Barb Hendee: Child of a Dead God

Magiere lifted her chin to meet Brot'an's large amber eyes. Up close, his scars were as light as human skin. He seemed troubled by more than Wynn's pestering.

"What?" she asked.

"The council of elders," he began, "promised a ship to deliver you wherever you wished to go, but so far, you have named no destination. I must give instructions to the ship's master."

Magiere had known this moment would come-and had dreaded it. Brot'an frowned, waiting for an answer.

"I don't exactly know," she said. "Only that we must head south… along the eastern coast."

Even to her, the explanation sounded vague.

"There is nothing along that route," Sgaile said. "No settlements beyond our territory, not even for humans, except far south… the Ylladon States."

She didn't know the place he mentioned, but Sgaile's voice held a less than subtle malice. Surprising, since he took great effort to remain ever polite. Magiere's frustration increased. She didn't know what to say without revealing that her only guides were a dream and the pull of her instinct.

"Magiere…," Wynn whispered. "There is no other way."

"Wynn, don't-" Leesil began.

"We are not looking for a settlement," Wynn cut in, and pushed him aside, peering around Magiere at Brot'an. "Rather an object, hidden in ice-capped mountains, in a castle on this continent. Long forgotten and guarded by old ones… which likely means undead."

Leesil tried to grab her. "Wynn, that's enough!"

The little sage swatted his hand aside and kept on talking, even as Chap growled and grabbed the hem of her cloak.

"My guild believes this artifact is from what we call the Forgotten History. And that Magiere may be the only one who can retrieve it… considering she was born a hunter of the dead."

Rising anger choked off Magiere's rebuke, but the small sage only glared back at her.

"They must be told," Wynn said. "How else can Brot'an arrange a voyage without a destination? After all that has happened in Crijheaiche, we have few secrets from him."

"Cork it, Wynn!" Leesil snapped.

"He will know best how much to relate to the captain," Wynn snapped back, and jerked her cloak from Chap's jaws. "Besides, our task is no threat to his people-perhaps just the opposite, if we keep this artifact from the wrong hands."

Magiere's mouth hung partly open, shocked at what Wynn blurted out in front of two anmaglahk. Brot'an, as well as Sgaile, had risked his life and more to protect Magiere and those she cared for. But still, Magiere had an urge to toss Wynn into the bay.

Yet what was the alternative-to leave Brot'an with no instructions for the captain? Neither she nor Leesil knew the eastern coast, so faking a destination was impossible. Magiere raised a warning finger before Wynn started up again and turned to Brot'an.

"We have to find this thing, whatever it is, and take it to the sages. We promised that much, but we don't know exactly where it is-only what Wynn said, and that we must travel south along the eastern coast."

Brot'an's unblinking amber eyes stared down at Magiere. Sgaile remained silently attentive.

"Who are these sages?" Brot'an suddenly asked.

It wasn't among the first questions Magiere had expected, but Wynn's people had arrived on this continent less than a year past. Even the Anmaglahk might not know of them as yet. Magiere cocked her head toward Wynn.

"Scholars, like her. Their guild is in Bela."

"One branch of our guild, actually," Wynn corrected. "The Guild of Sagecraft. We build and care for repositories of knowledge. Places of learning where sages like myself live and work. Good people, Brot'an. They preserve what they gather, that which should not be forgotten or lost again. And they can discern what this object is and how to keep it safe."

Magiere wasn't about to let the Anmaglahk know from whom she'd learned of this artifact-the same person she was trying to keep it from. The sun had slipped down the sky toward the faraway Broken Range, and dusk was settling in.

"I will speak to the ship's hkomas," Brot'an said finally. "I am uncertain how well he will respond to a journey with no destination, especially beyond our own waters. But do not repeat what you have told me to anyone." He nodded to Wynn. "I hold and value your trust."

Another awkward silence followed, until Sgaile spoke. "Brot'an'duive, would you see them to their lodging? I have duties to attend."

"Yes, certainly," Brot'an replied, ushering everyone down the docks.

Magiere wondered what duties Sgaile could have here, besides his sworn guardianship. She was still annoyed with Wynn but also a little relieved, though she'd never confess it.

Everyone stepped off the dock onto the sandy shore, and Chap whined, dancing sideways a few steps toward the city. Magiere knew he really wanted to run for the forest beyond it.

"He's been doing that every day," she muttered.

Wynn pulled tangles of loose hair out of her face. "Oh, stop whining and just go."

Chap bolted upslope, disappearing between a tall stone building and a taller elm.

Magiere trudged the shore road until it turned inland across sandy earth, winding toward their temporary home. She glanced over her shoulder at the sea, feeling some ease that they would soon be on their way. But when she turned back, facing south by southeast, the pull within her grew stronger.

Sgaile's thoughts tumbled as he darted through the trees, deeper into the forest beyond Ghoivne Ajhajhe. From the instant he first intercepted Leshil entering his people's lands, Sgaile had sworn guardianship to protect the half-blood and his companions.

Leshil had somehow managed to pass the Broken Range amid brutal winter and walk straight into the forest, unhindered. He had come to free his mother, Cuirin'nen'a, from imprisonment imposed by her own caste. And in the end, he had succeeded. But so much more had happened during Leshil's time among Sgaile's people, the an'Croan-Those of the Blood.

Sgaile had guided Leshil to Roise Charmune, the Seed of Sanctuary, in the sacred burial place of the an'Croan's most ancient ancestors. There he had watched in awe as Leshil was given-rather than chose-his true name.

Leshiarelaohk-Sorrow-Tear's Champion.

The ancestors accepted a half-blood as an'Croan and saw fit to call him a champion-but for what reason? Even more, they had shown themselves to Leshil-despite Sgaile's improper presence, for name-taking was always done alone.

None of this had ever happened before.

Puzzled, Sgaile could only guard Leshil until the whole truth became clear.

For days, he had wavered over whether or not to accompany Leshil in returning to his home, to make certain he arrived safely. Now it appeared that Magiere was steering Leshil elsewhere toward an uncertain future. Or was this also part of Leshil's destiny?

Sgaile sank to his knees before a wide beech tree. He desperately needed guidance.

Coastal forests differed from the inland and his clan's own lands. Trees grew farther apart, and the earth was gritty rather than soft and loamy. Cool air blew in the branches, and Sgaile drew his cloak close as he took a small oval of word-wood from his pocket. It had been "grown" from the great oak home of Aoishenis-Ahare, Most Aged Father, the leader of the Anmaglahk.

Sgaile placed it against the beech tree's trunk and whispered, "Father?"

All anmaglahk called Aoishenis-Ahare by this name. The world was silent but for the wind-stirred leaves overhead, until a welcome voice, thin and reedy, filled Sgaile's mind.

Sgailsheilleache, my son.

"Yes, Father, I am here… still at Ghoivne Ajhajhe."

Has there been a delay?

Sgaile hesitated. "The ship arranged by the council of elders has only just arrived. Cargo must be exchanged before it leaves port, but…"