Namesake

by Kate Stradling

  “I’m not asking permission. I am informing you of my intent. I leave now to prepare.” He sweeps from the council hall then, into the dying sunlight.

  Several sets of eyes shift to me. I force a calm expression in spite of my thundering heart. Historically, Etricos liberates the captive tribes and unites them into a sovereign nation. It has to start somewhere.

  “Goddess, what say you?” asks one of the leaders.

  “Let him go.”

  Were Tora still alive, I could speak with more confidence. Instead, the phrase leaves my throat in a harrowed whisper. The outcome of Etricos’s raids might be very different from the legends of my youth. I glance self-consciously toward Demetrios standing guard. He shows no sign of disagreement to my decree.

  The tribal leaders murmur among themselves, some in support and some skeptical. One excuses himself from the group to convey this new development to his people. Others soon follow. As the council room empties, Demetrios leaves his post by the wall to stand beside me.

  Moru hangs back from his fellow councilmen, looking as though he intends to leave but lagging further behind with every step. When the last man before him exits, he pauses, his hands in his sleeves as he studies the floor.

  Demetrios helps me rise from my designated place at the head of the room. We approach the leader of the Terasanai, and I fully expect him to speak to me, but when he finally turns, his gaze instead hones in upon the warrior at my side.

  “Will you go with your brother, or do you remain behind to take his position of leadership?”

  Surprise laces through me. Demetrios stiffens his spine, and his hand upon my elbow goes still.

  “I do not aspire to Cosi’s position,” he says.

  Moru’s gaze slides down to that slight contact between us and then back upward again. “Do you not?” Beside me, Demetrios bristles, but the leader of the Terasanai continues. “The people will follow the leader that our goddess chooses. They look to her for guidance. Naturally they will look to those around her for authority.”

  “I am a guard to the goddess,” says Demetrios.

  “And nothing more?” asks Moru.

  Our intimate exchange at the Eternity Gate flits through my mind. Demetrios again pressed for marriage, but the only person I know to perform such a ceremony stands before us now as more of an adversary than a friend. I observe my guard—my lover, of a sorts—wondering how he will answer such a pointed query.

  He does not answer at all.

  Why does he not answer? He has been careless of rumors in the past. Why can he not state the truth?

  Moru studies him with the eyes of a calculating politician. “I would not oppose you in your brother’s place. I believe you would lead your people well, Demetrios.”

  “Dima.” The tone of his voice makes me jump. His correction comes with a scowl etched deep upon his face.

  His open hostility has no visible effect upon Moru, who only inclines his head. “My apologies. I sometimes forget that Helenai warriors are so particular about the use of their proper names.”

  I frown and look from one man to the other in confusion.

  Demetrios keeps his gaze fixed upon the leader of the Terasanai, his every muscle taut. “I do not seek my brother’s position.”

  “And yet it may come to you more readily than you expect.” Moru adjusts his hands in his sleeves and turns to leave the hall, but he pauses for one final glance upon us. “If you do not seek power, Dima, you should not be so familiar with those who possess it, particularly at such a critical time as this. As I said, I would not oppose you, but a goddess’s lover will always outrank a mere mortal, be that mortal his elder brother or anyone else.”

  He exits to the dusky streets, leaving us alone. Demetrios stands a monument of injured pride and close-kept anger. And I—

  I don’t know what to feel. A chasm yawns within me where my heart was only moments ago. I see the logic of Moru’s words, the inherent warning. The people of this city look to me for protection, and they will look to any lover I have as one who holds inherent authority.

  I’m not a private citizen. With Tora’s death, Etricos is at his most vulnerable, and a transition of power could easily occur.

  “I will speak with Cosi,” Demetrios says. He starts for the door, but I snatch his wrist in both hands. He looks down at my grip and back up again.

  That movement was on instinct. I fumble for an explanation to justify it, but ultimately abandon the attempt. “What will you say to him?”

  He looks me straight in the eyes. “I will go with him.”

  “And so will I.”

  Demetrios opens his mouth to deny me, but the words stick in his throat. With a curt nod, he twists his wrist to catch one of my hands and pull me after him to the exit.

  As we step onto the public street, he drops that contact.

  Because he does not seek his brother’s position. He will maintain his distance from the goddess whose favor would grant it to him.

  Stupid, prideful man. Stupid, goddess-fawning society.

  A rift grows between us as we progress up the street to the guardhouse. I do understand the logic, but my emotions are in shambles. An hour ago we stood in perfect harmony with one another, and now we cannot even make eye contact for fear of what others might think.

  I maintain the silence until I can bear it no more, and then I only speak to distract my thoughts away from hurt feelings. “What did Moru mean, about Helenai warriors and their proper names?”

  Demetrios, who searches the darkening street for signs of his brother, spares me a sidelong glance. “Warriors of the Helenai use their proper name only on formal occasions: birth, marriage, death. Our leader uses his when dealing with leaders from other tribes.”

  Meaning that Moru, in calling Demetrios by his proper name, acknowledged him as a leader in his brother’s stead. No wonder the correction, then.

  “Why did no one tell me? I’ve always called you Demetrios.”

  “You are a goddess. We do not dictate how the gods address us as mortals.”

  His careful indifference cuts me like a knife. “Dima,” I say on impulse, a rebuke in my voice.

  He turns like a whip, as though he might shield my use of that nickname from any onlookers. “Anjeni, please. The Helenai need my brother. I need him. Please, do not undermine him. I did not think—”

  “You didn’t think that intimacy with a goddess would have political consequences?” Disappointment, like a dead weight, presses upon me.

  If he must choose between me and the Helenai, he will choose the Helenai. It’s the choice I would have him make, too, but that doesn’t stop the pain of rejection. It squeezes my heart like an overripe tomato.

  “It should have no political consequences,” says Demetrios. “Once Cosi returns to his right mind, no one will question his authority. Until then, I must support him as our leader. And so must you. Please.”

  “I understand.” I speak the words with fatalistic resignation and slip around him to continue up the street. I do understand. The timing between us is off. But it was always off and—assuming that the legends get our story correct—it always will be.

  I retreat behind my mental fortress, crushing my emotions back into the box I should have kept them in all along. I’m not sorry I let them out. Love unfulfilled is still love and I am a better person for it.

  Which is scant consolation as the somber night descends around us.

  “The goddess must remain here.” Etricos doesn’t even look up from the weapons inventory he pores over. Behind him, warriors assemble gear and tack in preparation for their early morning departure.

  “I can help you, Etricos,” I say. “It won’t be like last time.”

  “It won’t, because you’re not coming. Dima, I will be glad to have you.”

  “But—”

  “Goddess Anjeni,” he says, and at long last he meets my gaze with his solemn eyes, “the tribal leaders have pledged the bulk of their warriors to me with t
he understanding that you will remain behind to protect the city. If the Bulokai send more agents into our midst, you alone are strong enough to fend them off.”

  We have discussed raids before, and we have discussed me staying behind for this very reason. Why, then, do I feel like I’m being pushed aside when I could be of better use?

  “Give me your more advanced students instead,” Etricos says, and the statement jars me from my introspection.

  “What?”

  “Aitana, Ria, Ineri, and any others you feel would be skilled enough. We do not have the luxury of hiding our spark-bearers anymore. We will strike the enemy as hard as we can.”

  I lean close to argue. “If that is the case, I should come with you.”

  “No. You protect the people here. We must defend as well as attack.”

  Again, he pushes me aside.

  “Anjeni, he’s right,” says Demetrios.

  A hint of betrayal winds through me. “You would take untried spark-bearers into battle, then?”

  Etricos has returned to his weapons inventory. “We must try them at some point. Please don’t argue. If you wish to support me, give me your best students and keep the people here safe.”

  He does not meet my gaze again. I swallow the bitterness that wells in my throat. A glance toward Demetrios reveals mingled regret and apology upon his face, but his eyes silently plead for me to avoid conflict.

  “You will use wisdom in your attacks.” I intentionally phrase the statement as a command.

  “Of course,” says Etricos, still engrossed in his task.

  My voice hardens. “I mean it. If you sacrifice my spark-bearers unnecessarily, if you run headlong into a fight to soothe your broken heart—”

  His head snaps up, jaw clenched and anger flashing through his eyes, a dangerous warning for me not to approach that sensitive subject.

  It is enough. The deadly determination within him eases my fears. “I will send you my intermediates, Etricos. May you have good fortune in your battles.”

  His expression does not soften. “Thank you,” he says as he returns to his preparation.

  I spin on my heel and leave the guardhouse. Demetrios follows, but I tell him, “You should stay here.”

  “I will see you to your students.”

  “I plan to instruct them before I give them to you.”

  “All the more time I can spend with you before I leave,” he says. After a glance up and down the dark street, he squeezes my hand.

  I’m under too much stress to control my instinct for sarcasm. “Oh, did you want to spend time with me?”

  Demetrios suppresses a smile and guides me up the street. He keeps close enough that he could saddle an arm around my shoulder as we walk. He doesn’t, of course, but his nearness alone is almost good enough.

  The streets lie deserted in the early evening shadows, but lamplight shines in the windows we pass and illuminates the handful of tents that yet remain. Tora’s home, further up the road, has no light, no warmth.

  I draw a fraction closer to Demetrios and clasp his hand tight in mine. “What happened to all of the children she cared for?”

  He peers down at me. “The other tribes have stepped forward to help.”

  “And where is Huna?” I have not seen Tora’s grandmother since the burial at dawn.

  “At the infirmary, tending to the injured in Tora’s place.”

  Of course. Tora and Huna were cut from the same cloth.

  We pass the darkened house and continue to the first of my students’ dormitories. Light blazes bright through their window covering. Demetrios knocks, and voices within hush a split-second before Aitana opens the door.

  Her instinctive smile dies when she notices me behind him. With a formal bow she says, “The goddess truly honors us with her presence.”

  I’m not in the mood for her sullen sarcasm. I sweep past her into the room and survey its occupants. Ria is here, along with several of the other intermediates. Most of the younger ones occupy the second dormitory. I assume that Ineri is with them.

  I lock my gaze upon Ria, who has trouble maintaining eye contact. “Etricos leaves at dawn with a company of warriors to strike against the Bulokai. He has requested spark-bearers to accompany him. Are you willing?”

  Ria stiffens with resolve. “Yes, Goddess.”

  At the door, Aitana says, “Of course we are.”

  I spare her a sidelong glance and pass my attention to the rest of the girls. “Anyone who has reached proficiency in the fourth intermediate is eligible. Aitana, Ria, and Ineri will continue your training in the fifth, sixth, and seventh as you travel.”

  Aitana starts in surprise. “Goddess, you don’t come?”

  Again I glance at her, my spine straight and my chin up.

  Demetrios answers for me. “The goddess Anjeni must protect the city. The other tribes have pledged their warriors on condition that she remain.”

  An eager gleam lights Aitana’s eyes. Away from my presence she can shine—for Etricos and Demetrios both—but this is war, not a petty competition. I shift my attention to my other students.

  “Who among you is willing to go?”

  Nine raise their hands, in addition to Aitana and Ria. Two of them I know for a fact are stuck on the third intermediate. I cull them from the group with a promise that I will prepare them to join the next excursion. To the others, I say, “Etricos and his warriors leave at dawn. Report to the guardhouse nearest the city gates for your further instructions.”

  I exit as quickly as I came, with Demetrios beside me. Aitana, unbidden, dogs our steps to the next dormitory, where I repeat the call to Ineri and those within her charge. The students here are less skilled. Aside from Ineri, only two others qualify.

  “Will a dozen spark-bearers be enough?” she asks, nervousness bleeding from her.

  “You will have to take care of one another,” I say. “You, Ria, and Aitana are the only ones who have started into the superlatives. Practice as often as you can. Don’t overexert yourselves. Help the others grow stronger, and keep them safe in battle.”

  She nods, protective arms looped around the pair that has volunteered to come with her. As I depart, Aitana says, “I am the most skilled of your magicians, Goddess. Does that not make me the leader?”

  I stop and pin her with a steady gaze. “You share that responsibility with Ria and Ineri.”

  “But—”

  “I don’t trust you, Aitana.” My jaw tightens as I strive to keep my temper in check. “If you can learn to put the welfare of those beneath you above your own conceit, you may one day make an excellent leader. Right now you are too eager to showcase your abilities—”

  “How dare you,” she utters, her fists clenched to her sides. “How dare you accuse me of such a thing.”

  I refuse to rise to her provocation. “You are gifted with magic, but you allow jealousy to cloud your decisions.” Demetrios lays a hand on my elbow as though to draw me away from the confrontation, but I shake him off. “If calamity befalls, if the Bulokai kill those in your charge, will you also take full responsibility for their deaths?”

  She lifts her chin in the air. “I won’t allow anyone to die.”

  A scoff cuts from my throat. Tora’s fatal end flashes through my mind, and tears sting my eyes. “You think you have that level of control? On the battlefield, death can occur in a split-second, right beneath your very gaze, before you even have a chance to blink. You are over-confident.”

  Aitana presses her mouth in a firm line.

  And people accuse me of stubbornness. “There is no dishonor in sharing leadership with Ria and Ineri. If you cannot do that much, you are unfit to lead at all.”

  I turn from her and head up my hill. Behind me, Demetrios quietly advises her to report to his brother. I have no doubt that Etricos will override my decision and put her in charge of the other spark-bearers. I only hope we have no cause to mourn that override afterward.

  Sunlight pierces the horizon. Etricos
with his band of warriors already thunders across the plain. I observe from one of the watchtowers with Moru and several other tribal leaders. A hundred warriors and a dozen spark-bearers plunge into the vast Bulokai territory, there to strike against our enemy by whatever means they can.

  I should be with them, but I remain behind, a weapon of defense instead of offense.

  As the dark line crosses beyond sight, I descend the ladder to the street below. The handful of warriors who remain in the city will share Demetrios’s post while he is gone. One of them follows me up my hill. I dismiss him when my own tent looms before me. The guards outside my fence have received other assignments, on my request. A goddess who defends an entire city does not need token sentinels outside her home.

  With their more advanced members gone, my students require all my attention. We practice fundamentals on the hillside until the afternoon clouds gather in darkening knots. I move our lessons indoors, to the closest dormitory. The sky rumbles and lightning spiderwebs out as the first fat drops of rain hit the ground.

  My heart is leagues away, with the company that rides out in the elements.

  Three days pass with no word. “The Bulokai have camps in this region, but the nearest settlements are at least half a week away,” Moru says when I ask him what we should expect. “If Etricos means to liberate them, we must give him more time than this.”

  I worry that Agoros will trample the small army. The anxiety eats at me, and every spare moment I have I spend wandering the hills beyond our city—in spirit form.

  I can project myself as far as the river to the north, and out upon the plains to the south. Each day I push those boundaries further, creating a quick surveillance of our territory as I jump from one point to the next. Within the city, rumors abound of the goddess who appears and disappears in the blink of an eye. Huna tells me the stories over our evening meals, and then she scolds me for my instinctive grin.

  “You should not terrorize your own people, little goddess.”

  “I’m not terrorizing them.”

  “You look like an emissary of death with the black flames of the netherworld licking the air around you. And you like it.” She pokes me in the ribs to drive home this point.