The Silver Lake (37 page)

“I didn’t realize you were coming, Teya,” Evalaz said apologetically. “We took him out for some air today. It must have tired him. He’ll be more responsive in the morning if you’d like to visit again.”

Kemal nodded, his expression working to remain light and cheerful.

“He was happy about your new delon,” Evalaz continued. “I read him your letter several times. It made him smile.”

“We’ll write more,” Yashar said, coming over to lay a comforting hand on Kemal’s shoulder.

“Did Brax really stare down the entire temple command council?”

“More battered them into submission through sheer force of argument,” Yashar replied with a chuckle. “He’s very focused when he’s certain he’s right.”

“.He sounds like a battle-seer,” Bayard said, glancing down at Chian fondly.

“Estavia forbid we should have another one of those in the family,” Kemal answered, making his voice match the teasing quality in the other man’s tone. “One is enough. No, Brax is a warrior through and through. He and Spar have been reading the adventures of Kaptin Haldin.”

In the bed, Chian’s dark gaze suddenly misted over with a thick white fog, but when the others turned to him, his eyes were closed.

“We should go,” Bayard whispered.

“Yes. We’ll come back tomorrow before we leave,” Kemal promised.

Chian gave no indication that he’d heard, but as the three men filed out and Evalaz picked up the book again, he gave a slight jerk before his face relaxed into its usual slack expression once more.

At Bayard’s home, Brax gave an equally agitated jerk before sinking deeper into sleep.

He awoke with a start. For a moment, he stared wildly into the darkness, feeling the last of Estavia’s power thrumming through him, then, as his eyes adjusted to the moonlit room, he remembered where he was. And who.

Beside him, Spar and Jaq slept on, undisturbed by his dreaming, and he sat up with a groan, running one shaking hand across his face as sweat dribbled through his hair and down his neck. He felt like he’d been run over by a donkey cart. His throat hurt, and his arm hurt, and his chest hurt, but deep inside him, Her power still pulsed through his veins and he closed his eyes, savoring the sensation until it slowly faded away, leaving nothing but an aching void behind. Anxiously reaching for the familiar warmth of Her presence, he sighed in relief as he found it, then opened his eyes again.

Estavia’s statue stared down at him from its shadowy wall niche, its tiny ruby gaze glittering almost sardonically in the moonlight. He frowned at it, then carefully eased off the pallet. As Spar stirred sleepily beside him, he placed a finger against his lips, knowing the younger boy could see it—he’d always had the better eyesight of the two of them.

“It’s nothing, go back to sleep,” he whispered. “I just have to piss.”

The younger boy gave a faint snort and rolled over, arms about the dog again. As Brax groped for his clothes and his carefully hidden talisman, his thoughts chased themselves around and around inside his head. She’d sent him that dream; She had to have. She’d named him Her Champion, just as She’d named Kaptin Haldin all those centuries ago, and had gifted him with Her favor and Her power.

Having tasted it once, he had to have it again.

Slipping into his tunic, he made to step away from the pallet, then paused. Reaching down, his fingers found his practice sword almost by instinct. The hilt felt as comfortable and familiar as it had in the dream, but he knew this was no shining jewel-covered weapon of a God’s favor, only a blunt and awkward piece of metal meant to strengthen his wrist, not slay his God’s enemies.

But it would serve his purpose tonight.

Clutching it to his chest, he headed for where his memory told him the back door would be and, careful to avoid the dark shadows that made up each pallet and each sleeping figure, he slipped into the courtyard beyond.

The night air was chill, the ground cold but welcome beneath his feet. Making his way around the woodpile and the vegetable garden, he reached the back wall in half a dozen steps. Scaling it easily—his fingers and toes finding purchase on the rough stone despite the burden of the sword in one hand—he straddled the top, gazing out past the sleeping village to the bulk of Orzin-Hisar standing like a spike of shadow in the moonlight. He guessed he had about an hour before Serin-Koy’s priests of Havo climbed to its top to invoke the dawn.

Plenty of time.

Swinging his leg around, he resisted the urge to look back toward the wall—if thousands of hungry spirits hovered just beyond its protective barrier, he didn’t want to know it. Taking a deep breath, he launched himself into the darkness.

His feet hit cold, soft dirt. Something scratched across his face and he froze. Then, as his eyes adjusted to the gloom, he saw that he’d landed in a small grove of immature cherry trees. Grinning ruefully, he ducked under their slender branches and headed swiftly down the main street toward Gol-Beyaz.

The wind had dropped when he reached the shore, leaving the lake to lie as clear and calm as a great pane of glass, as if even the currents were somehow moving under the shining surface rather than through it. Shivering, he made his way down the cold, sandy beach until his toes touched the water, then backed up a step.

“Now what?”
his mind asked caustically.

“Now I call.”

“Um ... I don’t know. The last time She just sort of showed up.”

“How?”

“I need Her now.”

The question echoed though his mind, making him suddenly doubt his intent. For what? For power? Was that enough? Closing his eyes, he remembered the intoxicating sense of invincibility Her presence had evoked, then the dull, empty ache as it dissipated.

The memory of his own words made him start, then he forced himself to straighten.

“Yes, it’s enough. It has to be.”

He reached out.

Deep within his mind, he felt a faint shudder as the God of Battles stirred, drawn by his ambition and by Her very palpable favor for him. With an equal mixture of fear and anticipation, he reached out again, then gawked as one moment the moon was shining down on the clear, rippleless surface of Gol-Beyaz, and the next on Estavia, God of Battles, as She rose from the water before him.

Brax almost fell over backward.

In the small confines of Liman-Caddesi She’d been huge and terrible; here on the open waters of Gol-Beyaz She was that and so much more. Her flashing swords spun above his head in a constant blur of silver lightning while Her eyes bored into his like crimson flames, but all in absolute silence. When the tip of each sword blade snapped to a halt on either side of his jaw, his knees almost gave way. Struggling to find his voice, he could only make a slight scraping noise in his throat. The God bared Her teeth at him and, to his surprise, that calmed him. He looked up into Her eyes and his back straightened as Yashar’s words echoed in his mind.

The God’s chuckle made him blush as he remembered that She could also read his thoughts. He almost backed up a step, then cleared his throat.

“I ...”

He coughed, then, scowling at his own cowardice, drew himself up.

“I said I would talk to You if You came,” he began, feeling stupid but not knowing what else to say. “So I have to ...” he trailed off, then tried again. “ ‘Cause I said I would. ’Cause I said I
could.”

A ripple of amusement passed over the God’s feral visage even as six words spoken in his own, irreverent cadence echoed in his mind.

A dozen answers came and went before he realized She already knew; She just wanted him to say it.

“I want what Kaptin Haldin had,” he answered in a rush before he lost his nerve.
“Everything
he had.”

The God’s teeth gleamed in the ebony of Her face, Her expression fiercely eager, but with a warning deep within Her crimson gaze. He pushed on, regardless.

“He was your Champion. You gave him special powers, special...” He struggled to make sense of what he’d felt. “You loved him best,” he said finally.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“I’ll prove it. But...” he paused, his mouth suddenly dry.

 

 

 

 

 

“But I need Your help. I can’t learn what I need to know by myself. I need You to ... I dunno, make it take.” He lifted the practice sword. “Make this take. Inside.”

Her eyes flashed red, and for a moment he thought he might have asked for too much, then Her left sword slowed, descending until it rested against his chest where the picture of Kaptin Haldin lay. The surprising strength of it, given physical weight by the power of his own desire, pushed him backward but he braced his feet in the cold sand, feeling the point just barely pierce through vellum into skin. Looking into Her eyes, he dropped all pretense of strength and courage and allowed the frightening, overpowering need he’d always kept hidden fill his own gaze for the first time in his life. For a heartbeat, Her right sword winked out of existence and he felt the soft brush of Her hand caress his cheek, then, with a lightning fast motion, the sword was back and slashing across his wrist. Pain shot up his arm and he nearly dropped the practice sword in surprise, but he gripped the handle and rode it out, refusing to cry out. As it lessened to a dull throb, the God bared her teeth at him in savage approval, then pointed inland.