Of Blood and Angels (The Two Moons of Rehnor, Book 3) (25 page)

"Here, Daddy," his wife said
instead, interrupting Kinar.  She put the baby in his arms.  "Say Dada,
Sweetie.  Hi Dada."

The baby stared at him, watching his eyes,
studying the light that shone from them.  He raised a hand and tried to catch
it, missing it and pounding Senya's face instead.  "Da da da," he
declared to the delight of his mother. 

Senya put a hand on the boy’s skull and
felt the soft hair curl around his fingers.  He listened.  He searched.  The
boy was normal, healthy.  His soul was new.  Senya looked forward.  He tried to
see what would become of this boy but it was only mist.

"Da da da," the boy cried again
and pounded Senya's nose with his little fist. 

"No, Shika," his wife scolded
lightly and reached for the little hand.  Senya took it instead, removing his
hand from the child's skull.

"Ay yah, Shika-ala," he said in
Karupta, holding the boy high so he could watch his father’s face as they
walked up the lawn.  "I have much to teach you.  Your brain is completely
empty."  Senya laughed at his own words and for the first time in a long
time, he realized he was happy.

A Preview from
The Two Moons of Rehnor
,
Book 4

Firestone Rings

Sorkan

“We need to wait a little longer,” I said.

My nephew Rekah nodded.  He and I, our
cousins and the chiefs of our people were waiting in the Temple.

“It is nearly sunset,” my cousin, the
Chief of Shrotru prodded.  “We cannot wait much more.”

“He will be here,” I replied, my voice
perhaps a little sharper than necessary. 

I was grieving so my rudeness should have
been forgiven.  I was sober today.  I was forever sober now.  My tongue had
soured on the taste of drink and I was ashamed it had controlled me for so
long.  Every day I knelt in the Temple and asked Him for forgiveness and begged
for His Blessing once again.  Every day of my father’s illness, I sat by his
bedside and asked for forgiveness from him too.  My father gave me his
blessing.  I did not know yet if My Lord had done so.

“My father is greeting Grandfather in the
Heavens,” my nephew said, tears staining his face.

“Your father is not dead,” I snapped. 
“Your father chooses to be gone from this valley for more than twenty years. 
Say a prayer for your Grandfather’s peace and another that your father will
soon return home to honor his obligations.”

My nephew knelt in obeisance and his mouth
moved as he recited the ancient words without sound.  His weeping annoyed me. 
A man as large and strong as he, a man with three wives and already too many
children to count should not need to cry as an infant over the death of a man
who had seen nearly one hundred years and could not leave his bed for all of
the last one. 

My stomach clenched at this thought.  My
father could have lived another twenty years, had he wished.  My father had no
need to lie in bed and let the cancers within him eat away at his body.  My son
could have cured him but my father refused.  My father had brought on this day,
this time, upon himself.  He was dead and I had to remain here and continue on
in his absence whilst my sole remaining brother flitted off in the galaxy doing
heaven knew what.

The sun had set over the Blue Mountains,
coloring the rigid peaks in shades of orange and red.  The heat of the day was
gone and a cool, bitter wind drifted through the open doors of the Temple.  The
flame in the Eternal light flickered and for a moment taunted us, threatening
to extinguish. 

“We must begin,” my cousin the High Priest
declared.  “It is time.  We cannot delay.”

I nodded.  It was late.  We could not
delay past sundown.  My son had chosen to disrespect his ancestors and our
customs through his absence.  My stomach churned again.  My father had
abandoned me and left me alone to deal with this arrogant, stubborn,
supercilious son who would now rule us all. 

Footsteps ran across the stones outside
the Temple, becoming silent as he entered the chapel, his bare feet padding
against the smooth marble floors.

“Sorry,” my son whispered, kneeling down
between me and my nephew.

“At the last possible moment,” I replied
scornfully, though in truth, I was much relieved at his arrival.

“Bit of a long trek from Rozari.”

“You know how that may be resolved.”  I
turned my attention to my cousin for the last thing my son wished to hear was a
demand for him to return to this Rehnor permanently. 

The High Priest chanted the prayers of
mourning and we joined him in this.  Despite my irritation, it was a comfort to
say the words that had been said for millennia by our ancestors when they were
similarly bereaved.  It soothed my heart because I loved my father and I wished
him peace in the afterlife.  I would miss him greatly.

The sun had fully set and it was dark by
the time that we arose from our prayers.  The chiefs of our people come forward
and they made obeisance before my son who was now their king and soon would be
king of the Mishnese people too. 

My son was all but the king in name now
for he decided everything for Mishnah.  The old king, my father-in-law was
ailing and had been befuddled in his head for some time.  I glanced askance at
my son, and because the drink was no longer staining my thoughts, my heart
filled with pride though still I was irritated at his late arrival. 

Six of our highest chiefs and cousins
stood before the casket and made ready to carry it to the burial ground.  The
others carried torches.  The three of us followed the casket, my nephew and I
on either side of my son.  Our procession paraded slowly through the village,
through the silence. 

The women and children, the warriors and
old men were all on their knees.  As we passed, they rose and followed us.  I
saw the MaKani and the little prince, Shika, on the steps of my father’s house,
which was now my nephew’s home.  Rekah’s first wife, Letitia and eldest son,
Tuman stood next to them.  Rekah’s other wives, Carina and Seesi stood behind
them.  The women came down the steps together and followed us, the two little
boys regarding each other warily.  We processed all the way to the high mounds
of the steppes and the casket was laid in the ground above the village.  My
father would lay next to his father and his father before him.  My father's
sons and my brothers, Lot and Pedah would lay at his feet.

Our cousin, the High Priest chanted more
of the ancient words.  Then he spoke of the wars.  He named the de Kudisha
princes and all the men of Karupatani who lay beneath the soil we stood upon,
who gave their blood and their life spirit for this Rehnor and before that,
Rozari, the motherland.  He spoke of my noble father who lost three sons to the
wars but still knew there could be peace.  Merakoma, my father humbled himself
before the Mishnese king and gave our most precious commodity, the seed of a de
Kudisha prince to the Mishnese because he knew it was the only way to make
peace.

Unbidden, tears came to my eyes for it was
I that provided this seed and my little Mishak Princess who did nurture it.  I
missed her even now.  Perhaps it was because she had been taken from me after
so brief a time together that I still longed for her.  Had we been married
instead for these forty odd years, perhaps she would be but a cold stone in my
heart, a heavy ball affixed to my ankle by a chain.  I glanced at my son, our
son, but his face revealed nothing in the dim light of a flickering torch.

The High Priest closed his prayers and
made obeisance at the feet of my son.  He gave our new king the Firestone ring
worn by my father and my son slipped it on the fourth finger of his right
hand.  Then he knelt down and took a handful of dirt, tossing it in the open
grave.  My nephew and I did the same.  We left together, although my son paused
before the grave of my brother Pedah.  He bent down and placed a shiny silver
stone upon the headstone.  This silver stone glowed with a light that came from
deep within it.  My son smiled at this.  The stone glowed and for many years
after, my brother’s grave was always alight. 

“What is it?” I whispered to my nephew as
we walked back to the village, guided by the torches held by our chiefs.

“I don't know,” Rekah replied.  “How would
I know such a thing?”  He wiped at his tear stained cheeks.

“It is fermium,” my son said.  “Pedah and
I once argued about this metal and whether or not it contained a combustible
energy.  As you can see, it does and because of it, Rehnor will become…”

“What?” I asked as his voice went quiet. 
“What will Rehnor become?”

“It doesn’t matter now,” he shook his
head.