Into the Wind (16 page)

“But he’s—”

“Human?”

Taren was tempted to tell Odhrán he didn’t appreciate having his thoughts completed for him, but thought better of it. “Aye” was all he said. Judging by Odhrán’s expression, Taren wondered if he communicated this last thought too clearly as well.

“James was born here,” Odhrán explained. “And his father before him. I keep no secrets from him. I trust him with my life. He knows what I am.”

“Wouldn’t matter if I wasn’t trustworthy, though,” James said with a dismissive shrug. “No one can recover the stone but the wielder or a priest.”

“Not even its keeper,” Odhrán added with a glance in Taren’s direction. Why was it that every time Odhrán looked at him like that, Taren felt as though he was transparent? “I’m keeping you from your duties,” Odhrán told James. “You came to tell me something.”

“Aye.” James eyed Taren once more.

“I trust Taren as well.” Odhrán shook his head. “Tell me.”

“Sentries spotted several ships off the coast of Cera. Human, although there are several Ea aboard,” James said. “There are stories of strangers in Gate Town. They’ve been asking about the ship damaged in the battle several days ago.”

“The
Phantom
—!” Taren nearly jumped out of his seat.

“Is safe,” Odhrán said with a gentling hand on Taren’s shoulder. “For now, at least. She’s undergoing repairs and hidden by enchantments.” Relief tempered Taren’s irritation at having been interrupted once again.

“What do you wish me to do, sir?” James asked.

“Send Garan,” Odhrán told James. “Have him reassure the
Phantom
’s
captain of his mate’s safety. He should be able to manage the enchantments without too much trouble.” Perhaps noting Taren’s surprised expression, Odhrán said, “Garan is a powerful mage. Even if he can’t pierce the barrier around the ship, he will make his presence known.”

“Aye, sir.” James left a moment later with a quick glance back at Taren.

“Much as I remind him that I’m more than capable of defending myself, he worries about me,” Odhrán said.

“How did you know about me and Ian?” Taren asked.

“That you are soulbound?” Odhrán smiled. “Any mage would sense this. The bond between you is stronger than any I’ve ever sensed. From the first time we met, I felt his emotions flow through your mind and body. But you’ve sensed this as well, haven’t you?”

Taren nodded and wondered vaguely how Odhrán felt this. Then he remembered what Vurin had told him: Ea hybrids were said to be more powerful than those with only Ea blood. And yet Taren sensed that Odhrán despised his Ea brethren. Feared them, even.

“You are curious about me.” Odhrán’s expression became pensive with these words.

“I… yes. Of course.” Taren hesitated a moment, then said, “Did the islanders harm you?”

“The islanders?” For a moment Odhrán appeared genuinely confused. “Oh. Do you mean those who live on Ea’nu?” he asked.

“Yes.”

Odhrán laughed. “No. I’ve never been to the island.”

Taren knew his shock must be obvious. “Then did Vurin…?”

“No.” Odhrán shook his head. “My reason for avoiding the Ea has nothing to do with the islanders or their mainland counterparts.”

“But the Ea cast you out?” Taren struggled to understand.

“Aye. But it was long before Treande and the others settled Ea’nu.” Odhrán refilled their glasses, then sipped his drink before continuing, “I was a half-breed. An abomination. Neither human nor Ea. Hideous.”

“You’re not—”

“I was to them.” Odhrán brushed a lock of hair from his eyes. “I swore I would have nothing to do with them. Then, years ago, I met an Ea who was kind and good. He didn’t fear me. We became good friends. The best of friends. He asked me to keep something for him. Something important to his people.”

“The rune stone.”

“Aye. He told me that someday I would meet a young man who would come to reclaim it. I swore to keep that young man safe and to guard the stone until he came for it.”

“To whom did you swear this?” Taren asked. He was quite sure he already knew the answer.

“To you,” Odhrán whispered. “My friend. Treande.”

Fourteen

T
AREN
HAD
known the truth even before Odhrán spoke the words, but the truth so overwhelmed him that he needed a moment to grasp the implications.

“You knew Treande?”

“Aye.”

“But how is that possible? He lived more than eight hundred years ago.” Taren shook his head in wonder.

“I am far older than you might imagine.” Odhrán, who had been sitting all this time, now stood up, walked over to the wall, and ran his fingers over the rough surface. The glowing crystals grew brighter with his touch, changing color like a small rainbow, as if they fed on his power. Was it Odhrán who caused them to glow?

“But Ea cannot live…,” Taren began, stopping as the realization of what Odhrán had just said began to sink in.

“Ah, the irony is not lost on you either, is it?” Odhrán’s mouth curved upward in something approximating a smile. “The Ea cast me out because I was
not
like them. They thought me weak, and who could blame them? They despised the humans. Feared them. And yet in spite of their fear, humans and Ea mated. The offspring of a human and Ea had never before survived. And yet I lived.”

“You outlived them all.”

“I am nearly a thousand years old.” Odhrán laughed, then added, “No one knows how long I will live because there are no others like me.” He stroked the crystals again, causing them to flicker. “The few children like me from the time before the Ea colonized the island all died, abandoned by both their peoples.”

A thousand years old. Taren had only begun to understand the meaning of his own extended life-span. To him it felt like a gift, but only because it meant he had more time to share with Ian. But to Odhrán?

“I need the stone,” Taren said, unsure of how better to ask for it.

Odhrán chuckled. “You might not always
know
your mind, but you have little trouble speaking it.” Taren was about to apologize when Odhrán added, “I like that about you, Taren. It’s quite refreshing. In some ways, you are very different from Treande.”

Why were Odhrán’s words comforting? Was he so afraid of becoming Treande and losing himself that he feared to be anything like him?

“Do you understand what you are asking for?” Odhrán knitted his brow in obvious concern.

“I only know that I need it. That my
people
need it.” Taren wished he understood more, but even Vurin claimed to have no knowledge of how the stone functioned.

“Only the wielder may become one with the stone,” Odhrán told him. “Although a priest may carry it.”

“How will I know if I can wield it? Treande couldn’t.”

“I don’t know.” Odhrán offered him a sympathetic smile. “So much was lost when the Ea left Callaecia for the island. Treande refused to speak of it. The subject of the stone was too painful. There were other priests after Treande, but the mysteries of the stone died with him.”

“How did he die?”

“I don’t know that either, I’m afraid. They say he never returned to Ea’nu after he left the stone in my keeping.” Odhrán sighed. “I believe he knew his time was short when he came to me. He was nearly 350 years old. Perhaps he just swam until he could swim no more. He’d have wanted to die in the water, where he belonged.”

When Taren remained silent, Odhrán frowned and said, “You haven’t remembered your past, have you?”

“No.” He’d tried more times than he could count to use the techniques Vurin had taught him, but he still had seen only fragments of Treande’s past. “I’m sorry I don’t remember you. I truly wish I did.”

“I know little about reincarnation,” Odhrán said, his expression pensive, almost sad. “But I sense much of his soul in you. Perhaps you’re not meant to remember.”

“I need the stone,” Taren blurted, knowing he shouldn’t be so impatient but unable to contain himself.

“There is no rush.” Odhrán refilled his wine, then Taren’s. “The stone has been in my keeping for hundreds of years. Another day or two will matter little.”

Taren held his tongue, knowing it would be rude to challenge his host and afraid that if he did, Odhrán might not give him what he’d come for. And Odhrán was right, wasn’t he? The stone would be there tomorrow. Still, the restlessness he’d felt before stirred in his heart.

“Drink, Taren,” Odhrán said with a knowing smile. “We will talk about the stone later.”

Fifteen

T
AREN
PACED
his small room. The bars were gone, but they might as well have locked him in here, for all the progress he’d made in his effort to retrieve the stone for Vurin and his people. He’d tried to speak to Odhrán that morning, but James had told him Odhrán had left the caves and would not return until evening.

Damn him!
Odhrán had known how anxious he was to return to Ian and the others, and yet he’d gone for a stroll? The lights in the cave had dimmed hours before, and still Odhrán hadn’t returned. In anger, Taren had nearly tossed the tray of food James had brought him for dinner. He still wasn’t sure what had stopped him. In the end, he’d thanked James for the food and eaten it without caring what it tasted like.

He couldn’t deny that this was exactly as he imagined Ian would act in this situation. But knowing that did little to change his dark mood. Even if somehow Ian’s fear for his safety was the cause of his frustration, Taren knew the only thing that would give him relief would be to find the stone and return to Ian’s side.

After another hour passed, Taren decided to find Odhrán himself. He’d expected it would be difficult and that Odhrán would try to avoid him. So when he found Odhrán in his rooms—the first place Taren looked—Taren was surprised.

“Taren,” Odhrán said as he waved him inside. “So good to see you.”

Taren took a deep breath and tried to school his expression. “I’ve been waiting to speak to you.”

“So James tells me.”

Odhrán smiled and motioned for Taren to sit. Taren ignored this. “You knew I was waiting for you? How long were you going to keep me waiting?” he snapped.

Odhrán eyed him warily and poured himself a cup of tea. “It seems you’re quite anxious to recover this stone.”

“And you seem not to care how important it is that I do so.” Immediately after speaking these words, Taren put his hand to his lips. Why had he said that? Odhrán had what he needed. Angering him was foolish. “I’m sorry,” he said when Odhrán did not respond. “I have no right to speak to you as I did.”

“You have every right,” Odhrán said. “You have been through much to find the stone.”

“Then why do you keep me from it?” Taren ran a hand through his hair and shook his head, uncomprehending.

“Why do you think I’m keeping you from it?” The edges of Odhrán’s mouth moved upward and he cocked his head to one side, as if appraising Taren. Or reappraising him.

The question took Taren aback. Why would someone like Odhrán, someone infinitely old and obviously wise, care what he thought about anything?

“It’s not a trick question, Taren,” Odhrán said as he leaned back on the cushions. “I truly wish to know your thoughts.”

Taren swallowed hard. “I…,” he began. “I think you don’t really care what happens to the stone.”

“And?” Odhrán prompted.

“And I think you don’t want me to leave.” Taren said these words so quickly, he barely realized what he’d said until he’d finished speaking. He immediately regretted having answered the question.

Odhrán chuckled and appeared entirely nonplussed. “Indeed. And why do you believe this is true?”

Taren hesitated.

“You risk nothing by speaking your mind.” Odhrán sipped thoughtfully on his tea.

Taren drew a long, slow breath. He sensed nothing but truthfulness in Odhrán, although he silently wished Vurin were here to tell him if Odhrán spoke the truth. “I… I think you’re lonely.”

Rather than angry, Odhrán appeared amused to hear this. “And why would you think that?” he asked. “I have James and the others to keep me company. I’m hardly alone.”

“It’s not the same.” Taren remembered the sensation when he’d felt the magic in the tunnels.
Odhrán’s
magic.