Once Was: Book One of the Asylum Trilogy (9 page)

*

“I’ll burn the hair, a little at a time in the forge, so that the smell does not draw attention.” Cade held up my cut braids; the joined plait was as thick as his wrist, if not even wider. It wrapped around his hand like a snake.

Not desiring him to be caught and harmed, I sighed as I reached for my hair. “I could take it to Sheelin with me, bury it there as an offering to Bas.” With my hands outstretched, I waited for him to press the braid into them.

His fingers closed around my wrists before bringing my fingers to wine-dampened lips for a soft kiss. “Let me take care of this, Roseen. I have my own offering to make to Bas for seeing you safely back. While She may not see Her priestess’s hair as much of an offering, She will understand the sacrifice behind it.”

My lips parted, a question burning on my tongue, but it went unasked as Cade’s God appeared in the looking-glass upon the wall, one soot-blackened finger held to His lips. Within my thoughts, I heard Him.
My priest only asks to take care of this little thing for you, Daughter. As a gift to Me, won’t you let him?
A wicked grin became one of paternal care as I saw Cade through an outsider’s eyes. He would make a good husband to a woman who could be devoted. While not possessed of the type of beauty found in men of rich families, Cade has a rugged yet handsome nature to his looks. He is rough on the edges, but only as a source of protection for the tender crystal inside. I have seen it broken before and would rather keep it whole as it is now.

Cade unbound the braided length of my hair into six lengths and re-plaited them. Chuckling at my astonishment, he grinned. “Dexterity is more important than strength in my profession, Rose.”

It was his strength, however, that drew my eyes to the lines of muscle along his back and shoulders, then down the lean sides of his hips to legs that seemed to never tire. I was still watching as Cade set a single plait atop the fireplace mantle, wrapped around the base of a crystal vase. “This one, I shall keep as a bit of magic to bind you to your home.” Work-worn fingers brushed over it in a loving manner. “May you always come back to the home of your heart, Roseen. Madani is in your blood and soul. Keep it as your secret home, even when traveling.” His request, or perhaps it was a prayer, echoed his question from years ago. He was willing to sacrifice everything just to have my heart.

“Is that a prayer, Cade?” Even in our hushed voices amid crackling logs on the hearth, I could hear the alcohol-induced brazen tone.

“You’ll hurt in the morning, Rose; but nay, that is not my prayer. My prayer is that you are happy. Wherever you may roam to, I wish you every happiness.”

“With you?” I questioned.

“Aye . . . Nay.” He paused to swig mead from the bottle, then wiped his lips upon the back of his wrist. “If you were happy at my side, my delight would be felt for several days’ walk from here. But, I must say nay because I want your happiness above my own. I’m selfish enough to desire you to be with me, but I have a martyr’s heart and am willing to love you even if you cannot return that.”

*

I was unsettled.

Tumultuous and treacherous emotions cavorted through my heart with no regards to the desires I’d felt just two days before. They symbolized the metamorphosis overtaking all that described me as a priestess and as a woman. In moving away from the woman who would follow her own heart regardless of the repercussions to others, I was becoming someone I wanted to be.

My spirit analyzed my decisions and allowed my brain its chance to voice a complaint as I learned to follow not just my heart, but also my conscience. No longer could I blame Liand’s poison for the things I chose to avoid. I could not say I was a priestess yet run from its responsibilities. That one was the hardest to stomach as I ate the breakfast Cade left for me.

I washed my plate as I finished chewing on the crust of the loaf. Wishing for a small cup of tea, I checked the hot water kettle that sat among the embers of the fire and was pleased to find it still full of hot water. My pleasure ebbed as I recognized the battered metal. The copper bottomed pot had been swiped from my kitchen. We would discuss that later.

Cade was still hammering away at another sword or filling an order as I closed up his one-room cottage and slipped into my parents’ home to change my clothing into something more appropriate for Madani. The tea warmed my stomach with each sip, contrasting the cold morning breeze that had ruffled my hair during my short walk. I felt naked without my long hair; the weight lifted from my soul as well as my head.

I dug through two wooden chests of clothes before finding something that would fit me. The cotton shift of my mother’s was snug in the bust but loose everywhere else;
it would suffice. An old dress I had left behind on a prior trip gave me the look of belonging in the city. With the cut hair, bangs covering the faint marking on my forehead, and the long gathered sleeves, I could almost pass as an uninitiated.

Those who knew me well would recognize me for who and what I am, but the new faces would look over me as a widow or daughter seeking asylum from the war. They don’t know me, but they will. I will not seek asylum; I will bring it. I will free them from this shadow. Bas’ priestess has taken up Her battle claws. I will fight for them.

Lost in my thoughts of what I must do after answering my calling on Sheelin, I did not notice the absence of sound coming from the forge. I was up to my elbows in a box of discarded stockings in an attempt to find ones with less holes, when a throat cleared behind me.

“Not that I don’t appreciate the view, Roseen, but I think the townsfolk might have a problem if you go out with your skirt up about your waist in back. Your knickers are clean though.” Cade’s smirk was as infuriating as it was warm while I fussed at righting my clothing. “I hadn’t heard you up and about, so I went to check on what was keeping the early bird in bed.”

With a look at my green face, Cade chuckled. “The mead was a bit strong, yeah? Do you remember your mother’s cure when—” His face fell into pained shadows. “Sorry. It is hard to remember what you were here for.”

“The answer is ‘not much,’ Cade. Sheelin claimed my childhood. I was marked by Bas earlier than any priestess there had thought possible. My youth was as much a stigma there as my aislings were here.” Any attempt to keep my tone light failed. The biting words brought forth the frozen mask of a priestess who did not desire her feelings to be discovered. I spoke the rest of my thoughts knowing he deserved a better explanation if there was one I could give: “I missed a lot here and there in my duties as a priestess. I belong to Bas; that is all that matters.”

If I was frozen inside, Cade had enough fire for both of us. “Blast it to the deepest realms of Liand’s black heart!” Iron bands of flesh pinioned my arms against my sides. “That is not all that matters, Roseen. You have a father who loves you. Fion, wherever that bastard is, loved you if he does not still. If nothing else, I love you enough for everyone in the world.” His face went ashen, as if some long untold secret was finally set free despite years of asking for my heart. Those words had never been used in such a direct fashion.

The crystalline shattering of my mask sounded throughout the room, an almost-audible sound of my withheld emotions coming to the fore. Fire filled me, surrounded me, but I underwent no burning. I danced within the flames as they warmed the icy reaches of my heart.

Fabric resisted the stretch as I lifted my arms to rest one hand upon his cheek. “I know you do, Cade. I would like to think that one day I might be deserving of your love.”

“Does this mean you are accepting—” he began to ask, before I hushed him with a finger upon his lips.

“Nay. Not yet, Cade. I do not know what awaits me on Sheelin. But, if the Gods see fit to return me to this land whole of body and mind, I will grant you my answer then.”

His eyes shone with hope. “I will wait forever.”

My sad laughter brought a deep crevasse to either side of Cade’s mouth as he frowned. “Cade, if I do not come back from the island, you will not wait for me. Do you understand? If I am not back in one, perhaps two moons, it is possible that I may not return. If I am detained longer but have hope of becoming free, I will appear to you in your dreams to say as such. With what tasks my Goddess, sisters, and brethren may have set before me, I cannot be certain what fate awaits me. You cannot wait for someone who may be naught but a shade.”

Cade’s hands relaxed their grip on my shoulders, and I thought he was going to turn away. Instead, he came nearer until his brown eyes grew large as the moon to my sight. “Then I shall cross over after you, Roseen. I give this life to you, whether it be as your wedded husband, a companion, or a friend. I swear it to Bas, Aya, to any of the Gods who will listen. Too many years have been spent loving you for me to stop now.”

His thumb carried the smoldering heat of the forge in a simple touch that seared my lips as if he had kissed me. “I will wait, and you shall decide. For now though, Roseen, you should make yourself scarce or hide within our homes. Liand’s men will patrol before the weekly gathering begins.”

Still in shock from his fingertip’s caress, I nodded. “There are things I must do today in preparation.”

*

I made my way through back alleyways and residential cobblestone streets, skirting the town’s central square where Cade said the citizens of Madani would be gathered beneath its pavilion to pay lip service to the Sun Lord. Even the sight of Bas’ paw upon a silver moon failed to assuage my building anger. The marked home belonged to a gentleman who was tending his autumn harvest as I passed.

“Priestess,” he greeted.

“Blessed be those protected by the paw.” My heart wished to mean the words falling from my lips, to take time to offer a proper blessing, to do anything but hurry my feet on my way to my first destination.

“And may the hammer smite the enemies of those sheltered by Her. Welcome home, Priestess. May you find hope where you think there is none.” A red apple fell from his fingers without effort, then rolled to a stop at my feet. “A gift of the harvest from one who could not pass the test but knew enough to stay out of sight.” His fingers twisted into a clawed formation then opened in a burst, pulling down an illusion over the paw print I saw. Orykelon’s Orchard had a Sun Cross within each O. “A little magic never hurt those pure of heart. Remember you have friends, Lady. We need you and will support you. Where there is an apple, there is Her star.”

In my hands, the apple split in two horizontally, producing a five-armed star. “Aye, it does. Thank you for your shared wisdom. It will not be—” I looked up, and he was gone. “Forgotten,” I finished.

*

Metal gates hung open in awkward positions from broken hinges as I reached my destination. Breezes whispered along the rusted scroll work and sang a mournful tune that covered the sounds of me slipping through a gap between the stone wall and metal bars. Silent stones stood amidst overgrown grasses and wildflowers that had gone to seed several times without care. No longer were the gentle hills and valleys of the burial grounds kept in good repair; they looked abandoned.

Much as I had traversed the town’s streets in a mindless fashion, so I crossed the grassy plain to the small fern-draped trees that ringed my family’s plot. Green lace draperies diffused the light, giving my mother’s resting place a divine glow. As I approached, expecting to find peace and tranquility, I found rage and despair. Flames of anger sped through my veins, burning me from the inside out. On my last visit, when I brought gifts of dried flowers from distant shores, a headstone engraved by my father’s hand had marked her grave.

Moira Corela, beloved wife, mother, and artisan. May the Gods hold you gently as you rest.

My tears became a river of pain as I looked at what remained. Her name and “wife” were the last parts legible; the rest had been chiseled away, cracking the once beautiful pink stone my father had chosen. Red paint spelled out H-E-R-E-T-I-C. Liand’s men had come here, knowing she was the mother of a priestess. They would pay; they would all pay—including the Madani citizens who stood by and let a good woman’s resting place be defiled over a religious war.

Night-chilled stone bloodied my fingertips as I scratched at the paint, dulled my fingernails, and left my own red marks behind.
Magic, aid me.
Power of elements was not my gift, and relief flooded me as it answered my call. Stone rippled beneath my touch, shaking off the flakes of paint that marred its surface. Sweat poured from me at the effort to do more than mask the dye, and the stone pulled energy from me as it tried to heal the deeper cracks. I freed my life force, granting the stone increased flow; my fingers felt out the weak points in the marbled surface. Heat melted small fissures and burned my fingers, fusing my cuts closed as well. I lacked the nature-focused priests’ and priestesses’ ability to re-carve what had been removed, but I did save the stone from being destroyed in a winter storm.

Sleep beckoned from the other side of my overexertion, and I let it buoy me on my journey to the world of dreams. My unconscious painted a beautiful realm, one full of love, life, laughter, and people whose hearts bore no weariness from war. Sun, air, and earth wrapped around me, replenishing my spent energy. I awakened too late, so lost in the thrall of deep magic, and did not hear the footsteps until a sword point pressed into the back my neck.

“Come with me, Witch.”

Chapter Eight

You are not omnipotent, my child, despite the enthusiastic powers of your youth. The gods have granted you gifts; use them wisely. Do not stray often from your talent, or you will weaken beyond measure. They do not make you a God, merely a tool through which They can work. Healers do not battle, scientists are not Oracles, and visionaries have not the healing touch. Be not what you wish to be but an exemplary form of what you are.