“Easy. In their homes. On a perfectly serviceable bed like normal people.”
“And before they built those homes?”
“Then probably on board one of the ships.” A small chuckled shook the man’s stomach, pressed as it was to Hamish’s side. “They are, technically speaking, your distant ancestors too. Or do Tirglasians not believe that all humans sailed here together?”
“The priests say the Goddess guided us to these lands from another.” Hamish shrugged. “That’s it.”
“Nevertheless, I would prefer not to on the grounds that I am likely to wake the local wildlife. And I do believe I said such intimacy was only after you had spoken of what troubled you. Or did you think I had forgotten?”
“Nae really.” He had hoped. It would make tomorrow easier if Darshan’s attention was more on the bear and less on Hamish’s actions.
“And? Are you still unwilling to confide in me?”
Hamish’s insides seemed to squirm of their own accord. “On that subject, aye.” Although, if Darshan continued to needle him, he might blurt out everything and his true reason for leaving the castle with just one man in his company would be for nothing. “But if you’ll indulge me for a wee while, since neither of us seems ready to sleep, what parts of the old spellster legends are true?”
“What legends? Whose?”
He winced. Hamish had meant the old tales he had grown up with, but of course Darshan wouldn’t know them, much less whether they were true. “Your people’s, I guess. Can you do the same magic as the spellsters of old?”
Darshan gave a non-committal grunt. There was a faint shift of the blankets. Had he just shrugged?
“How can you nae ken?” Hamish rolled onto his side, seeking his lover’s expression. But the twilight beyond their tent had well and truly slipped into darkness. “You’re telling me nae a single person has ever tried replicating your legendary feats?”
His lover scoffed, bathing Hamish’s face in his hot breath. “Of course they have tried. There are whole academy wings devoted to trying. But most of the feats my people speak about in awed tones were powerful. Terribly so. To attempt them without the right strength, or the precise steps, could tear you to pieces. It does not help that, for some, to even learn if you will survive is to actually attempt it. Few takers.”
“We used to hear, when I was a wee lad.” Back before Caitlyn was born, never mind taken to the cloister. “The storytellers in the market square recite tales of spellsters easily bringing people back from the dead.” His mother had banned those stories from being told, within the confines of Mullhind, at least.
“Whilst few would not call it easy, such a feat is a common one that relies on a mixture of medical knowledge, willpower and magical strength. Like I did with that man at the cloister.”
He thought back to the man Darshan healed from the brink of death. “But he wasnae dead, though.” Close, according to his sister. “Spellsters cannae actually bring people back from the dead, right?”
Darshan hummed. “The recently dead? Yes, there are such cases where people have been deceased for over an hour and were revived.”
“The people in the legends were several days’ dead.” Sometimes, the storyteller would substitute it for weeks. Often, it was a loved one and would end with some sort of sacrifice on the other’s behalf.
“That sort of magic is… theoretically possible. There are always legends of this and that happening. People reappearing long after they were buried and yadda yadda. No actual mentions of how they appeared, of course. Just that they did. There is this myth that originated from my people’s first encounter with the Stamekian nomads and how they will punish the unworthy by using their life-force to revive those who are.”
“They swap the death of one for the death of another?”
“So the tale goes. Not many gift the tale much credit nowadays, but the idea does linger in a few debates. And I am certain if I asked around, I would find a few professors still attempting to determine if there was any merit to the act. They do believe the manner of how Stamekians treat their dead aids them.”
“Do they nae bury them?” That was the Tirglasian way. Deep in the forest, if possible, so animals were nae drawn too close to the villages.
“I would think it is more along the lines of entombing their dead in sand. The dry environment is likely what preserves their remains.”
A flush of heat took his face as he recollected the giant tapestry of the known world from which he and his siblings had learnt of the realms. The small empire of Stamekia was the farthest a person could head south before jumping into the ocean and, at least on the tapestry map, was mostly the fawn and taupe of arid land. “Right,” he mumbled.
“My apologies, it is not much of a topic on which to gain sleep from. How about something a little lighter?”
They spoke all through the night on frivolous matters until sleep finally claimed Darshan. Hamish tried to follow suit, even if only so he could be alert enough to track the bear, but closing his eyes did little to still his mind. The best he could manage was just lying still beside his lover, listening to the man’s steady breath, whilst the darkness grew old and faded.
Hamish sought to leave the tent only once the grey light of approaching dawn crept through the gaps in the entrance. He slipped free of Darshan’s grasp and silently tugged on his boots.
At his back, Darshan slept on, seemingly oblivious to the new day.
He gently brushed back the hair from his lover’s face and pressed a kiss to Darshan’s forehead. I’m sorry. If it hadn’t been for the spellster, he never would’ve known what it was
