Part 59 (2/2)
”Aye.”
”He's gone.”
”Aye.”
”I'm not him!”
His grip was so tight, she could barely keep from wincing. ”I know. I'm sorry if I've been . . . unkind.”
”You loved him, didn't you?”
Her breath caught. She let it out slowly. ”Once.”
Before the blind girl. Before all the other little girls. Before qiij and ambition stole the last shreds of decency he possessed.
”But that was a long time ago. And the man I loved . . . the man I thought I loved . . . he never really existed.” She squeezed his hand. ”He's gone, Keirith. He'll never hurt us again.”
Only later, as she was drifting off to sleep, did she wonder who had told him what Xevhan and Miko had done. Perhaps one of the guards. Or a gossiping slave. How else could he have known what had happened to the poor girl?
Chapter 48.
THREE DAYS AFTER HIS conversation with Hircha, they reached Ailmin's village. When his father introduced them as captives rescued from the Zherosi holy city, Ailmin's gaze lingered on him. He probably wondered why a Zheroso needed to be rescued from his own people. His father's reputation won them hospitality, but it was grudgingly given. No feast was prepared to welcome them. No stories were shared around the fire. Ailmin's wife served them in silence, and in silence, they ate. And when the grim meal was finished, they curled up beside the fire pit with their weapons close at hand.
Dreading a nightmare among strangers, Keirith waited until everyone was asleep and made his way to the beach. The evening thunderstorm had washed the air clean. The sand was damp and cool under his bare feet. Seaweed and broken sh.e.l.ls littered the beach, but the sea was calmer now, the soft shus.h.i.+ng of the breakers and the hiss of foam the only sounds in the world.
His bag of charms rested against his chest. The reminder of his past-his true self-comforted him and he was grateful Hircha had preserved it. He spread his mantle on the sand and emptied the bag onto it, touching each of the charms, just as he had the night before the earthquake. Malaq's bloodstone warmed quickly in his palm. He let his thumb glide over its smooth surface as he stared out to sea.
For days he had tried to convince himself that his dreaming mind was simply weaving nightmarish images into his memories. But how could he know what had happened to the blind singer? How could he experience everything about that encounter so intensely? The skin, soft as a rowan petal. The surprised flinch when Miko seized her wrist. And the screams that went on and on until her sweet voice became hoa.r.s.e and broken and finally fell silent.
Even the Tree-Father sometimes failed to make sense of visions. And what were dreams but sleeping visions? But there were other images, other memories, too many to dismiss. Xevhan's spirit had shattered before he cast it out. What if those shattered pieces remained inside him, lost to his waking mind but emerging while he slept?
One by one, he gathered his charms and slipped them back into his bag. The dagger lay against his hip. He drew it from its sheath, remembering the shock of Xevhan's blade driving into his flesh. He didn't think he could bear that again. Better to walk into the sea and let the water close over him. He thought of his family waiting at home, considered the possibility that his imagination had conjured the nightmares, weighed the horror of carrying Xevhan's spirit with him to the Forever Isles against the possibility of escape.
Twice, he had tried and failed to reach Natha. He told himself that snakes were not wolves, that his father's bond to his vision mate had endured for years. But secretly, he feared Natha no longer recognized his spirit.
”Please, Natha. Please come.”
Gheala's light cut a wavering swath across the dark waters. Lulled by the sound of the surf, he drifted, as once he had floated in the honeysuckle sea. The night waned. Gheala's reflection moved slowly westward. It rose and fell with the ceaseless motion of the waves. It slithered across the water, riding the crest of the breakers and vanis.h.i.+ng in the foam. It wriggled onto the sh.o.r.e.
The creamy color faded. Clad in his familiar green and black, Natha glided toward him. Tears stung Keirith's eyes as he felt the brush of scales over his bare toes.
”Why did you seek me that other way? I could not reach you.”
”I didn't have the strength for trance.”
Natha hissed in irritation. ”You did not try.”
”I . . . I'm sorry.”
Natha hissed again, but this time his tongue flicked out to kiss his ankle. ”You taste different.”
”I wear another body.”
”I have eyes. Why did you shed the old one?” At his inadvertent flinch, Natha's head reared up. ”Ahh. You did not wish to shed.”
”Nay.”
”Well, it is done now. This body is strong. It will serve you well.”
”I want my my body! My real body!” body! My real body!”
”You speak like a child. I wonder why I bother with you.”
Keirith sighed. ”Because you are patient and wise.”
”Yes. And you are impatient and foolish. The G.o.ds should have sent you a squirrel for a vision mate. Or a rabbit.”
”Or an eagle,” Keirith retorted, hurt by Natha's coldness.
A sharp pain stung his ankle as Natha struck. ”Then fly with your eagle and leave me in peace.”
”Wait! Don't go. Please, Natha. I'm sorry.”
Natha slithered back, but remained out of reach.
”I'm scared, Natha. I think . . . the man whose body I wear . . . I think his spirit still lives inside me.”
Natha wriggled over his ankle, up his leg. As he slithered higher, Keirith fell back as if pressed down by a heavy weight. Slow as sap rising, Natha wound his way up his chest, his throat, his chin. The tongue flicked out to kiss his lips. The head b.u.t.ted against his mouth, forcing it open. He choked as the slender body slid over his tongue, but then Natha's physical being vanished, leaving only the sensation of something flowing down his throat. It warmed him like his mam's hot apple cider as it filled his belly, warmed him in another way altogether as it gushed into his loins.
His arousal subsided, leaving him as flushed and spent as if he had climaxed. Natha spiraled through him, as ceaseless as the waves, as refres.h.i.+ng as a stream. When that soothing presence vanished, the sense of loss made him want to weep.
”Remember,” Natha whispered. ”Follow the path I took when you seek sleep. Or when you feel the man stirring.”
”He's there? He lives?” Keirith couldn't keep the panic from his voice.
”Fragments only. Rid yourself of them.”
”How?”
”Are you a hatchling? They must be disgorged or digested. Excrete him as you would feathers or fur.”
”I'm not an adder!”
”No, you are a foolish boy. The principle is the same whether the fragments are those of a man's spirit or a nestling's body. If they remain too long inside of you, they will putrefy.”
<script>