Dangerous Talents (11 page)

“Some fates shouldn’t be changed. A man needs more than respect to make a life. He needs joy. Take it where you find it.” It was an old debate between them, and held the comfort of a ritual. Sorn’s eyes drooped and his smile softened. His voice was muzzy with coming sleep. “Don’t turn your back on joy, my brother.”

*

Sorn’s fevered voice awakened Cele. His querulous moans had already roused Dahleven and Ghav. Cele slipped from beneath the blanket she shared with Fendrikanin and went closer. She stopped a few steps off to Dahleven’s side, where he knelt, facing Ghav across Sorn’s supine form. Dahleven hadn’t wanted her near Sorn before, and she didn’t want to be sent away again.

A slight breeze bit cold and sharp, raising gooseflesh on her arms and legs. Cele hugged her arms tightly, trying not to shiver, and looked down at Sorn. Fever flushed his face, and his breath came rapid and shallow.

“Is there nothing that can ease him?” Dahleven asked.

The healer looked across at him. Dahleven’s usually calm face was carved by fatigue and worry. His eyes pleaded with Ghav.

Cele knew how he felt. She’d asked the same questions herself, but seeing the naked emotion on Dahleven’s face twisted something inside her. An irrational, half-formed hope tried to flicker to life. She wanted Sorn’s recovery too much to accept anything less, and Dahleven wanted it too. He led these men. They respected him. They obeyed him. Somehow Ghav would do what Lord Dahleven demanded. He would save Sorn. Cele saw the same expectation on Dahleven’s face, etched by silvery light and shadow. She wanted it for herself, for Sorn, and when she saw the anguish in his eyes, she wanted it for Dahleven, too.

Ghav’s low voice rumbled almost below the threshold of hearing, as if he were as reluctant to speak the words as they were to hear them. “There is only one thing that will ease him now, and it will come soon enough.”

Hope shriveled in Cele’s heart as Ghav’s words repeated in her mind. She looked at Dahleven. His expression barely changed, but the subtle tightening of his face, the slight sag of his shoulders betrayed his pain. Her vision blurred as her eyes filled, and hot tears spilled down her cheeks. She turned her face away.

There was nothing more anyone could do. Ghav had done his best. Sorn would die, and no one could do anything about it. No one
here
. At a hospital, with modern antibiotics and sterile surgical techniques, they could probably save him. But she might as well wish them both on the moon.

She hated feeling helpless. She’d felt like this when her mother lay dying those last two weeks in the hospital. She’d hated it then, and she hated it now. What was she doing here, anyway? Why did she have to start caring about Sorn just to watch him die?

Cele’s shoulders slumped and she hugged herself tighter.

There was one small thing she could do, if Dahleven would allow it. Cele went to Ghav’s side and knelt. “You’re both tired. Let me stay with him.”

They hesitated.
At least they’re not saying no right away
. Cele looked to Dahleven for a decision. She saw the doubt flicker across his face. He probably didn’t want to leave his friend in the care of a stranger. Cele saw the negative forming in his face when Sorn decided for him. He reached out and grasped Cele’s hand with hot fingers.

Ghav nodded and rose, saying, “He will thirst. Only let him sip. Call me if his pain increases.” Then he went to slip under a blanket beside Kepliner.

Dahleven looked at the face of his friend as though he were reading the future there. He grasped Sorn’s other hand. “Until later, my friend.” Then he rose and went to speak with the sentries.

Cele looked at Sorn’s hand clasping her own, grateful beyond words for his vote of confidence. Her eyes threatened to fill with tears again, but she blinked and swallowed them, unshed. Then she snuggled close under the blanket with him, propping her head on one hand. When she looked at his face she saw him regarding her with aware, fever-bright eyes. She wanted to thank him again for all the small kindnesses he’d shown her, for his forgiveness, but all the words that she thought of seemed inadequate, so she remained silent. But she thought the half smile he gave her said he understood.

“Dawn will be a long time coming,” he said. “Sing to me.”

Sing
? She’d never sung without music to guide her and drown her mistakes. Her experience consisted of singing along with the radio, and in church as a child. “I’m not very musical.”

“I’m not very critical.”

Cele’s mind went blank. The only songs that came to mind were hymns and Christmas carols. She sang “Amazing Grace” and “Away in a Manger.” She was trying to remember the words to “Oh Come All Ye Faithful,” when Sorn interrupted her.

“Do you know any happy songs?”

“Happy songs?” she asked stupidly.

“Those who crafted the songs you sing…seem not to have been very cheerful.” His voice came in painful gasps. “Could you sing a song with a smile in it?”

Cele became very aware of the limits of her musical knowledge as she tried to think of an upbeat tune. All she could think of was “Sleigh Ride” which had always set her toes tapping. It seemed terribly inappropriate, but Sorn liked it, so when she finished she started over again, singing softly, “…Our cheeks are nice and rosy, and comfy cozy are we…” By the end of the last chorus Sorn had fallen into a fitful doze.

She watched his labored breathing. It was no worse than when Ghav left, but it was so ragged that she wondered if she should call the healer anyway. Suddenly, Dahleven appeared out of the darkness. He lay down on Sorn’s other side. Cele expected him to dismiss her, but he only said, “Two will keep him warmer than one.”

They stared at each other across Sorn, the knowledge that he was dying hanging in the air between them. Then Cele looked away, at her hand held in Sorn’s. When she glanced back at Dahleven, she saw he’d been staring at their clasped hands too.

“I heard you singing.” Dahleven’s voice was rough.

Cele grimaced. “I’m sorry. He asked. I didn’t mean to disturb the rest of you.”

“No. It was…very nice. You…have a good voice.”

Cele suspected that wasn’t what he’d meant to say, but she let it drop.

Time passed. Cele tried to avoid Dahleven’s gaze, but no matter how their eyes danced away from each other, they kept meeting. Cele lowered her head, pillowing it on her bent arm to avoid staring at Dahleven, but after a bit she felt herself drifting off and propped her head on her hand again. She forced her drooping eyelids wider and tried to focus on Sorn’s breathing. She thought that maybe it came a little easier. After a few minutes she found herself drifting again. She blinked furiously, trying to clear the gritty feeling from her eyes.

“I’ll watch. We need not both lose sleep.”

She searched Dahleven’s face, then flicked her eyes away again, feeling guilty for nearly falling asleep. “I said I would stay with him.”

“You have, and you’ve brought him comfort. But he sleeps now. You may as well lay your head and rest a bit, too. I’ll wake you if there’s need.”

*

Dahleven watched Lady Celia’s face relax in sleep. He was grateful for her tenderness toward his sworn brother. He looked again at her hand clasped in Sorn’s. Sorn had very nearly sworn him to care for her earlier, as a man would ask his brother to protect his lady. Dahleven remembered the words of Lady Celia’s song, “We’re snuggled up together, like birds of a feather…” It was a song of courting. Sorn had at last found a woman who saw him as more than a friend. Could such feelings grow in less than a day? Dahleven’s gaze traveled to where Sorn still clasped her hand, and then to the cuff he’d given Sorn that now wrapped Celia’s arm above her elbow. It wasn’t a betrothal band, but it was all Sorn had to give in this place, and rested in that spot. Apparently, Sorn had made his choice, and the lady had accepted.

Sorn’s breathing came fast and ragged and smelled terrible, though it was hard to separate from the stink of his wound. It was worse than Ingirid had smelled after he and Sorn had thrown his older sister into the sulfur springs. The memory triggered an involuntary smile. He and Sorn had been partners in mischief since they’d gotten lost in the tunnels below Quartzholm together, long before his Talent Emerged. They’d sworn brotherhood in his tenth summer, their difference in rank of no consequence to them.

Dahleven’s heart felt like a stone ground to dust by Sorn’s suffering. In all the adventures and dangers they’d faced together, he’d never imagined that Sorn could die.

*

Cele startled awake as Dahleven pulled her hand free from Sorn’s stiff fingers. Dahleven’s shadow loomed over her as he knelt beside her, the first faint graying of dawn behind him. Sorn’s chest lay still, no longer struggling with painful breaths.
He’s gone
. She made a short, sad little moan as Dahleven pulled her first to sit, and then to stand.

She’d known these men for just over a day, but she felt smaller, bereft by Sorn’s death. Cele looked up, into Dahleven’s eyes. The pain there mirrored her own. He put his arm around her shoulders and she felt as though he’d given her permission to share his grief, a permission she hadn’t realized she needed until he touched her and led her a little way apart from the camp.

His kindness broke her tenuous self-control. Her eyes stung and filled; tears tracked her cheeks. Dahleven hesitated a moment, then pulled her closer. Cele’s arms slipped behind his shoulders. She gasped in damp, sobbing breaths, feeling as though something in her chest might explode and suffocate her. Fear and loss crashed in on her. She was so far from home. Her mother was dead, Jeff was gone, Elaine was beyond reach, and now Sorn was dead, too. He’d offered her friendship. His easy, instinctive gift for putting her at ease had made this strange world easier to bear. Conflict twisted and knotted her heart. She wanted Sorn to still be alive, but she was relieved his suffering had ended.

Cele pressed her face against Dahleven’s chest and shivered in his arms.

Fender brought a blanket and draped it around her. Dahleven continued to hold her, rubbing slow circles on her back. The pressure in her eased, and she drew a deep, shuddering breath. She could hardly think. She sniffed wetly, then pulled away enough to free one hand to wipe tears from her face. She was embarrassed at losing it, but surprised and grateful for Dahleven’s kindness.

Dahleven pushed her far enough away to look at her. He gave her a bleak half-smile, and with both hands on her shoulders, he pushed her gently down to sit on a rock. He pressed some dried fruit into her hand and put a waterskin by her. “Try to eat something. We must attend to Sorn.” Then he walked away.

Cele felt calmer after her tears, though an ache still filled her chest. Part of her mind was appalled at breaking down, but she was too numb to worry about it. She couldn’t eat, but Cele sipped the water while the sky slowly brightened and the men built a cairn over Sorn’s body. The stones made an empty clack as they set each one in place. The lonely sound went on and on. Cele tried to shut it out, but it penetrated, echoing in her head. Then they finished and there was silence. The sun gleamed obliquely over the mountains, filtering through the scrub trees on the ridge above. With the last rock laid over Sorn’s body, the men gathered close and began to sing.

Sunbeams shafted through the trees in a shallow angle as their voices rose and fell, blending in a powerful rhythm that Cele felt in her heart. The beauty of their deep male voices carried her with them and closed her throat again with tears of longing. They sang of the brotherhood of men striving for a common goal, the exultation of vanquishing a foe, the need to protect hearth and family, the desire for a woman, the love of children. Cele felt it all. It felt
right
; it felt whole, and she wanted to be part of it, to belong to it.

Then they fell silent.

For a moment it seemed as though the whole world stopped. Then the gathered men moved apart and began breaking camp. Their actions were quiet and purposeful, but the sudden movement in the new silence jarred after the ceremony.

Cele felt as though she’d stepped outside of time and the activity of the men around her had nothing to do with her. Sooner than she expected, Dahleven pulled her to her feet. The company moved on, leaving Sorn behind, under his blanket of stones.

CHAPTER SIX

The route Dahleven chose grew steeper, but his Talent assured him that he led his men rightly. It pulled at him, strong, while he concentrated on his goal, more like a niggling, half felt itch when he thought about other things. To be sure, there were many right paths, but he concentrated on finding the quickest. If Sorn had still lived, he would be seeking a different, easier route; men couldn’t carry a litter when they climbed as much as they hiked. Now, with no litter, they could travel a more direct, more difficult path, and make up the time they’d lost.

They needed the speed. The Althing would open in three days’ time, at Fanlon’s Feast. The Jarls would be discussing the danger to Nuvinland’s borders, and how best to meet it. He and his men must get home with the information they’d gathered if Nuvinland was to avoid war with the Tewakwe. There was no glory to be won in fighting the wrong opponent. But he would gladly have sacrificed the time to have Sorn still with them.

Dahleven reproached himself for the selfish thought. Sorn’s death wound, honorably gained in battle, entitled him to feast in Valhalla. Even walking the misty ways of Niflheim until the return of Baldur would be a better fate than the agony of a belly wound. He wouldn’t call Sorn back to that.

Dahleven’s heart clenched in a tangle of pride and anger and guilt. Sorn had stood his ground before the onslaught of the Tewa’s bladed club, defending Lady Celia. He’d fought valiantly, vanquishing his attacker, refusing to succumb to his wounds until the threat to her had passed. If not for her, Sorn could have given way, defended himself with greater flexibility. He might still be alive if Dahleven hadn’t put the lady in his charge.