Sacrifice (Catalyst Moon #5), page 17
“The High Commander has more urgent matters on his plate,” Sarkiss replied, a faint smile tugging at their mouth. “You are too valuable to cast aside. I would like to keep you here at the One’s temple, where you can do the good your heart compels you. What do you think?”
Surely, this was a dream, or a trick. Flint would say this offer was too good to be true, so Milo met the Pillar’s gaze with reservation. “Respectfully, serla, there must be a catch.”
“Is it not obvious?” Sarkiss smiled. “You would be giving your life to a greater cause.”
Well…he’d already done that, with the sentinels. So no great difference, at least. “And if I say no?”
The Pillar did not answer immediately. “My offer is not exactly a choice. You are not a prisoner while you are here, but if you were to leave, I could not guarantee your freedom.”
They said nothing else, which did not set Milo at ease. But he wasn’t entirely anxious, either, because…well, he’d already wanted to serve a higher power before now, hadn’t he? As for having a choice…
Pig nuzzled his hand, making him look down to see the little fuzzball peering up at him hopefully. They would both have food and shelter here, and the safety of the Circle. “Would I have to take hematite again?” he asked. “And can I keep Pig around?”
Sarkiss lifted a brow. “No more hematite. And you may keep the kit, though you will be solely responsible for him – and any trouble he gets into.”
It was probably the best deal he was going to get in his predicament, though Milo still had his doubts. “What would my duties be?”
“Much as they should have been when you traveled with the Circle.”
Milo’s heart sank. “I had weapons training, so they made me a guard. With respect, I don’t want to live by a blade again, serla.”
“Then you won’t,” Sarkiss replied, as if it were that easy. “If you prefer, you can aid those in need as one of our priests, which will include tending to the temple when you’re not busy with other duties. You’ll have some free time, and the occasional stipend from the Circle.”
“I’ll be getting paid?” Milo could not keep the shock from his voice.
The Pillar chuckled. “Not very much, and not very often, but yes.”
Better and better. Milo stroked Pig again, ostensibly considering, though he’d already made up his mind. But one thing niggled at him. “Why do this for me? Surely you have much more important things to worry about.”
The Pillar regarded the spring again. “I believe that even broken pieces are still part of a larger whole, and so should not be cast aside. I believe that everything is sacred, in its own way. And I believe that in our most desperate hours, we can find strength in those around us. What do you believe, Milo?”
The One god’s ways were mysterious, indeed. Pig snuggled in his lap, warm and trusting, and Milo’s heart soared even as he dipped his head. “I believe I may have found what I’ve been searching for. Thank you, serla. You won’t regret bringing me here.”
Sarkiss looked back at the spring, and the light that shone from within the waters danced upon their eyes, making them glow. “No, I won’t.”
FOURTEEN
The sun brushed the horizon by the time Drake and Atanar reached the crater. While Atanar began setting up camp, Drake went to the crater’s lip, gazing into the bowl below, searching for any signs that Brice and Rilla, his best—and possibly only—friends from the Assembly had already arrived. He half-hoped to find giant letters traced in the dirt: WE’RE HERE, DRAKE. But that, of course, was foolish, which was probably why he hoped for it.
In the past, the Assembly had used insignificant trinkets to signal their presence to any friendly parties: bits of yarn tied to branches; pinecones or acorns painted and discreetly stuck at the base of trees or bushes; small wreaths of twigs and herbs placed on fallen logs. But within the crater he saw only grass, scrubby brush and a few small creatures foraging for their supper amid the sun’s final rays.
Atanar came to stand by Drake, a little closer than was necessary. Warmth radiated off Nat as he asked, “How long should we wait for your friends?”
“A couple days should do it,” Drake replied. “My message will have reached them by now, and they’ve had time to argue about whether or not they’ll come. Then Brice will convince Rilla to meet us. At least, I hope. I’d rather not return to Eris and the other mages empty-handed.”
“And if Brice and Rilla don’t come?”
Drake tried to sound nonchalant, even though the idea of yet another failure on his part made his heart ache. “Then we’ll just have to make do. I’m sure Queen Solasar could be enticed to meet with us, once she knows we can cure thralls.”
“I doubt it,” Atanar replied, calm and matter-of-fact. “Everyone fears your kind, and not without reason.”
Drake pinched the bridge of his nose. “Can we just…not worry about that, just for a few minutes?”
Atanar ducked his head. “As you wish.” He surveyed the crater. “What is this place?”
“No one’s entirely sure,” Drake replied. “Popular theory is that something fell from the sky and impacted the ground, but it must have been long before anyone lived here, for we have no record of such a thing. To my knowledge, anyway.”
Atanar scanned the dome above, already darkening to indigo as the sun sank. “Should we camp elsewhere?”
Drake looked up too but saw only the first stars. “I think we’ll be fine.”
“What fell?”
“That’s the odd thing,” Drake said. “Everyone has their own theories, but we have no way of knowing. But by the One, it must have been huge.”
“Our history is limited, too,” Atanar replied. “Save what has been passed down through our family lines. But even those stories seem like impossible tales that surely must have been made grander over the years.”
“Like what?”
“The oldest tales speak of the original Canderi: a small clan who fled the home of the gods.”
Drake’s brows knit. “I thought Canderi had no gods.”
A half-grin tugged at Atanar’s mouth. “Not anymore. My ancestors fled the gods’ home; the gods pursued, chasing the clan north, until they crossed the Ayer River – what you call the White River. There, they found tundra and ice, and the gods abandoned them to it, thinking my people would die off. But the Canderi thrived. Over time, other people not of the original clan found their way north, to live free of the gods.”
“What gods?” Drake asked. “Aredian?”
Atanar shrugged. “The stories do not say, but most of us think so.” He chuckled. “Is that face you make surprised or angry?”
Drake barked a laugh and skimmed a hand over his forehead. “Surprised, mostly. And a little ashamed I’m only learning of this now. Canderi history was never part of my education.”
Atanar smiled at him again, but the expression was softer. “I will not hold that against you.”
Their gazes held and heat swam in Drake’s cheeks. “We should finish setting up camp,” he said. “Or we’ll be in for a rough night.”
While Atanar found firewood, Drake used his magic to carefully burn away a patch of grass. He then stacked the gathered wood and used his magic again to set it alight. How easily he could manage the feat now. Soon enough, the two men were seated on the crater’s lip, legs dangling over the edge, the fire warming their backs as they ate.
At one point, they both reached for the water flask at the same time and their fingertips brushed, and Drake lost track of everything but the way Nat grinned at him before releasing the flask. Drake smiled too, flask in his hand and dry throat forgotten.
Color crept to Nat’s cheeks but he did not look away. “If you don’t want it…”
“Shit, sorry.” Drake took a few swallows and passed back the flask. Strange how grief still pressed against his heart, but he could bear the weight more easily in Nat’s company.
Atanar seemed to tear his eyes away and looked back at the crater, now obscured by twilight’s shadows. He toyed with one of the pouches at his belt. “Even the mines were not so…” He spread his hand in a helpless gesture. “Talu’raluk. It is like…looking over one’s knee at a possible enemy behind.”
“Knee…?” Drake considered. “You mean shoulder?” He gently bumped his against the other man’s.
Atanar studied him, then bumped him back. “Aye. Shoulder.”
Then Atanar shifted as he reached into his pocket and withdrew a small doeskin pouch, which he then offered to Drake. When Drake peered within, his heart did a strange soaring plummet at the sight of the familiar lapis pebbles: the color of home. Elan had carried this, to make offerings at any cairn he came across. “Where did you get this?” Drake whispered.
“At Stonehaven. I saw it fall from your brother’s belt during the fight. Surely the ancestors’ hands were at work, for I found it after the battle, washed upon a rock. I didn’t…” Nat sighed. “I am sorry for not telling you sooner. I didn’t know of the right moment to give it to you, or if you’d even want the remembrance. But I would give anything for even the smallest piece of my lost brother, Nel. I thought you might want the same.”
There were only a few lapis pebbles left. Would Elan have returned to Pillau for more? A chilly wind stung Drake’s wet cheeks; traces of winter still lingered in this part of the world. Elan had always hated the cold. He would have found any excuse to travel back home, even briefly. Drake’s hand closed over the pouch and he could not find his voice.
“As I have said, my people have no gods, as yours do,” Atanar added. “When we pray, we pray to those of our blood who have gone before us. When we send ones we love to them, this is what we say.”
His voice took on a resonance Drake had not heard. Gone was the hesitation and uncertainty so often evident in each word, which made Drake think Nat had practiced this speech.
“Your breath became the wind that will carry you home. Your body became the earth that will bloom anew. Your blood became the water that will steer your course. Your heart became the fire that will lead you through the darkness.”
Relah. Brother.
If Drake had not known better, he’d have thought the stray thoughts were Stonewall’s bizarre mental communication. But his little brother was dead. Drake’s eyes stung and all calm fled his heart, and he stared back down into the inky crater below his legs. Stonewall had mentioned a crater when he’d spoken about his and Kali’s first wild flight across Aredia—propelled by magic of some kind—but only now did Drake put the two places together. Had his brother been here?
A large hand rested on his knee and made him look up to see how Atanar regarded him, a faint crease between his brows. “I was wrong to give you the pouch.”
“No, I’m just…” Drake began, but the words stuck in his throat. Gods above, he could not go one day, one sodding hour, without grief consuming him. He hunched over and clenched his jaw, hoping to clamp down on the feelings lest he ruin Nat’s night, too. But he couldn’t, which meant Eris was a fool to trust him with the mages’ future.
“Drake.”
He shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut. “Sorry, I just need a second… I’m trying not to influence you…”
“Bahar.” The sound of his birthname made him look into Nat’s eyes. Atanar returned his look with a soft smile. “There you are.”
Tears streaked down Drake’s face, unbidden. “I’m sorry,” he whispered again.
“For what?”
Drake shook his head again. “For…hurting you.”
Atanar tilted his head and made a show of patting his chest and torso. “I’m uninjured.”
“But…” Gods, man, pull yourself together! Drake took a deep breath. “I’m not affecting you?”
“As you have worked to contain your magic, I have worked to strengthen my own mind against it. I think,” Atanar grimaced, “the time I spent as a thrall has hardened me to outside influence. I thought, if I can return to myself from such a nightmare, it must be a small task to withstand your kind of magic. So feel how you feel. I will be here, still.”
Then Nat kissed his forehead, so gently, Drake might have thought he’d imagined it. He sat up, looked at the other man, and Nat’s cheeks flamed again. They stared at each other while Drake’s heart raced, this time against his mind. Neither of them was whole; both were not long past traumas that still might break them.
But as Drake looked into Nat’s brilliant blue eyes, he saw only hope. So he took a chance, leaned forward, and hoped, too. Nat inhaled sharply before returning the kiss, his lips soft, pliable, welcoming. Fire raced through Drake’s every vein and he deepened the kiss just a little – another question, another hope. Nat embraced him and kissed him harder, and Drake decided it really was possible to die of happiness.
They parted, breathing hard, grinning at each other like fools.
“No,” Atanar murmured as if to himself. “I will not sleep this night.”
“Me either,” Drake said, half-laughing and drunk with desire. “Gods willing, anyway.”
Atanar whispered something in Canderi and pulled him close.
The dam broke and they flooded over each other with kisses. Drake ached all over and he was half-certain he’d erupt before they could even undress, but he couldn’t deny himself any longer. For so long, throughout so much of his life, he’d held himself back. Never again. Atanar embraced him, completely.
“Drake?”
The woman’s voice broke both men apart. Brice and Rilla stood several meters away. Rilla stared at him with narrowed eyes, but Brice’s grin took up her entire face.
“I see you’re doing well,” Brice said, giggling as the men scrambled to their feet.
“I see you got my message,” Drake replied.
Brice rushed toward him, her red hair streaming behind her. “I can’t wait to hug you again!”
He caught her but held her at arm’s length. “Me too. Just… give me a couple minutes.”
Atanar snickered.
Brice chuckled, too, and bowed her greeting instead. “Coming here was entirely my doing. Ril didn’t want to.”
Rilla, who had hung back, scoffed. “I didn’t want to at first.”
Drake caught Nat’s eye over Brice’s head, and they shared a smile.
“You’re from Cander?” Rilla asked Atanar. Her eyes darted around the camp as if searching for weapons. “A bit far from home, huh?”
“I am where I belong,” Nat replied, glancing at Drake.
Drake flushed. “Brice, Rilla, this is my…This is Atanar.”
“Very well-met,” Brice said, bowing.
“Drake has spoken at length of your old alliance,” Atanar said. “So I am glad to make you welcome.”
Brice beamed at the Canderi man. “We’re glad to be welcomed.”
“Enough chatter.” Rilla set down her pack and surveyed the campsite again. “How far away are your allies? Your letter hinted at greater numbers than the business during Heartfire.”
“Our friends are not far,” Drake replied. “But it’s late to travel. I say we move out first thing in the morning.”
Rilla leaned on her spear. “I suppose that’ll work.”
Brice rested a hand on her wife’s lower back. “What she’s trying to say is: thank you. We’d love to stay the night.”
Soon the four of them sat around the fire and Drake knelt to stoke the flames. It brought him no small amount of satisfaction that he could do so with just his magic.
“You’ve gotten stronger?” Brice asked when he sat next to Atanar.
Drake nodded. “A lot of the other mages have. We think being in the bastion had something to do with it, like the hematite weakened us in more ways than one.”
“I’m glad to hear that.”
“Are you?” he couldn’t help but ask. “I recall my magic being less than desirable to you before.”
Brice gnawed on her lip but did not look away from him. “We’ve had our differences in the past, and I’m sorry if I ever made you feel as if I didn’t…approve of your magic. But times have changed.”
Drake studied each woman in turn. “Have they? Or has your perspective?”
The wives exchanged glances before Brice spoke, slowly. “The Assembly’s reach is growing. There are a few cells in the north—in Silverwood, in fact—gaining strength and prominence. They are not as…eager to welcome mages into the fold as those in the south, but I daresay Silverwood cells have more resources.”
“But they’re angry,” Rilla added. “Not without cause, given Whitewater City’s fall. Did you hear the higher tiers got evacuated, but the dregs were left to fend for themselves?”
“Too many didn’t make it out of the city,” Brice said in a low voice.
Rilla nodded. “Aye, and now the Lasath cells are fuming at the crown, at the Council, at the Pillars. And they blame mages for the thralls.”
Drake sat up. “Mages aren’t–”
“Responsible for thralls,” Rilla interjected. “Yes, we have heard. But the why doesn’t matter to folks as much as the fact that the thralls are getting worse. The Lasath cells of the Assembly are growing more afraid. And fear makes people act foolish.”
But Atanar shook his head. “You speak for all of the Assembly, then? Or are you the only two willing to aid the mages’ cause?”
Rilla bristled. “We helped create the sodding Assembly.”
“Before we left Lasath, I spoke with some of the folks there,” Brice added gently. “I found an…interest in aligning our forces.”
“Not Faircloth,” Rilla muttered. “She’s the current leader of the Silverwood cells, and none-too fond of mages.”
“But Drake won many hearts when he worked with us,” Brice said. “More so even than our last leader, Ben, Nox keep safe his soul. You could charm even the most hardened mage-hater, Drake. And if I interpreted your message right, your mage friends need allies of their own. I think—I hope—we could all work in harmony.”
The mention of Ben brought up bittersweet memories of Drake’s former lover. But more terrifying was the thought of taking on any more burdens – particularly those of leadership. He failed to find the strength to smile. “I’m just the messenger. Eris is the ringleader of our little band of misfits.”
