Restoration (14 page)

“... Left him here. Don't expect the ropes to hold him, but the blow seemed to take him down well enough.” The speaker's brave words did not hide anxious undertones. “Didn't know if it was possible to kill him ... or wise. Makes no sense after all he did before.”

“Have the women see to your arm. I'll hear what he has to say.” Both speakers were nervous.

“Be wary, Captain.”

Only when I tried to crawl out of the brutal sun and found it impossible did I comprehend that the talk of ropes and blows pertained to me ... and that the flashing steel of Sovari's sword was poised at my neck. I was lying on my side, hands tied behind me and lashed to my ankles with ropes much too short. With my back strained into such an arch, my right side was beginning to throb in time with my head. But none of these discomforts was as painful as the understanding that banished my confused wakening.

“I'm all right now,” I said, gasping a bit to get the words out. “I won't hurt you.”

“Tell Malver that.”

“What happened? I truly don't know.” Well, I knew in general what had happened, of course. Only details were lacking.

“Malver says you came up here raving, swearing to ‘kill the cursed humans.' You had a knife in your hand and didn't seem like you cared who it was got stuck with it. He hid behind one of the pillars. When you came close, he bashed you on the head with a brick. When he tried to bind you, you almost cut his arm off, so he had to whack you again.”

“Gods ...” No matter how troubled my dreams, sleep had always been my refuge from this madness. “I'm sorry. Tell Malver ...” Tell him what? Not to be afraid? “... I'm truly sorry.” Pitifully inadequate words. “Please step back now, Captain. I've got to get loose, but I promise I'll not harm you.”

After only a moment's hesitation, Sovari stepped far enough away to remove any danger that he would slice my neck while I got myself untangled. He didn't lower his sword, however. I understood his reluctance.

I grunted with the jerking release of the strain when the ropes binding my wrists and ankles snapped. “The others ... I didn't hurt anyone else, did I?” I sat up slowly, pressing a hand to my aching side, doing my best to appear nonthreatening.

Sovari shook his head, staring at the charred ends of the ropes I had burned through with a word. His answer provided me more relief than the broken bonds.

I rubbed my wrists and my aching head, keeping my breathing shallow while the pain in my side subsided. “This is something I can't seem to control,” I said more calmly than I felt. “A mind-sickness that has nothing to do with Malver or you or anyone here. I should have warned you.”

I should have stayed away from people ...
Humans,
I had said. Was that it? Never in my life had I thought of Ezzarians as other than human. Yet it was true that my deadly, inexplicable rage had never been directed at an Ezzarian, never at anyone demon-joined. Gordain, the first three beggars in Vayapol, Blaise's friend Dian, the namhir ... all were humans.

“My only purpose has been to see the Prince out of danger,” I said to the wary Sovari. “And you still need me for that. But I'll leave as soon as he can ride. Until then, if you or Malver see this happening again, you have my full permission to do whatever is needed.”

“We'll see to it.”

I glanced up to see him wondering. No more thoughts of me being Athos' messenger, I guessed, unless the gods were something altogether different than he had ever learned. The point of his sword had sagged to the broken paving. “Don't try to be easy with me if it happens again, Sovari. I'm good at what I do. You've seen it.”

“Aye. I've seen what you do.” He reached out a hand to help me off the ground.

I limped slowly down the gentle slope. When we reached the spring and its companion, a solitary pomegranate tree, I stopped to drink and cool off in the shade, allowing Sovari to go ahead of me and speak to Malver and the others.

After savoring a few mouthfuls of the warm, murky water, forcing myself not to gulp down the entire contents of the slow-to-replenish pool, I lay back under the glossy green leaves of the ancient tree and tried not to think. No use. I needed to walk away; I couldn't even protect Aleksander from myself. I closed my eyes and threw my sweaty arms across my face. If only I could recapture the peace of the desert evening.

As if in answer to my desire, Gaspar's slow footsteps approached, stopping just beside me. The boy was not with him. “You're not afraid?” I said when I felt him sit down beside me. The leaves rustled tiredly in the hot wind.

“Not so much as you.” The old man's voice was different than I'd ever heard it. Not teasing, not querulous, not reverent, but sharp. Resonating with authority. “My hand does not hold the life and death of the world.”

I sat up and stared at him. In an instant the day was swallowed by a star-shattered midnight, so cold that I yearned for the sun's harsh blaze. “What are you, Gaspar?” I said.

“I could ask you much the same.” His blind, golden eyes were fixed on me. Though his voice did not quaver, whatever he envisioned beyond the realm of human sight was indeed frightening him. “But then, you know already what you are. I have named you.”

“The one of darkness.”

He did not agree or disagree, only pressed on as if his words were in a hurry to be spoken. “To strike terror into the hearts of those you love is a difficult thing. One of many difficult things. To embrace the darkness of your dreaming is the most difficult of all. To give name to the nameless and stand across the fathomless gulf from the light.”

“It is not me,” I said as my heart shrank, not asking how he knew, not questioning his surety, not bothering to think how foolish it was to beg the universe to change what I had known all these months. “Please, it is not me.”

“This is your true path, the one you have chosen. For good or ill, for death or life.”

“No. Say something else.” As if his saying would change it.

“I cannot unsay these things or pronounce a lie that might sound more pleasing. To protect a soul from the moment's evil oft condemns it to an eternity of evil.”

But if I could not protect those I loved or those I had sworn to defend, then what was the point of anything? If I was truly destined to destroy the world, then perhaps it would be best to end my own existence first. And yet of all things, I abhorred self-murder—the ultimate denial of life's worth. “Help me understand,” I said. “I don't know what to do.”

“You walk the path you've chosen. For the light to triumph, there must be darkness.”

And so, in the end, this moment's mystery gave me nothing new. Whatever the source of his words—gods or prophecy or an old man's ravings that happened to touch upon a festering sore—matters still came down to yielding control of my future, to setting my foot upon the path and following wherever it led. But I knew where it led. Through a pillared gateway into a fortress that bled, to where a man with wings ... a man with my face ... raged and swore to destroy the world.

“We can help you find balance, warrior. Before you begin the last battle, you must end this war with yourself.”

But I did not want to hear any more. I buried my head in my arms and fortified the barriers I had built to hold my demon at bay, smothering him with spells and enchantments, locking him in a fortress of my power. Surely if I could remain myself, hold back the demon and remain on this side of the portal, refuse his craving to return to Kir‘Navarrin, none of this would happen.
It is not me. I will not. It is not me.

When next I looked up it was early evening and I was alone. Scented smoke hung faintly on the air. I must have been asleep or stricken by the sun, I thought. Gaspar was just a blind old man. No bone-reader or stargazer was going to give me answers.

“He's asking for you, Ezzarian!” The call came from Sovari down beside the nagera grove. I waved a hand in acknowledgment and hurried down the path.

Aleksander was propped up on one of the Derzhi saddles, grimacing as Sarya fed him some thick brownish liquid with a wooden spoon. “Demonfire, woman, have you nothing that doesn't taste like dung? If I'm going to live in this cursed world, then decent food might be pleasant.”

“Cassiva will nourish you well, warrior. Better than meat for the wounded. Heals the bones.” The old woman jammed another spoonful in his mouth before he could complain again. Despite his belligerent manner, he could not seem to muster the strength to push her hand away. He glared at me ferociously over the old woman's head.

I sat beside one of the walls that formed the sheltered corner and waited. Sovari had vanished after summoning me, and Malver was nowhere to be seen. Likely the quiet soldier was planning to stay out of my way until he saw I wasn't going to kill him at the next opportunity.

When the cup was empty, Sarya set it aside and pointed to a clay bowl that sat next to the Prince. “Shall I help you with this now you're awake, warrior, or do you prefer your friend to do it, or will you lie in your own puddle?”

“I've been pissing on my own for a fair number of years. I need no wretched hag and no cowardly Ezzarian to manage it.”

“I think we have his blood running again,” said Sarya, flashing her three brown teeth at me. “They never name me wretched hag until the fever's fair gone. Manot will come see to the poultice after a bit.”

Aleksander mumbled at her retreating back. “What kind of healer leaves a man smelling like a beggar's hovel? Next thing they'll be bandaging me with goat liver or rotted cabbage.” He began fumbling with the bowl and the tail of his filthy, bloodstained shirt, but in trying to maneuver, he jarred his leg, bound tight into its cage of wood from thigh to foot. His head dropped back onto the saddle, and he closed his eyes. “Bloody Athos,” he whispered, losing the bit of healthy color he had regained.

“You wanted to see me?” I said, moving around to where I could support his splinted leg and roll him smoothly to his side so he could take fair aim at Sarya's bowl.

Even in this less than dignified position, with his jaw clenched at the effort of movement, he managed to sound like a Derzhi prince. “I wished to tell you that you're free to go. Take wing, fly away, whatever it is you do.”

“A bold dismissal from one who can clearly not take a piss on his own at the moment.”

“Your duty is done. You've always told me that your interest is not to protect my empire. Good enough. It might take me a little while to regain the confidence of my nobles after running away from a fight like a peasant farmer.” He grimaced and swore as I rolled him back and adjusted the saddle to support him more comfortably.

“You were going to die. That wasn't going to inspire much confidence, either.”

The pain in his eyes told of more than a wounded body. “You've put this damnable burden on me—to see the world as you see it. I tried, and where has it left me? When I take back what's mine, do you think I'll be able to afford the slightest suggestion of weakness? Do you know what I'll have to yield to pull in allies?”

I had no answer, of course, and he well knew it. What use to argue alternatives, when none had existed for either of us? So I let him yell at me for as long as he had strength to do so, regaling me with how little I knew of Derzhi warfare and how stupid I had been to think that just because the Hamraschi had encircled his men and killed half of them, he had been destined to lose the battle. Then he told me in gruesome detail how he would punish the traitors who had failed their Emperor.

Only when he finally lay back and closed his eyes did I speak again. “So what will you do now, my lord?”

“Go begging, I suppose. Grovel before the Gorusch and swear I did not kill my father. Grovel before the Fontezhi and tell them they can have half of my horses, my lands, and my firstborn son if they will but do their sworn duty. Tell the Nyabozzi I was mistaken—they can take whomever they please as slaves again and cut out the wretches' eyes and sell their children if it makes the first lord happy. Then perhaps I can get them to skewer Edik before he gets thinking my empire is his for the taking. But here I am laid up like a kayeet in a leg trap, while the snake is likely sleeping in my bed. By Druya's horns, has ever a man been in such a vile predicament?”

“You should probably sleep a bit more before you go groveling.” I pulled his stained white cloak over his legs.

“Weeks ... it will be cursed weeks before I can ride.”

“If you want the limb straight, you must stay off it until it grows together.”

“There's a man in Zhagad who makes riding boots for broken limbs ... steel bars in them, foot to thigh. I'm going to send Malver to have one made for me. He can take my old boot to use for the measure.”

“But, my lord, you can't allow—”

“Malver knows how to be cautious. And he and Sovari will have to carry my messages until I can get moving again. I've got to find out who's with me.”

Night had fallen as we talked. The moon was new and rising late, and soon Aleksander's face was but a pale smudge in the darkness. Our conversation dwindled away, my mind returning to the strange midnight I had experienced that afternoon, when Gaspar had spoken of light and dark and fate and choices. As I watched the glimmering sky above the spiked silhouettes of the nagera grove, I longed to be among the stars, cold and detached from all this pain. I needed to be about my leaving. But worries kept nagging and I could not begin. If Aleksander dispatched Sovari and Malver on errands, he would have no one left to protect him...

“Malver told me what happened with you this afternoon.” Aleksander's voice came softly from the shadows. I had thought he'd fallen asleep. “Was it what you told me of, this mind-sickness that has you so worried? The demon?”