Redemption: A Malvers War Story
Page 14
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Histrun rode through the familiar landscape, trying not to remember the many times he and Zehala had ridden this same route, or had crossed the same streams, or had fought in the same swamps. But the memories kept intruding, and the ghosts of the past haunted his mind’s eye. That swamp and monster nest there was the first one where Zehala’s fire-ring had worked to stop the monsters. And over there, in that copse of trees, was a hidden glade with soft grass where they’d made afternoon love more than once. He suspected Rizelya had been conceived in it.
The thought of the little girl, who looked so like her mother, drew him up short. How would he face her? How could he tell her that her mother would never tell her another story, or sing her another song, or teach her another fire spell? How could he look at her and not remember Zehala?
The measures passed quickly under their horse’s hooves. The shadows of dusk played across the land when they rode through the gates of Strunland Keep. Home. He was home—but how could the place ever be the same without his love, without the other half of himself?
People were streaming to the dining hall for the evening meal. A gaggle of children ran around the adult’s legs, laughing as they played. Histrun caught sight of a dark-auburn-headed little girl chasing a white-headed one—Rizelya and Wisah. Rizelya put on a burst of speed and touched Wisah’s shoulder, causing her to squeal in mock fright. He felt his throat clench and his stomach drop. He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t be the one to ruin Rizelya’s joy. He turned Telen away from the dining hall and toward the stable.
“Histrun!” Naila called, then started coughing. As soon as the attack subsided, she said, “Where are you going? The alphas are inside.” She again started to cough and held a hand to her throat.
He hadn’t realized it still hurt her so much to talk. But then, it had only been two chedans since her injury. He looked back, and the children had disappeared inside.
“I can’t face everyone right now.” Even as he said it, it sounded lame in his own ears. He’d been an alpha, a Clan Alpha even, for most of his adult life. Death and loss weren’t anything new. He should be stronger than this.
*The keep alphas need to know,* Naila’s eyes flicked to the dining hall entrance. *They’re coming. We can tell them of our loss and they will tell the others.* She threw her leg over the saddle and slid off her horse, then handed the reins to Maheli. *Take our horses to the stable, then you and the others can go get dinner.*
“Yes, ma’am,” Maheli saluted, then waited, shifting in her saddle while Histrun dismounted and dug out the box with Zehala’s ashes from his saddlebag. As Histrun handed her his horse’s reins, Maheli followed the others to the stables, and within moments only Histrun and Naila stood in the courtyard.
He clutched the box to his chest, holding it close, as if through it he could still hold Zehala.
“Histrun, Naila,” Kolstrun’s gruff voice broke Histrun’s reverie. “What’s going on?”
“We didn’t expect you so soon,” Koriana said, glancing around the courtyard. “Where’s Zehala?”
Histrun raised his eyes, took a deep breath, and held out the box.
Koriana’s hand flew to cover her mouth as she gasped, “No! That can’t be her, can it?”
“It is,” Naila said. “She’s dead …” She swallowed hard and put a hand over her throat. *A janack crushed her. It’s a long story. Can we go inside?*
Koriana took a step toward Histrun, her arms out as if she wanted to hug him. He leaned back slightly. He’d never been one for public displays of emotion. She let her arms fall to her side. “I’m so sorry, Histrun. I know how much you loved her.”
“My condolences,” Kolstrun said, folding his arms over his chest. “It is a great loss to lose her knowledge and skills.”
Koriana squinted at Naila in the failing light. “Sweet Mother! You’ve been injured too, Naila. That looks like it hurts.”
“It does, especially when I talk.”
“Then don’t. Come inside.” Koriana gently wrapped an arm around Naila. She looked over her shoulder at Histrun. “You too. I know it will be difficult, but we need to know what happened.”
The keep alphas led them to a small table in the corner of their office. Histrun carefully placed the box on the table. Kolstrun raised an eyebrow at it, but didn’t say anything.
A few moments later, two young women brought in trays of food and set it on the table, then bowed to the alphas and left. The smell of spicy lamb and savory tubers made Histrun’s mouth water, and his stomach growled. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten. He frowned, as he realized he couldn’t remember much of the boat trip at all.
“Tell us about your journey,” Koriana said after a few milcrons, putting down her mug, “and how Zehala died.”
Histrun stirred his tubers with his fork, staring at his plate. How could he admit her death was his fault? She’d be alive now if he hadn’t goaded Mendehan into going to the monster battle so he could kill him.
“We had a good trip until we reached Dehanlair Keep,” Naila started, her voice rough. A coughing fit overtook her.
Histrun grimaced in shame. He shouldn’t make her tell the story when it hurt her so much to talk. And to mind-speak for so long would be exhausting. They used mind-speech mostly during fighting, when there was too much noise to hear commands, not for everyday communications.
“Zehala was her usual friendly-self,” Histrun said, a smile flitting across his face as he remembered her joy of seeing a centaur and the wild horse herds running alongside them. “She made friends wherever we stopped.”
He went on to tell them about meeting the Haaslair clan and Zehala’s experiments for a different type of fire-ring, all the while his caressing the box. The more he talked, the easier it became to talk about her as he remembered and shared the wonderful time they’d had crossing the plains and going down river on the Dawn Sister. They were suitably appalled when he told them about the conditions they’d found Dehanlair Keep in, and the madness that Mendehan had fallen into. He even managed to tell them about the monster fight and Mendehan’s actions. But when it came to telling them about how the janack had killed Zehala, his throat closed and he couldn’t talk. He couldn’t say the words that would reveal his shame.
Naila took up the narrative.*The janack had wrapped a tentacle around her. I tried to sever it, but another one caught me. I didn’t see what happened after that, I was too busy struggling to breathe. But the other fighters, who were there have told me what happened. Histrun tried to save Zehala, but Mendehan attacked him.*
Histrun frowned. He didn’t remember that happening. He only remembered tearing into the tentacle in a frenzy, trying to free Zehala.
“That’s despicable!” Koriana said, her hands on either side of her face. “Why would he do such a thing?”
“Because he was a sick caitiff.” Naila’s voice dripped with scorn. Then she switched back to mind-speech. *Histrun knocked Mendehan away and turned back to the janack, only to have Mendehan attack him again. This time, Histrun knocked Mendehan unconscious, then turned his focus back on the janack, tearing great chunks from the janack’s tentacles.* She paused and took a drink of taevo, tears forming in her eyes. She brushed them away.
*It was the last monster to go down, and Lestrun, Eidelstrun, and the others joined the attack on it, but by then, it had snapped Zehala’s neck, and their efforts turned to keeping it from eating her. Together they finally killed the janack. Mendehan had regained consciousness by then, and I’d been freed, so I saw this next part myself. It was the strangest thing to see him dancing around the janack’s head, as if he’d been the one to kill it. Histrun saw him, and a berserk rage overtook him—not that I blame him one bit—and he charged Mendehan. They fought. Mendehan didn’t have a chance against Histrun’s rage. It was awesome, and frightening to see, especially after Mendehan shifted into his warrior form.*
“No! He didn’t!” Kolstrun said in outrage, his eyes widening as his fist
clenched around his mug. “That’s cowardly and disgraceful. We never fight each other in our warrior forms.”
*Well, Mendehan did. Histrun remained in his natural form. Even then, Mendehan couldn’t match Histrun’s skill and strength. Histrun nearly tore Mendehan’s head off!*
“No, I didn’t,” Histrun said, confused. “I only broke his neck.”
Naila raised her eyebrows at him. “I saw the body. You never looked at it again.”
“Thank you, Histrun, Naila,” Koriana said, “for telling us what happened to our good friend and clan member, Zehala. I know there is more, but that is enough for now.” She gazed at the box Histrun still stroked. “We’ll have a farewell ceremony for her tomorrow, and then you can scatter her ashes on the land she loved so much. It’s late, and you need rest.”
Histrun knew a dismissal when he heard one, and slowly pushed away from the table and stood up. He felt like an old, old man. Talking about Zehala’s death had drained him of what little energy he had left. Why hadn’t Naila told them it was his fault in the first place that the janack had grabbed Zehala? If he’d just moved faster, he could have stopped it. He picked up the box, and stumbled from the office.
On his way to his room, he stopped at the recreation room, relieved to find it empty, and grabbed a bottle of whiskey. It was much better for forgetting than the hard cider from Dehanlair. He opened the door to his room but stopped on the threshold. One of Zehala’s shirts hung on the back of a chair, the book she’d been reading lay open on the desk, and at the bed’s foot was draped the blanket she liked to wrap around her shoulders. He went in, snatched up the blanket, then hurried from the room. There was too much of her in it. He went to the wooded area by the horse pasture, curled up under a large oak, and wrapped the blanket around his shoulder. He took a swig from the bottle. “Zehala, forgive me, love. I should have saved you.”
He drank until the litany of self-incrimination stopped—or he blacked out. He wasn’t sure which occurred first.
Chapter 12
Histrun awoke with a start as water splashed his face. He opened bleary eyes to see Naila standing over him with an empty bucket, glaring at him. He quickly checked Zehala’s box of ashes to ensure they hadn’t become wet, then sat up. The bark of the oak tree he’d slept under scratched his back, and Zehala’s blanket puddled around his shoulders. He rubbed his eyes and noticed the angle of the late afternoon sun.
“The farewell ceremony for Zehala is at sunset,” Naila informed him. She held out her hand. “Give me her ashes and I’ll take them to the White Priestess.”
“No, I’ll do it.” Histrun hugged the box to his chest.
Naila continued to hold out her hand. *You have an octar to get cleaned up. While you do that, I’ll ensure the priestess has Zehala’s ashes to prepare the service. We can’t have a farewell ceremony without them.*
Histrun clutched the box to him, and scowled at Naila. “I’ll be there.”
“Be sure you are.” Naila took several steps away from him, then turned back. *You know, there’s someone else who’s hurting and missing Zehala. You remember your daughter, Rizelya, don’t you? She could use you now.*
“Does she know?”
Naila nodded. “I told her.”
Histrun watched her tromp down the path. His head ached and his mouth tasted sour. Making a face, he reached for the whiskey bottle and lifted it to his lips, only to find it empty. Tossing it to the side, he used the tree to push himself to a standing position, when the world stopped spinning, he strode back toward his pack-house, keeping to the alleyways to avoid seeing anybody. He didn’t want to hear any condolences on his loss.
He entered his room, snatched up some clean clothing, then headed down to the bathing room. The few people already there took one look at his face and left him alone. After bathing and dressing, Histrun noticed himself in the mirror. His blood-shot and puffy eyes stood out from his red hair, noticeably paler with age these days. He ran a hand across his jaw where a beard had started growing over the past few chedans. He hadn’t worn a beard for years; Zehala hadn’t liked the scratchiness of one. He considered going back to his room to find his razor, but decided it was too much effort. Zehala was no longer here to care if he wore a beard or not.
On his way to the temple, Histrun blanched at the thought of the emotional turmoil to come. He detoured into the recreation room, poured himself a large glass of whiskey, and downed it in a single gulp. The sun was just setting when Histrun hurried into the temple. The White Priestess nodded to him and indicated for him to approach the central altar, already covered in candles and small mementos. He carefully placed the box with Zehala’s ashes in the empty space in the center, then stepped back.
He felt a small hand slip into his. Startled, he looked down to find Rizelya standing next to him. Wisah held her other hand, and Naila stood on the other side of Wisah. They represented all the direct family Zehala had left in the world. Rizelya’s eyes were wide and she kept looking around her.
She dropped his hand to tug on his pant leg. “Sir?” She swallowed hard when he glared down at her. Then she took a deep breath. “Sir, where’s Mother? She said she’d only be gone a little while, and she went with you. You’re back, so, where is she?”
Histrun winced. She doesn’t understand! How do I explain to a five-year-old her mother is gone? He turned to glare at Naila, she’d said she’d told the little girl. Naila shrugged. He knelt, trying not to be so imposing. “She’s gone to live with the Mother Goddess. We’re telling her good-bye now.”
“Oh. I didn’t believe Wisah. I thought she was teasing me when she told me she’d seen Mother cross the veil.”
“Would you like to help me scatter her ashes?”
Rizelya nodded.
Histrun stood back up and listened to the priestess extol Zehala’s many accomplishments. When she paused to allow him to speak, he shook his head. If he spoke now, he’d fall into a blubbering heap. He had to stay strong—for Rizelya, for Naila, and for his clan.
One-by-one, people stepped forward to say a few words about Zehala—first Naila and their fighting-pack, then other clan members. It was full-dark by the time everyone had had a turn. The White Priestess picked up the box and reverently led the procession from the temple to the high hill behind the temple they used for the funeral pyres. She stopped at the top. Only the slightest sliver of the smallest moon, Chelar, could be seen. The priestess handed the box to Histrun. He hesitated. When he opened the lid, the last bit of Zehala would be gone. Finally, he remembered his promise to Rizelya. He scooped her into his arms.
“Together, little one,” he whispered to her. “Let’s open the box together.”
Rizelya nodded and placed her hand—it looked so tiny next his much larger one—on top of the box. He gave her a small nod, and they lifted the lid.
At first nothing happened. Then he felt a breeze tickle the back of his head, then caressed his face. Like gentle fingers, the breeze delved into the box. A tiny whirlwind gathered up the ashes, and lifted them high into the air. They were carried across the keep and deeper into the mountains, falling like a gentle rain on the land Zehala had loved. When the dust cloud disappeared from view, Histrun glanced down inside the box. A minuscule pile of ashes lay tucked in the corner. He caught the White Priestess’s eye, and she nodded once.
“Is she gone now?” Rizelya asked.
“Yes, little one. She’s gone.” Histrun set her down. He wasn’t used to holding the little girl in his arms, and it made him uncomfortable. He closed the lid on the box, so he wouldn’t lose the precious ashes.
“It’s okay, Riz,” Wisah whispered to Rizelya. “Your mama is with the Mother Goddess now. I saw the Mother embrace her, and she was so happy to be home. Don’t worry, Rizelya, you still have me. And you can share my mama with me.”
Naila gathered both girls into her arms. “That’s right, you have me. You also have all the caretakers in the crèche that will take care of you, just like always.”
Histrun watched them leave, unsure of what to say or do. He mentally shrugged. The little girl would be fine.
* * *
The next morning, before Histrun could lose the precious ashes, he took them and his bond-mate torque to the metalsmith’s shop. He’d already twisted the bit of Zehala’s hair into the entwined metal.
He placed the torque on the table in front of Maehalya. “Can you make the center piece into a locket?”
Maehalya pushed back her dark-brown hair, then picked up the torque and examined the ruby. “This looks like my work. I should be able to modify it for you. What would you like to put inside?”
Histrun carefully opened the box to reveal the bit of ashes.
“Ah, Zehala’s?”
Histrun nodded.
“Leave it here. I’ll have it for you by the end of the chedan.” Maehalya placed the torque on top of the box, then disappeared with the items behind a curtain.
Histrun frowned, perplexed by Maehalya’s actions. He didn’t have to barter for most things, as his services as a fighter ensured the safety of everyone in the clan. But for personal items like the torque, he was expected to give something, or do something for the person doing the work.
He went back to the room he’d shared with Zehala, but couldn’t stand seeing her things in his room or remembering all the laughter and love he’d shared with her in it. It only took a few days before he approached Kolstrun and insisted on having his room changed. Due to his age and past status of Clan Alpha, Kolstrun granted his request, and Histrun moved his few belongings into a small room, which he had to himself. It had a single window, overlooking the practice area and the adjacent wooded area.