The Last Whisper of the Gods (11 page)

“You be giving the boy a big head,” said Warburm. Then, realizing he was being too informal in the presence of others, he belatedly added, “Your Grace.”

“I think not. You have a good lad here, Warburm. And now my dear Alicia has two champions.”

On his fifteenth birthday, his day of Maturity, Sorial was startled awake by a loud banging. At first, he thought it was inside his head, then he realized it was just someone wanting to get into his room. Groggily, he rose from bed, undid the latch, and opened the door. There, a big grin stretching his ruddy face from cheek to cheek, was Warburm. “Lad, happy Maturity Day! In honor of this asspisses occasion, I be givin’ you the day off. Go out an’ do whatever you want - see yer poor mom, get drunk, shag a few lasses. Jus’ remember to be at work on time tomorrow. You still owe me a year.”

Sorial grumbled his thanks, shut the door, then collapsed back on the bed. As was often the case with a rude awakening, however, sleep remained elusive. Eventually, he got up a second time, splashed some tepid water from the basin on his face, and donned the cleanest shirt and trousers he could find. The unexpected day off provided him with something he almost never had in excess: time. He and Rexall planned to get together at night for a few rounds to celebrate the “asspisses occasion”, but suddenly he had the whole day to do with as he pleased.

Warburm had mentioned one obvious option: see his mother. In the past year, he had been to the farm only twice, and neither visit had lasted long. His relationship with his mother hadn’t fully recovered from the damage imparted by her evasiveness and their conversations since then had remained superficial and mundane. Neither seemed able to bridge the gap and both knew that until Kara was more forthcoming about the circumstances of Sorial’s birth and early life, the distance would remain. On this day of all days, however, he knew he should probably see her, and he recognized she wouldn’t come to the inn. Except in an extreme situation, Kara wouldn’t cross into the world where she and her husband had set Sorial adrift. She would be expecting him and, as much as it irked him that she retained a hold over him, he knew he wouldn’t disappoint her, at least not today.

Then there was Alicia. He hadn’t seen her in the weeks following the attack, although her father had stopped by recently to relate that she and Vagrum were both well. Sorial had been expecting her every day. When she didn’t come, he was left wondering if he had misread what passed between them that night. It had seemed intimate, but Sorial wasn’t an expert where girls were concerned. They had kissed, but what had the kiss meant? Had it been conceived out of her gratitude or was there a deeper foundation - something neither had been aware of until their lips touched? And why couldn’t he chase her from his thoughts? He wondered if he should travel to the Duke’s estate after seeing his mother. He doubted he would be turned away.

“You think too much,” he murmured to himself, exiting his room and shutting the door behind him. In the hall, preoccupied as he was, he almost walked into Annie, who was hurrying toward the stairs. She favored Sorial with a peck on the cheek, a quick smile, and a promise: “See you tonight. Don’t drink too much - you won’t want to miss what comes after.”

* * *

“Happy Maturity, Sorial.” His mother stepped aside to admit him into her simple house.

He hesitated on the threshold. It was still early. Perhaps she wasn’t alone. “Is Lamanar here?”

“No. Normally, he would be, with the heat being too bad to farm at this time of the year. But he suspected you’d come and knew you wouldn’t want to see him. He’s more perceptive than you give him credit for.”

Sorial grunted noncommittally and entered. He and Kara took their customary seats next to the unlit fireplace.

“It’s been a while since you were last here,” she remarked, probing the wall between them.

“I’ve been busy.” He offered no further explanation. Were they destined for another talk in which neither said anything of consequence?

“I understand you decided to stay at the inn for another year.”

“How did you hear that?” Sorial couldn’t imagine that such a small piece of information had made it into the city’s voracious gossip mill. The details of his life were interesting to the city’s rumor-mongers only when he got into trouble.

“Lamanar and I have occasional contact with Warburm. He told us.”

This seemingly inconsequential morsel of information piqued Sorial’s curiosity. He had devoted hours of speculation to the relationship between Kara and Warburm without arriving at a conclusion beyond the obvious: they had known each other before either came to Vantok. What that meant was another of his mother’s secrets.

“I see,” said Sorial, his voice and expression neutral. “And what else has Warburm told you?”

“He talked about your heroics related to a duke’s daughter. Apparently, she’s someone quite important. I didn’t need Warburm for that bit of news, though. The city was abuzz with it the next day.”

That surprised Sorial. He had thought the duke kept everything quiet. It explained why so many people had been loitering around the stables after the incident. He hadn’t connected things until now.

“Her name is Alicia.” He doubted his mother knew enough about the nobility for the name to have meaning.

“A pretty name. Is she pretty?” It was a question any mother might ask a son when he expressed interest in a girl.

“Yes. Very.”

“There’s an old custom in Syre - it isn’t practiced here, of course - that when a man saves the life of a woman, she must marry him, even if he’s already married. The bond of salvation is greater than any other. That’s why there are some men in Syre who have two wives, and some women who have two husbands.”

Was that a hint at another strand of Kara’s tangled past? Sorial couldn’t decide whether his mother was trying to tell him something or making idle conversation. It was frustrating. “We can be thankful this ain’t Syre. A duke would never let his daughter marry a commoner. Besides, my part ain’t what people say it was. I didn’t save her life. I helped her after she was attacked. If anyone saved her, it was her guardian.”

“I wonder if you don’t underestimate your importance,” mused Kara.

“Mother, I didn’t come here to talk about whether or not I saved Alicia. I thought that perhaps on this day, now that I’ve reached my Maturity, you might be willing to tell me some things ’bout who I am.”

Kara let out a heartfelt sigh. He knew that wasn’t a good sign. Perhaps he was rushing but patience wasn’t one of his defining characteristics. “Sorial, your Maturity is only one of several things that must come to pass. As much as I long to lift your uncertainty, to do so would undo a goal a great many people have worked toward. There will come a time when I can answer your questions, but it isn’t today. Who your father was and why you were conceived… these are secrets of the past. You don’t need to know them now. For the time being, live your life as it leads you. You’re Sorial, my blood and the child I carried under my heart for three seasons. Let that be enough for the moment. When you need to be more, you’ll know it.”

Frustration boiled within Sorial. “You speak like a seer.”

“Syrenes are said to be naturally cryptic. It’s in our nature.” This was accompanied by a mirthless chuckle. “I wish I could be straightforward.”

“I deserve to know. This is my life.”

“Yes it is. And I’m trying to preserve it,” Kara replied calmly. “I’m keeping you from acting in a foolhardy way with information you’re not ready for. I know you’re angry and frustrated and may not want to see me again. If that’s the punishment I have to endure for keeping these secrets, I’ll serve the sentence. It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve had to suffer for the path I’ve chosen. But I’ll do what’s necessary to give you the best chance to survive and succeed, even if it drives a wedge between us.”

“Maybe I should find Lamanar. Maybe he’ll answer some of the questions you won’t.” He doubted such a conversation would be fruitful or even that he would pursue it. But if the threat would loosen Kara’s tongue…

“Lamanar has made peace with his role in this. You would gain no satisfaction from him. It would only upset and anger you both.”

“And Warburm?”

Kara smiled, although the underlying bitterness turned it into a grimace. “You’re welcome to try. You’d have better success getting ale from a water well. You know him. He’ll scoff and send you back to your chores.”

“Is he my father?” Sorial didn’t think it likely, but it was a possibility he had considered. It would explain a few things.

Kara looked shocked. “Whatever gave you that idea? Of course not. It’s absurd.”

“There’s something between you two. If not my father, then…” He started to think aloud, gauging Kara’s reaction to his words. “You, Lamanar, and him knew each other afore you came to Vantok. You’re hiding me from someone. My real father? He needs or wants me for something and you don’t want him to have me. And it all has something to do with those secret meetings Warburm has with the nobles and foreigners and priests.”

By the way the color drained from Kara’s face, Sorial knew at least some of his guesses - blind shots though they had been - were close to the truth. All she did, however, was rise and kneel beside him to offer him the ritual Maturity salute of three kisses - one on each cheek and one on the forehead. “Your intuition does you credit, but these are dangerous thoughts. Have patience, Sorial.” It was the last word she would say on the matter and, from that point, the conversation stagnated. They spoke as they had on his last two visits - about the weather, the state of farming, and whether the house would ever be properly repaired: things of no consequence that neither of them cared about.

Within an hour he was gone, heading to The Delicious Dancer to see if Rexall was ready. Kara waited a decent interval after his departure before starting the trek into town, headed for The Wayfarer’s Comfort. A conversation with Warburm about serious matters was long overdue.

* * *

Much to Sorial’s surprise, Rexall wasn’t doing anything. Having finished his chores, which he accomplished as usual by exerting minimum effort, he was lying on a bale of straw taking a nap. When Sorial suggested a trip to the river for a swim in the sweltering afternoon heat, Rexall disappeared inside the inn to arrange a break with his employer.

Less than a half-hour later, they were floating on their backs in the water. Sorial had hoped to meet Alicia on the banks, but there was no sign of her or any member of her household.

“It’s a good thing you saved the duke’s daughter. There ain’t nothin’ sweeter than being able to swim in a place like this without having to worry about being chased off by guards,” said Rexall.

“I thought that was part of the attraction for you - the danger of doing something you ain’t supposed to be doing.”

The only response was a grunt.

“It would’ve been nice if she’d been here, though. I ain’t seen her since that night.”

Something in Sorial’s tone caught Rexall’s attention. “Were you two… you know…? On the sly, without the duke’s knowing?”

“No.” Sorial objected a little too quickly. “I mean, we met a few times afore when she came to the inn with her father and she caught me once when I was swimming here. She didn’t call the guards or nothing.”

“I’ve seen her. Skinny little thing. Short too. I suppose she’s pretty enough but not really my type. No tits - just nibbles. Not like that Annie.” He paused, then added, “Speaking of which, has she given you your present yet?”

“Not yet but she said something about it when I ran into her this morning.”

“That’ll be a night to remember. I wish my first time had been with Annie. Hell, I wish
any
of my times had been with her.”

Sorial fell silent, his imagination conjuring up delicious possibilities for what awaited him after Annie’s shift was over.

“If you really want to see your titless princess, though, why don’t you stop by the house when you’re done swimming. From what you said, you’ll be welcome. The duke’s men ain’t gonna turn away their mistress’ savior.”

“I don’t know. It wouldn’t feel right, me going there.”

“I’d go with you, but I don’t think they’d be as nice to me. I’m just a lowly rogue. Better for you if I don’t fuck your reputation by being seen with you.”

“I told you. The duke…”

“…ain’t like that. I know. Face it, Sor, he’s a noble. They’re all like that. Some of ’em do a better job of hiding it than others. He’s been nice to you, which is great, and now he owes you. But he’ll turn on you if you cross whatever invisible line of propriety he’s got drawn in his mind - and that would mean doing anything beyond talking primly and properly with his prim and proper only daughter.”

“I think I’ll go there when we’re done,” decided Sorial.

“Good. I have to get back anyway. The lord and master of the inn gave me an hour, not the entire afternoon. I’ll see you this evening. If, that is,” he added with a chuckle, “You can fit me in between your girlfriends.”

* * *

Sorial was about a hundred paces from the front door to Duke Carannan’s mansion when he was intercepted by two gruff looking guards. He realized he probably didn’t make a good impression with his hair still dripping water and his clothing damp, but their features relaxed when he told them who he was. One went to inform His Grace while the other remained with Sorial.

This was the first time Sorial had seen Alicia’s house up close. It was immense, bigger even than The Wayfarer’s Comfort with possibly thirty rooms over three floors. Many of the front-facing chambers had tall, thin windows, although they were shuttered against the afternoon heat. The walls were as white as alabaster and as smooth as glass, reflecting the sun in a dazzling display of brightness. Staring at them forced Sorial to squint. He didn’t know enough about stone to guess at the material. The roof was made of overlapping red clay tiles and the front door was a sturdy iron-bound wood. The gardens surrounding the house had once been artfully laid out but they had withered and faded with the heat and drought. Only the heartiest plants - mostly weeds - survived, and even they didn’t thrive. A fountain had run dry. Several statues of impossibly endowed nude men and women lined the cobbled walkway that led from the guards’ position, where Sorial now stood, to the front door.