Namesake

by Kate Stradling

  Her tears flow freely, her whole body shuddering as she murmurs her overwrought gratitude. “Thank you, Goddess Anjeni. Thank you.”

  Fatigue weighs heavy upon me. “Don’t thank me, Tora. This may well bring calamity within our gates.”

  She pulls back, her watery eyes searching mine in the dimness that surrounds us. “It is better to die as humans than to live as monsters,” she says. She hugs me again and withdraws, slipping through the exit to leave me alone.

  Absently I pull the golden crown from atop my head, rubbing at the tender spot where it sat. “It is better to live as humans, most of all,” I mutter to the empty space around me.

  I sincerely hope that belief is not yet another luxury I carry from my own time.

  Demetrios insists I rest for the remainder of the afternoon. Admittedly, the counsel is good. I nap within my tent and awake to dim and faded light at my door. In my first waking disorientation I cannot discern whether it is dusk or daybreak.

  I stumble from my cot, the flowy skirt of my dress nearly tripping me. I can only imagine what my face looks like, whether the black paint around my eyes has smeared or half rubbed off.

  Demetrios ducks into the tent from his post outside. “Anjeni, you should not be up.”

  Even as he guides me to the nearest chair, I wave aside his concerns. “What has happened while I slept?”

  He pours me water from a flask and proffers it to me. “Our people have collected refugees from the plains. They already dig the graves.”

  I contemplate the cup in my hands. “It’s the same as last time?”

  “To a greater degree. There are more women and children this time.”

  Dread floods through me. “Children?” I start from my chair, my throat closing over with sick disbelief. “He injured children?”

  Demetrios catches me by the shoulders before I can dart to the opening of my tent. “We are treating them as best we can. Agoros is a monster in the flesh.”

  I swallow, half-wanting to seclude myself from the brutal reality that takes place down the hill. I can’t do it. “I wish to go down there.”

  His eyes darken and his mouth thins. He’s going to refuse my request.

  I pin a stern look upon him. “I will go one way or another. You cannot stop me.”

  He knows he can’t. His jaw tightens as he considers his options. “I will go with you,” he says at last. “Put your shoes on first.”

  I obey the command and, for good measure, wash my face to rid any remnants of death-paint. The dress will suffice for now; changing clothes is too much of a hassle.

  Demetrios offers me his arm, as though we are a gentleman and lady about to take a civilized evening stroll. I eye him, masking my rising self-consciousness with suspicion. He told me to marry him. He watches over me like a lover might. Am I tacitly accepting when I don’t even know my own mind yet?

  I mean, yes, he’s attractive, but I barely know him as a person despite all the time we’ve spent with one another.

  Reluctantly I take his arm. Halfway down the hill I am grateful for the support. My stamina drains from me with every step.

  Perhaps it would have been easier to project myself down the hill instead.

  “It will be difficult,” Demetrios says. “Many are dying; many are already dead.”

  I steel my nerves. Darkness encompasses us as we pass into a city seeming at rest. Lights twinkle among the houses and tents, but the residents are quiet. The quarantine lies on the far side of the settlement, near the river and the crop fields, almost a mile from my tent on its hill. Demetrios supports me the whole way. I wilt against him when we finally arrive.

  The wounded occupy a series of tents connected to one another like the chambers of a honeycomb. Light sets the area aglow, and shadows move within.

  “Are you ready?” Demetrios whispers. I nod. Together we duck inside the nearest entrance. The twin smells of death and sickness assault me. I breathe through my mouth as we progress from room to room, from victim to victim. There are no beds, only blankets upon the earth. The women who nurse the injured pause in their ministrations to dip their heads to the goddess in their midst, and then they return to their work. I observe bloodstained bandages, ashen faces, glazed eyes—again and again and again. My chest constricts and I huddle closer to Demetrios as I walk.

  “We should leave,” he says to my growing distress.

  “No.” I need to see this. I need to understand the monster I am up against. This is not a romantic legend woven from brave and noble deeds. This is pain, suffering, trauma, the true and dark reality that history will gloss over when it paints its account of this storied era.

  The children are the most difficult to see. They don’t whimper or cry out. They lie in shock as women tend to them, washing away dirt and blood, sewing together gaping injuries with needles made of bone. Infection will follow in the patients that survive. Nothing here is sterile. Flies and fleas already abound.

  “Anjeni,” says Demetrios. He pauses to wipe away tears I did not realize I was crying. His thumb is warm against my cheek. “We should go.”

  I swallow and nod. I have seen enough.

  We cross through the honeycomb of tents and emerge to warriors arriving with more injured. Tora directs them. Etricos stands nearby, his expression closed.

  Tora sees me but continues her work. She separates the conscious from the unconscious patients, assesses injuries, and reassures fears with a gentle touch.

  “They take the dead directly to the graves.”

  I jump at this unexpected voice beside me. Moru meets my gaze with a sad smile.

  “Are there many?” I ask.

  “Roughly half.”

  Demetrios tightens his hold on my arm, tucking me marginally closer to him. If Moru notices this protective act, he makes no indication. He gestures to Tora.

  “She is admirable in her resolve. Etricos has chosen his future wisely.”

  “He has,” I agree. A cluster of women separates from the shadows of the nighttime city, Huna and Aitana among them. They approach Tora for instruction on where they might help. Huna notices me off to the side and tilts her head in wordless rebuke—whether because I have left my tent on the hill or because I’m hanging upon Demetrios’s arm is anyone’s guess. Aitana spies us as well, and resentment flashes across her face. She lags behind the group and then parts from it to join us.

  She greets me with forced civility. “Goddess, you have descended from your solitude.”

  I fix my gaze forward. “How goes your training, Aitana?”

  “Self-study is difficult. I have no direction.” She crosses her arms, her eyes flitting to my hand wrapped around Demetrios’s elbow.

  Yes, dear, for the moment, I’ve stolen your boyfriend. Time will bring him back to you.

  “It’s good of you to help with the injured,” I say, an unsubtle hint for her to move along.

  She deigns not to take it, parking herself on the other side of Demetrios instead. Amid the cluster of women, Huna receives her instructions and passes into the honeycombed infirmary. Tora sighs and rubs her forehead in the momentary lull. When she turns to enter the tents as well, Etricos forestalls her.

  “You need to rest,” he says.

  “I can rest later.” She tries to skirt around him, but he blocks her path again. “Cosi, step aside.”

  “You are exhausted. Please.”

  “I can rest later,” she says again, bobbing to one side to get past him.

  He grabs her by the shoulders. “Tora, I’m worried about you.”

  She wrenches away from him. “You have no right to worry about me! You’re not my husband, Cosi, and you never will be!”

  Dead silence blankets the scene. Etricos, stricken, stares at his betrothed. Tora covers her mouth, aghast at her outburst. She glances toward her onlookers—Moru, me, Demetrios, and Aitana. A sob escapes her throat, and she bolts into the night.

  Etricos remains behind as though in a trance.

  “C
osi,” Demetrios murmurs. On his other side, Aitana watches with ill-contained satisfaction.

  Something in me snaps. “Etricos, if you don’t go after her, you’re a bigger fool than I thought.”

  He jolts from his stupor. He glances at us as though noticing our presence for the first time. With a distracted buck of his head, he darts off in the same direction as Tora.

  I start after them, but Demetrios yanks me back. “Let Cosi take care of it.”

  “Like he was taking care of it when he just stood there?” I fling my hand toward the shadows. “He’s going to bungle everything!”

  “Let him take care of it,” Demetrios says again. Behind him, Moru and Aitana observe, ever alert.

  “You can’t stop me from following,” I utter, my voice low.

  Demetrios rolls his head skyward. “Anjeni,” he says in exasperation.

  “You can’t,” I insist.

  “It’s late. We must return you to your tent, Goddess,” he says, and he hooks my arm in a strong grip. “If you’ll excuse us, please,” he says to Moru and Aitana, and he leads me away.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” I hiss.

  “Quiet. Do you want Aitana to follow us?”

  I glance back over my shoulder. Aitana and Moru stand apart from one another, each of them watching our retreat into the shadows. When we pass the first line of huts, Demetrios veers me off in another direction.

  “This is a terrible idea,” he says. “Whatever happens between Cosi and Tora is private.”

  But we’re headed on roughly the same course they went now. “Admit it. You’re as curious as I am.”

  He doesn’t deny the charge. “Cosi has been worried sick about her since the first wave of injured arrived. She will work herself to death if she’s not careful. That’s why he would have left these people beyond the walls rather than bringing them into our protection.”

  “Then he should have told her as much.”

  “You think he hasn’t, in a hundred ways? He even applied to Baba to intervene, but she and Tora are too similar. Where there is work to be done, they’re in the thick of it.”

  I contemplate this in silence.

  From further down the road, a voice rings out. “Tora, wait!”

  Demetrios drags me behind the nearest hut as a silhouette darts into the road, followed quickly by another.

  “Cosi, please. Let me go.” Misery infuses Tora’s words. She is crying.

  We peek around the corner to see Etricos tightly holding her wrist as she angles away from him.

  “Why would you say such a thing?” he demands. “Why would you cast me aside like this? What have I done?”

  “You have done nothing,” she says, pulling against his grasp.

  “Then why, Tora? You know my heart is yours.”

  But Tora shakes her head. “Don’t lie.”

  “Do you doubt my words?”

  “I doubt your actions. You have done nothing, Cosi.” She tugs her wrist from his grasp and retreats a step. Etricos stares, his mouth agape. Tora continues. “How long have we been in this land? Weeks. Months. You might have married me a thousand times. There are half a dozen tribal elders now, but when one excuse disappears, you find another. I understand. This isn’t what you want. I release you from your promise.”

  “No,” he says, even as she turns away. “No, Tora. You are my soul.” Before she gets two steps, he tugs her back, his mouth seeking hers in the darkness, his arms crushing her to him in a passionate embrace.

  My fascinated observation ends as Demetrios yanks me back around the corner and places himself as a barrier to prevent me from looking again. “Give them their privacy, Anjeni.”

  I suspect, were we not puddled in shadows, I would see a lovely blush rising on his cheeks. It would mirror the heat on my own. We listen in awkward silence, but no sounds travel to us. Demetrios checks around the corner, only to withdraw again.

  “Baba will have his head if word of this gets back to her,” he mutters.

  Meaning that Etricos and Tora are still locked in their fervent kiss. “Is it really that bad?” I ask.

  “Such intimacy should happen only between a husband and wife.”

  I stare, my expression flat and one eyebrow raised. Demetrios has the decency to meet my gaze. “I told you you should marry me,” he says, unapologetic for his earlier conduct.

  From the street, Tora protests. “Cosi, please. This isn’t—”

  “I wanted everything in perfect order,” Etricos says. “You deserve so much more than I can offer. I was trying to get—but I was wrong. I will marry you tonight, Tora, this very hour.”

  She hisses in rebuke. “Cosi, people are dying.”

  “Who makes excuses now? People will always be dying. Or are you the one who wishes to be rid of me?”

  I poke my head around the corner in time to see Tora take Etricos’s face in both hands and plant a solid kiss upon him. Demetrios draws me back again.

  “You see?” he says. “Cosi took care of it.” He sounds worried, though.

  A frown pulls at my brows. “Does Huna still object to their union?”

  “Baba can have no complaint as long as they do marry.”

  “You think they’ll go through with it tonight?”

  “I don’t know. That is their decision. We should go.”

  I want to protest, but at this point I’m nothing more than a would-be spectator to the intimate encounter. Demetrios is correct: they deserve their privacy. In resignation I allow him to lead me away, between the huts to another street and another road back to my hill.

  “Where will you go tonight if they do marry?” I ask as we approach my fence with its ever-present flames and guards. Demetrios frowns at the question. “You share a tent with Etricos. You wouldn’t go back there on his wedding night, would you?”

  He grimaces and looks away. “I can pass the night at one of the guard houses.”

  A knot of misgivings within me releases. I suppress the sigh of relief that results.

  “Do you worry about where I sleep, Anjeni?” Demetrios asks.

  Heat floods my face anew. I open my mouth for a quick denial, but I meet his gaze and recognize the teasing glint in his eyes. I scrape together some dignity and speak with stiff words. “No more than you worry about where I sleep.”

  “That is worry indeed.” He takes my hand and squeezes it. With a nod he motions me to complete my journey alone. I slip from him, inner turmoil raging as I cross between my too-interested guards. Demetrios’s gaze follows my every step. I pause for one last look over my shoulder before I pass into the deep shadows of my tent.

  He smiles, a muted curve of his mouth that, despite its subtlety, sets a flurry of butterflies loose within me. With a sigh I let fall the flap that separates me from the outside world.

  “Does my gift distress you, Goddess Anjeni?”

  I whirl, fury incinerating my twittering emotions. A specter moves against the dark backdrop, Agoros in his projected form, his burning eyes upon me.

  Control, Anjeni. You might lose everything if you lose control.

  I temper my voice. “You know my name.”

  He waves a ghostly hand. I can just discern the flickering black flames that emanate from him. “A triviality to discover.”

  “You didn’t even know I was a woman before.”

  “I did not think it worth knowing.”

  I fixate on that ephemeral thread that connects him to his physical form. Surprise courses through me. “You are nearer to here than last time. Have you left the safety of your stronghold, then?”

  His lips curl into a sneer. “You would do well to focus on the threat before you rather than seeking enemies afar.”

  My beast of magic prowls within me, its hackles raised, a snarl vibrating in its throat. “Why? Distance is but an illusion.” I twist my hand into a fist and jerk it down.

  Something answers, something far away. It spikes out, jolting through bodies that go rigid and tumble to
the earth. Agoros wrenches his attention over my shoulder. The shock on his face contorts into hatred.

  “You filthy minx!”

  The specter vanishes, taking with it my connection to that distant locale.

  I stagger to one side, my breath short and a cold sweat on the back of my neck. What have I done? I attacked at a distance beyond physical sight, more on instinct than any sure knowledge of success. My skin crawls with apprehension, but the beast within practically purrs with delight.

  I need Demetrios. I didn’t hit Agoros. There were others around him—magicians protecting him? Did I kill them, or simply injure? Regardless, I have attacked our enemy. I need someone to know, and Demetrios is the only person in whom I can confide.

  As I pass again through the curtain that separates my tent from the outside world, faces of the wounded in Tora’s honeycombed infirmary flash through my mind. This is life and death. I will not apologize for my boldness.

  And perhaps Agoros will think twice before seeking me out again.

  My strength is failing. I muster every last ounce and stride between my guards with my head high, as though nothing is amiss. Demetrios has already disappeared down the hill.

  Where is he? I need him.

  He might have returned to his own tent. I orient my steps that direction.

  “Goddess Anjeni!”

  I whirl. Tora and Etricos emerge from an alley I’ve already passed, hand in hand. I halt, my nerves humming with alarm.

  “We thought you had returned to your tent,” says Etricos.

  “I… did.” If he’s really about to get married, I can’t ruin this moment with talk of warmongers and attacks. “I needed to get some air.”

  Confusion registers on Etricos’s face, but he dismisses it. “Tora and I are getting married tonight. We would be honored if you will attend.”

  “Oh,” I say. Stupid Anjeni, act surprised or something! “Yes. Congratulations. Where will you have the ceremony?”

  “In the tribal council’s common hall.” Etricos gestures to an adjacent street. “Moru has agreed to officiate. He’s bringing Huna from the infirmary with him. Will you help Tora prepare, Goddess?”