Redemption: A Malvers War Story

by Tora Moon

  As soon as the Supreme touched her face, Lorstriel’s body went rigid. Her eyes flew wide open, unblinking, and her face became a frozen mask. She remained in that pose the entire time the Supreme held her in her thrall. Finally, the Supreme released her, shaking out her hands. Freed, Lorstriel slumped over and would have hit her head on the hard floor if Blenora hadn’t rushed up the stairs and caught her. She reached behind the throne, and another cup appeared in her hand that she pressed to Lorstriel’s lips. After a moment, Lorstriel revived and sat up.

  Histrun gazed at the cup in his hands. The contents had tasted like cool water, but there must have been a spell laid on it to help the victims of the Supreme’s mind-read to recover quickly.

  “Thank you, Histrun, Lorstriel,” the Supreme said. Her voice sounded tired, and exhaustion pulled on her face. “I have all I need for now on Mendehan’s crimes. Lorstriel, when you and your team have recovered from your journey, you may return home.” The Supreme’s gaze fell on Histrun, and he again felt like a naughty child. But instead of judgment in her eyes, he detected compassion. “Histrun, your heart and soul are broken from losing Zehala. Stay here. Let the peace of the Goddess that lives in this place heal you. Blenora here will help you. She is quite skilled at healing the wounds of the soul.”

  “Yes, your grace,” Histrun and Lorstriel said together, then bowed their heads and made the gesture of obeisance again. Blenora touched his shoulder and he raised his head. The Supreme no longer sat on her throne. Blenora led them back through the temple’s inner sanctum and into the sunshine and gardens outside.

  He scrutinized Blenora. She stood calmly under his examination, waiting for him to finish. Finally he asked, “So when does this healing of yours begin?”

  She smiled. “It already has. Go back to the guest house, relax, and enjoy the company of your people while they are still here.” She lifted her voice and called out, “Raemy, you can escort our guests back to their rooms.”

  The girl stepped out from behind a tall flowering bush. This time she wasn’t quite as nervous. She only jogged back to the guest house. It was progress. Perhaps one day he wouldn’t terrify her.

  Histrun would be here awhile. He knew an order when he heard one. He couldn’t leave the Sanctuary until the Supreme dismissed him.

  * * *

  Three days later, Lorstriel and the platoon that had accompanied Histrun left the Sanctuary to return home. Histrun watched them ride out the gates, and stood gazing down the road long after they had disappeared from view. Gravel crunched behind him. He didn’t turn his head to see who it was. He could guess from the scent drifting on the breeze—Blenora. All the priestesses carried the scent of kehani flowers and frankincense, but he’d noticed she also smelled like lilac and roses.

  “Do you miss them?” she asked.

  Histrun shook his head. “No, not yet.”

  “Then why are you standing here, gazing after them with longing?”

  He lifted his hands and shrugged. “I’m just at a loss at what to do.”

  “You can do whatever you like.”

  “Then I’ll go back to my room and drink myself into a stupor.”

  “You can certainly do that.” She forehead crinkled in displeasure. “But you can only hide from your pain in liquor for so long before you must face it. I’ll be here when you are ready.” She turned around and returned to the Sanctuary.

  Histrun returned to the guest house. It echoed in its emptiness. Walking into the recreation room, he pulled out a bottle of whiskey and flung himself on a couch. Foregoing a glass, he drank directly from the bottle. The couch made a much more comfortable bed than the leaves he’d used at Strunland Keep.

  Water splashed on his face, and he came to with a roar. Naedera stood over him, glaring, her hands on her hips. “Up you go,” she growled.

  “Why do I need to get up?” Histrun slurred, then rubbed his crusty eyes. He squinted against the bright light streaming through the open window.

  “We’re moving you. There’s no sense in keeping this house open just for you. And cleaning up after your messes.” She said the last under her breath.

  Histrun’s eyebrows drew together in confusion. What messes? He’d been on this lovely couch all day. He sat up, throwing his feet onto the floor, then crinkled his nose at the stench of vomit. He lifted his feet from the mess and made a face, then looked down at the filth on his shirt. Rubbing his face, he discovered muck in his beard. He grimaced.

  He stood up, holding his head in his hands until the dizziness stopped. “I’m going to go wash up.”

  “Yes, please do,” Naedera said. “We’ll bring clean clothes to you. Do you want us to pack your bags, or do you want to do it yourself?”

  “You can.” He waved at her and burped.

  She shot him a disgusted look before turning away and leaving the room.

  He staggered down the stairs and into the bathing room. While he soaked, he berated himself for falling into such a drunken stupor that he couldn’t even remember throwing up. He had to have been very drunk if he couldn’t make it to the necessary room first. He hung his head, he’d also broken his resolution to quit drinking and be a better man. It was a good thing Zehala couldn’t see him now.

  When he finished soaking, he found a clean tunic and a pair of trousers in a nondescript beige, neatly folded. No embroidery decorated the hem or sleeves with his clan colors of rose and turquoise. The plain clothes seemed a bit strange. At home, everyone’s clothing had some sort of decoration on it.

  Naedera waited for him at the top of the stairs, his saddlebags at her feet. When he tried to detour into the recreation room, she blocked his way. He shrugged. He’d just get a drink from wherever they were putting him. When she led him away from the guest area, he raised an eyebrow.

  “Where are we going? I didn’t think I was allowed inside the cloister.”

  “You’re not. We’re going to the staff area.”

  Naedera led him across the Sanctuary grounds fronting the temple and the large library building. Manicured grass and flower beds in riotous colors bordered the path they walked on. It meandered around the temple and took them deeper into the Sanctuary than Histrun had ever been. To the west, lay the wall separating the priestesses’s area from the rest of the grounds. The path took them in the opposite direction, toward where the river created the Sanctuary’s eastern boundary.

  Histrun gaped at the three dozen or more cottages of various sizes that formed their own little community within the greater whole. Even the largest ones were only big enough for a few people, unlike the large manors that housed several packs at home. Each cottage had a short hedge around its yard and flower beds nestled against the buildings. As he drew closer, he recalled exploring the ruins of ancient settlements when he had been a young man. He had wondered then what type of buildings the multitude of foundations that poked through the ground were built for. He could imagine they were similar to those he now approached. This must have been how their ancestors had lived, before the Great War and before the Malvers monsters forced the population into fortified communities.

  Naedera stopped at a tiny cottage with a doorframe painted a cheery red that differentiated it from the others. He noticed numbers had been placed on the lintel. He glanced at the other cottages. Each had a unique number on them.

  Naedera pushed open the door. “This is where you’ll stay. We have enough space right now that you have it to yourself. If you’re still here in the spring, you’ll probably get a roommate as we gear up for the Alpha Competitions in the summer.”

  Histrun stepped into the cottage. A fireplace filled the west wall. In front of it lay a brightly-colored rug, and two comfortable-looking rocking chairs and stools faced it. A small table with two chairs sat nearby. Stairs led to a loft, which he discovered held two narrow beds, two tall clothes wardrobes, and two chests. A table with a lamp sat between the beds, and a small window over it let in light and air. A thick fur rug covered the wooden floor. Tucked un
der the stairs was a small necessary room.

  “Where is the bathing room?”

  “We have a communal bathhouse. Put your bag down and I’ll show it to you.”

  Histrun dropped his bag near the stairs. He should have taken it up with him the first time. He squinted up at the loft. It lacked a railing or wall. He’d have to be careful not to fall if he awoke during the night to go to the necessary room—or if he was drunk. He snorted at the real possibility. He’d just have to be careful.

  He followed Naedera as she pointed out the bathhouse, the communal dining hall, the gathering room, and the various workshops for the craftspeople who worked to keep the Sanctuary well-maintained and self-sufficient. A few men, none of whom looked to be fighters, nodded to him as they passed, but most of the people he saw were women. All the various Talents were represented, except Red. He surmised there wasn’t a need for fighters here. Then he remembered the Supreme’s guard, all of whom were Reds.

  “Where does the Red Guard stay?”

  “They have a section within the cloister, as they are a type of priestess. Once a woman joins the Red Guard, she serves here the rest of her life.”

  Their wanderings brought them back to the cottage assigned to Histrun. Naedera stopped at the hedge boundary.

  “I’ll leave you here to get settled in. Meals are served in the community dining hall, but if you choose, you may bring a tray back to your cottage. A housekeeper will pick it up in the morning. However, we won’t bring your meals to you. The kitchen is open throughout the day and closes after dinner.”

  Histrun nodded in understanding. It was the same at home. Naedera left him, heading back toward the temple. She hadn’t allowed him time to rummage in the gathering room to look for a fresh bottle of alcohol. He contemplated whether to walk back to get one or to go inside. A shadow moved in the doorway. He stepped back, startled. Then anger flooded him that someone would enter his room uninvited. He stomped to the door, ready to yell at the interloper. Blenora turned at his entrance, a vase filled with flowers in her hand. He swallowed the words. No one mistreated a White Priestess.

  “Oh, greetings Histrun,” she said, with a cheery smile. “I was just brightening up your room, and leaving you a welcome gift.”

  Under his breath, Histrun growled. He didn’t need flowers in his room.

  “You know you have freedom to wander the grounds and to explore the area around the Sanctuary, don’t you?”

  “I know.”

  “The fresh air would do you good. And your poor horse, Telen, could stretch his legs and get out of the stable. He doesn’t like anyone else to take him out.”

  “He should still be good. It’s only been a few days since we arrived.”

  “Ah, no,” Blenora said with a shake of her head, her forehead wrinkling. “You’ve been here nearly a chedan already.”

  Histrun’s face scrunched in confusion. “Didn’t Lorstriel and the others just leave yesterday?”

  She shook her head again. “No, they left four days ago.”

  He couldn’t believe he’d lost so many days. He didn’t remember anything after Lorstriel left.

  “You, Histrun, have a drinking problem. If you keep up like this, you’re going to kill yourself. Are you going to let it ruin your life? Or do you want to regain control?”

  Histrun shrugged. He didn’t feel ready to face life without Zehala. The drinking allowed him to get through the loneliness and emptiness. And it let him forget how he had let her down and got her killed because he was too old and slow. At least here, no one would be depending on him in battle.

  “It’s up to you. But the Supreme will only allow you to wallow for so long. I’d suggest you don’t wait for her to take the choice from you. It won’t be pleasant.” She turned with a swish of her long white gown. The veil covering her hair floated behind her.

  Histrun crossed into the room and slumped onto a rocking chair, but the slight back and forth movement made him dizzy. He glanced down at his hands to see them shaking. A sudden clenching of his stomach had him running for the necessary room. After emptying his stomach, he leaned on the sink and rinsed out his mouth. His gaze was caught by his reflection in the mirror. His skin sagged and had a ruddy tone to it, which didn’t go well with his red hair and beard. If Zehala saw him now, she’d berate him for letting himself go. He turned around to lean a hip against the sink edge. No, she’d be disappointed in me.

  He remembered the herbal packets Andreyan had given him before they’d left for the Sanctuary. They had helped him with the alcohol withdrawal enough that he had been able to function on the journey. He climbed the stairs and searched through his bags. Once he’d left Strunland Keep, he hadn’t continued to take them, so he should have a few left. After dumping out the contents of both saddlebags, he found a single blue packet.

  Downstairs, he found the cottage came equipped with a kettle to hang over the fire, a pot for taevo, and a couple of mugs. The cabinet by the fireplace held a canister of dark-roasted taevo, and one of a spicy blend. He started a fire, filled the kettle from the necessary room’s sink, and put it over the fire to heat. Perhaps the healers here would have something like what Andreyan had given him. He’d ask in the morning.

  The next morning, he found his way to the dining hall. Naedera took one look at his bloodshot eyes and shaking hands and directed him to the infirmary. The healer gave him several packets of the herbal mixtures. This time it took over a chedan before the tremors, headaches, and nausea left him. He continued to take the potions as they helped him resist the craving for alcohol he still had to fight.

  As soon as he had recovered, the Supreme sent orders requiring him to meet for an octar each day with Blenora.

  The first day, he met Blenora in a small, comfortable room in the temple. A tray with a pot of taevo and sweets sat on the table between their chairs. The porcelain cups were finer than he’d ever seen before, even at Strunlair Keep. Histrun waited for Blenora to do something to him, to use her White Talent on him, but she just sat quietly, sipping her taevo and watching him.

  “Aren’t you going to ‘heal’ me?” he finally asked.

  “Do you want me to?” She peered at him over the rim of her dainty cup.

  “No. I’m only here because the Supreme has ordered me to attend.”

  “I can’t heal you against your will. We can just talk if you’d like. You have to be here for an octar.”

  “What about?” he grumbled.

  “Anything you like. Tell me about Zehala.”

  “No. I don’t want to talk about Zehala, or our life together, and especially not her death.” Histrun slumped in his chair, crossed his arms over his chest, and pursed his lips together.

  “That’s fine. I can see you’d rather just be quiet. You can join me in meditation if you’d like.” Blenora placed her empty cup on the table, folded her hands into her lap, and closed her eyes.

  Histrun wasn’t sure what to make of Blenora’s healing technique. He glumly waited for the octar to be up so he could leave. After a few days, he could sense her gentle touch on his mind and soul; it wasn’t intrusive, but comforting. He began to relax in her calm presence.

  As the days passed, he began to open up and talk with her, although he shied away from any discussions of Zehala. Blenora’s serenity hid a quick mind and a humorous streak. He found himself looking forward to his sessions. It surprised him when he began to think of her as a friend and sought her out to go riding with him, or to play keshe with him.

  Chapter 15

  One day, while returning to his cottage from a session with Blenora, an adolescent boy ran in front of him, nearly running into him. The boy raced across the lawn toward the cloister, with a girl on his heels about the same age. Histrun stopped in his tracks and stared at the children. The girl had an unusual shade of dark charcoal-gray hair. He didn’t recall ever seeing anyone with that shade before. For some reason, the sight of it made him uncomfortable. He blinked in shock when the boy crossed into t
he cloister. Histrun had always been under the impression that any boys born in the Sanctuary were sent to their father’s clans once they reached five or six. Why had this boy been allowed to stay?

  Over the next few days, he frequently came across the boy and girl. Quite often they were heading to or from the library, usually at a run. He noticed the boy’s dark-auburn hair had a thin, gray stripe at his right temple. It reminded him of a precocious little boy he’d met during an Alpha Competition several years ago, who had delighted in teasing and pestering Histrun. He’d finally had enough and shifted into his warrior form and chased the boy. He hadn’t been bothered by him again. Could this be the same boy?

  Histrun had been a fighter all his life, and felt at loose ends without the constant call to battle the monsters. In between his therapy sessions, he filled his days with wandering the gardens and perusing the library. Blenora took him around to the various workshops as part of his healing, and he became fascinated with the work the woodworkers did. They taught him the art of carving, and he enjoyed taking a blank piece of wood and turning it into an animal form. He took long rides on Telen, exploring the wilds surrounding the Sanctuary, sometimes accompanied by Blenora, but most often by himself.

  They were on one such ride, enjoying the crisp fall day, when Histrun noticed Blenora seemed to be nervous. She’d start to say something, then stop. He wondered what it was she was working up the courage to ask him. He hoped she didn’t want to start a relationship with him. She was a lovely woman with her white hair and gray eyes, and even in her early-forties she was still lean and shapely. But he was more than twice her age and still in love with Zehala.

  They stopped at a stream to let their horses drink. As they stood next to their horses, Blenora kept running her horse’s reins through her hands.