PART III
He squinted against the sun, white hot in the cloudless blue sky. The chain and leather armour was suffocatingly hot and the clinking of the mail, combined with the rhythmic sounds of the horses and the murmuring of the bleached -brown grasses kept distracting him.
"My Lord?" It was Ga'arn who broke the silence. The captain, a dark, pretty young man, had ridden up beside him. His dark eyes reflected concern.
Cal started as though he'd been slapped. "What?" It had come out sharper than he'd intended. "I'm sorry, Ga'arn. My mind wanders sometimes." He tried to smile at the boy.
It was still only a strange half-smile on the unscarred part of his face, but Ga'arn seemed relieved. "I though you might not be well, My Lord."
Cal almost wanted to laugh at the deference in the boy's voice. "Good of you to worry." He looked around at the monotone grasses, waving in the suggestion of a breeze. The land. My land, he thought. Five years it's been mine. The thought unnerved him.
"My Lord?" There was a query in Ga'arn's voice.
"Hm?"
"Will this be as bad as the manticore?"
Nothing is as bad as the manticore, thought Cal. Ga'arn had lost three siblings and his father to the manticore that had ravaged this countryside . Cal and Camria had hunted the thing down together as their first action on taking possession of this land. Reclamation, they'd named it.
He shook his head, trying to focus on the boy. "Well, the messenger said it was 'sea demons'. Ihovan alone knows what that means." Unconsciously, he touched the ihova around his neck.
The ride to the village was uneventful. Cal gave up paying attention to it.
By the time they arrived at Holãd, the men could hear the screams.
It snapped Cal out of reverie and he spurred the black war-horse hard. "Go!" he shouted at his small group, even though he knew he didn't have to. They were right behind him.
They galloped though the narrow, empty streets of the village, following the tortured sounds to the beachfront. No. Oh, Ihovan, no. Don't let this be a repeat of the manticore, don't let them all be dead, he thought.
The beach was covered in blood.
The headman ran up to Cal. "My Lord!" He was panting, his face flushed with excitement. "More of them came, we had to defend ourselves!" he gestured broadly at the carnage on the sand.
Cal dismounted, signaling for his men to stay. "Any losses?" He asked, feeling numb.
"None for us, M’lord." The headman was beaming.
The beach was littered with dying creatures. Their bodies were beautiful with pearly-green skin that ended in jeweled, glittering fishtails.
Niadina, he thought. Suddenly, Cal felt sick.
He had read about the Niadina in one of T'Keezian's old books. A race of njaa created by a long dead mage whose great love was the sea. He'd made himself into one, if Cal remembered the story correctly. They were a beautiful, gentle people. They used no weapons, the book had said.
He looked across the beach. A score of Niadina were dead or dying. He didn't see any weapons, but bags of shell-work, fishscale garments and seagrass baskets scattered allover.
Traders. They were looking to trade.
He knelt on the sands next to a dying female, her glossy greenblack hair matted with blood and sand.
She looked up at him, her enormous, sea-colored eyes dull and blind.
He reached down to touch her, the nausea in his gut growing. My own kind. No different but for what we were made of. My own kind.
It wouldn't leave him.
Distantly, he could hear the others. The headman was whispering to Ga'arn. "What is he doing?" The man thought that Cal couldn't hear him.
"No doubt praying for whatever souls those creatures have. " Ga'arn said coldly. "Our Lord is a good and pious man."
The Niadine tried to speak, silently moving her lips. Weakly, she raised a graceful hand, the morning sun shining though the pearl green webbing like stained glass.
She touched the tears on his face as she died.
Gently, he lowered her hand back down. He looked up at the blazing sun and tried to swallow. What have I become? WHAT HAVE WE DONE TO THIS PLACE? It screamed in his head as the tears came.
On the edge of his uncovered eye's vision, he could see a commotion, blurry through the moisture in his eyes.
The villagers. They were skinning the Niadina.
Cal lurched up, sand clinging to the dirty mail and leather of his armour.
He backhanded one man with his armoured fist and heard the snapping sounds as the villager collapsed back from the Niadin he'd been skinning.
Turning faster than the other could react, Cal picked up the second villager by the throat. "Get away from them, all of you! NOW!" He shouted hoarsely.
He turned to the stunned crowd, mind racing. "You've killed your sea demons. my people. . ." Come on, come on "Don't render yourselves like unclean barbarians by claiming pagan trophies!" his voice was ragged.
Ga'arn sharply kicked the headman in the back. Sheepishly, the balding, fat man raised his arms. "Our Lord is correct, my friends. We shall build a fire and dispose of these creatures." He looked to Cal. "My Lord, uh . . uhm. . " helplessly, he gestured to Cal's right arm.
Cal looked to see that he was still holding the villager by the throat. The man was blue and still. Unceremoniously, he dropped the body on the sand and staggered towards his horse. His good eye was wild.
he could see the concern on Ga'arn's face, but the screams of the dying Niadina were ringing in his ears.
MONSTER! You let them kill your own kind YOU kill your own kind! He wished they'd stop screaming. Then he realized it was his own voice he was hearing.
Ga'arn was off his horse and rushing to him as he collapsed.
His lungs were crushing, the unbearable pain slicing though his spine as the black knife cut through him.
T'Keezian was there, head lolling on his almost severed neck, grinning like a fiend. "More alike than you realized, eh, boy?" he said in a bubbling voice as he brought the Atzthaun down.
Again.
Again.
T'Keezian was humming a sprightly tune but Cal couldn't follow it. He wanted, needed to follow that tune, but he couldn't remember the words.
"Maybe I'll add fish to your dinner tonight, kitty-cat." burbled T'Keezian, tossing a mutilated Niadine at him.
He couldn't scream any more, though, because his throat was gone.
He woke up sweating and gasping for breath. Looking wildly around, Cal saw he was in his tent, at the camp, three days ride out from Holãd.
A cool compress fell off his forehead onto his lap. It was then that he saw Ga'arn, tired and worried looking, sitting near the cot. "My Lord! You're awake!" There was obvious relief on the young man's face.
Cal touched the scarf at his throat. The scar throbbed. "Ga'arn. . " The young man came and knelt beside the cot. "What the hell happened in Holãd?"
There was confusion in the young man's dark eyes. "You collapsed with a fever there three days ago." He bit his lip. "Some wanted to leave you for dead." Nervously, he looked around the plain little tent. "I told them that the spirit of Ihovan had descended upon you and that you were in the throes of a fit of piety." He gave a nervous little laugh.
For a heartbeat, Cal wondered at the blasphemy the boy had committed. Then he laughed.
The laughter stopped as suddenly as it had started, as he thought about the dead Niadina. Blasphemy, indeed. Without thinking, he reached out and touched Ga'arn's tight, dark curls. "You're a good man, Ga'arn, " he said hoarsely, pulling his hand away.
The young captain cocked his head, and started to say something, then stopped.
Cal gave him a half-smile. "I'm feeling much better, Captain Arho. Let's go tell the others that we're breaking camp and going home."
He got up slowly, raking his fingers through his collar-length black hair, trying to brush away the face of the dead Niadine on the beach.
He squinted at the painful sun as he walked out of the tent, Ga'arn close behind him.
The rest of the guard dropped what they were doing as if on cue. They looked at each other in a nervous silence.
"As you can all see, " he said softly. "I'm quite alive. Your concern will be remembered." He turned back to his tent to break down his gear.
"We're going home, people. Break it down." Ga'arn, said, forcing authority into his voice.
Before anyone really knew it, Yule week was here again.
The temple of Ihovan, at the heart of Reclamation, was nearly filled to the rafters on the sabbathday.
The stone-plain room of whitwashed planks and thick grey-glass windows chill with the winter winds outside. Many of the adults spoke amongst themselves, wishing that Ihovan would return the weather to as it used to be.
The rest, though, were talking about the Lord and Lady of Reclamation.
They were sitting in the front pew, her face turned slightly towards her lord. He pale, shining hair fell in a loose braid, brilliant against the plain, black velvet of her gown. One slim brown hand was resting on her swollen belly.
The lord of Reclamation was nodding slightly, his back to the congregation. His jet-colored hair barely brushing the high, stiff collar of the dark green wool jacket he wore.
What a handsome couple they be, the people murmured. Oh, may Ihovan bless their baby, such good, pious people (even if he is so strange)
The murmuring stopped abruptly as the chanting of the priests began in the back of the temple.
It was a deep, humming sound that resonated through the plain room as the column of grey-clads proceeded down the aisle.
A brief murmur rippled through the crowd when father Ahern walked by, carrying the plain white-metal censer, a task usually left to a lower priest.
Behind Ahern, carrying the Greyvows, the holy book of Ihovan, was none other than the bishop of the province of K'iho, formerly K'soth of Southeraa.
(I didn't hear he was coming! The people murmured amongst themselves.)
The bishop was a huge man with a weathered, scarred face, his ruddy hair silvered at the temples and in his beard.
He wore the same plain grey robes as the others, but an ornate silver chain gleamed on his shoulders.
The Bishop Telryg'r of K'iho dwarfed the other grey-clads as though they were saplings.
The service was long, but towards the end, as the congregation was beginning to stir restlessly, the bishop stood and lifted his arms.
"My brethren, the evil of the magi is still with us! I have ridden from the province of K'vha with dire news that concerns us all!"
The crowd murmured excitedly. The bishop looked down to see the Lord of Reclamation starving viciously at him. "There have been reports of changelings, children stolen from their parents and replaced with mage-born imps!"
The room fell dead silent. Parents stared hard at their children. The bishop held his hands out to the congregation. "All those with children here today, bring them forward that Ihovan may bless them and declare them whole!"
Reluctantly, parents gathered up their children, many of whom began to cry. They carried them up to the altar where the bishop stood. Placing the crying children on the grey stone altar, the bishop hung his ihova over them and chanted. The first ten children were declared "Pure" and were blessed.
A thin, dark woman in a worn grey woolen dress presented her child next, a beautiful little girl with grey eyes. Rare, but not unheard of amongst the southeraa. The bishop proceeded the same as before, but this time he abruptly stopped and lifted his hands. "Changeling! Mage-Born! Thou must be driven from the presence of the holy!" he bellowed.
The frightened little girl screamed. "See how it cringes from the power of Ihovan!" The bishop cried, his eyes wild.
The Lord of Reclamation rose from his seat, shrugging off his wife's staying hand. The murmuring grew in the back of the room What is he doing? Is he possessed, interfering?
He walked over to the altar and scooped up the crying child, stroking her black hair. "Cease this, O, Bishop." He said, soft and cold, voice like the snow outside.
Bishop Telrgy'r flinched. The child ceased crying, clinging to the lord's green woolen jacket. "This child is not evil, no demon from the hells. She is a frightened infant." He held the child closer.
She is a mage-born, he thought glumly to himself. He could sense the magic, however weak, in her veins.
The bishop's face was grim. "It is admirable that you protect the lives of those who are innocent, my lord, but this creature must die before it becomes a threat to the faithful." He turned to the mother. "Protect not the mage, lest his evil taint thee, sayeth the book. What is your word, good mother?"
Without a word she took the child from Cal's arms "Destroy the mage before the mage destroys us all." intoned the Bishop.
She turned away. "No." her voice was meek, frightened. "She's my only child. Please. . "
The huge grey-robes that had come with the bishop advanced on the woman. Cal stepped between them. Quietly he spoke to the woman. "Go. Leave Reclamation and never return." Go with the gods. He thought.
It was as though she'd heard his thought. Bowing, she retreated as fast as she could from the temple.
Cal watched, surrounded by grey-robes. He knew from experience that they were the hounds of the truegod, powerfully strong and raised to serve the will of Ihovan. He could not have fought them all.
After the service dispersed, the bishop sought out the Lord and Lady. They had left first, as befitting them.
As the servant led him into the drawing room, he heard arguing.
"How could you do that in front of everybody?" her voice was sharp with anger.
"It was a little girl, Cami! A child! Not some monster!" his voice was miserable.
Silence. It was as heavy as the tapestries that lined the grey walls.
"I'm sorry, Cal. . .It had to be for the best. You, as well as anyone should want the mage-curse wiped out."
Tel cleared his throat. Cal and Camria turned suddenly as though something had exploded in the room.
He stood there, implacably grey and tall. "I will not apologize for my service to Ihovan, my friend." He held out a hand. " I would ask forgiveness, however, for not contacting you first about this matter."
Cal took his hand, slowly. "Given freely Brother Bishop." his voice had a flatness to it and his face was expressionless. "I would have arranged a welcome befitting a true friend."
Camria's face was lit by one of her rare, radiant smiles. "I am truly happy to see you, old greyrobe." she got up ponderously from her heavy chair and moved towards him. Even gravid and dressed in somber clothing, she was still the most beautiful woman Tel had ever seen, Ihovan forgive him for such thoughts.
She tousled his rusty-grey hair. "You are looking well, Telryg'r." He couldn't help but smile at her smirking voice.
"You, to o, sister Camria. I see you're due soon." he patted her belly. "When?"
"Yule day, we hope." She glanced over to Cal. There was a strange, distant look on his face. She touched Tel's shoulder. "The two of you need to talk, Tel. I'll be to my chambers, now."
She kissed Cal lightly on the cheek. He smiled, fondly. "Sweet sleep, wife. I'll be up later." he arched an eyebrow, ever so slightly.
Camria laughed. "Then it'll be no sleep at all, swine." She shrugged at Tel and left with a rustle of velvet.
The two men were left alone in the darkened room. They stood, silently for a while as the fire crackled behind them.
"How goes it, Sword of the Righteous?" There was no trace of mockery in Tel's deep, scratchy voice.
Cal stared hard at him, his good eye unnaturally bright in the dim light. "There's too much dying, Tel. I didn't ask to be your weapon. I don't want to be your weapon. . ." he stopped abruptly and turned away, moving to the heavy glass window.
The bishop stood silent. Cal turned back to him. "Did you hear about Holad?" He saw Tel nod slowly. "They were harmless creatures, Tel. Harmless as . . as children." He watched the bishop's face. "The villagers killed a group of unarmed traders because they were fish-tailed." Because they were njaa.
"You've killed as many creatures like that in your day as all those villagers did at Holad together, Cal. Don't be a hypocrite." There was a touch of impatience in Tel's voice. "Those creatures. . have you heard the term njaa?" he tripped over the syllables of the word.
Cal tried to hide his surprise over the turn in the conversation. "What is it?"
Tel moved closer to him, looked out the window. "Unnatural, hideous beasts. Unions of human and animal. I had occasion to see some in the K'vha province. The lord there had destroyed a wizard's holding and found a collection of the monsters hiding in the basements." his voice was distant. "They were gibbering wretches who tried to trick Lord Andres into believing they would serve him. The pathetic things even got on their knees and begged to him. . . Can you believe it?" he snorted.
Cal was silent. He could feel a cold in his bones utterly unrelated to the winds outside.
"He told them to come out, that they could serve him. When the creatures came running out of the keep, his archers slew them." He turned to Cal. "No doubt if their ploy had succeeded, they would have gone into the castle and stolen the souls and the blood of those who dwelled within. Andres did his duty to the truegod, Cal. You can do no less."
The wind rattled against the thick glass. The two men stood watching the snow blow through the courtyard. Through the clouds, the waxing moon shone bright.
"Full moon on yulenight." Tel said conversationally. Cal nodded slightly, lost in the patterns of the swirling white.
"Cal?" Tel seemed hesitant to use his name. Without turning, he answered. "Yes?"
"Have you noticed anything different about yourself lately?" There was a strange inflection in Tel's voice that turned Cal towards him.
"This isn't going to be a lecture on my attitude again, is it bishop?" he said coldly.
Surprisingly, Tel backed away, just a hair, but enough. "No. Not your attitude. Your face. Haven't you seen yourself in the mirror?"
That made Cal smile one of his twisted half smiles. "I don't look in mirrors. Ever. Why? Am I sprouting Mikhaela's horns?" Tel looked confused at the reference.
"Who?" The big man shook his head. Cal shrugged. "I don't know….." He shrugged again.
Tel stuck his hands deep in the pockets of his coarse grey robe. "Your scarring is almost gone." He seemed as uncomfortable as a youth about this conversation.
Wondering, Cal touched his face. "Cami hasn't said anything." It was Tel's turn to shrug. "She may not have noticed. She sees you every day, you know."
Cal turned back to the window, still touching his face. "Perhaps Ihovan doesn't want my child seeing his father a scarred monster." He turned back to Tel. "After all, Yule is the time for His wonders."
Tel laughed a little. "I can never tell if you're being blasphemous or weirdly pious, little Brother."
Cal clapped his friend on the shoulder. "Get thee to bed, Bishop." He said with a faint half-smile. "I'm sure Camria is going to drag you around all day showing you the room for the baby and making you give her opinions on names."
Tel's face had softened. "Good sleep, old friend." and he left, leaving Cal to stare, grim faced at the snow.
For the next few days, Camria and Tel saw very little of him.
Camria wasn't fazed though, explaining to Tel that her husband had a tendency to wander off if there was no pressing business holding his attention.
Tel laughed at this, remembering his former charge's painfully short span of attention. As predicted, Camria showed him the room they'd set up for their long-awaited first child, from the little green, grey and yellow quilt in the crib to the little black cat puppet that Cal had carved the previous winter.
Tel picked up the puppet and wiggled its strings. It wasn't ornate, but was well-carved, nonetheless. "I didn't know he whittled." Tel said lightly.
Camria shrugged. "He didn't either. It just slipped out of him one night."
Gently setting the little wooden cat down, Tel turned to her. "Have you noticed anything different about him, lately?"
She looked hard at the bishop for a moment. "You mean his face? Yes, wonderful, isn't it?"
Tel opened his mouth, then shut it again. "You knew? You never said anything to Father Ahern about it?" he sputtered.
Camria shrugged again. "Who am I to judge if the truegod sees fit to heal Cal's face?" She toyed with a felt tiger sitting in the crib.. "He's been through alot for someone as young as he is, Tel. You know that as well as I do." She looked up. "Don't be so harsh on him."
The bishop didn't say another word.
INTERLUDE
Excerpt of a letter from Patir Tehwhellan, Grand Ihovis in Firepoint, K'itha, to Telryg'r D'Akliffe, Bishop K'iho.
14 Dhavo, 7868
Greetings in the Truegod, Brother Bishop.
I read with great concern your reports from K'iho and K'vha. Although we have had very little contact with our brothers and sisters in the former realm of Ostar, I am sure we have enough in our flocks here to deal with the increasing demon-spawn problem in your provinces.
Beyond that, I am intrigued about reports of the young Lord of Reclamation. Father Ahern's report differed from yours on the matter of the Testing. Did he or did he not interfere with the Will of Ihovan? Ahern believes him to be willful and blasphemous in addition to his well-known strangeness. Your report stated he aided in the Testing. Bishop , I must warn you not to allow your friendly past with this young man to cloud your judgment.
In similar matters, I do not know if the messages involving the Holad incident ever reached you in the back country. Buthan, the village friar reported that your young lord killed two villagers in preventing them from disposing of the sea devils. Apparently he went quite mad there and began babbling and screaming in a tongue unknown to Buthan.
Stand fast in Ihovan, Brother Bishop. I am sending my Ihovisa, Palaan, and her hounds to you to aid in this matter. They will arrive on Yule Day, Ihovan willing the weather.
The snows on Yule eve were the harshest yet.
When Cal finally returned to Reclamation, it was nearly deepnight. He entered the keep with his black and green woolen cloak frosted with white and snow clinging to his eyelashes and hair. His face was dull and haggard.
Except for the night guards, the keep was strangely empty on the ground floor. Tiredly, he followed the smell of hot khave. In the kitchen, he found Tel, sitting by the fire with a steaming mug. He smiled broadly when he saw Cal.
"About time you returned, little Brother." He was beaming.
Confused, Cal looked around the empty, firelit room. "Huh?" It came out in a dullard's voice and Tel could see the look of disgust on his friend's face.
He led Cal to a seat by the fire. "It's Camria, fool. She went into labor a candlemark ago."
Cal whipped around in his seat, nearly tangling himself in his cloak and falling off the stool. "What?! Ai! I have to get up there!": He fell over himself as he lurched up off the stool.
Tel laughed and shoved him back down. "The midwife will just throw you out. She threw me out."
Nervously, Cal laughed, a little. He pulled off the sodden, frozen cloak and laid it in front of the fire. Gratefully, he accepted the khave Tel poured for him. "I hope everything is going alright." He looked nervously towards the kitchen door. "I'm scared for her, Tel." One of the keep's many cats complained loudly as Cal nudged him out of the way.
The bishop laughed again. "You haven't known her as long as I have, brother. She's absolutely indomitable."
He grew silent, staring at Cal. For a few moments the lord of Reclamation met the bishop's gaze, bright and steady. Then he looked away. "Staring at my scars again, Tel?" There was a note of mockery in his voice.
Tel cleared his throat nervously. "Ihovan forgive me. I have been jealous of you since the day I took you in, boy."
Cal simply looked at him. Uneasily , Tel looked away, this time. "You must be from a beautiful people, Cal, to be so handsome even through the scars."
He seemed to be waiting for a reply. Cal shrugged. "I don't know who my people are, Tel. You know that." The mockery was replaced by a bitterness that Tel hadn't heard before.
The room was silent for a heartbeat. "You didn't tell me you killed two villagers at Holad, Cal. Snapped the neck on one and strangled the other, right?" Tel looked uncomfortable as he said it.
"I didn't think it was any of your business, bishop." He turned on the stool to face him. "What is this leading to, Tel?" He asked tiredly.
Tel shook his head. "I don't know. Things I've known all along but haven't wanted to see? I just. . Ah. . ." his voice trailed off. "What are you?"
Cal felt a lump in his stomach. In all the years, Tel had never asked him that question. "Maybe you never looked past the scars." he blurted out, regretting it.
He wanted to say more though, but the relative silence in the keep was shattered as a scream like breaking glass echoed though the halls.
Cal was off his seat and out the door "Camria!" before Tel was even aware of it.
The bishop raced to keep up with his friend, cursing the heavy grey robe as Cal took the steps three at a time.
The midwife and her assistant were running from the room, faces ashen with terror. Cal pushed past them. They didn't seem to notice.
"Cami!" She looked up at the sound of her name. Her eyes were bottomless pools of black - very wide and almost blank. Her face was slack as she started to laugh. It was a wild, mad laugh.
She was holding something small and dark in her arms. At first, Cal thought it was another one of the keeps many cats. Still laughing madly, she held it out to him.
It was shaped like a human child, still attached to its umbilical cord. It's eyes were closed, huge slits on its dark-furred face. It was weakly kicking its furry legs and making faint mewling sounds. One enormous ear was bent crooked against its head.
Cal took a step back, unable to think. He felt nauseous, light-headed. Camria stopped laughing. "What's wrong? Don't you love our baby, monster?!"
Her eyes cleared as she balanced the infant in one hand and reached to the stand beside the bed.
He was too far away to keep her knife away. By the time he cleared the room, she was stabbing the tiny creature.
"Cam, no!" Cal's mind was spinning. His one thought was to get the knife away from her without injuring her. He hadn't expected her not to care.
She twisted the knife around and he doubled over as he felt the steel slice into his stomach.
"Monster!" she screamed again and shoved him off the bed with a madwoman's strength. Dumbly, he stared down at the hilt protruding from his clothes. It was ivory and gilt and he remembered the Yule he'd given it to her. Biting his lip, he pulled the blade free, gasping with the pain. Blood was covering the front of his green woolen jacket.
Camria got off the bed, her white shift stained with dark blood. She took a weak step towards the lamp on the stand and fell. Cal could see she was bleeding herself. Badly.
He tried to ignore the pain, willing the healing to begin, as he crawled to her. Her dark, beautiful face was tracked with blood and tears, now. Her pale hair fanned out about her. She was sobbing weakly.
"Why? Why did you let this happen?" she sobbed as he gathered her in his arms. Silently he held her, not knowing what to do.
He heard Tel's heavy footsteps bounding up the stairs. He stroked Camria's hair. "Shh. Tel's coming. Everything will be fine." Holding her closer, he began to pray. Not to Ihovan, but to Mikhaela. Begging that the healing processes that kept him alive would go to her.
The words, fluid and musical, came unbidden to him.
E'havne
a théan.
T'hara kai hara.
A'khana a ha'ana ahara.
Mikhaela e'havne, e'thane, a théan.
The room felt cold. He looked down at her. Camria's face had a semblance of peace, her dark eyes staring into infinite space. There was a pounding at the back of his skull. Slowly, Cal looked to the tiny, battered body on the bed.
He blinked furiously, trying to keep the hot tears away but it was no good.
It welled up inside until he could contain it no longer. Cal threw his head back and howled. It was a horrible, echoing cry.
Across the keep, the cats stopped in their tracks, ears pricking. They too picked up the cry until the keep reverberated with the sound. The residents of the keep ran as fast as they could, trying to flee the awful sound.
When he finally stopped, Cal looked up to see Telrgy'r standing in the doorway. A look of undisguised horror on his face. "Cami. . ." he whispered.
Tel looked at the blood that was splattered about the room. "You killed her. . " He said. His voice was flat. "Blessed truegod. . ." He sketched a blessing in the air.
Cal clutched Camria's cooling form closer to him. His face, spattered with blood, was tortured. "No . ." He buries his face in her tangled, shining hair. "The baby . . I. . I think . . " he stopped an looked up again, at nothing in particular. "It hurt her. . inside. . Ahh. . ." He held her tighter as the coughing sobs came.
Tel looked away from the slowly rocking figure on the floor to the tiny body on the bed. "Demon spawn. . " he hissed.
He lurched over to Cal and pushed him away from Camria. "Get away demon creature!"
He began to chant furiously, clutching the ihova about his neck. Slowly, Cal stood. The pain his gut subsiding as the healing continued. He turned to the bed and touched the little creature that lay there. It's fur was like down. Gently, he picked it up and kissed it's forehead. "I'm so sorry, little one."
Carefully, he laid the tiny body back down on the bed. Distantly, he could hear the people shouting on the lower floors. They seemed so far away, considering how loud Camria's screams were still in his ears.
So lost was he in cries of his wife, Cal never heard the footsteps behind him.
Massive arms grabbed him, shoving him forcefully into the wall. Dazed, he turned in time to see Tel's heavy fist coming at him.
Cal's unconscious reactions took over. Tel seemed almost to be moving in slow motion. As the fist came towards him, he did not flinch or move. He simply caught Tel's hand in his own.
The bishop's hazel eyes widened and his mouth dropped slightly. he tried to pull back. Cal held him, his own grip tightening.
"Please, Tel." Cal looked at him imploringly, even as he tightened his grasp. "I don't want to hurt you. I didn't mean for any of this to happen. . please."
Beads of sweat were forming on Tel's forehead. He gritted his teeth. "Tell that to Camria, you miserable bastard. Truegod curse me for the day I took you in, lying plague-spawn!"
With his free hand, Cal removed the eyepatch he'd worn for so long. He let it fall to the ground. He could feel the bones in Tel's hand begin to give.
"I never lied, Tel!" His voice cracked. Tel flinched. "I never lied to you, to Cam, to anyone!" He released Tel's hand, shoving it away.
The bishop stood there, holding his hand, face still as stone. "What are you, Cal?" He said quietly, now.
Cal raked his fingers through his dark hair. "Njaa. The only one of my kind. Before that, I don't know. "
He was mildly surprised that Tel just stood there, implacably. Feeling slightly giddy, Cal continued. "I never lied, to anyone, Tel. I was a slave from the day I woke up in T'Keezian's kennels. . . " He looked down at Camria's body and leaned his weight against the wall. "I loved her from the moment I saw her, Tel."
His head was pounding. The shouts downstairs were growing louder. Tel couldn't hear them, yet. "All I ever wanted was to be a human. . . to live a life. . ." he said miserably. "Oh. . .Cami. . ."
Tel looked far away. "I thought you belonged to Mender . . ." He said it, slowly, as though working on a difficult problem. "or was that a lie, too? "
Cal felt nauseous, suddenly. Without really meaning to, he growled at Tel, a deep eerie sound. "Mender was T'Keezian's apprentice. I was there when he killed my master and claimed everything that T'Keezian had to be his. Even me." It snarled out of him. Tel backed away a step.
"That was two hundred years ago, bishop!" His voice was rising, the growling counterpoint in the back of his throat rising to match it. "TWO HUNDRED YEARS! To me they were nothing more than a change of the seasons! There was no day, no night. Just fear! Just pain and fear and the need . . .Gods! . . The need to serve so maybe, maybe if my master was feeling kind, a pat on the head instead of another beating!" His eyes were so very bright in the dim light of the room, pupils huge and faintly luminescent, like a cat's.
He turned and tore a hanging off the wall with a snarl. "To serve so maybe I wouldn't ever have to help kill anyone again and feel the pain as they died!" He dropped the tapestry. "Maybe I am a monster, a patchwork toy. But I never asked for this. I wanted to die so badly for so long, Tel. . . ." His voice trailed off. The shouts from downstairs were growing louder. He looked down at Camria and the baby. When he turned back to the bishop, his yellowgreen eyes were brighter, but now with unshed tears. "Bury them together, Tel. Please. Give Cam the right burial. Give our baby the right burial."
The bishop looked terribly lost. Cal could see the emotions warring in him. "The church would rule that you must die, mage-spawn." He said it without venom, his voice tired. "I can't. Ihovan's love. I can't kill you." The lines around Tel's eyes seemed more pronounced. "If you're going to kill me to make your escape, njaa, you'd best do it now." He said wanly.
Mechanically, Cal took a few things and stuffed them into a bag. "I'm not going to kill you. I'm just leaving." He looked at a tiny painting of himself and Camria before stowing it in the battered saddlepack. "Bury them together, please, Tel." It was barely more than a whisper.
It seemed like for long moments they stood there, the huge, ruddy, grey-clad bishop and the smaller, golden-black man in the green. "I will, Cal." Tel said softly.
There was really nothing left to say after that. Cal turned to the narrow window and opened the shutters. They were so far up, the courtyard could not even been seen in the darkness and the swirling snow. Behind him, he could hear the footsteps of the guard were pounding up the stairs.
Cal closed his eyes and swallowed. I must be insane. Just should stay and die. Be with Cami.
The pounding in his head seemed to call up the voices that had lain still for so long. Not yet. Live. Work to do.
Tel was silent as he watched Cal slip out the window into the darkness. He could hear the guards were almost to the door, their footsteps in the stairwell the only sound in the room other than the sounds of the wind.
He reached down and picked up Camria's bloodstained dagger. Silently, he cut himself on the arms and slashed his robe. The guards burst through the door as he threw the dagger down.
At their fore was the Captain, Ga'arn Arho, his face was wild. "My lord!" He was shouting as they lurched into the room. "We heard . . " he stopped and looked around. "What. . ?" he asked dumbly. He saw Camria and the tiny, furred body on the bed. He looked to the injured bishop. "Lord Bishop. . .What, what happened here?"
Tel drew himself up, face like stone. "Stop him. Your demon lord."
Cal felt as though he was falling through stars as he leapt from the tower window into the darkness below.
Already, his other senses were compensating for the darkness and he could see, brightly in his mind, the way the courtyard looked during the day. Silently he prayed as he fell, to no one in particular, that the trees would be where he thought they were.
Catlike, he twisted to land on his feet. The trees were not where he'd thought, though, and the ground came up faster than he imagined.
With a sound like twigs snapping, he crashed to the ground.
He lay there, in the dark and the snow, trying to get up. One arm was definitely broken. He could feel the ends grind as he tried to move it. Worse, though, he thought, one knee was shattered and he could see bone protruding through the thigh of his other leg.
GET UP! The need to survive impelled him to move. Using his good arm, he dragged himself up the side of a nearby tree. The sickening force of the pain made him throw up. He could hear the guard approaching as though they were riding though a tunnel.
He stepped forward on the broken leg. The faint healing tingle was almost drowned out by the screaming pain in his leg. He dragged the other one behind him, unable to bend it. Come on, come on!
He'd barely gotten three steps before the guard was there. Five of them on horseback. He looked up into Ga'arn's face. The young man looked tortured. "Betrayer of the people." He said, rough with strangled emotion. "Murderer. You will pay." He turned to one of the other young men. "Kill him, but be swift."
The boy that drew his sword was dark, like Ga'arn, but his hair was a dark red, that hung in a braid. Cal could not remember his name.
He cautiously spurred his horse forward. And brought the blade down in a shining arc. Cal didn't move.
He gritted his teeth and let the blade take him in his broken arm. He caught the boy's hand with his good one, yanking him off the horse.
They tumbled back into the bloodtinged snow, Cal twisting the sword out of his arm and into the young man's chest. He watched the blade come out through the boy's back.
The tingle in his leg grew, the prickling sensation covering it.
He slipped a knife from the boy's belt and it flashed from his hand into the throat of another guardsman. He sagged over his horse.
Ga'arn looked back to the two other guards. "Stop him!" His voice cracked.
The other two men looked at Ga'arn. "No. We're not demonslayers. Call the church for that." The other one nodded and they wheeled their horses about.
That left Ga'arn and Cal, in the silent, torchlit courtyard.
Cal swallowed hard. The pain in the one leg was slowly subsiding, as was the arm. There was still the dull ache in his gut, where the knife had pierced him. His right leg was still useless. "Ga'arn, please. ." he rasped. "Don't make me kill you. I just want to go."
Ga'arn's eyes were damp. "How could you? We believed in you. . " His face twisted. He lowered the spear in his hand and spurred his horse forward.
Cal staggered back. "Ga'arn! No. . .please!" He looked around wildly. There was no where for him to go. He didn't even have time to scream as Ga'arn brought the lance down.
Cal just stood there for a moment, staring at the long handle protruding from his gut. Then, he started to cough, and the blood welled up in his throat. His damaged legs refused to hold him up any longer and he sagged back down into the snow.
Ga'arn dismounted, his face like a shattered mask. He bit his lip as the thin line of tears ran down his face.
Slowly, the young captain moved towards the weakly moving figure sprawled on the torchlit, bloodstained snow. Carefully, he pulled the lance out. Cal didn't move, or cry out.
Cal looked up at him, eyes half closed. "I never meant for anyone to be hurt, Ga'arn." He whispered as the blood trickled out of the corner of his mouth. "Come closer. . " it was barely audible.
Ga'arn leaned down, into the snow, his face covered with concern. "What?" He looked confused.
The young man was totally unprepared when Cal's unbroken arm shot up and his bloody hand clenched about Ga'arn's throat.
Cal thrust the wheezing guardsman stumbling back into a tree. "I don't want to kill you Ga'arn. You're a good lad." He lurched up, shuddering with the new, tearing pain in his gut. His voice shook. "I'm going now, Captain Arho."
Ga'arn just leaned against the tree, holding his throat and staring as Cal staggered across the courtyard to one of the flickering torches that stood in the rusting iron holders on the heavy grey stone walls.
Using his good arm, he lifted one of the massive torches out of the holder and carried it over to the thatch-roofed storage shed at the other end.
Ga'arn, still coughing, ran to stop him. Cal held the torch out at arms length. "You have people to evacuate, Captain. I think you should do your duty to the keep."
Ga'arn took a step. Cal lowered the torch. "I swear, Ga'arn, you will never see me again." He lobbed the torch onto the roof of the storage shed. It smoldered there for a moment until the flames found the dry thatch underneath the snow-damp outer layer. The inside was so dry it caught immediately after that.
Cal turned away from Ga'arn and began limping out of the courtyard. Without looking at the young man, he rasped "Do what you have to, Ga'arn Arho. Forget that I ever was here."
The captain just stood and watched as the green and black clad figure staggered out of the firelight into the dark.
The sky was perfectly clear; an endless sea of black sparkled with crystal dust. The moons hung shining bright and clear, rosesilver disks that made the snow covered prairie go on forever.
Cal ran through the cold, uncaring. His body screamed as the healing power tried to keep up with the injuries and the new ones that were being formed with each step.
He didn't care.
Finally, he could hear the flames of the keep no longer and the shouting was replaced by the gentle shushing of the wind over the snow.
The field seemed to stretch out for a million miles in every direction. An unending, silent sea of white. He didn't even know from what direction he'd come, anymore, the wind had erased his footprints as though he'd just been deposited here in the middle of nothing from the skies.
It suddenly struck him how tired he was, and how badly everything hurt. Without a sound, he collapsed into the shifting snow.
He could feel the blood freezing on his tattered woolen jacket as he lay in the snow.
It was so soft. He let himself sink into the cold as it seeped into his flesh and his bones with a gentle, insistent presence, quieting the pain in his stomach and his legs and his arm.
He started to drift, as though he was on the edge of sleep, thinking about nothing, really, until he imagined he was being caught up by a pair of cool, gentle hands, enfolded by cloaked arms.
He struggled, weakly for a moment, before giving in to the arms. A gentle hand smoothed his snow-matted hair.
*I'm sorry, child.* A voice said. At least he thought it was a voice. It was barely a ripple in the silence, but Cal imagined he could hear the stars in it. It made him cry.
He was curled up in the arms, now, sobbing softly, like a child. *I'm sorry* the voice said again. *You cannot go to them, not yet.*
Weakly, he looked up, his vision blurry with the cold and his tears. It seemed to be a beautiful woman with eyes that were like the night sky and her silver hair streamed about her like stars.
But then it was a man, moon-pale but with a smiling, gentle, black bearded face.
It was also a stern figure in a black helm like a raven's head, gleaming silver antlers shining in the brilliant moonlight. From deep within the helm, the eyes burned a deep red.
A memory stirred in Cal like a creature rising in a swamp. "Ahh. . ." he said, looking away. ""Mikhaela. You should have taken me when T'Keezian made me. . ." He stopped and looked up again. Another face, blank and featureless in a black hood was bent towards him. "Please. . ." he whispered. "Take me now. . ."
The woman smiled gently. *No, dear one.*
The man touched Cal's face. *I have no claim on you yet, and there is much for you to do.*
Cal wiped a bloodstained hand across his face. "My wife. . My child. . Please. . "
The woman stretched her pale hand out to the darkness. Her voice rang in the silvered silence. *They are playing, now, in a field below the clear blue sky. Do you see the flowers, Cal? The air is sweet with them.* She paused and looked down at him.
He felt transported, the world reeling about him. *There is no more pain, no more fear. Do you hear the laughter? Your daughter tumbles. Her coat is like a raven's wing in the sunlight.*
The sun was so bright it stung his eyes. He reached out for her, brown skin and pale hair radiant in the light. She smiled, a smirk, really, that blossomed brightly. Silently, she took her daughter's paw. The child waved shyly.
Without a word, they turned and disappeared into the tall, fragrant grass.
The darkness came crashing back down around him. Mikhaela towered above him. His red eyes burned darkly in the black void of the helm. There was no moon, just a silver and black divided disk that loomed behind Him.
*I cannot take you there, child* It rumbled about Cal like distant thunder. *But I can give you peace, for a time.*
Then it was the man, so near to Cal's own size. *Learn to be whole, broken child, with the gift I give to you now.*
The pain melted away like spring snow. Distantly, Cal felt a shifting, deep within himself. The silver and black of the disk swallowed up everything around it. The woman smiled indulgently at him. *Embrace the change, little kitten.*
There was no time to say anything, as the stars rained down around him and his awareness faded.
INTERLUDE
FROM THE GREYVOWS (new Ayerian translation), PALAAN 1:1-1:10, THE PARABLE OF ST. TELROGER and ST. CAMARIA
And there was in the days following the destruction of the magi, a time when the very gates of hell opened up and spewed their filth out upon the world.
There was a tiny kingdom ruled by a beautiful, wise and pious queen, but she was too proud and lonely and prayed that Ihovan would send her a husband that would be her equal, for there was no man she had ever seen to be her match.
One cold winter evening, there was a pounding at the castle door. The seneschal swung wide the door and an injured man collapsed inside. When they cleaned him and bound his wounds, the seneschal declared him to be the most beautiful man she'd ever seen.
Word of this reached Queen Camaria's ears and she went to see. Truly, he was beautiful, unlike any other man she had ever seen. When he awoke, he thanked the truegod fervently for his rescue, showing himself to be pious. When she asked him his name, he said he had none, that he was unworthy, so she named him Kall, for the night he came calling. As he healed, the stranger helped with the work at the keep, showing his wisdom.
When he had shown all these traits, the queen was delighted. She called him forth one day and asked him to be her husband. He accepted on the condition that she never look in on him on the full moon. Camaria agreed to the strange request.
Time passed and Kall grew strange, keeping cats and disappearing for days on end. Finally, though, Camaria was with child and went to seek her husband out with the good news. She did not realize it was the full of the moon. She went up into the tower where he had gone and entered the little room.
There was a black-furred demon-beast howling at the moon in the room. When Camaria screamed for her husband, the demon laughed "I am your husband, foolish, proud mortal! You will spend eternity dwelling in the hells with me now!"
When she refused, he caused the unborn child within her to burst forth, a snarling tiny demon. "Now do you give in?" he asked.
Again she refused and cried out to Ihovan for help, Her cries were heard by the bishop, Father Telroger. When he arrived , the demon was trying to trap her soul in a bag, so that it could not ascend to heaven. Father Telroger held his ihova out before him and bade the demon to stop. For two days and two nights, the Bishop and the demon battled for the soul of the queen. At the morning of the third day, the demon could no longer withstand the might of the righteous, and disappeared in a burst of flame. The queen's soul was freed to heaven, where she was sent to look after married women.
The bishop then ordered the castle and all the demon spawned cats in it to be destroyed, to stand as a monument against Kall, the demon king, so that he would never again trouble the righteous.
The wind, warm and gentle, stirred the heavy growth in the ruined courtyard. Somewhere, hidden in the thick vines that covered the crumbling walls, a bittergreen bird whistled cheerfully.
No one came here, anymore. The keep had been abandoned for years. In the local villages, ghost stories were whispered about the cat-ghost, and parents would tell their naughty children that Cal, the demon-king would come with his cats and take them away to hell if they continued to be bad.
Here in the warm sunlight, under the bright blue sky, the ruins hardly seemed a place for ghosts.
Jemaine sat on a broken column, building a little town out of the shattered masonry that was strewn about. She was a small, shy girl of eight summers, given more to flights of fancy rather than farm work.
To her, the stories that Opa Ga'arn told her of the war years, the freezing winters and the demon lord were wonderful tales. She didn't believe them for a second.
She did believe, though, that Opa and Momma would tan her hide if they ever caught her playing in the ruins. Then would be confessional. . . she shuddered and wiped her grubby hands on her pale grey cotton shift.
She looked up to the sound of rustling leaves and smiled. The black cat was back, sitting on one of the old headstones, like he always did. He stretched and yawned a huge, feline yawn. As she played, he sprawled on the headstone, watching Jemaine through heavy-lidded green eyes.
After a time, he got up, stretched gracelessly and silently leapt from the stone. Tail high, he marched back into the ruins. As quietly as she could, Jemaine followed, he small face set and determined. This time, she meant to find out where the cat was living in the old keep.
Instead of eluding her in the maze of the ruins as usual, the cat found a nest of ivy and greens in a crumbling alcove. The warm sunlight filtered softly through the leaves.
The cat yawned hugely again and kneaded the leaves a few moments, before settling down, purring.
As Jemaine crept nearer to the alcove, she grew disappointed. She'd hoped it was a cat-spirit or a ghost guarding hidden treasure. She crossed her little brown arms and pouted. "Hmph! Stupid cat's all you are." As she turned to stamp away, the ivy behind her began to rustle.
Quickly, she spun back to see the little cat shivering. Before she could walk back to him, he started to ripple, as a reflection in a pond, shattered by a stone.
She watched, dumbfounded, as the cat distorted and grew, his fur thinning as he did.
She didn't know how long it was, but she watched until the transformation was complete. When it was, she shrieked delightedly and dove behind a column.
There, lying in the golden pool of sunlight was a naked man.
She bit her lip to keep the giggles down.
His skin was smooth and muscled, a deep golden color like dark honey, and the long, thick hair fanned behind him was the same glossy black as the cat's coat.
His eyes opened, the squinted against the sun. Very slowly, he sat up, raking long fingers through his hair.
A giggle burst from her as he looked around. He was so beautiful, Jemaine thought. Unlike any of the young men who courted her older sisters. His eyes were the same brilliant yellow-green as the cat's.
Slowly, he turned his head towards the sound of her laugh, face confused. Then, a small smile lit on his lips.
Gingerly, he rose to his feet and took a few steps, his face awash with wonder.
Jemaine peeked around the column with a giggle. She saw the scar, then, on his throat, wider than two of her fingers and jagged. it encircled his neck like a collar. Her eyes widened, a touch of fear creeping in on her.
He looked directly at her and she ducked quickly behind the column again.
The man opened his mouth, as if to speak, the closed it again. his black brows knitted together for a moment in concentration.
"It. . .It's all. . . right. Hmp." He said in a deep, purring voice as he scratched his head. "I. . .I won't. . .hurt. . .you."
Cautiously, she peeked over the column. "Are you the cat-demon king, The Cal?" She asked, trying to mask the fear in her piping voice.
He looked exactly as though he'd been hit in the head with a shovel. Then he started to laugh, a strange, hoarse sound.
"Demon? Hah!" He grew thoughtful. "No. No demon here. I . . . my name. . is . . .hmph. . .Cat." He smiled a queer half-smile, as though it were a very funny name.
Carefully, she climbed over the top of the fallen column. "You're naked!" She said, giggling and pointing at him.
He looked down. "Yes." He said dryly. "Seems. . .I . .am." He looked back to her. "Shouldn't. . . be looking then, huh?"
She blushed furiously. "Are you a prince that got turned into a cat by an evil wizard?" She asked suddenly.
He looked taken aback. "Pardon me?" The words came more easily now, to him.
She shrugged. "I mean it's not every day you see a cat turn into a person. Opa would say you're a demon, but I think you're too nice to hurt anyone, mister cat."
Suddenly, he didn't know whether to laugh or cry. "What is your name, child?" He asked.
She lifted her head up and swung her feet on the column. "Not a child. I'm eight summers. My name's Jemaine, Jemaine Arho."
His mouth fell open again. "Uh. . .Jemaine? Pretty name. What is the date?"
She smiled. "I know that one! Opa would say it's. . uh. . 7922 by his old calendar, but the church calls it the blessed year 67. It's Yithre 17."
Spring. He cocked he head. "Who is your Opa?" He tripped on the last word.
"My Poppa’s Poppa. Opa Ga'arn."
The man started to laugh. "They are very lucky. I think, though, they would not like you playing here."
She pouted again, "So? I like it here. It's quiet and pretty and nobody makes me shell beans. Yuk."
Still laughing, he started off across the courtyard. Jemaine had to jog to keep up with him. "Where you goin?" she piped in between breaths.
He looked down at her. "There is someone I have to visit, before I leave." He was smiling.
Back in the open part of the courtyard, he headed for one of the overgrown headstones. Ivy and stranglerose had all but covered it. Carefully, he cleared back the vines.
Jemaine peered over his shoulder, squinting at the partially worn carving. "Pretty carving." she said softly.
He knelt before the stone, tracing the carvings with his finger. "Camria Te'regia á helaan. Athne 5.14. Keh 40.
Helaan átocha a’C’ael. Therann Ihovanis. Ihovanis helaan." He whispered it as he read.
Jemaine crossed her arms. "You can't mean this is where Saint Camaria is buried! Opa never said that!"
He looked up at her. "I don't know a Saint Camaria, but this. . .this is where my wife and daughter sleep." His eyes were misty. "Jemaine? Will you do something for me?"
She looked at him suspiciously. "What?"
He looked back at the stone as he rose. "If you can, please, come back here once in a while, and make sure this stays clear?"
Jemaine stared up at him with her enormous brown eyes. Her face dawning with an idea. "If that' s your wife and daughter, then you are Cal, the demon-king. . . " she whispered.
Gently, he touched her hair. "No. Not Cal any longer." He sighed. "Just someone who has to learn again."
He turned from her and started back across the courtyard.
"Mister Cat? Uh. . Cal?" She called after him. "Are you ever coming back?" She stood there in the courtyard, with the late afternoon sun behind her, a bright spirit among the strangleroses.
She looked as though she belonged. "Take care of them, Jemaine. Watch over them until I come back."
She clasped her hands and nodded. "I will, mister Cat."
He left her in the courtyard, and found his way though the maze of the ruined walls.
There, sitting dusty and cobwebbed, was a battered leather pack. Leaning against it, was a long object wrapped in old, oiled leather. Sitting on top of them, though, and equally as dusty was a disk. He picked it up, no larger than the palm of his hand. When he blew the dust off, the silver and jet inlay gleamed in the shifting light. It lay coolly inert in his hand.
He looked up at nothing in particular and clutched the disk tightly. "Thank you, Mikhaela. . ."
The sun was lowering as he reemerged in the courtyard. Jemaine was gone, but her scent, not unlike Ga'arn's, lingered amongst the heavy aroma of the strangleroses.
It felt strange to him, to walk as a human did. The rhythms of a feline body had suited him, but the memory of the other shape was fading fast, like a dream.
Gracelessly, he sat on the column where Jemaine had sat earlier. The sticks she'd played scattered across its surface.
The reddening light glowed on the charred old timbers and the grey stone. The air silent except for the crickets, now and the wind across the plain.
He struggled to hold onto the sensations, the feeling of his body working in perfect fluid motion. A muscle twitched in his back and he laughed at the memory of a tail.
Is this your gift, Mikhaela? He thought, as his vision shifted to compensate for the dimming light in the courtyard.
To know both sides and long for one?
Even that, though, didn't disturb the peace he felt.
It was dark before he roused to leave the ruins. Shouldering the pack, he left, preferring the crystalline clarity of the moonlit night to the dulled colors he saw during the day.
He hummed tunelessly to himself as he started down one of the roads. Overgrown and rutted, it looked as though it had not been cared for since his day.
My day. Hmp. Who am I now? He thought, recognizing the road now as the one that led to Holad. He shook his head at the irony.
Who am I. Good question. As he walked, he raked his fingers through his hair. Not Cal anymore, I guess. I leave that one to the Bards..
The girl had called him Cat. No. Kit, then. The first name I chose for myself. He laughed.
He hadn't walked more than a few miles, when the sounds of a village reached him.
Well, this is new.
As he approached, the sounds of music and laughing reached him, but higher than that, in counterpoint, was a wailing. It made the hair on the back of his neck prickle.
The town was just down the next hill. The road ran right through the center of it.
He went off the side of the road, and sat in the grass, listening. The song was so familiar.
Blessed
Lord, O watch our souls
Thy care is
worth
much more than gold.
Blessed Lord, Protect us now
from the darkling creatures that we fear now.
He cringed. It was the beginning of the Spring Rite of Ihovan. The reddish glow from the village was Vanitias Bonfire, where people would burn their sins.
Kit fell back heavily in the grass with a silent moan. The Spring Rite (which had only been nominally practiced in the frosty springs of his years past) meant alot of priests.
That was the last thing he wanted right now.
But the thin, high wailing still reached him, tingling in his bones.
The realization hit him like a rock. Cats. Those were cats screaming in the darkness. His mouth dried out as he sat up, crouching in the tall grass, straining his ears to better touch the sound.
They screamed about the burning pain/painful light that seared their paws and blinded their eyes and the stench of their fur in the pain/light.
Tears stung the edges of Kit's eyes. They were burning cats, now, too.
He waited for the rage to take him, like it had in the past. He waited for the voices to start rumbling in the base of his skull.
They were silent for once. Briefly, he wondered if this was part of Mikhaela's gift. This blessed silence in his head.
Without the towering rage behind him, though, Kit suddenly felt at a loss. Even with it, he could not fight an entire village.
Maybe I don't fight them, then. He thought as he moved in closer, as quickly as his silence would allow.
The village was not guarded, with everyone at the bonfire. Quietly, he made his way up behind a little whitewashed hut, and peered into the ruddy-lit town center.
He bit down on his lip to keep from making a sound as he watched children give the cats they'd found to the greyrobes who ringed the bonfire. In return , they received a blessing and a sweet. The cats were then thrown into a wicker cage. Some were hissing, others panting, wild eyed. Most were just trembling madly.
Still biting his lip, Kit creeped forward, hoping to mingle with the crowd. He didn't get very far when another wicker cage caught him in the corner of his eye.
It was much bigger than the small cage the cats were crammed into. It was much bigger than that and resting on a wheeled wooden cart. Human sized, he thought ruefully.
Huddled in the center of the cage were several figures. Straining against the firelight, he could barely see them. A young Kindred woman was closest to the bars.
Sweat was beading on her pearly face and her amber eyes were wild, like the cats', with fear. But her face was determined and she shielded two children. Human children.
One of them turned their heads and the light caught a young girl's green eyes.
Confused and growing afraid, Kit pressed himself against the wall. The greyrobes had never trusted the Kindred, but the Church had never tried to harm any of them.
Alot changes in sixty years, old son. He thought. But the green eyed girl. .
Eyes green like a cat's. Like his. Oh, dung! Jemaine told me and I didn't listen.
Fighting back the fear, he looked back into the square, forcing himself to count the greyrobes. Eight. Eight of them and more villagers than I can see.
You could just walk into the square and play the demon-king bit. They probably won't be able to kill you. Of course, they probably would throw you into the fire .
The very thought of fire made the side of his face tingle unpleasantly. He shoved the idea out of his head.
I don't dare just walk out there like I own the place, do I?
V'haea E'llahae was far beyond the fear that glazed her eyes on the outside. In all her hundreds of years, she had never seen such as was going on here.
Within, she distanced herself from the sweltering heat of the nearby bonfire that was smothering her in sweat and soot and from the cacophony that rang in her ears.
Blessed White Lady, she thought glumly. All I wanted to do was go home.
She had been trying to get home since the war, but no ships went to Westerness anymore, the "evil west" as the locals called it. V'haea was no mage, to be able to just spirit herself away, as these grey robed idiots thought she was.
She looked down at the heavy iron manacles on her wrists. Cold Iron, the quiet metal, as the Kindred called it, for it silenced their innate powers.
V'haea snorted. Silencing her healer's powers. When they greyrobes had picked her up on the road to Firepoint, she'd protested, showing them she had no weapons, just her healer's tools. They'd taken them and beaten her then tossed her into the little wicker cage with the iron chains.
That outraged her, but not nearly as much as when they came to the little farm to check the children. The girl and her little brother had been taken screaming from their parents, who gave them over with more fear than piety in their faces.
She looked at Allya and Jarn, huddled behind her. Their dark faces smeared with soot from the nearby fire and their eyes wild and bright. Whether she liked it or not, she was bound to protect these human fledglings as best she could.
Looking down again at the chains she sighed. Not that my best right now is very good.
A subtle motion caught the corner of her eye, and she turned to see. With the fire to her back, she could try and see with the Sight of the Kindred. As her vision shifted into the ranges beyond the humans', V'haea could barely see the dark figure that hung in the shadows of the cottages.
It moved closer, and she could see the man as he crept from the darkness. A pained look touched his face then vanished as he slid back into the shadows so completely, V'haea wondered if she hadn't just hallucinated him.
She wasn't very well versed in the religion of the greyrobes, but V'haea felt that the rising pitch of the chanting was a bad sign. Allya was weeping silently as she held her little brother. I'm sorry, children.
A dirty child ran up to one of the greyrobes who was rounding the bonfire. In his grubby little hands was a crying kitten. Proudly he held it up to the cleric.
She felt sorry for the poor kitten, it's little blue eyes barely open, as the cleric's slender, dark hands took the shivering creature in.
Silently he patted the boy on the head and shooed him away
V'haea watched with interest. There was something not quite right about this particular cleric. His robe was too big, but even that couldn't hide the easy grace he moved with. He cradled the kitten gently. She could see the little cat was asleep, perfectly at ease in the man's hand.
A strange, wild hope tugged at V'haea. She didn't want it to, but the feeling wouldn't leave her.
With measured steps, the greyrobe moved towards the cat-filled cage. No one paid him any particular interest. He silently waited behind another cleric, who was also placing a cat in the cage.
The first cleric moved along to the bonfire as the new one walked to the cage. As he approached, V'haea saw him stumble and fall into the cage.
A quickly muffle d ripple of laughter ran through the crowd as the cleric fell over, tipping the cage. The door sprung wide, though, when the cage fell and the cats poured out like a furry tide.
Gasps rose from the villagers as the other clerics began to hurry in the most dignified manner possible over to the wreckage of the cat cage.
The cats would not leave, though, but rather gathered around the sitting greyrobe.
The hope that had tugged at V'haea's heart grew. She gathered the human children to her as the greyrobe stood.
He made a shooing motion at the cats, who sat motionless around him. From within the deep hood, V'haea's keen ears heard a muffled curse. He was still holding the kitten.
One of the other clerics approached warily as the villagers watched, unsure of what to do.
"Brother Arden?" This cleric asked. He was a big, heavy man, as were many of the others. The hands that showed from his sleeves were tanned, but not dark. V'haea heard a touch of the Ostaran in his accent.
The big cleric stopped and pushed his hood back. He was young, barely more than a boy himself, with a bland, almost uniformly tan coloring and a face like a particularly stupid ox. "Brother Arden, what's going on?"
The other simply stood there, so still and silent, he could have been carved from a chunk of grey rock.
One of the cats, a fat grey tabby, looked up to the greyrobe and trilled. He bent and set the kitten down. The tabby delicately picked the kitten up in its mouth. With barely the sound of their paws, the cats filed away from the greyrobe, disappearing into the shadows.
A gentle breeze stirred his robes. V'haea pressed against the bars of the cage to see better.
"Brother Arden?" The stupid one bleated again. Another cleric, still hooded, moved up behind him. "Who are you?!" He tried to thunder, but V'haea could hear the tremor in his voice.
Without speaking, the figure calmly walked over to her cage. When he got close enough, she could see partway into the cowl. A pair of the brightest, yellow-green eyes she'd ever seen met hers. Almost nonchalantly, he released the latch.
The second greyrobe shouted again, but it was lost in the rising tide of murmuring that came from the villagers. They weren't sure of what was happening, (but it was certainly different, one woman remarked) or exactly what they should do (if it's a demon, let the damn priests handle it, whispered an older man)
The crowd was still murmuring as he fiddled with V'haea's chains. The brilliant eyes met hers again. "I can't get the chains like this. Can you carry them?" Surprised by the depth of his voice, V'haea shook her head.
He muttered
something, then "Wait, here." He turned back to face the crowd.
V'haea was utterly confused, now. Were these people really so unprepared for this, that this man could just interrupt them like he did?
The priests had gathered in a grey-clad knot in front of the bonfire. The impostor walked towards them, coolly. Several paces in front of them, he stopped. "Release them." he said in a voice so quiet that the crowd hushed to hear it
The wind picked up slightly, stirring the robes about him.
The greyrobe that had been shouting before came forward, ihova gripped in his shaking hand. "Reveal yourself, blasphemer, trickster." He walked a few steps towards the impostor and stopped. "You are no demon, just a bold and foolish churl! Repent!"
To everyone's surprise but V'haea's, the man began to laugh, a ragged, uneven sound. "If I'm a fool, then you're an idiot, priest." He pulled back the cowl and let the robes drop to the ground. The crowd gasped. (The Demon King? Cal? The old lord come back from Hell? I thought he would be taller. I thought demons had, I dunno, tails or something. . )
His back was to V'haea, but she saw the breeze take the long, glossy black hair and stir it over the worn, old-fashioned clothing. He didn't particularly look like a demon to her, either, but the villagers were certainly getting excited.
It was then she saw the cats come back.
Not all of them. The kittens and the old cats and the injured ones were not to be seen, but the young and the strong began filing out of the shadows, surrounding him again.
"Come now, priest. You know who I am, don't you?" V'haea strained against the bars to see better. The children pressed up against her.
"Miss Vaya?" The girl whispered. "What's goin on? Jarn wants ta know."
She shushed the child as the priest began to backpedal. If she hadn't had the Sight, V'haea would have been barely able to follow the stranger's motions, so quick were they as he literally pounced on the cleric.
The greyrobe collapsed to the ground under the man's weight. He just sat there on the cleric's chest. "I asked you nicely, priest. Release them." The cats gathered around them as the other greyrobes moved forward.
He looked up at them. "Don't. . or your Brother spends eternity as cat food, got it?" There was a growl behind his voice. He looked down at the cleric he was sitting on. "We don't want that, do we, little Brother?" He smiled evilly at the suddenly still cleric.
"You. . .you just wanted all your hell-spawned children free. . Demon Lord." The greyrobe wheezed. His hood had fallen back, exposing a thin, ugly face with a fringe of thinning dark hair.
The man (V'haea couldn't convince herself that he was a demon) began to laugh. He caressed the greyrobe's cheek. "Stupid meat. I have no children." He said loud enough for the villagers to hear. "I simply resent your gratuitous displays of violence towards innocent creatures. That is my job."
She could see blood welling up on the cleric's cheek where the man had run his finger. The man bent and licked the blood off the priest's cheek and laughed again. "I can taste the evil in you little brother. A few more of these bonfires and we'll be making room for you in hell. You'll be a top demon, or cat food, which ever comes first, eh?"
"Khaff. . .khaff. . Uh. . .Brother Ultan. . . uh. . . release them. " The cleric choked out from under the man's weight.
As the ox-like cleric went to the cage, the crowd began to stir and grumble. V'haea watched as the man stood and nudged the still prone cleric out of his way. The cats just sat there, but a eerie growling began rising out of them.
He lifted his arms, raising his voice to be heard above the ever growing growling of the cats. "Good Villagers of . . . this place. Remember all the good the cats have done you. Keeping your barns clear of rodents and your feet warm at night. It's more than these . . " he nudged the cleric again with his foot. ". . have ever done for you. Remember that because the cats are leaving. For good."
He turned to leave, but then turned back.
"These bonfires will stop now. You will all tell the other villages that the Demon king of Reclamation let you live on that promise. Understood? Or I, at least, will return to level this mud heap to the ground."
V'haea rubbed her wrists as Ultan removed the chains. He looked sheepishly at her with his big bland face. "I'm sorry, pretty lady. Uh. . ."
She smiled at him. "I'm sure your god forgives you Brother Ultan."
The stranger walked towards her, the cats dispersing back into the darkness. "Take their wagon and go." he said softly. "Before they decide to stop being afraid."
V'haea just stared at him a moment, stunned. He flashed a crooked, feral smile and she nodded, gathering up the children.
He smiled viciously at the priest who was getting up. "Don't let this happen again, little Brother Catfood."
V'haea didn't stop the wagon until they were well away from the village and the sound of the sea was close by.
As she had the children rummage through the boxes in the wagon, looking for food, her Sight caught motion in the grass. She tensed. Now what?
He came out the darkness and the tall grass with barely a sound. "I just wanted to make sure that you and the little ones got out of there in one piece."
V'haea climbed down. "Who in the name of the Lady are you? What are you?"
His crooked smile was shy. "Just. . .just a traveler, I guess. The villagers, they knew the who, bur not the what, I'm afraid."
She crossed her arms. "For a demon, you seem awfully bereft of hellish power."
To her surprise, he laughed, softly, again. "If I were a demon, at least, I would have far less problems than I do now."
Before he could say anything else, V'haea reached out to touch his face, her Kindred-born speed almost as fast as his. With the contact, her Healer's senses took over, reaching into him.
She gasped as she dove beneath the surface, into the twisted maze of blood and tissue. Suddenly, she pulled back.
"You. . .you're a njaa?" she asked incredulously, immediately regretting it.
He looked at her with silent, wounded eyes.
Embarrassed, V'haea shook her head. "Before the war, I was the healer for the magelord Kariemenn. . ." she paused and leaned against the wagon, looking into the darkness. ". . . he abandoned me to the crowds when the fighting broke out. Left me to die." She looked back at the stranger. There was a deep empathy in his catlike eyes. She could feel it in him. "Kariemenn had a stable of njaarrin. All of them from insects. They were hideous to look at.. ." She had to stop again as the memory engulfed her. The healer's curse to remember so well. "But they were so frightened. Even the ones he'd made vicious and cruel lived in terror. Oh, Lady."
She hadn't heard him move closer, but when she looked up he was standing next to her. He raked his fingers through his hair and chewed on his lip a moment. "I know." was all he said when he finally spoke.
"What is your name?" She asked again, finding it difficult to speak with him so near. A little corner of her mind was repulsed that she felt so attracted to. . .to a njaa, for Lady's sake!
He didn't seem to notice. "It's Kit, for now at least. People keep naming me things, so it might change." He said it with a little laugh.
She moved closer to him, and could feel his warmth. A desire sparked in her, and she reached to touch him.
"Whacha doin miss Vaya?" Allya's piping voice nearly sent V'haea airborne with fright. She had completely forgotten about the children, they'd been so quiet.
She whipped around, chest pounding. "Don't ever, ever do that again, child. Do you understand me?" The girl giggled and disappeared back into the wagon.
Kit started to laugh, a funny, ragged sound, but a laugh, nonetheless. V'haea turned back to him, but as she did, her anger disappeared, and she started to laugh, too.
They both sat on the ground by the wagon, doubled over in laughter.
Finally, when he could talk, Kit gasped. "Mikhaela! I thought your head was going to explode!"
She sat back. "Oh, I know. But Goddess! What am I going to do with two human fledglings?"
His face grew serious. "I don't know, "Miss Vaya"."
She searched him for a trace of mockery. "V'haea. V'haea E'llahae. I. . I don't think I've thanked you yet, for saving our lives." She cursed herself for the nervousness that crept into her voice.
He shrugged. "I did it for the cats. I heard them screaming. But. . .once I saw the three of you, I couldn't very well let them burn you, too, eh?" He pulled up his knees and rested his chin on them.
V'haea wanted to kiss him in the worst possible way imaginable. She looked at the finely cut contours of his face, and knew they were engineered to look that way, but it didn't keep it from tearing at her heart.
He felt the weight of her stare, and his luminous eyes met hers. "I know what you're thinking. V'haea. Don't." There was an old wound in his voice.
Indignant, she sat back. "And how do you know what I am thinking? Are you a mind-reader as well as a njaa?" she asked coldly.
He just looked at her with those sad, bright eyes. "Believe me, V'haea. You don't want to have anything else to do with me." In one smooth motion, he stood and stretched with a predator's grace.
Sheepishly, he looked down at her. "Uhm. If you want, I'll travel with you for a while. . .That is. . if you want. ."
V'haea slowly got up. Standing, they were almost of a height. She reached out her hand. "I would want that very much, Kit."