.
But Subikahn waved off the question. "I speak a lot of languages. My father, I think, could communicate with creatures from distant stars if he had to."
Saviar made a gesture to hurry Subikahn to the important issues. "Why are armies moving through the mountain passes?"
"Apparently, Bearn is under siege."
"What?" The word was startled from Saviar.
Dutifully, Subikahn repeated, "Bearn is under siege. The pirates are massing just offshore."
Saviar flipped his arms to dislodge more mud, wishing Subikahn had stopped the game in light of this information. "We have to go.We have to do whatever we can."
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