Eternally Yours (34 page)

“What are you talking about? Of course I do.” Or was it, like, maybe I do one century on, one century off, so in 21-something I could just let rip and be horrible again?

“No, sweetie. No one could commit to that or believe they could make good choices all the time, forever. I don’t believe that about myself. If I had to promise someone I would, I think I’d go crazy.”

Color me suspicious, but wasn’t that
exactly
what her whole life was about? I sat up.

“How can you say that? You’re the most good person I know! But I’m…
me
! I don’t know how to do this!”

“Nastasya, you know I wasn’t always like this. I had to learn how to change—we all did. Everyone here did. And it takes time, sometimes a lot of time, to change. Sometimes decades or a hundred years. Or three hundred years.” I wondered if she was talking about Reyn. “All of us wondered—and sometimes still wonder—if we can keep it up. But you don’t have to keep it up forever. Do you think you can stay out of darkness for an hour?”

I narrowed my eyes. Was this a trick question? “Yeah. Probably. I guess so.”

“That’s all you have to do,” she said. “That’s all any of us can do. And sometimes it’s minute by minute, believe me.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Try to be Tähti for the next hour. If you do that successfully, then try for the hour after that. When you get that hour under your belt, sign up for one more hour. And if you feel shaky, then go for ten minutes. You don’t have to promise to be Tähti for the rest of your life. But try to be, just for one hour at a time.”

It took a while for that to sink in.

River brightened. “The good news? It gets harder the more powerful you are.”

My horror showed on my face, and she laughed.

“When you can’t do too much, or aren’t that focused, it’s a bit easier to leave something alone,” she explained. “Leave someone alone. When you’re very strong and you know you could crush them like a meringue—that’s when your self-will and control really get tested. That’s when the minute-by-minute stuff comes in.”

“Oh,
great
!” I needed to stop learning stuff
right now
.

River laughed again, and reached over to push my hair off my face. “You were really freaking out before.”

“Yeah.”

“How do you feel now?”

I did a self-check for fear and panic. “Better.” Oddly enough.

“And you know what I noticed?”

“What a weenie I am?”

“No. That you didn’t run away.” Her cool fingers left a trail on my cheek. “Good job,” she said quietly. “Well done.”

The next day when River looked in at the devil-chicken, she found seven little puffballs running around, cheeping their annoying fluffy heads off. New life had come to River’s Edge.

I
’d been practicing using my sword on my own, doing constrained, quiet katas in my room, getting used to the feel of my downsized épée, its weight and balance. I’d tried hacking at winter-dried vines growing on trees that were now budding and covered with thousands of baby leaves, light green and as delicate as rice paper.

But when Reyn asked if I wanted to spar, of course I said yes. As usual, we went out into the open yard behind the work barn, which was good because no one could see me being all Mighty Mouse with my swordlet. I had to admit, I
was enjoying learning sword craft. I would never be as good as someone who had grown up doing it, but I embarrassed myself less and less. It was true, what Reyn had said: I did like whacking the hell out of things.

When we sparred, Reyn used probably about 5 percent of his actual strength, but to me it still felt like a challenge, and my scarf got damp with sweat.

I lunged at him, keeping my center of gravity low.

“And… you’re dead,” Reyn said for the hundredth time, easily flicking my sword out of my blistered hand and touching me in my ribs with the tip of his blade.

“Goddamnit!” I said, rubbing my burning palm.

“This isn’t fencing class,” he said, waiting for me to retrieve my épée. His breathing hadn’t even changed, while I was panting like a dog on a hot road. “You don’t have to stay in a straight line with perfect posture, and you don’t get extra points for following the rules. This is about stopping someone who’s trying to cut off your head.”

“I
know
.” I took a bandanna out of my pocket and wrapped it around my hand. A blister had torn open and stung. A lot.

“Maybe you don’t have the right teacher.” The quiet voice from the edge of the clearing made us both spin around. Joshua stepped forward. He was holding a sword.

“It’s hard enough for
him
,” I said, gesturing at Reyn, “and he
likes
me. You have no hope of getting through a whole class of Nastasya.”

“Maybe he just wants to show off his skills.” Reyn’s voice was flat.

“Maybe you don’t want me to,” said Joshua.

And just like that, the hills were alive with an overabundance of testosterone. I thought they’d called a truce several weeks ago—our triangle dance had been so lovely. But here they were, rabid badgers, already circling each other slowly. Reyn tossed his heavy Viking sword from hand to hand, not taking his eyes off Joshua. Joshua was rolling his shoulders, directly facing Reyn, his face hard.

Like, who had time for this?

“Maybe you guys should get a room,” I suggested.

“I need you to move out of the way,” Reyn said quietly, not looking at me.

Sighing, I headed toward the edge of a clearing and stood beside a large tree. I could jump behind it if I needed to. I remembered that Reyn and Joshua had faced each other in several wars over several lifetimes. For the past month, they’d kept a tight leash on their animosity, but it looked like those halcyon days were over. I wondered if I should trot back to the house and warn Anne to get a bunch of tea going, because these jackasses were probably going to sever at least one arm. But I decided it would be better to stay.

Actually, it wasn’t funny. I grew increasingly uncomfortable as they circled each other, their eyes sharp and cold. Reyn always moved with controlled grace, whether he was
milking a cow, riding a horse, or frying an egg. But this was different—the difference between the precise, economic movement of a ballet dancer and, say, a tiger with furious, hungry energy coiling in its muscles, its eyes mesmerizing the thing it wants to kill.

I’d seen Reyn like that before, and I’d never wanted to see it again. I’d been afraid of seeing it again.

And homeboy Joshua complemented him perfectly. River’s brother had always seemed damaged and remote, his innate danger lying in wait beneath an imperfectly sealed mask. The mask was gone now. This wasn’t Reyn descending on a village; it was two matched, elemental creatures following a script only they knew.

What buttheads.

The tension was unbearable as their silent feet described their circle of combat. I crossed my arms, my hands clenched into fists. At some unseen signal, they suddenly came together with a heart-stopping rush of power, their swords making a distinctive, surprisingly loud clanking sound that I hadn’t heard in centuries. Sparks flew as their blades swung and met over and over, first high above their heads, then low to one side, then to the other side.

Leaves crackled behind me, and I turned to see Brynne, her eyes glued on the battle, her face solemn. “I’ve never seen anything like that,” she murmured.

“I have. It gets worse.” Surely they wouldn’t really cut
each other’s heads off, would they? My heart couldn’t approach facing that, so I concentrated on just watching, as if I had paid to see this performance.

The week before, Reyn and I had been sparring a bit. I’d really let loose and was going at him in every way I could think of, blade swinging forward, backhanded, everything. After what felt like three hours, I’d been bent double, chest heaving, feeling like I was going to barf from exertion. It had been six minutes. That was how long I lasted, and I still got killed four times. If I were ever in a life-or-death battle with someone wielding a sword, it needed to be over in less than six minutes. And they needed to be mortal.

“Not exactly the two musketeers, is it?” Daisuke murmured next to me. The telltale sound of tempered steel crashing against tempered steel had prompted several people to come see what was happening—Asher had run up holding what I assumed was his own sword. When I glanced down, I saw that Daisuke had one tucked into his belt—long, thin, and slightly curved like a saber.

“No,” I agreed. This was no duel of honor, with one hand flung artistically into the air and the opponents taking turns with thrusting and parrying. His angular face distorted with loathing, Reyn slashed savagely at Joshua, both hands on his leather-wrapped hilt, the force of his blows shaking his arms to his shoulders. The bloodlust on Joshua’s face reminded me that long ago, River had planned to kill him before his power eclipsed her own.

“Oh, goddess, I knew this was coming.” River’s voice was quiet as Asher reached for her hand and held it.

“This didn’t have to happen,” I said tightly. My stomach muscles were knotted with tension—I dreaded seeing someone get devastatingly hurt, but I couldn’t look away.

River sighed. “Yeah, it probably did. Those idiots.”

“And what happens afterward?” Brynne asked. “The winner will dance around, saying ‘Pwned!’?”

“Nothing that innocent, I’m afraid,” said River.

Nowadays when people think of war, they picture soldiers hunkered down somewhere with a bazooka and huge shells exploding in the distance. The sounds are explosive booms and sharp, crackling automatic rifles. But for most of my life, war had sounded like clanging metal; men shouting; horses screaming; the twang of arrows; the stretching, popping sound of a trebuchet; the whistling
thunk
of a spear. The smell of fire.

This scene reminded me of what war had once been: man on man, hand-to-hand combat. And actually, that’s one thing that I do think was better in the old days—war. It was brutal, bloody, savage, and devastating—on a much smaller scale. Men had to be close enough to see one another to attack—none of this long-range missile crap or planes dropping bombs on people or places they’d never see. You can tell I’m still pissed about World War II.

Brynne’s hissing intake of breath snapped my attention back to Reyn and Joshua.

First blood had been drawn.

An arcing spray of red spattered Joshua’s face, but I couldn’t tell whose blood it was. With an ungodly roar, he spun around and slammed his sword against Reyn’s. It would have knocked me into the middle of next week, but Reyn absorbed it without flinching, did a half turn himself, and struck out with his blade—

—which went right into Joshua’s side. Like, zip! And then was pulled out again quickly.

Everyone except Daisuke gasped.

For a fraction of a second Reyn looked shocked—it would have felled a regular person—but then Joshua snarled and raised his blade, and the fight went on, though their clothes were now being stained with Joshua’s flowing blood.

“Can you make them stop?” Brynne whispered to River.

River looked at her sympathetically. “What do you think, sweetie?”

Reluctantly Brynne turned back to the show. I couldn’t imagine what she was thinking—she’d been jonesing for Joshua for a while, but now she was seeing a side to him that she had probably never imagined.

And look at me, with Reyn: that’s who loved me, who wanted me to love him—the guy who had just run a sword through my friend’s brother.

I mean, okay, the brother had shown up uninvited, clearly wanting a fight. But still.

Then it happened: After what felt like an hour of slashing
and clanging and grunting and roaring and hissing, Reyn and Joshua simultaneously reached the defining moment. Somehow, with perfect timing and exactly the right series of movements, they each swung with all their might and… suddenly stopped, their positions mirrored, each with a bloodstained blade less than an inch from the other’s neck.

Brynne and I grabbed each other’s hands; I felt Asher holding River in place. Seconds ticked by agonizingly slowly. The two of them were as still as startled deer, though their chests were heaving like bellows. But no hand trembled, no foot moved, no muscle coiled in preparation of attack.

It was over. It just took them a while to accept it.

Very cautiously they moved their swords away from each other’s necks, one fraction of an inch at a time. Then again in unrehearsed unison they swung their swords down, stepping back quickly and silently out of the other’s reach.

“This was great. Let’s do this again soon,” I said, but with zero bravado.

“I might be sick,” Brynne murmured, looking pale and upset. Daisuke put his arm around her and started to lead her back to the house. He sure was doing a lot of stunned-female wrangling lately.

As soon as it looked like the berserker factor was waning, River hurried to her brother and put her hand on his side, which was bleeding freely.

Frowning, Joshua looked down at it, then pressed his
hand on it more firmly to stem the bleeding. “That was a lucky hit,” he said dismissively.

I tensed, waiting for Reyn to leap forward at the insult—but to my surprise, after a moment he laughed, his teeth very white against his blood-spattered face.

“Yeah,” he said, “it was.”

Slowly Joshua grinned. Reyn grinned back. Then both of them were laughing, Reyn leaning on his sword to keep from doubling over. The dirt beneath their feet was laced with blood; the leaves had been kicked away. Their clothes were nicked and sliced from knee to shoulder, and they each had at least three other smaller wounds that were blooming roses of blood into the fabric.

Then Joshua grimaced, and River said, “Let’s get you to the house, you ridiculous imbecile.”

“Yeah, okay.” He submitted to his older sister’s will and started to walk, limping slightly, toward the house. Pausing, he turned to look back at Reyn. “God’s teeth, that was great!”

Reyn nodded. “A long time coming, and well worth the wait.”

From then on Reyn and Joshua were, if not best buds, at least no longer seething enemies.