Into the Wind

by Anthony, Shira

  “You still haven’t answered my question, Taren. What do you want?”

  I don’t know.

  “Still not good enough.”

  I want to find my way. I want to do what the goddess asks of me.

  “You speak the truth, Taren,” Treande said. “But there is more to the truth, isn’t there? You want to do it with Ian at your side.”

  There’s nothing wrong with wanting him there, Taren snapped.

  “No.” Treande’s voice was patient. Understanding. “But what will you do if he’s no longer at your side?”

  I can’t see the way forward without him. It would be like sailing into the wind. I’d go nowhere. I’d be lost. Of all people, Treande should understand this.

  “You would survive. You’re stronger than you know.”

  Taren wanted to protest, to tell Treande that they weren’t the same person, tell him he wasn’t that strong, but Treande vanished before he could form the words. Behind where he once floated was a passageway.

  “The stone is only the first step, Taren,” he heard Treande say as he flicked his tail and headed down the narrow passage. “You must still find your way. You must learn to sail into the wind.”

  Seventeen

  TAREN SWAM to the end of the passage and into another cavern. Smaller than the one where he’d encountered Treande, its center boasted a roughly carved pillar on top of which an object glowed brightly: the rune stone. He didn’t need to see it to know it for what it was; he felt it in his bones. Like an old friend, it called to him. But for the stone, there would have been no light—the crystals were absent here.

  He swam to where the rune stone awaited him. Was it his imagination, or did the stone glow brighter the closer he came to it? It urged him onward. His mouth felt dry, in spite of the water he breathed, and he struggled to keep his hands from shaking as he reached out for it. He paused, dropping his arms to his sides once more, and moved his tail and hovered over it so that he might better see. He clutched the dagger tighter in his fist, holding on to it like a talisman.

  Such a tiny thing. Not much bigger than his thumbnail, the stone shimmered with the same bluish light Taren remembered from his vision of Owyn at the temple. The memory of Owyn’s death caused him to shiver. He took comfort in the knowledge that Ian—his beloved Ian—was safe. He didn’t understand how he knew it, but he knew that with this stone, he could keep Ian safe. More than that, he could keep his people safe.

  My people. Taren hadn’t realized he’d come to think of them that way. When had it happened? Perhaps the part of Treande that had loved his people enough to find the strength to endure after Owyn’s death was now Taren’s own strength. Had Treande imparted him with that gift? Taren wondered how much of his encounter with Treande had been his own making and not that part of Treande’s soul left behind to guard the stone.

  When he’d asked Vurin if someday all of his memories would return, Vurin had just shrugged. A part of Taren feared what more he might remember of Treande’s life after Owyn. The pain he’d experienced recalling Owyn’s death still lingered, and he’d felt Treande’s deep pain in the short time he had spent with him. Still, he’d sensed something other than grief in Treande’s soul. He’d sensed Treande’s resolve.

  How do you sail into the wind? The rune stone held part of the answer for him. He was sure of it. Goddess, he prayed. Give me strength. Grant me understanding.

  He reached for the stone with determination this time and grasped its warmth in his hand. The second he clasped his fingers around the stone, the vision swallowed him up.

  THE OFFERING glowed hot, the tree branches he and Owyn had set there to purify the altar having been consumed in the fire. All that remained now were the embers. Outside, night had fallen long ago and the crescent moon had set over the ocean. He and Owyn had waited until all the villagers had left. He guessed most were long asleep. They would do this with only each other to witness the rite.

  Even now, Treande wondered if Owyn was making the right decision. He didn’t doubt Owyn’s reassurances that the goddess commanded this, but he feared what might happen. They had only been handfasted a month before, and Treande feared for Owyn’s survival. The rune stone unyieldingly punished anyone who dared wield it without permission. The ancient texts were devoid of any mention of the stone, but the stories passed down through generations of priests contained accounts of horrible deaths attributed to the stone.

  Treande also feared for Owyn and what the bonding might do to him. Would it alter him somehow? Would he still recognize the man he loved afterward?

  Owyn’s smile did not reassure him. “I will be the same,” he told Treande as they prepared the altar for the rite by dousing the embers with water they’d carried themselves from the harbor. “The goddess blessed our union. She will not take me from you so quickly.”

  As he’d prayed when they’d been handfasted, Treande now prayed that the goddess would grant them a long and happy life together. He wreathed Owyn’s neck with his arms and kissed him, hoping to express everything he couldn’t bring himself to say in that single kiss.

  “Why must you do this?” Treande asked as their lips parted. “The stone needs no host. You can guard it, as your ancestors have done before.”

  “My vision was powerful. I cannot explain how I know this, but the goddess wishes me to keep it safe in this way.”

  “Safe from whom? We have no enemies. Our lives are peaceful. Once you bond with it, there is no turning back. Only your death can free it once again.” Taren told himself his eyes burned because of the smoke from the offering, but he knew better.

  “The goddess’s prophecy must come to pass. This stone will someday be our people’s salvation.” Owyn brushed his fingers over Treande’s cheek. “I promise you, no harm will come of the rite.”

  Treande wasn’t as sure. Even if Owyn was right to believe the goddess herself commanded the bonding, someday Owyn would have to give his life to pass the stone to the next generation or the stone would be lost.

  No doubt Owyn read the concern in Treande’s eyes, because he said, “Beloved. You know as well as I that we cannot escape the goddess’s plan. Please. Trust me. What I do tonight will not take me from you.” Owyn smiled wistfully and offered Treande his hand.

  “What must I do?” Treande asked. He was a priest. He’d sworn his life to the goddess. He would not interfere, much as he knew the price Owyn might pay.

  “Bear witness. Nothing more.”

  Treande nodded.

  Owyn approached the altar and slipped the chain that held the rune stone over his head. The bare skin of his chest glistened with sweat as he gently laid the stone on the altar. From the embers, he retrieved the silver dagger with his left hand. Owen gasped. Treande guessed the metal was still very hot. Owyn held the dagger over his head and chanted the words inscribed on its hilt: Vea’nat, Ea’nat, Tur. Outside the temple, the wind howled its greeting as if to announce the coming of a tempest.

  Treande forced himself to breathe through the thick zest of power that permeated the high-ceilinged sanctuary. He felt it dance on his skin, at once horrifying and exhilarating.

  Owyn lowered the dagger and rubbed the skin over his heart. He turned the weapon so that it pointed toward his body, then drew it against his bare skin. He gasped and gritted his teeth as the knife easily cut through the soft skin and blood blossomed crimson there. Owyn replaced the dagger on the altar and picked up the stone, which glowed brightly as it hung on its chain.

  “Vea’nat, Ea’nat, Tur,” Owyn repeated. A shriek of wind rent the air and seemed to amplify his voice. Blood dripped from his chest as he gently pressed the stone against the wound. His blond hair whipped about his face as the wind grew stronger inside the temple.

  Goddess, protect him! Treande prayed.

  The light from the stone grew brighter still, like the sun as it caught the surface of the water. Treande was forced to look away. The heat intensified and flames rose from the center of the maelstrom until
Treande feared that Owyn’s life was at risk. He covered his eyes and moved toward where he had last seen Owyn.

  “Owyn!” Something solid pushed Treande backward with such force that he fell on the stone floor. “Owyn!” He struggled back to his feet and ran at the fireball, desperate to do something to stop it.

  “Treande.” Owyn spoke in a calm, clear voice.

  Treande blinked but realized he couldn’t see. “Goddess! Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine.” Owyn gathered Treande in his arms and held him against his chest. Treande felt the reassuring beat of Owyn’s heart. Slowly, Treande’s vision began to clear. Even before he could see once again, he felt Owyn’s nakedness.

  “Owyn.” Treande allowed his tears to flow unimpeded. “Goddess, I thought—”

  “As you can see, I am well.”

  Treande stepped back and brushed away his tears. Owyn was untouched. Unblemished. The place where he’d cut his chest was smooth, his body completely unscathed. Clean. Purified. Treande closed his eyes and spoke a prayer of thanksgiving to the goddess.

  “The stone?” Treande asked.

  “Gone. It is part of me now.” Owyn touched his fingers to his heart.

  “May I…?”

  Owyn smiled and nodded.

  Treande tentatively pressed his palm against the skin of Owyn’s chest. It felt warm and familiar. Encouraged, he pressed a bit more firmly and reached to touch Owyn’s soul. It too felt familiar, but where before he had only sensed Owyn, now his mind was flooded with something new. Power, like the vibrations of the waves as they pounded the surf, only this did not retreat. It pulsed, strong and unyielding, waiting for Owyn to call upon it.

  “Thank the goddess.”

  “I told you there was nothing to fear, my beloved.” Owyn’s embrace was a balm to Treande. He closed his eyes and thanked his goddess once again.

  TAREN CAME back to himself to discover that he now wore the stone around his neck. He didn’t remember having put it there, nor did he remember that the stone had been attached to a chain.

  “Taren?”

  Taren took a deep breath and turned around. He struggled to clear the fog from his mind as he fingered the black stone. This vision seemed to linger longer than the others. He looked around, sure he would see Owyn there, but realized he was alone with Odhrán. No longer Treande. He repressed a shiver, shoved his fear back from where it had come. I’m not Treande, he told himself. What had Treande said to him? “My spirit lives inside you, but you have your own destiny.”

  Odhrán hovered a few feet away from him. The chamber, the tunnels—all of them had vanished. Instead of light from the crystals, the sun shone through the water to illuminate their surroundings. Taren was back at the entrance to the cave near where he’d left Odhrán. The water felt heavy. Cooler than inside. Fingers of warmth from the current ghosted over Taren’s skin, reassuring him, bringing him back to himself. Back to the present.

  “Are you all right?” Odhrán asked.

  How long was I gone? Taren’s mind slowly began to clear. Everything had changed so quickly that he felt unsettled.

  “I left you here a few moments ago.”

  Moments? It felt to Taren as though hours had passed.

  “Aye.” Odhrán seemed untroubled by this. “The enchantments must have ended when you retrieved the stone.”

  Oh. The realization that Treande had vanished along with the enchantments left him feeling surprisingly empty. None of it was real, then. I imagined all of it?

  “It may have been real. Who can say?” Odhrán eyed him with curiosity. “This saddens you. How strange.”

  I…, Taren began. He was here. Treande. I… I spoke with him.

  “A guide.” Odhrán nodded his understanding. “But you always knew you’d have to make your own way, didn’t you?”

  Aye. Still, he’d hoped for more.

  “You had a vision when you touched the stone.”

  Taren wondered how Odhrán knew this.

  “I can sense your gift, Taren,” Odhrán replied to Taren’s unvoiced question. “Your magic is different from mine, but it is powerful enough that I can feel it.”

  Yes. When I touched the stone, I had a vision of when Owyn bonded with it.

  “What did you learn?”

  Only how to become one with it. Taren sighed. I had hoped to understand more, but the vision ended.

  “What will you do with it, then?”

  I don’t know. Vurin believes my people need it. I’ll bring it to him. Taren paused for a moment, then said, Don’t you think it strange that in spite of all we know, its purpose seems to have been lost over time?

  Odhrán appeared thoughtful. “Perhaps it’s better we not know. For now, at least.”

  The stone is the salvation of my people. At least that’s what the prophecy says. The goddess has a plan for it, just like she has a plan for us.

  Odhrán shook his head. “Treande often said that. He tolerated my disbelief.”

  His belief wavered at times. When Owyn died…. Taren took a deep breath. Enough of the past, he said brightly. It’s time for me to rejoin the Phantom. I don’t wish to worry my mate.

  “Ian.”

  Aye. Do you wish to come with me?

  “Come with you?” Odhrán’s eyes grew wide.

  Why not? At least accompany me as far as the ship. Even I can sense you’re curious about your brethren.

  “They are not my brethren.” Darkness clouded Odhrán’s expression once again.

  Treande would have disagreed, Taren pointed out.

  “Aye.” Odhrán pursed his lips, but Taren thought he saw a hint of a smile. “He did, in fact. Treande was… unusual,” Odhrán finished.

  I ask only that you trust me as you trusted him.

  Odhrán tilted his head to one side as if considering something. “I already do. It’s the others I don’t trust.”

  Taren nodded. I understand. My first encounter with my people was hardly a pleasant one. I spent weeks locked up in their prison. He hesitated. The memory of Seria’s torture was still too painful, too raw.

  “You needn’t tell me more,” Odhrán said. “I can sense those thoughts. They still haunt you and probably will for a long time to come. This man—Seria?—he is the leader of the island faction?”

  Taren sensed that Odhrán had lived through something that had left him with emotional scars. He struggled to calm the cold dread that crept through his body and threatened to pierce his heart. He breathed deeply and focused on Odhrán’s question.

  Seria wasn’t their leader when I was held captive. But since we escaped, there have been rumors that he’s convinced the Ea Council to resume their fight with the mainlanders.

  “More reason for me to stay away from your people, I fear.” Odhrán’s voice in Taren’s mind was a low whisper. Devoid of emotion. Resigned.

  Why? You’re far more powerful than they are. As usual, Taren’s curiosity had him speaking before thinking.

  Odhrán chuckled, but his expression once again grew dark. “Power is a frightening thing,” he said. “Perhaps it’s time I show you my past, that you might understand my fear.”

  How…?

  “If you wish, your gift will allow you to see, Taren,” Odhrán said as he offered Taren his hands. “But what I offer to show you is far from pleasant, I assure you.”

  I want to know. Though Odhrán’s words disturbed him, Taren needed to know. He’d never run from the truth before.

  Odhrán smiled his understanding as Taren took his hands and clasped them tight. As with most of his other visions, Taren’s mind seemed to float free of his body, transporting him outside of himself. The familiar sensations of the ocean and water upon his skin faded as he lost himself in the past.

  Eighteen

  THE HARD marble floor made Taren’s knees ache. He blinked and looked around, unsure of where he was. Or who he was. A vision? The familiar sensation his gift imparted danced in his consciousness. He had never succeeded in directin
g his gift before, in spite of Vurin’s attempts to help him. Yet when he’d reached out to touch the place in Odhrán’s mind that felt familiar, the connection had been powerful and immediate.

  Taren—no, he was no longer Taren, he was Odhrán now—kneeled in front of the king of Astenya, the Eastern Lands. Before this powerful man, he felt small, smaller even than the other men in the room. Cold, too, for he was naked but for the jewels that adorned his body, the collar at his neck, and the sheer silk Luka had wrapped around him. Each nipple was pierced with a gold ring, each wrist adorned with a hammered cuff that gleamed in the light that streamed in from the courtyard beyond. His cock stood proud from his body, held erect by the cool stone ring at its base. He felt no shame in his nakedness. Luka preferred him this way. But standing before the king, he felt vulnerable. Afraid.

  He glanced over his shoulder to reassure himself that Luka was still there. Luka, who cared for him when he couldn’t care for himself. Luka, who had taught him to speak the humans’ language and who had given him a place where he finally felt safe. Luka had protected him from those who had cast him out. If Luka had brought him to the palace, Luka had a good reason to do so. Odhrán struggled to repress his fear, rose, and held himself proud before the king.

  Taren experienced each of Odhrán’s emotions as if they were his own. “You have no power to affect what you observe,” Vurin had told Taren when he had learned to use his power to see the past. “What has been cannot be shaped—it is memory formed by its host. An echo of what was. You may speak, but only you will hear words differently than those spoken in the memory.” This memory was Odhrán’s past.

  The tinkling of bells—tiny silver bells on Odhrán’s ankles—reminded Taren of when he’d touched Brynn in the caves. He realized he’d unwittingly brushed up against Odhrán’s past when he’d tried to help Brynn. The push he’d felt in response had probably been Odhrán forcing him away, not wanting him to see his memories. He hadn’t meant to invade Odhrán’s mind. Not then. Not now. He hurried to withdraw from the memory, fearful Odhrán might think he’d willfully entered his thoughts, but something held him back. He sensed Odhrán was allowing him to remain here, that Odhrán wanted him to see and understand.