Soulseeker

  Zacar squeezed his hand again, bringing him back from the brink of bitterness. “One step at a time. That is all you have to do.”

  Rian clung to the familiar words, words that had often brought him back from the edge of self harm. He did not need to do it all at once. The problem did not loom as large when it was cut into pieces.

  One step at a time.

  He could do this, whatever “this” turned out to be. He would help the ghosts, and perhaps, just perhaps, find a path for himself that might lead to something more.

  Hamon’s face came to mind, and he thrust it away with haste.

  That path, however enticing, held no hope at all.

  Hamon took two more long hours before his spirit returned. He roused, consciousness returning for but a second before, exhausted, he fell into immediate healing sleep.

  Telan guided Rian out of the pavilion and took him on a roundabout route through the camp, wearing off the restless energy that would only lead to negative thoughts if left unchecked. It was both comforting and annoying that Telan knew him that well. He thought of himself as insulated, private, but perhaps he was not as discreet as he believed.

  They had two more days before they must move the camp. A week after that to finally reach the planned encampment near the border, from where the final push into Flaren would take place.

  It was there that Arran would arrive, his Elite soldiers at his back. For this brief time, he would leave his governance of the country and head to war.

  Rian shivered, wrapping his arm around himself in an instinctive search for comfort.

  Nine days at most before his brother would be here. So little time.

  Telan glanced at him, expression annoyingly serene. “By the time the king arrives, you will be a far different person.”

  Rian halted, staring at him. The larger man stopped, gazing into the darkness beyond the encampment. “You are different already.” He turned his head, meeting Rian’s eye unflinchingly. “You have felt the touch of another man. You know now what it is like to be held, to want that man’s presence. This cannot be erased.”

  Rian gave a harsh, choking laugh. “And that will change anything at all? The Hawks must leave before he comes. They have too much honor. They will try to intervene when Arran hurts me.” He cut off, breathing harshly. “They will die,” he whispered, visions of blood and agony returning to haunt him.

  “Hamon has the weight of a country behind him. He is the son of the high chieftain himself. Arran is no fool, whatever else he may be.”

  Rian steadied his breathing, controlling the fears that wanted to overwhelm him. “He is insane, Telan. There is no telling what he will do. We cannot base the Hawks’ safety on the whims of a madman.”

  Telan laid a large hand upon his shoulder, the weight and warmth of it comforting. “I think this matter is in the hands of the gods now. Worrying about it will change nothing. Come. Sleep. In the morning, we will work with your horses. That will give you calmness and prepare you for working with Hamon.”

  Rian numbly let Telan lead him back toward the pavilion, his thoughts tumbling over each other.

  In the hands of the gods. And when had they ever shown him the least mercy?

  Hamon woke with a start, eyes snapping open and body already attempting to rise…

  Wravon pressed down upon his shoulder, murmuring comfort.

  Hamon’s wide eyes met his cousin’s, then he glanced around the pavilion, getting his bearings, remembering where he was, who he was.

  He subsided, almost panting, allowing Wravon to stop him from sitting up.

  So much in his mind, almost painful. So much knowledge his father had passed to him, in the way of their ancestors, mind to mind. It was almost too much for him, too great a burden to carry. He could only hope it settled once he had imparted the information to the prince, or perhaps he would only retain the parts that would be pertaining to his own role.

  He was a guardian. The protector and companion of the soulseeker. The description had been so vivid, and his insight so immediate, there could be no doubt.

  Wravon offered him water, slowly guiding Hamon up to lean against him. He grasped the mug with shaking hands and gulped the blissfully cool liquid down with something approaching desperation.

  Wravon kept filling it until his thirst was quenched, and he settled against the strong shoulder that held him up.

  “You were gone quite long, Hamon. We were becoming concerned.” Dramon sank down before him, cross-legged.

  Hamon nodded, dismayed at how weak his muscles seemed to be. Never before had he stretched himself in the spirit plane to this extent. Obviously it was nothing that should be done with enemies close by. He would be incapable of protecting himself in the least either in the spirit plane or for a time afterwards. The feeling of vulnerability was a new one for him and hardly pleasant.

  Wravon touched his cheek, gentle understanding clear in his eyes. “We have you, Hamon. You are safe.”

  He managed to nod, closing his eyes as the other Hawks pressed closer, each touching him in reassurance.

  His brotherhood was, as always, his shield. Now, he would become a shield to the soulseeker, to his Rian…

  CHAPTER TEN

  Rian worked with his favorite stallion that morning. Katan was the pinnacle of all the Islandri breed should be. Calm, intelligent. Tall, swift, and with incredible endurance. Rian had raised Katan from a foal, his first, so long ago, and now ten years later, they were a solid team, understanding each other completely.

  Rian felt the stallion’s pleasure in his company and felt his nerves settle, his fears subside. It was then he realized that his new stallion, Mirish, the gift from Arran, was glorious, but not a creature that could be trusted implicitly. Rather like the one who had gifted him.

  Katan, on the other hand, was like a reflection of Rian himself, of what he wished to be, could be, given half a chance.

  He jerked away from deep reflection, wanting to enjoy himself, gather the strength for what lay ahead, especially what he would need to learn from Hamon. He only had eight days now. A short time indeed to learn the basics of how to master this matter of “soulseeker.”

  He leaned forward to stroke a hand over the fine, muscled neck of the stallion, finding himself chuckling as the horse arched under his touch, showing off as he pranced on the spot.

  “Exhibitionist,” he teased.

  A snort and a faint buck was his response.

  Rian laughed out loud, looking up to meet Telan’s amused glance from where he was circling his giant black on the other side of the makeshift circle they had created.

  A signal from Telan had them approaching each other, practicing close passes and abrupt maneuvers used in warfare, the stallions amazingly swift and light on their feet for such large creatures.

  Rian privately thought that there was grace and honor in a horse that could be found in no other creature, but then, he might be slightly prejudiced on the matter.

  As usual, men came to watch. Telan and Rian’s methods of training were far gentler than the norm, but their results spoke for themselves, and many had come to realize that the brutal methods of the past harmed rather than honed a horse’s abilities.

  Rian’s focus wavered as he viewed another horse enter the improvised ring. Navren’s smile was wide and white in his tanned face.

  “Could not resist,” he called as he approached, those watching shifting their attention to him—and to the fact his mount had no bridle, no visible means of guiding the horse.

  Rian frowned at him. “Hamon…”

  Navren grinned. “Up and about now, surly as a northern bear. My cheerful face just makes him worse, or so he says.”

  Rian relaxed, surprised by how much he had been worried about Hamon. Too worried. The man was getting him in more ways that he wanted.

  But this was an opportunity he would grasp.

  “Do me a favor, Navren?”

  The Hawk eyed him, still smiling. “Depends what it
is, little prince.” He chuckled at the scowl that earned him.

  Rian shook off his annoyance, realizing that this was the teasing the Hawks freely spread between their members. It was…odd…that it was being extended to him. He hardly knew how to react to it.

  Clearing his throat, he plowed on, ignoring the growing amusement in Navren’s expression. “Could you give us a demonstration of how your horses need only leg aids and no bridle? It is something I have long wished we could learn here…”

  Navren’s expression grew solemn and he watched Rian for long moments, eyes narrowing as though he sought to ascertain exactly why such a request would be made of him.

  Too late, Rian remembered that their countries were not friends, not allies, but wary and judgmental neighbors.

  He flushed and bowed his head, fiddling with the reins. “I apologize, Navren. That was foolish of me.”

  The Hawk watched him quietly, then a slow smile returned.

  “I think you have the welfare of horses in mind, rather than any intent of learning our warfare techniques. Still, I will show you only the basics, no fighting maneuvers. Agreed?” The tone held no animosity.

  Rian released a sigh of relief that the Hawk had not taken his words amiss. “Thank you. Truly. I would be ashamed for you to view the normal methods of taming a horse here. You would be horrified, and if I can change that in any way for the better…” He trailed off, flushing once more. He sounded so foolish, so young.

  “We have heard of the brutality.” Cold disapproval snaked through Navren’s tone for a moment, then warmed once more. “You however are attempting something to mend that, so I am more than happy to oblige.”

  Rian and Telan drew to the side, letting Navren have the whole space, and they sat back, the troops drawing closer to watch in utter fascination as the Hawk worked through incredibly intricate moves with only his legs and voice as directional aides.

  It was as though they were one creature, one mind, perfectly attuned to each other.

  Rian felt tears rise to his eyes, emotion almost overcoming him. It was so beautiful, so right. If he could do nothing else in his cursed life, let it be that he could change the course of how horses would be treated. Surely that alone could make his existence worthwhile.

  When Navren finally drew to a halt, neither he nor his mount looked in the least winded. The Hawk grinned and bowed as cheers and clapping filled the air.

  “Tomorrow, I will be here to show you the true basics. If you care about your horses, as true men do, then be here.” His shout rang over the tumult, the men hooting louder at his dare.

  Rian had no doubt that this area would be full of men and horses this time tomorrow.

  Navren urged his mount over to Rian’s side, keeping well clear of Telan’s black, who had pinned his ears back at the other stallion’s approach.

  “Thank you,” Rian murmured. “This means a lot.”

  Navren nodded, his humor still evident.

  “I did this for you. Now you can go soothe my leader’s foul temper for me. I have no wish to be in his company for supper unless you can talk him down.”

  Rian hesitated outside the pavilion, feeling slightly ridiculous. It was his own pavilion after all, yet here he was, dithering. Sucking in a deep breath, he ducked under the overhang and into the cooler interior. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the relative dimness.

  The other Hawks were gathered to one side, around a large table swept clean of all objects, now pulled into service for a dice game. Loud hoots and groans accompanied their casts, their attention riveted upon bets and arguments over money owed.

  On the other side, near the horses, Wravon rose to his feet from where Hamon lay, eyes closed. Wravon walked over to him with a small smile in greeting, clapping a hand down on his shoulder. “Glad you came. You can deal with the miserable one.”

  Rian raised an eyebrow, looking cautiously in Hamon’s direction.

  Wravon gently gave him a push toward the recumbent form. “He has been surly since he woke, mostly because he wants to see you and won’t admit it. Put him out of his misery and our own.”

  With that, Wravon left him, heading toward the table and rubbing his hands together, pushing his way into the group with enjoyment.

  Rian eyed them cautiously, then took tentative steps forward, nervously eyeing Hamon. The man almost seemed to sense his approach, rolling over and rising to one elbow, a fierce frown upon his brow that made the prince hesitate before lifting his chin and continuing forward. He snagged a chair as he went, dragging it over, having no desire to sit upon the ground as the Hawks so often did, limber and comfortable.

  Hamon still looked terrible, pale-faced, with dark shadows under his eyes. Whatever he had done upon the spirit plane had taken much of his energy, that was evident enough. His usual boundless energy and strength seemed utterly drained.

  His eyes, though, were alight with fervor, and they settled upon Rian with startling intensity.

  Rian had to look aside and fuss with arranging the chair in place, both fear and anticipation humming through his mind. When he finally settled, he had regained some control and could meet those dark eyes with something approximating aplomb.

  When the silence stretched, and Hamon’s staring did not cease, Rian cleared his throat uncomfortably. “You met your father on the spirit plane. I gather, from your current condition, that such a thing must be very difficult indeed.”

  Hamon seemed to shake himself free of the absorption that had possessed him.

  “This is the longest and furthest I have spirit walked.” The frown eased and a rueful smile tilted his lips. “I was remiss in understanding my limitations and how this would affect me. Next time, I will be better prepared.”

  Rian nodded, unsure what to say or how to ask the questions that burned upon his tongue. It was difficult to keep politeness at the fore and not demand answers all at once like some impatient child.

  Hamon smiled then, a rather fond, gentle smile as though he could read Rian’s thoughts.

  “I spoke to my father. I let him see my impressions of you, let him feel your energy. He believes, as I do, that you are the soulseeker, but there is a final test, one that may not be pleasant.” The smile had slid into a thin-lipped grimace. “I can only ask this of you, and it must be utterly your choice. No one will demand it or think less of you if you decide it is too dangerous or too frightening.”

  Rian bristled. Hamon spoke of him as though he were some fragile youth, as though he would quail at the slightest adversity.

  Hamon grinned, and Rian flushed, realizing that the Hawk saw through his irritation with frightening ease. This man seemed to get through to him as no one ever had, reading him with more perception and insight than even Arran had managed. It was terrifying and yet intriguing.

  “Tell me.” He felt his tone was satisfyingly calm.

  Hamon managed to sit up, cross-legged, though he seemed anything but stable, his body swaying. Rian found himself leaning forward, poised, ready to leap…

  Hamon waved him away, leaning on one hand to brace himself until he got oriented, determination in every inch of him.

  It was so strange to see him like this, to view the vulnerability. It drew Rian’s heartstrings, made Hamon so much more real.

  Hamon closed his eyes briefly as though he were dizzy, then forced them open, taking a deep breath and settling, looking slightly better.

  His gaze slowly rested upon Rian.

  “My father said that the true test is for you to connect with the collective energy of the soulseekers who have passed. First, they would have to acknowledge you as one of their own. Secondly, you would have to endure the sheer volume of knowledge that they would impart to you. It would be swift and utterly overwhelming.” There was true concern in Hamon’s dark eyes. “There used to be a ceremony for this very thing. We can approximate it here, but the true stumbling block is that you were not raised in this belief. We do not know how your mind will interpret all this an
d whether it will even accept what it will see and experience.” He paused, his breath shallow. “There is a chance, faint perhaps, but still there, that if your mind rejects this during the experience, it could drive you mad, or at the very least, make your healing long term.” His tone had turned grim, driving home the severity and truth of what he was saying.

  “You must consider this, Rian, in depth and with true understanding of the risks. This has never been done by someone not of the Zala. Those who were born to take this path had been prepared for years.” He reached out, fingers trembling, and took Rian’s hand, meeting his stare with unmoving intensity. “There is no shame in refusing this. This is not your people who need this. The cost may well be greater than the rewards.” The fingers curled more tightly around Rian’s smaller fingers. “I would not let you cast yourself away on a fool’s errand. This must be discussed with everyone involved and only then can you make an informed and reasonable decision.”

  Rian sat motionless, mind rolling over what had been said, curiosity, fear, and a strange sense of rightness mingling in confusing loops of thought.

  “We will work through this, together.” Hamon’s tone was soft. “You are not alone, you will not have to make this decision on your own. Whatever the end result is, you will never be forced into anything. You have my word on that.”

  Rian found himself holding that grip back, no longer passive.

  Later, Rian sat in a chair by the dying fire, slouched with his head tilted back, staring at the stars. The camp was quiet now, most people heading to their tents and bedrolls early in preparation for their departure in the morning. The army would be marching through the day to their next stop. Then a second day of progress before they would reach their next true encampment, where they would tarry for two days in preparation for the ceremony.