Child of a Dead God (65 page)
“At least people here are so accustomed to him that they do not find you strange,” she said to Osha.
Or she thought she had said it. Some of the words did not sound right, but that was because of all the noise. Before she could repeat herself, she noticed the room’s awful tilt and felt as though the chair beneath her might fall over.
It was too hot in here.
Wynn had tried not to dwell on the conversation in the kitchen with Domin Tilswith, especially the part after Leesil ran out after Magiere. She had promised herself to wait until after the wedding before telling Magiere or Leesil the domin’s unsettling news.
Today was about them, their day of joy, and she would not spoil it for anything.
“Let us go outside,” Osha said. “It is too warm.”
Thank goodness someone else noticed, thought Wynn, and she followed as he waded through the crowd for the front door.
The night outside was better—cooler. Rather than stand about before the tavern windows, they walked as far as the nearby stables. Osha half-crouched, leaning back against the stable’s outer door, and Wynn stood before him, watching him weave a little before her eyes.
“I am . . . dizzy,” he said and wiped his brow.
He had fallen back into Elvish. Obviously Osha could not hold his wine. Wynn giggled before she could stop herself.
“I fear the Anmaglâhk would not approve of a single thing you did today.”
His slanted eyes grew serious. “No, they would not, and that thought is sad.”
Wynn lost her own humor.
“Today was good,” Osha went on, “and humans are nothing like I was taught. Even Sgäilsheilleache, who spent so much time in these lands, knew little of them. . . . Then you came.” He glanced away. “Sgäilsheilleache should have stood with Léshil today—not me.”
“No, Osha,” Wynn said. “Leesil mourns Sgäile, but he was glad to have you with him.”
He looked at her, his face intense—lonely—and hungry in moonlight.
Wynn teetered so much she stumbled. She grabbed the stable door near his shoulder. With his face so near hers, Wynn’s muddled head flushed with a new heat.
She wanted to feel what Magiere and Leesil had, to know that closeness with someone she cared for. Wynn realized, standing there, that she could make Osha fall in love with her. Just kiss him on those soft . . . thin . . . tan lips.
She shoved off the stable door, growing too warm again.
With all they had been through together, she loved Osha—but was she
in love
with him? Their paths would soon diverge, and perhaps that was best. She took another step back.
in love
with him? Their paths would soon diverge, and perhaps that was best. She took another step back.
Osha studied her until she could not bear it anymore.
“We should go back inside,” she said. “Magiere will wonder what became of us.”
His mouth tightened in puzzlement, or was it disappointment?
He stood up. “Yes, we go back now.”
Chap lay by the hearth watching everyone around him drink, dance, and laugh. More than once he had quickly scooted aside before someone stepped on his tail.
Wynn slipped in the front door, flushed and staggering as she looked about.
When she spotted him, she wove among the crowd and dropped a bit too hard beside him. She buried fingers in his fur, rubbing his back, and it felt good. He wondered why she was no longer joining in the festivities.
Osha came through the front door.
He scanned the room and spotted Wynn. Before he could make his way over, Aunt Bieja hauled him off to where Karlin had collapsed into a chair. Osha seemed happy enough, or perhaps even relieved to sit with them.
That young elf will never be Anmaglâhk,
Chap projected.
Chap projected.
“I hope not,” Wynn mumbled, still rubbing his back. “Though he wants it so much. Osha knows more about humans than most of his caste. Perhaps that will make a difference.”
She sounded so sad—and drunk—that Chap raised his head.
What is wrong?
What is wrong?
“You, Magiere, and Leesil . . . cannot stay here . . . long, will you?”
He sighed through his nose, settling his head on his paws once more.
Tonight is for them, but tomorrow . . . no, we cannot stay. We must leave and get as far from Most Aged Father’s reach as we can. Even that will only be a delay.
Wynn took her hand away.
“Domin Tilswith was . . . overwhelmed by the texts we brought back. Translation at our barracks in Bela is not possible. We do not have the reference materials needed—and he cannot leave. There is still too much to be done in Bela in starting that little new branch of our guild.”
Her silence was too long and too easy to read on her sad face.
You are going home . . . taking your find to Malourné, and the guild’s founding branch.
Wynn did not seem surprised that he knew. “Someone must take the texts to them . . . to those more experienced in translation. Domin Tilswith thinks this best, as I will be needed for what I learned on our travels.”
Chap shifted closer to her. In truth, he had known this day would come. And now he worried again for Wynn’s safety . . . from those who might seek the texts to learn more of the orb Magiere and Leesil bore—and from his own kin.
You are part of this now—and no safer than any of us. It is best that you leave this land as well
.
.
“What am I to do without you?” she whispered.
Tears formed in her bleary brown eyes. But Chap knew she would be safest in one of her guild’s communities, though not safe enough.
Once you arrive, stay where many are around you. My kin do not want to be known by mortals. They will shy from manifesting where they might be noticed.
“You know something dark is coming,” she said. “Is it your kin . . . from what you sensed in the cavern? Are they behind all of this?”
He had no answer.
No . . . something more, beyond them. And I have made other . . . arrangements, which I hope will come through, in the interest of your well-being.
He cared for Leesil and Magiere—they were his charges and deeply woven into the path he followed. But Wynn was the only one to whom he could “talk.” Before her, he had never understood how much such a companion could mean.
Chap laid his head in her lap.
Almost instantly, Wynn flopped heavily atop him. Even over the ruckus, Chap could hear her snore.
Long past midnight, Leesil lay in the warmth of their upstairs bedroom, holding Magiere against his chest.
“A good day,” he whispered.
“The best,” she agreed. “Right before the ceremony, I panicked a little. But everything was perfect. I’m glad we waited to come home for this.”
He tightened his hold on her. He didn’t want to say more, but it finally slipped out.
“You know we can’t stay.”
She was quiet for a moment. “I know. We can’t give the orb to the sages. We can’t risk Most Aged Father’s anmaglâhk coming for it . . . here or in Bela.”
“I’ve thought about that, too,” Leesil answered.
Magiere pulled away and propped up on one elbow. The last remnants of white lilacs still clung in her black hair.
“So now what? I’m not giving up on our life here.”
Leesil shook his head. “Me either. I overheard Tilswith talk about getting Wynn’s texts to his guild’s home, but he also mentioned plans for the new guild branch in Bela. I don’t think he’s going to deliver the texts himself.”
“You think he’s sending Wynn back?”
Leesil shrugged. “We’ll find out in the morning, but getting the orb off this continent would go a long way to masking our trail, wherever we end up.”
“We’ll have to catch a ship out of Bela,” Magiere added with a sigh.
Leesil nearly groaned at the notion of more seafaring. “I’ve been thinking a lot about the idea of home lately.”
“And?”
“Home is just wherever you are.”
Magiere rose on her hands and knees, like some pale predator next to him, and looked him right in the eyes.
“No, it’s right here . . . where we want it!” She leaned so close that Leesil felt her breath on his mouth. “But it’ll have to wait . . . again.”
Magiere pressed her mouth hard over his.
Nine days later, Wynn stood beside Osha on the south end of Bela’s vast docks, and they watched the variety of ships throughout the harbor. They had all taken a schooner from Miiska to the king’s city, but Magiere, Leesil, and Chap had stayed behind at their inn.
Osha was going home, but not by any of the ships in the bay.
Wynn had asked few questions, and he only told her what he’d heard from Sgäile. Most Aged Father would have the nearest elven ship come, and Sgäile and Osha were to watch for it.
Far out off the harbor’s northern point, the glint of silken sails sprouted high above the waters. It was larger than any elven ship Wynn had ever seen, especially the one that had carried her south and died for it.
Somewhere out near the woods of the northern point, a skiff and crew would be waiting for Osha.
Wynn could not bear to say good-bye at the inn and just let him leave, so she had come down to the shore with him, but this was hardly easier. Gray-green hood up covering his head, she could still see his large slanted eyes, anxious and desperate. He did not wish to go, and yet he longed for his homeland.
Perhaps Osha feared what waited there, or hated it and was all the more eager to face it. His innocence had died with his teacher. But Wynn needed him to do one more thing when he got there.
She pulled out a small paper-wrapped package and held it out.
He looked down at it, and before he could ask, she was explaining.
“When you reach home, find Brot’an and give him this . . . to him and no one else.”
Osha’s eyes widened. Wynn had stayed up half the night in the inn, writing the small journal wrapped in that paper. It contained everything she had learned or guessed concerning what had happened on their journey.
“Do not let anyone else see this,” she warned. “If you cannot reach Brot’an, then take it to Nein’a and Gleann, as I think they may know how to find him. But never let it fall into anyone else’s hands . . . even if you have to destroy it before you find Brot’an.”
Osha slowly took the package, and Wynn understood his reluctance. What she asked leaned hard against his oath to his caste. She only hoped he had learned enough from Sgäile, his teacher.
Not of the ways of the Anmaglâhk, but rather the ways of his people that Sgäile had held dear above all else.
Osha nodded and tucked the paper bundle into his tunic.
Wynn wanted to embrace him but could not. “I will not forget you or all that you have done for us.”
“I . . . I . . .” Poor Osha had always had difficulty expressing himself with words.
“I know, it is all right,” she said. “Go.”
He turned, heading along the bustling docks toward the city’s north side.
Wynn watched until Osha was barely a tall spot of gray cowl above the heads of dockworkers, hawkers, and merchants too busy to notice him. And when the last glimpse of him vanished among the crowd, she panicked.
How many times had he come for her, stood between her and harm? Simple Osha was not so simple. Even next to Sgäile’s unshakable honor, only Osha among his kind and his people had learned to look at her for who she truly was—and not some savage human to be feared and hated.
Wynn broke into a run, shoving her way along the crowded dock. At the sight of swinging gray-green fabric, she reached out and grabbed hold.
Osha turned suddenly at the tension on his cloak and dropped his eyes.
Wynn clawed up to throw her arms around his high neck, and she buried her face in his shoulder as he crouched down.
“Do not forget me,” she whispered.
His long arms wrapped about her.
It was foolish, stupid, and something she could not stop. Magiere’s warning meant nothing against the pain. Wynn lifted her head and thrust her face into Osha’s.
Clumsy and awkward, she found his mouth with hers, and pressed hard.
Chane and Osha . . . and she would never see either again.
Wynn was crying before she pulled back and lost the wet warmth of Osha’s mouth. She could not even look at him as she fled. She ran away through the streets of Bela, but it was a long while before she returned to the inn.
Magiere faced into the wind as the captain called to leave harbor. Leesil was already hanging on the rail like a dying man. The seasickness was all in his head, since they hadn’t even set sail, and she knew the worst of it wouldn’t hit him until tomorrow.
The orb was locked away in their cabin below.
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