Part 45 (1/2)
”If I go back, I'd be going to my death. We both know that.”
”Not if you refuse to use this power.”
”But I want to use it! Don't you understand? I love the power, and I love using it.” Keirith's voice cracked as he laughed. ”I may not be the Son of Zhe, but when I touch the spirit of another, I feel like I am. In those moments, I am am a G.o.d.” a G.o.d.”
Darak's hand came up and Keirith flinched. Fingers clenched, he lowered it. ”He's poisoned your mind.”
”He's opened my mind. He's taught me more in a moon than Gortin could in a lifetime. He understands me better than ...”
”Better than I do,” Darak said softly.
Keirith took a deep breath. ”Please, Father. If we go on, we'll only hurt each other more.”
How could anything hurt more than hearing that his son believed a stranger-an enemy of their people-knew him better than his own father? Had the priest cast a spell over him? Surely, Keirith couldn't have changed so much.
Control yourself.
”This priest may understand your power. And he may cultivate it. But have you asked yourself why? How many questions has he refused to answer? How many times have you caught him in a lie? He's using you, son. If you cross him-if you threaten him or any of these people-how long do you think it'll be before you're lying across their sacrificial stone?”
”You don't know him.”
”Neither do you.” The uncertainty in Keirith's face made him add, ”You and I . . . we may not always agree. We may . . . say things, do things to hurt each other. We're both stubborn and strong-willed.”
”We were too much alike, you and I. Maybe that's why we were always b.u.t.ting heads.”
His father's words. And now, despite all his efforts, he seemed to be repeating the pattern with his son. Keirith watched him, wary and confused, waiting for him to continue.
”No matter what lies between us, we come from the same roots. We wors.h.i.+p the same G.o.ds. We are children of the Oak and Holly, who have lived all our lives in the village our ancestors founded when they fled from these people.”
Tentatively, Darak raised his hand and, although Keirith drew back, he laid it gently on his son's shoulder. A fine vibration coursed through Keirith's body. His fingers tightened. ”Please. Come home with me.”
Please, Maker. Don't let me lose him as I lost Tinnean.
Keirith wrenched free. ”I'm sorry, Father.”
Shocked, Darak could only stammer, ”He's threatening you. He must be. Otherwise-”
”He is not threatening me. I want to stay. I want to learn from him. I'm sorry you had to come. That I put you in danger. But you can leave-you must leave. Take this and go.”
Keirith scooped up the disk and held it out. When he didn't take it, Keirith seized his hand and thrust it into his palm.
”Please. Just . . . go.”
Darak stared at the disk, as useless as Struath's tiny crystal that had failed to retrieve Tinnean's spirit. Nay, he he had failed, not the crystal. Just as he had failed now. And not just now but for years, or Keirith could never reject him so easily. had failed, not the crystal. Just as he had failed now. And not just now but for years, or Keirith could never reject him so easily.
Of course, he had made mistakes. Every father did. The night of Keirith's attack, the day of the raid-those were the worst. But did they wipe out everything else? The summer days when he taught him a hunter's skills? The winter nights when they sang songs together at the fire pit? He was there to catch him when he'd taken his first steps, to embrace him when he'd returned from his vision quest. And he was here now. What greater proof could he offer of his love?
The smell of the food choked him. The oil scenting Keirith's hair sickened him. The immaculate breeches, the neatly laced sandals, the perfectly trimmed fingernails . . . they had stolen his son and left this copy behind as surely as if they had cast out his spirit and invested the empty body with a stranger's.
”And what am I to tell your mother?” Keirith winced, and he was savagely glad. ”And your brother and sister? That after a mere moon in this cursed place, you've chosen to abandon them to become a Zherosi priest? To take your place before the sacrificial stone and cut out the hearts of your own kinfolk? To feel like a G.o.d?”
”Tell them whatever you want! Tell them . . .” Keirith took a deep breath and turned away. ”Tell them I am dead.”
”Better that you were. Better that you had died when the raiders attacked. Then we could mourn you and remember you in our prayers and hope to meet you again in the Forever Isles.”
Keirith's shoulders hunched as if he had struck him.
”Look at me. Look at me!”
Slowly, Keirith turned. Unshed tears made his eyes bright, but his mouth was pressed into a tight, hard line.
”Tell me that you're abandoning us of your own free will.”
Keirith's mouth worked. He swallowed hard and whispered, ”Go home, Father.”
”Tell me-”
”Aye!”
”And if I don't believe you?”
”Then believe this. I killed Urkiat.”
”What . . . what are you talking about?”
”Oh, it was your hand that drove the sword into his chest. But have you wondered what made him stand there, waiting for the blow? That was me, Father. I tried to cast out his spirit. I wasn't strong enough to do it, but I did manage to distract him. Just long enough for you to strike the blow that killed him.”
His mind realized the truth, but his heart and his spirit shrank from accepting it.
”But why? Urkiat would never . . . I wasn't in any real danger . . .”
”Xevhan had decided on a fight to the death. One of you was going to die. I chose Urkiat. That is what the power gives you. The ability to choose.”
”But not the right!”
”And if I hadn't? What then?”
”I would have done . . . something.”
”You'd be dead.”
There was no emotion in his son's voice. None at all.
”Last night, I gave you your life. Now you must give me mine.” For just a moment, Keirith hesitated. Then he shook his head impatiently. ”I can't go home, Father. Not now.”
”No one has to know.”