The Reawakened (39 page)

The general backed slowly away from the railing and drew a short, curved sword from his sheath.

Sura snorted. “Does he think he can kill a Spirit with a sword?”

Mali spoke softly. “That’s not what he’s doing.”

Rhia saw jewels sparkle on the hilt as General Lino raised the weapon before him and spoke to her.

“Don’t you understand?” he said. “I can’t leave. My mission was to bring order to this land. I failed. I can never go home.” He handed the sword to one of his staff officers and slowly dropped to his knees on the balcony. “May my life be sufficient payment for my dishonor. May the gods forgive me.”

“No…” Rhia stepped forward as the staff officer pulled Lino’s head back and sliced his throat. The general’s hands went up at the last instant, and Rhia turned away.

Another death. She closed her eyes and prayed to Crow that it would be the final one of the war.

As if in response, the Spirit’s wings rushed through her mind as He carried off the general’s soul.

She opened her eyes to see the black bird hop out of the crowd of animals and stand before her. “You might like to know,” Crow said. “For the first time since I created it, the Gray Valley is empty.”

Rhia stared at him until he bobbed his head to confirm it. She shed another pair of tears at the thought of all the dead finding peace at last.

Then she wiped her eyes and regarded the bird. “Maybe you could take a vacation.”

“Ha! You always had a sense of humor.” The crow cocked his head. “Then again, I’ve been overworked lately. Perhaps a few days off would do wonders for my mood.” He hopped away.

Rhia watched the bird go, then looked up at the balcony, which was almost empty. They had carried General Lino’s body inside, and the last of the soldiers were filing into the prison building, hopefully to plan their voyage home.

Finally she turned to Marek, who was embracing his fellow Kalindons one at a time. She tried to freeze the moment in her mind, the looks on all her people’s faces and the way they held their bodies.

They were free.

The last month had brought a fragile peace and a teetering sense of stability. The day of the Reawakening, Feras had sent two companies of men from the Asermon garrison to escort the Ilion commanders to their ships. The new Asermon leadership had decided to accept General Lino’s suicide as a sign of complete surrender. When faced with Feras’s troops, none of the other Ilion soldiers contradicted this assessment. They left begrudgingly, and were soon followed by their counterparts in Velekos.

Sura tiptoed into the kitchen and shut the bedroom door softly behind her. The front door was propped open, letting in the cool breeze and golden light of the autumn afternoon.

She stepped outside to find her mother on her knees in the front garden, grumbling, as always, about the disrepair the house had fallen into during her imprisonment, as if that were its worst aspect.

Mali yanked out another weed and tossed it into a pile, then wiped her arm over her forehead.

“It’s getting late,” she said to Sura. “He should’ve been back by now.”

“He’ll be here.”

Mali let out an incoherent mutter and turned back to the soil. She jammed a trowel at the root of another large weed, as if it were the base of Dravek’s neck.

Most people who didn’t know them had been confused at the course of events surrounding Sura and Dravek and his succession of Spirits. The only truth to all the rumors was that for a few hours, he had been Raven. He had started the Reawakening.

Dravek had spent the last month without a Spirit, as they had traveled to Tiros to fetch Malia and visit his son Jonek. Even as he lamented the loss of Snake and Raven, and they both mourned the death of their mentor Vara he had comforted her in her grief over Lycas. They had not made love, of course, since her month of mourning required that they abstain, but he’d lain beside her every night, a gift in itself.

Dravek had been the first person in years to venture to the Bestowing spot a day’s walk from Asermos. The Ilions had prevented anyone from using the site for its intended purpose.

She took a deep breath, once again stunned by their new freedom. She’d lived under Ilion rule for so long, it would be hard to get used to walking down an Asermon street with her head held high, not checking over her shoulder for the red-and-yellow uniforms on every corner.

Sura reached inside the door and picked up a clean bucket. “I should heat water. He’ll want to wash and have something warm to drink when he gets here.”

Mali gave her a skeptical look but didn’t protest.

Sura walked down the wooded lane to the pump, passing two houses that had once belonged to the Ilion settlers—or “grape-heads,” as Mali still called them. Many had left for their home country, unwilling to give up their own religion despite the presence and gifts of the Spirits.

Those who stayed behind required training. Sura had a Snake apprentice of her own now, a woman twice her own age. With the new system decreed by the Spirits, linking magical progression to readiness rather than parenthood, many of the former Ilions would probably never reach the second phase. Which was just as well.

She pumped the water carefully, hoping that next year would bring more rain. The lands where the vineyards had sat were slowly being returned to their rightful owners, who would plant whatever crops they chose next year.

The bucket was almost full when she heard footsteps behind her. By reflex, she whirled and turned, fists raised.

It wasn’t an Ilion soldier who stood there.

“I hope that’s for me,” Dravek said.

She reached behind her and lifted the pump handle to shut off the water. “I thought you might be thirsty.”

“I am.”

He took her in his arms and kissed her. His lips weren’t dry at all, belying his words. She sank against him, feeling him just as warm beneath her hands as she’d remembered.

Sura froze at the realization of the heat between them. Had Snake claimed him again? Would they face the same choice of denial and misery or disobedience and disfavor?

She broke away from him. “What are you now?”

He stared at her, his gaze tinged with apprehension. “Does it matter?”

Sura stroked his cheeks, dark with five days’ stubble. “No,” she whispered. “I love you, and I’ll stay with you no matter what.”

A corner of one of his eyes twitched. “Are you sure?”

She kissed him again, to wipe away both their doubts. Finally he gave a great sigh and eased her away from him. “Then let’s go home.” He picked up the bucket. “I have an affinity for this stuff now.”

She watched his smile curve in a tease. He was going to make her guess.

“You like water,” she said. “Are you a Bear?”

“No.”

“A Duck?”

He rolled his eyes and shook his head.

She tried the more obscure Animals, ones she’d never heard of anyone having their Aspects. “Trout. Salamander. Muskrat.”

He pointed at her. “Close.”

“Muskrat?” She stopped in her tracks and whispered, “Dravek, are you an Otter?”

He looked down, studying his hand. “Who would have guessed I’d one day heal instead of destroy?”

“The Spirits give us what we need.” She stepped up to him, then rose on her toes to kiss his mouth. “I know I could use a healer.”

He took her hand as they walked. Mali looked up at their approach.

She frowned at Dravek. “Well?”

“He’s an Otter,” Sura said.

Mali nodded, and her frown eased. “So was my mother. Not bad.” Without another word, she entered the house and went into the bedroom.

Sura laid out a supper for Dravek while the water heated on the stove for his bath.

In a few minutes, Mali came out of the bedroom with a small pack on her back and Malia in a sling around her front.

“Rhia and I have a meeting,” she announced, “and Malia needs to visit family.” She stopped at the door. “It’ll be a long meeting. We probably won’t be back until morning.” She glanced between Sura and Dravek. “Late morning.” Mali walked out.

Suddenly nervous, Sura went to the stove without looking at Dravek. “I think your water’s almost—”

The door slammed shut, making her jump. She turned to see Dravek fastening the locks—all three of them. Then he stared at her, his eyes as dark with lust as ever.

“Come here,” he said.

Her tongue swept the back of her lower teeth. “But what about your bath?”

In a moment, Dravek was at her side. Hands beneath her hips, he lifted her, then turned and set her atop the table.

“Let’s wait till we both need one.”

He kissed her, deeply, slipping his hands beneath her shirt.

Her body flooded with heat, and she pulled him tight against her, erasing the distance between them.

Truth be told, Sura had often wondered if the intensity of their passion had been a result of their Snake natures. She couldn’t imagine reaching the same explosive, consuming desire they had ignited on their first encounter.

The next several hours, however, erased those worries.

And that night, she did not dream of fire.

He turned to look behind him. “Any volunteers?”

“Jula said yes,” called Corek.

“I did not!”

Rhia smiled. “It’s never too early to start running for the next election. It’ll be Velekos’s turn.”

“Hush,” Marek said. “Don’t give them another reason not to move home.”

“Good point.”

After the Ilion withdrawal, Jula and Corek had settled in Velekos to be near his family—and so that Jula could eat her fill of oysters every night. Luckily Rhia’s position as the Reawakened High Council leader brought her to each village several times a year. She was looking forward to a tranquil retirement with Marek on her family’s old farm in Asermos, where she planned to breed sleek Ilion horses and scruffy Tiron terriers, and in her spare time, nag Jula to visit with her twin grandchildren, Nila and Lanek, named in memory of their parents’ lost siblings. Rhia’s ache for her son Nilik had never faded, though she knew he had found eternal peace on the Other Side.

She hoped the travel wouldn’t be too much for Elora, the next High Council leader. Then again, Kalindos wasn’t as far from the rest of the villages as it used to be. Immediately after the war, every Kalindon who could swing an ax began to rebuild the village in a new location, about half as far from Asermos as before—far enough that they could still claim their idiosyncratic independence.

Each election, the five-year High Council leader term would rotate among the four villages. Such an arrangement was the only way they could gain the cooperation of Kalindons and Tirons in the formation of a new regional postwar government.

It had taken nearly a year to hammer out the details of the Reawakened nation’s constitution. Parts of it were modeled after that of Ilios, but with a much less centralized government. Those who had lived in that country during the rise of the militaristic faction claimed that the problem stemmed from too much power residing in the capital city of Leukos. Therefore, each of the Reawakened villages maintained their own Councils, and the High Council mainly served to address issues of nationwide defense and taxation—two subjects Rhia never wanted to think about again.

“Why did I think it would be fun?” she asked Marek.

“Wasn’t it?”

“Compared to what came before, yes. Compared to what’s ahead, I hope not.”

“Especially tonight,” he said. “I’m going to drag you through so many dances and pour so much meloxa down your throat, you’ll fun yourself into a coma. Five years is too long to be sober.”

“Maybe that should be our new national motto, instead of ‘From the Spirits, For the Spirits.’”

“It will be, when I’m in charge.”

She chortled at the thought. “People might feel nervous with a High Council leader who can turn into a fox
or
invisible whenever he feels like it.”

“I probably wouldn’t get as many bribe offers as someone who can bring people back to life.”

She shook her head. She’d never used her third-phase Crow powers on a human, had refused to subject Corek to the same resurrection ritual her mentor had foisted on her and Damen. Crow didn’t seem to mind, maybe because they’d all seen enough death to make it superfluous.

Strains of music came from up ahead, and she urged her pony into a faster walk, until his hooves clopped in time to the drumbeat.

A great cheer went up as they entered New Kalindos. From her vantage point on horseback, Rhia could see Sura and Dravek standing with Kara and Etarek, each holding up a frantically waving child. The four of them had built one of the largest tree houses in the village to hold them and their complicated little family, which had expanded as each couple added their own child to the mix.

A cluster of Velekons were crowded around one of the hickory trees, their backs facing outward. Rhia thought she saw the red hair of Damen’s mate Nathas, but why wouldn’t he and Damen turn to greet them?

Seeing Tereus approach, she dismounted and gave her father a kiss and a hearty embrace.

“You look relaxed as always,” she said. Despite his gray head of hair, his visage held fewer lines than her own. “Being married to the High Council leader will change that.”

“But the extravagant salary makes up for all the stress,” Marek added, rolling his eyes.

Tereus smiled and took the reins of their horses. “Let me take care of these two, and hug my granddaughter and great-grandchildren while I’m at it.” He jutted his chin toward the hickory tree where she’d seen Nathas. “There’s someone you both need to meet.”

“Who?”

“It’s a surprise. Hurry, before someone spoils it.”

Rhia took Marek’s hand, and they made their way in the direction Tereus had gestured. Mali joined them, handing each a mug of meloxa.

“Long time no see,” she said.

Rhia scoffed. “You were at our house last week.”

“So I don’t get a hug?”

“Nice try.” She smirked at her former nemesis. “The last person you hugged when you were drunk spent three weeks in the hospital.”

Rhia caught sight of a group of familiar Velekons ahead of her. Damen and Nathas stood in front, arms crossed. Clearly they were hiding someone behind them.

“We’re here,” she said. “Who is it?”

Damen held up a finger. “I’ll give you three guesses.”

“Forget it!” rang a voice behind him. “I can’t wait anymore.” A dark-haired woman pushed between Damen and Nathas and stood with her hands on her hips. “So, Rhia, Marek, how’ve you been? Any news? Children, revolutions, grandchildren, Reawakenings, that sort of thing?”

Rhia stared at her. The dancing black eyes were the same that had greeted her not far from this spot twenty-five years ago.

“Alanka…” she and Marek whispered together.

The Wolf woman flapped her hands. “So who gets to hug me first?”

Rhia rushed forward and drew her sister into a breath-stealing embrace. A moment later, Marek joined them.

Alanka sniffled. “I swore I wouldn’t cry. That was a stupid vow.”

Rhia hugged her harder and started to cry herself. “I’ve never missed Lycas so much as right now. He would’ve given anything to see you again.”

Alanka laughed as she sobbed. “So he could tease me, right?”

“That’s why they make brothers,” Rhia said, or at least it’s what she tried to say through her tears.

“My turn, Alanka,” came a deep voice from behind them.

Rhia froze. It couldn’t be…

She turned to see Arcas the Spider, her childhood friend and first love. He stood with his wife Koli, a Bat from Asermos who had joined their rescue team to save Marek.

“I don’t believe this.” And there was Filip, Alanka’s husband, the first Ilion to be called by a Spirit. He’d been the first bridge between their people, but not the last.

She’d seen none of these people in twenty-four years, but it felt like yesterday. The world had turned upside down, and then right side up again, never to be the same.

“Don’t take this the wrong way,” she said, after she’d hugged them all several times, “but what are you doing here? I thought you were in Ilios.”

Alanka sighed. “Others are continuing our work, including our two younger children, and the Spirit communities we started have their own momentum now. It’s up to the Ilions now to turn one way or the other.”

“It could fall into civil war,” Filip added. “Or the Reawakening could reach its final completion there.”

“As to why we chose now to come home,” Arcas said. “Look.”

He pointed to one of the tables, where Elora was embracing two men in their thirties, one after the other, then again, weeping as though her eyes were on fire.

Alanka put her arm around Rhia’s shoulders. “We found the last missing Kalindons.”

Rhia gasped. Elora’s sons had disappeared in the first Kalindon invasion, when they were only fifteen and twelve years old.

“Nice timing,” Marek said. “Think she’ll celebrate hard this evening?”

Rhia kissed him. “I think we all will.”

That night—or more precisely, early the next morning—Rhia lay awake in one of the tree houses, listening to the revelry below her. Between the arms of her husband and the embrace of the forest, she felt herself enter a deep, pure peace that had been scarce in the last two-and-a-half decades.

The five years of her tenure had felt like a long pregnancy and birth. She looked forward to watching the new nation grow and change under someone else’s care, but her newfound lack of responsibility wouldn’t keep her from lying awake at night, worrying about the future. It was one of her greatest talents, so why waste it?

If the Ilions chose to follow the Spirits, they could be their strongest ally. If they fell into civil war or chose a more reactionary path, the threat of invasion could resurrect itself. But next time—if there were a next time—her people would be ready for them. Unlike the people of her own generation, her children had grown up in a time of war and thus would be ever-vigilant. Whatever the future brought, her people would face it united.

A new song began, and Rhia sat up suddenly in bed. She shook Marek awake.

He stretched and stirred, then gave her a warm smile. “What can I do for you?”

“I can’t sleep.” She pulled him to sit up, then got to her feet. “Dance with me.”

“The other thirty-eight times tonight weren’t enough?”

“It’s a new song.”

“Well, in that case.” He eased himself out of bed and gave her a deep bow. “Would you prefer visible or invisible?”

“Visible, please.”

“Good, because I’m too tired for the other.” He took her in his arms, and they began to dance. Their bodies moved together as easily as they had the first night they had met, and Rhia soon found herself wanting to do more than dance.

She drew him over to the bed. “When you say, ‘too tired for the other,’ you mean for invisibility, right?”

“Yes. I’m never too tired for the other ‘other.’” He tugged her down into the soft blankets with him, then kissed her with a Wolf’s hunger. They discarded their clothes in a hasty pile, and she was happy to see him in all his visible glory.

“You know, you’re right,” Marek said as he pulled her close and kissed her again. “It is a new song.”