Child of a Dead God (64 page)
“Most Aged Father wishes much for this thing,” Osha continued. “So much, he set caste brother against brother. He will not stop.”
“We let that woman back in the swamps get away!” Leesil nearly shouted. “You said she wasn’t a danger anymore.”
“Dänvârfij make no difference!” Osha snapped back. “Her life, her death, no difference. Most Aged Father send others. Two moons, not more, and he will send my caste.”
Osha turned equal anger on Domin Tilswith.
“Sages cannot give . . . security from Anmaglâhk. They scholars, not guardians. They die and my caste take the orb.”
Leesil looked to Magiere for any support.
She stood leaning with her hands braced upon the kitchen table. Her eyes went dark, and Leesil felt as if the floor had shifted suddenly under his feet.
Magiere whirled away for the back door. She slapped it open with her palm, stormed out, and the door swung shut behind her. Leesil rushed after her.
When he stepped out, she was gone. He peered along the back of the tavern and adjacent buildings, and jogged to the tavern’s corner, looking about, and he still couldn’t spot her. When he turned back, he caught a glimpse of white in the forested neck of land behind the tavern that shot outward into the sea.
Magiere stood there, the sleeves of her white shirt rustling in the sharp breeze.
Fresh salt air blew against Leesil’s face as he wove through the birches and evergreens.
Magiere just stared out to sea with one hand over her mouth, as if too overwhelmed to breathe. She took it away as she glanced at him, and he ached inside under her lost eyes.
“What are we going to do?” she whispered. “Tilswith would take it if we asked him . . . but that’s like tossing fresh meat into a sheep’s pen to draw in the wolves.”
Leesil wanted no more of this. They’d been asked too much already, and he couldn’t—wouldn’t—struggle for an answer right now. He slipped his arm around Magiere, gripping her shoulder, and tucked his head next to hers until their cheeks met.
“Not now,” he said. “We just got home . . . I don’t want to talk about orbs or sages or Anmaglâhk. I don’t want to think about any of this!”
When he lifted his head, that lost look faded from Magiere’s eyes. She glared at him, her face filled with that familiar accusation for whenever he took refuge in denial.
“What
do
you want to talk about?” she asked.
do
you want to talk about?” she asked.
He lifted his hand to her cheek, fingers combing up into her black hair.
“Getting married.”
Five days later, and loaded with trepidation, Leesil followed Karlin Boigiesque to the newly constructed dockside warehouse.
“Karlin . . . Magiere thinks it’s a fine idea,” he grumbled, “but it’s not what I had in mind.”
“It’s the only building in town that’s large enough,” Karlin insisted. “You just wait, lad. You’ll see.”
The stout, balding baker with kind eyes was their closest friend in Miiska, and now chairman of the town council. The previous summer, Leesil had burned the town’s main warehouse, trying to cover his heels as he and Brenden raced to save Magiere and escape a trio of vampires. Later, he and Magiere had earned enough coin in Bela for its reconstruction.
Made of stout pine, from the outside it was impressive—for a warehouse. But it was hardly where Leesil had expected to be married. Magiere seemed satisfied with the idea, claiming they’d come full circle. But at least the celebration afterward would take place in the Sea Lion.
“Go on, take a peek,” Karlin said, and slid open one huge dockside door. “We had it cleared yesterday. Aria, Geoffry, and Darien’s mother worked on the rest all morning.”
Leesil stepped around the baker and his jaw dropped. “Ah, dead deities in seven hells!”
“Watch your tongue,” Karlin admonished with a chuckle. “This is now a sacred place.”
The high bay doors used for loading the lofts sat open, and afternoon light streamed in wide shafts to the floor. All the crates had been removed and only barrels lined the walls, but garlands and bushels of wild blossoms and spring roses were carefully woven around them and up the walls.
Clean muslin sheets hung at the front in a half-moon backdrop. To either side of this stood a linen-draped barrel supporting a decorated white vase filled with roses. Dead center between them, before the backdrop, stood a small linen-draped table. Upon it waited three white candles, an incense stick and brazier, and a long, neatly coiled strip of white silk ribbon.
“That’s where you’ll stand for the ceremony,” Karlin said and dropped a thick hand on Leesil’s shoulder. “Guests start arriving soon . . . too late to run now, lad.”
Leesil breathed the perfume from hundreds of flowers caught in the variegated light spilling into the wide space. He couldn’t wait for Magiere to join him.
Magiere hid in a back room of the warehouse. She’d relented to Aunt Bieja’s insistence that it be turned into a dressing area, but now doubted her decision.
Between Aria and Bieja rushing in and out with hot irons to curl her hair, she felt . . . exposed. But the dressing ordeal finally ended, and Aria and Bieja went off on some last-minute task. Magiere stepped in front of the large oak-framed mirror in a welcome moment of solitude.
She hardly recognized her own reflection.
Magiere possessed only one gown—of dark blue—which her mother had worn and left to her. It fit her well and offset her pale complexion. Before donning it, she had bathed and washed her hair; and she’d allowed her female “attendants” to not only curl it but also weave in bits of white lilac.
“Beautiful!” someone proclaimed from the back door.
Magiere tensed as if trapped, then turned to find Wynn staring at her with a soft smile.
“I don’t know,” she said, scowling at herself in the mirror. “I look . . . strange.”
“Well, you cannot be married in a hauberk and sword.”
“Why not?”
“Because Leesil will swoon when he sees you,” Wynn answered and stepped in.
It was Magiere’s turn to stare, for the little sage had been transformed as well. Wynn had agreed to stand as Magiere’s second during the ceremony.
Her wispy brown hair had been pinned up with curling tendrils framing her small face. A light green dress blended well with her olive complexion, reminding Magiere of fragile creatures in children’s tales about to take flight on dragonflies’ wings.
“Where did you find the dress?” Magiere asked, suddenly happy for the first time since being hauled into this back room.
“Your aunt bought it for me,” Wynn said with some embarrassment. “There was no time to have anything made and it was the only finished one we could find that fit. Is the color all right?”
“It’s fine.” Magiere nodded.
They stood together before the mirror, Magiere tall and pale with dark hair and blue gown, and Wynn so small and olive in her light green.
“Like fine ladies going off to a noble ball,” Wynn whispered. “So long as no one saw us a few weeks past, crusted in snow and starving for anything besides dried fish.”
The mention of dried fish brought Sgäile to Magiere’s thoughts. And Wynn’s as well, judging by the way her smile quickly faded.
“Is Osha ready?” Magiere asked, as Leesil had chosen him to act as second.
“Yes”—Wynn let out an exasperated sigh—“but he would only wear his own clothes. So I had them washed, and brushed out his cloak. . . . He looks fine. The guests are gathered inside, and Leesil is waiting to walk you in. We should go.”
Magiere had wanted this—the whole ceremony—to celebrate joining with Leesil. Now that it was upon her, she wondered if something more private might have been better. She took several quick breaths.
“Just keep your eyes on Leesil,” Wynn said, “and you will be fine.”
They walked out and around the warehouse’s front to find Leesil waiting with Osha and Chap.
Wynn’s advice was sound, and Magiere forgot everything else the moment Leesil turned, looked at her, and his mouth fell open. She’d never been vain, but his expression was worth all the primping.
“M . . . Magiere?” he stammered.
“Close your mouth,” she said, “before you swallow a mosquito.”
He made a handsome sight himself. Aunt Bieja had managed to sew him a loose white shirt, just in time, that he wore tucked into black breeches. He’d polished his boots and tied his white-blond hair back at the nape of his neck.
Magiere took his arm. “Ready?”
He nodded, still looking into her eyes.
Osha fidgeted awkwardly. Wynn hurried over to him, and the young elf looked her up and down as if he’d never seen her before.
“See how Magiere has Leesil’s arm? They will walk in first. We wait and then follow with Chap.”
Chap whined with ears perked. Wynn had completely brushed out his coat the night before, ignoring his growls. She hooked her arm into Osha’s, having to reach up a bit.
Magiere turned into the warehouse with Leesil, and her breath caught at the hundreds of flowers in the streaming light. She kept her poise and moved steadily forward on Leesil’s arm.
Domin Tilswith waited before the muslin backing in his long gray robes. A thin trail of smoke drifted up from an incense stick in the brazier. Magiere had no idea their friends had gone to so much trouble.
The cavernous room was filled to the walls with people.
But a clear path was left for her and Leesil, and faces blurred by as she walked.
Karlin and the constable, Darien Tomik, stood with young Geoffry and Aria. Even Loni, the elven owner of the Velvet Rose Inn, watched with interest. So many had come to share this day.
Magiere and Leesil came together before Domin Tilswith. Chap settled right behind them, and Wynn and Osha, as their seconds, stepped off to each side. Domin Tilswith’s voice carried in accented Belaskian, but he never missed a word, as if he had studied every one most carefully.
“We come together to celebrate the joining of Magiere and Leesil in a life bond.”
Magiere’s heart began to pound as he leaned over and picked up the silk ribbon.
“Hold out your hands,” he instructed.
He lightly tied Leesil’s left hand to Magiere’s right. “Magiere, do you swear to love Leesil, to stand with him, honor his heart, and care for him above all others for as long as you live?”
Magiere looked at Leesil and answered, “I swear.”
“Leesil, do you swear to love Magiere, to stand with her, honor her heart, and care for her above all others for as long as you live?”
Leesil held her eyes with his. “I swear.”
Domin Tilswith removed the ribbon and took up the incense. Blowing its tip to a coal, he lit the two outside candles, their wicks lightly dipped in clear oil.
Magiere picked up one candle and Leesil the other, and together they lit the center candle. They blew out the candles they held and set them aside.
“Two lights are now one,” Domin Tilswith proclaimed. He held up the single candle. “Leesil and Magiere are one.”
The warehouse filled with cheers.
Wynn kept stumbling sideways every time she took a step. Maybe the common room had not been built on level ground.
The celebration in the Sea Lion Tavern had broken into . . . well, a celebration. She had never taken part in anything like this.
Bieja had outdone herself with the feast, and now poured wine straight from a cask into large mugs and tankards, passing them around like water. Domin Tilswith had finished two already, and even Osha held a mug.
Wynn had tasted wine before, on special occasions and in small amounts, but she most certainly was not drunk. Besides her, Leesil was the only one sober, as he sipped on spiced tea.
The common room had been half-cleared of tables and chairs, and Bieja had abandoned the bar to dance with Karlin. The pair dominated the floor with their girth and energy, until Leesil pulled Magiere out to join them. After that, Wynn tried to teach Osha a few steps, but she did not know much about dancing herself. She stumbled into a chair, nearly taking him with her. The floor was definitely uneven. Yes, that was the reason.
The Sea Lion was packed with people, who all seemed affectionate with Leesil and Magiere, but Wynn hardly knew anyone. She noticed Osha’s wary glances at the only other elf present, but oddly, these two avoided each other.
“Magiere said his name is Loni,” Wynn shouted to Osha over the din.
“He is not an’Cróan,” Osha answered.
Loni’s hair was light brown, and his eyes were amber brown. He was not as tall as Osha, but his facial structure, slanted eyes, and oblong pointed ears clearly marked him as fully elven. He seemed just as determined to ignore Osha. But his differences from the an’Cróan left Wynn wondering.
She had heard Leesil and Magiere speak of Loni once or twice, but in seeing him for the first time, Wynn thought he looked much more like the elves from her own continent. So what was one of them doing here, so far from home?
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