Hatam-Ile, 2nd of Tenthmoon 3045
The muted hum of rain became pleasant background noise that you no longer noticed once it went on for long enough. Ren’i had felt the same during Hol Saro’s rainy summers, and the rainy season in the Hytherlands was no exception. The mornings he got to spend waking up in Hawk’s arms while rain pounded against the roof and the windowpanes were slow and languid, and he wouldn’t have exchanged them for anything in the world.
Sava and the others had kept their word, and their peace remained undisturbed. What lies they’d been forced to spin to keep the captain and the others’ curiousity at bay Ren’i didn’t even want to know, but it wouldn’t be enough to quell the rumours. Where his presence tended to attract attention, it still had nothing on how people reacted to his absence. He made the private decision to go over his Guard’s paychecks and arrange an additional holiday for Sava, Linnee and Yurau as soon as he returned to the north.
Under the shelter of trees less than a league’s distance from Hatam-Ile was a memorial grove of barrows and young trees. Branches weighted down by the rain hovered so low over the path leading to the grove that the place was nigh on impossible to spot until the moss-covered stone posts came into view. It was as if nature itself guarded the rest of those sleeping in the grove; the grasses reached almost to his knees, and meadow flowers had taken over the path. By that very path Yurau stood waiting with Bolt and handed Ren’i the reins before she returned to camp on foot without asking questions.
Ren’i lead Bolt by the reins, bending his head under the fir branches as he followed Hawk to a clearing so overtaken by greenery that not even the rushing of the nearby River of Mists could disturb the burial ground’s peace. Only birdsong kept company to those resting below the soil. The palpable sense of holiness in the grove left Ren’i speechless. The akheris did not carve gravestones or leave flowers on their loved ones’ graves, but there was a tree marking almost each and every grave. Threads, already bleached by the seasons, hung from their branches, swaying slowly in the breeze. Mementos had been left on the roots here and there, tools, clothes, decorations, even toys for children.
At a distance from the rest stood a semicircle flanked by tall, ancient evergreens. Ren’i left Bolt to graze and silently followed after Hawk past stone posts similar to the ones standing at the graveyard’s entrance. Rain had formed puddles on the slabs of stone set in the soil, the water quivering from their tresspass. Moss had taken over everything, the stone slabs, the trunks, even the branches wound into overlapping layers long ago, forming a living canopy precisely above the very middle of the semicircle. More colourful threads were hanging from the branches; Hawk tied a bouquet of blooming lilies-of-the-valley to one of them.
In a row below the wooden canopy were flat dishes, on top of which all manner of things from flowers to jewelry to knives had been left. Though there were no statues or carvings anywhere in sight Ren’i understood at once where they were.
”A memorial for those who are buried elsewhere?” he asked quietly. Hawk nodded.
Hawk knelt though the ground was wet. The wooden object that he arranged next to the fresh flowers brought by someone else was roughly hewn; Ren’i recognised it depicted a wolf. Rain dyed the wood in darker hues within seconds.
Hawk was quiet for a long time. When he finally broke the silence his voice was subdued.
”I don’t know if she’d be happy that I came.”
”Who?”
”Willow.”
There was something distantly familiar about the name, and Ren’i at last recalled a conversation he’d once had with Onniar. The scout who’d lost her life in the hands of Liqaris. He shuddered, feeling how a raindrop landed inside his collar. ”A friend of yours?”
”That too. We never got the chance to reconciliate.” Hawk fiddled with the flowers and evergreen branches piled on the dishes, as though lost in thought. ”It was long ago.”
”What happened?”
”We split up. On bad terms.” Hawk’s eyes were somewhere in the distance. ”It’s too late to apologise now.”
Ren’i looked at the flowers hanging from the threads, most of them so fresh that they hadn’t started wilting properly yet. It told him people had visited the memorial often. ”Do you want to be alone?”
Hawk shook his head. ”Stay.”
Ren’i did.
He waited with Bolt while Hawk paid a visit to a large burial mound on the other side of the graveyard. They did not exchange a word for a very long time. The only sound that filled the silence was that of hooves against the grass.
The moisture from the stone seeped through the fabric of their trousers despite the branches above sheltering them from the worst of the rain. Ren’i breathed in the fresh air. The woods had been transformed entirely since his last visit with Onniar on their journey to the chestnut grove. In its lushness it rivalled the northern coniferous forests a hundredfold, and for the first time since his departure from Hol Saro Ren’i felt right at home.
Raindrops formed a tiara of pearls in Hawk’s hair, glimmering with his every movement. Ren’i could not help stealing a glance at him every now and then. The familiar comfort of his presence followed Ren’i everywhere, though he still found it difficult to fully trust in it.
”Well then,” Ren’i managed to mumble with his mouth full of pear. ”Your turn.”
”My turn to what?”
Ren’i poked him with his elbow. ”Tell me something about yourself.”
”What for?”
”Easy. So that I can learn to know you better,” Ren’i said with a smirk, throwing Hawk’s own words back at him. ”I suppose we’ll be spending quite a lot of time together, seeing as we’re confessed and all. Isn’t this supposed to be an ever after kind of deal?”
Hawk frowned. Ren’i could practically hear him thinking. In the past months he’d learned to recognise a whole slew of emotions on the face he’d once believed so unreadable. Hawk was in the habit of constantly observing the world under his brows, and only the minuscule changes on his face indicated where his moods were going at the moment.
”It doesn’t have to be anything special,” Ren’i went on when the silence showed no sign of ending.
”There’s just not much to say,” Hawk said with a shrug. ”I was born and raised here. That’s all.”
”Nonsense.”
”You’re the royalty. That’s rather difficult to beat in terms of interest.”
”Psh. You’re much too modest. I could think of a lot of things to say about you.”
Hawk looked amused. ”Oh?”
”You’re a great shot, you run really fucking fast, you like reading, you have the most godawful sense of humour and weirdest family out of everyone I know,” Ren’i recited, listing off each thing with his fingers. His smile widened when he added, ”and you’re good at kissing. You’re exceptionally good at it, in fact. You could kiss for a living.”
Hawk chuckled. Ren’i saw the corners of his mouth twitching. ”Perhaps I’ll consider it. I need something to keep me busy in the north.”
Ren’i felt his heart skipping a beat. They had not discussed the future – some part of him did not dare think beyond the next day – and he’d not had the time to consider how to even approach the subject, let alone who went and where and with whom. Only one thing was certain; he’d stay by Hawk’s side, even if he had to fight tooth and nail for it.
He forced it all off his mind decisively and willed himself to smile as though he didn’t suddenly have an entire flock of butterflies in his stomach. ”Just tell me something small. Your favourite food or something similar.”
”Hmm. Perhaps meat kukkos.”
”You mean those small bread things with dried meat inside? That’s not a proper dish.”
”You’re the one who asked.”
”Well, you’re constantly asking me stuff, too.”
Hawk kicked the moss climbing the surface of the cliff with his heel as he thought. ”It’s hard to think of things to say. I don’t quite…” He searched for his words and sighed, exasperated. ”I don’t know how to talk about myself. Or tell stories.”
”We’ve talked before, haven’t we?”
Hawk pursed his lips. ”I can’t concentrate when I know someone’s waiting for me to say something. I went to study with Onniar when I was young because I thought a hunter wouldn’t need to be good with words.”
Ren’i didnt’ reply immediately. He shivered again when the trees above shed more droplets on them in the breeze.
”Well, I often feel like I don’t know how to shut up. Leastways not when I should,” he admitted. ”I suppose we balance each other out.”
He unsheathed the first-knife and started cutting the last pear into the pieces. Hawk was staring at his shoes while Ren’i ate, lost in thought. Ren’i didn’t mind. The silence between them felt natural, and he felt no need to fill it with idle chatter.
Bolt whinnied while grazing, tail swishing from side to side. The blotches of sweat in his coat had already dried after the ride. Ren’i had let Hawk ride the stallion, admiring the way he handled the horse gently but firmly. It was obvious that Hawk was an experienced rider; he had a light hand, his posture relaxed even without a saddle, and Bolt had listened to him, trusting him just as he trusted Ren’i. That was not always the case. Nemerwatanese warmbloods were temperamental, and Bolt was not a beginner’s horse.
”Ren’i,” Hawk said at last. The rain dripping through the canopy of leaves had left his shirt damp and glued it to his skin. Still, he didn’t feel cold; the air was humid and warm, and he had no doubt there would be thunder later.
Ren’i had just stuffed another piece of fruit in his mouth. He grunted to signal that he was listening.
Hawk played with his braid. ”I was born in Tenthmoon. On the 20th.”
Ren’i nearly inhaled the fruit as he hastened to swallow. ”On the 20th? That’s only a couple of weeks away.”
”Ared’s birthday is some weeks later, in the Eleventhmoon. When we were little we used to celebrate on the same day, which always resulted in scuffles.”
”Why?”
Hawk huffed a laugh. ”We each wanted our own party. Our parents, however, had a more practical view on the matter and only wanted to arrange one.”
”Your parents,” Ren’i said hesitantly. He did not recall ever hearing Hawk or his cousins speak of any other family before. ”Where are they now?”
”Gone.” Hawk’s voice was colourless.
Ren’i winced. ”I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
”That was years ago,” Hawk replied. ”How about you?”
”How about me what?”
”Your birthday.”
”In the Fourthmoon,” Ren’i said. ”On the—”
He didn’t manage to finish the sentence before Hawk had jumped up. He stared at the horizon, eyes narrowed. ”Look!”
Ren’i, too, stood up. Hawk was pointing towards the city. At first Ren’i saw nothing unusual. The sky was dark, with even darker clouds still rolling in from the desert, speaking of approaching thunder. He squinted when he saw something moving. Something dark that stood out against the clouds and rose towards to the skies in a thin pillar.
”Smoke,” Hawk said, his tone grim, and Ren’i felt like someone had emptied a bucket of icy water over him when he realised Hawk was right.
”It’s coming from the wastes,” Ren’i said. ”That means…”
They shared a look. There was a scouting party waiting by the Pass of Mists, keeping an eye on the Liqaris. Ren’i sheathed his knife and saddled Bolt at record speed. They sped back to Hatam-Ile with such haste that Bolt left a rain of moss after them.
The elder’s house was packed to the bursting. There were military patrols stationed on the desert every few leagues, and by the time Ren’i and Hawk got to the house the consuls had already alerted the akheri elders. Several plumes of smoke towered over the wastes as patrol after patrol forwarded the warning signal.
The consuls and captain Hamr stood up as Ren’i entered the meeting room, all bowing to him. Hamr scowled, watching Hawk unceremoniously take a seat next to Ren’i, but Ren’i silenced all questions with a single stern look. If the consuls minded Ren’i’s unkempt appearance or his current company, at least they showed no indication of it. The elders, however, did not bother concealing their curiousity. Ren’i felt their eyes on his back as he leaned towards Hawk.
”Act like you’re meant to be here,” he muttered so quietly that only Hawk heard him. Oerei had given him the same words of advice when he’d still been young and inexperienced; they’d given him courage to stand in front of a judgmental audience no matter how insecure he felt. Hawk nodded in response.
The final arrivals flowed in the room in small groups. Nemeken, still in her festival clothes and flowers braided in her hair, was among the last. The doors closed after her, though there was little point. All sounds of celebration had died in an instant and Hatam-Ile was eerily quiet.
Ared had been on his knees in front of the hearth with a mask on his face the whole time, paying the others no mind while he stared in the flames. Every gaze in the room was fixed on him, but no one spoke. Something about him told them all, even the taivashis to whom akheri customs were a mystery, that they musn’t disturb his concentration. His movements were slow, collected as he removed the mask and laid it down on the floor, not taking his eyes off the fire for a second.
Hawk shuddered despite himself upon seeing his cousin’s blank face. He was lost deep in his own private world, and the path leading there was one only he could follow. He didn’t even blink; the restless flames reflected from his eyes, giving them an unnaturally bright glow. Finally, he let out a deep sigh and swayed towards the hearth, his body gone limp.
”Chief!”
Many of those sitting closest to him hurried to stand up, but Ared had already regained control of himself. He brushed the cloak over his shoulder as he stood up on unsteady feet. The shadows cast by the fire made him appear taller than he was, and the gaze he directed at those present was grave. With one gesture he commanded his would-be helpers to take their seats. They all obeyed.
”You’ve all seen and heard it,” he said, eyes shifting from face to face. ”Smoke rises from the south. Our troops have sent us a message.”
”And what are they trying to tell us? Has the moment come?” Nemeken asked. Her voice was calm, but her words instantly electrified the atmosphere in the room.
Ared did not answer right away. He glanced back at the flames, then at the assembled council.
”The flames confirm my suspicions. A sandstorm is brewing in the Pass of Mists,” he said. Nemeken’s mouth flattened into a thin line, but the elders sitting around her gasped audibly. ”It is the worst we’ve seen so far. You know what this means.”
The akheri elders looked at each other uneasily. Those seated in the back row muttered amongst themselves quietly, nodding grimly to echo whatever was being said. Hawk felt chilled to the bone, recalling the storms that had shaken Hatam-Ile one after another in the spring. He could tell from Ren’i and the other taivashis’ faces that the meaning of Ared’s words was lost to them. Next to him Ren’i corrected his already immaculate posture and put up his hand to ask for permission to speak. Ared turned to look at him.
”I apologise for the interruption, respected chief,” Ren’i said politely. ”What does the sandstorm have to do with our situation? We are not familiar with the desert conditions, but it was my understanding that storms are not uncommon in the Pass.”
”Only during the dry season,” Ared answered. ”The storms treat us just as harshly as they treat outsiders, but they are meant to protect us. A storm rises whenever our people are threatened.”
”Speak plainly, my good man,” captain Hamr growled. ”You are speaking in riddles. I didn’t understand a word of that.”
”Captain,” Ren’i hissed between gritted teeth. Hawk could see a vein throbbing at his temple.
Ared did not seem to mind the captain’s tone of voice one bit. He smiled dryly and explained, ”we spoke to the desert when the flames revealed that the Liqaris were preparing for war, and it has heard our pleas. The sandstorms have a single purpose – the slow down the Liqaris and buy us more time. A storm rises again just as Seiye’s long winter is coming to an end. It can only mean one thing: that they are coming at last.”
There was a bemused look on Ren’i’s face. From the corner of his eye Hawk spied the consuls glancing at one another, and wasn’t at all surprised when Harm interrupted the discussion once more.
”Nonsense,” he huffed, ignoring that Ren’i was gnashing his teeth next to him. ”The empty-blooded can do no such thing. Magic is born from ashay, and ashay is born from demon blood.”
Nemeken shifted her shawl as though she’d not heard the tone he was using, and said coolly, ”the desert is merciless, but we are not entirely powerless before it. From this land we were born, and still it hearkens to us, just like we hearken to it. The blood that flows in our veins may not carry the same gifts as those bestowed upon the children of the demon folk, but we too have our means. You can believe the words of our chief or dismiss them, should it make you feel better, but that doesn’t change the truth.”
The way Hamr’s face flushed could not be hidden by his tan. He looked very much like he wanted to say some choice words again, but Vannuil intervened before he got the chance.
”Does it matter how they do it if it works?” she said in a voice that suffered no protests. ”How soon can we expect a message from the scouts?”
”In a day or two, should the southern wind continue to favour us,” Ared said.
Ren’i nodded grimly. ”That leaves us enough time to prepare.”
”The Liqaris won’t reach the land bridge in two days,” Ared pointed out.
”A soldier must strive to be at the ready too early rather than too late. I’d hate to be out of position by the time we get company.” Ren’i got up and looked at his soldiers. ”You know what to do, gentlefolk. Let’s get to work.”
They all brought a fist against their chests with a hollow clang, as serious as their prince, and stood up simultaneously with the elders. Everyone exiting the room bore the same sombre look. The consuls exchanged some words with each other, and Vannuil headed towards the plains with Qel and Kha’ar while Venu and Agal made straight for the gates of Hatam-Ile and towards their legions that were spread out on the desert.
Hawk walked behind Ren’i, eyes boring to the back of the captain’s head. He felt Hawk staring and glanced over his shoulder, the look he directed at Hawk no more pleasant than the one he received back. Hawk straightened to his full (and rather remarkable) height as they left the house, but Ren’i had turned to address his captain before Hawk had managed to say anything.
”Just a moment, captain,” Ren’i said. ”I want to exchange some words with you in private.”
”Of course, your highness.”
They pulled aside, though Hawk could still make out almost every word. Ren’i couldn’t control his voice when angry, and he was so furious that Hawk saw his hands shaking. The captain turned progressively redder in the face the longer Ren’i reprimanded him. He didn’t spare his words; ’disrespectful’ was the politest word he used to describe the captain. Hawk pretended to look elsewhere and realised his own anger had abated by the time Ren’i was done.
”You either control yourself from now on, or I will ensure that you are excluded from the meetings altogether. Do I make myself understood?”
The captain’s jaws worked as he gritted his teeth, but he placed both hands on his chest and bowed deeply. ”Yes, your highness.”
”Good. Summon my Guard of Honour. I will meet you at camp in an hour.”
The captain bowed once more as he left. A vein was still throbbing on Ren’i’s temple when he returned to Hawk. As if by mutual agreement Hawk escorted him all the way to the plains in complete silence. When he at last let go of Ren’i’s hand and bade him farewell, he did so reluctantly.