Child of a Dead God (23 page)
“What happened,” Osha asked, “when you took them before the Chein’âs?”
Perhaps Osha had spent too much time with these outsiders. He had many shortcomings that made Sgäile doubt his suitability to be Anmaglâhk. It would not serve the young man to sympathize with humans.
“Wynn is safe,” Sgäile said. “You served your purpose well.”
“Purpose?” Osha blinked, and his gaze wandered toward the aft hatch. “Yes, Sgäilsheilleache . . . a pleasant duty.”
Sgäile stiffened.
“There is no pleasant or unpleasant for Anmaglâhk,” he said coldly. “There is only your purpose to fulfill for your people. If you cannot hold this above all else, you have no place among us.”
Osha’s jaw dropped slightly, like an ignorant boy regretting an error he did not understand. “Forgive me,” he stammered. “I meant no . . . I live in silence and in shadows. I am Anmaglâhk.”
Sgäile offered no reassurance. Putting Osha at ease would be no kindness.
“See to our charges,” he said. “Bring them supper.”
“Yes, Sgäilsheilleache.”
As Osha walked to the hatch, Sgäile turned to the rail, watching the coastline and dwelling on Magiere. Perhaps he should chastise himself as well.
Most Aged Father rested within the root chamber of his great oak. Alone for a moment, he tried to quiet his restless mind.
Father?
He opened his eyes at Hkuan’duv’s voice and placed a hand on the living wood of his bower.
“I am here,” he replied, concerned, for Hkuan’duv would need a tree for his word-wood to function. “Where are you?”
I halted the ship to go ashore so we could speak.
Hkuan’duv hesitated.
I have been in contact with the informant you arranged. Sgäilsheilleache’s ship anchored for six days, and he took Léshil and the human called Magiere ashore. By the location described, I believe Sgäilsheilleache took them to the haven of the Chein’âs.
Hkuan’duv hesitated.
I have been in contact with the informant you arranged. Sgäilsheilleache’s ship anchored for six days, and he took Léshil and the human called Magiere ashore. By the location described, I believe Sgäilsheilleache took them to the haven of the Chein’âs.
“What?” Most Aged Father tried to sit up.
When they returned, Magiere bore a canvas bundle, which the informant had not seen when they departed. It was of sizeable bulk.
Most Aged Father had been shocked when he first learned that Sgäilsheilleache had continued to accompany Léshil. But guardianship was a difficult burden to put aside, especially for one such as Sgäilsheilleache, who clearly felt his oath was not yet fulfilled, misplaced as it was.
Father?
Hkuan’duv asked.
Is there more concerning this purpose . . . that I should know?
Hkuan’duv asked.
Is there more concerning this purpose . . . that I should know?
Most Aged Father was troubled. Since leaving Ghoivne Ajhâjhe, Sgäilsheilleache had made no reports. Now he had made an unscheduled stop near a place no human should ever know. Had Sgäilsheilleache taken Léshil and that undead woman into sacred fire?
Father, are you still with me?
Most Aged Father’s frail body flushed with indignant heat. Oh, the answer was obvious.
Brot’ân’duivé—the Dog in the Dark—betrayer of his people. But why would the deviant Greimasg’äh want Sgäilsheilleache to do this? Why, when he knew what it would cost once the truth came out?
This breach was all Most Aged Father needed to begin planning the swift end of Brot’ân’duivé.
Father?
“Yes, I hear you!” Most Aged Father hissed, and then calmed, weighing his next words. “Sgäilsheilleache’s loyalty is unquestionable, but his purpose has been twisted by one among our caste who works against us . . . like that traitor, Cuirin’nên’a. If he now serves a purpose that neither he nor we know fully, then this object the humans seek has greater import than I first thought. Upon your return, speak of it to no one, even among our caste. You will bring it only to me.”
Another pause and Hkuan’duv replied,
You have no reason to doubt.
You have no reason to doubt.
Most Aged Father leaned back shakily in his bower. “In silence and in shadows,” he whispered.
Was there no limit to Brot’ân’duivé’s treachery?
“What is wrong?” Wynn asked, closing the cabin door. “What has happened?”
Chap dropped his haunches to the floor, but he sent no words into her head.
Magiere roughly tossed her coat onto a bunk. She dropped on the bunk’s edge, looking tired and drawn, as Leesil sank to the floor beside Chap.
Daylight had faded, and Wynn took out her cold lamp crystal, rubbing it briskly until a glow filled the small room. Her curiosity—and worry— sharpened with the light, and she glanced over at the strange bundle in the corner by the door.
“What is in there?” she asked.
Magiere leaned back, her jaw working beneath tightly pressed lips, as if uncertain how to answer.
“Talk to me!” Wynn demanded.
“Ooeer-ish-ga,” Leesil whispered.
Wynn spun toward him. “What?”
Úirishg
, Chap corrected for Leesil’s badly spoken Elvish.
, Chap corrected for Leesil’s badly spoken Elvish.
Leesil sighed. “I think we met another one of your forgotten mythical people.”
Wynn stared at him, but she flooded with excitement.
Úirishg was an ancient Elvish name she had learned from recorded myths gathered by her guild—a legend of five races matched to the five elements of existence. Of these, Elves and Dwarves were known. Wynn had considered the other three no more than fancy, until . . .
She had followed Leesil and Magiere into Droevinka, and they had uncovered the hidden crypt below the keep of Magiere’s undead father. And one of the Séyilf—the Wind-Blown—had appeared at Magiere’s trial before the an’Cróan’s council of clan elders.
Spirit, Earth, Air, Fire, and Water.
Essence, Solid, Gas, Energy, and Liquid.
Tree, Mountain, Wind, Flame, and Wave.
Elf, Dwarf, Séyilf . . . and . . .
“Which race?” Wynn asked.
“The one left in the iron crate,” Magiere said.
In the hidden crypt, Leesil had discovered one set of remains near an age-crusted iron crate. Beneath the grime and dried rust, Wynn had found gouges in the metal. Whatever it had held had tried to claw its way out. The skeletal remains near the crate were as dark as its iron, and the bones of its toes and fingers ended in curved obsidian points. Its skull was small, with sharpened charcoal gray ridges in place of teeth.
“Just listen,” Leesil said, but he faltered, looking to Magiere. “I don’t even know how to start.”
“Show her,” Magiere said.
Wynn did not wait. She rushed for the bundled canvas and tumbled it open upon the floor.
“Sgäile took us down . . . somewhere under a mountain,” Magiere began. “A small, black-skinned creature came out of a deep fissure, carrying those things. The winged blades were for Leesil, but it tossed the other two at me.”
Wynn was spellbound by the four objects. A pair of winged blades, not unlike Leesil’s, yet made of unmistakable metal. The other two left for Magiere—a long and heavy hiltless dagger of the same material, and . . . a
thôrhk
?
thôrhk
?
But the engraved characters upon it were not Dwarvish, although it was shaped like one of the collar adornments worn by some of their warriors. Wynn turned her frustration on Chap.
“Well, say something! You were supposed to be my eyes and ears.”
Chap dropped his head upon his paws.
Chein’âs—the Burning Ones.
Chein’âs—the Burning Ones.
But then Magiere began recounting all she remembered, and Wynn listened intently.
“Before we could leave with Leesil’s blades,” Magiere said softly, “it shrieked at me, and left those things.”
“Sgäile wasn’t happy about it,” Leesil added. “He had no idea, and I don’t think Brot’an and my mother had anything to do with those.”
“It knew me . . . ,” Magiere whispered. “The gift-bearer was hurting . . . or in mourning.”
Wynn glared at Chap, but he remained silent. What was wrong with him? He had made her a promise. She turned back to Leesil.
“We have already learned that you and Magiere were created by opposing sides,” Wynn said, “for a conflict yet to come, though the sides of that conflict are somewhat ignorant of each other. And the Fay seem to want neither of you involved. The an’Cróan ancestors saw Leesil as a future savior, and Chap believes Magiere is to lead an army for the long-forgotten enemy that Most Aged Father fears. Both of you have rejected these paths, but now . . . with these things . . .”
Wynn looked down at the items and lingered upon the ruddy-colored circlet.
“Perhaps these old peoples, Chein’âs and Séyilf, do not care how or why either of you were made. They either offer their help . . . or are asking you for help.”
“Help with what?” Leesil snapped. “Enough already! We’ll find this orb thing, keep it from Welstiel . . . and then we’re done!”
Magiere stretched out a hand to Leesil, and he rose to join her on the bunk.
Wynn shook her head in resignation. She had no wish to upset them nor to make them think she wished either to succumb to a purpose others thought they should serve. She only wished she had been in that cavern to understand more of what happened.
“You had better start explaining,” she growled at Chap.
No.
Wynn’s stomach rolled, more at his denial than at his voice in her head.
I can only clarify what Magiere and Leesil can tell you. That is my word to Sgäile.
His rebuke stung, for Chap had made a promise to her. And now, that meant nothing compared to his word to an anmaglâhk?
Wynn could not even spit out a retort, so she snatched up the circlet— or tried to. She nearly toppled off her knees at its weight, and then slammed it down before Chap’s nose. He flinched.
“What is this
thôrhk
for?” Wynn demanded.
thôrhk
for?” Wynn demanded.
Leesil wrinkled his brow at the strange term.
I do not know,
Chap answered.
Sgäile did not recognize it either.
Chap answered.
Sgäile did not recognize it either.
“What about the chein’âs?” Wynn pressed. “And do not tell me that you did not delve its memories . . . I know you!”
“Enough!” Magiere warned. “And where did you get the name for the hoop? A torc?”
Wynn ignored her.
Chap fidgeted on the floor, reluctant to look at the object. Wynn’s ire waned at the suffering in his eyes. He shuddered.
I saw the gift-bearer’s memory of a loss, when one of its own . . . one that meant something to it . . . was taken by Ubâd.
Wynn repeated Chap’s words for the others, and Magiere sat upright with widened eyes.
“That . . . fiend came to the chasm?” she whispered sharply. “How? We barely survived a short time on the plateau.”
Leesil tried to pull her back but she resisted. Chap recounted all that he had seen in the forlorn being’s memory as Wynn reiterated for the others.
I could not tell the gift-bearer that Ubâd is already dead.
Chap’s blue crystalline eyes strayed to the hiltless dagger—as did Magiere’s—then he laid his head down, gazing at the
thôrhk.
thôrhk.
It seemed the blade given to Magiere had been some plea for justice, but the
thôrhk
brought Wynn only doubts and questions.
thôrhk
brought Wynn only doubts and questions.
“Let me know,” she grumbled at Chap, “if there is anything more you
can
tell . . . that might help.”
can
tell . . . that might help.”
Chap lifted his head, and his doggish brows wrinkled in an echo of Magiere’s perpetual scowl.
Wynn put a hand on his head. He bucked it sharply off with his snout, but then lapped his long tongue between her small fingers.
“Wynn,” Magiere said, “how do you know what to call that thing?”
“Thôrhk?”
she answered hesitantly. “It is an old Dwarvish term for a circlet shaped somewhat like your open-ended loop. They are made of semi-flexible braided metal, and often worn by a Thänæ—an elite dwarven warrior, sometimes in service to one of their high lords.”
she answered hesitantly. “It is an old Dwarvish term for a circlet shaped somewhat like your open-ended loop. They are made of semi-flexible braided metal, and often worn by a Thänæ—an elite dwarven warrior, sometimes in service to one of their high lords.”
A knock sounded. Wynn climbed to her feet, stepping over Leesil’s shimmering new blades, and opened the cabin door.
Osha stood outside with a tray of food, and the aroma of roasted fish and herb-garnished potatoes surrounded Wynn.
“Thank you, Osha. Will you join us?”
He would not meet her eyes and merely handed over the tray.
“Whatever is wrong?” she asked.
Osha turned away, heading back for the hatch stairs. Wynn stared after him.
Six days alone with him and she had finally begun to think they were friends. Now he would not eat or speak with her? It seemed that no matter how much they learned of each other, as elf, an’Cróan, or anmaglâhk, Osha might always be a stranger.
Wynn closed the door with her elbow and turned as Magiere slid to the floor, leaning her head against Leesil’s leg. Sadness welled inside Wynn—or was it loneliness?
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