The Reawakened (24 page)

“It was an accident,” Dravek said, enunciating each word in a hiss. “And don’t forget what I could do to you if you threaten me.”

Etarek let go and stepped back. Without turning, he pointed back at Sura. “Say her name.”

“Keep your voice down.” Kara glanced around. “People will think we’re a bunch of crazy Kalindons.”

“Say it.” Etarek’s finger shook in Sura’s direction. “I want to hear your thoughts when you speak the name of your Spirit-sister.”

Dravek’s gaze tripped past him to land on Sura. He stood straighter as they stared at each other. She took a step forward, shaking her head. Her lips pleaded his name without sound.

He came to her, brushing past Etarek. Dravek stopped in front of Sura and caressed her cheek with a warm hand. Behind him the campfire flared.

When he spoke, she didn’t need a Deer’s ears to hear his thoughts.

“Sura.”

Hearing nothing, she left the chicken coop and trudged toward the narrow house, a small brown terrier trotting at her heels.

The baby wailed again.

“Coming!” Sura shoved the back door, which didn’t budge. She grabbed the handle and tugged it open.

“Pull, not push,” she muttered to herself as she entered the house through a kitchen, then turned left to the bedroom, following the squeals.

She picked up the little girl and cooed to her as she checked her diaper. Dry. Could she be hungry? When had she last nursed?

A large sign was nailed to the wall over the crib, written in red charcoal.

Check Lists At Front Door.

Sura carried the baby into the kitchen and found several sheets of parchment on the wall near the entrance. The top one simply displayed the word
Malia.

“That must be your name,” she said. Sura herself had been named after her grandmother, so she must have named her daughter after her own mother, Mali.

On one sheet, three tick marks lay under the words
Feedings Since Sunrise.
Sura brushed aside the window’s thick curtain and squinted into the piercing Tiron sunlight. Small shadows tilting left meant early afternoon. If Malia had nursed three times since sunrise, she wasn’t ready to eat again. Or was she?

“Hello?” she called toward the stairs. Where was everyone?

For no reason Sura could discern, her daughter’s cries quieted, then ceased. She stared down at the infinite mystery in her arms. Malia’s hair was thick and red like her father’s, but her deep black eyes were her mother’s alone.

“Have I told you lately that you’re the most beautiful girl in the world?”

The baby blinked.

“I probably have.”

A knock came. She peered through the window to see Etarek, so she unbolted the locks and opened the door.

“Sorry I’m late.” His smile broadened at the sight of Malia. “There’s my girl.” He looked past them into the house. “You alone?”

“I think so.” She moved out of the doorway so Etarek could enter. He had knocked, so obviously he didn’t live in this house, though his faint scent lingered in the corners, as if he had been here recently.

“Did you heat water?” he asked.

“For what?”

He brushed past her and planted his finger on one of Malia’s sheets next to the door. “It’s written right here.”

Sura read the words. “Bath, Etarek, afternoon.”

Etarek picked up the pail. “I’ll go get water. Maybe you could light the stove.”

“I will.”

He walked out and shut the door behind him. Sura turned to the stove, but then Malia began to cry.

“Are you hungry?” Sura retreated to the other room and sat on the bed. She unbuttoned her shirt, offering Malia a chance to nurse. The baby averted her face and flapped her hand. Something felt wrong.

A stack of papers with crumpled edges lay on Sura’s nightstand. The top sheet read:

Me: can’t make new memories, because of Malia. Started when pregnant, got worse after birth. Write everything down. Bring this everywhere. Read it often!!!

She thumbed through the sheets until she found the one labeled
Etarek.

Lives alone. Hears everyone’s thoughts when they speak, because of Malia.

She frowned. Deer and Snake had perverted Etarek and Sura’s second-phase powers, because they’d purposely conceived a child they didn’t want. Sura remembered this fact because it had been arranged before she got pregnant, before she apparently started losing her memory.

She flipped through the pages to see what had changed.

Thera: can’t stop hearing Galen’s thoughts. Communication spotty.

So Sura and Etarek weren’t the only ones to suffer for their misdeeds. She wondered about her own parents, and turned the pages to see. Her mother’s page had one entry:

Mali: still in prison?

Her father’s page contained several entries, on various dates.

Lycas: not dead.

Not dead.

Not dead.

Not dead.

Not dead.

The front door opened, and Etarek walked in with a pail. Its sloshing sound told her it was full of water.

He looked toward the stove and sighed. “You forgot already?”

Her stomach dropped. “Forgot what?”

“Never mind. I’ll do it.” He regarded her with a pained expression. “Malia doesn’t nurse.”

“What do you mean?”

“She’s bottle-fed. You have trouble remembering to feed her, so everyone takes turns. The Turtle woman made up a formula that gives Malia everything she needs.”

“Oh.” Sura pulled her shirt closed, feeling foolish. “I knew that.”

“No, you didn’t,” he said softly. “I’m sorry.” He moved toward the stove, disappearing from view.

Sura wished she could forget how much she’d hurt Etarek, forget the disgust and bewilderment on his face when she’d thought of Dravek as he made love to her. But her memory was not so merciful, and since the last year had been a blur, the pain of that night remained fresh in her mind.

Sura rocked her daughter in a way that seemed to soothe the child. She couldn’t remember having done it before, but she had to trust her instincts.

Etarek appeared in the bedroom doorway. “Is she ready?”

She almost asked, “For what?” but knew it would upset him, so she just smiled and nodded, though she had no idea what she was answering.

He approached her and gently eased Malia out of her arms. The baby looked tinier held in her father’s hands. He brought her to his face and kissed her nose, then nuzzled her eyebrows. She gave a wet gurgle, emitting a trail of drool.

“I’ve got her,” he said. “Take a nap.”

“I think I was doing something before all this.”

“There’s an egg on the table. Were you in the henhouse?”

She snapped her fingers. “That’s it,” she said, though she had no recollection of it whatsoever.

“You need sleep more than the family needs eggs.” Etarek touched her shoulder. “That’s why I’m here, so you can rest.”

Her eyes felt heavy and thick, so Sura didn’t argue. She curled up on her side and watched Etarek tug the curtain shut, dowsing the room in darkness. She wondered if she would remember any of this later.

Sura woke to the sounds of arguing in the kitchen. She recognized Dravek’s voice through the closed bedroom door.

“Jonek needs two parents,” he said. “You love Kara, why not live with her?”

“She hasn’t invited me,” Etarek replied. “Besides, I can’t live around anyone in my current state.”

Sura craned her neck to see a baby sleeping in a crib a few feet away. Her own child?

“Maybe if you stop feeling sorry for yourself and show you can be a responsible father,” Dravek said, “Deer will give you control of your second-phase powers.”

“Show I’m a responsible father by taking care of your child?”

“I take care of yours here, while Kara and my son are living alone. It’s wrong.”

“Then you move in with her,” Etarek replied.

“She won’t have me.”

“You’re her husband.”

“Not in her mind.”

“Convenient. Frees up time for all the Tiron women chasing after you.”

Sura slid out of bed and crept toward the door.

Dravek’s voice came low and threatening. “I haven’t touched one of them. I’ve been faithful to Kara.”

A sudden crash made Sura jump. It sounded as if a chair had fallen over.

“I hear the truth.” Etarek’s voice came louder now. “You’re not faithful to
Kara,
you’re faithful to
Sura.
”

“What difference does it make? And stay out of my mind.”

“I would if I could. It’s a miserable place to be.”

Sura opened the bedroom door, making it creak. Standing at opposite ends of the table, the two men blanched when they saw her.

“Sorry I woke you,” Etarek said. “Is Malia still sleeping?”

She nodded, assuming that was the baby’s name.

Dravek came to her side, his movements slow but not cautious. “Can I get you anything? Is there something you need to know?”

“I just woke up.” She tried to smile. Though her mind was cloudy, she knew she was glad to see him. “Your hair grew.”

He touched the end of his hair, which now fell in black waves to his shoulders. “It does that.” Dravek pointed to the nightstand. “Check your lists and let me know if you have any questions. Meantime, can I bring you something to eat?”

She held up a finger and returned to sit on the bed. She flipped the pages until she found:

Dravek: Lives here. Son Jonek lives with Kara.

“So they had a boy,” she murmured.

Her eyes widened at the sight of
Check this box if I still love him.
The charcoal mark looked as if it had been erased and retraced many times.

Sura was dismayed to see in large letters at the bottom of Dravek’s page:

DON’T TOUCH

She was about to ask him why when the front door opened. A young woman with shoulder-length brown hair breezed through.

“Hello, Jula.” Dravek sent Sura a significant glance. She recognized the name from her childhood as her cousin. She found Jula’s page right away:

Mockingbird. Loves apples and someone named Corek. This is her family’s house. Brother died at the Battle of Velekos.

“Nilik…” Sura’s gut sank as she whispered her cousin’s name. How many times had she learned this terrible news?

She forced herself to get up and enter the kitchen. “Jula, it’s wonderful to see you.” She left off the phrase
after all these years.
“How’s Corek?”

Her cousin gave her an indulgent smile. “I wish I knew. It’s been weeks since a letter’s come from the Sangian Hills.” Jula held up a piece of parchment. “But Damen sent the latest news from Velekos. Come read it with me.”

Sura sat next to her cousin with the letter on the table between them. The men looked over their shoulders. As far as she could remember, they couldn’t read, but maybe they had learned in the past year. All she knew was that Dravek’s proximity still made her skin sing.

Jula chuckled. “Damen says the Ilions have finished their ‘dispersal,’ relocating all the people from the Acrosia into other parts of Velekos.”

“Why is that funny?” Etarek asked.

“He says it spreads the rebellion that much faster. The tactic has completely backfired.” She rested her cheek on her fist. “Everything does eventually.”

Sura tried to concentrate on Damen’s letter, but she knew she would forget everything it said. Instead her mind clung to the memories it could hold, whether it wanted to or not.

She remembered the day it all changed in Asermos. She was ten years old.

Jula groaned. “The Ilions say their temple to Evius will be unveiled in time for this year’s festival in Velekos.”

“It’s an insult to the Spirits,” Dravek growled. “I’d like to tear it down with my own hands.”

“Don’t they already have one in Asermos?” Etarek asked. “Sura?”

She heard him speak her name, but didn’t answer. In retrospect, the temple had probably been a bad place to hold a rally.

“Sura, are you listening?” Jula whispered.

“It doesn’t matter,” Etarek said. “She won’t remember it in an hour.”

“She’s remembering,” Dravek said softly, “but not what we tell her. When the present’s too much, she thinks about the past.”

Sura’s mother had led a march through Asermos to protest the working conditions in the quarries. Or maybe it was to protest the erection of another Ilion temple, or the outlawing of public magic. Each week brought a new cause.

Mali had let Sura march that day, at the front of the parade. It was meant to be a peaceful demonstration, safe for children. No rioting allowed, no burning of the Ilion flag, a red sun on a yellow field. Its waving rays had always made Sura think of a bloodshot eye.

By sunset, two little girls lay dead in the streets of Asermos. The Descendants later claimed that the children had been crushed by “the mob,” but Sura remembered how the military ambushed the parade with a line of sword-wielding horsemen, how they shouted about ‘teaching these sorry beasts a lesson.’ She remembered the hoofprints on the girls’ dresses.

Two nights later, Mali left the house after putting Sura to bed. When she returned hours later, Sura crept out of bed and inched open the door to the kitchen. Her mother was kneeling naked next to a bucket of water, washing blood out of her own clothes for the first time. But not the last.

“Where’s my father?” she asked Jula, interrupting the news report.

Her cousin pursed her lips. “He’s in the Kirisian Mountains building a new battalion. He sends messages, but he hasn’t come to Tiros since—” Her fingers twisted around the wooden pen. “Since we lost Nilik.”