Learning.
And Resh couldn’t help but marvel at the sight.
Later that night, he lay on his cot with his arms folded behind his head, eyes wide open, the faint glow of the starmap casting shifting light across the canvas ceiling of his tent. The exhaustion of sleepless weeks tugged at some part of him, but his thoughts rebelled. Since Auryn had awakened, he’d only left the tent once—to fetch them food and drink, though he’d had no appetite himself. The rune carved into his spine, Eihwaz, ensured his body did not crave food or rest. He forced himself to eat, if only to feel more human.
Somewhere beyond, night moved on without a care, slinking through the camp enshrouded in thick mist. It blew a gentle yet insistent breath across the grassland, rattling the canvas but not passing through it. Inside was safe and warm; Resh’s wards meticulously placed to guard against such elements.
In pockets of the rolling fog, zirrin bugs chirped and flaunted colors of all shades of blue, so bright they blended with the starmap’s hues—eventhrough the tent’s embrace. Cries of lonely souls, echoing through the mist in search of their other half.
Outside, a kind of thrill had crept into the rows of carts, anvils, fires and forges, into weary hearts and restless minds. His Reskala warriors spoke to one another in a mixture of excited tones and hand signs, ready to set off within the next few days now that their Resh’Agar was back.
‘Back to the Crystal City’—one signed in complex dips, curves, and finger motions, gesturing in a grand arc to signal Krystopolis. ‘Nineteen years of service. The reward will be glorious.’
Resh had spoken with the warriors Zarrek stationed at his tent after Auryn fell asleep, a brief exchange to catch up on any news from the past few days. Nothing exciting, really. A boar attack, remedied with effort and no casualties. Brackenrood, safeguarded from flock of carrion wailers searching for easy pickings in the children playing on the streets.
With the company leaving, the town would need to fend for itself. The death toll would rise, for their neighbors—the Tazharyn—owed them no allegiance, and the Gliders looked no further than the growing unrest in their own Nestings. Perhaps Maradryn would send assistance if Brackenrood requested it. The city was Daesmoria’s busiest and most developed human bastion and could spare soldiers.
His eyelids felt heavier than stone, but he wouldn’t sleep. Not until Zarrek could stand guard over his body. He clung to the only thing that kept him anchored in wakefulness, the memory from the temple.
Auryn in his arms, still cold from the ice. Her silver eyes shining like the mystic light of stars, pulling his very soul into the galaxies within. Her voice, smooth and lilting.
Kailorien.
His true name, spoken with such sensual familiarity—by someone who shouldn’t knowanythingabout him. Yet,shehad whispered it as though the skies themselves were crying out to him.
Like it belonged to her.
Likehebelonged to her.
He turned his head.
Auryn lay on his bed nearby, curved around the now-open star map like a child around her mother’s talisman. Her plate of food lay on the small table beside her, untouched, hair flowing like a waterfall of moonlight in every direction. The runes of the map cast shifting constellations across her cheekbones and the arching wings of her brow. He caught a glimpse of her ears—human, yet not. Pointed at the peak, a divergence marking her as somethingother.
Resh exhaled into a soft ache that settled in his chest. He lost himself in time just watching her. Couldn’t shake the feeling that his name on her lips had un-stitched a vulnerability he’d sewn shut long ago. A weakness he’d abandoned.
I am the Resh’Agar. The Arm of the Void. The sword of the Destroyer.
The Arm knows no fear.
And yet, he was afraid now.
What was he thinking, taking this woman—this voice of stars and prophecy—back with him? What was he going to do with her now? She wasn’t a rare tome he could place back on the shelf when convenience struck. She lived and breathed—glowed and smelled of something sweet and dizzying.
He’d get no answers tonight. Maybe not even in the next several months on their journey home. He considered praying but discarded that thought as swiftly as it came. Faith had never served him well. Neither the Doctrinenor the Void seemed to have any interest in his fate. It was just as well. As Resh’Agar, he was not bound to such things.
Resh rolled onto his side and closed his eyes. The journey to Stonewake would be fraught with peril. As Commander, he couldn’t afford distractions of this scale. Auryn would join them, or she would not. He vowed not to press her either way.
Behind closed lids, he envisioned his empty bed, his star map abandoned on the pillow—ignored the stabbing dread the image wrought. Shifting in his cot, he settled into his blankets and hoped the storm Zarrek warned of wouldn’t arrive until morning.
3
A Voice, Remembered
Dawn broke far too early, a poor omen signaling the coming shift in Cycles. Stiff and burned out, Resh rolled from his cot, brushing dark hair from his face. He covered Auryn with an extra fur blanket then stepped out of his tent to assess the weather and greet his men.
The sun painted bright oranges and golds across a sea of angry clouds. A thick mist settled over the camp and covered everything in frigid dewdrops. The water soaked into the grass, making mud of earth, staining his boots dark brown as he circled the tent and set new wards to guard Auryn against the wind and chill.
In the sky, a skarnyx and its mate circled Brackenrood like vultures, more raptors joining in as the world stretched and stepped into a day’s new stride. Their powerful wings balancing the currents, they opened golden beaks and gave peeling gull-cries as worship to the rising sun.
