“From where do you hail, devil killer?” Thalia asked.
Maybe she had been wise enough to get a sense of his conviction. There had to be a good reason why she was allowed to sit by the fire at such a young age. “Breden,” Walter said, but it was a hard thing to say. Memories of his pillaged town passed in the fire. The word made him glimpse a past that would never exist again.
Thalia reached out to touch him and Walter instinctively recoiled, seizing the Dragon. Flames burst to life from his eye and light swirled like smoke up and over his head.
“What is this?” One of the Elder rose, hand clutching a rattle made from a turtle’s shell and drawing it like a weapon. Perhaps it was. Something had to have animated those roots today.
“Peace.” Thalia smiled, her hand hanging in the air. It was a pretty smile. She flashed some hand signals to the man, which sent him promptly back onto his seat.
There was something different about her. Why did they pay her deference? Walter took a closer look at the headdresses of those sitting around the fire, they were more like circlets with rows of bright feathers standing up like weeds. Thalia’s was a great mane of feathers, flaring out around her head and trailing down to her ass in sharp rows. Shit, he thought with an internal groan. She was probably their damned leader and he hadn’t even noticed up until now. This was what exhaustion did to you. It was no wonder the guards were ready to carve him up at her shift in body language.
“Hard day.” Walter nodded, letting the Dragon go, staring at his boots. Her hand caressed his neck, then started gently rubbing. A pleasing shiver went down his back. He knew he should stop her, but it felt so wonderful to be touched. How long had it been since he’d seen Nyset? Thalia’s powerful hand squeezed, massaged his neck muscles, knowing all the right spots. He felt some of the tension in his body he didn’t know was there melting away. The affections of Great Retreat’s ruler was probably not a complexity he wanted to add to his life. And here he was, the subject of her carnivorous eyes.
Grimbald thumped an empty bottle onto the floor. “Need another one, Grim?” Walter asked. “Think mine is empty too. I’ll get you one.” He turned to meet Thalia’s eyes, greedily looking him over. He forced a smile at her and gently lowered her hand. “Going to get another ale. What do you call these anyway?”
“Ginger root tonic. Careful, they’re strong for the uninitiated. Think you’ve earned it today, though.” She grinned at him. “There’s no need to go.” She whistled and threw some hand signals, thwarting his best attempt at escape.
There was some commotion at the back and the tinkling of glass. The guards lumbered down the stairs, each man grasping a handle on one of the great baskets brimming with bottles. One of the guards had a scar going from forehead to cheek and glared at Walter, setting the basket down with a thud. Thalia flashed her fingers again, sending them plodding off.
“Help yourselves,” Thalia said, sharp eyebrows bobbing up.
“Well now this… this is living!” Grimbald reached in and grabbed two bottles, one in each hand. He popped the latches from both with his teeth and took sips from both, apparently all for him. “Mm. Could drink this all night. We’re fucking heroes Walter! Heroes!” Grimbald bumped him in the shoulder, almost tossing him from the bench, had he not braced himself against a stone with his legs.
Walter didn’t really want another, but he couldn’t decline it now. He reached into the basket, popped the lid on the bottle, producing a soft fizz. He took a refreshing sip. It burned at first, then left a smooth aftertaste. “To living.” He raised his glass and Grimbald clinked his two against it.
“A strange ritual. And what land does your ward come from?” Thalia asked.
“My… ward?” Walter sipped, alcoholic warmth flowing through his legs.
“Your protector, your guardian, him.” She gestured to Grimbald.
“Me?” Grimbald threw his arm around Walter’s shoulder and leaned against him.
“Grim!” Walter snapped. Pain jumped through his gut, using his abs to stabilize his spine against the man’s uncontrolled bulk.
“Sorry, Walt. Forgot,” he said ponderously.
Walter sighed, sucking in deep breaths and trying to quiet down the pain. The wound Alena had given him throbbed like a second heartbeat, out of synchronization with the blood beating in his skull. Maybe he should find some water.
Grimbald tried tipping one of his tonics into Walter’s mouth. Walter swatted him away, spilling it on his pants. A deep laugh roared from his cavernous chest. “Open up, time for a drinky drink.” His arm wavered in jittery circles.
Walter turned to Thalia, smile sprouting out through the pain. “See what you’ve done to my ward? This is all your fault.”
“What’s a ward?” Grimbald asked, a moment of clear-headedness gleaming through the drunken fog.
“She means you, thinks you’re my guard,” Walter lowered Grimbald’s circling arm still poorly aiming for Walter’s mouth as if it had taken a mind of its own.
“Well that’s just about the craziest thing I’ve ever heard in my life,” Grimbald leaned over Walter’s leg, saw the sheen of sweat glistening from his neck. “This man here, well… he’s a real friend. Best friend, only friend really, I’ve ever had. And I’ve tried to have some, sure have. You need someone to watch your back, this one’s the man for it.” Grimbald’s bottle started to laze around in tremulous circles again. “Need demons killed, bastards slain…” Grimbald turned to face him, eyes seeming to have trouble focusing. “Careful of his fire, though, sometimes he misses.” He threw his head back with a laugh, tinged with wanton desperation. It was too loud and his eyes flitted to the back of his skull. The curtains shrouding his demons had been briefly parted then. Others noticed it too, shifting uncomfortably and trying to slough off his frenetic energy, but he continued with that mad laughter.
He drinks to forget, not to celebrate, Walter thought. Walter’s lips formed a line, nostrils flaring open with a sharp exhale. Grimbald had not forgotten about his accident with Juzo. He couldn’t blame him. Walter had carved himself a dark path, littered with the broken bodies of friends and enemies alike. It changed everyone he dragged down it. But Grimbald was still here and he had to be grateful for that. He was still here. Walter forced himself to smile, saw the women shooting Grim looks of worry. He had stopped laughing, was staring into the fire now. A few folk had risen to chat with other people higher up the stairs.
“Perhaps you’d like some water, Grimbald?” Vanya asked. The rhythmic beating of drums carried from somewhere nearby.
“Nah. Tonic’s got water in it, don’t it?” He took another glug and belched. The drumming drew closer. Grimbald shot up to his feet, squinting. He grabbed Walter’s shoulder with a hard squeeze, bordering on the line of painful. Walter met him with a wary eye. Grimbald bent down, looking him squarely in the face. “Forgive yourself, Walter.” He released his shoulder and cast his attention on the approaching sounds. He let out a blubbering cheer.
Grimbald’s words were a knife in his gut. He’d found the seam in his armor, muting all the chatter of the world. Was it that plain to see? Had he done something to give himself away? Maybe he would forgive himself eventually, but for now, the wounds still bled. Bile crept up his throat, a searing mix with the alcohol. He supposed besides Nyset, there wasn’t anyone else who would know him better. Friends saw what the world missed.
“They have arrived,” Thalia perked up, tilting her regal chin towards the platform’s edge.
Walter twisted around to see there were four men at the top of the platform’s stairs, each painted head to toe in white. One had a set of hide drums resting on his rotund belly, supported by thick straps around his shoulders. A man with a small wooden flute inhaled, filling his cheeks up like a squirrel preparing for the long winter. He blew into it, producing a series of shrill notes and mixing in with the drumming. Another man joined in with a pair of corrugated sticks, rasping them together and adding another dimension to the music
. The last man held up a pair of thick horns by the sharp ends, shaking what must have been stones trapped inside.
“Oooh-eh! Oooh eh!” A woman, thin as a weed, slipped between the drummer and horn shaker, spiking the song with her strange shouts. It was unlike anything he’d ever heard before but found it surprisingly pleasant. “Oooh-eh!” She danced around in a circle, wiry arms shaking and raised towards the dome of trees.
People stood up in droves, some clapping, bobbing heads, and others snapping fingers to the beat. They started swaying back and forth, hips working and finding the proper timing. Some held hands, couples, Walter guessed. He was intrigued to see that there were more same-sex couples than there were mixed.
“Gotta find her, where is she?” Grimbald scanned along the stairs, found his short-haired beauty waving at him and overtly pushing her chest out.
Some things never changed, Walter grinned at the thought.
“Don’t drink too much without me, eh, Walt?” Grimbald bent over and squeezed his ass, made Walter flinch and laugh, spilling ginger tonic over his hand.
“Go get her you big oaf,” Walter snickered, smacking Grim’s ass as he started up the stairs.
Something was looming over him from the corner of his eye. He looked, saw into Thalia’s perfect navel. He audibly swallowed. His eyes drifted up at her puffy breasts inches from his head. He felt his mouth filling up with saliva. It was an animalistic hunger he couldn’t deny. His eyes traveled up to her face, softly smiling down at him. Her headdress gave her the silhouette of a cobra’s hood. She was a lioness, licking her lips and eager for her next meal.
No. She wouldn’t want to dance with him. Would she? Of course she would, that would be just his luck. He steadied his nervy breath, guts churning with anxiety. Anything but dancing. Oh, Dragons, anything but dancing and caves. Why did it have to be dancing? In fact, he would’ve preferred traveling to subterranean depths against a horde of Black Wynches before that.
“Dance with me devil killer,” Thalia said with an air of command. The drums grew louder, thudding over the revelers, whirling like living shadows. She held her delicate hand out for him to take, glowing in the firelight.
Shit, Walter thought, blood draining down to his legs. His world swayed for a moment, fire blurring at the edges of his vision. He wanted to blame the alcohol, but knew it was a lie. She was a beautiful woman, what was the harm in a little dancing? He just had to pretend she wasn’t topless. And that she was a hideous creature from the Shadow Realm.
“It is a great honor,” an Elder with a scratchy voice said into his ear. “Go on.” The Elder nudged him.
“Do I have a choice?” His voice came out weakly, staring up at her. Her eyes glimmered with beads of fire.
“No.” She shook her mane of feathers and he stood, already knowing the answer. “I did save your life, cleaned you up, fed you, nursed you.” Her voice was silken.
“Nursed me?” Walter balked, took her hand in his, felt sweat prickling out from his underarms. He didn’t know what to do with his stump, so he held it uncomfortably by his side. He looked scornfully down at that rounded piece of flesh, a constant reminder of the demons that would know the taste of his fire. Images flashed in his vision. An armsman of the Silver Tower, split in half in a demon’s mouth. Asebor’s hips hammering into Nyset’s form. The lake of blood in the Shadow Realm. He sniffed, quivered, images gone as if never there.
“Took care of you, made sure you were cared for, put in one of the best of our homes.” She took a step closer to him, and he felt the warmth radiating from her body.
Walter noted there was a subtle vanilla scent behind the citrus. Why couldn’t she just smell like Scab? “You? But didn’t… I thought Vanya…”
“Not without my command.” She pressed herself against his chest and side, soft in the right places, warm as a slept in bed. Her hand cupped his stump. “You are safe here,” she said into his ear, her breath hot.
“Who are you?” Walter subtly leaned back so he could see her, breaking their bodily connection, but he wanted it back.
“I am the Mother, the ruler of the Great Retreat, of course. You… did not know?” she gazed at him with disbelief.
“Of course, I knew, just… confirming,” Walter’s cheeks gave him away, hot with his pounding blood. “So you saved me, did you? I think it was Grimbald and me doing all the saving today.” He had to do something to laugh, to smile, anything to push the weight of the Shadow Realm from his back.
“Ha!” she laughed, extending her arm, Walter naturally mirrored her, not knowing what else to do. She twirled under it, bounding to the beat of the drums, feathers waving up and down her headpiece as if they were alive. He laughed with her, back in the moment.
“Weh! Weh! Weh!” The shrilling singer sang on the beat.
She spun as she moved into him, grasping his hips with her hands. “Without our magic, without the Tree’s protection, you and your ward would be one with the bog, devil killer,” she pushed away from him, started hunching over, then standing erect, repeating the movement to the beat.
Walter held his arm out for her return, starting to enjoy the show. He felt some of the tension slide from his muscles like a dam that had longed to break. Her form was alien behind the fire, shifting from shadowed to brightly illuminated, twirling round and around. Walter saw some of her body paint had been smeared onto his chest. He tipped his bottle back, emptied it, warming his stomach. He put it down and grabbed another from the basket while Thalia danced. He deserved to have a little fun. When had he last laughed without fear and pain? He couldn’t remember.
“What is your magic? Which god?” Walter asked into her ear when she returned, wriggling with energy. Walter swallowed the first sip from his new ginger tonic.
Thalia drew into him, sliding her thigh between his legs and up against his fruits. “The old gods of the old magic. They’re long dead.” She slipped back and away into an odd stepping dance, the warmth of her leg lingering against his. Walter started to mirror some of the Tree Folk, those who’s movements weren’t more than swaying arms and hips. It felt good to move. He tilted the bottle back, letting its burning ginger course down to his belly. “So you all can use this magic? How do you use it?”
She returned to him, hips swaying, arms held up over her head. She was sweating now, musty, yet a welcoming mix with her other scents. “Not all, devil killer. Only the Elders are taught to use the relics of the long past, to bring life to the Great Tree, life to the forests. How we use the relics… is our secret.” Her lips curled into a mischievous grin. “Now you must answer my question,” she ran a finger down his chest, “how did you survive your encounter with the demon god? If what you say is true, your scars appear fatal…”
“They were.” Walter tilted his head up, gandered at the sky burning bright with stars. “I have been to the Shadow Realm, seen the Shadow god,” he said into her ear, knowing full well the commotion it would cause if the others heard. Thalia seemed strong enough to handle it.
She stopped as if she’d been struck, stared at him with her small mouth hanging open. “But how have you returned? You do not lie?”
He shook his head, torch light leaving streaks in his vision. He sipped his drink, noting how it no longer burned, but lightly tingled. “How I returned is my secret.” He grinned at her.
She wrapped her arms around his neck, swaying in time to the beat, her warmth brushing against him. He held his arms by his side, almost reached up to push her away, but didn’t. He liked everything about her but wished he didn’t. This was only dancing, wasn’t it? She was close. She was here and Nyset was far.
“You must tell me, you must be very powerful,” she pleaded, eyes intent.
People probably should know how he’d escaped from the Shadow Realm. It was a historical event, Nyset had told him. Nyset, he had to remember her now, keep her in his mind. Everything was mired in a boozy haze, internal restraints loosened. And Thalia was a light he couldn’t ignore. “You saw wh
at I could do today, didn’t you?”
“I know what you are. Embracer of both the gods, yes?” Thalia looked up at him, blinking.
“They… saved me, helped me get out, return to my body. Wish I could explain it better, but I truly can’t. I used a portal. Do you know what that is?”
“You mean a doorway?”
“I think so. Glows bluish, lets you travel a short distance,” Walter said.
“I know of this thing.” Thalia nodded. “There was a time when the god’s touched our people. They have long abandoned us within the last few generations.” She frowned, her eyes never departing from his. “We console ourselves with the old magic and ultimately, we are born to serve the Great Tree. To make the wheel turn.”
Walter tore his eyes from hers, feeling her probe him from the inside, maybe seeing more of him than he wanted. “Don’t worry. I’ve been told their gifts are inherited and even then, can be whimsical. There were only a few of us gifted from my village. When we have the Silver Tower back, you can go and train there, when the gods touch you and your people again.”
“I have not been so graced, a fascinating tale. What is it like there?” He thought her cheeks were reddening in the fire, but her skin was so dark it was hard to tell.
The beat of the drum slowed and the other members of the band followed, filling the air with a languid song. Walter caught Grimbald out of the corner of his eye. His boots thumped up the platform’s stairs, following the extended hand of the woman he’d been dancing with. She turned to look at Grim, flashing him what looked like a nervy laugh. Walter snickered, turned back to Thalia.
“Something strikes you with humor?” she asked. She made a slow twirl to the new beat, back facing him, hips gyrating and showing off her backside. Walter bit at the insides of his cheeks, trying to stifle the warmth flowing into his groin.
“Looks like my friend is about to go have a romp with one of yours, I’d guess,” Walter nodded at Grimbald’s fading form, cresting the platform.
A New Light (The Age of Dawn Book 5) Page 32