Soulseeker

  This would be the last chance before they reached their final destination, a plateau close to the border where they would prepare for the final battles that would see this war over with. The place that Arran would join them.

  Rian had been unable to sleep, slipping from Hamon’s light sleeping grasp, and creeping from the pavilion, light-footed enough to even bypass the sleeping Hawks.

  Or had he?

  He saw the shadow detach itself from the pavilion and walk with graceful steps to Rian’s side, sinking into one of the other chairs.

  Rian watched Wravon in silence, unsure what to speak of when everything had been said. They had gone over and over each tidbit of information, each risk, each idea of how to prepare and how to protect. What else was there to discuss?

  Wravon said nothing, only looked up at the stars in an echo of Rian’s earlier actions.

  Rian leaned forward and added a small log to the fire, watching with weary fascination as the heat of the embers embraced it, smoke slowly trickling up along its sides, and then sudden flame, startling in its abrupt appearance, making Rian blink.

  The light was comforting, and he stared at it with almost mindless absorption. His brain was too exhausted and full to mull on anything further than this.

  “He will not let you walk the spirit plane alone.” Wravon’s voice was beautiful, with a light lilting quality to it that always made Rian wonder what his singing voice would be like. He wished he could ignore the words though. Enough had been said, surely this did not need to be argued over yet again.

  Rian took a stick, poked at the fire, watching the embers flare into brightness as the air reached them. He added another log. It seemed this was going to be a two log kind of conversation.

  “You saw what this did to him,” Rian said. “How it drained him. Now he would go back before he has recovered? This could kill him.” His tone was flat with exhaustion and repetition. He had counted on the Hawks protecting Hamon, not encouraging him in this madness.

  And then what? What if Rian failed, or was finally proven not to be the soulseeker? How then would any damage to Hamon be worth it?

  He poked more viciously at the fire, teeth gritting with frustration. He would not risk Hamon, not for anything, especially not to the man’s own stupidity.

  “We are not being foolish with this.” Wravon’s tone held a calm certainty that grabbed Rian’s attention and held it. Hamon’s cousin had spoken very little during the early discussions, which had quickly devolved into arguments with no true resolution.

  “The ceremony will involve all of us. All of our energy combined, for him.” His glance over at Rian was serious and held a measure of challenge. “This will be a test of our trust in you, in your followers. We will be vulnerable, in a place of hereditary enemies.”

  Rian found himself straightening, meeting that look with an openness foreign to his own nature. “You will be protected to the ends of the earth. I will make it clear that your safety is to be considered in line with my own.”

  Wravon watched him for long moments, as though staring into his soul and weighing its worth. At long last, he blinked and returned his gaze to the stars.

  “We are counting on that, especially Hamon. He cares for you, little prince, and I hope, for the sake of us all, that you return that sentiment and treat him gently.” The warning was clear, with more than a hint of the cold, merciless nature the Hawks were renowned for, the same he remembered from their first day together.

  He shivered, curling up a little in the chair.

  “I do care for him,” he finally whispered. “More than I should. I can do nothing but give him harm in the future.”

  “Or save our people.” Wravon’s tone had returned to calm.

  “You have no idea what my brother is capable of. Can Hamon, or any of you, stand back and remain silent when he possesses me once more? I know your sense of morality is high. Can you stand aside and let this play out?”

  Wravon gave a mirthless chuckle. “And this is the balance that threatens all. If you are the soulseeker, if this turns out to be true and this spirit walk will see you step into the role, then you will be ours, venerated, protected. I wish I knew the answer, prince. For you, for us. For the future. But I do not. I just have to have faith that the gods see a way when we do not.”

  “Those gods have abandoned me to my brother. Forgive me if there is no trust in me for their motives or actions.” Rian was rather alarmed at the depth of bitterness that flowed within those words. It was more emotion than he wanted to feel over the past, but apparently, here and now, it had flown free. More than he had ever admitted before, even in his own mind. Hatred against his mother, his twin, that was truth and clear. But the gods… He had never considered this.

  He did not want to consider yet more anger that ate at his soul. It was to be tamped down, hidden, suppressed, like all the rest, so that he could survive the day, the week, the year.

  On the surface, it was fine. One thing to cope with at a time. What surged beneath was nothing he could, or would consider.

  “There is nothing we can do that will enable us to understand the gods and their actions. They see more, know more than we could possibly comprehend.”

  “Then you believe that what happened to me was permissible? Even needed?” Rian felt a hot surge of rage and wrestled with it, terrified of the sheer force of it.

  Wravon looked over at him, no pity in his eyes, something that actually made Rian calm. Pity was something he could not endure, something that ate at the few tattered remnants of pride he still held.

  “There is nothing that will change what has happened to you. No magic, no vengeance, no justice. Nothing at all. It is part of you. And yet, looking at the man you have become, strong, compassionate, able to understand others’ pain, do you think you would have been a better person if you had lived the life you dreamed of? Or would you have become simply another tyrant in a line of tyrants?”

  Rian blinked, speechless. That image of him becoming like his brother, his father, of torturing their people, crushing them. It made him ill.

  “What happened to you was horrific. Nothing takes away the horror of it, or the impact it has had upon you. It was wrong. And will always be wrong. But rather than destroying yourself with hatred, with remaining in that past, you have taken it and become something more, something strong and clean and good. Something your troops look up to, respect. Those events changed you, now it is up to you as to what they will make of you. Good or bad. The past created you, molded you, now instead of it controlling you, it is time to control it, use it, forge determination and strength from pain and torment. That is a legacy to be proud of.”

  To his horror, Rian felt tears rise. He had always felt like there was no hope, nothing within himself that was worth pride or—love. Yet something in Wravon’s words resonated, some tendril of steel that lay dormant rose to them, understood them deep on some level he had never been aware of. So many here, newcomers and those he led, seemed to believe in him, see something he was unaware of. Instead of disbelieving them, perhaps it was time to wonder if he was the one who was blind, not them. Perhaps there was something to work with after all.

  Through blurred eyes, he hardly saw Wravon move, but suddenly, there were arms around him, and he curled into the comfort like a child, clutching at cloth and pressing close.

  For the first time in years, the tears came, not bitter and stinging, not something he was driven to on the edge of strength, but here and now, as a cleansing torrent.

  In the shadow of the pavilion doorway, Hamon stood, leaning on Dramon, tears welling in his own eyes…

  * * *

  Hamon rocked to the motion of the cart, eyes half closed, pulling in energy from the earth to bolster his slowly healing body and soul. It grated to be lying here, like some invalid, while his men rode close by, guarding him. Yet he had come to the conclusion that his pride needed to be sacrificed, that appearance was of no importance at this time.

  Hi
s lips quirked. His father would be amazed. Hamon’s pride had always been a barrier between him and his father as he fought for what he considered independence.

  One of the benefits of lying here, letting his mind drift, was that he could see his younger self so clearly, face it in a manner that was not judgmental or dismissive, but with a certain compassion and understanding that experience and time had lent him.

  His father had never tried to hold him back, had only wanted to teach him, to save him from the worst of what life would fling his way. But in the way of the young and the brash, he had perceived it as restraint rather than love, control rather than caring.

  Meeting with him in the spirit plane had opened something, made him face his father as more of an adult, an adult with life behind him and pride worn down to manageable levels. He had seen his father as older, and that had frightened him, made him aware of his sire’s mortality. In light of that, the posturing of the past seemed foolish and the actions of a child.

  Here and now, he wanted to be more than that. Perhaps as the youngest, he had been fighting for recognition, attention. Handed this chance, he would give everything he was to do this, not just for his father, but for his people, because now he realized that his father was the people. His whole life had been devoted to leadership, stern yet fair, strong, yet loving. So different from what Hamon had encountered in this strange, foreign country. Madness and tyranny and the people suffering under a heavy yoke of power.

  It made him appreciate his own people, and their leader, so much more.

  His father did not hesitate to punish where it was needed, but neither did he pause before protecting those who were vulnerable or weak. There was a balance there that Hamon had never before realized. It shamed him that it had taken this long, that he had clung to his adolescent resentments this far into adulthood. Now, with understanding, he would cast them aside and move into true manhood.

  This had been the second day of their travel, and tonight would see them settle for two days.

  Tonight would see the ceremony.

  He was somewhat reassured by his own fear. Fear kept him sharp, aware of possible consequences. He was no fool to storm into this with heedless disregard. Too many were involved in this, those he cared deeply about, and he would not risk them for his own impulsiveness. This must be carefully planned, precisely executed. No harm would come to them, not under his watch.

  There was a sense of anticipation, wonder, as well. If all went well, if this was truly destiny borne, then this night could see a miracle unfold.

  A soulseeker would truly return.

  He closed his eyes fully and slipped into sleep, the faintest of smiles upon his lips.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  That night seemed to come so swiftly.

  Rian shook with nerves, feeling a fool. His determination was rapidly being overcome with imagined horrors and self-doubt.

  Telan sat beside him, Zacar on his other side, quietly but persistently encouraging him to eat. He would need every bit of energy to get through this, but it was difficult to work past the nausea that rolled through his stomach. His body and mind, so used to pain, were obviously connecting what was to come with past experiences.

  It took all his might to keep the past where it belonged. This was new and hopeful and he would not allow it to be colored by anything he had previously undergone.

  He understood the concept, but the reality of it was far harder.

  He could not face the Hawks, keeping his head down, only interacting with Telan and Zacar.

  The only thing keeping him from flying apart was Zacar’s strange behavior. More friend than servant, Zacar was displaying not a single sign of concern. He was frighteningly calm, something that was not a known part of the man’s personality, always full of energy and like a small whirlwind. This still, steadfast confidence in what was to occur was beyond strange.

  Zacar caught his sideways glance and smiled gently, his blue eyes clear and steady. He shrugged, as though in answer to Rian’s unasked questions. “I don’t understand half of this, but in my heart, this feels right and good, as though this is your true path. It is too strong to disbelieve. I know, in some part of me, that this will go well, that you will be safe.”

  Rian swallowed hard. It was not just him he was afraid for, but he feared to probe further. It was better to let this go, close his mind to the possibilities. Perhaps Wravon was correct. Perhaps this was something so massive, so important, that he must let the gods do their work.

  If only he had trust to give.

  Instead, he felt he was closing his eyes like a child afraid of the dark, walking blindly in hope of reaching safety.

  He choked down what food he could, praying it would stay down and not rise again to embarrass him.

  Reluctantly, beginning to shake ever so slightly, he finally gathered with the others in the center of the pavilion. A bed had been placed upon the ground, large enough for the two of them, and Wravon helped Hamon sit upon it, the evidence of the man’s continued weakness making Rian’s pulse hammer in growing concern.

  This, in no way, could possibly be good. It was all very well that the Hawks’ leader wished to sacrifice himself for the hope of a soulseeker, but Rian would never be able to live with the aftermath if harm should come to Hamon.

  He did not wish to examine exactly why he felt so strongly about the matter.

  When Hamon was settled, Rian was waved closer and he slowly, reluctantly, knelt upon the mattress and then slid down beside Hamon, so that they were lying face to face.

  He flushed, uncomfortable with so many watchers as Hamon’s arms encouraged him intimately close, his own arm awkwardly trying to decide where to rest around the larger man.

  Hamon gave him a long, slow smile, one hand coming up to brush his hair back from his eyes. “This will work. Trust me, my prince.”

  That honorific made Rian hot, then cold, before he reluctantly leaned against Hamon’s chest, his attention focusing on the steady beat of a strong heart beneath his ear. It calmed him, settled him, his strangled breathing slowly sliding into something approaching peace.

  The other Hawks ringed round them, cross-legged, each with their hand somewhere upon Hamon. They were serious, but not grim with it, and Rian met Wravon’s steady gaze over Hamon’s shoulder.

  Their calm determination steadied him further, and he finally relaxed utterly against Hamon’s powerful form.

  The Hawk made a sound deep in his chest and held him carefully, as though he were something precious, something that needed protecting.

  It made tears prick in Rian’s eyes as he buried his face against that broad chest, hiding unseemly emotion.

  Telan and Zacar would be the anchors, whose energy held the Hawks to the earth, to this living plane, even while they held to Hamon, giving him their own power to take Rian with him to the spirit plane.

  It seemed too simplistic, as though surely there had to be more to such a dangerous undertaking, but the Hawks, once decided, had radiated confidence. Their people held spiritual knowledge far beyond what Rian understood, and at some point, he had simply let it be, trusting in them, if not in their gods.

  Somewhere along the line, he had become aware that they meant him no harm, that they had become far more than his reluctant guardians. The how and why made no sense, but then people were confusing at best, and completely incomprehensible at worst. Not understanding motivation was simply part of him, a part he was resigned to.

  He shut out the wandering thoughts, silently and guiltily reveling in Hamon’s embrace. Nothing sexual to it, nothing threatening, just held close with gentle strength. If it were not for the danger and uncertainty of what was to come, he would gladly have frozen this moment for all of time.

  He was safe, and in some degree, cared for.

  It was more than he could remember having. Perhaps he had been treasured as a child, before his mother left. He could not remember, could not pluck threads of memory from the past. It was like his li
fe had begun when Arran had started his depredations, as though that alone had the power to bring the past into focus.

  He squeezed his eyes shut and found his traitorous arm was pulling Hamon closer, his hand feeling the flex and power of a heavily muscled back.

  He breathed deeply of the man’s distinctive scent and pushed the past away.

  He would not let it taint this moment of peace. Whatever happened after this, he would treasure this memory of his first true embrace.

  * * *

  Hamon let his chin rest on the soft, dark hair, so severely restrained in a tight braid, as it always was.

  Someday, he vowed to see it free, an almost symbolic loosening of Rian’s restraint. More than anything else, he wanted to run his fingers through the entire length, have the right to caress it back and see his features clearly.

  One day…

  The painfully slim form pressed against him, so vulnerable and yet with such resilient strength. He was a wonder, this boy sliding into manhood. He would keep him safe, at any cost.

  Wravon touched his shoulder, indicating that they were in place.

  Hamon nodded, took a deep breath, and slowly began to settle his mind, letting it calm and center itself in preparation to leave his body behind. Strangely enough, as his mind left the world behind, his sense of holding Rian close only grew stronger. It was a good sign.

  He could vaguely hear Wravon begin the chant to draw upon the earthly powers, could feel the incoming energies surge into him, making him gasp, feeling an almost orgasmic bliss for long moments, until he wrestled them into some order. The power of his people had always been strong in his chosen companions, and that was evident as never before.

  He felt as though he could fly into the heavens, chase the stars, touch the face of the Horse God himself.

  It took discipline to bring himself back, to remember the precious soul he held and what his divine mission was. So hard to think with such power coursing through him, beckoning him, teasing…