by Alana Serra
But the stern-faced Raknari didn’t fight her on it. He just looked down at his lord, seeming as helpless as Imara currently felt. A pang of empathy undercut her other emotions.
“The healers will buy him some time. They will be able to transfer some of their essence into him, and take some of his power in return. But this is a temporary solution.”
“Solution to what?” she asked, her brow furrowing as she looked at him. He seemed to have one foot in the grave already. “Isn’t this what he’s supposed to do as Storm Lord? Or… Drotun?”
“It is part of his power, but this unrest… it centered around the Drotun’s dwelling. It came from him to begin with. The fact that he nearly killed himself taking it back says that Kiova’s burden has become too much for him to bear. No Raknari is meant to take on this much of the Tempest’s power, and if he keeps going as he is, it will kill him.”
Imara felt as though one of those shards of ice from the storm had pierced her heart. She didn’t know Rheor well. It was silly to feel so attached to him. But there was a strange kinship there; something that bound them. He was one of the few people who not only tolerated her strangeness, but seemed to actively enjoy and encourage it. She might not have been keen on accepting his strange frost powers into herself, but she didn’t want to see him die.
“You said healing him is only temporary. What’s the permanent solution? How do we help him?”
He gave her a strange look, then recognition dawned across his features. “I suppose you wouldn’t know,” he conceded. “He needs someone who can accept half of this power, half of this burden. Someone who can help him carry this gift.”
“That’s what Roinim is,” she breathed, feeling as if all the air had suddenly whooshed out of her lungs.
“Yes.” The Raknari looked her over, obvious skepticism in his eyes. “There are some who believe you are his Korun, the one bound to him for Roinim, but…”
Imara could have laughed. It was some small comfort he wasn’t rude enough to say it out loud, but his thoughts mirrored her own. They mirrored Rheor’s, too. He’d made it very clear he didn’t want to undergo Roinim with her. She wasn’t meant for that role, something she guessed only Raknari could fill.
She certainly couldn’t. There was no way she could do what he’d done today. She couldn’t even fathom it.
“Do not misunderstand me,” the Raknari continued, “my personal feelings on whether or not you are fit to be Korun are irrelevant. The fact that Rheor underwent Roinim once and is not inclined to do so again is far more worrying.”
“Why would he need to do it again, then? Why would Roinim save him now if it obviously didn’t do what it was supposed to do then?”
“That is… not my story to tell,” he said, his expression pained, shame spreading through his features.
This was more than Rheor would have wanted him to say. She could tell that just from his expression and his suddenly guarded body language. It was clear there was a story there, though, and she wondered if it had anything to do with his behavior toward her.
She’d ask him if he lived. He had to live.
But as the healers were brought in—a mix of women and men, their skin bearing markings that looked similar to Rheor’s, but for the fact that they didn’t glow—she was made all too aware of how useless she was in this situation.
Imara moved away from his bedside, not wanting to be in the way. She stood near the other Raknari who gathered in the room, all of them just watching and waiting as the healers did whatever it was they were going to do. Imara watched as they placed hands on him, the room growing markedly colder when they physically drew some of those raging storms out of him and into themselves.
If this was what Roinim was—even a small glimpse—it looked incredibly uncomfortable. The healers’ expressions were strained, their eyes rolling back, fully showing the blue-white of the sclera and nothing else. She could see the cold being pulled into them, saw ice crystallize on their skin, create the tiniest fissures, and then disappear. It was fascinating, so much so that she couldn’t look away. But the thought of undergoing that caused her physical pain, and she winced as the ritual continued.
It was easier once they began to channel energy back into him. This was some kind of pure healing force, much like the healers at her own village used. From what she understood, it was a mean of sharing one’s life essence with another, allowing their body to heal more quickly from wounds rather than outright curing them, something that was not achievable by even the most skilled healers. It always seemed strange to her, especially considering how exhausted both parties looked after, but she’d admittedly never paid that much attention. She’d always been much more interested in tracking, hunting, and caring for animals than anything else.
The healers here did seem more efficient in their work, though. With three of them channeling, it only took a couple of minutes for Rheor’s body to lose its pallor, some of the cuts and bruises he’d sustained already looking better. Imara drew in a breath, feeling like a burden had been lifted from her shoulders, as well, especially when she saw the steady rise and fall of his chest, and the parting of his lips as he breathed.
“There is more to be done and we cannot help with it,” the Raknari said, putting a hand on her arm. “Come.”
“Will he not wake? I’d… feel better seeing him awake,” she admitted, embarrassment curling through her at even saying that much.
It made little difference. He likely needed to rest, since his body needed time to repair itself. But being able to look into his eyes and know he was still alive had suddenly become something vitally important to her. Something she knew she needed, even if she couldn’t explain why. And it seemed Rheor might have needed it, too, because even as the Raknari opened his mouth to speak, she heard a soft groan coming from the Drotun.
Imara was at his bedside like a doting wife, feeling more foolish than ever, but not truly caring. When his ice blue eyes opened, it sent relief flooding her veins. So much that she almost collapsed on the spot. He was panicked, gaze darting about like a scared animal. But then he settled on her, and she could almost feel his heartbeat slow, along with her own.
“Imara.” His lips were chapped, his throat dry, but somehow her name sounded like something beautiful coming from his mouth.
In that moment, she felt as though she was his greatest concern. Not the fact that he’d almost died, but whether or not she was well. It was strange and confusing, but it didn’t feel wrong. It felt as though there was some tether connecting the two of them, and every day that passed pulled that tether tauter and tauter. She held her breath, waiting to see if it was going to snap entirely.
But Rheor fell unconscious again, his head resting back against the pillows, and the spell was broken. Drawing in a deep breath, Imara gathered what was left of her sense and dignity and followed the other Raknari out of the room, satisfied that Rheor would live. And yet more and more uncertain as to why that seemed to mean so much to her.
She remained at the palace for much of the day, attended to by people who served Rheor, and admonished by others. She was fed, given blankets, taken to the library to entertain herself, all—she suspected—while Rheor was awake long enough to give those commands. When he fell unconscious again, everyone rallied around him until those instances became less and less frequent, and far shorter than they’d been previously.
As much as Imara wanted to remain and speak to him, she found herself increasingly more afraid of what she might say or do. Everything in her was pushing for something, and in her heart, she knew exactly what that something was.
Roinim.
The idea of it hummed through her, repeated over and over, whispered like a prayer. Salvation for both of them, it said, but Imara had never truly trusted prayer. To God or Kiova or any entity she couldn’t see, touch, smell. She hated the idea of putting her destiny in the hands of someone else. Twenty-three years of hearing it and she still hadn’t accepted the idea that she was next i
n line to be chieftain of her village.
She’d wanted to control her own fate so much that sometimes she wondered if her reasons for leaving with Rheor were at least a little selfish.
And now “fate” seemed to be calling to her, demanding she give this part of herself to him and take on burdens she certainly didn’t want to bear. Sometimes, when she was close to him, it felt strangely necessary. Almost as necessary as breathing. In those moments, it was the most certain thing in the world. Of course she would undergo Roinim. Why would she ever do anything else?
But when her head was clear, when she had some distance from him, Imara came back to herself. She didn’t know Rheor. This place wasn’t really her home. These weren’t her people. The best she could hope for was that she’d one day find her place here, among them, and that it might include Rheor in some way, but that didn’t mean she wanted to bind herself to him. She just wanted to explore these feelings she felt when she was near him; wanted to explore the things he could bring out in her that no one else ever had.
Was it wrong to do that without some kind of commitment? The priests might say so, but again, Imara had never put much faith in what the priests said. So much of it revolved around rules and codes that kept women from doing certain things while men were free to do whatever they wished. Imara just chose to live her life in ways she thought were just and good. Ways that didn’t hurt anyone, and left her free to care for her sister and the rest of her family.
Wanting Rheor in this way wasn’t hurting anyone… or so she might have thought. Now that she’d seen him so weak, saw him collapse outright on the verge of death, she couldn’t help wondering if there was something she should be doing. If Roinim was a thing she could give him to ensure he survived, perhaps that was the good and just thing to do here. Even if it stripped away some of her own freedoms. Her father had always told her she’d have to make this choice, she just assumed it would be in her village, when he was on his deathbed and asking her to take over as chieftain.
The role felt no less important, though, and the decision no less vital. That was why Imara found herself walking back to her own home, leaving the palace and Rheor behind. Every time he roused, every time his attention turned to her, she couldn’t concentrate. Her own emotions seemed to be affected by his, and the closer she was to him, the worse it got. So she retired to her little cottage, asked around for a shovel, and started to dig her home out of the snow that had yet to melt.
After a solid stretch of time where she did nothing else, her limbs burning with the effort, she heard a familiar cackle from behind her. “The role of a Korun certainly has changed since my day. Do they really have you out here shoveling your own snow? Why aren’t you using—”
Nava approached, looking her over with those piercing eyes that took in far more than Imara was comfortable with. She scrunched up her aged face and let out a disgruntled noise. “Oh. Did Roinim not take, then? I didn’t think humans could handle it, but I wasn’t going to say anything. You seemed plenty tough to make it this far.”
Imara could scarcely get a word in edgewise. But to her surprise, she also found herself with assistance as the Raknari woman took the shovel from her and began chucking snow away from the door with twice the speed and efficiency.
“We didn’t… try,” she explained, heat rising in her cheeks. “Though I think I would have. Something seems to come over me when he’s close.”
“That’ll be the bond.” She made an intrigued sound in the back of her throat. “Maybe you are his Korun after all.”
“Well, he stopped it from going any further, and I was gla—”
“Yeah, he would,” she said, no rancor in her tone, no sense that she was poking fun. She just seemed to be stating fact.
“—That’s the second time I’ve heard something about him being reluctant for Roinim. Why?”
“Not my story to tell,” she shrugged, tossing a large pile of snow behind Imara.
After just a few minutes, the way was almost clear. It’d taken her an eternity just to get half of the snow dug out, yet this woman made it look absolutely effortless, despite her… advanced age.
“I’ve heard that too,” she said, her lips pressing into a thin line.
“Come on.” Nava used the shovel to pry open the door, the last of the snow falling free. “Let’s get your bath ready and get you prepared again.”
“I’m not…”
But Nava was already inside the house, the shovel set against the wall. Before Imara even had a chance to follow, she returned with a pot, scooped up a heap of snow, and went back inside to set that pot before the stove so it would melt.
“Every fucking lake and stream’s frozen because he doesn’t want to get his cock properly wet,” she muttered to herself as she worked.
Imara felt like she was being pulled inside on the sheer force of this woman’s personality alone. It’d been a strange comfort her first day, and in some ways, it was that now, too. There were women she’d bonded with in her own village who talked like this, not treating her as though she was a child or some delicate flower. They answered her questions when she asked, and Imara was struck by the sudden hope that Nava might, too.
“No one’s told me anything about Roinim or what a Korun is or… anything,” she said, trying not to sound as testy as she felt. “I’m getting the sense that because Rheor doesn’t want any of it, and because everyone else just assumes it’s going to happen, that no one has even thought to explain it to me.”
Nava scoffed, an ugly sound in the back of her throat. “It’s not as purposeful as all that. We’ve heard these words all our lives. The story of Drotuns past is something every Raknari hears many times growing up. People have just forgotten that you wouldn’t have been around to hear it.”
“I doubt that, considering most of your people still look at me as if I’m diseased.”
“It’s the skin,” she said, giving Imara a once-over. “Makes you look like a Svag.”
She thought of Almir and how much he looked like her, and a frown touched her lips. That… made sense, as awful as it was to think about. But it still didn’t explain the animosity she felt coming off of many of the Raknari.
“I doubt it’s only that. My people have terrible stories about yours, so I’m sure you have your fair share of cautionary tales about humans.”
A broad grin spread across her face, displaying gaps where several teeth should be. She bustled out the front door with the empty pot again, and Imara decided to make herself useful and join her, filling a much smaller pot with snow and bringing it inside to melt, then dump into the waiting tub.
“My father told me humans steal babies and eat them,” she said, her white brows lifting, “or try to, anyway. Hard to manage it with their flat teeth. They have to grind them into a paste and—”
“Okay,” Imara put a hand up, her whole face scrunching, stomach turning at the thought.
Nava just cackled.
“Then it is fair to say there are misconceptions on both sides.”
“There always are. Most conflicts are borne out of people not understanding one another,” she said with a shrug that undercut the gravity of her words, as if she’d just uttered a random observation.
“Then I hope you can understand my need to know what I’m getting into with this,” Imara said softly, meeting the woman’s gaze.
To her surprise, she found sympathy there. Perhaps even a great deal of empathy, with a small smile that seemed so out of place on Nava’s face. “What do you wish to know, then?”
Imara thought about it, considered all of the things she didn’t understand, and settled on the things that were holding her back the most. One of them an obvious fear, she hoped, and the other something that perhaps Raknari didn’t even think about. It was important to Imara, though, and if she didn’t voice it, she wasn’t going to be able to make a decision one way or the other.
“This Korun thing… how does it work? Because I’ve barely spent any time around Rh
eor, and I can feel myself being drawn to him. I’m… not sure what to make of that, honestly. It feels right when I’m with him, but it doesn’t work that way for my people.”
“It doesn’t work that way for most Raknari, either. I certainly wasn’t just drawn to my mate. If I had been, I would’ve murdered him in his sleep after the sex stopped being enough,” she let out another laugh, dumping another portion of water into the tub. It was mostly full now, and she beckoned Imara nearer. “The Korun bond only happens with the Chosen. The one who is Chosen from birth, like Rheor, and the one who is selected by Kiova to join with him. Once that person is found, the bond is active between them, and it pesters them endlessly until they accept Roinim and fulfill their purpose as mates to each other.”
“But why would Kiova choose a human? My people haven’t followed the Tempests for generations.”
She just shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. You’re still on her land. She still grants you boons, takes out her little tiffs on you, same as us. I’ll admit I’ve never heard of a human being Korun, but it’s happened across different sides of the mountains, across different peaks, with Raknari who follow completely different Tempests. So why not a human?”
Imara let out a breath, steam curling in front of her mouth. When Nava gestured to the tub again, she sighed and stripped, feeling less and less self-conscious about it. And honestly, her fingers and toes were still frozen, so the steam coming from the water looked absolutely divine. It felt that way, too, and Imara let out a shameless little moan when she slipped into the tub.
“So I don’t have a choice in any of this,” she finally said, more a statement of fact than a question. “Kiova’s decided this is how it’s going to be, so I’m Rheor’s… mate, and he’s mine.”
“You have as much choice as we all have in anything,” Nava chided. “We don’t get to choose whether the animals will stray close to the mountains this year, we don’t get to choose whether the sun decides to shine, we don’t get to choose when we die. She chooses all of those things for us, and she can be a merciless bitch, but she always has a reason. Whether we understand it or not.”