Fire Hawk (5 page)

“But you must.”

“No.”

“If you do not, my people will die!”

“Then they will die.”

He once more walked away from her. This time it was she who felt dead inside.

Chapter 4

KANE STRODE through the night, each step pounding home his conviction; there was nothing she could say or do that would convince him to take up his sword again, to kill again. And while she might be willing to die for her people, he certainly wasn’t. And death would be exactly what he would be facing, if ever he left the safety of these mountains.

He wondered, mainly because it kept his mind off the woman who refused to leave him in peace, when he had become so convinced of that. Was it simply because Tal had told him, and he’d come to learn Tal was rarely wrong? Even when he refused to tell Kane where the prophecy had come from, from what source he had heard the prediction that if the mythical warrior known to all as Kane ever left his mountain haven he would cease to be, Kane found himself believing. He who never believed in that sort of thing, who thought people’s fear of magic and sorcery absurd because such things did not exist, found himself believing in this; such was Tal’s power of persuasion.

His power of persuasion and a record of never making a mistake, Kane thought wryly. That was hard to disregard. It was eerie. Uncanny. More even than the fact that the man apparently communicated directly with that silly raven of his.

Yes, if ever there was a man he could believe a wizard or worse, it would be Tal. And he liked him in spite of it. How could he not? Tal was the only man he’d ever known who didn’t look at him as either a myth come to life or a thing with which to terrify small children into behaving.

Or a tool to be used.

Kane stopped dead.
No
, he protested silently,
not now. I cannot deal with this now.

But it was to no avail; the memories, so long held at bay, rose up in a wave, threatening to engulf him. Memories of another man, who had looked at him and seen only a tool to be used. A deadly, merciless, very effective tool.

He fought the memories down. Or tried to; it had been so long he’d almost thought himself free of them, and had lost the knack. He was losing now. The bloody images were growing stronger, the dying screams were growing louder, and the thread that held them all together was the remembrance of how easily he’d done it, stepping over and on the bodies of those he’d killed, or had killed, never taking his eyes off the goal, just as he’d been taught.

Until the day he’d looked down to find himself staring into the face of a child, a sweet-faced little girl, huddled protectively over the shape of a smaller boy. A child who reminded him of his own dead sister as she had so often tried to protect him. A child who had stared up at him with the eyes of an ancient, and begged him not to kill her brother.

Until the day he’d looked down at that child and realized he was ankle deep in blood and carnage. Until the day he’d looked down at that perfect, angelic child, and she had bent her head as if offering her slender neck to his blade in payment for the safety of the boy she sheltered. As his sister had offered her battered face to their father’s vicious backhand, so that he wouldn’t turn on the younger, smaller Kane. . . .

He was running. He hadn’t even realized it until now, until he had to work harder to draw air into his aching lungs, until the hammering of his heart echoed in his ears.

He didn’t stop. He knew he couldn’t outrun the evil visions, but he had to try. For if they caught up with him again he would be lost. Utterly, truly lost. Whatever tiny bit of his soul he’d managed to rediscover and hold on to here on the mountain would be lost, washed away by the flow of bloody memories. He knew it, without knowing how or why he knew.

He ran. Heedless of his direction, or the noise he made with his passage, he who usually moved with the stealth of the lion whose pelt he wore, instead crashed through the underbrush, recklessly, loudly.

In the darkness, a root caught his toe and sent him tumbling forward. He somersaulted, came to his feet in the same motion. He ran on. He hit a patch of loose shale and nearly lost his footing; he skidded downward until he reached solid ground again. He ran on.

It was the stream that was finally his undoing. He misjudged the depth and stumbled, at last falling to his knees near the far bank. The water was icy as it ran down from the snowfields above. He sat on his haunches, welcoming the cold, the numbness it promised. He would do it, he thought. He would end it, once and for all. He had to.

“Kane.”

It seemed faint, far away, but he was vaguely aware of someone or something close by. That it spoke his name told him it was human rather than predator, but who knew better than he that the most vicious predator of all was man?

“Kane.”

It came again, and he tried to lift his head. He saw a lean, wiry figure, clad in simple leggings and tunic and boots. He saw the raven’s head carved on the hilt of the dagger.

Tal.

Slowly he raised his head.

Tal took one look at his face and swore, low, harsh, and heartfelt. Kane felt, as much as he was capable of feeling anything at the moment, Tal’s hands strongly gripping his shoulders.

“Look at me.”

Kane blinked. Tal’s hands tightened.

“Look at me!”

Tal, Kane thought with an odd sense of detachment, could have commanded a battle force with that voice. He’d never heard it from him before.

“Damnation, Kane, look at me! Now!”

He blinked. Focused.

Tal’s eyes were glinting gold, reflecting far more light than should be available here in the darkness. Kane stared at the odd glow as if transfixed.

“Let it pass, Kane.”

Tal’s voice had changed, become soft, coaxing. Kane listened, then felt an odd sensation, as if he’d found some new source of energy.

“Release it,” Tal urged, never looking away, the golden gleam growing stronger, his grip on Kane’s shoulders never wavering. And slowly, bit by bit, Kane felt the pressure inside him began to ease. He heard Tal suck in a quick, sharp breath, as if he’d taken a blow. But when he spoke, his voice was as gentle as before.

“Give up the past, Kane.”

Kane took a breath. The string of grim, vicious images slowed. He took another breath. Tal kept looking at him steadily. Kane knew that the infusion of strength, and the lessening of pain, was somehow coming from Tal. He didn’t know how, couldn’t care; he could only take the gift.

“ ’Tis all right, my friend.”

Kane felt a shudder ripple through him as the images finally faded away. “I . . .” He shook his head. Blinked.

“Kane?”

He shuddered again, but this time it was from the cold of the stream he was kneeling in. “I . . . I’m all right.”

“You’re certain?”

“Yes.”

Tal moved then, releasing Kane’s shoulders. For a moment he seemed to reel slightly, but Kane thought it must be just his own unsteadiness. Although Tal did look rather pale; his skin had taken on the ashen color of blood loss Kane had seen far too often.

“Tal?”

Kane thought he saw him shudder in turn. Then Tal lowered his head slightly, his hair fell forward, shielding his face from Kane’s view, and Kane decided he was probably mistaken; there wasn’t enough light to really tell. Of course, there wasn’t enough light to account for that golden gleam in Tal’s eyes, either.

Then Tal lifted his head, pushed his hair back out of his eyes, looking as he always did, and Kane was sure he’d been wrong.

“I think,” Tal said in his usual, mocking voice, “getting out of this water would be wise.”

Questions rose in Kane, but one look at Tal’s face told him he would be getting no answers. Whatever had just happened here would stay unexplained.

Kane staggered slightly as they made their way up the bank. And shivered as the breeze chilled his wet clothing even more than the water itself had.

“Come, sit by the fire,” Tal said.

“What fire?”

Tal gestured ahead of them. “That fire, of course.”

Kane raised his head. A blaze just short of a bonfire danced merrily just a few yards away.

“That . . . wasn’t there before.”

“You were probably too . . . distracted to notice.”

Kane opened his mouth to say he would have to be dead not to have seen this roaring fire. And closed it again; he’d been close enough to dead, inside at least, that Tal could very well be right. And he wasn’t sure he wanted to push Tal for an answer; while he wasn’t the kind who felt those thought to have . . . unusual talents should be executed—how could he, when he did not even believe in such things?—he didn’t want to hear Tal lay claim to such skills. Tal was his friend, in truth his only friend; he did not wish to risk that.

“Convenient,” Kane muttered as he did as Tal directed and sat by the fire, welcoming the heat, “that you chose to camp here.”

“Not really,” Tal muttered. “Here, use this blanket.”

Kane blinked as Tal held out the heavy cloth he seemed to have produced out of nowhere. “Where did that come—never mind.” He took it, then eyed Tal up and down. “You were nearly as wet as I.”

“I’m fine. I wasn’t in so deep as you, and these”—he gestured at his leggings—“repel water nicely. Rest, my friend. Just rest. You need it.”

Kane pulled the blanket around him, thinking it surprisingly warming, even as heavy as it was.

“Sleep for a while,” Tal urged.

Kane shook his head. “I . . . cannot.”

“The dreams will not bother you,” Tal promised.

It was as close as he’d come to talking about what had just happened. And Kane knew it was as close as he would come. He also knew Tal did not make promises lightly. Still, he hesitated; he had no wish to confront the nightmares yet again. Asleep or awake, they were no less ugly, no less barbarous, and the self-condemnation he felt no easier to bear.

“Sleep, Kane,” Tal put his hand on Kane’s shoulder. “Take what peace slumber can give you.”

Perhaps he could sleep, Kane thought. Just for a while. Lightly. Lightly enough that he could wake himself if the dreams threatened. Just for a while.

SHE HAD FAILED. She had come all this way, only to fail at her sacred duty as the Hawk. There was only one man who could help them, and she had at last reached him, only to be turned away without hesitation. She hadn’t made the least impression on him, hadn’t been able to even begin to convince him. So the Hawk clan would end, because of her failure. They would die, all of them, because of their foolishness in entrusting her with their future.

The only thing left for her to do was to go back and die with them.

Why had they thought she could do this? When she’d told them what she was going to do, that she would bring back the mythical warrior Kane to lead them, they had cheered, certain in their desperation that she had found the answer. She had tried to credit the storyteller, but the old man had demurred, insisting it would be she who carried out the task.

“Your faith was sadly misplaced,” she said to the old man, as if he were there to hear.

“No, Jenna. It was not.”

She whirled, staring into the darkness. She saw nothing. She noted vaguely that her ankle was much improved, although it mattered little to her anymore; if she died on her trek home, at least she would be spared the humiliation and agony of telling her people she had failed. She held her breath, her certainty of what she’d heard fading as the moments silently passed, broken only by the distant sound of some night creature moving, and the slight rustle of leaves in the shifting air.

She sank back onto her log seat, stirred the fire, and added a log. She tugged the blanket closer around her. After a few minutes, she felt oddly drowsy. She slipped down to sit on the ground, using the log as a rest for her back.

Her eyelids drooped.

“You must give him time, Jenna.”

Her head snapped up. She was dreaming. She must be, she told herself, although it was uncommonly vivid. But a dream it had to be, for here beside her sat the storyteller, his eyes glinting gold, his hair glinting silver in the firelight.

“He keeps his heart well veiled, well protected. He is hiding, child.”

She would speak to him, Jenna thought. That would prove that this was a dream; dreams were never sensible.

“Hiding from what?”

“Himself.”

She blinked. He’d answered her. As if he were real, as if this were not a dream at all. She tried again.

“But why?”

“He has much to regret. Much to hate himself for. So he hides from the pain.” The storyteller looked inexpressibly sad for a moment. “But this means he must hide from the joy, as well. From everything.”

She forgot for the moment that this was a dream, and spoke from her heart. “You speak truly. I have seen Kane’s eyes.”

The storyteller nodded. “Then you know he is a man tortured by memories.”

She studied the man for a silent moment. “If he is so tortured, why did you send me to him?”

“You are the only one who can help him.”

Jenna was suddenly reminded this was a dream. “Ah. There is the nonsensical turn I’ve been expecting. You have it backward, do you not? ’Tis Kane’s help I came seeking.”

“Yes. But he needs yours as badly.”