Into the Wind (6 page)

“What part of me is Treande?”

“You won’t learn the answer to that question until you understand what part of you is
not
Treande.” When Taren did not respond, Vurin asked, “Who is Taren?”

More riddles. He hated it when Vurin spoke in riddles.

“What does Taren desire? What does he fear? What drives him?”

Taren drew a long breath but found he still could not speak.

“You love Ian. You want to remain at his side. Keep him safe. What then?”

“Aye.” A simple question, and yet other than loving Ian, he couldn’t answer the rest of Vurin’s question. “I want to rebuild our home,” he said, finding nothing else he desired except the wish to live out his life at Ian’s side.

Vurin picked up a white stone—the same rock from which the temple had been built—and rolled it between his palms. “Would you wish to rebuild the temple?” He replaced the stone and looked back at Taren.

“I… I don’t know. Perhaps if the goddess demanded it.” Or if Ian asked him to do it.

“You haven’t answered my question.”

“I did,” Taren protested. “I—”

“You said you would rebuild the temple if someone told you to. You didn’t tell me if
you
wished to rebuild it.”

Taren didn’t meet Vurin’s gaze. He wouldn’t admit Vurin was right, even if he knew he was. He still didn’t see himself as a leader capable of overseeing the temple’s reconstruction.

“There’s nothing wrong with not knowing your will. You’ve lived your life to please others. It will take time for you to find your place.”

“I was a slave.” He’d almost said
I
am
a slave
, but he thought better of it. Ian had told him more times than he could remember that he hadn’t fallen in love with a slave, he’d fallen in love with a man. And yet Taren was still a slave, wasn’t he? He still owed Rider a year of his life in service. The thought of returning to his place aboard the
Sea Witch
comforted him. At least there he knew his place, his purpose.

Vurin put a hand on Taren’s shoulder. “Let me teach you to use your gift. Sometimes the past can illuminate the future. That is the reason for the gift of sight.”

“I’m not sure I want to see more of the past.” Taren saw himself plunging the dagger into Owyn’s chest. He still felt the pain of loss keenly, even though he knew Owyn lived again in Ian’s soul. “Isn’t it enough that I dream of it each night?”

“Perhaps if you learn to use your gift, you will have no need to dream.”

“Don’t you mean that if I appease your goddess, she won’t
force
me to dream?” Taren clenched his fists at his sides and struggled against his anger.

Vurin chuckled.

“Am I that amusing?” Taren retorted.

“I’m sorry, Taren.” Vurin appeared genuinely contrite. “It’s just that you remind me of myself, years ago. On Ea’nu.”

Taren frowned. The last thing he wanted was yet another of Vurin’s patronizing lectures about his youth and inexperience.

“Fifty years ago, I was much like you. Content to live my life in peace.” Taren saw pain flicker in Vurin’s eyes. Vurin drew a long breath, then said, “Then the Council arrested my only brother.”

“What happened to him?”

Vurin looked briefly away, as if he didn’t want Taren to see the pain flare again. “The Council executed him. Called him a traitor for daring to speak out about the conditions on Ea’nu.”

“Your goddess is cruel.”

“
Our
goddess is just, Taren. She expects her people to take up her cause. Seek justice. Too many people died because people like me did nothing.” Vurin shook his head.

“How many of our people died in the war?” Taren demanded.

“Too many.” Vurin spoke in an undertone. “But would you have done nothing if you’d been in my place?”

“I don’t know.”

“An honest answer.” Vurin smiled at Taren.

“I need the same from you,” Taren said, emboldened.

Vurin nodded. “What do you need to know?”

“Tell me about the rune stone.” Taren had been afraid to ask this as well. “I want to know.” He folded his arms across his chest. He wouldn’t let Vurin avoid or change the subject, as he often did when Taren asked questions.

Vurin’s expression was unreadable, although Taren sensed Vurin was pleased he had finally asked. He’d expected Vurin to chuckle or offer him a paternal smile, but this time Vurin did neither. “Aye. I daresay you deserve to know what little I’ve learned about it.”

High time, Taren reckoned.

“I’m sure you’ve guessed that the humans attacked Treande’s people because of the stone.” Vurin drew an audible breath.

Taren
had
known this. Treande had known it, and Taren had remembered.

“Our people trusted the humans too much,” Vurin continued. “Perhaps someone amongst their human friends knew about the stone and spoke of it offhandedly to the rulers of the ancient Kingdom of Derryth. We may never know.

“From the accounts of those who survived the attack that killed Owyn and many more of our people, we know that the humans believed the stone was a powerful weapon.”

“Is it that powerful?” asked Taren.

Vurin shook his head. “I don’t know. What I do know is that it can only be wielded by one of our people. One person, perhaps, given what you’ve told me of Owyn.”

The image of a dying Owyn flashed through Taren’s mind yet again. He willed it away with a shudder. “You believe I’m the wielder.”

Vurin nodded and motioned for Taren to follow him as he moved behind one of the rock formations. Taren noticed an opening in the cliff face. He’d been down here before, but he’d never seen it. Vurin smiled at him, then slipped through the rocks and disappeared on the other side. Taren followed.

“You’ve returned to us for a purpose, Taren.” Vurin’s voice echoed inside the cavern.

Taren’s eyes slowly began to adjust to the darkness. In here, the waves sounded distant. Water dripped from the high ceiling of the cave, landing with an almost musical tone as it hit the rocks underfoot.

Vurin stretched out his hands, then closed his eyes and muttered words in a language Taren did not understand. Taren blinked as two small spheres of blue light appeared, one on each of Vurin’s palms. They floated upward and hovered above, illuminating the cave.

“What…?” Taren gasped.

“This is our past, Taren,” Vurin said as Taren took in the intricate carvings on the cave walls.

Everywhere he looked, Taren saw images of Ea swimming through underwater structures that appeared to be built from stone and coral. Ea children swam alongside their parents, men and women brought offerings to an underwater temple, and Ea swam in and out of an ornate building that looked very much like the drawings of castles Taren remembered from the picture books Borstan had read to him as a child.

“How old…?” Taren asked, overwhelmed with the beauty and the implications of what he saw.

Vurin shook his head. “Far older than the ruins of the temple, at least. Several thousand years old, perhaps more. The ancient texts tell of this place, and how our ancestors came to this land from far away, and of how they built their home here, in Callaecia.

“Few people have ever seen this shrine,” Vurin added. “In the time of Treande and Owyn, only the priests knew of it.”

“It’s beautiful,” Taren said as he walked over to the nearest carving and pressed his hand to the stone.

“I believe this place was meant to remind us of who we once were, and of what we might become if our people can overcome their fear.” Vurin joined Taren at the wall and put his own palm against the surface. “The first step to understanding your future is admitting your fear, Taren.”

“I don’t know if my heart can survive the past.” Taren could barely speak the words.

“It already has.” Vurin smiled. “Now is the time to gather your courage for what is to come.”

T
AREN
HAD
planned on heading back to town to rejoin Ian, who was helping Renda and his wife rethatch the roof of the house they’d built on an ancient crumbling foundation. Instead, he walked the rocky shore and watched as some of the villagers tossed nets into the water. It still seemed strange to him that the Ea fished as humans. Not that there weren’t some in the village who fished in their Ea forms, but as best as Taren could tell, they did so more for the sport of it than to provide food for the village.

He reached the edge of the cove and stepped into the water to avoid the outcropping that blocked the sandy trail. The late-afternoon sun hung low on the horizon, and the temperature had begun to drop in its wake. He knew he had walked this trail a hundred—perhaps a thousand—times before as Treande. Each step felt familiar; each sound reminded him of the happiness he’d had here with Owyn and called to mind the promise of his future with Ian.

The sky filled with white clouds that danced about, taking on the shapes of familiar things. A boat, a bird, a dog. Taren watched as the dog seemed to sprout wings like a dragon’s. He thought of what Vurin had said about dragons. A year before, he’d not have believed merfolk were anything but legend. Now, he wondered how much of the world he’d failed to see. Why not dragons? Or sea monsters? Or furies? Or sirens who caused ships to wreck? Why should he doubt the existence of things simply because he’d never seen them for himself?

He walked for nearly an hour, taking comfort in the peace he felt as his bare feet met the familiar path and the breeze off the water caressed his bare shoulders. He glanced at the nearby hill to where he’d seen the ruins of a small house once before. Much like what was left of the house he and Owyn had shared on the cliffs near the village, the vestiges of the white stone foundation were all that was left to memorialize the dwelling.

“You are troubled as always, Treande. Or should I call you Taren?”

Taren spun around at the sound of the familiar voice, sure that he’d imagined it. But the old woman smiled at him from the base of the crooked tree trunk where she sat, cross-legged, her milky eyes unseeing, her white hair so thin he could see her scalp beneath.

“
You
? But that’s impossible. The last time I saw you—”

Her cackled laughter reminded him of the creaking sound the ropes on the
Phantom
made when wound tight against the winch. “I’m pleased you remember. I am Aerin,” she added with a slight nod.

He remembered well—he’d seen her before he’d been thrown into the Ea prison. And before that in the marketplace when he’d still been a rigger aboard the
Sea Witch.
A vision!
How had he not realized it before? Of course she wasn’t real.

“Has it taken you this long to understand?” She laughed again. “Then again, you were always a bit naïve.”

He bristled at her tone but wondered why he’d reacted that way. She was an old woman and deserved his respect. And yet the familiarity in his reaction made him wonder all the more. But if she was a vision or a memory, how could she speak to him like this?

She offered him a toothless smile as he studied her cautiously. “You’re a mage,” he said.

“I was a priestess once,” she replied. “Many centuries ago. I studied with Treande and Owyn at the great temple. My daughter, Zea, was the last of the Ea priestesses. She died when you were still quite young.”

“But if you studied with Treande and Owyn—” He stopped speaking as the realization came to him. There was no other explanation. Ea lived two hundred years at best.

“Ah, now you begin to understand, don’t you, Taren? Not all visions are memories.” She smiled and something in his memory stirred. She had been quite beautiful once. He was sure of it.

“You’re… a ghost?”

She laughed. “Call me what you will. A ghost. A spirit. A promise made long ago.”

“A promise? To Treande?”

“Now you understand, don’t you?” She turned and looked out over the water as if remembering something, then cackled again. “You always called me a pest.”

“I… I didn’t—”

“I called him far worse.” She grinned and her eyes sparkled with pleasure.

Taren stared at her in surprise, then laughed in spite of himself.

“You’re younger than he was when we first met,” she continued.

“Tell me about him,” Taren said.

She smiled and shook her head. “You needn’t hear about your own past from me. You can see the truth far more clearly with your own gift of sight.”

“Then why are you here? What promise did you make him?”

Her smile disappeared quickly as her expression grew serious. “What are you waiting for, Taren?” she asked, ignoring his question. “You must find the keeper.”

“Keeper of the rune stone?”

“Odhrán.”

“Odhrán? But where—?” he began, his words failing him as he saw her body dissolve in a spray of salt.

T
AREN
WALKED
the bluffs by Ian’s side a few hours later. “Would you like to swim?” Ian asked as they reached the path that led to the water.

“Not tonight. Thank you.” They swam nearly every night together, often making love under the waves. Tonight, though, Taren felt compelled to remain on land.

Ian chuckled. “So formal. You’d think I was a stranger and not your mate.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”

“Tell me how to help you.” Ian clasped Taren’s hand tighter.

“I wish I knew.”

“I can sometimes be patient.” Ian smiled, but Taren could see the concern in his eyes.

Taren led them back down the hill toward the village. “I spent the afternoon with Vurin,” he said as they walked.

“So I heard.”

“He told you?” Taren asked.

“He didn’t need to.” Ian stopped walking for a moment and turned to face Taren. “The entire village knows how much time you spend at the temple.”

“I’m sorry.” He knew it was selfish of him to spend so much time there.

“You mustn’t apologize to me for something the goddess calls you to do.” Ian squeezed Taren’s hand reassuringly.

“I once heard you say you didn’t believe the goddess existed,” Taren pointed out. He brushed his fingers over Ian’s cheek.

“I’ve said many things.” Ian chuckled. “Including some about how exasperating you can be. But I no longer doubt she exists. You’re proof enough of that for me.”