The Last Canticle: Summoner's Dirge (3 page)

The stranger’s jaw was strong and hard, a regal line that was softened by a pair of full lips. The bulky body was sculpted from battle, fitted with a pair of broad shoulders and tapered hips, sienna flesh striped with pearlescent scars. His hair was the color of raven feathers, a shade of black that in the right light gleamed hues of violet, green, and navy. Damir ached to see the man’s eyes. Would they be another brilliant shade, just like his hair?

“I’ll have to heal you if I want to see them,” he murmured. Lightly he set his left hand on the man’s chest and spread his fingers. The air grew warm around him as he focused his aura on mending the man’s wounds. Aether—the power of Zoria—rushed through Damir and migrated down his arm. It tingled in his veins as if millions of bubbles popped inside him. He could feel pieces of his soul pouring into the man, could feel the energy as it flowed from him. An ethereal light grew from his palm, and the cerulean lines that wrapped around his palm and arm, like prominent veins, began to sway.

Damir let out a shuddered breath as his energy pulled from him and pooled into the magic. Wounds stitched back up, skin sealed, and scratches and scrapes erased as if they’d never existed. Damir pressed a little deeper, helped ease the swelling until it dissipated and the torn ligament in the man’s knee repaired itself. He sealed the bite, staving off the infection until it vanished, and mended broken marrow.

The light grew brighter. A celestial ball expanded around his hand. The muscles in Damir’s body quaked as he concentrated on healing the deeper injuries, the ones that throbbed beyond his sight. When the final wounds—both external and internal—were remedied, he released his hold on the aether and collapsed onto the hard body beneath him.

“Fuck,” Damir panted and tried to catch his breath. It was the most he’d used of his power in a long time.

The man beneath him didn’t wake, but Damir could feel the rise and fall of his chest. The man’s skin wasn’t as clammy now, the fever having been brought down by his curative abilities. Damir licked his lips and pushed himself up, his legs slightly shaky as he stood.

“Damir? Are you done?”

Damir turned his head and saw that Elina stood in the doorway.

“Yes,” Damir said and swallowed thickly. The man would still need rest, but he would be okay. Damir pulled the spare blanket at the foot of the bed up so he could cover the stranger.

Elina crossed the room to her brother’s side, looked at his arms, took one look at the man on the bed, and cursed under her breath. “You didn’t!”

Damir looked at her and grimaced. His head spun as he walked over to a chair and tentatively sat down. “He would have died.”

“You shouldn’t use your powers! You don’t know who this man is or where he comes from.” Elina worried her bottom lip, fear clouding her large hazel eyes.

Damir offered her a small smile. “It’ll be okay. Nothing will come from this. Just tend to your chores.”

He hated to see such a look on his sister’s face. At twelve, she had seen more in her time than should have been allowed. Damir tried to protect her from what he could, but some things couldn’t be helped. Elina moved away from the bed and hesitated in front of him.

“Are you sure? You don’t look well.”

“I’m fine. I just need to sit for a bit. Go. There are things to be done. When I’ve caught my breath, I’ll join you.” Damir waved his hand.

When she didn’t budge, he added, “Go, Elina.”

Elina let out a heavy sigh and threw a glance over her shoulder at the man on the bed as she left the house. Damir closed his eyes and focused on regaining his strength. As if someone had cut open a vein, it felt like all his strength had been drained right out of him. He’d never used that much energy before to heal someone. Damir opened his eyes and looked down at the still-quivering lines on his arms. They slowly came to a standstill. He knew they wrapped around his left arm and spiked out in various pathways until they drew a chaotic path up his shoulder and vanished inside his shirt, marking the way to the left side of his chest where his heart was. More lines extended from around his heart in a unique starburst. One of the lines coiled around his sun-kissed throat.

He rubbed his fingers down the inside of his arm and flicked his gaze to the man on the bed. What would he say when he woke? What would he do when he saw Damir?

Damir only left the farm to make exchanges in town twice a month. They remained in isolation for a reason, and this was the first man to breach that solitude in five years.

Chapter Three

The Stranger from Terrasolis

The wolves were after him—chasing him, hunting him, killing him. They were at his back, their jaws snapping at his heels. Sweat trickled down his face; his eyes stung, and his vision blurred. He blindly ran. His lungs ached. They felt soggy, every pant strained and constricted. He choked on vomit, tasted fear. It replaced his adrenaline, became his adrenaline. His veins pulsed with the ominous fact that there was no escape. He was a capsized ship. He would go down.

A low growl rumbled from the alpha wolf’s throat. The sound was deafening. It silenced the pounding of blood in his ears. The alpha led the pack in their slaughter. Balin hazarded a glance back. The alpha took a running leap, and a scream ripped from Balin’s mouth.

“Easy,” a man said as Balin shot forward. The slight pressure against Balin’s shoulder guided him down. Balin struggled to catch his breath. His lungs ached as if he were still running.

But he wasn’t. He had escaped the woods. He had freed himself from the endless race.

“There you go; just breathe,” the man continued to urge as he wrung out a cloth and patted it against Balin’s sweat-covered brow. “It was only a nightmare, nothing more.”

Balin struggled to focus his eyes on the man in front of him. Where was he? The last thing he remembered was the forest and then a brilliant light.

“Where…” Balin tried to speak but broke into a hoarse cough instead. His throat was dry and raw as if someone had poured all the sand in the Sun Fields down his throat.

The man dropped his cloth into the ceramic bowl beside the bed and grabbed a glass of water. The man helped him sit up so he could drink. As Balin took paced sips of water, the man spoke.

“You’re at my farm. I found you just outside the fields. I don’t know where you came from, but you were really bad off when I found you.”

Balin pulled away, some of the water dribbling down his chin. He finally took in the rustic home around him, so unlike the hell pits he was used to seeing every day. The scent of hay and livestock came on a breeze through the open window.

“Where is this place?” Balin asked. His voice was still hoarse. “Who are you?”

The man offered a small smile, and Balin felt his heart skip a beat. Against the warm light that spilled into the room, the man’s hair seemed to sparkle as if it had been spun from golden threads. It fell in feathery, soft waves around his face, stopping just past his chin. He kept it tucked behind his ears, wisps of bangs falling into the bluest eyes Balin had ever seen. They were a unique shade, like the tropical waters of Balin’s homeland, a brilliant aqua that practically glowed against the sun-kissed flesh.

“My name is Damir, Damir Rosen. You’re in Pheor.”

Damir set the glass of water aside. His voice was pleasant to Balin, holding the deep resonance of the Pheorian accent; Balin had always favored the Pheorian dialect because of its elegant emphasis on vowels and its smooth tone, which was unlike the thick brogue of Terrasolis. The planet of Zoria was unhindered by mixed languages but shared All-Speak. Only the elves spoke in foreign tongues.

“Where in Pheor?” Balin pressed. His body felt stiff, but beyond a bit of bed soreness, nothing hurt. If his memories were correct, he should have been writhing in pain. Yet he wasn’t.

Strange.

“We’re about half a day’s travel from Canaan.”

Balin watched as Damir closely studied him. He was young in the face, his chin just beginning to grow defined, and his lips were still soft and full. They formed a cupid’s bow, plump with a slightly thicker bottom. Balin would have bet his best horse that Damir wasn’t older than twenty-two, tops.

A strange blue line wove its way down Damir’s throat, like a prominent vein, and the more Balin looked at the man, he could see a vibrant vein peek out from Damir’s rolled-up sleeve on his left arm and wrap itself all the way around his hand. Balin grabbed Damir’s wrist before he could pull away, and squeezed. “Why am I not injured? I was bitten by a Pheorian wolf. What are you? A medicus?”

“I healed you, so you should be thanking me,” Damir whispered. He dropped his gaze to the offending hand but didn’t pull away.

Balin held on for a moment longer and then released his grip. “You’re right; my apologies. Thank you.”

Damir combed his fingers through his hair, brushing aside some bangs that had fallen into his eyes, and spoke. “You should rest. Even though I took care of your wounds, your body still needs time to recuperate. You were dehydrated and overtaxed, so it’s best to remain abed a bit.”

“How long have I been asleep?” Balin asked as he reached for the glass of water.

“About a day,” Damir replied as he rose from the bed. He hesitated and tucked his bottom lip between his teeth for a moment. “We can discuss what happened after you’ve regained your strength. For now, just sleep. When you wake, I’ll have dinner ready.”

Balin opened his mouth to argue, but the truth was, he was still exhausted. As much as he didn’t want to return to his nightmares, his body craved sleep. He took a long drink of water and set the glass aside. For now he’d rest. Then, when he regained his strength, he’d see about reaching Canaan.

Cythra’s tits. I was supposed to be at the castle four days ago
. Balin lay back against the pillow, surprised at how comfortable the humble bed was. Sleep quickly reclaimed him.

DAMIR TURNED AWAY as the stranger settled beneath the old quilt. He walked over to the window and drew the curtains shut, dimming that small corner of the house. When Damir turned around, the man’s breathing had evened out. As he studied the slumbering man, a small smile curled Damir’s mouth.

Amber. His eyes had been the color of amber.

Damir shook his head, and his thoughts scattered. Fantasizing about a pair of eyes was not a productive way of spending his time, even if they were the most beautiful eyes he’d ever seen.

“What are you daydreaming about?” Elina asked as she walked into the house, brushing some dirt off her dress. Her long silvery-blonde braid swung behind her with each step. She screwed up her nose and glanced at the bed where the stranger slept. “Did he wake? Any clue who he is?”

Damir shooed Elina out of the house before she woke him up. “Yes, he woke, and no. He needs to rest,” he told her as he stood in the doorway. “You can interrogate him when he wakes.”

“I’m surprised you aren’t freaking out, Dammy. Usually you’re the one being ultraparanoid.” Elina propped her hands on her bony hips and cocked a brow in her brother’s direction. “So what gives? You got the hots for him or something?”

Damir rolled his eyes and gave an exasperated sigh, ignoring the warmth that crept across his cheeks. “No, Elina. But he was injured, and we couldn’t leave him to die.”

“So he’s another stray. Didn’t I tell you not to bring any more home?”

“Who’s the adult here?” Damir asked with mock severity.

Elina gave him a toothy grin and shrugged her dainty shoulders. “Sometimes I wonder.”

“Go find something to do before I find a chore for you. The roof could use a little work. And who knows, there might even be an accident.” Damir narrowed his eyes at her. She let out a chuckle and walked away, waving him off.

When Elina was out of sight, Damir’s doubts came back. Who was this man? With eyes of amber and hair the color of raven feathers, he was definitely not a man from Pheor. Damir could only pray he hadn’t been wrong in bringing the man home.

* * * *

Balin woke to the smell of dinner cooking. It was a fragrant scent filled with roasted vegetables and spiced meats. He hadn’t even realized how famished he was until his stomach gave an embarrassingly loud growl. He carefully pushed himself up, mindful of his stiff muscles. He rolled his left shoulder, testing it. He didn’t understand how this man had healed his wounds, but he was grateful. Beyond the soreness, exhaustion, and hunger that bombarded him, he felt better than he should have.

“Good, you’re awake. I’ll get Damir,” a melodic voice chirped. Balin glanced over at the girl standing near the bed. She was nothing more than a child, but her hazel gaze ran deep, filled with a knowledge some men thrice her age had yet to discover.

“Damir?” Balin asked. His mind flashed back to the aquatic eyes that had glowed so warmly at him.

“My brother. I’m Elina.” She clasped her hands in front of her and slowly swung her hips back and forth. “He went out to check on the animals one last time before dinner.”

She turned to the fireplace where a large pot was set, and stirred the contents. He saw her deeply inhale, and then she spun around and skipped out of the house like a sprite.

Balin licked his cracked lips. “Damir.”

The name rested pleasantly on his tongue. It sent delicate ripples over his body and stirred a warmth he hadn’t felt in years.

Just as Balin managed to get out of bed, the sheet wrapped around his waist, Damir returned with his sister. He looked over at Balin with a wide smile that seemed to brighten his already luminous eyes.

“How do you feel?”

“Considering my previous state, I’d say wonderful,” Balin replied. He tried not to let his thoughts drift over the past few days. Howls still echoed in his mind like stubborn poltergeists. He rubbed a hand through his tangled hair. “I…I want to thank you, for your generosity. Not many men would be so kind.”

Most men would have slit his throat and taken what was left of him, not that there had been much to take. The men he’d spent his lifetime rubbing shoulders with in the lowest of shade halls—the filthy gambling dens, where men could find cheap drinks and drugs—didn’t think twice about another man’s life. Damir was a radiant light in the blight of Balin’s life, a rarity he hadn’t known existed.