The Reawakened (14 page)

“This is insane,” he said.

“This is stupid.”

“This is wrong.”

They paused, silent except for the heave of their breath. Then together they slowly turned to look at the torch, the one that had been as cold as earth less than a minute ago.

Its flame danced and bobbed in the breeze, waves of invisible heat blurring the blue sky beyond. It couldn’t comprehend what it meant, for Sura and Dravek, and for their people.

It just wanted to burn.

The whip cracked, a man shrieked. From the corner of her eye, Rhia saw blood flick onto the floor as the guard drew back the lash again.

“Stop!” The man on the rack sobbed. She didn’t know him; she felt like she’d never know anyone again. Years ago her mentor Coranna had told her she had to isolate herself from others’ pain in order to be a good Crow. After only three days of this, Rhia had learned that lesson well.

“The flowers,” the prisoner gasped. “Chicory. It’s about not drinking wine.”

“Why wouldn’t they drink wine?” the captain asked. “To spite us?”

“Some drink too much.” He fought to catch his breath. “Makes them crazy.”

“They drink plenty of ale.”

“Wine’s stronger.”

“True.” Captain Addano came back to the desk and made a note. “But I don’t think that’s all. It’s a symbol of something.”

“Please, let me down.” The man coughed.

The captain ignored him. “Blue is the only color that doesn’t have red and yellow in it, the colors of the Ilion flag. Every day I see another house painted blue. Solidarity with the resistance.”

The prisoner coughed again. “Please, some water, at least.”

Rhia couldn’t stand it anymore. She seized the cup and pitcher from the captain’s desk, then strode over to the prisoner, taking care not to slip in the blood on the floor.

She didn’t meet the wounded man’s gaze, just tilted the cup to his lips and let him drink.

They’d shaved his head, roughly, and a trickle of blood from his scalp was about to run in his eye. She looked for a clean cloth. Seeing none, she pulled her sleeve down over her hand and reached out to wipe the blood.

The prisoner spat the mouthful of water at her. “Traitor.”

She lurched back, too shocked to speak, then wiped her own face with her sleeve.

“Leave her alone,” Addano said. “And now that you can talk, tell me what the Velekon resistance plans for the night of the Evius festival.”

A door opened on her right, the one leading to the men’s prison, and a young guard entered. “Sir, the Wolverine’s ready.”

Rhia’s neck jerked. Captain Addano saw her reaction, then nodded to the young guard. “Thank you, Corporal. They’ll be down in a moment to gather him.” He gestured to the prisoner, speaking to the other two guards. “Take him down and tell them to clean him up, see to his wounds and give him as much food and water as he wants. He’s been a moderately good boy today.” He shrugged. “And some wine. Why not?”

Paralyzed with fear, Rhia watched them drag the prisoner out of the room. Which Wolverine was coming? Would she have to see her own brother tortured?

Addano stood and motioned between Rhia and the chair. “You’ll want to sit down for this.” He crossed the room and picked up the large wooden board that was propped up against the tub.

Rhia’s legs felt weak, so she returned to her seat.

“Your constitution is admirable.” He rested the board against the wall and opened the iron ankle and wrist rings. “Most men twice your size would need a bucket, if not smelling salts, after witnessing these scenes, yet you’ve not once even retched.”

“I’ve seen worse on the battlefield.” Her voice was hoarse with unshed tears.

“So unnecessary, all the fighting, all the bloodshed.” He pulled open a drawer in the tall cabinet and withdrew a length of heavy chain. “You people are treated better than most colonies. You’re not slaves. We give you fair wages to work in the vineyards and quarries, your farms yield more crops per acre than ever. Why must you resist progress?”

“It’s our land.” She shook her head. “It’s the Spirits’ land, we’re just its stewards.”

“I can understand why.” He examined the inside of the tub. “They give you magic if you do what they want, it’s a fair trade. But wouldn’t you rather do what
you
want?”

Fury curled her fingers into fists. “Yes, I’d rather be on my way now, thank you.”

Addano looked at her with bloodshot eyes. “Freedom has a price, I’m afraid.”

“Yes,” she whispered. “We know.”

As a thumping sound came from the stairs, the captain held Rhia’s gaze. “This one’s different. We don’t need you to tell us when he’s dying.” His lips formed a tight line. “We need you to tell us when he’s dead.”

Rhia shuddered and looked at the tub.

“He’ll have to be drowned,” the captain said quietly. “Second-phase Wolverines can’t be decapitated. It would break the ax.”

Something crumbled inside her. If the prisoner were her brother, they might as well strap her to the board with him. A tear crawled down her cheek, dwindling evidence that she could still feel.

The door opened, and the two guards stumbled in, dragging a large, dark-haired man, who appeared to be barely conscious. The captain came forward and grabbed the man’s hair to help them lift him against the board on the wall.

Rhia let out a hard breath. It wasn’t Lycas.

Guilt followed her relief. This man was undoubtedly
someone’s
brother, and father and son.

They strapped his head to the board, and as the dark, matted hair fell back from his face, she recognized him.

Sirin.

“No…” she whispered.

“Your brother’s executive officer,” Addano said, “probably an old friend of the family.” He stepped back and watched the others bind Sirin’s wrists and ankles in the iron rings. “Public Enemy Number Two, and we’re disposing of him in a back room like a common criminal.”

She cleared her throat. “Why not a public execution?”

He gave her a sideways look, as if knowing she was trying to get information out of him. “The Ilion command has its reasons.”

“Ready, sir.” The guards stepped back to display Sirin bound and chained to the board. Even now they seemed frightened of his dormant strength and ferocity.

“Wait a moment.” Addano turned to Rhia. “Is there a prayer or something you people like to use at this time? If you can do it quickly…” He flicked his hand toward Sirin.

“Thank you.” Rhia swallowed, then approached the Wolverine on unsteady legs. A distant part of her mind realized that the captain had referred to them twice now as “people” instead of “beasts.”

She touched Sirin’s hand and stared into his glassy, pale blue eyes. Her heart twisted as she remembered the first time they’d met, after the battle of Asermos almost twenty years ago. He’d been a frightened boy, wounded by a Descendant sword, and she’d given him the happy news that he would live. Now she would finally feel Crow come for him.

She said a silent prayer to the Spirit to make his journey swift and peaceful. Sirin blinked, and his eyes seemed to shift her way through his drugged haze.

The captain cleared his throat. “Let’s get on with it.” He rubbed his face hard. “Put him in.”

The two guards lifted the ends of the board and staggered over to the tub.

“Quickly,” the captain said. “Don’t prolong it.”

They set the board in the wide tub with a crash and a splash.

Addano let out a curse. “I knew it, not deep enough.” He looked at the barrel of ice water. “We’ll add this.” The three men lifted the barrel and dumped it in the tub. The ice shifted and cracked, melting against Sirin’s body. As the water closed over his head, he woke up and started to struggle. The guards drew their swords.

“He won’t break free,” the captain murmured as he walked slowly back to his desk.

The board shifted and banged against the interior of the tub. The guards’ eyes went round and frightened. Their swords shook. Rhia moved forward to kneel beside the tub.
He should not be alone.

Her ears filled with the sound of bursting bubbles as Sirin fought for breath. She pressed her hands to her eyes and began a prayer to Crow to ease his passage. But no words would come. Her tears flowed for Sirin, and for her people’s fading hope of freedom.

A sudden snap came from the tub, and Rhia jumped back. Had he broken the board?

“It’s probably a bone,” Addano said. “They told me this might happen.” He drew a hand through his already disheveled hair and shifted the papers on his desk.

Rhia sank to her knees again, rocking and sobbing. It was all she could do for Sirin now. At least he had someone to mourn his death. She and Mali might have no one.

The banging in the tub slowed and ceased, then the bubbles, until the only sound was Rhia’s muffled cries. Still she did not hear Crow’s approach.

“They say it takes Wolverines a while…” The captain made a paper-shuffling sound and cleared his throat. “You two, make sure you dry the chains thoroughly, or they’ll rust.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Do it by hand, don’t just hang them up and let them drip. I shouldn’t have to tell you, but—” He took a few breaths. “It’s too quiet. Talk about something. Anything.”

“Yes, sir,” the younger one said. “Uh…Sergeant Kiro, what are your, uh, plans for the Evius festival?”

“Oh! Yes,” said the other guard, the one with the deeper voice. “I’ve been called to Velekos. My wife won’t stop complaining about it. My first Evius away from the family, and I’ll miss the games. They say our boy’s a lock for the long jump. But it’s not like I have a choice.”

Rhia heard it then, the sound of beating wings. Crow was on His way at last.

“Why Velekos?” the first guard asked.

“They’re shipping in more troops from Ilios the night before the festival. We’ll meet them on the beach, help unload the horses, weapons, that sort of thing.”

The wings came closer, then hovered.
Please,
she begged Crow,
take him now. End his suffering.

The first guard snickered. “Whose boots did you piss in to earn that assignment?”

“It’s an honor,” Sergeant Kiro said. “The general will be on board.”

“Shut up!”

Rhia lifted her head, though she could barely see or hear anything real in the face of Crow’s presence.

Addano was standing behind the desk, pointing at her but looking at his men. “Mind what you say around the woman, or we’ll have to kill her, too. Then where will we be?”

“He’s dead,” she said, as much to distract them as to announce Sirin’s demise.

“Get him out of there,” the captain barked. “If she’s lying, she’s next.”

“Feel his pulse if you don’t believe me.” She swiped the flood of tears from her cheeks and chin. “Before you take him, there’s another prayer we do after death. If you please.”

The captain nodded to the guard. “Hurry up.”

They lifted Sirin, limp and dripping, from the tub. The captain felt his wrist and neck, then gave Rhia a long, hard stare. “Make it quick.”

She approached the Wolverine’s body. His right arm was bent at an unnatural angle. His face was contorted in agony. She closed his bulging eyes and murmured the prayer of passage, waiting for Crow to free Sirin’s soul.

Still the Spirit hovered. She forced her face to remain straight and smooth. Finally she stepped back.

“Will you give him a proper burial?” she asked the captain.

“Of course.”

His gaze shifted away from her face, and she knew he was lying. Sirin would be dumped in the river for the fish to eat. Forgotten, desecrated, alone.

She turned to check the back of her neck. It felt good to have her hair up on such a sweltering evening, but…

“No one can see it,” Elora said, “and no one would care, anyway. You’re not the only one with scars in this village.”

Sura touched her hair. “It’s very pretty. Thank you. My mother never—” She clamped her lips shut, wishing she could bury the disloyal thought. With Mali in prison, now was no time for Sura to wish her mother had been more like Elora, to wish she’d taken time from saving the world to occasionally, perhaps, touch her own daughter.

“Your mother would be glad you’re safe.” Elora squeezed Sura’s shoulders. “She’d want you to celebrate tonight.”

Guilt pressed on her. It wasn’t her mother’s predicament that had left her pensive and distraught.

Elora touched Sura’s cheek and looked at her in the mirror with a bittersweet gaze. Sura squeezed her soft, strong hand, remembering what Etarek had told her about Elora’s own children. Her teenage sons had been captured during the Descendant invasion almost twenty years ago and had never been found. She’d only known one of them was alive when she came into her own third-phase powers several years ago.

They left the bedroom and headed for the front door of the healer’s home, which was connected to the hospital and had a staircase outside instead of a ladder.

Tereus joined them at the door. He kissed Sura’s cheek.

“You look beautiful,” he said. “Did Elora tell you about Kalindon weddings?”

His wife winked at him. “Thought I’d leave that a surprise.”

Sura was about to tell them she didn’t like surprises, but the view from the hospital porch made her forget her words.

Dozens of people were gathering around a bonfire in a large clearing to her left. Kalindos had previously seemed tiny, but with all five hundred villagers in one place, it now appeared as large and lively as Asermos.

Long tables with benches sat among the trees, heaped with food and lined with mugs. Small torches flickered at the end of each table, spreading shimmering lights throughout the forest that reminded her of fireflies in the fields at home.

With Elora and Tereus, she moved to the clearing and joined the crowd. A three-man band was warming up on the opposite side of the clearing, one tuning a fiddle, another a pipe. Etarek was the drummer; he caught her eye and gave her a friendly wave, which she returned. He yanked his attention back to the band in time to start a quiet processional tune.

Elora tapped Sura softly on the shoulder. “Isn’t she beautiful?”

She turned to see Kara approach from the right. Tawny curls cascaded over her wine-red, ankle-length robe. The Wolf woman smiled upon the crowd with full lips and laughing blue eyes.

A collective male cheer of appreciation rang out from the other side of the clearing. Dravek stood there, transfixed at the sight of his bride. Half a dozen young men gathered behind him, though he stood out by his greater height. His own wedding robe was a deep, dark green, the color of the forest in the dead of night.

Kara and Dravek each took a barefoot step forward into the circle. A young man and woman—their chief attendants, Sura assumed—stepped up behind them, reached around their waists, and untied the robes.

Underneath, they were naked.

Sura knew her mouth hung open but felt too paralyzed to close it. She looked between the bride and groom, positive the dancing torchlight was playing tricks on her eyes. She thanked every Spirit she could name that the shriek of horror was only in her head.

They were naked.
Naked!
In front of everyone—their parents, brothers, sisters, aunts, uncles, cousins, neighbors. In front of her.

The band silenced as Dravek and Kara met in the center of the clearing and joined hands. They were still naked. Sura wanted to cover her eyes, or at least lower her gaze to the ground to avoid looking at Dravek’s—

Too late.

Her face burning, she tried to shrink back into the crowd, but people behind her strained forward to see. She stepped aside to let a shorter woman stand in front of her. Elora caught Sura’s eye and batted her lashes in fake innocence. Tereus shook his head and sighed, looking like he couldn’t wait until it was over.

Sura noticed several members of the crowd throwing not-so-subtle glances in her direction, surely enjoying her shock. She forced her face into stoicism, a skill learned from a decade of dealing with Descendant soldiers.

The attendants stepped forward, each with a pile of clothes. Slowly, ritually, Dravek and Kara dressed each other, taking turns, one garment at a time.

Elora leaned over and whispered to Sura, “It’s to symbolize the journey from promiscuity to monogamy, and also shows that they have nothing to hide from each other or from us. A very old tradition, recently revived.”

Sura had a sudden horrible thought. “Did you and Tereus—”

“No.” Elora rolled her eyes. “This ritual’s for native Kalindons only. We’d never foist this on an Asermon.”

At last the bride and groom stood together, Kara in a soft violet gown and matching slippers, and Dravek in a new white shirt and black trousers, along with black boots so shiny they reflected the sparks from the bonfire.

A middle-aged woman stepped forward to address the crowd. Sura recognized her as Thera the Hawk, Etarek’s mother.

“Welcome,” she said in a strong, throaty voice. “A Kalindon wedding is a rare and sacred occasion. Among our animal counterparts, there are those who mate not just for an hour, a day or a season, but for life. The Wolf, for instance—” she extended a graceful hand toward Kara “—often remains with a mate until one of them dies. A Wolf person’s strengths of loyalty, passion and devotion to family come to fruition in marriage.”

Sura wondered how Thera would address Dravek’s Spirit, since snakes in the wild typically didn’t stay with a mate for more than a few minutes.

“Other people’s Spirits have natural associates, who, in the interest of survival and propagation, spend their lives with several, if not dozens of mates.”

Dravek’s cheeks reddened, or maybe it was just the flames dancing over his face. A woman behind Sura whispered a bawdy comment to her friend that broke them into suppressed laughter.

Thera laid her hand on Dravek’s shoulder—not an easy feat considering the difference in their heights—and raised her voice above the crowd’s murmurs.

“Our groom proves that we are more than our Spirits. We cannot rely solely on instinct, or blame our Animal nature when we err. The ability to choose is what makes us human.

“As I have counseled this couple—and believe me, I counseled them very hard—” she let a small smile slip through in response to the crowd’s laughter “—I can say with full confidence that Dravek and Kara are equally committed to making this marriage last a lifetime.”

Sura saw the tightness around Dravek’s eyes and mouth and wondered if these counseling sessions had taken place before her own arrival.

“Soon they will be bound together,” Thera continued, “in body and soul. But first they will recite a set of vows whose power lies in their simplicity. Let us keep perfect silence so that we, the forest and the Spirits may all bear witness.”

She stepped back and nodded to Kara. The Wolf woman gazed up at Dravek and took his hands. Her beaming smile disappeared as she stared solemnly into his eyes. Dravek began to blink rapidly, and Sura thought she saw a corner of his jaw twitch.

“Dravek,” Kara’s high-pitched voice rang clear. “In the name of Wolf, I promise to love you forever.” The final word dropped as heavy as a stone.

Dravek let go of Kara suddenly. She looked down in surprise, but he drew up her chin to look at him. He clasped her face in both hands.

“Kara, in the name of Snake, I promise to love you.” His jaw clenched, and a palpable tension spread through the crowd. “Forever,” he choked out at last.

He moved to kiss her, but Thera cleared her throat. She held up a long, wide white ribbon. The firelight glinted off its silky smooth surface.

Dravek and Kara clasped each other’s bare forearms near the elbow. Chanting, Thera wound the ribbon to bind them together on one side, Dravek’s right arm to Kara’s left. She let the ends drift and flutter in the breeze like flags.

Thera’s apprentice handed her a red ribbon. She bound Dravek’s left arm to Kara’s right, in the same pattern as the white one but much more tightly, and she left no ends to dangle.

Sura gave Elora an inquiring glance. The Otter whispered, “White symbolizes joy and ease. The happy days awaiting them.”

“And the red?” She was afraid to ask.

“Suffering. Conflict. It’s tighter than the white one because these things bind us closer as husband and wife. You don’t know how strong a love is until you’ve lost something together.”

Thera came forth with a final ribbon, as black as a moonless sky. She tucked one end inside the loop of the red ribbon, then circled the couple, chanting with her apprentice. The black ribbon bound their bodies together, from shoulders to knees.

Elora leaned over. “Marriage should only be dissolved by death.”

Sura nodded, fighting to keep her face serene and her eyes dry.

Thera finished the chant, then placed her hands on the couple’s shoulders. “In the storms of life, may you take shelter in each other. You are wedded forever.”

She nodded to Dravek, and he turned his fiery gaze on his wife. He kissed her hard, and Sura closed her eyes, ashamed of the way her own stomach plummeted. What had she expected? That he would cast aside the woman he loved for the sake of a lust that could never be consummated, much less honored?

When she opened her eyes, Dravek and Kara were still kissing, bodies melded together. The torch closest to the bride and groom began to flicker and flare, though there was no breeze. Sura looked around to see if anyone else had noticed.

Thera brought forth a knife with a long, thin blade. With several short, swift strokes, she sliced the black ribbon, which fell in shreds at their feet. They continued to kiss.

At a signal from the bride’s parents, Etarek struck his sticks together to count off, and the music began. Kara broke the kiss and grinned up at her new husband. Bound at the arms, the couple danced a set of intricate steps, eyes locked on each other.

Upon the second verse, the crowd joined them in pairs, whereupon Sura was relieved to retreat.

In the first hour of the celebration, several men approached her to dance, but her body was too tight with apprehension to catch the rhythm. So she politely refused the men—less politely with each invitation—and stood watching on the outskirts, keeping her gaze away from Dravek and Kara.

Someone always seemed to be filling her mug. She diluted the meloxa with lots of honey water, but the sweetness only made her mind sing louder. The drink loosened her enough to tap her toes along with the infectious rhythm.

The song changed to a slower, writhing beat. Sura crossed her arm over her chest and hunched her shoulders to ward off invitations to that sort of dance. Two by two, the Kalindons pressed against each other, hips locked, hands roaming. The sight heated her temples until she thought she might pass out.

Sipping her meloxa, she watched Etarek pound the drum strapped around his neck. He used his hands instead of sticks for this song, lending it the low, primal sound of skin against skin. His hips and shoulders swayed to the throbbing rhythm.

The song built to a thrumming climax, with a flourish of fiddle and drums. On the last beat, Etarek shot a glance at her, catching her staring. He beamed, blue eyes glinting in the torchlight. She threw him a smile, trying to convince herself of her own confidence.

Etarek lifted the strap over his head, handed the drum to another man, then sauntered in her direction. He rubbed his thumbs over his palms as he approached her, and she could imagine the tingling sensation the drum would leave behind. His hands would be warm right now.

When Etarek reached her, he took her mug and examined the emptiness inside. “Enjoying yourself, then.” He handed it back to her. “What do you think of Kalindon weddings?”

“Stimulating.” She looked around at the cavorting villagers. A dozen young men were dancing in a ragged line on one of the long tables. They stomped so hard, every unattended plate and mug tumbled off. She laughed, her head lightened by the meloxa and the music.

Etarek pulled her to the edge of the clearing. “Dance with me.” He placed her arms around him and started to sway, but her clumsy feet tripped them.

“Relax and let me guide you,” he murmured. “Watch my eyes, not my feet.”

He began to move again. Her body fell into the rhythm, and somehow her feet figured out where to move—not gracefully, but at least in the right direction at the right time.

“See?” he said. “Much better.”

She fumbled for something to say. “If you hear other people’s feelings, isn’t it hard for you to be in a crowd?”

“I can block it if I want, and I usually do. It gives people their privacy, and lets me focus on other things.”

She let her mouth curve into a seductive smile. “What other things?”

“Music, for one.” His arm tightened around her waist. “Try it. Feel the music, nothing else.”