The Precious Quest Read online

  Flaring my nostrils, I drew in the air between us.

  “You scent the air with the goddess’ breath,” I said. “Was she whispering to you?”

  “My ears are not worthy of the goddess,” he replied.

  We had left our conversation on the hill, but I was ready to begin again. “Then, how do you know the Firslain bar the return from the hall?”

  He wiped the rim of his mug on his forearm and handed it to me. I let him hold it in mid-air, waiting for an answer. He stared at me in silence.

  I was not used to being disobeyed. To hide my anger, I took the cup from his hand. Turning my back to him, I walked to the water barrel and twisted the spout roughly. A trickle of lukewarm water filled the mug.

  “I do not have the words to tell you,” he whispered behind me.

  I did not turn around as I drank from the mug, showing him my displeasure.

  He kept his voice soft as he continued. “I traveled for a year, looking for those who served the goddess. Before I found the Horde, there was only empty land, and dark creatures who would rule it.”

  THE GROUND SHIFTED, and I braced my legs to steady myself.

  “If you would allow me,” Nethaz stepped forward, closing the space between his chest and my back, “I can show you.”

  The water barrels rippled in the air before me, and I knew enchantment was at work. From behind, Nethaz slid his thick arm past my ribs and wrapped his wide hand over mine around the mug. Every muscle in my body tensed at his closeness, but I held myself still for his revelation.

  “It does not matter that the mug is full if it is not brought to your lips.”

  He gently pulled me back until I rested against him. The muscles in his chest pressed against my shoulders, his skin cooler than the night. I shifted my feet, uncomfortable within his hold, but unwilling to break the strange mood I found myself caught in. The giant took a deep breath and pressed his lips to the side of my hair.

  “Each death,” he started. “Each death takes us closer to the end of our time.”

  Nethaz moved his arm in a small circle, his forearm rubbing against the side of my breast. My eyes were drawn to the water inside the mug, which swirled in black and silver rings. His lips near my ear, Nethaz began to hum. As the humming grew louder it swelled in my chest like the buzzing of sting-ants. Strangely, I wanted to turn and press my face into his chest. But, Nethaz cupped his hand around the side of my head, one thick finger beneath my chin, and tilted my sight back to the cup. Then, I heard the goddess whisper.

  In the swirling water of the mug, I saw a toothless mouth. The lips seemed frozen in a gag as darting flashes of silver turned in an endless circle within the black maw. The lips of the mouth stretched as thin as a woman before a babe’s head crowns. Then, a great press from within forced them to swell as if ready to spew all into the night. But the flashes of silver light could not pass, for barring the way out of the gape were two spinning blades—battle axes so large, only a giant or a curse could wield them. Nethaz’s hot breath burned in my ear, carrying the faint cries of the souls trapped behind the blades. It was as if they lived within his lungs and called out to me, begging for release, pleading for a saviour. My knees buckled, and I fell deeper into Nethaz’s trance.

  “You must tip the womb and spill them out,” he whispered.

  His arm stopped swirling the mug, but he held my hand to it, still. His other arm wrapped around my stomach, and he leaned over, bending my body with his. As we bent, my eyes never left the mug. Even as my breath was pressed out and my insides felt crushed by his weight, still I watched the water trickle to the lip of the cup and spill the silver darts onto the dust. They scurried like minnows without a stream. I reached down to scoop them back into the cup when the sound of the Horde’s merrymaking burst through the vision.

  Twisting out of Nethaz’s grasp, I slipped into the darker shadow of the water wagon. The wood of the wagon felt hard and empty against my back. Nethaz moved to stand beside me and I resisted the urge to enter his arms and the vision again. Instead, I stood and breathed deeply, sucking the scent of sage and man-sweat deep into my lungs to calm my spinning thoughts.

  The goddess had clearly sent me a message, had clearly chosen a path for me. She had spoken through the giant, and I would heed her command. Now I knew the truth about the cycle. Now I could act. In silence, Nethaz and I stood, side by side, looking out into the night. A wind picked up from the south and brushed my skin. It was hot and drew the moisture from my skin. The reprieve was over.

  Chapter 9: A New Dawn Surrenders

  I awoke to a warning bark from my hound. Opening my eyes without moving, I found myself face to muzzle with Hinfūs who was growling low in his throat. I sat up quickly and looked around the tent. We were alone. The flanks were standing guard outside, the sun outlining their strangely shaped bodies against the tent walls.

  “What is wrong with you, Hound?” I croaked, taking in his lowered head and flattened ears.

  I pushed at his chest to move him back, then groaned with surprise at the stiffness plaguing my body. It was difficult to stand, but stand, I did. My lips and throat felt dusted. I could barely swallow. Fumbling the water skin to my mouth, I drew deep, then placed it to my forehead, I rubbed the dampness onto my face.

  Hinfūs crawled towards me on his belly and began licking my feet. My woolen shirt was soaked with sweat. I peeled it off my body and tossed it at my hound.

  “Begone!”

  Thinking I may have caught a fever from the District people, added chills to my sweating skin. A drop of precious moisture ran down between my breasts, intent on reaching my birth-knot. I picked up the soft cloth woven by Jendara’s tender and used it to wipe the sweat from my neck and chest.

  That’s when I saw the marks on my shoulder. Bright reds and pink swirls that marked my skin with the glow of a sunset. My mind froze as I witnessed that which I had never thought to see.

  “The flush . . .” I whispered in awe through my cracked lips.

  It had been so long since any woman had flushed, that I had never seen the marks before. But I had heard how the flush would look on a woman who was ripe to make a child, and these marks on my skin were much like those in the tales. The idea that I might flush, that any woman after fourteen years of barrenness might flush, stunned me into immobility.

  Hinfūs was back at my ankles, licking my skin with his hot tongue. His attentions were abnormal and unwanted. He wasn’t trying to heal the wound in my side, for it had knit.

  “Get away!” I slapped at him.

  I turned my head to take another look at the flush marks on my shoulders. It was hard to see in the tent’s light, but I didn’t want to walk out into the day’s light, yet. I wasn’t ready to show my condition.

  According to tradition, I should announce my state to the Horde for it would be up to the flush to choose my mate. I had never experienced it but had heard the mate choosing was irrevocable. Like all people, I had never questioned my lack of choice in who would sire my child. It was the way things were and had been for millennia. The only question had been whether I would experience the flush before I passed out of childbearing years.

  But now, things were not as they once were. If Nethaz was to be believed, the Firslain had betrayed their mother, our mother—Goddess. I wasn’t going to trust the old ways when they were under siege. Especially, not after the vision Nethaz had shown me of the trapped souls. This was too important. I had to make the right decision.

  I pulled on my woolen shirt, making sure the red patterns on my skin were covered and then left my tent, seeking Dorn.

  As I moved through camp, the sound of the flanks wiry thigh hairs rubbing together kept rhythm with my steps. Normally, others shied away from me when I was with my guards. But this morning, my people showed their respect by stopping their tasks and tipping their heads. Yesterday’s victory was evident, and so was cider-fugue. The warriors groaned or laughed, depending on their state. I tipped my head to each man and wo
man I passed, warriors who had risked their lives to take the District. Their loyalty was strong. Dorn had been right to argue for a celebration of our conquest. He was always right, and that is why I needed him now.

  My heart skipped a beat when I came around a tent and saw Nethaz. He stood out from the group of men he was talking with, rising above the tallest warriors. The giant sensed my approach and turned, then dropped his eyes in a show of deference. I paused in front of him, wondering if he and his vision had caused me to wake with the flush. Nethaz stepped to the side to block the sun with his head and ease my looking up at him.

  “Good morn,” I said peering at him with suspicion.

  The other warriors moved out of earshot but kept us in their sight.

  “Good morn,” Nethaz bowed, the sun bursting into a golden haze around his head.

  “Has the morning brought you any new revelations?” I asked, warily.

  The giant smiled down at me and in a low voice said, “I was curious about something. Thinking about something...”

  “Speak then.” I shifted my weight onto my other foot. I had no time for repeated sentences.

  “I was thinking about the District tender—the woman who was presented to you by Jendara?”

  “What about her?” I watched two Horde members walk past, carrying their tent-bag and other belongings. They turned their heads away to give our conversation privacy in the busy camp.

  “Would you really command the young warrior to leave the old woman to her death?” he asked.

  I frowned at his foolish question. “The old hang onto souls that could start anew. Why would we delay a glorious rebirth?” I asked him.

  “To respect the body the soul has grown to know,” Nethaz answered. His blue eyes were darker today, more shadowed.

  My heart sped up. Nethaz and his ideas always upset my body’s rhythms. “The body is but a vessel. The soul is the true source of life.”

  “And the old man you took from the District,” he asked. “Will you leave him behind as well?”

  “When I am finished with the old man, I will leave him behind, and he will end his journey by releasing a soul to the Hall,” I bit off each word with impatience. But the last word hung in my mouth like sour fruit. Release a soul to the Hall that imprisoned souls. Damn the giant!

  “Kneel!” I commanded.

  It was time for me to truly explore the roots of his heretic thoughts. Nethaz knelt upon one knee, turning his eyes to the ground. I cupped his clean-shaven chin. It filled my hand. Tilting his head up, I looked deep within his round orbs, searching the mind that could raise a vision quest from the goddess. I turned on Lumen with a thought-touch.

  “Saigim,” I ordered it to flip through Nethaz’s motives, desires and regrets like a red crawler flicks under rocks.

  Not once during my seek did Nethaz blink. I found his honour-bond to the goddess. It was strong and unquestionable. I also found his mind reflecting on the heat from my hand. I pulled it away from his chin.

  As I sought his thoughts, I felt him looking for mine. Never had I sensed this from a member of the Horde. I was able to block his gentle probing easily, but still... I pulled away before I was finished, shutting down the bridge between us. I was puzzled, and now, warier of Nethaz. He did not wear a Lumen, yet he was able to flicker within my mind. Throughout the seek, the giant’s expression had not changed. He continued to look up at me, with serene honesty—his hand resting on his knee without threat.

  This close to him, I could see the blue in his eyes was spun like ribbons. The pattern created a mesmerizing swirl that enticed my gaze. I felt a light tickle on my breast. As the sensation grew, I brushed it away, thinking it was a bug. But then, the buzzing melted across my skin, and I felt a flowing within. An internal movement of my blood as if I was pulled by a tide and Nethaz was the moon. I staggered, and the giant put out a hand to catch me but was shrewd enough not to touch me.

  From deep within my instinct, rose the understanding that the flush was choosing my mate.

  “No!” I did not mean to call out the word, but it burst from my lips in a shout. The flanks responded, hissing at the giant with threat.

  Nethaz frowned in confusion and started to stand, his hand still hovering in the air between us. I became aware of the other male warriors’ interest in our little scene. It was time to leave.

  I altered my expression to appear satisfied. Then, without a word, I continued walking through camp. The bind holding me to Nethaz felt like hooks in my back. I imagined them stretching out behind me, pulling my skin from my bones. I quickened my pace, casting a glance over my shoulder to find the giant watching my retreat. I wondered if he could sense the flush.

  I had to question how the flush, the instrument of Goddess’ cycle, could choose a giant to be my mate. It did not bear thinking. To me, this error, this unthinkable union was more evidence of the cycle’s worsening state.

  Passing the cook’s fire, I saw Rserker shoving the last of his breakfast into his mouth. He raised his hand in greeting.

  I was breathless, unable to speak the expected greeting. To cover my awkwardness, I reached into the cook’s pot and lifted out a scoop of gruel on my fingers.

  “It is a fine morning when greeted with a full belly and a plan for travel,” Rserker pulled the back of his arm across his beard, clearing it of food scraps.

  Cook ran up and offered me a plate of the morning stew. I sucked my fingers clean and waved her away. She stepped back from me but stood looking eagerly at the flanks. Someday, she would probably dare to roast them.

  “Take your thoughts from my guards, lest they lead you to suffering,” I warned the old hag.

  She shrieked and ran off to join the other two cooks. I watched them huddle and snivel together. Rserker laughed at the little scene. I was heartened by Cook’s fearful reaction.

  “What would you have me do in preparation for travel?” Rserker asked.

  The revelation of the axe-bound Hall and Nethaz’s questions had begun their work on me. I reconsidered my decision to refuse Grandfather’s surrender condition. Letting the old die in the District would not guarantee a quick return for those souls. Still, it was not my duty to keep the conquered alive. More and more, I needed Dorn’s counsel.

  “Rserker, have Nethaz cut out one week’s worth of supplies for those who are staying in the District. Remind him that the best is for the Horde.”

  Rserker grinned like an imp, “Shall I have him take back bread.”

  I forced a laugh. “Yes, but only a few loaves, and only those with gruel worm and mold. I would eat the rest.”

  Rserker tossed back his head and laughed deep and long.

  I was pleased at his good cheer and felt a little less shaky. “Have the giant move the old grandfather in with him,” I said. “Dorn will not need the old man’s tales, now that he has the chronicle ward.”

  “Yes,” Rserker grinned. “Dorn will enjoy plucking her mind, as much he enjoys plucking her flower.”

  I turned and walked away from Rserker’s leer before he could say anymore. Rserker’s words disturbed me. I had wanted to share the news of the flush with Dorn. Perhaps even ... I bit my lip to sharpen my mind.

  I was still frowning slightly, when I came to the area where Dorn’s tent was set up. The three wards were sitting upon the ground, listening to Dorn’s words. The two males had been with us for over a year. Only the District girl was new, and she was the youngest. Dorn was moving among them, pacing as he spoke, his red cape swinging with his movements. I paused in my approach to listen. Tapping Lumen, I silently dismissed the flanks and turned my attention to Dorn’s voice.

  “You are the record. You will keep alive the legends of others, making sure that none forget those who have earned a place in your memory.” Dorn gazed sternly at the wards.

  I watched his chest rising with the words, pressing out against the leather bands that crossed over his smooth muscles.

  “You will sing the songs of warriors, leaders and
the goddess.” He paused, as only Dorn can. Then, he turned and looked down on the wards. “But, none will sing of you.”

  Dorn’s gaze traveled across the attentive faces to pause at the girl from the District. “The breath you seize will not serve your life, it will serve the tale as it whirls in the air before you.”

  The girl had been sitting on her knees, but as Dorn focused on her, she tensed her thigh muscles, raising herself slightly.

  “It will be your task to adorn truth but never change it.” He walked closer to the girl, and her eyes brightened above her delicate features. “It will be your duty to remember the deeds and to raise up the legends.”

  The wind blew Dorn’s wavy, brown hair back from his brow. I studied his face, drawn to the mind behind the eyes. I too was entranced by the words on his lips. As taken with his speech as the girl was. He could recount any battle, telling a tale to lift the heart of every warrior. The task of the Chronicle Warden was a calling, and Dorn had spent his years practicing his craft, seeking out legends, listening to the elders, retelling every event he witnessed.

  As I gazed at him, I realized he had been with the Horde for more than eight years, and in that time, he had stored every achievement I had made, every victory I had led, every bounty I had taken. In all these years, Dorn had never tried to court me. Not even when we had first met in the town of Dunveegan.

  IN DUNVEEGAN, THERE had been a place of words—a building where tales had been stored on animal hides. The town had become the target of many peoples’ curiosity, and they travelled far to see the stories in writing. Dunveegan was one of the few places where homes lined a street and wares were sold out of buildings instead of in an open market. We had heard of the crowds migrating to the town, and I knew we could find something of gain. I did not know then, that the treasure we sought was Dorn.