Age of Swords Page 14

  Raithe, who had been scraping a rabbit skin, stuffed the pelt into the folds of his leigh mor and jogged after her. She hadn’t gone far, following the wall to the main gate, which wasn’t completely repaired—the work having been delayed by the rain.

  “And where might you be going?” he asked.

  She turned with a quizzical eye. “A Shield isn’t supposed to question their chieftain’s actions.”

  “And a chieftain isn’t supposed to be running off without their Shield, and yet you do so often. Are you trying to avoid me?”

  “No, it’s not like that.” She shook her head. “I like having you around. I was just going for a walk, tired of being trapped under wool. It’s good you’re here, though. We need to talk.”

  “Oh?” He raised an eyebrow.

  “Yeah, but it can wait. Come. Walk with me. I need some time away from all that’s going on. Have you been down to the ocean yet?”

  “Saw it from the hill on the road when we arrived.”

  She laughed, and it almost sounded carefree. Almost.

  “That’s not the same thing. From up there it’s not alive.” She held out her hand, and he took it in his. “Come, let me introduce you.”

  She led him to a narrow trail that wove between wet rocks down to a sandy beach strewn with seaweed. From a distance, the plants looked like clumps of a giant’s hair, torn and scattered. Beyond the sand, the sea was a flat blue-gray, stretching out to eternity. Near the shore, waves rolled in, first a line of dark rippling blue that slowly moved toward them. Then the ripples reared up like a gaping maw, showing white teeth before crashing with astounding fury. Foam spewed and surged across the sand, chasing the feet of gulls.

  “It’s massive,” he said, staring out at the endless expanse.

  She nodded. “Rumors say oceans have no end; they go on forever. This is just a narrow strait.” She pointed to the horizon. “Caric and Neith are out that way, but if you were to sail south around the coast of Belgreig, you’d enter the endless water of the Blue Sea.”

  “What makes the big ripples?” he asked, thinking about the size of a boulder that would create such things.

  “The sea god, Eraphus. The people of Dahl Tirre believe he’s splashing out there somewhere. They don’t have the same relationship with their god as we do with Mari. Rather than expecting blessings, they fear his reprisals. Many a massive storm has ravaged their seaside home. Eraphus’s Wrath is what they call such a storm, and only after it arrives do they determine which transgression brought the destruction.”

  Staring at the water and the hammering waves, Raithe considered that if Eraphus really existed, he’d have to be considerably bigger than the largest giants and more powerful than any Fhrey. Since learning the Fhrey were mortal, he had wondered if there were any real gods.

  “It’s frighteningly beautiful.”

  She nodded. “Indeed. It’s also where we came from. All the Rhunes. Can you imagine what it must have been like? I mean, being Gath of Odeon and telling everyone to get on floating bits of wood and sail out into that expanse of nothingness? I don’t know how he convinced them. He must have believed it was the only way to save our people. He couldn’t know where he’d end up, how long it would take, or even if there was anywhere else. He risked the lives of everyone, on the hope of finding something he didn’t know existed.”

  They said nothing for a time, each lost in their own thoughts, then she said, “Tegan of Clan Warric and Harkon of Melen arrived last night.”

  “I heard.”

  “That’s the last of them. All the Rhulyn chieftains are assembled. I really didn’t expect the Gula chieftains would show up. But I wish they had. The meeting will begin tomorrow.”

  “Heard that, too.”

  “This is the first time in a hundred years…probably more…that all the chieftains will be together.”

  “Not all the chieftains,” Raithe said. “Walon and Eten are dead.”

  “A man named Alward is the new chieftain of Nadak. You probably saw them. The whole clan is just fifty or sixty people now, mostly men. They’re camping near the eastern end of the wall.”

  “And Dureya?”

  Persephone looked down at her feet for a moment. “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. I’ve asked the other chieftains, and they all say the same thing. There haven’t been any other survivors…no refugees from even the most remote village. As far as we can tell, you’re the only one that’s left of the Dureyan clan.”

  “Lucky me,” he said with more bite than he intended. Having his whole clan wiped out by the Fhrey wasn’t Persephone’s fault.

  “In a way, you are fortunate. As far as the other leaders are concerned, you’re the Dureyan chieftain.”

  “Meaning what exactly?”

  “It means you’ll have a vote, an equal say in who becomes keenig. It also means you can’t be my Shield anymore. So I’m officially dismissing you. If you were both, the others might think I was influencing your vote. Besides, the post never really suited you. You don’t like taking direction from anyone.”

  “I can’t be a chieftain if there’s no clan.”

  “We don’t know for certain that all the Dureyans are dead. A month or a year from now survivors could turn up, and they should be represented.”

  She sighed and ran a hand through her hair. It was wet with the fog and the sea’s spray. The mist left jeweled droplets along the strands. Her cheeks were moist and glistened in the intermittent sunlight. She stood facing the water, hands on her head, the constant wind blowing her dress.

  He tried to stop himself from what he was about to say but couldn’t. “Persephone…I have to ask. I mean, a lot has happened since…what I’m trying to say is, have you reconsidered leaving with me?”

  “Going with you to Avrlyn?” The sadness in her eyes deepened. “You can’t still be thinking about that.”

  “Just hear me out. Before, you wanted to stay for the people you considered your family: Sarah and Brin, Moya and Padera, Gifford and Roan. You had a home to fight for, and Konniger’s incompetence was threatening everyone’s future. But your village has been destroyed, just like mine. In Avrlyn, we could build something new. Something good and lasting. You’ve done what was needed for your people. You’ve convinced the chieftains to band together and appoint a keenig. Nyphron has agreed to train the troops. You’ve done your part. Now let others do theirs.”

  She started to reply, but he interrupted her.

  “I’m not saying it has to be just the two of us. I’m not asking you to leave the ones you love behind. Bring whoever you want. We can all go, Malcolm and Suri, too. If we leave now, we’ll have time to build a shelter before the snow flies. As for food, there’s an abundance of game, and the rivers are filled with fish. I have the perfect place picked out. A bluff overlooking the Urum River that has an exposed cliff with flint shards. It’s perfect.”

  She stared at him again for a long while, and her expression became confused, then upset. “You can’t be serious. I can’t leave. I’m responsible for more than just a handful of people. All of Rhen is counting on me.”

  “Not anymore.” Raithe pointed back at the dahl. “Once the keenig is appointed, it’ll be his responsibility to keep everyone safe. Not yours. You did your part. You’re done.”

  “I’m not done…and you can’t be, either. This doesn’t end with the appointing of a keenig. We’re chieftains, leaders of our people.”

  “I—have—no—people! You said so yourself. It’s just me, and I have no interest in being the keenig. Look, you’ve lived your whole life in Dahl Rhen, protected from the Gula–Rhulyn wars. You have no idea what lies ahead. And you know what? Neither do I, but I understand better than you about what’s coming. If we fight, we’ll die. If we leave, then we have a chance to live. And if we live, then we might be able to do some good. Maybe we can build something that will withstand the Fhrey if for no other reason than they don’t know we exist.”

  Persephone threw up
her hands. “You’re right. I know nothing about war. But let me tell you what I believe. I think running from responsibility breeds self-loathing and despair. I think people can, and do, rise to the occasion, and even a single person can make an incredible difference. What they need are leaders who believe in them, a belief that gives birth to hope. With hope, people can do remarkable things, amazing things. Between hope and despair, I’ll take hope every time.”

  “Hope without cause is insanity.”

  “I have cause. I believe in us. I believe we can win if we’re brave, if we’re committed. I believe people can do anything if they try hard enough.”

  “Then you believe in fantasies.”

  “I would call them dreams. Maybe that is all they are, but aren’t those ideals worth believing in?” She took a deep breath. “If you want to leave, then go. But I’m staying here. You say you don’t have any people? Well, open your eyes. We’re all in this together. We’re all the same people. It’s not about Dureya or Nadak or Rhen. We’re fighting for the lives of all of us. Maybe you should think less about yourself and more about others.”

  She grabbed the hem of her skirt and headed back up the beach.

  —

  Raithe marched back toward his spot under the wool with a singular purpose: I’m leaving.

  Coming to Tirre was a huge waste of my time. She’ll never leave. She doesn’t give a damn about me! She would rather die in a futile war than make a new start and be happy.

  He didn’t need Persephone. He could go alone if he had to. Other people had always been a problem. His brothers had beaten him. His father had dragged Raithe across the river and gotten himself killed. His clan’s reputation had labeled him a villain since the day he was born. The only thing others had ever given him was grief.

  I’ll be better off without her. Why did I stay so long?

  The rain was falling again by the time he rounded the corner and reached the tiny niche where he and Malcolm stored their possessions. Malcolm’s spear leaned up against the stone wall next to Bergin’s brewing equipment and his daughter’s bed. Not being Dureyan, Malcolm didn’t feel the need to carry his weapon everywhere he went.

  Overhead, the rain drummed on the cloth as Raithe knelt and grabbed the big bag Padera had given him. Roan had shown the old woman how to incorporate a clever drawstring, which kept the mouth closed. He jerked the bag open and started stuffing things in: a half-dozen flints, three knives, the hand ax he’d made in Dureya, a little hammer, a gift from Roan that replaced the smooth stone he used to use. Needle and thread that he got from Moya went in, along with the blanket Sarah had woven. Last, he dropped in the bowl Gifford had made. Standing, he slung the sheep’s bladder waterskin over his shoulder, another gift from Roan.

  How did I get so much stuff?

  Before coming to Dahl Rhen, he’d had only a handful of things. Now he’d accumulated so much that he needed a bag. What he didn’t need was excess weight. Reaching up, he pulled the copper sword off his back and tossed it to the ground. It might be worth something to the Dherg, but not to him. Not anymore.

  “Going somewhere?” Malcolm asked.

  “Leaving,” Raithe replied without turning. He held the bag with one hand while searching with his other for whatever else he might have missed.

  “Sounds urgent. Something happen?”

  “Yeah, I woke up. I remembered I’m Dureyan, and the world hates me.” Raithe scooped up a stick with a wad of woolen thread wound around it and stuffed it into the bag.

  “Who hates you?”

  Raithe turned and saw that Malcolm wasn’t alone. He stood beneath the edge of the awning, his arm on the shoulder of a barefoot boy who clutched a stone knife in his right hand and a wood carving in his left. While both of them were wet, the kid was soaked. His hair and tattered shirt lay plastered to his pale slick skin, and his ribs were clearly outlined above his rope belt. The boy’s eyes were dark and shadowed as if he hadn’t slept in weeks.

  “Is it a secret?” Malcolm reached for a blanket to dry himself, and when finished he offered it to his young companion. The lad ignored him and just stood there, waiting and letting water drip down his face. Raithe recognized the kid. He was the same boy whose parents had been killed by the runaway wagon.

  Raithe frowned. “Huh? No. I was referring to Persephone.”

  “I’m guessing she’s not going with you, then.”

  “And you’d be right.” Raithe reached into the bag and adjusted the contents so the sharp edges wouldn’t jab as he carried it. “Turns out she’d rather stay here and die than be with me. But I guess that’s to be expected, right? I mean, I’m still Dureyan.” Raithe looked over and pointed at the boy. “Remember that, kid. You might think your life is terrible right now, but it could be worse. You could be Dureyan.”

  The boy stood a little straighter. “I am Dureyan.”

  Raithe stopped packing. “But your parents, they didn’t look…their clothes—”

  “Weren’t my parents.” The boy wiped the rain from his face with the inside of his elbow.

  That was what Raithe had seen the day the wagon got loose, the strange sense of familiarity he’d noticed. Clan Dureya had a way of moving, a way of speaking. “Who were they?”

  He shrugged. “Just some farmers from one of the Rhen villages. The man was called Lon and the woman Rita. They gave me food and let me sleep in their house.”

  “So where are your parents?”

  “Dead.” That one word, and the casual way the boy dropped it, brushed aside all doubt.

  “You are Dureyan.”

  The boy looked back at him with a hard gaze. “So?”

  No truer word was ever spoken. The kid was from his clan. At least two of them had survived. “I’m from Clempton village, on the west side.”

  “East side,” the kid said. “No name, was just three families. The Fhrey killed everyone.”

  “Rumor has it they’re not done yet.” Raithe looked to Malcolm. “I’m heading out. You coming?”

  “Do you really think Persephone refused to go with you because you’re Dureyan?”

  “I don’t know, maybe. Sure, why not? Why should she be any different?”

  “Why are you so angry?”

  “I’m not angry. What makes you say I’m angry?” Raithe jerked the mouth of the bag closed by pulling on the drawstring so hard that it broke. He looked at the torn bit of leather in his hand and frowned. “I just…” He sighed. “I was trying to save her life. There’s no winning against the Fhrey, and she won’t listen to reason. Everyone here is going to die.”

  He looked at the boy. “Sorry, kid, but it’s true. Persephone believes determination is all that’s required. That’s the difference between Rhen and Dureyan thinking.” Raithe toggled his finger back and forth between himself and the boy. “We know better. Believing in something isn’t enough, and luck is never on your side. The only luck is bad luck. And while disasters happen all the time, there’s no such thing as miracles. You wanna know why? It’s because the gods hate us, and they take every opportunity to prove it.”

  “So you’re just going to leave?” Malcolm asked.

  “That’s the plan.” Raithe hoisted the strap of the bag over his shoulder and adjusted it. “If you’re coming, grab your spear. You’re gonna need it. I suppose the kid can come too, as long as he doesn’t whine or anything.”

  “You’re a coward,” the boy said.

  He fixed the kid with a cold stare. “What’d you call me?”

  If Persephone, or even Malcolm, had made the remark, Raithe would have ignored it, but the boy was Dureyan and knew the consequences of his words. In the parched desolation that was their shared homeland, there was no greater insult. Blood always followed that accusation. The kid knew that, and he held his knife at the ready.

  “Your mouth is making promises your body can’t keep, boy.”

  The other Dureyan didn’t back down. He rose on the balls of his feet and shifted his right foot back slight
ly. He knew how to fight—not unusual for a Dureyan. Such an education came right along with walking and talking.

  “You’re running from the Fhrey who killed our people. What else do you call that? I’m not a chieftain, and I don’t even have a sword, but I’m going to kill them,” the kid said in cold measure. “All of them. Every last one, just like they did to us. I owe that to my parents, to my clan. You do, too.”

  “My people are dead and so are yours.”

  “That’s right,” the kid said. “Don’t you hear ’em? How can you ignore their cries from the pits of Phyre? Are you that deaf?” The boy had the courage to take a step forward. “I watched them kill my father, and when my mother was weeping over his body, one of them…one of them…” He squeezed his lips together, and clamped his jaw for a moment, sucking air through his nose so that the nostrils flared with his short puffs. “I’m going to kill every last one.”

  No tears, and the kid’s voice was steady.

  Raithe smiled. Dureyans weren’t the smartest, or prettiest, and they certainly weren’t the richest, but his people were a breed above when it came to grit. They were the granite amid sandstone. Still, the kid was being stupid. “If you try to fight, they’ll kill you. You’ll be slaughtered like everyone else.”

  The kid shook his head. “I’ll sneak up at night and—”

  “Won’t help. Their pointed ears hear everything. You won’t catch them off guard. And they see much better than you do in the dark. And they’re more skilled in combat than any human.”

  “Not you. You’re the God Killer.” He pointed at Malcolm. “That’s what he said.”

  “I was lucky.”

  “Only real luck is bad. You just said so.”

  If nothing else, the boy paid attention. He was starting to like the kid.