Blood Song

Many centuries ago, before our kind came to these shores, before even the Lonak and the Seordah, there were many cities like this, this land was rich in people and beauty. Then the storm came and tore it all down. A storm of steel and twisted power. They swept aside the Gifted who fought them and vented all their hate on this city, the city they hated most of all. She paused, a shudder making her pull her shawl around her shoulders. Rape and massacre, the burning of children, men ate the flesh of other men. Every horror imaginable was visited here.

“Who were they? The men who did this?”

She shook her head vaguely. The dreams tell me nothing of who they were or from where they came. I think it’s because the people who lived here didn’t know either. The dreams are the echo of their lives, they only show me what they knew.

She closed her eyes for a moment, clearing her head of the memory, then deftly folded the scarf on her knees and held it out to him.

“I can’t,” he said. “It was your mother’s.”

He gloved hands took his and pressed the scarf into them. A gift. I have much to thank you for and only this to show it.

In the evening they shared a brace of rabbits Nortah had brought back from his hunt, regaling Sella with the more humorous tales of their days in the Order. Strangely, the stories felt dated, as if they were two old men spinning yarns of long ago. It occurred to him that for Nortah the Order was now part of his past, he had progressed, Vaelin and his brothers were no longer his family. He had Sella now, Sella and the other Gifted, huddling in their ruin.

“You know it’s not safe to stay here,” he told Sella. “The Lonak will not tolerate your war cat forever. And sooner or later Aspect Tendris is bound to send a stronger expedition to solve the mystery of this place.”

She nodded, hands moving in the firelight. We will have to leave soon. There are other refuges we can seek.

“Come with us,” Nortah suggested. “You do have more right to join this odd company than I, after all.”

Vaelin shook his head. “I belong with the Order, brother. You know that.”

“I know there’s nothing but war and killing in your future if you stay with them. And what do you think they’ll do when they find out your secret?”

Vaelin shrugged to mask his discomfort. Nortah was right of course, but his conviction was unshaken. Despite the burden of many secrets and the blood he had spilled, despite his ache for Sherin and the sister he would never know, he knew he belonged with the Order.

He hesitated before saying what he knew he had to say next, the secret had been kept too long and the guilt weighed heavily. “Your mother and your sisters are in the Northern Reaches,” he told Nortah. “The King found a place for them there after your father’s execution.”

Nortah’s face was unreadable. “How long have you known this?”

“Since the Test of the Sword. I should have told you before. I’m sorry. I hear Tower Lord Al Myrna is tolerant of other faiths within his lands. You may find refuge there.”

Nortah stared into the fire, his face tense. Sella put her arm around his shoulders and laid her head on his chest. His face softened as he stroked her hair. “Yes, you should have told me,” he said to Vaelin. “But thank you for telling me now.”

Some children came running out of the darkness, laughing and clustering around Nortah. “Story!” they chanted. “Story! Story!”

Nortah tried to placate them, saying he was too tired but they pestered him even more until he relented. “What kind of story?”

“Battles!” a little boy cried as they sat around the fire.

“No battles,” insisted a little girl Vaelin recognised as the fearful, wide eyed child from the camp. “Battles are boring. Scary story!” She climbed into Sella’s lap and settled into her arms.