The Seeker

by Elizabeth Hunter

  “Good.”

  “Do you have it?” Rhys held his hand for Meera as she jumped down from a fallen log.

  “I’m good.”

  He grabbed her hand before she passed him. “This isn’t how I’d planned to wake up this morning.”

  Meera raised her eyebrows and started to speak, but the Wolf interrupted.

  “If you get lost, those marks you’re making aren’t likely to help you find your way back,” she shouted.

  “We better go,” Meera whispered.

  They had walked for what felt like miles, their packs strapped to their backs, while Atawakabiche seemed to dance through the forest. She stepped lightly on fallen logs and through shallow snakelike streams. She always seemed to know where the high ground lay, because following her, nothing but Rhys’s feet got wet. She moved from mound to log to rock to log, never slowing, her fox companions following closely.

  The Wolf had taken them on a circuitous route that Rhys suspected was designed to confuse and disorient.

  The sun was high when the mound appeared before them. One moment they were walking along a narrow waterway, and the next they had ducked under a tilted cedar, and a massive earthen mound rose before them. The foxes ran ahead, clearly at home.

  Atawakabiche turned and paused at the stone steps built into the mound. “You won’t be able to find this place again, not without my help. So don’t try to mark it in any way.”

  “Thank you for welcoming us to your home, mother,” Meera said, still speaking French. “We will not intrude on your solitude.”

  “Does the fire still burn in this place?” Rhys asked in the Old Language.

  The traditional greeting seemed to please the Wolf. She nodded at him. “It does burn, and you are welcome to its light. You and your own.” Then she turned and walked up the steps.

  Meera turned to Rhys. “Thank you.”

  “For what?”

  “Coming with me.”

  “Did you honestly think I wouldn’t?”

  “A mysterious woman shows up in the middle of the night and drags you away from the boat and guide we so carefully planned? You’d be more than justified to think I was crazy for following her.”

  Rhys smiled. “Well, now you know. Even if I think you’re crazy, I’ll follow you.”

  The edge of a smile teased her lips. “She thinks we’re mated. I tried to tell her otherwise, but—”

  “We’re reshon. She senses the bond between us. Don’t you?”

  Meera bit her lip, but she didn’t say anything.

  “Stop fighting it.” Rhys bent down and kissed her lips. “And you’ll feel it.”

  He took her hand and the path the Wolf had walked. The steps wrapped around the old earthwork, and Rhys saw bits of shell, bone, and rock sticking out of the soil. Moss and grasses grew from the sloped walls, and Rhys was surprised by how high the construction went.

  How had they not seen this from their satellite maps?

  When they reached the top, Rhys understood.

  A dense canopy grew on all sides of the mound, which was built in a spiral pattern reminiscent of a snail’s shell. Because of the spiral and the trees growing in the space between, there was little to no sun on the mound. Only a few scattered patches were cleared so vegetable patches could grow.

  Three round houses were built along the edge of the widest part. They were made of straight poles and smooth mud with Spanish moss filling the cracks in the walls and stiff palmetto leaves thatching the roof.

  The Wolf pointed to the first. “This is my home. The second is a bathhouse and ritual room. The third is in the distance. You may use that one to sleep.”

  “Thank you,” Meera said.

  “Yes, thank you.” Rhys wondered just how long the Wolf planned for them to be there. He walked to the hut, surprised by the breeze that cooled the afternoon. Apparently even a slight elevation made a difference in the humidity and the temperature.

  He brushed back the woven curtain hanging in front of the house to find a well-kept cottage with brushed earthen floors and high windows to let in the air and light. The breeze rustled the palmetto leaves covering the roof, and he set down his pack on a low bench.

  There was a low wooden bed in the corner covered by a woven blanket, and grass mats covered the floor.

  “This is quite nice,” Meera said.

  “Yes.” An earthen water jar sat near the door with a wide metal bowl next to it for washing. “She was prepared for guests.”

  “Who? Us? How could she know?”

  Rhys shrugged. “Maybe us. Maybe she’s ready at all times. She said there were many. I wonder if she collects lost people in the bayou.”

  “It’s possible.” Meera sat on the edge of the bed and bounced a little. “Spanish moss,” she said with a smile. “It’ll be cool at night.”

  “Thank heavens, because I don’t foresee any air-conditioning. Not even the magical variety.”

  “No, but look at the windows.” Meera pointed up. “At night this place will be far cooler than our tent.”

  It gave Rhys a little thrill every time she said something like “our tent.”

  “Are you hungry?” he asked.

  “Starving.” She opened her backpack and took out a bag of peanuts. “Share?”

  “Please.”

  He sat next to her on the bed, and they ate the small bag of roasted peanuts while sharing a bottle of water.

  “Roch has most of the water,” Meera said. “I only have this bottle and one more.”

  “She has to have a fresh water source here, or she’d never have built the mound.”

  “Do you think she built it on her own?” Meera shook her head. “I don’t think she did. It’s too old. I can feel the earth magic here.”

  “Then she has to have a water source. There was a vegetable garden and a ritual bathhouse.”

  “Hopefully it’s not too far to walk.”

  “How are you feeling?” he asked. “This wasn’t what we planned, but you must have imagined this meeting for years.”

  Meera’s smile was bordering on giddy. “I feel good. She found us. She invited us here. She recognized my magic. That’s more than I imagined.”

  “She called you a somasikara.”

  “Yes,” Meera said. “That is what I am.”

  Even with everything he’d learned about her, it came as a surprise. Rhys hadn’t put the heir of Anamitra together with the ancient magic of the memory keepers. Memory keepers were something out of stories and tales of the first children.

  In Irina legend, the somasikara were the first daughters of heaven to receive the wisdom of the Forgiven. They were given the ability to remember all other magics the Irina would need on the earth to tame the soul voices of humanity, heal the sick, tend the earth.

  All Irina magic was given to the somasikara who then taught it to the other singers. As new magic was found and developed, the memories were given to the singers with the ability to remember it. Mother passed the memory to daughter from generation to generation until the keepers became legends and the formal system of Irina library magic took over.

  “So there are memory keepers still living,” he said. “It’s not just a legend.”

  “As far as I know, I am the only one left,” Meera said. “That is why Anamitra was so closely guarded and so highly respected. Why my birth was such a long-awaited event. Anamitra was beginning to suspect another child wouldn’t be born with the necessary magic. But unless others are hidden around the world, I am the last. Even before the Rending, we were rare. After it…”

  “What makes your magic different?” He asked. “Why can you do what you do?”

  “It’s born in me. Hereditary magic.” Meera toed off her shoes and crossed her legs on the bed. “But not entirely. It takes very intense study. The magic to keep the memories is part of me, but learning how to use it is not. When I was young, I couldn’t understand what I was seeing and hearing. I tapped into ancient memory around my aunt, but I didn
’t know what it was. It took years of study to absorb what she was teaching me.”

  “So you are literally a walking library.”

  “No. A librarian only records the words and some of the feeling.” Meera took his hand. “I carry the true memory.”

  “I’m afraid I still don’t understand.”

  “It’s the difference between Sabine telling you a memory and you magically seeing through her eyes. You sense what she sensed. Feel what she felt.” Meera smiled. “It’s hard to describe. If we ever… Well, you might see someday. I might be able to show you.”

  “If we ever what?”

  Meera rose and walked to the door. “We shouldn’t disappear for too long.”

  “If we ever what, Meera?”

  Her smile teased him. “We don’t want to be rude.”

  “Meera!”

  She walked out the door.

  Blasted woman. She was going to drive him mad, and he’d enjoy every minute.

  They gathered around a fire where a stew of some kind bubbled, and Atawakabiche roasted long spears of meat that Rhys highly suspected came from a reptile. He didn’t ask. She didn’t say. It smelled good, and that was all he would think about.

  “My people built this mound,” she said. “A long time ago. There used to be more houses. Of course, there used to be more people.”

  “Our house is very comfortable, sister.”

  Rhys began, “Atawakabiche—”

  “Heavens.” She grimaced. “Your tongue sounds like it is tripping over itself. You can call me Ata.”

  “Thank you, Ata.” Rhys smiled. “How have you remained hidden for so long? Is it all magic?”

  “Look around.” The darkness was already falling. “This place—this wilderness—will turn you around. It’s bigger than most humans will admit. Once they’re inside, most lose sense of direction. The magic helps, but it’s almost unnecessary. The older ones, they came across me more often. But they were like me. They wanted to be left alone. Respected those who wanted the same.” She waved a hand. “I had no quarrel with them.”

  “Modern people?”

  “Magic,” she said. “Strong magic. I use earth magic to keep them away.”

  “So you’re an earth singer.”

  “My mother was an earth singer. She and her sisters made these mounds we’re standing on.”

  “And you were a warrior,” Rhys said. “Are you of Mikael’s blood?”

  Ata smiled. “You aren’t a fool. You know that most of this land is filled with Uriel’s children, even those who came from the south like me. Uriel’s children are special. We can have many gifts.”

  Rhys desperately wanted to ask what hers were. Which blood made Irina warriors? Which lines should be trained in martial magic if not for Mikael’s blood? Uriel’s children were known in Irina tradition to be flexible in their gifts, often changing roles throughout their lives. Were Uriel’s children the key?

  “What was your first gift?” Meera asked. “Mine was memory. Were you always a warrior?”

  “No,” Ata said. “I wasn’t.” She turned the meat. “You are mated, but it is a new mating. I don’t see deep ties of magic between you. Only the beginnings of them.”

  “We are not mated,” Rhys said. “Though we are reshon.”

  “Rhys is correct,” Meera said.

  Ata waved her hand. “You are mates, whether you’ve sung the magic or not. I can see the soul-tie. It is one of my gifts, seeing ties that way. It was why my brother and I were such successful warriors. I could always tell who were the most influential soldiers in a group. I could see where loyalties lay and target those whose loss would affect our enemy most.”

  That was utterly fascinating and Rhys was dying to know more, but he didn’t want to guide the conversation. Ata wanted to speak to Meera. Meera wanted to speak to Ata. He’d have to approach the martial magic in that context.

  “Mother, you know I am a somasikara. I am hoping to record your language before you decide to fade. You may be the last speaker.”

  Ata sat up straight. “Why?”

  Rhys blinked. “Why?”

  “Yes, why? If the people are dead, the language isn’t needed anymore, is it? What does it matter?”

  Meera said, “To preserve a language is to preserve not only the memory of a people but a way of life. A way of thinking. A vision of the world. To lose all those things means your people would die twice.”

  Ata set the meat skewers down in a long basket and unhooked the cooking pot from over the fire. “I’ll think about it.” Then she left the food in front of them and walked away.

  “But—”

  “Don’t.” Rhys put a hand on her arm. “I think that’s all you’re getting tonight. Give her time, Meera. You have to be patient.”

  She huffed out a breath, and he could tell she was still considering chasing after the recalcitrant Irina.

  “Does badgering work on your mother?” he asked.

  “Badgering?”

  “Pestering. Bothering. Asking for the same thing over and over again.”

  Meera laughed a little. “No. That doesn’t work on Patiala.”

  “And it won’t work on her. She’s not part of your retinue. You have to build trust.”

  She propped her chin in her hand. “Like you slowly wore me down?”

  “You love my persistence,” he said, reaching for a spear of meat. “Don’t lie.”

  “You do realize that’s probably alligator, don’t you?”

  “I’m not thinking about that right now. I’m too hungry.” He bit into the meat, which was juicy and smelled of peppers. “For now, princess, just eat.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Meera watched Rhys as he climbed up the ladder and Ata handed him the palmetto leaves. Apparently if they were going to sleep in her village, she was happy to use their labor. Meera was grinding dried leaves in a round cypress mortar while Rhys was using his long reach to repair the roof of the bathhouse.

  Like Ata, he was bare to the waist, and the dark lines of his talesm moved and flexed with his muscles. They labored in the filtered shade of the pines and cypress trees; she could hear short drifts of conversation pass between them as they worked.

  A breeze floated over the mound, cooling Meera’s skin like the sweet, fresh herb she was grinding cooled her senses. She found herself humming an old song her grandmother had sung, rocking back and forth with the grinding pestle.

  She couldn’t describe the sensation in her spirit. She felt settled. Rooted. Surrounded by old magic and verdant life.

  Despite never having visited before, Meera felt connected to this place, to this foreign village so far from the centuries of tradition in her home country. There was magic here, familiar and old. The very ground beneath her was made with it. It was a place of immense power.

  A shadow fell over her and she looked up.

  “You’ve ground enough,” Ata said. “Thank you. You can pour the powder into that jar.”

  Meera reached for the jar Ata had pointed to. “What is it?”

  “The Creole call it filé—they use it for soups—but it was ours first. Sassafras leaf. I dry and cure it. It’s good for eating and medicine. It’s the fastest way to break a fever.”

  “I’ll remember that.”

  “You’ll remember everything when you agree to take my memories so I can die.”

  “Ata, I can’t agree to that. Your magic is too necessary for our people. Though I can hold your memories, I cannot be your voice. And your voice is needed. Please come back with us. Just a visit would be a blessing.”

  “So you say.” Ata sat beside her and took a carved wooden spoon hanging from a hook on the wall of the outdoor kitchen. She scooped the bright green powder from the mortar, using her hand as a funnel to pour the filé into the jar. “The soup last night had filé in it.”

  Meera knew the subject had been officially changed. “It was good. I was wondering—”

  “What does your mate want from me?�
�� Ata didn’t look up as she asked. She kept methodically transferring the powder into the jar. “He is being very patient, but I can tell he wants something.”

  “Yes.” Meera had decided to stop correcting Ata regarding the status and her and Rhys’s relationship. Ata ignored any protestations about Rhys and Meera not being mated anyway. “I’ve told you I want to record your language, but he has a different goal.”

  “What is it?”

  Meera debated whether to reveal Rhys’s plans but decided that for the Wolf, frankness was a better tactic than subterfuge. “Rhys wants to know your martial magic.”

  “And you?”

  “I want to know how you found peace.”

  Ata raised an eyebrow.

  “You and your brother achieved peace in this land. Lasting peace for over five hundred years. At no other time in Irin history has that been accomplished. How did you do it?”

  Ata shook her head. “You’re not going to like the answer.”

  “Tell me anyway.”

  “We made them afraid,” Ata said. “Very, very afraid.”

  The singer was right. Meera didn’t like that answer. “How?”

  Ata frowned and dragged her foot though the dust. “What happened to the Irina on the other side of the ocean? Why don’t you have warriors anymore?”

  “We do have warriors. My mother is a warrior. But… the Irina across the ocean—and the modern Irina here—don’t have battle spells anymore. Most Irina warriors died out or were killed in the Rending. The majority are scholars and healers now. Scientists and businesswomen. But fighting has been taken over by the scribes.”

  Ata shrugged. “That makes sense since modern Irin are stupid.”

  Meera blinked. “I’d like to think not all of us are stupid.”

  “You are the somasikara, so of course you are not stupid. You carry the memories of our people, so you have their wisdom. But most modern scribes and singers?” She shrugged. “I have watched them. I think they are stupid.”

  Was that why she was determined to die? So she could avoid the stupidity of modern life? “Why do you think so?”

  “Modern Irin have become like the humans, fighting for unimportant things. They create laws and rules to fight the sons of the Fallen, who are animals meant to be driven from the earth. Grigori don’t deserve laws. They deserve death.”