The Reawakened (27 page)

Marek scoffed. “Never. As long as we breathe, we fight.”

“Exactly.” Krios the Bear raised his mug to Marek, then looked at Rhia. “Your brother would say the same. Even without magic, we’d still push them out. Ilions can’t win our kind of war, and we won’t fight their kind of war.”

“As long as we have the support of the people,” Marek said, “it’s just a matter of time.”

Galen sighed. “But without magic, without the Spirits, why would the people support a revolution? There’s been no peace in Asermos for eleven years. They’re weary of war.”

“All the more reason we need to end it.” Rhia pushed her chair back, then stood and paced in Galen’s kitchen. “I think we’re getting close. With Lycas and Feras controlling most of the territory outside the two occupied villages, they’re almost ready to move into the final phase.” She swallowed her ever-present dread. “But these last two months, I can’t even confirm Lycas is alive.”

“He must be,” Vara said. “If he’d been captured or killed, the Ilions would have told the world.”

“They didn’t tell anyone when they captured Sirin,” Rhia pointed out. “If they want to avoid making a martyr out of Lycas, they’d put him in a cell and let him die of thirst. Or poison him or—” She stopped and rubbed her temples. No sense darkening the conversation further.

“Wait a moment.” Galen lifted his hand.

Rhia held her breath at the sight of his faraway look. He was no doubt receiving a message from Thera, the third-phase Kalindon Hawk whose powers fluctuated nearly as much as her son Etarek’s. Sometimes her communications were clear, but usually Galen deciphered her meaning from disjointed words and feelings.

Several seconds went by, then a faint smile curved the deep lines of Galen’s face. “It’s Berilla,” he whispered. “My old apprentice in Asermos. She must have entered the third phase.” He covered his ears and stared at the intricate pattern on the woven cloth at the table’s center, the one he used to clear and focus his mind.

Galen’s eyes popped wide. He moved his lips, but no sound came out, as he spoke to Berilla over many miles. Breath quickening, he listened intently, gray-streaked brows pinching together.

Rhia’s own face hurt from clenching its muscles. She sat next to Marek and massaged her forehead to ease the tension. Staring at Galen wouldn’t make the message come through any faster.

“No!”

Rhia jumped at the sound of Galen’s voice. His eyes were squeezed shut, and his hands clutched the edge of the table.

“Wait—Berilla!” He drew in a deep, sharp breath. His eyes opened slowly.

“What happened?” Rhia whispered.

Galen drew his hands down over his paling face. “Orders came from Ilios today. The Descendants plan a full-scale invasion of Tiros and Kalindos.”

Dravek sprang to his feet. “What?”

“Why?” Krios said. “We have nothing they want.”

“We’re aiding the guerrillas and the resistance in Asermos and Velekos.” Galen’s hands shook as they filled his cup with water. “And the Ilions are tired of fighting battles they can’t win. They think they can win here.”

“Of course they can,” Krios said, “if they bring a whole battalion. Invading a village with a population that can’t run away—that’s their kind of war.”

“When will this happen?” Rhia asked.

“I don’t know,” Galen whispered.

“Can you ask Berilla?”

“No.” His hands sank to the table, rattling the cup. “We were cut off. She may be unconscious.” He closed his eyes. “I fear she’s dead.”

Lycas rapped three times on the door and shouted, “Sparrow!”

Excited voices rose inside. The door opened, and Rhia dragged him across the threshold.

“You’re alive!”

He eased out of her embrace. “I wish you wouldn’t sound so surprised.”

“And Corek!” Rhia hugged the soaking young man hard enough to wring a puddle of water out of his cloak. “What are you doing here?”

“Lycas said I should see Galen.” Corek pulled back his hood. “For help with my Bestowing.”

A gasp filled the room, as Lycas had predicted. Corek was the last remaining Crow progeny without a Spirit, his generation’s last chance to fulfill the twenty-year-old Raven prophecy.

“We’re pleased to hear that,” Galen said finally. The old Hawk got up from his chair, his posture more hunched and rigid than Lycas remembered. They bowed to each other, then Lycas greeted Krios the Bear and Vara the Snake.

A young man sitting next to Vara stared at him with un-abashed awe, then came forward, tripping on the table leg in his haste.

“You saved my life,” he said to Lycas.

“This is Dravek,” Rhia said. “He was one of the infants in the convoy we rescued all those years ago in Ilios.”

“Ah, yes. You’ve changed a bit since then.” He turned to Vara. “Just the woman I wanted to see.”

Rhia pulled out two chairs. “Lycas, we have news. The Ilions are launching a full-scale invasion of Tiros and Kalindos.”

He stared at his sister, who had just uttered his worst fear. “That’s impossible. How do you know?”

“Berilla, Galen’s old apprentice, just became third phase.”

“When will they strike?”

“We don’t know,” Galen said. “Berilla was cut off. She may even be dead.”

Lycas’s fingers curled into fists. “They’re killing third-phase people now?”

“Possibly.” Galen sighed. “Neither village can hold off a regiment or even a battalion. What are we going to do?”

“We can’t defend both villages. Send a message to Thera. Tell her to evacuate Kalindos, have them come here.” Lycas took off his wet coat and tossed it over the back of a chair. “As for Tiros, I need a map.” He slapped the table as he sat. “And some ale.”

Both were placed in front of him. Dravek leaned over his shoulder to study the map. Lycas gave him a dark look, and he backed off.

“Asermos is a three-day march from here,” Lycas murmured, “but we’d know if troops were being mobilized.” Ilions had no flair for skulking. “It’ll be at least a week before they move out.”

“What are they waiting for?” Marek asked.

“Reinforcements from Ilios, or redeployed soldiers from Velekos.” He looked at his brother-in-law. “A big army is a slow army. Why do you think I keep my troops split into small units?”

Rhia leaned on the table across from him, studying the map upside down. “If we can’t defend Tiros from that many soldiers, can we keep them from getting here in the first place?”

“I like the way you think, little sister.” He pointed on the map to the bridge over the Tiron River. “This is the only passage for a hundred miles in either direction. The banks of that gorge are too steep for horses to cross.”

“So we take out the bridge?” Krios said.

Lycas nodded. “I’ve been considering it for a while, as a last resort. It not only keeps more troops from moving in, it cuts off the northwest garrison from the rest of the army.” He tapped his finger against a square symbol west of the Tiron River. “Which means Feras can take it as soon as the bridge is out. He’s got enough men now to hold it.”

“But without that bridge,” Dravek said, “Tiros will be isolated, too. No one will be able to get from here to Asermos and back.”

“It’ll be harder, but not impossible. Our people can cross upstream in the mountains or downstream in the hills where the banks are lower.” Lycas drew his finger down the rough surface of the map. “We control those areas.”

Dravek gave him an admiring smile. “Sounds like you have it all figured out.”

Lycas chuckled. “Yes, until about two hours from now when a new disaster changes everything.” He studied the map and felt a surge of excitement at the thought of turning this last Ilion gasp of aggression to his own advantage. “A garrison would be a real base of operations. It would change everything.”

It would also give his men a safe place to keep Ilion prisoners, showing mercy as Wolverine had dictated. Over the last year, Lycas had tried to mind his Spirit’s edict. In the Sangian Hills and Kirisian Mountains, he’d ordered his men to avoid battle when possible, if it didn’t mean giving up territory.

But when the battles came, his first duty was to protect his own people. Giving quarter to even one Descendant soldier would put the whole camp at risk, and cause more deaths in the end. So they slaughtered all who dared to fight them.

He consoled himself with the fact that the Ilions would rather die in battle than be prisoners of “beasts.”

He noticed the carved wooden snake fetish dangling from Dravek’s neck. “I’ll need your and Vara’s fire talents for a different mission.”

The young man’s eyes sparked. “Speaking of fire, have you seen Sura yet?”

Lycas tilted his head. “My daughter, Sura?” He looked at Rhia. “Isn’t she in Kalindos?”

“She’s at my house,” Rhia replied.

His stomach went cold. “Sura—is at your house?”

She nodded. “And your granddaughter, too.”

His mouth twitched with a sudden panic. “Why didn’t you tell me? You could’ve sent a message.”

“And have it intercepted? The Descendants would come for her in a moment. I didn’t want her to end up like her mother.”

From the corner of his eyes, Lycas saw Dravek squirm and cross his arms.

Rhia squeezed Lycas’s forearm and smiled. “We’ll go home so you can finally meet her.”

He put his face in his hands, feeling like an idiot. “I already did.”

Lycas was here. Now at Galen’s house with Rhia. Dark hair, deep voice, big. Scary. Rather rude.

She wondered if she’d written the note earlier tonight. She’d found it here after putting Malia to bed.

What if he left town without coming back? She couldn’t remember his face. What if she never saw it again?

A knock came at the door, and she scrambled to open it. Too late, she saw the sign telling her to wait for the code word.

She recognized Dravek and Vara, and the small woman in front of them looked like an older version of the Rhia she remembered from her childhood.

The large man must be—

“Sura…” he said. “I’m—” He let out a gust of air. “Forgive me. You must think I’m a complete bastard.”

She met his gaze and lifted her chin. “Technically you are a bastard. As am I.”

In the corner of her eye she saw Dravek’s jaw drop. Lycas, however, merely smiled.

“Do you remember me coming here earlier?” he asked her.

She shoved her note at him, then gripped the edge of the door to hide her shaking hands.

He read it and laughed. “Scary, heh? Good to know.” He glanced at the sky. “It’s raining.”

She backed up and pushed the door wide. He let the others precede him, then crossed the threshold, still swaggering a little, despite his words of contrition.

“Lycas, this is your daughter, Sura,” Rhia said pointedly.

“Yes, thank you,” he replied through gritted teeth. He shoved a mass of wet black hair out of his face and looked at Sura. “I’m afraid I made a bad impression before.”

“Apparently so.”

“You deserve better.”

He lifted his arms halfway, then dropped them to his sides. She hugged her elbows and rounded her shoulders to signal she did not want to be embraced.

The room fell silent. Everyone seemed to be fascinated with a different corner of the house.

Sura shifted her feet. “I guess you want to meet Malia,” she said to Lycas.

“Who?”

She stared at him. “My daughter.”

“Oh.” He rubbed his face. “Sorry. I didn’t know her name.” He glared at his sister.

“You never asked.” Rhia yanked off her rain cloak and hung it on a peg. “Try not to scare her, too.”

Sura picked up the lantern, opened the bedroom door and tiptoed to the crib. Her father appeared suddenly beside her, and she wondered if he always walked with such stealth.

Malia was sleeping with her head turned to the side and one arm stretched in the same direction, as if she had fallen asleep in the middle of reaching for an elusive object.

“Don’t wake her for me,” Lycas said softly. “I know how fragile sleep can be at that age.”

Sura’s hand tightened on the top rung of the crib. “How do you know that? Do you have another child somewhere?”

“No, I—”

“Are you sure?”

“As sure as I can be, and you’re right, I don’t know how babies are at that age.” He held out his palm, cupped. “When I left you, I could hold you in one hand.”

“I was two weeks old.” Her whisper faded. “Two weeks.”

“I know. I’m sorry.” His hand moved toward hers along the crib rail, then slid back. “I take it she gets that red hair from her father. Is he a good man?”

“From what I remember.” Guilt twinged her chest again, for the pain she’d caused her former mate. “He’s a Deer.”

“He must be a good father, then. He’d always hear the reason why a baby was crying. I could never figure that out.”

Sura wondered if she’d cried more before or after he walked out of her life.

“Look,” he said, “I know what you and Etarek did, having this baby to help our people. And of course, I can never repay you for saving my life.”

“Saving your life?”

“I would’ve died at Velekos if I hadn’t entered the third phase.”

“Oh.” Her head seemed to spin. She would definitely have to write
that
down. “How are your powers?”

“Fine. Nothing strange, like Thera. Probably because I knew nothing of your plan to have this child.”

“That’s fair. It wasn’t your fault.”

He tapped his fingertips on the crib rail. “I changed my mind. I’d like to hold her, even if it wakes her up.”

Sura swallowed the lump in her throat. “Go ahead.”

Lycas put his hands halfway into the crib, then withdrew them, put them back in, then drew them out again. “Maybe you’d better—”

“I’ll get her.” She set the lantern on the dresser, then leaned past him to pick up Malia. The child stirred without opening her eyes. Her mouth worked as though she were nursing, and one foot kicked out as she was lifted from the crib.

Lycas crooked his arms to let Sura place Malia in them. She carefully slid her own hands out from under the child so he was holding her alone.

The harsh lines of Lycas’s face didn’t soften, but for a few moments, his breath came quick and rough. Sura turned away, then straightened the bedcovers, which were already straight, and wiped off the nightstand, which was already clean.

“I don’t know what to say,” he whispered.

“You could start with ‘congratulations.’”

“That seems insufficient. And inappropriate, considering the circumstances.”

“I’m happy to have her.” She fought to keep the edge out of her voice. “In spite of everything.”

“Congratulations, then.” He said it with finality, which seemed to indicate he was ready to set Malia down.

“You can put her back if you want.”

“Oh. All right.” He sounded relieved. She didn’t begrudge him his lack of grandparental instinct. No doubt he was more accustomed to holding an enemy’s broken head than a fragile infant.

Malia woke fully when he put her down. She started to cry in great gasping wails. Sura watched Lycas’s face to see if he would wince at the sound, but he didn’t.

“Sorry,” he said.

She picked Malia up and rubbed tiny circles on her back, not knowing exactly why. “Let’s bring her out there. My notes tell me she likes having lots of people around. She loves Dravek especially.”

“Maybe he reminds her of you.” He retrieved the lantern and held open the door. Sura kept her expression neutral as she passed him to enter the kitchen, where Vara and Dravek sat at the table.

Rhia set a mug of ale and a cup of water in front of the two empty chairs, then reached for Malia. “I’ll get her back down. The four of you need to talk in peace.”

Sura reluctantly let her aunt take the child, then sat next to Dravek. His hand drifted over the back of her chair as he gave her a comforting smile. The need to touch him made her ache inside.

Lycas sat across from her and rested his hands on the table. “Sura…” He stopped, as if the word felt strange in his mouth. “All of you. I need you for a special operation. We’ve stolen weapons, sabotaged roads, invaded garrisons. But there’s one thing even more precious to the Descendants.”

He reached in his pocket and withdrew a shiny maroon sphere, which he rolled to the center of the table. Sura’s stomach curdled.

“What’s that?” Dravek said.

“It’s a grape,” Sura replied. “They make wine out of it. They send the best of it back home and use the rest to sedate the Asermons.”

“And Velekons,” Lycas added. “The Ilions depend on this crop more than wheat or barley or any vegetable. Their own vineyards in Ilios were nearly wiped out by a pestilence fifteen years ago, when I lived there. It’s one of the main reasons why they invaded our lands.” He jutted his thumb over his shoulder. “Many of those vines are maturing this year, and from what I’m told, the hot, dry weather this season has been ideal.” He popped the grape in his mouth. “The harvest begins in two weeks.”

Sura’s heart raced as she realized his intentions. “You want to burn the vineyards.”

He raised his eyebrows at her. “How did you guess?”

“When I lived there, it was all I could think about.”

He leveled a solemn gaze at her, as if just now realizing all she had suffered under the occupation.

“We’ll burn one,” he said, “and hold the rest hostage. The ransom will be the release of all political prisoners.” He looked at Sura. “Including your mother.”

She drew in a quick breath. What if it worked? With the resistance members free, surely they all could expel the Ilions from Asermos.

“Won’t they just put troops to defend the vineyards?” she asked Lycas.

“Then that’s a different kind of success,” he said. “Forcing them to redeploy from other areas, which will be weakened as a result. Either way, we keep them on the defensive.” A corner of his mouth twitched into a smile. “Besides, placing a soldier out in the open, in view of our archers, is one step away from building his casket.”

“I’ll go,” Vara said. “I want to kick the Ilions out of Asermos, the way they kicked me out. I want to meet my grandchildren.”

“Thank you.” Lycas nodded to her, making water drip from his hair onto the table. “Your third-phase heat vision will help with night operations.” He examined Dravek and Sura. “Vara told me that together, you two can control fires and even start them from nothing.”

“She told you—?” Sura glanced quickly at Dravek. He blinked and tilted his head in a subtle gesture that said her father didn’t know the source of their power. Sura sat back in her chair. Maybe their training had grown tamer in the last year.

Vara cleared her throat. “I explained to Lycas how well you and Dravek have learned the maneuvers I’ve taught you.”

“I’ll go.” Dravek’s hands clenched. “I want to destroy these monsters and everything they love.” He turned to Sura. “I know you do, too.”

Sura’s desire for revenge surged, but was quickly swept aside by a wave of guilt. “What about Malia?” she asked Dravek.

“Etarek and Kara could care for her until you get back. She needs more time with her father, anyway. But it has to be your choice.”

“Yes,” Lycas said. “I won’t ask you to leave your daughter.”

She looked him in the eye and spoke in a low voice. “No, I expect you wouldn’t.”

The edges of his mouth tightened. “I regret the pain I caused you and your mother.” He leaned forward, and she felt the weight of his stare. “But let’s get something straight. I don’t regret leaving to go to Ilios. Everything I did was for my family and my people, especially you. I sacrificed everything to make sure you lived in a land of freedom.”

“You failed.”

He shook his head slightly. “Not yet.”

Sura ran her thumb over the nicks on the rim of her cup. Could she do to Malia what Lycas had done to her? Did she have a choice?

Of course she had a choice, but not one she could live with.

“I’d like to speak with Dravek alone,” she said.

“I understand.” Lycas stood, scraping his chair against the wooden floor. He met Vara at the door. “I’ll stay at your mentor’s house tonight,” he told them. “We leave in the morning.”

Sura’s throat was too thick to let her reply. She couldn’t watch him walk out her door. Though she’d been only a few weeks old the first time he’d done it, her mind had recreated the moment.

She’d lain in her crib in the corner, crying. Her mother sat at the table, as Sura was now, refusing to cry.

The door closed behind them. Dravek got up to lock it, then sat down again, this time across the table instead of next to her. In the other room, Malia began to cry again, and Rhia’s low voice responded in soothing tones.

“Don’t you have a son?” Sura asked Dravek. When he nodded, she said, “How can you just leave him?”

“How can I ask others to leave their children and fight in my place? I want Jonek to have no memory of what it was like to live under oppression. I want to end this, now.” He jabbed his finger against the table. “The sooner those prisoners are free, the sooner it’ll all be over.”

“What if they don’t let them go?”

“Then we burn every vineyard.”

She closed her eyes, imagining the green hills of her home turned black and scarred. “All that beautiful farmland.”

“It’s only fire. Kalindos burned to the ground ten years before I was born. Now you can hardly tell anything happened.”

She remembered tall, healthy trees covering his home village, and felt a sudden longing to return. To be anywhere but Tiros, where she couldn’t remember one day to the next.

Her memory was an even bigger issue. “What if I forget the battle plan and get someone killed?”

“Vara and I would be with you.” He leaned forward, dark gaze intense on her face. “And you’re brilliant with fire in our training.”

“How? Don’t I forget what I’ve learned from the day before?”

“No. Somewhere in your mind or your body, the memory sticks.” He gestured to her bedroom. “Before Malia, you didn’t know how to change a diaper, but now you do. It’s the same with our training. You can still learn, Sura. You just don’t remember learning.”

She felt more confused than ever. “I don’t remember anything at all.”