The Immortal Renshai, page 40
Nothing could have shocked Saviar more. He fumbled and dropped his whetstone.
“Aesir and Vanir,” Frey repeated. A light dawned in his eyes. “Ravn? My little nephew is Calistin’s father?”
“Blood father only,” Colbey corrected.
“So I’m . . .” Frey pursed his lips in consideration.
“No relation,” Colbey inserted. “As I said, in blood only. Calistin has a loving and rightful paternal parent named Ra-khir.”
Frey apparently knew him. “The knight. The one who owned Frost Reaver for a time.”
Saviar bit his tongue, not trusting himself to keep from gasping. He had no idea the gods knew Ra-khir personally, and he had believed Calistin shared every bit of his blood heritage. Ra-khir had made that abundantly clear. Or did he? Saviar recalled a time when he had disavowed his irritating little brother. Ra-khir had minced his words, assuring him his boys shared both parents, pointing out how children fully-related often looked and acted quite differently. It was the performance of an honorable man trapped between an unbreakable vow and the truth. Saviar had conducted a similar dance for Chymmerlee after promising Subikahn never to reveal their Renshai heritage to any mage.
Colbey nodded. “When I believed I was heading to certain doom, I did give Ra-khir my steed. You know how attached I am to that stallion, and I chose carefully. Ra-khir is a good man.”
Frey made a wordless noise. “Does Freya know?”
Colbey laughed. “Do you think I could keep anything from my wife? Your sister? Of course, she knows. She approved it.”
Frey glanced down at Captain’s prostate form. “I’m sure there’s an interesting story behind it.”
“One you won’t be hearing today, at least not from me.” Colbey studied the ancient elf at Frey’s feet. Even Saviar could see Captain was not truly dead, at least not yet. His chest continued to rise and fall, despite the piece of soul protruding from his chest. “Frey, what will you accomplish by reincarnating Arak’bar Tulamii Dhor? The elves thrive under his leadership, at least when they choose to follow it.”
“It’s his time to go,” Frey pointed out. “He’s had six thousand years. That’s far longer than any other.”
Colbey responded with a snort. “You’re not talking to one of your elves here, and even they have more than an inkling you choose when old age takes them. Chan’rék’ril’s right. If you stuff that primordial, gifted soul into a newborn, it’s just going to be a younger version of him, frustrated for a few hundred years by his inability to work his magic and his limbs in the manner to which he’s become accustomed. Besides, you’re not fooling me. I know what you did.”
“What?” Frey said, too innocently.
“You’re never going to convince me you randomly chose the exact moment Captain was leading a jovinay arythanik of this significance to call his soul home.”
Frey made another meaningless noise.
“It’s not as if elves get heart attacks in stressful situations, the way humans do. Eventually, your followers are going to remember they have, in the past, had some choice in exactly when they pass. As I understand it, you point out their time has come, but it’s not a sudden thing. Usually, they have plenty of time to tell the others good-bye, to select a private time and place where they gradually make their peace before joining you.”
“It’s not their way to contemplate strategy or situation,” Frey said. “Humans muse; elves take things as they happen. To them, the passing of elves from age simply is and has always been.”
“Chan’rék’ril’s loss made him desperate enough to spend a lot of time considering every aspect of elfin death, souls, and reincarnation.” Colbey continued to stare at Captain. “He will figure out you discussed the whole plan with Captain before he disrupted the jovinay arythanik. You knew Ondetar would try to claim his soul, that he would do the very thing that would break your vow to Odin.”
Saviar did not bother to try to recover his whetstone or even cover his staring. The information about Calistin’s blood parentage had stunned him, yet he suspected this was the part Colbey had actually wanted him to hear. To become a leader of Renshai, assuming Thialnir asked again, he needed to look beneath the obvious, to see the stealthy arrangements, the hidden strategies others missed.
“All right,” Frey admitted, “you caught me. What do you intend to do with the information?”
“It just has me thinking,” Colbey said conspiratorially. “If you’re going to posthumously trick Odin again, why not do it right? I mean, this whole thing started because you wanted elves to be immortal, or nearly so, and Odin wanted to limit their lifespans as much as possible. What’s the point of taking Arak’bar Tulamii Dhor now? Why not spite Odin entirely, restore the elf’s soul, and stop the process. Make him a true immortal or, at least, the closest thing to it.”
Frey looked down at Captain, head tipped to one side. “You don’t think that might make the other elves less cooperative when their times come?” Without awaiting an answer, he placed his hands on the ephemeral head, closed his eyes, and muttered what sounded like magical syllables. As Saviar watched, the soul-head disappeared and Captain’s eyes fluttered open. He looked around, apparently taking in his position, then latched his gaze onto Frey. He sat up swiftly.
“My lord, Frey.” Captain bowed his head, hiding his expression, the barest hint of question in his tone. If he wished to know whether Frey had reprieved him for moments, years or decades, he did not ask.
Frey let him off the hook. “Thank you for your assistance, Arith’tinir Khy-loh’Shinaris Bal-ishi Sjörmann’taé Or. Midgard, and the elves, still need you; and I’m not yet ready for your soul.”
When Captain’s head came up, he looked entirely bewildered. He had waited so long for Frey to claim him, it must have seemed incredible. He still did not question, however, merely clambered to his feet, bowed, and joined the other elves.
Colbey rolled his eyes, head shaking. “Was that mouthful his original name?”
Frey maintained his unrevealing expression . . . almost. Saviar believed the corners of his mouth twitched ever so slightly upward. “Yes. Did you know Arak’bar Tulamii Dhor translates to ‘He Who Has Forgotten His Name?’”
“I believe I heard that once.” Colbey’s casual response hid the likelihood he had actually been told multiple times. “I suppose after so many millennia of humans calling you Captain, one could lose track of a forty-syllable name.”
“Seventeen syllables,” Frey corrected, gaze tracing Captain’s progress. At length, he returned his attention to Colbey, dusting his hands together. “Well, I believe I’m finished here. You coming?”
Colbey did meet the god’s gaze. “What about Chan’rék’ril?”
Frey’s brow furrowed, then rose. “What about him? I gave him an opportunity, and he refused it.”
Saviar pretended he had no interest in the conversation, but he did. His mother had believed she lost her soul to spirit spiders at the same time Chan’rék’ril did, and the agony she suffered when she thought she could never go to Valhalla had nearly devastated her and Ra-khir both. Saviar now knew it had been Calistin’s in-utero soul, not hers, the spider had devoured. Since even before his arrival in Béarn, Chan’rék’ril had made it his mission to discover how Calistin appeared to have recovered his soul, only to be repeatedly thwarted by Calistin’s unwillingness to discuss the subject. Even Saviar did not know what had happened, though he suspected it bore some relation to the changes in Calistin’s personality.
“You gave him an opportunity for a soul you never even collected,” Colbey pointed out, without mentioning it was only because of his suggestion that the soul still inhabited Captain’s body. “It seems to me you have a soul just waiting around doing absolutely nothing.”
Frey’s eyes narrowed, but he did not immediately reply. When Colbey also said nothing more, clearly waiting, Frey finally spoke. “But it’s not . . . wholly elfin. If I tease out the elfin portion, there’s not enough material for a complete soul. That’s exactly why it’s just waiting around.”
Colbey shrugged. “You’re the only one with incarnation experience, but I’ve been watching Calistin for quite some time now. The soul he received had little in common with him initially, but it seems to have adapted. Valhalla would have accepted it as his, and it didn’t stop him from becoming immortal. In fact, I think it may have helped him. It clung to and infused a bit of Treysind’s best feature, one Calistin desperately needed.”
“Compassion,” Frey said softly.
Colbey glanced at Saviar with a wink. The young man had a lot of information to process. This short conversation had explained so much.
Frey drummed his hands on his thighs, clearly in consideration. “I do have a lot of ‘incarnation’ experience, but it’s exclusively with infants. They arise essentially blank, which makes me doubt the wisdom of inserting a partially human soul into them.” He shook his head a bit. “I’ve seen what can happen when the more negative human traits become infused into my creation.” He made a vague gesture, but Saviar knew he referred to the svartalf. “I can’t risk a generation of part human souls in elfin newborns.”
Colbey pointed out the obvious. “But Chan’rék’ril is not newborn, and the soul you’d be giving him isn’t an unknown quantity. Ivana never knew a moment of spitefulness or cruelty or trickery. What could she inflict on him other than her tenacity and appreciation, even for those who shunned and despised her?”
A chill washed through Saviar. Though he was witnessing something profound, he found himself locked on the realization Ivana was, apparently, dead. Some in the castle might find it a respite, though they would know better than to voice such an opinion, especially amid Tem’aree’ay’s and Griff’s terrible grief. It also shocked him to realize Colbey Calistinsson, the consummate warrior, could offer profound advice to the gods themselves. And, sometimes, they would even accept it.
Frey nodded suddenly, mind made up. “Give me a bit of time to deal with the svartalf and award Chan’rék’ril his new soul. Then, would you mind stopping on Midgard to let any elves remaining there know it’s time to recreate the gate to Svartalfheim? The lysalf, and their Renshai companions, need to go home.”
The pleased look on Colbey’s face told Saviar the words meant more than he could fully fathom, at least at the moment with so much information to ponder. He supposed it was a backhanded thank you to Calistin, Rantire, and himself. Also, there was significance in him calling Midgard the elves’ home, perhaps for the first time. At least, it seemed the elves and their creator had finally found some positive feelings toward the half-human offspring of Tem’aree’ay and the king.
Colbey had one more question. “What will become of the svartalf?”
Frey frowned, and Saviar suspected Colbey had finally overstepped his boundaries. But Frey seemed to realize his immortal brother-in-law had contributed to the elves in a positive way and graced him with an answer. “Leaguing with a demon. Plotting against their cousins. They have gone beyond any ability for me to consider them elves any longer. A few may still retain enough of their original nature to remain here, and I will allow them to procreate from the common pool so long as they behave. Most, however, can no longer have ‘alf’ in their name. Those will become as twisted and lumbering in looks as in nature, shunning the light for the darkness of underground dwellings and caves on the currently empty world called Nídavellír.
“They once named themselves dwar-freytii, so I shall call them simply ‘dwarf’ as they do not deserve my name. They shall have no access to the pool of elfin souls, but neither will they need them as they will have no souls at all so can reproduce at will, like any animal. Hopefully, they will develop a skill that pleases at least some of the gods, so they will have a purpose to which to dedicate their lives. Otherwise, I fear they might disappear; and no one will mourn their passing.”
Saviar suspected Frey had, deliberately or not, gravely insulted humans with his “reproduce at will, like any animal” comment, but he knew better than to take offense at anything spoken by a god.
Colbey gave no indication it bothered him, either. “It’s about time Nídavellír had an occupant.” He stretched lithely. A golden light flared around him, and he was gone.
Either oblivious to or not caring about Saviar’s observations, Frey ignored him entirely as he headed toward the gathered elves.
Calistin appeared at Saviar’s right hand so suddenly he wondered if his brother had already developed the magical skills of the other immortal Renshai. Then, he realized no flash had accompanied it. Nothing in the grim expression on Calistin’s face seemed to suggest he had managed something beyond his previous abilities. Saviar also realized immortality and magical ability did not necessarily go together. In addition to his longevity and Renshai heritage, Colbey had served time as the Western Wizard, as a Knight of Erythane, and had lived for centuries among the gods.
“We have a lot to talk about,” Saviar said, believing it vast understatement.
Calistin took Saviar’s elbow, making no reply.
CHAPTER 20
A lot of knowledge is dangerous, a little knowledge even more so.
—Weile Kahn
LED BY KENTT and buoyed by the Pica Stone, the team of Tem’aree’ay, Shar’iss’ah, and the mostly bewildered Mages of Myrcidë had no difficulty holding the gate open for the beleaguered elves to return from their abrupt and unsettling visit to Svartalfheim. Captain disbanded his followers to recover from their ordeal, promising to reconvene the following day in the usual place.
The rescue party demanded a summation of the happenings from the only member who had attended: Saviar. After the overview, Tae invited Saviar for a grilling session under the auspices of a walk and meal. Cursing himself for not chasing the elves through the gate, Tae was not content with the information Saviar provided the others. As odd and fascinating as they proved to be, Tae could tell the young Renshai was hiding details.
Seated in Tae’s vast, private suite in Béarn Castle, Saviar lowered his head to his arm, folded on the tabletop, and sighed. “I’ve told you everything that happened.”
Even Imorelda believed Tae was hounding Saviar too hard and had chosen to take her kittens elsewhere under the auspices of a quiet nap.
“You’re leaving things out,” Tae insisted. “Information that, in the right hands—”
“Your hands?” Saviar huffed out.
Tae ignored the interruption, “. . . could be useful in ways you might not imagine. Ways that could save lives.”
“I assure you, I’ve told you every piece of information you could possibly use. Anything more, you need to get from Captain. I wasn’t present when Frey addressed the elves.”
Tae fairly whined. “But you’re skipping details, Saviar.”
“Of course I’m skipping details.” Saviar raised his head and finally looked at Tae. “If I had some magical way to chronicle every sight and sound exactly the way it happened, I’d have a talent even the gods might never match. Imagine being able to make a gesture, and a perfect duplication of an event appeared on a wall for everyone to relive or to see and hear for the first time.” He rose, raising his hands grandly into the air. “I’d be wealthy and popular beyond belief. It would revolutionize the entire world!” He sat back down, voice returning to its tired timbre. “A bird twittered on a tree branch a moment before I dispelled the ward holding the elves prisoner. A worm nibbled at a leaf, and the wind rose just enough to muss this bit of hair . . .” He tweezed a hank of reddish bangs between his thumb and forefinger. “. . . but not this one.” He used the other hand to pluck up another, then dropped both.
Tae knew a dodge when he heard one. He said with direct coldness, “Those aren’t the kinds of details I mean, Saviar; and you know it. I don’t need a precise duplication. I need to know the big stuff, the things you don’t want to talk about.”
Saviar sucked in a deep breath and held it. He let it all out at once, in a noisy sigh. “Tae, I learned a lot of things today, most only tangentially related to what happened. I’m not really sure what I learned, but I do know I need to mull over the information and come to some personal conclusions before I can share with anyone.”
Again, it took surprisingly long for his gaze to find Tae’s. “I’ll give you this much: my youngest brother selflessly saved my life and grew to be something more, I’m not exactly sure what, in the process. Ivana has apparently died, and her soul may or may not now dwell in Chan’rék’ril. The implications for future elfin/human hybrids is something I need to think about, as do the elves and the royal family, among others.” He finally got to the crux of the matter. “Colbey invited me to listen in on a conversation between himself and his brother-in-law, who just happens to be a god. I found it humbling, terrifying, and—in some ways—surprisingly similar to the way human brothers chat, in-law or otherwise.”
“You didn’t mention that part to the others,” Tae pointed out.
Saviar nodded. “It wasn’t germane, Tae. It was personal, for them and for me. I’m also not sure the decision of whether or not I should replace Thialnir is mine any longer . . . assuming it ever really was.”
“The Renshai need your guidance,” Tae said. “That’s obvious to anyone. Including you at one time.”
“I turned Thialnir down in front of a crowd. He’s searching for someone else.” Saviar rubbed his hands across the tabletop. “Besides, I’m not ready.”
“No one ever is.” Tae thought back to when his father had handed him the title of king. Even at his most imperiled, he had never felt so stricken with panic. “Anyone who believes himself to be so isn’t worthy of the job.”
Saviar managed a weak smile. “I’m not fishing for sympathy, really I’m not. I know if Thialnir deigned to foist the responsibility upon me again, it’s actually a great honor.” He kept his head up, his attention on Tae. “I know you read people well, verbally and nonverbally, and that’s the reason you think I have some juicy secret I’m keeping to myself. But that’s really all there is. Just a lot of soul-searching and deliberation I need to do on my own.”
