Namesake

by Kate Stradling

  “Agoros of the Bulokai has a power that I do not,” I say abruptly. “I need to learn it.”

  Surprise flashes across Demetrios’s face. “How?”

  “I have to experiment, to push myself beyond my limits.”

  He shakes his head. “You must honor your limits, Anjeni.”

  “If I fail, it could mean the death of the Helenai and all those they protect.”

  “If you overexert yourself, it could mean our deaths as well.”

  His concern, endearing and unfounded, brings a smile to the corners of my mouth. “Will you watch over me when I lose consciousness, or must Huna take that responsibility?”

  Demetrios scowls. “What about your students? Did not Cosi tell you to focus on their training?”

  “This is more important.”

  “What is this new power?” he asks. I summarize the ability and how I learned of it. A growl rumbles in his throat.

  “I have to acquire it, Demetrios. Agoros cannot have abilities beyond mine if I am to defeat him.”

  “Agoros summons demons from the netherworld. Will you strive to acquire that ability as well?”

  I had not considered this. If his demon warriors—the burly, hairy hordes that follow his bidding—are not native to this world, perhaps Agoros truly opened a portal, something akin to the Eternity Gate.

  That would represent yet another area in which he surpasses me.

  “Anjeni,” says Demetrios, his voice a low warning.

  “Let me work on one skill at a time,” I say.

  He cups the back of my head with a strong hand, forcing me to meet his gaze. The world almost stops as we consider one another. He could kiss me right now if he really wanted to.

  But of course he doesn’t. “You will be careful.” It’s a command, not a request. “You will not push your limits unless I’m there to watch over you.”

  I nod, warm anticipation spreading through me. “Does that mean I can begin now?”

  He doesn’t understand my eagerness because he doesn’t know the life I once lived. Only three months ago, in my native time, I routinely failed in all my attempts to learn magic. Now that I can control my spark, the possibilities seem endless—as endless as the promise that the ninth superlative makes. One universal whole. Agoros, contrary to his intentions, gave me a glimpse of what I might achieve.

  I would be ungrateful if I let such a gift go to waste.

  The mystery technique eludes me. It’s like trying to levitate by lifting both feet off the ground at the same time: impossible, unless one can somehow defy the laws of gravity.

  But the ninth superlative says that magic is everything and nothing at all. If the true master governs all things and space is only an illusion, this should be an attainable skill.

  Whether I can attain it is the true question.

  “It is enough for today, Anjeni.”

  Demetrios stands over me, resolve upon his face. The gray daylight casts him in somber light. For propriety’s sake, the entrance to my tent gapes open so that anyone from the outside can see in. Huna insisted as much when she left us an hour ago, but with the rain, not even the guards at my fence peek at us.

  A scowl draws my brows together. “It’s not enough. I’m nowhere near figuring this out.”

  I shouldn’t be so testy with him, but my frustration keeps mounting in layers the longer I sit, the longer I try to force a technique that refuses to manifest.

  It’s the first fundamental all over again. It’s twelve years of fruitless magic lessons, vain attempts, abject failure. Despair swells in my throat, constricting my breath. The bitterness of my former self, on hiatus since I arrived in this realm, has quietly returned.

  I roll my neck, as though I can simply release this onslaught of negativity.

  “It is enough,” Demetrios says again.

  My temper flares. “If you’re tired, go somewhere else.”

  His mouth presses in a thin line.

  I shake my head to clear it. “I’m sorry. You don’t understand. I have to do this, but it frustrates me.”

  “How will it help us defeat Agoros?”

  The question gives me pause. If I acquire this skill, what does it merit? In answer, the seventh intermediate skates through my thoughts. “It connects places and allows for direct, precise attack from a great distance. It will help us defeat Agoros because we will be able to bring the battle to him instead of waiting for him to come to us.”

  He crouches to eye level with me, his face solemn as he holds my gaze. “There is no ‘we’ in this. You alone will be able to take the battle to him.”

  “All the better. No one else will be in danger.”

  Lightning-quick, Demetrios grabs me by the shoulders, as though to shake me. “It is not all the better. Stop thinking you have to do everything alone!”

  I can only stare, too off-kilter from his outburst. My brain stutters as blood rushes to my face. I say the only response that comes to mind: “But I’m the only one who can do it.”

  He releases me with a discontented growl, flinging himself away to sit hard upon the ground. The two guards at the fence sneak a glance in our direction. Our voices have carried out to them through the downpour. Demetrios cradles his forehead in his hands, displeasure radiating from him.

  I, meanwhile, flounder in bewilderment. “I don’t understand why you—”

  “Always alone, Anjeni,” he interrupts. He fixes dark eyes upon me, a muscle tightening at his jaw. “From the moment you arrived, you have insisted on doing everything alone.”

  Stubborn. Defiant. Forcing my own way. My father’s stinging accusations, almost forgotten in the tumult of living in this barren time, flash across my memory.

  It’s not fair. I didn’t arrive in a place replete with strong magicians—not friendly ones, at least. I carry the burden of a legacy far greater than anything Demetrios can imagine. My whole world depends upon my success here. His life and future depend upon my success.

  I lean forward and repeat the only salient point in this argument. “I am the only one who can do this.”

  “You can share the responsibility rather than shouldering it on your own,” he says.

  A scoff cuts from my throat. “How? With who? Aitana still fumbles to control the greater intermediates. The others straggle out behind her in their training—”

  “I’m not talking about the spark-bearers. You can rely on Cosi to plan attacks. You can rely on me to fight by your side. You don’t have to… to dash a hundred leagues away on your own and leave us all behind. You don’t have to hold yourself apart from everyone else. This is not your fight, Anjeni. It belongs to the Helenai, and to the tribes who have sought refuge here with us.”

  Is he telling me to stay out of it? “It is my fight.”

  “Not your fight alone,” he says.

  Something in me snaps. “But I’ve always been alone, Demetrios. I never even fit in with my own family. Where sparks are concerned, I’m a volcano among riverbeds. If the fates wanted me to work well with others, they would have fashioned me differently, but they didn’t. And if I have to abandon even my own body to defeat the Bulokai, I will do it!”

  I slam a fist against the ground, and my inner beast roars. For the barest instant, power flings me outward, across the fire pit—except that I’m still seated solidly upon the ground. I can see both of my selves as though through a blurry mirror.

  My split consciousness snaps back together like a pair of magnets. The force sends my head reeling, and I pitch to one side, my stomach in my throat and a sheen of sweat across my skin.

  Demetrios scuttles to me. He holds my head and rubs one sure hand against my back as I retch. Thankfully nothing comes up. Water leaks from my eyes and my esophagus burns. I gasp for breath, my senses in shambles.

  A fraction of a second. For a fraction of a second, my consciousness tore in two and my senses occupied separate spaces.

  It was agonizing, like my head was cleaved and all of my bones were on fire
.

  But I did it.

  I latch onto this meager triumph, desperately suppressing the after-effects of shock that resonate through me.

  I did it once, and I have to do it again. And again, and again, and again, until I can calmly stride into a house a hundred miles away and converse with the occupants at my leisure while I focus a seventh intermediate on them from afar.

  The extent of Agoros’s power strikes me anew. If a split-second at a couple yards of separation does this to me, what agony did he endure to visit me in the night?

  From the depths of my soul I force my consciousness out again. The rift and reunion follow in quick succession, faster than a heartbeat.

  “Anjeni, stop!” Demetrios scolds as my insides lurch again.

  I gasp, half pain and half jubilation. “I have to do it. I have to.”

  He crushes me to him, presses my head into his shoulder, tightens his arms around me as though he can keep me contained through physical restraint.

  But I shove my consciousness outward again anyway. What an interesting spectacle we make, joined together like that. No wonder all the legends call us lovers.

  With my head tucked tight against Demetrios, only my other-body eyes work. The split lasts half a second longer this time. Having one source of vision blocked allows me to focus more on the other. The magnetic pull snaps me back with a jolt.

  “Anjeni, please,” Demetrios whispers in my ear, his warm breath sending a wave of chills down my spine. My senses churn and reorient themselves, my every nerve prickling as though under attack from a million tiny, fiery pins.

  This is my limit. Three attempts, hardly more than the blink of an eye, and my stamina is spent. Feebly I push against the muscled chest of my faithful guard. He allows me to withdraw a degree. My tattered breath rattles in my lungs as I look up at him with a welling sense of victory.

  His expression, in stark contrast, speaks only of defeat. To my astonishment, he plants a fervent kiss upon my cheek and then rests his brow against mine. I gape, terrified and enraptured at the same time. His eyes are shut, his breathing steady as he calms his nerves.

  “You will rest,” he says, drawing back to pin me with a stare. I nod. Even were I not exhausted, I would not dare argue with him.

  His determination renewed, he scoops me from the ground. I can’t contain an instinctive yelp of protest. He deposits me on my cot only a few feet away and drags a blanket over me.

  “I’ll stay by the door until Baba returns,” he says brusquely. His gaze doesn’t quite meet mine anymore. “You will honor your limits for today, Anjeni, please.”

  Already I melt against my bed, my strength sapped from the duel shock of over-extended magic and such affectionate scolding. I try to speak, but my words are incoherent, my thoughts are incoherent, everything is incoherent.

  As Demetrios moves away, sleep swoops down, a bird of prey capturing its quarry. I welcome it, gratification thrumming through me.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  I awake to darkness. The coals of my fire have burned so low that only the reddest of light emits from their depths. The flap between my tent and the outside world lies closed, and I can just discern a figure huddled on the cot across from me.

  Huna has returned and Demetrios left me to her care.

  I stare up at the ceiling of my tent and contemplate. It’s the middle of the night. If I were to practice this fledgling magic skill, Demetrios would scold me. But then, he’s down the hill in his own tent and won’t come back until morning. If I exhaust myself into another sleep, who would be the wiser?

  On this thought, I sit up. My blanket rustles softly as it falls away. The figure on the other side of the tent stirs and rolls over.

  It is not Huna after all. It is Aitana. She peers at me through the darkness. In surprise, she rises on one elbow. “Goddess, you are awake?”

  Sleep infuses her voice. I fight the surge of annoyance that wars within me.

  “Where is Huna?” I ask.

  Aitana’s mouth presses into a thin line. “She is with Tora… and Cosi,” she mutters. “Dima instructed me to remain here with you through the night.”

  I flop back onto my cot. “You should rest. I’m sorry I woke you.”

  Across from me, Aitana yawns, but she does not curl up against her bed. “You are displeased to have me, Goddess,” she says. “Is it true you have abandoned your students, then?”

  “Abandoned?” I frown at her. “Who says I’ve abandoned my students?”

  Aitana doesn’t answer the question but meanders down a tangential path. “Perhaps we do not progress as quickly as you would like. Perhaps my failure in battle displeased you. It is difficult to live to the high standards of a goddess.”

  So she’s the one telling the others I’ve abandoned them. That’s just what I need, a mutiny among my spark-bearers. I drape one forearm over my eyes. “I’ve told you before that you progress faster than most. Do you need constant coddling to progress further?”

  She rolls over, her back to me. A sullen silence settles between us. Aitana has always resented me, and I have always resented her. What could have possessed Demetrios to assign her here?

  Maybe I should go ask him.

  Safe in my own bed, I force my consciousness outward. That splitting sensation crackles through me, and I stand by the fire, looking down upon my supine self.

  This projection feels more stable. I raise one shadowed hand. Wisps of darkness flicker around it like black flames.

  Does the nighttime help?

  My split consciousness snaps back together with a rippling wave of pins and needles. I gulp a deep breath, my heart racing.

  On Huna’s cot, Aitana turns. “Are you crying?” she asks across the gap between us.

  “No. Go back to sleep.”

  Contrary woman that she is, she sits up instead.

  “Go back to sleep, Aitana.”

  “Dima said you might practice a dangerous skill when you woke up. You would not put the Helenai at risk with such reckless behavior, would you, Goddess?”

  I grind my teeth together. So Demetrios warned her, did he? “I came here to liberate the Helenai. Agoros is the one who puts you at risk. Go back to sleep.”

  She scowls and sullenly lies down again. I steady my breath and listen to the breeze that wafts through the vent overhead, biding my time.

  A seeming eternity passes before sleep claims Aitana. I should probably sleep myself, but her words and Demetrios’s warning have sparked rebellion within me. If I want to practice magic in the midnight hours, who are they to say otherwise?

  I cannot trigger the projection with any degree of finesse, but I can hold it for longer on each attempt. By the seventh time, I can sustain a full fifteen seconds outside myself. Lying flat on my back helps. I’m not fighting against gravity in my physical body, for one thing. The shock that comes when my two sides collide is easier to bear as well.

  Exhaustion eats at me. I don’t know at what point in my practice I fall asleep, but I am content.

  My eyelids flutter against the brightness beyond my open tent. A silhouette crouches before me, haloed by the brilliance.

  “You practiced during the night,” Demetrios says.

  I blink and rub the grit from my eyes. My voice emerges with a sandpapery cadence. “What time is it?” If I look half as bad as I sound, I must be a wreck.

  He combs my mussed hair away from my face with strong fingers, a surprisingly gentle action. “Morning is half gone. Will you eat?”

  My self-consciousness multiplies. I sit up and run a hand over my face, eliminating any evidence of drool from the corners of my mouth. “Yes. Am I needed somewhere?”

  “You are always needed.” He speaks casually, his attention upon the low pot on the fire as he ladles some broth into a wooden bowl. He proffers the vessel to me along with a wedge of flatbread. The presence of such food tells me that Huna has come and gone while I slept like the dead.

  The broth scalds the roof of my
mouth, but it’s the best thing I’ve ever tasted. Or I might be so deliriously exhausted that anything would taste good.

  “Anjeni,” says Demetrios, “you promised you would not practice when I was not here to watch over you.”

  The flatbread sticks in my throat. I did promise, and I promptly broke that promise on the first opportunity that presented itself. The legends paint Demetrios as inconstant and unreliable, but perhaps those descriptors would better apply to the goddess he abandons.

  I swallow, trying to catch his eye, but he will not look directly at me.

  So I make excuses for my conduct. “You left Aitana to watch over me in your stead.”

  His gaze snaps to my face before he averts it again. A muscle ripples along his jaw. “Aitana was best suited to pass the night here. I did not expect you to break your promise and train without me.”

  Better that she pass the night with me than with him. That eventuality will come soon enough.

  He’s lying, though. “If you didn’t expect it, why did you warn her I might?”

  Demetrios scowls, caught in a snare of his own making. He doesn’t favor my question with a response.

  I rally my dignity enough to say, “I was careful.”

  “You promised.”

  A sigh whispers through my lips. “I’m sorry, then. Now that you’re here, I should practice again.”

  He regards me with a scrutinizing eye, but in the end he nods. I swallow the last of my breakfast and set the bowl aside, but I hesitate to proceed.

  I hadn’t considered how awkward it might be to stretch flat upon my cot with an intense and attractive man watching over me. He doesn’t need to know his presence affects me. I can’t give him that advantage. Reluctantly I lie back, my embarrassment boiling faster than Huna’s broth on the fire. “It works better when I don’t have to worry about my physical body,” I say as I cover my eyes with one forearm.