“I know, child, I know.” Melakatezra reached for her, hand stretching past Jenny’s blade. “The ways of man make little sense, even to themselves.”
“Enough,” Athan said, eyes closed, head bowed and hands fisted. “It doesn’t change the fact that the deal is off. I’m not giving her to you, I know damn sure Jenny won’t, and it’s clear, by some rule of the magics involved, that you can’t simply take her, so you might as well go back to whatever blight infested hole you flew out of!”
“Such brave words,” Melakatezra cooed, her hand stopping short of brushing Dnara’s cheek.
“True words,” Jenny said. “You take one more step towards Dnara and I’ll see how many of them feathers I can cut off before you start bleeding shadows.”
Melakatezra’s gaze coasted slowly to Jenny then narrowed. “Veshna’ri oso ir’anhsev.”
The strange language came in hushed syllables from Melakatezra’s lips like buzzing bees, spoken both forwards and backwards at the same time. It resonated with a reverberating cadence from deep within her throat, as if the words were tangibly pulled from the earth like an ancient monolith to which all the ravens bowed their heads in silence. The rhythmic sound trailed up Dnara’s spine, reaching into the recesses of her memory. Sometime before, someplace long forgotten, she’d heard the language before.
Next to her, a loud thunk struck the ground. Jenny had dropped her sword and gone still as a temple statue, eyes unseeing and mouth stuck open. The once strong willed blackrope sank mutely to her knees then fell over onto her side, lifeless. Around the clearing, the ravens cawed madly and Rupert reared back, hooves hitting the earth in furious thumps.
“Jenny!” Dnara crouched down and took Jenny’s stiff form into her hands. Brushing Jenny’s silver hair aside, Dnara could see the woman lived but could not move, frozen in time by whatever spell Melakatezra had cast. “What have you done to her?!”
“One does not create pets without ways to control them,” Melakatezra said coolly before returning her attention to Athan. “Now, where were we?”
“You were leaving,” Athan said, taking two long strides closer to Dnara’s kneeling form. “Without her.”
“Was I?” Melakatezra’s eyebrow rose sharply and an amused smirk returned to her lips. “It seems you haven’t learned the most important lesson of all.” Her smile evaporated and her gaze turned daring. “I always win.”
“Not this time,” Athan replied boldly, setting this arrow back against the bowstring. “I’ll not give her to you, no matter what you do or the lies you speak.”
“Oh, my dear sweet boy.” Melakatezra laughed, and the ravens laughed with her, paired together in some private joke. Dnara found the sound unnerving, but less so than what Melakatezra said next. “She has never been yours to give.”
The words stunned Athan into an open mouthed silence, the arrowhead unbalancing against the bow and confusion marring his brow. Melakatezra nodded in approval at Athan’s lack of rebuttal then held out her hand. She held it out, not to him, but down to Dnara. Dnara stared at the open palm, feeling as if she had been there, within that very moment, before.
“She cannot be taken nor given,” Melakatezra informed while looking at Athan. “It is her choice, and hers alone.” And with that, Melakatezra took her gaze off Athan and made an offer with more sympathy in her eyes than had been expected. “Come with me, child, and I will show you the truth of this world, and your part in it.”
Looking at the empty hand, Dnara could not deny the curiosity growing within her, even as the wind made its own desire clear. It tugged through her hair and ruffled Melakatezra’s feathers in a want to separate them. The ravens let loose another clamor, but Melakatezra stood regal, unflinching, her gaze penetrating. Dnara could see this woman carried a great knowledge, a knowledge which she offered to share, and the yearning to take her offered hand pulled hard on Dnara’s heart. As Dnara reached towards the offered hand, she asked, “What truth?”
Coming to his senses, Athan stepped further between them, breaking the hold of Melakatezra’s gaze. “Don’t listen to her. She speaks nothing but lies.”
Melakatezra let out an irritated sigh. “I have never lied to you, Athan. It’s not what I do. Lying is tiresome, and there is no reason for it when the truth serves my purpose so well.”
Athan’s arrow wielding hand fisted the shaft and pointed the sharpened stone head at Dnara. “You said Dnara created the blight!”
The wind around Dnara died as the shadows swelled around her ankles. “I- I what?”
“I never said she created the blight,” Melakatezra responded calmly in the face of Athan’s growing anger. “I said she is responsible for the blight. Two very different things, one being false and the other true. That you chose to ignore the difference is on you, Athan.”
“Stop twisting words!” Athan shouted, both of them ignoring where Dnara sat, her eyes wide at the words being spoken between them. “How can she be responsible? She expelled the blight from Penna, and from Elizabeth Whitehall!”
“One does not create pets without ways to control them,” Melakatezra answered coolly.
“And stop speaking in riddles!” Athan shouted louder, his anger carrying up to the dead tree branches where the ravens responded with shouting of their own. “Whatever truths you’re offering will be tainted by your own malcontent. I may not be able to speak your true name, but I know it, and know that nothing good ever comes from what you offer.”
Melakatezra remained placid, her expression a mask of unreadable indifference. “And there it stands, the arrogance of man. You see one small piece of the tapestry and believe you know everything, smugly thinking you can alter what has been weaving itself into existence for over a thousand years.
