Into the Wind (19 page)

“Aye.”

The lump in Taren’s throat grew as he met Treande’s gaze.
How…,
he began, unsure of how to ask the question that burned inside, or if he should even ask it.

“You mustn’t be afraid to ask me,”
Treande said.
“It’s not a sin to want to understand the goddess’s plan for us. Neither is it a sin to ask yourself a difficult question.”

Taren marveled at how strange this was—was he truly speaking to himself? Or was Treande somehow here?

“Both,”
Treande answered without hesitation.
“What you see is indeed a part of me. A piece of my soul I left behind….”

To guide me,
Taren finished.

“Aye.”
Treande’s smile faded. The bright warmth in his eyes grew dim, the color fading with the weariness in his soul.
“Ask it, Taren. You must understand this in order to understand the truth of your life.”

Taren struggled to master his emotions, struggled to tamp down the grief that welled up in his heart and threatened to overwhelm him.

“You cannot fight it any longer. You must embrace it, or you’ll be forever without a way to move forward.”

Taren knew Treande was not speaking of the cavern or of the enchantments that blocked his way to the stone. Had he not been underwater, he knew his face would be wet with tears. The grief he’d fought to hide rose up from within as he said,
How did you survive so long without him?

Treande’s sigh was Taren’s own.
“I had no choice.”
Treande extended his hand, and Taren saw Owyn’s image appear there.
“He would have wanted me to live, even if it was without him. He knew the goddess had a plan for us. He knew someday we’d be reunited.”
The ghostly outline of Owyn faded and vanished as Treande turned his attention once more to Taren.

You knew you’d be reincarnated?
Taren had clung to this idea—it seemed to explain why Treande could live so long and not lose himself in grief.

“No.”
Treande’s smile was wistful.
“Owyn once promised he’d find me again in another life, but I never truly believed it.”
He laughed, then said,
“In the end, he was partially correct.”

Partially?

“Aye. You know now that he was reincarnated, as was I. But he was wrong when he said he’d find me again.”
Treande shook his head, then touched his chest over his heart.
“The truth is that he never left me. Throughout my life, he was with me. All that I did, all I accomplished, he helped me to do. He was my muse and my soul. The gift of his love was the goddess’s gift to me, although it took me far too long to understand.”

Taren swallowed hard but said nothing, so overcome was he to hear Treande say this.

“I asked the goddess to let me die,”
Treande continued.
“And yet I lived. I thought she was deaf to my pleas.”
He shook his head, his lips pursed, his eyes full of pain.
“Only when I understood that I would not die until I allowed myself to live without him did she finally grant my wish.”

Three hundred years? What kind of god would torture you that way?
Taren demanded.

“She didn’t torture me. The pain was of
my
making, Taren. When I finally understood this, I knew great joy again. Friendship. Peace.”

I can’t bear to lose him again.

“You can. And if need be, you will.”

No.

“Aye,”
Treande said,
“you
can
. But perhaps this time will be different.”

How do you know it
will
be different?

“I don’t. But you cannot live your life in fear. I couldn’t bear to see you waste the time you’ve been given with him worrying that you will lose him again. What joy can come of that? Besides, you are not me, Taren. You are unique. My spirit lives inside you, but you have your own destiny.”

Taren said nothing. The thought of living without Ian, without Ian to help guide his way, to help him, was too painful to imagine.

“You still haven’t answered my question, Taren. What do you want?”

I don’t know.

“Still not good enough.”

I want to find my way. I want to do what the goddess asks of me.

“You speak the truth, Taren,”
Treande said.
“But there is more to the truth, isn’t there? You want to do it with Ian at your side.”

There’s nothing wrong with wanting him there,
Taren snapped.

“No.”
Treande’s voice was patient. Understanding.
“But what will you do if he’s no longer at your side?”

I can’t see the way forward without him. It would be like sailing into the wind. I’d go nowhere. I’d be lost.
Of all people, Treande should understand this.

“You would survive. You’re stronger than you know.”

Taren wanted to protest, to tell Treande that they weren’t the same person, tell him he wasn’t that strong, but Treande vanished before he could form the words. Behind where he once floated was a passageway.

“The stone is only the first step, Taren,”
he heard Treande say as he flicked his tail and headed down the narrow passage.
“You must still find your way. You must learn to sail into the wind.”

Seventeen

T
AREN
SWAM
to the end of the passage and into another cavern. Smaller than the one where he’d encountered Treande, its center boasted a roughly carved pillar on top of which an object glowed brightly: the rune stone. He didn’t need to see it to know it for what it was; he felt it in his bones. Like an old friend, it called to him. But for the stone, there would have been no light—the crystals were absent here.

He swam to where the rune stone awaited him. Was it his imagination, or did the stone glow brighter the closer he came to it? It urged him onward. His mouth felt dry, in spite of the water he breathed, and he struggled to keep his hands from shaking as he reached out for it. He paused, dropping his arms to his sides once more, and moved his tail and hovered over it so that he might better see. He clutched the dagger tighter in his fist, holding on to it like a talisman.

Such a tiny thing
. Not much bigger than his thumbnail, the stone shimmered with the same bluish light Taren remembered from his vision of Owyn at the temple. The memory of Owyn’s death caused him to shiver. He took comfort in the knowledge that Ian—his beloved Ian—was safe. He didn’t understand how he knew it, but he knew that with this stone, he could keep Ian safe. More than that, he could keep his people safe.

My people
. Taren hadn’t realized he’d come to think of them that way. When had it happened? Perhaps the part of Treande that had loved his people enough to find the strength to endure after Owyn’s death was now Taren’s own strength. Had Treande imparted him with that gift? Taren wondered how much of his encounter with Treande had been his own making and not that part of Treande’s soul left behind to guard the stone.

When he’d asked Vurin if someday all of his memories would return, Vurin had just shrugged. A part of Taren feared what more he might remember of Treande’s life after Owyn. The pain he’d experienced recalling Owyn’s death still lingered, and he’d felt Treande’s deep pain in the short time he had spent with him. Still, he’d sensed something other than grief in Treande’s soul. He’d sensed Treande’s resolve.

How do you sail into the wind?
The rune stone held part of the answer for him. He was sure of it.
Goddess,
he prayed
. Give me strength. Grant me understanding.

He reached for the stone with determination this time and grasped its warmth in his hand. The second he clasped his fingers around the stone, the vision swallowed him up.

T
HE
OFFERING
glowed hot, the tree branches he and Owyn had set there to purify the altar having been consumed in the fire. All that remained now were the embers. Outside, night had fallen long ago and the crescent moon had set over the ocean. He and Owyn had waited until all the villagers had left. He guessed most were long asleep. They would do this with only each other to witness the rite.

Even now, Treande wondered if Owyn was making the right decision. He didn’t doubt Owyn’s reassurances that the goddess commanded this, but he feared what might happen. They had only been handfasted a month before, and Treande feared for Owyn’s survival. The rune stone unyieldingly punished anyone who dared wield it without permission. The ancient texts were devoid of any mention of the stone, but the stories passed down through generations of priests contained accounts of horrible deaths attributed to the stone.

Treande also feared for Owyn and what the bonding might do to him. Would it alter him somehow? Would he still recognize the man he loved afterward?

Owyn’s smile did not reassure him. “I will be the same,” he told Treande as they prepared the altar for the rite by dousing the embers with water they’d carried themselves from the harbor. “The goddess blessed our union. She will not take me from you so quickly.”

As he’d prayed when they’d been handfasted, Treande now prayed that the goddess would grant them a long and happy life together. He wreathed Owyn’s neck with his arms and kissed him, hoping to express everything he couldn’t bring himself to say in that single kiss.

“Why must you do this?” Treande asked as their lips parted. “The stone needs no host. You can guard it, as your ancestors have done before.”

“My vision was powerful. I cannot explain how I know this, but the goddess wishes me to keep it safe in this way.”

“Safe from whom? We have no enemies. Our lives are peaceful. Once you bond with it, there is no turning back. Only your death can free it once again.” Taren told himself his eyes burned because of the smoke from the offering, but he knew better.

“The goddess’s prophecy must come to pass. This stone will someday be our people’s salvation.” Owyn brushed his fingers over Treande’s cheek. “I promise you, no harm will come of the rite.”

Treande wasn’t as sure. Even if Owyn was right to believe the goddess herself commanded the bonding, someday Owyn would have to give his life to pass the stone to the next generation or the stone would be lost.

No doubt Owyn read the concern in Treande’s eyes, because he said, “Beloved. You know as well as I that we cannot escape the goddess’s plan. Please. Trust me. What I do tonight will not take me from you.” Owyn smiled wistfully and offered Treande his hand.

“What must I do?” Treande asked. He was a priest. He’d sworn his life to the goddess. He would not interfere, much as he knew the price Owyn might pay.

“Bear witness. Nothing more.”

Treande nodded.

Owyn approached the altar and slipped the chain that held the rune stone over his head. The bare skin of his chest glistened with sweat as he gently laid the stone on the altar. From the embers, he retrieved the silver dagger with his left hand. Owen gasped. Treande guessed the metal was still very hot. Owyn held the dagger over his head and chanted the words inscribed on its hilt:
Vea’nat, Ea’nat, Tur
. Outside the temple, the wind howled its greeting as if to announce the coming of a tempest.

Treande forced himself to breathe through the thick zest of power that permeated the high-ceilinged sanctuary. He felt it dance on his skin, at once horrifying and exhilarating.

Owyn lowered the dagger and rubbed the skin over his heart. He turned the weapon so that it pointed toward his body, then drew it against his bare skin. He gasped and gritted his teeth as the knife easily cut through the soft skin and blood blossomed crimson there. Owyn replaced the dagger on the altar and picked up the stone, which glowed brightly as it hung on its chain.

“Vea’nat, Ea’nat, Tur,” Owyn repeated. A shriek of wind rent the air and seemed to amplify his voice. Blood dripped from his chest as he gently pressed the stone against the wound. His blond hair whipped about his face as the wind grew stronger inside the temple.

Goddess, protect him!
Treande prayed.

The light from the stone grew brighter still, like the sun as it caught the surface of the water. Treande was forced to look away. The heat intensified and flames rose from the center of the maelstrom until Treande feared that Owyn’s life was at risk. He covered his eyes and moved toward where he had last seen Owyn.

“Owyn!” Something solid pushed Treande backward with such force that he fell on the stone floor. “Owyn!” He struggled back to his feet and ran at the fireball, desperate to do something to stop it.