Endgame

Chapter Four

Chapter FourSen awoke with a start, pushing the lyrax-fur blanket off himself. Sweat beaded on his face as he looked left and then right, searching for something familiar. A water basin. A clay knob on the wall from which his loose beige tunic hung. The gutted remnants of several candles.

He sat up, breathing sighs of relief into his hands. Just a dream.

Two years before, after becoming Mizar's apprentice, he'd hoped the years of tongue-lashings, mockery, and belittlement that had comprised his childhood would fade away, giving way to new, more pleasant memories. But his unconscious mind, it would seem, was determined to fill his dreams with the scowling visages of his father and three half-brothers on an almost nightly basis.

“Senkoot! Senkoot! Grubby little worm!” Their repeated taunts echoed through his mind, refusing to dissipate.

Sen clenched his fists, squeezing his eyes shut as he fought back tears.

No. I may have been named after a parasite, but that's not who I am. Not anymore. I'm a healer. A Wielder. I've found purpose. I've found a girl whom I love. I've found my—

“Sen?” came a voice. Lyala stared at him from the doorway, concern etched into her face.

His breath hitched a little bit as he took in the sight of her. Her long brown hair, her ocean blue eyes, her high cheekbones; all attributes he'd inherited from her, along with his healing ability. All his life, his mother had only been a ghost, a fantasy with no more substance than a shadow. And now, by Arantha's will, they'd been reunited.

“I'm … all right, mother,” he replied, catching his breath. “Just a bad dream.”

She took two tentative steps toward him, a thousand questions written on her face.

The day before, when they had their tearful reunion, he'd felt a happiness so pure that it couldn't be described in words. The vast distance separating him from his long-lost mother had vanished, and not only did Lyala and his sister Sershi embrace him as family, they invited him to their modest home. They'd talked well into the night before exhaustion finally caught up to him.

His eyes met hers as he climbed to his feet. His first instinct was to go to her, to hold her and never let go. To assuage the guilt that had consumed her since she'd been forced, per Ixtrayu tradition, to give him up, and to rid himself of the seething anger he still held for her in the darkest parts of his soul.

As his master often said, “All scars heal with time.” Sen hoped that was true.

“Is there … is there anything you need?” Lyala asked. He noticed her fists clenching and unclenching. “I could make you some tea.”

Keeping his face calm, he approached his mother, stopping only one pace away. At that moment, the question he'd fought down since their reunion burst forth from him. “Why, mother?”

Shallow wrinkles creased her face, making her look ten years older. “Why what?”

“Why him? Of all the men you could've chosen to mate with …” He trailed off, unable to complete the sentence. He felt his shoulders sag, but his eyes never moved.

“Oh, my poor son.” She leaned forward, caressing his cheek. “You've been through so much. And it's all my fault.” Averting her gaze, she stared out the room's only window; a short distance away, the River Ix meandered through the Plateau. “Arantha blessed me with a daughter on my first Sojourn, as you know. When Onara decreed that I was destined to go on a second, I didn't question it. When I crossed paths with your father in Thel, I was certain Arantha had brought us together.”

Sen fetched his tunic from its hook on the wall and began dressing. His mother still stared fixedly out the window.

“You have to understand, as Ixtrayu, we do not value men for their disposition or temperament. Rather, we seek men of great strength and vitality, so that their seed may produce strong Ixtrayu children.”

“But not all Ixtrayu children are strong, are they?” Sen asked, acid tinging his voice as he contemplated his own lanky frame.

Lyala leaned forward, clutching the windowsill for support. “No. We're not.”

Sen observed her slumped shoulders, and his mild surge of anger abated. As hard as his father had been on him, so too his mother had been on herself. “Mother—” he said, moving even closer.

She held a hand up. “I know this means nothing, my son, but not a day has gone by in the last eighteen years that I haven't thought of you. Prayed you would find a happy life without me.” A tiny smile curled the corners of her mouth. “I knew of King Sardor's edict, you see. I held out a shred of hope that you would one day realize your gift. And now, here you are; a healer in the court of King Aridor, apprentice to the High Mage himself. I could not have wished a better fate for you.”

The smile dissolved as quickly as it came. “I can only apologize for the torments you endured, Sen. I assure you, Garmin did not strike me as the hateful, bitter man he was when we first met. Just the opposite, in fact.”

“How did you meet?” Sen asked. “As a child, I would often ask Father questions about you, but from the age of six he forbade me from ever mentioning you again. He wouldn't even tell me your name.”

Lyala nodded. “The journey to Thel took rather more out of me than my first Sojourn to Agrus. I had to hitch my chava to a tree an hour's walk from Thel, as I did not want to draw the townsfolk's attentions. I was looking for a safe place to bed for the night when I ran into Garmin—quite literally. He staggered out of a local tavern and knocked me to the ground.”

“Sounds like him,” Sen muttered.

“He apologized, of course, like a gentleman. After helping me to my feet, he offered to buy me supper. He told me of the wife he'd recently lost, and of the three sons he was now forced to care for by himself.” She sighed. “I'm sure you can guess the rest of the story.”

Their eyes met. “I can't picture Father as being anything but the lout he was. I never saw any other side of him.”

“It wasn't until after I knew I was pregnant that his darker side revealed itself. I told him my time in Darad was temporary, and that my family awaited my return, but he wouldn't have it. He insisted I stay with him forever, to raise not only his sons but the child that now grew inside me.” She stepped forward, enfolding Sen in her arms and pressing her head against his shoulder. “I have made so many mistakes, my son. And if it takes me the rest of my life, I will make it up to you … if you'll let me.”

Sen didn't respond for many moments. He simply held her. “I accept your offer,” he said.

He felt rather than saw his mother smile, and they both tightened their hug.

* * *

Sen watched as Sershi poured his second cup of jingal-root tea. He snatched up the mug, savoring its earthy yet sweet aroma before taking a cautious sip. As with the first cup, the liquid warmed him all the way down to his stomach. “This is the best tea I have ever tasted in my life,” he said, a grin spreading across his face. “Thank you, sister.”

“You're welcome … brother,” she said, returning the smile. “It feels so strange to say that word out loud, but I rather enjoy how it sounds.”

“As much as I enjoy hearing it, I think.” He downed another sip. Sershi poured a second cup for Lyala, who stood watching the exchange.

The Room of Healing was empty save for the three of them. Sen observed, on the far side of the river, many Ixtrayu rushing about. Several fully armed huntresses also strode by, making their way to the northern entrance. He could only surmise that the time to move out was but hours away.

Sen sighed. Less than a day since meeting his family for the first time, and now he had to leave again. He just hoped his mother would accept his reasons for doing so.

Before he could break the news to her, a man with a shock of dark hair ran through the entrance. His face was contorted in pain, and his right hand clutched a wad of bloody rags.

“Rahne?” Sen asked. “What happened?”

“Cut myself,” the young Agrusian said through gritted teeth, “in the dining hall.”

“Let me see,” said Lyala, stepping forward and taking Rahne's injured hand. She carefully removed the blood-soaked rags, leaning in for a closer look. She twisted his wrist, and he yelped in pain.

“Be careful!” he said. “It's deep.”

“Yes, it is,” Lyala confirmed. “Try not to move.”

Sen watched as his mother closed her eyes, cupping the underside of Rahne's hand in her own. Her breathing became slow and steady as her healing power manifested.

Rahne's eyes widened as he stared at his hand. Within moments, the cut had sealed itself, but not completely.

Lyala's eyes opened, her brow furrowing. “Something's wrong. It's not working as well as it should.”

Fear flashed through Rahne's eyes. “What do you mean, something's wrong?”

“Your blood isn't clotting.” She turned to face her daughter. “Sershi, I'll need your help if we are to seal this wound.”

Sen had a sudden inspiration. Reaching into the satchel he always carried, he brought forth a smaller pouch. From that he produced two large, aromatic leaves and offered them to his mother. “Here. Use these.”

She looked at the plant with a quizzical expression. “What are they?”

“Leaves from the carmista bush. They help with blood coagulation.”

She took the leaves, holding them in her upturned hand. “What am I supposed to do with them?”

“Press them between your palms. You can absorb their healing properties.”

Her mouth fell open. So did Sershi's. “I can?” Lyala asked.

“Yes,” Sen replied, dumbfounded. “You … didn't know that?”

She shook her head.

Sen chuckled. “Eight hundred years of Ixtrayu history, and you never knew you could …?” He trailed off.

She shook her head. “No, I didn't.”

Rahne cleared his throat. “Uh, hello? I'm kind of in excruciating pain here,” he said, still wincing.

“Oh, quit your bleating,” Lyala said. “Trust me, you'll live.”

Rahne opened his mouth, but quickly shut it again.

Sen stepped forward. “Press the leaves between your hands. Then, clear your mind and concentrate on how they feel; size, texture, everything.”

“You've done this before?” Sershi asked.

“Many times.”

Lyala closed her eyes again, her head slightly atilt as she squeezed the carmista leaves between her palms. She let out several breaths, and her face broke out in a warm smile. “I feel it!”

“Give it a few more seconds,” Sen instructed.

With Rahne looking on, Lyala continued this for many long moments before opening her eyes. She handed the leaves back to Sen, took Rahne's wrist, and manifested her Wielding again.

Rahne's mouth opened in mute shock as, this time, the skin on his palm knitted and sealed itself. By the time she released him, only a smear of dried blood and a thin scar remained.

“Great Arantha,” Rahne whispered, flexing his fingers, then his wrist. He traced the outline of the scar with his other thumb. “Simply amazing. Thank you, Healer.”

“You're quite welcome,” Lyala said. “But my son deserves just as much gratitude as I.”

Rahne beamed, giving Sen a hearty thump on the shoulder. “Indeed, thank you, my friend. I can see you're a useful fellow to have around.”

Sen felt himself blush, unused to such praise. “Just be more careful,” he said. “How'd you cut yourself, anyway?”

“Well …” he shot a glance at the entrance. “I was having a meal in the dining area when this girl named Cassia sat down next to me and—”

Both Lyala and Sershi rolled their eyes. “Say no more,” Lyala said, turning away. “Please.”

Rahne made a perplexed face at Sen, who shrugged and said, “Don't look at me, I just got here.”

Just then, a familiar figure appeared in the doorway, and Sen smiled. Said smile, however, disappeared when he saw the trepidation on Vaxi's face.

He stepped forward and put his arms around her, holding her close, drinking in the earthy scent of her hair. His heart raced as she returned the embrace.

“I take it all went well?” she whispered in his ear.

After introducing Sen to Lyala and Sershi, Vaxi had quietly slipped away, letting him have his reunion. He hadn't yet had the chance to properly thank her.

Time to remedy that.

They faced each other, and Sen brought his lips down upon hers. They kissed for many long moments, right there in the doorway. He could feel the eyes of his mother, his sister, and numerous passing Ixtrayu on him, but he didn't care.

They broke the kiss, and Vaxi finally smiled. “I guess it did,” she said.

He caressed her cheek. “I owe you so much. Were it not for you, I probably would have stayed in Darad, and spent the rest of my life cursing my cowardice.”

She placed her palm over his. “Were it not for you, Sen, I would be dead right now. You don't owe me anything.”

Sen wanted to disagree, to profess his love for her, to say the magic words that would keep them together, but they would not come.

Vaxi gently disengaged herself from his grasp. “I'm leaving soon, Sen.”

“Leaving?” Sen asked. “Where are you going?”

She cast a glance at the northern entrance. “From what I understand, we're taking King Aridor and Mizar back to Darad in Maeve's ship. Then the huntresses and I are going to rescue the Protectress.”

Sen's mouth fell open. “You're going to Vanda?” With pleading eyes and his palms turned upward, he stepped forward to lodge a protest.

She nodded. “Don't try to stop me, Sen. I have to do this.”

He reached for her hand again, giving it a squeeze. “You have your duty, I have mine. I guess I'll be going too.”

“Going?” Lyala, who had apparently overheard their conversation, stepped forward. “No, Sen! You only just got here!” Anguish blanketed her face, and Sen felt his own heart breaking.

“I have to, Mother,” he said, placing his hands on her shoulders. “I would give anything to stay here, with you, and Sershi. But I can't. Not now.”

“Why not?”

He hung his head, unable to meet her gaze. “I may be Ixtrayu, Mother, but I am also Daradian. I swore an oath to serve my King, and my Master, and I must go wherever they go. I cannot hide here while Darad comes under attack, knowing there are lives I could save.”

She placed her hand under his chin, lifting his head so their eyes met. “I lost you eighteen years ago, my son. I'm not losing you again.”

“You won't—”

“Which is why I'm coming with you.”

“Mother?” Sershi said, aghast. “What are you talking about? You can't—”

Lyala held a hand up, silencing her. “I'm going, duma. If the Protectress is still alive when we find her, she's going to need a healer.”

“Maeve is a healer,” Sershi countered.

Lyala exhaled and shook her head. “Maeve is going to be too busy flying the craft. And though she's powerful, she's not as experienced as I am.”

Sershi looked like she was going to argue further, but then her shoulders slumped. “Yes, Mother.”

Lyala disappeared into the inner room for a moment, returning with a satchel, not unlike Sen's, slung over her shoulder. Sen couldn't help but smile.

His mother enfolded Sershi in a warm hug. “The Ixtrayu are in your hands, duma. Take care of our sisters until I return.”

“But you're taking the Stone with you,” she countered. “I won't be able to heal.”

“Yes, you will,” Lyala said. “You'll just have to use your wits instead of your Wielding.”

Sershi's face fell, and she bowed. “Yes, Mother.”

Lyala cupped Sershi's cheek again, and then walked past Sen and through the doorway with a “Let's go, my son.” And then she was gone, striding down the path toward the northern entrance, and the Talon. Vaxi gave Sen one more smile and then followed her.

Sen and Sershi's eyes met. They did not speak for many long moments. “Stay safe, brother,” she said in a choked whisper, and disappeared into the inner room.

Sen watched her go, his chest heaving.

Rahne, who he'd almost forgotten was there, ambled up to him. “Not easy dealing with women, is it?”

Sen shook his head. “How would you handle this?”

Rahne laughed, giving him another friendly slap on the shoulder. “Don't look at me. I just got here.” His cavalier grin returned. “Come, my friend, the Talon awaits. Trust me, this is one ride you're gonna be telling your grandchildren about.”

'Grandchildren'?

Grandchildren…

When did my life become so complicated?