A Bird of Sorrow

by Shea Godfrey

  “—sweet, is it not?

  “We remember its taste.”

  Jessa felt the warmth of their laughter move in her blood, her head tipping back as a push of air passed her lips. She fought to breathe properly as a wave of white-hot, pure desire blossomed in the pit of her stomach and flowed outward. Their remembrance of Cha-Diah passion was her reality, and she could not help but be affected.

  “Her blood is not the blood—”

  “—of the Fox People.”

  “There is terrible danger for her. Sorrow will come.”

  “Yes, a bird of sorrow will come for you both, if you’re not careful.”

  Jessa fought to clear her thoughts of her unexpected need. Her skin was alive with it and her blood was thick with want. She felt Darry’s body against her own, moving with sleek heat, moving with her as Darry’s hand slipped between their joined bodies. She felt the heaviness of her own breasts, hard and aching for the touch of Darry’s mouth. She shook her head and tried to break free. Their words would not let go. “Danger?”

  There was more laughter.

  “You may bless our grove.”

  “What…” Jessa licked her lips and swallowed. She closed her eyes and turned her face to the side, trying to concentrate. For the first time since she had come to Arravan and found Darry waiting, for the first time since she had found her heart and her love, she pushed Darry away. “What…what danger?”

  “As you once did.”

  “Yes, call to her.”

  “Please…what danger is she in?” Jessa managed in a strained voice.

  “Sorrow brings danger.”

  “Call to the panther.”

  “She waits beyond the trees, frightened for you.”

  “We give all blessings to—”

  “—your union. The Loom shall remember.”

  Jessa let her power rise through her blood, even in the presence of her gods. She looked up, defiant, though it was only in defiance of their game, not her reverence for them. “None shall harm her—I will not allow it. Tell me now what you mean!”

  There was gentle laughter.

  “And do not forget her gift, by the river, where the—”

  “—slain ones now sleep. Their ghosts will walk beside her, and offer protection. They respect the order of things. Always. We give them leave to—”

  “—continue the hunt.”

  “Call to her.”

  Their words were plain, and yet a riddle, and she was certain they toyed with her. Radha had told her stories of such, and somehow, she knew she was caught in their challenge. Always there were riddles, like her beloved Radha, always moving a piece upon the board. Always a test of her skills. “Always a game in play,” she whispered.

  Jessa pressed her legs together and drew them close. It had merely been a prompting, their memories of Cha-Diah power that had fanned the flames of her own desire, a desire that was always so close to the surface. Radha had been right, for her love was separate and apart from their memories. Her passion for Darry was free from all meddling, free from prophecy and expectations. She had no defense against it, though. Within the grove, she had no defense against anything at all.

  “We will leave you—”

  “—to your devotions.”

  A soft, silken laugh tickled at the back of her skull, and she looked up as the stag neared the far edge of the trees. He turned and looked back at her, magnificent and silent in the fall of silver light. He was the most exquisite animal Jessa had ever seen, and her eyes skipped along his powerful shoulders, and farther still. The fresh scars upon his new coat fairly glowed in the light as he disappeared through the trees and into the darkness beyond.

  Jessa gave in and closed her eyes. Her whisper caught upon the breeze. “Akasha.”

  Chapter Eight

  The High King and Queen stood in the alcove beyond the main cathedral of Gamar’s Holy Temple and waited upon the acolyte. Their arrival had been expected, and when they were led down a side corridor to the abbey of Gamar’s chosen, Cecelia caught sight of Armistad Greyson among the midnight worshippers, and several of his men scattered about the worn oak benches. Owen’s First Councillor and lifetime friend was most certainly aware of his duty. They were out of uniform as they said their prayers, but they were also alert and ready to defend them if danger should arise. Their posture could never be mistaken for the absentminded presence of the body during honest prayer, and from their discreet glances, they were well aware that their king and queen were present. The lack of Kingsmen or personal guards from the palace was noted by Cecelia and she did not question it.

  She understood as they waited within the shadows and golden lamplight of the alcove, that what they were doing was dressed in the guise of normality. A midnight prayer and blessing at Gamar’s Temple was not out of the ordinary for her, and to spying eyes it would be seen as such. Owen had seen to their security though, and he had done so with discretion and foresight.

  The temple and its gray marble stones presented a different sort of character in the dead of night, and Cecelia had always enjoyed the mysteries that accompanied the shadows cast by the arches and carved spires of stone. It was a beautiful temple, and the shutters that held the night at bay were carved from the smoothest blackwood, an addition Cecelia had donated herself.

  A hooded priest walked from the shadowed hallway which led to the abbey and bowed his head. “If you will follow me, please, Your Highness.” He turned to her and she recognized him as a priest high up in the Order. “My Queen, High Priest Master Haba Una has asked to see you.”

  Owen took her hand in response and she followed close at her husband’s side. They moved through several corridors and into the heart of the abbey, the acolytes they passed stopping in their duties and bowing their heads. They entered the private wing of living quarters, and after several turns the priest came to a stop before a familiar set of maple doors.

  “Master Una,” the priest bowed his head briefly while he grabbed the edges of his hood. He revealed his face and shaved head. “Master Una has taken a turn for the worse,” he said in a soothing voice.

  Cecelia was startled by the news. “I thought he was on the mend.”

  The priest’s expression was filled with sadness and compassion both. “If you were not here now, my Queen, you would have received a summons by morning.”

  “The wasting tumors,” Cecelia said, and a pang of fear cut deep. “They’ve returned.”

  “With a vengeance, my Queen. And I wish…I wish to prepare you. He is much changed, even in the few weeks since you saw him last.”

  “How long does he have?” Owen’s hand tightened about her own in a gentle manner.

  “His time here is now measured in days, perhaps hours.”

  Cecelia touched the priest’s arm. “It will be all right…”

  “Master Kaleb, my Queen.”

  Cecelia smiled a bit. “Of course, I’m sorry Master Kaleb. I remember you from the Solstice celebrations. Master Una has relied on you a great deal. He has great affection for you.”

  His eyes filled with emotion. “As I have for him.” He turned to the double doors and opened them before he stepped to the side. “He waits for you both, with one of his healers. I will stay here and guard the doors. I will place the High Priest’s seal upon it, and none shall enter until it is removed. Knock on the door, and I will speak the spell that releases the runes of the seal.”

  “Thank you, Master Kaleb,” Owen said as Cecelia stepped through the doors. “You and I shall speak again, I’m sure.”

  Cecelia moved through the antechamber, walking about the center table and past the red-cushioned chairs that lined the walls. She passed beneath the arch and into Haba Una’s chambers, her eyes sharp in the lamplight. She noted that the high up windows were open to the night air, though regardless of that, the room was thick with the smell of herbs and sickness. As Cecelia neared the bed, she could smell the impending death.

  The healer beside the bed stood b
ack, and it was a woman, the blue robes of her profession darker than usual in the light and haze of the lamps. Her hair was a rich brown and pulled back from her face, several pins in the thick strands. She appeared to be of a similar age to Cecelia, and when Cecelia met her eyes the woman did not look away, nor did she lower her gaze. She was quite beautiful, actually, with high cheekbones and a lovely mouth that begged for a smile. She stepped back from the bed and finally bowed her head in deference.

  Master Haba Una, the High Priest of Gamar’s Holy Order met her eyes as she neared. “My Lady,” he said and smiled in a pale, gaunt face. “Come no closer, please.”

  Cecelia ignored him. “Do not be foolish, my old friend,” she said in a gentle voice as she walked along the bed and then leaned down. She fixed the covers so they would not pull against him when she sat, and then she took her place beside him. She lifted one of his hands between her own. “My sweet Haba,” she greeted and then was forced to stop for a moment. She swallowed upon a tight throat and reined in her shock and sorrow. It was plain to see that it would be the last time she spoke with her old friend. “You should have sent for me sooner.”

  Haba Una had always been old, even as a young man. He had been chosen by Gamar when but a boy, for his soul and his wisdom, even then, had been ancient. As he had risen through the ranks of priests and acolytes, there had been little question as to who he would eventually become. The fact that twice, while in the presence of others, Gamar had gifted him with his presence, was a surprise to no one who knew him.

  “I have been excited to tell you…” He paused and his breathing was quite shallow. “Some things.”

  Cecelia smiled and buried her sorrow in a practiced manner. “I have much to tell you, as well, my old friend. But you first, if you please. Your stories are always so interesting. The doings at court cannot usually compare.”

  Haba’s eyes were covered with a film of white, but she could see that he still had his sight. “Not as of late, perhaps.”

  Cecelia laughed quietly, but it was in earnest. “You do not lie, my friend, I am sorry to say. Court has become a blood sport.”

  His eyes closed and Cecelia sat with him. She held his hand, and after a time, she took the damp cloth from the bowl upon the bedside table and wrung it out before wiping at his forehead and cheeks. Her touch was gentle as she pushed aside the white wisps of his hair, and she could hear the singing of the acolytes through the windows. It was both soothing and somewhat otherworldly.

  Haba opened his eyes with a start. “Cecelia?”

  “Yes, Haba, I am here.”

  “I have been visited by my god, for a third time.”

  Cecelia’s eyes widened. “Haba, that is wonderful!”

  “You were there, that day, when Gamar took back his Holy Man.”

  Cecelia adjusted to the apparent change in subject with ease. “Yes,” she replied. “Upon the steps of the temple, and on a day filled with sunshine. It was a sight to see.” She leaned forward as if they shared a secret. “I shall never forget it, lightening and fire out of the clear blue, and that terrible crack of thunder echoing against the entrance and down the stairs.”

  “He came to me, just last night.”

  “The Holy Man?”

  Haba licked his lips. “Yes.”

  Cecelia’s brow went up and she set the cloth aside and took his hand once more. His voice had weakened further, and though she did not wish to tire him, he clearly had something to say. “Did he speak to you?”

  Haba smiled weakly. “Yes. He brought…he brought a message.”

  Cecelia waited, and it was some time before he spoke again.

  “For Darrius.”

  Cecelia’s heart gave a painful thud of shock. “Darry?”

  “Yes.” Haba pulled his left arm from beneath the covers and his face showed the effort it took, the blankets shifting slowly. Cecelia sat back and her eyes went to his hand as he freed his arm and extended his fist, his entire body trembling. “Open my hand…please,” he instructed her. “For I cannot.”

  Cecelia took his left hand in both of hers. His bones were light and felt brittle beneath his thin skin and she merely held his hand, afraid to exert any force upon his long and graceful fingers.

  “Please,” he said in a strained voice. “You will not hurt me.” He took several breaths and turned his head to the right. His eyes searched the shadows. “Tell her.”

  The healer stepped forward upon silent feet. “He cannot open his hand,” she told Cecelia in a lovely, almost curious voice. “It has been sealed by his god. I can see the runes. They are wrapped about his hand like a rope…but they have parted for your touch.”

  Cecelia stared at her for a long moment and then turned back to their joined hands. She felt nothing but the weight and fragile presence of his flesh and bones. She saw nothing but her own hands covering his.

  “You will not hurt me, Cecelia,” Haba repeated. “I promise you.”

  Cecelia pushed her thumb into the opening beside his, and his fist opened to her like a flower in bloom. There was a pop of silver light and Cecelia closed her eyes against it as it spread outward. She felt Owen’s strong touch upon her back, but he did not pull her away as she opened her eyes.

  A silver disc floated in the air above Master Una’s palm, and it caught the light in a brilliant fashion. It was a coin, and it turned slowly in the air that washed through the room as Cecelia’s eyes widened in recognition. She pulled back from it, and Owen’s hands were upon her arms from behind, holding her strong as he stepped as close as he could.

  It was a birthing day coin, and it was of the royal family, the Durand crest upon one side, and her daughter’s name and childhood likeness raised upon the other as it slowly turned: Darrius Lauranna Durand. It had been minted by a master for the seventh anniversary of her birth, and it was made of Blue Vale silver and the purest of gold. The shine had long been worn away, but as it floated in the air above their hands, she recalled Darry’s expression upon receiving it. And she remembered when Darry had given it away on the steps of Gamar’s Temple, to the wild haired Holy Man who had no shoes. How she had spoken to him when no one else would, and held his hand while she did.

  “Take it,” Haba said, and his voice was but a whisper of what it had been. His expression was filled with relief, and a strange contentment. “I was to give it back to her,” he explained, a slight smile playing upon his pale lips. “But I will not live to see that day.”

  Cecelia lowered Master Una’s hand to the blankets and then reached up, her hand stopping just beyond the gently spinning coin. Her eyes met his.

  “The Holy Man upon the stairs, that day,” Haba said. “He was no Holy Man, my friend. It was Gamar himself.” He cleared his throat and took a breath. “Always there, dancing. No one ever approached him, not even the priests. We would set out food and drink, but only upon the stairs. There was not a one of us who looked beyond his wild hair and filthy clothes, though we admired his devotion. For when other Holy Men would come and then travel on, only he stayed. There was not one person who was not frightened, at least in some way, by the terrible wildness of him.”

  Cecelia smiled briefly and her eyes filled with tears. “But not Darry.” She took hold of the coin and the spell was broken, the weight of the silver and gold heavy in her hand.

  “Tell my dear and glorious young friend…” Haba’s eyes lifted and centered upon Owen, and even veiled behind the white gaze of his sickness, they seemed piercing. “Tell the daughter of your blood, the child who saw you at your worst and darkest…”

  Cecelia felt Owen stiffen against her shoulder.

  “The child who understood your grief for Jacey Rose and bears it at the center of her own heart, like a dagger that chases her still…Tell her that she was right, and I concede our debate.” His eyes lowered to Cecelia. “She holds Gamar’s favor, although I do not know how that shall play out for her.”

  “Probably in the midst of a great deal of mayhem.” Cecelia was somewh
at in shock but she kept her attention solely upon her friend.

  “Yes,” Haba agreed. “You’re right, of course. I shall miss seeing that.”

  “She loved you.”

  “Yes…Tell her that I leave her my recipe for the black spice tea. I shall have it sealed and sent to Blackstone with my official missives. Please give it to her, and only her, when she returns.”

  Cecelia closed her hand about the wide coin and pulled it close to her breast, the heat of it pouring into her chest. She took Haba’s hand with her left, applying only what force she needed. “I shall miss you, my friend, and I shall think of you often, upon your journeys.”

  Haba’s eyes began to close. “Good-bye, my dear Cecelia,” he replied, and his smile returned for an instant. “I’m rather frightened, actually.” His eyes closed completely. “Faith only answers so many questions, you know.”

  Cecelia held his hand into the silence, and the room became thick with emotions she could not yet begin to sort out. The coin was smooth in her hand, and she held it tightly as the healer stepped close to the bed. Cecelia let go of Haba’s hand but did not rise as the woman laid her touch upon Haba’s balding head.

  “He is sleeping, Your Grace,” she said with compassion as she met Cecelia’s eyes. “His time has not come just yet, but it will be here very soon. It was good that you came when you did. I’m not sure Gamar would’ve let him go, until he’d given over the talisman.” The woman’s blue eyes lifted and she looked beyond Cecelia. A knowing smile curved her full lips. “Hello, Owen.”

  “Hello, Clare.”

  Cecelia’s interest turned into something else entirely when the High Priestess of Jezara’s Holy Temple in Artanis returned her scrutiny.

  Clare Bellaq smiled, a great deal of mischief and welcome in her gaze. “I have long wondered upon the woman who captured Owen’s heart,” she said with confidence, and some small bit of curiosity. “It did not surprise me to find that you have been a most treasured friend to Master Una, the kindest man I have ever known. He has shared with me your many conversations on faith, and let slip that it was you, my Queen, who paid in gold the price for Jezara’s Library in Hockley. A rather substantial amount, I might add, that my Order could not afford.” The High Priestess extended her hand and Cecelia took it, and held it tight. “Know now that you have an ally in me, and if I am as lucky as Master Una has been, a true friend, as well.”