“You were not expecting me, Brakandaran?”
Glancing a little nervously toward the stern, where Drendik and his brothers were working, Brak shook his head. Following the direction of his gaze, she laughed. It was a wet, bubbling, and thoroughly unpleasant sound. “They cannot see me,” she assured him.
“What are you doing here?” Brak asked. Drendik would have been appalled by his lack of respect, but Brak knew the gods. They rarely made social calls. She was here for a reason, and if he did not get the reason out of her soon, Maera would probably forget why she came.
“You are not pleased to see me, Brakandaran?”
“I’m beside myself with happiness,” he assured her. “What are you doing here?”
“You’ve been visiting with Kaelarn, haven’t you?” The Sea God was almost as powerful as Kalianah or Zegarnald and far above a mere River Goddess in the general scheme of things.
“I never saw him. And anyway, I left the ocean to return to you,” he reminded her, which seemed to appease her vanity somewhat. “Why are you here, Maera?”
“What? Oh, that! I came to tell you about the child.”
“What child?” Brak made an effort to appear patient. Maera, like the river she held divinity over, was a fickle creature.
“Lorandranek’s child,” she said, as if Brak was just a little bit dense.
“Maera, I’m half-human. I need details. What do you have to tell me about Lorandranek’s child?”
Maera sighed heavily. “I can feel it. I felt it the last time it was on my river, but that was ages ago. Zegarnald told me I had to tell someone if I felt it again. So I’m telling you.” She pouted and stroked her scaly skin. “I don’t like Zegarnald. The river bleeds when he’s around.”
Brak’s eyes widened at the revelation. “You’ve felt the child before? Why didn’t you tell someone?”
“I did,” she objected with a frown that made her gills wobble. “I told Zegarnald.”
The War God had kept the information to himself for his own reasons, Brak thought in annoyance. “The demon child is on the boat now?”
“I said that, didn’t I?”
Brak ground his teeth with frustration. “Who is it?”
The goddess shrugged. “I don’t know. All humans look the same to me. They just arrived, though. I only felt it a moment ago.”
A moment to Maera could have been a second or a week, depending on the mood she was in. But if he assumed that she was speaking in human time frames, that narrowed it down to either Mandah, Tarja, or R’shiel. He dismissed the two from the Citadel immediately. Lorandranek had impregnated a mountain girl, not the future First Sister. He thought of Mandah’s placid nature and unswerving faith. She had been a Novice for a while. She had been at the Citadel. She was around the right age. It all fitted perfectly.
“How do I tell for certain?”
“By his blood,” Maera explained, a little annoyed at his inability to comprehend.
“You said ‘his.’ Do you mean it’s a man?”
“I don’t know! I told you, all humans feel the same to me.”
He was silent for a moment. “You don’t happen to know anything else about this child, do you?” he asked. “Its name, perhaps?”
Maera shrugged. “It is te Ortyn. Even you should be able to feel the bond.”
“I can only feel the bond if they draw on their power.”
“Stay with the humans, then,” Maera advised. “You’ll figure it out eventually.”
Before Brak could answer, the Defender patrolling the wharf finally noticed the Fardohnyan boat had slipped its moorings. He yelled at them as the boat floated into the current and was picked up by the river, which grabbed hold of the barge greedily and sent it speeding downstream. Drendik stood in the stern yelling back at the Defender.
“What you say? No speak Medalonian!” he was calling. “NO SPEAK MEDALONIAN!”
By the time the other soldiers had joined the guard on the wharf, signaling the boat to return with wild arm gestures, the barge was safely into the current. Drendik, Gazil, and Aber were waving at the Defenders, wearing uncomprehending expressions. Brak followed suit. They kept waving until the boat slipped around the bend of the river and the small Reddingdale dock vanished from sight in the gray dawn. Amused at Drendik’s simple but effective subterfuge, Brak turned back to the goddess, not surprised to find that she had vanished.
With a sigh, he secured the ropes and made his way below. If Maera was to be believed, he was going to have to join the rebels.
They sailed downriver to Testra for the next few days, Brak watching Mandah closely for some sign that she really was the one he sought. The young woman had a natural serenity about her that reminded him of the Harshini. A sort of trusting innocence that led one easily into trouble if he or she were not careful. If this was truly Lorandranek’s child, and the gods expected her to face down Xaphista, they were going to be sorely disappointed. Mandah worshipped Jelanna and Kalianah and held life sacred. She appeared to have none of the violent human tendencies that characterized Brak and his ilk. In fact, after watching her closely for several days, the only word he could find to describe her was... nice.
He did not have the same problem finding words to describe the young woman she had brought with her. R’shiel was trouble. Raised in the Citadel, she was intelligent and articulate and could talk the heathens into just about anything she set her mind to. That in itself did not concern him, however, but her fierce determination to destroy Joyhinia did. Since R’shiel had come on board, even old Padric had begun talking like a revolutionary. The runaway Probate had a gift for stirring the passions of her companions. She spoke of restoring religious freedom. She spoke of ending the Purge. She spoke of freeing those sentenced to the Grimfield. But she did not believe in the gods, and her motives were far from altruistic. She wanted revenge on Joyhinia for crimes Brak could only guess at. He considered her dangerous in the extreme. Tarja was far less complicated. He obviously intended to keep his promise to the rebels, but it irked him. Brak trusted Tarja’s reluctant oath over R’shiel’s savage enthusiasm for rebellion.
Brak sought out Mandah, the night before they reached Testra, to ask if he could join them. If she truly was the demon child, he did not plan to let her out of his sight. The young woman accepted him gladly, not questioning his decision to follow their cause. R’shiel raised a brow at the suggestion but did not object, and neither did Padric and the others. Brak was a member of Drendik’s crew, and that was enough for them. Only Tarja looked at him with a questioning frown. Brak could feel his distrust from across the cabin. He did not let it bother him. Tarja could do what he damned well pleased. He had found the demon child, he hoped.
All he had to do now was protect her from the foolish bravado of her companions, so that she lived long enough to reach Sanctuary. With R’shiel Tenragan inciting her companions to take up arms against the Sisterhood, Brak had a feeling that would not be easy.
chapter 20
As spring blossomed into summer, news of the heathen rebellion was the main topic of conversation in every tavern in Medalon. Even Brak had to admit that, with Tarja’s help, the rebels were becoming a real danger. He was a natural leader. People gravitated toward him almost unconsciously. If Tarja issued an order, others obeyed it without thinking. Brak mused that in her worst nightmares, Joyhinia Tenragan could never have imagined that her Purge would prove so costly. She did not expect any sort of organized resistance and certainly not of the caliber Tarja mounted.
No longer did Defenders ride unchallenged into villages to search for evidence of heathen worship. Often, they were turned away with no violence at all. The villagers of Medalon had acquired an astounding knowledge of the law, which they used most effectively in their defense. They began demanding warrants and refusing entry without them. They knew who could sign the warrants and who couldn’t. For a mostly illiterate population, they were suddenly and remarkably well informed about the letter of the law.
