Blood Song

Vaelin hesitated. He had heard the story from Brother Artin and wasn’t sure how Nortah would react to the news, but decided he deserved to hear the truth. “The Battle Lord is popular with the Crows, as you know. After what you did to him they rioted, the prisoners were slaughtered to a man.”

Nortah’s face sagged with sorrow. “All for nothing then.”

Sella reached over to clasp his hand briefly. Not for nothing, her hands told him. You found me.

Nortah forced a smile and got to his feet. “I should hunt.” He planted a kiss on her cheek and shouldering his bow and quiver. “We’re running short of meat, and I suspect you both have much to discuss.”

Vaelin watched him walk off towards the northern edge of the city. After a moment Snowdance emerged to pad alongside him.

I know what you’re thinking, Sella said when he turned back.

“You touched him,” Vaelin replied.

Not how you think, her hands insisted. You have something of mine.

Vaelin nodded, fishing inside his collar for the silk scarf she had given him. He untied it from his neck and handed it to her, feeling oddly reluctant. It had been his talisman for so long its absence felt strange, unnerving.

Sella smiled sadly as she laid the scarf out on her knees, her fingers tracing over the delicate gold thread pattern. Mother wore this all her life, she signed. When she passed it came to me. Its message is precious to those who believe as we do. See.

She pointed at sigil woven into the silk, a crescent encircled by a ring of stars. The moon, the sign of calm reflection, from where reason and balance are derived. Here. She pointed to a golden circle ringed with flame. The sun, source of passion, love, anger. Her finger traced to the tree in the centre of the scarf. We exist here, between the two. Grown from the earth, warmed by the sun, cooled by the moonlit night. Your brother’s heart had been pulled too far into the realm of the sun, fired with anger and regret. Now he has cooled and he looks to the moon for guidance.

“By his own choice or by your touch?”

Her smile became shy. I feared him when Snowdance called to me with news of his coming. We found him fallen from his horse, raving with fever from his wound. The others wanted to kill him but I wouldn’t let them. I knew what he was, a man with his skills may have been useful to us, and so I touched him. She paused, looking down at her gloved hands. Nothing happened. For the first time, no rush of power, no sense of control. A slow flush crept up her cheeks. I can touch him.

Something for which I’m sure he’s very grateful, Vaelin thought fighting a pang of envy. “He does not do your bidding? He is not…” he fumbled for the right words, “enslaved?”

Mother told me it would be this way. One day I would meet someone who would be immune to my touch, and we would be bound together. It is always this way for those with our gift. Your brother is as free as he ever was. Her smile faded, sympathy colouring her eyes. More free than you, I think.

Vaelin looked away. “He told me what Weaver did for him,” he said, desiring a change of subject. “All the people here are touched by the Dark are they not?”

Her hands twitched in annoyance and a frown creased her brow. The Dark is a word for the ignorant. The people here are Gifted. Different powers, different abilities. But Gifted. Like you.

He nodded. “That’s what you saw in me, all those years ago. You knew it before I did.”