by Mark Eller
Missa smiled, nodded. “I know. Caring for the tome has been a burden, but it will be a burden no more. You have done well, Calto. It’s now time to give it back to its rightful keeper…back to the one who birthed it.”
* * * *
Calto looked and felt better. True, he had bathed in freezing cold water, but it was an improvement over being filthy and smelly. His beard was gone, and his white-blond braid was a neatly combed length down to the middle of his back. Anithia had taken his clothes, washed them, and asked someone else to polish his armor. She had also found someone willing to give up their lodging long enough for him to do all this in private.
“There. You look respectable again.” Ani finished fastening a clasp on his armor. She stepped back and smiled. Calto smiled back. She, too, had straightened her appearance.
“Thank you Anithia. I appreciate what you have done.” And he truly did appreciate her efforts. Calto stared at his ward and was struck by her beauty. Not a delicate beauty, perhaps, but a true bearing of vigorous health and strength. She had…presence. Her sapphire blue eyes didn’t just look at a person but rather into them…as if measuring their soul’s character. She was lovely, yes, but she was…more. Reaching out, Calto tentatively touched her face. Her skin was soft, warm.
“I’m sorry Ani. I hurt you. I hurt Missa. Hell, I think I’ve wronged three-quarters of the population of Yernden.” Calto gave a short laugh. “I’ve been a lout and a disgrace to my family name.”
Her eyes softening, Ani placed her hand over his. “It’s okay. We have both suffered. I forgive you Calto.”
He swallowed past a sudden lump in his throat. Maybe he could grow to love Ani. No. He would grow to love her. If they lived through this nightmare he would marry her and make Anithia the real Lady of his house. It was the least she deserved.
Pulling her close, he hugged her. Her body molded to his. Bony instead of soft. She was stick thin again, the same as when he first found her. But she felt real, warm, and the hug was comforting. He needed those things right now. Needed connections to someone real.
Calto’s groin stirred, and he had thoughts, but where could they go to be alone? He would not bed her in such an uncouth place or in such an uncouth manner. The first time he made love to her he wanted it to be on silk sheets, both of them well fed and clean. He needed her, needed her body and wanted her desire as a means for him to regain some small part of his confidence, but without the right setting he risked another failure.
Someone cleared their throat. Calto stepped away hurriedly. He had not meant for anyone to see his impropriety. Who would dare enter without announcing themselves?
Ani’s eyes grew large, frightened, like a lamb before a wolf. Calto tensed, turned.
Queen Elise stood in the open tent flap, face cold and impassive, eyes ablaze with…anger? Jealousy? No, not jealousy. That would imply she—
Calto’s own eyes grew large. His stomach fluttered, and he stepped carefully in front of Ani. There was something dangerous in the look his queen was giving her. “My Queen. To what do I owe this pleasure?” He felt Ani huddle close to his back.
Elise’s gaze cooled. Her back became rigid. “Are you finished or do you need another twenty minutes with your sister-in-law?”
Calto’s face turned red. His tongue felt thick. “I-I-Your Majesty. No. We were-I was just apologizing to her. Of course we are ready to-for-I mean—”
Cocking an eyebrow, Elise looked down her nose at him. “Enough. When you are finished with whatever it is you are doing, come to my tent.” She spun around and ripped the flap open. It snapped shut behind her with an angry pop.
Calto felt like he had just been caught cheating with another woman by his wife, except Elise wasn’t his wife, and all he had been doing was hugging Ani. Yes, he had been thinking carnal and rather self-serving thoughts, but he was pretty sure the queen could not read his mind. The entire encounter had him confused, upset, and he had the overwhelming urge to run after Elise and apologize. But why? What had he done?
Calto scowled and turned to Ani. She was scowling as well.
“So how long have you and the queen been…” Ani shook her head and threw her hands in the air in consternation. “I don’t know.”
Calto’s confusion grew worse, his mood darker. “How long have we been what?”
Ani glared at him. “Oh please. I know the look of a spurned lover. Her expression could have set us both ablaze.”
Calto’s mouth dropped open. His eyes bulged. “What? I-I-that is completely impossible.”
The tent flap flew open again. Calto whirled, his hand on his sword.
Joss stood there, a frantic look on his face. “Sir. Sorry to interrupt you and Lady Morlon but—”
Calto growled. “There was nothing going on between Lady Morlon and I. Who told you there was?”
Joss shrank in upon himself and backed partially out of the tent. “Sorry Lord Sir. The queen, she said you might be busy.”
Calto’s mood returned to astonished. Was everyone going crazy? He shook his head slowly. “What do you want Joss?”
Nodding, apparently satisfied it was safe, Joss stepped into the tent. “Havlar and fifteen more knights have just arrived. Some are injured, and they need the two of you to help heal them.”
More of his men returned? Calto’s chest tightened. Havlar survived? He could not believe what he was hearing when Calto thought he and the others surly died when the Manor fell. Where had they been these past weeks?
It didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered was they were alive.
Calto rushed from the tent, Ani and Joss followed close behind.
When they reached the clearing, many were already hard at work. Bits and pieces of magic hummed erratically all around. Calto looked for Havlar. The knight was nowhere to be seen.
“Havlar is in the queen’s tent. He awaits your attention.” Joss said.
“How is he Joss?” Calto asked.
The young man shook his head. “Not good. The queen fears it is too late for him. Too late for many. We’ll be lucky if five or six survive.” His sorrowful eyes looked dark, sunken. “I spoke to one of the injured. He seems to believe Morlon Manor fell only two days ago.”
Calto nodded with understanding. “Time has somehow become warped for many of us. For them it may well be true that only two days have passed. Could you go and see how many might have a chance?”
Joss nodded. Weariness seemed to drag at his body as he trudged off into the darkness, his possible bag hanging empty and ragged by his side. The boy had been through too much. It pained Calto to know the last of Joss’s innocence was stripped from him; torn from his soul by Athos and Zorce.
A hard lump formed in his stomach. He was more than likely going into the tent to say good-bye to one of his last true friends. Clenching his hands, he took a deep breath and steeled himself for the worst.
A hand touched his arm lightly. He turned his head to see Ani watching him. The twin moons, Callendale and Cafia, bright and beautiful in the clear night sky, made her face soft, serene…and hopeful.
“It’s not all said and done until it is all said and done. Faith, Calto. Faith.”
Calto patted her hand and nodded. Of course, she was right. Strange things were afoot this night. He would not give up until he absolutely had to. He would try his best to heal his friend, save his life.
When they entered the queen’s tent, Havlar lay motionless on the ground by her cook stove, his face peaceful, serene, but the rest of his body was bandaged with rags, most of which were bloody and dirty. Calto’s heart sank further. His friend had lost too much blood. His face was too pale.
The queen knelt by his side, her hand on his forehead. She looked up, and worry etched her pale, oval face and saddened her green eyes. A twinge of guilt stabbed at his heart, and again he was not sure why. Calto swallowed and focused on the other people in the tent.
Missa knelt on the other side of Havlar, her eyes closed. Her small hands hovere
d over his heart. Next to her stood Jolson, the Book of Truths clutched tightly to his chest. Behind them both was Simta, watching dispassionately with her arms crossed about her chest. Calto narrowed his eyes. What was the woman doing here, and why did the former spawn have his goddess’s book?
Anger and resentment stirred in his blood. “My goddess, why does he have your sacred tome?”
Missa frowned, stood, and placed her small hand on Jolson’s partially amputated arm. “It isn’t just my book, Calto. It tells my story. It keeps my secrets, yes, but it also tells all of the god’s stories…but the book doesn’t truly belong to me. It belongs to Flinstar. He wrote it. He chronicled important history, knowledge, in case something unfortunate happened to any of us. Jolson is, at the least, partially Flinstar. As such, he is the book’s true keeper…its protector. Now that he has it back it will serve him as it was originally intended.”
Anithia stepped forward. She glanced at Jolson, appearing startled, wary, then looked at Missa. “I don’t understand.” She nodded to his missing arm. “What happened to his hook, and why should we trust him. Jolson tried to hurt me, tried to hurt you…I mean tried to hurt Missa?”
Missa stepped closer to Jolson, taking a protective stance. The strange, star-like mist swirled in her eyes, and her body began to glow. To see such power emanating from his niece’s cherubic features seemed almost frightening to Calto. She was ten now. In a month she would be eleven. She was too young to have had so much happen to her.
Shifting his gaze, he studied Simta’s heavy stare. She gave him a brief nod and frowned.
More guilt stabbed at Calto. A too familiar feeling of late. Now that Simta was no longer a cat he had amends to make for leading her to believe he intended her to be his wife.
Calto vaguely wondered if a person could die from an overdose of guilt.
“Anithia,” Anothosia said. “Like with your cousin, Jolson has changed. He is no longer the spawn you knew, just as Lady Simta is no longer incomplete.”
Fresh, beautiful and full of hope, Anothosia’s voice always sounded like spring. Coming from Missa, Calto found it almost hypnotic.
Calto tore his eyes away from his goddess, ignored Simta, and looked at Jolson closely, not with his eyes, but with his power. It was a struggle. His magic stirred in him, sluggish at first, as if waking from a long slumber, then, unexpectedly, it flared to sudden life, almost as if it had been trying to escape the entire time. Calto fought the urge to gasp with joy at his power’s return. Instead, he focused his surprise on the spawn. Odd pinpoints of light ebbed and flowed in Jolson’s aura. He saw blues, and reds, and yellows. In fact, so many colors swirled about Jolson’s body Calto could not keep track of them. It was almost painful to see them all. Strangest yet, when Calto used his magical sight, Jolson still had two complete arms. Shaking his head, he glanced at Simta and saw she wore a shadow cat’s form.
Calto closed his eyes to block the visions away.
As if he were inhaling, Calto drew his power back into his body and let it comfortably settle, glad for its return. When he was sure he would no longer be blinded by the lights, he opened his eyes again. Wonder, fear, uncertainty, all warred within his mind. Anothosia was not mistaken. Jolson and Simta had changed. But how…why? Somehow, Simta seemed to embody some type of fearsome cat. As for Jolson, scarred, tall, and gangly, the spawn standing before them was no longer spawn. He was, he was…what? At first glance, Jolson was still pathetic to behold, as were many of those who had gathered in this camp, but Anothosia had not spoken of a physical change when speaking of the spawn. She spoke of a spiritual change; something about Jolson bore the mark of power.
Looking both sad and forlorn, Jolson spoke to Anithia. “I don’t know what to say Ani…other than I’m sorry. I’m not a spawn anymore. I’m not really sure what I am now, but the person I once was no longer exists. What I did…” Jolson slowly shook his head. His eyes were filled with confusion, doubt, and hurt. “I’m sorry.”
Missa tilted her head upward and looked at Jolson. She smiled a cheerless, tired smile, one filled with mixed compassion and pain. Calto felt a faint twinge of jealousy when she leaned into the former spawn and wrapped her arms about his body. “It’s okay. It’s going to be okay. Just read the book Jolson. Just read the book.”
Jolson looked upon Missa and nodded. He pulled the book tighter against his chest, hanging onto it like he was afraid of someone leaping up and tearing it from his grasp. He met Ani’s eyes. A tear slid down his cheek.
Gasping, Anithia walked, slow and cautious, up to Jolson. She reached her hand out and gently wiped the tear away. “You…you’re crying.”
Jolson nodded. “Mercy Anithia? Forgiveness? Do you have those for me?” More tears joined the first, falling heedlessly to the ground.
Anithia’s features became soft, sad, and her hand unclenched. She looked at Missa holding tight to him, almost protectively. She reached out to briefly touch Simta’s shoulder for reassurance, and then once more she fastened her gaze on Jolson. “I-I don’t understand what’s changed, but I can understand you’re no longer spawn. Jolson, you once told me you could never forgive me, that when you meet the gods you would show them no mercy. What now? What of your oath now?”
Jolson smiled at Missa, sniffed, glanced at Calto, then focused again on Ani. “I don’t understand what’s happened to me. I just know I’m different. I want— no— I need a second chance. I need to-to-I don’t know what I need. I’ve lost so much of myself and regained only a little. A pittance of what I once was."
She stared a moment longer, nodded her head, and Calto knew she had reached a decision. “All right. A truce then Jolson, and forgiveness, and mercy. Do you know what these mean? do you understand the power those two things hold?”
Reaching her hand up once again, Ani wiped more tears from Jolson’s face, laid her hand upon his scarred cheek, and started to sing. As her voice lifted in song, Calto sensed power flowing from her and into Jolson.
Jolson gasped. He trembled. He fell to his knees. Missa eased his descent by wrapping her small arm around his waist then laid her hand on his shoulder. The Book of Truths he still held flared to life. Its brilliant light sank into his body, spread out. Calto watched it flow up Ani’s arm and shoot into Missa, bathing the three of them in moonlight radiance.
Drawn to the light, Calto stepped forward and placed his hand on Missa’s head. His hand tingled as the magic jumped to his body. Power flared and spread in waves from the foursome, bathing the tent in radiant moonlight. Jasmine, honeysuckle, and the smell of fresh baked bread and dark earth filled the tent; scents of home, scents of hope. Elise’s hand closed over Calto’s, and the magic jumped to her next. Stepping forward, Simta placed her hand over theirs. Calto gasped, as did Elise and the others. Roses now joined the other smells as a second wave of magic spread outward. Peace, love, hope…they flowed from them in visible waves, almost like watching the ocean swell and ebb, white foamed and tumbling, one wave over the next.
Missa’s face turned upward, an odd caricature of herself, as if another face was transposed over her own, then she joined in Ani’s song, bringing its beauty to an unbelievable crescendo, lifting Calto’s soul, expanding within his heart until he thought his body would burst from its splendor.
Calto’s world shuddered, stretched. He wasn’t sure he could take any more, but just as he thought his body would fly apart and disperse into the heavens, the song finished. Calto drew in deep breaths of air, feeling as if he had not been breathing, and hesitantly withdrew his hand, as did Elise, Ani, and Simta. He felt weak: his body’s strength and mind’s power spent. Swaying, Ani fell into Jolson’s arms. He caught her and hugged her closely to him, rapture shining and brilliant upon his face.
Like with Calto, Missa, Simta, and Elise also appeared drained. His goddess leaned heavily upon her recently returned moon staff. Simta appeared deathly weary, and Elise sat heavily upon a nearby stool, her eyes half lidded as if she were about to fall asleep.
Calto turned to see Elise’s tent flap had been thrown wide and several people had stepped inside. More stood without. Many more. Possibly the entire camp was at his queen’s door. The tired, hungry expressions the refugees once wore were replaced with hope— real hope, real faith. Their eyes shined faintly with remnants of the magic Anothosia’s and Jolson’s book had just released.
“Calto—”
A soft whisper, a whisper he recognized, one he loved, came from over by the stove. The clank of armor, the rustle of robes, and then the man whose life he thought forfeit rose from the ground, whole and healed.
Calto’s eyes became moist. Stepping forward, he embraced his friend and whispered a prayer of thanks to his goddess.
Havlar grasped him back. “What just happened?”
Calto stepped back and smiled. “The winds of war just shifted in our favor Havlar. That’s what just happened. Our goddess is returned, and there is something more.”
Havlar looked at Jolson, his eyes growing wide. “What in the name of the Seven just happened? And who— no— what is that?”
Calto turned his head and scanned the rest of the occupants. Some of the knights who had ridden into camp with Havlar, the ones who had been gravely injured and laid outside upon the ground for dead, were now hale and healthy, staring in reverence at Jolson.
Calto took a deep breath and held it. It was eerie. Even as he watched, Jolson’s scars were fading. His body was filling out, becoming something less bone bare, becoming something much stronger. The stringy mop Jolson possessed for hair grew cleaner, darker, and longer. It stopped growing when it reached his shoulders. Brown and soft, his hair flowed in gentle waves. But Jolson’s eyes…his eyes still held swirling stars. To Calto, they spoke of power and knowledge.
Calto released his breath and shook his head, fearful to speak too loudly what he knew to be the truth. He stepped closer to Havlar, leaned close by his ear. His voice dropped to a whisper. “I don’t know what Jolson is now, Havlar, but I think we have just been granted a reprieve. I think we have just witnessed the rebirth of the Savior.”