Blood Seed: Coin of Rulve Book One (7 page)

And so he heard the story of Remeld of the Dark Hand, and it filled his head and heart. The tale was laid out before him, about a knight with golden hair, brother to the king. The king’s new wife had been abducted by Dol the Sorcerer and imprisoned in his tunnels, and Remeld rode to her aid. After many hardships, he led her out, leaving behind in trade his own right hand.

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Now, years later and on his way to Moro’s house with Mariat’s carved bee under his arm, he found it strange that the memory of a story heard so long ago could still stir something in his spirikai. 

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Sheft had been gone for some time before Riah managed to gather up the energy to start dinner. They rarely had guests for dinner, so different from how it had been when she was growing up. She missed eating in the community dining room, the passionate conversations, the feeling of unity that arose when people endured hardships together. They’d all been immersed in a cause that gave their lives meaning, and she’d never felt alone. Except for that one terrible time when… She shook her head to rid herself of the memory.

Adding a small handful of salt, she stirred the pot. The pink pieces of rabbit meat were just starting to turn grey and bits of thyme and chopped onions swirled around the wooden spoon. The water came to a boil and she pushed the iron cook-arm to the edge of the fire to reduce it to a simmer.

“Riah! Come forth.”

She froze. The words resounded in her head as clearly as if they had been spoken aloud: Kyra, the thought-language of the falconforms. Tossing the spoon onto the table, she ran into the vegetable garden. The giant creature landed in a whirlwind of feathers and wings. It towered over her, and the tip of its dagger-sharp beak, with a frown built into its base, hovered an arm’s length above her head.

Breathless, she tilted her head back and met the fierce, golden gaze. “Where is Drapak?” she cried. “And who are you?”

“I am Yarahe, son of king Drapak.”

“For twelve
years
I’ve looked for him! How could your people abandon me?”

“Enmity sprung up between our people and yours. I would have come, but my father forbade me to leave Shunder. Now one of our eyries has been grievously attacked, and an alliance has been made between us against the Spider-king.”

“What of my son?” she cried. “What of my mother?”

The wind ruffled the white feathers above the falconform’s hooded, far-seeing eyes.
“Se Mena grieves for you, and for both her grandsons.”

“‘Both?’” A lump formed in her chest. “What do you mean? Teller should be safe in the Seani.” All that they’d done, all these years of separation, was supposed to ensure that.

“I am sorry. Your son has passed away from us.”

A long chill slipped down her spine. “Oh Rulve!” she breathed. “Oh God, how could that happen?”

“It was twelve years ago, on a day in Acorn. Se Celume foretold it, but we”
—his gaze shifted aside, as if with a pang of memory, then returned—
“I could not prevent it. The Seah
—
”

He continued to speak, but she no longer heard him. Her child, her dark little boy, was dead. Twelve
years
ago! He would have been only six years old. Why didn’t she feel his dying? Why didn’t she know?

A cold feeling passed over her. Sheft had known. That nightmare he’d had in Acorn, when he was only six years old—a dream of wings and a bell. He had felt it, felt the same wrenching loss that she was feeling now, and she had paid no attention. Oh God, it was the synchronicity of twins. It must have affected Sheft his entire childhood, and she had never noticed. The sunny day around her drained away, and the darkness she fought so hard began to bleed through everything. Her son was dead.

“—many summers the Seani was immersed in grief. But now the compound has recovered, and Sheft will soon be summoned home. Rulve has need of him. With Teller gone, he is Shunder’s last hope. He must be educated in the Seani, and his power discerned. Have you told him who he is?”

Still stunned, Riah could concentrate only on the last question. “No! How could I tell him anything? For years I waited for some word, for some guidance. I needed to see the toltyr. I needed to know everything was real, and not some dream!”

The falconform raised his huge claw, and it held a leather pouch. She took it and spilled the contents into her hand. Round, made of grey pewter, and attached to a black, tightly braided leather cord, it was the Toltyr Arulve. The medallion was engraved on both sides with what appeared to be the same symbol, but was not. She had not seen the medallion since she left the Seani, eighteen years ago.

She rubbed the smooth metal with her thumb, and its image blurred with her tears. There were, she remembered, two medallions, one for each boy. Oh Rulve, was Teller wearing his when he—

Yarahe, his unblinking eyes upon her, interrupted the terrible thought.
“You must give this to Sheft. You must tell him who he is. Do this soon, before the season turns. I will come again in Hawk with further instructions.”
The falconform spread its formidable wings, which cast a shadow over Riah, and swiftly departed.

He disappeared into the blue sky, trailing unanswered, hopeless questions that no longer mattered. Only one son now. Oh God Rulve, she had only one son left.

#   #   #

When Sheft arrived at Moro’s house, Etane was just leaving in the wagon. He was off to a horse-farm in Ferce, on some business of his father’s, but it was clear that the main object of his journey was a young woman he had met during the summer: the horseman’s daughter, Leeza. Sheft wished him luck, and Etane drove away grinning.

Mariat’s eyes lit up at the sight of the bee he’d carved, and she set it on the shelf next to the jar of honey, “where it would feel at home.” After informing Mariat that she was invited for dinner, he made himself useful to Ane in the kitchen garden. She asked him to pick the squash before the borers got to them, and then insisted that they take a basket of them back to Riah. Mariat took one handle, Sheft the other, and they walked back through the hayfield.

When he pushed open the door to his house, he stopped in dismay. Riah sat on the bench at the table exactly as he had left her and looked as if she had been crying. He glanced at the hearth and was relieved to see a pot bubbling there.

They put the basket of squashes on the floor. “These are for you,” Mariat said to Riah. “Can I help you cut one up for dinner?”

Riah made a visible effort to focus on them. She rose and indicated that Mariat sit down. “You are the guest here. I’ll do it.”

She took a squash to the side counter and began to peel it. Sheft sat next to Mariat on the bench as she chatted about the gossip in her aunt’s village of Okrup, but the shadow over Riah seemed to deepen.

“Is everything all right?” The question came out before he realized how futile it would be. The dark moods that prompted him to ask seemed always to prevent her from answering. 

Her back to him, Riah continued cutting the squash into small pieces. His heart sank at her silence, but then she spoke. “I suppose I was thinking of your aunt, Mariat. How alone she’d have been without you.”

A look of regret passed over Mariat’s face. “She had many friends, but they all had their own lives. Their own family troubles. I kept her company, cooked and cleaned, but couldn’t take away the pain. It just got worse. Those last few weeks… I don’t think she even knew I was there.”

Mariat looked so despondent that he longed to take her hand and look deep into her eyes.

But he must not do that. Instead, with his gaze averted, he leaned toward her. “I’m sorry. You must have felt very lonely.”

She turned her head away and nodded, her eyes moist. Then she looked up at him and produced a smile. “Well, I’m home now—and so is auntie.”

“In the end,” Riah said in a low voice, “we must all die alone.” She moved past them, her face set, and scraped the diced squash off the cutting board and into the stew.

The early twilight of autumn crept into the room as they wiped off the rest of the squashes, stored them in the root cellar, and cut the bread for dinner. He was helping Mariat set out spoons and bowls when he suddenly remembered what he’d seen earlier. “On the way to Mariat’s house,” he said to Riah, “I spotted an enormous falcon heading this way. Did you see it too?”

His mother plunked mugs on the table and didn’t look up. “How could I? I was in the house most of the day.”

Just then the door banged open, and Tarn came in late, asking about dinner. It was soon served, but they would have to eat quickly if Sheft were to get Mariat home before dark. Their hasty meal suited him, for neither his mother nor father had much to say. After they’d finished, he went out to hitch Padiky to the wagon, for the night would overtake them if they walked.

A huge yellow moon hung low in the deepening twilight as Padiky plodded down the track. Mariat sat next to him, not touching, but so close the space between them seemed to vibrate. He ached to put his arm around her, but kept his wrists bound in the reins. They said little, but when they arrived at Moro’s house, and he jumped down to help her from the seat, their hands touched. A shiver went through him. Once on the ground, she did not let go of him, and he lowered his gaze.

“Sheft, you don’t have to do that anymore.”

He had looked at her many times, but always askance, always dropping his eyes when she turned to him.

“Look at me,” she whispered.

He would do anything for her, even this, but fear kept his gaze on the ground.

“Please.”

Knowing what she would see, hoping it would be his heart, he raised his eyes.

She searched them, with something like wonder, then reached up and very gently, so gently that he felt it throughout his whole body, touched his eyelid with the tip of her finger. 

He drew her close and she came gladly, as if to the warmth. Her temple felt warm under his cheek; he brushed his lips against her hair. His need grew and swelled as he held her in his arms, and she leaned against him in trust. He bent his head to kiss her, and her mouth and the feel of her body tight against his pulsed through his abdomen and down. It was difficult finally to set her apart, to whisper good-night, to watch her enter her house and close the door. He drove away, still connected to her in a tether of breathless joy.

#   #   #

That autumn seemed magical to Sheft. The harvested fields lay in spent satisfaction, framed by empty milkweed pods and tall bluecurls that smelled like mint. Sometimes Moro brought out a chair for Ane so she could sit in the sun with a blanket over her lap, and she watched their comings and goings with a wan smile. Sheft brushed past her while he carried baskets of apples or potatoes to their root cellar and sometimes he bent down to speak to her, and she squeezed his hand and called him wheat-head. By the middle of Acorn, however, Ane could no longer leave her bed, and Sheft came as often as he could to visit.

One day, after he had read to her from the book of tales, she smiled up at him from her pillow. “I’m getting ready to leave this world, but I’m not afraid. Rulve is right here beside me.”

“I’m glad for that, Ane.”

Her old eyes twinkled at him. “I mean you, Sheft. Those who love wear Rulve’s body.”

“I don’t understand.”

“The Creator of the world is a spirit. With no hands or heart but ours. So if Rulve’s work is to be done, if his love is to be poured out, then our bodies will have to do it.”

Her words overwhelmed him, and he didn’t know what to say.

She breathed out a laugh and glanced at Moro, who was taking his boots off at the kitchen door. “And at night I have a bulky Rulve snoring next to me, and sometimes he rolls over and takes all the covers.”

#   #   #

One warm afternoon, Sheft persuaded Mariat to come with him to their old spot where the Wysher Creek met the Meera. Mariat spread out a blanket and sat close to him as the burbling of the water mingled with the hum of late-ranging bees.

“This will probably be our last trip here before the cold weather sets in,” he said. Autumn brought endings, and he didn’t want anything to end. A thought edged into his mind—
you might never come here with her again.

She took his hand. “Don’t be sad. When winter comes we can sit together by the fire.”

He put his arm around her and they sat, quietly holding each other, until she curled up with her head on his lap and fell asleep. The river slid by, sun-lit clouds reflecting on its surface, but in the current beneath, old leaves turned slowly, like unasked questions. The sky hazed over and a light breeze sprang up, heavy with the smell of rain. A few strands of her hair wisped across her cheek. He tenderly brushed her hair back and covered her legs with a corner of the blanket.

She trusted him completely, but did not know him. She did not know how wrong things were inside him.

Leaves swirled down from the trees and were caught in the river’s current. They formed loose mats of maroon and yellow and bright green that circled and drifted apart. The hazy ball of the sun was touching the Riftwood’s tallest trees when Sheft woke her. “It’s time to go home.”

They stood and embraced, length to sweet length. “I love you, Sheft,” she murmured.