Child of a Dead God

by Barb Hendee

  She hardly recognized her own reflection.

  Magiere possessed only one gown—of dark blue—which her mother had worn and left to her. It fit her well and offset her pale complexion. Before donning it, she had bathed and washed her hair; and she’d allowed her female “attendants” to not only curl it but also weave in bits of white lilac.

  “Beautiful!” someone proclaimed from the back door.

  Magiere tensed as if trapped, then turned to find Wynn staring at her with a soft smile.

  “I don’t know,” she said, scowling at herself in the mirror. “I look . . . strange.”

  “Well, you cannot be married in a hauberk and sword.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because Leesil will swoon when he sees you,” Wynn answered and stepped in.

  It was Magiere’s turn to stare, for the little sage had been transformed as well. Wynn had agreed to stand as Magiere’s second during the ceremony.

  Her wispy brown hair had been pinned up with curling tendrils framing her small face. A light green dress blended well with her olive complexion, reminding Magiere of fragile creatures in children’s tales about to take flight on dragonflies’ wings.

  “Where did you find the dress?” Magiere asked, suddenly happy for the first time since being hauled into this back room.

  “Your aunt bought it for me,” Wynn said with some embarrassment. “There was no time to have anything made and it was the only finished one we could find that fit. Is the color all right?”

  “It’s fine.” Magiere nodded.

  They stood together before the mirror, Magiere tall and pale with dark hair and blue gown, and Wynn so small and olive in her light green.

  “Like fine ladies going off to a noble ball,” Wynn whispered. “So long as no one saw us a few weeks past, crusted in snow and starving for anything besides dried fish.”

  The mention of dried fish brought Sgäile to Magiere’s thoughts. And Wynn’s as well, judging by the way her smile quickly faded.

  “Is Osha ready?” Magiere asked, as Leesil had chosen him to act as second.

  “Yes”—Wynn let out an exasperated sigh—“but he would only wear his own clothes. So I had them washed, and brushed out his cloak. . . . He looks fine. The guests are gathered inside, and Leesil is waiting to walk you in. We should go.”

  Magiere had wanted this—the whole ceremony—to celebrate joining with Leesil. Now that it was upon her, she wondered if something more private might have been better. She took several quick breaths.

  “Just keep your eyes on Leesil,” Wynn said, “and you will be fine.”

  They walked out and around the warehouse’s front to find Leesil waiting with Osha and Chap.

  Wynn’s advice was sound, and Magiere forgot everything else the moment Leesil turned, looked at her, and his mouth fell open. She’d never been vain, but his expression was worth all the primping.

  “M . . . Magiere?” he stammered.

  “Close your mouth,” she said, “before you swallow a mosquito.”

  He made a handsome sight himself. Aunt Bieja had managed to sew him a loose white shirt, just in time, that he wore tucked into black breeches. He’d polished his boots and tied his white-blond hair back at the nape of his neck.

  Magiere took his arm. “Ready?”

  He nodded, still looking into her eyes.

  Osha fidgeted awkwardly. Wynn hurried over to him, and the young elf looked her up and down as if he’d never seen her before.

  “See how Magiere has Leesil’s arm? They will walk in first. We wait and then follow with Chap.”

  Chap whined with ears perked. Wynn had completely brushed out his coat the night before, ignoring his growls. She hooked her arm into Osha’s, having to reach up a bit.

  Magiere turned into the warehouse with Leesil, and her breath caught at the hundreds of flowers in the streaming light. She kept her poise and moved steadily forward on Leesil’s arm.

  Domin Tilswith waited before the muslin backing in his long gray robes. A thin trail of smoke drifted up from an incense stick in the brazier. Magiere had no idea their friends had gone to so much trouble.

  The cavernous room was filled to the walls with people.

  But a clear path was left for her and Leesil, and faces blurred by as she walked.

  Karlin and the constable, Darien Tomik, stood with young Geoffry and Aria. Even Loni, the elven owner of the Velvet Rose Inn, watched with interest. So many had come to share this day.

  Magiere and Leesil came together before Domin Tilswith. Chap settled right behind them, and Wynn and Osha, as their seconds, stepped off to each side. Domin Tilswith’s voice carried in accented Belaskian, but he never missed a word, as if he had studied every one most carefully.

  “We come together to celebrate the joining of Magiere and Leesil in a life bond.”

  Magiere’s heart began to pound as he leaned over and picked up the silk ribbon.

  “Hold out your hands,” he instructed.

  He lightly tied Leesil’s left hand to Magiere’s right. “Magiere, do you swear to love Leesil, to stand with him, honor his heart, and care for him above all others for as long as you live?”

  Magiere looked at Leesil and answered, “I swear.”

  “Leesil, do you swear to love Magiere, to stand with her, honor her heart, and care for her above all others for as long as you live?”

  Leesil held her eyes with his. “I swear.”

  Domin Tilswith removed the ribbon and took up the incense. Blowing its tip to a coal, he lit the two outside candles, their wicks lightly dipped in clear oil.

  Magiere picked up one candle and Leesil the other, and together they lit the center candle. They blew out the candles they held and set them aside.

  “Two lights are now one,” Domin Tilswith proclaimed. He held up the single candle. “Leesil and Magiere are one.”

  The warehouse filled with cheers.

  Wynn kept stumbling sideways every time she took a step. Maybe the common room had not been built on level ground.

  The celebration in the Sea Lion Tavern had broken into . . . well, a celebration. She had never taken part in anything like this.

  Bieja had outdone herself with the feast, and now poured wine straight from a cask into large mugs and tankards, passing them around like water. Domin Tilswith had finished two already, and even Osha held a mug.

  Wynn had tasted wine before, on special occasions and in small amounts, but she most certainly was not drunk. Besides her, Leesil was the only one sober, as he sipped on spiced tea.

  The common room had been half-cleared of tables and chairs, and Bieja had abandoned the bar to dance with Karlin. The pair dominated the floor with their girth and energy, until Leesil pulled Magiere out to join them. After that, Wynn tried to teach Osha a few steps, but she did not know much about dancing herself. She stumbled into a chair, nearly taking him with her. The floor was definitely uneven. Yes, that was the reason.

  The Sea Lion was packed with people, who all seemed affectionate with Leesil and Magiere, but Wynn hardly knew anyone. She noticed Osha’s wary glances at the only other elf present, but oddly, these two avoided each other.

  “Magiere said his name is Loni,” Wynn shouted to Osha over the din.

  “He is not an’Cróan,” Osha answered.

  Loni’s hair was light brown, and his eyes were amber brown. He was not as tall as Osha, but his facial structure, slanted eyes, and oblong pointed ears clearly marked him as fully elven. He seemed just as determined to ignore Osha. But his differences from the an’Cróan left Wynn wondering.

  She had heard Leesil and Magiere speak of Loni once or twice, but in seeing him for the first time, Wynn thought he looked much more like the elves from her own continent. So what was one of them doing here, so far from home?

  “At least people here are so accustomed to him that they do not find you strange,” she said to Osha.

  Or she thought she had said it. Some of the words did not sound right, but th
at was because of all the noise. Before she could repeat herself, she noticed the room’s awful tilt and felt as though the chair beneath her might fall over.

  It was too hot in here.

  Wynn had tried not to dwell on the conversation in the kitchen with Domin Tilswith, especially the part after Leesil ran out after Magiere. She had promised herself to wait until after the wedding before telling Magiere or Leesil the domin’s unsettling news.

  Today was about them, their day of joy, and she would not spoil it for anything.

  “Let us go outside,” Osha said. “It is too warm.”

  Thank goodness someone else noticed, thought Wynn, and she followed as he waded through the crowd for the front door.

  The night outside was better—cooler. Rather than stand about before the tavern windows, they walked as far as the nearby stables. Osha half-crouched, leaning back against the stable’s outer door, and Wynn stood before him, watching him weave a little before her eyes.

  “I am . . . dizzy,” he said and wiped his brow.

  He had fallen back into Elvish. Obviously Osha could not hold his wine. Wynn giggled before she could stop herself.

  “I fear the Anmaglâhk would not approve of a single thing you did today.”

  His slanted eyes grew serious. “No, they would not, and that thought is sad.”

  Wynn lost her own humor.

  “Today was good,” Osha went on, “and humans are nothing like I was taught. Even Sgäilsheilleache, who spent so much time in these lands, knew little of them. . . . Then you came.” He glanced away. “Sgäilsheilleache should have stood with Léshil today—not me.”

  “No, Osha,” Wynn said. “Leesil mourns Sgäile, but he was glad to have you with him.”

  He looked at her, his face intense—lonely—and hungry in moonlight.

  Wynn teetered so much she stumbled. She grabbed the stable door near his shoulder. With his face so near hers, Wynn’s muddled head flushed with a new heat.

  She wanted to feel what Magiere and Leesil had, to know that closeness with someone she cared for. Wynn realized, standing there, that she could make Osha fall in love with her. Just kiss him on those soft . . . thin . . . tan lips.

  She shoved off the stable door, growing too warm again.

  With all they had been through together, she loved Osha—but was she in love with him? Their paths would soon diverge, and perhaps that was best. She took another step back.

  Osha studied her until she could not bear it anymore.

  “We should go back inside,” she said. “Magiere will wonder what became of us.”

  His mouth tightened in puzzlement, or was it disappointment?

  He stood up. “Yes, we go back now.”

  Chap lay by the hearth watching everyone around him drink, dance, and laugh. More than once he had quickly scooted aside before someone stepped on his tail.

  Wynn slipped in the front door, flushed and staggering as she looked about.

  When she spotted him, she wove among the crowd and dropped a bit too hard beside him. She buried fingers in his fur, rubbing his back, and it felt good. He wondered why she was no longer joining in the festivities.

  Osha came through the front door.

  He scanned the room and spotted Wynn. Before he could make his way over, Aunt Bieja hauled him off to where Karlin had collapsed into a chair. Osha seemed happy enough, or perhaps even relieved to sit with them.

  That young elf will never be Anmaglâhk, Chap projected.

  “I hope not,” Wynn mumbled, still rubbing his back. “Though he wants it so much. Osha knows more about humans than most of his caste. Perhaps that will make a difference.”

  She sounded so sad—and drunk—that Chap raised his head. What is wrong?

  “You, Magiere, and Leesil . . . cannot stay here . . . long, will you?”

  He sighed through his nose, settling his head on his paws once more.

  Tonight is for them, but tomorrow . . . no, we cannot stay. We must leave and get as far from Most Aged Father’s reach as we can. Even that will only be a delay.

  Wynn took her hand away.

  “Domin Tilswith was . . . overwhelmed by the texts we brought back. Translation at our barracks in Bela is not possible. We do not have the reference materials needed—and he cannot leave. There is still too much to be done in Bela in starting that little new branch of our guild.”

  Her silence was too long and too easy to read on her sad face.

  You are going home . . . taking your find to Malourné, and the guild’s founding branch.

  Wynn did not seem surprised that he knew. “Someone must take the texts to them . . . to those more experienced in translation. Domin Tilswith thinks this best, as I will be needed for what I learned on our travels.”

  Chap shifted closer to her. In truth, he had known this day would come. And now he worried again for Wynn’s safety . . . from those who might seek the texts to learn more of the orb Magiere and Leesil bore—and from his own kin.

  You are part of this now—and no safer than any of us. It is best that you leave this land as well.

  “What am I to do without you?” she whispered.

  Tears formed in her bleary brown eyes. But Chap knew she would be safest in one of her guild’s communities, though not safe enough.

  Once you arrive, stay where many are around you. My kin do not want to be known by mortals. They will shy from manifesting where they might be noticed.

  “You know something dark is coming,” she said. “Is it your kin . . . from what you sensed in the cavern? Are they behind all of this?”

  He had no answer.

  No . . . something more, beyond them. And I have made other . . . arrangements, which I hope will come through, in the interest of your well-being.

  He cared for Leesil and Magiere—they were his charges and deeply woven into the path he followed. But Wynn was the only one to whom he could “talk.” Before her, he had never understood how much such a companion could mean.

  Chap laid his head in her lap.

  Almost instantly, Wynn flopped heavily atop him. Even over the ruckus, Chap could hear her snore.

  Long past midnight, Leesil lay in the warmth of their upstairs bedroom, holding Magiere against his chest.

  “A good day,” he whispered.

  “The best,” she agreed. “Right before the ceremony, I panicked a little. But everything was perfect. I’m glad we waited to come home for this.”

  He tightened his hold on her. He didn’t want to say more, but it finally slipped out.

  “You know we can’t stay.”

  She was quiet for a moment. “I know. We can’t give the orb to the sages. We can’t risk Most Aged Father’s anmaglâhk coming for it . . . here or in Bela.”

  “I’ve thought about that, too,” Leesil answered.

  Magiere pulled away and propped up on one elbow. The last remnants of white lilacs still clung in her black hair.