The Immortal Renshai, page 54
Saviar latched onto what he considered pertinent at the moment. “But you admit you don’t carry his bloodline?”
Calistin evaded the question. “It’s not for me to say.”
Subikahn watched Calistin intently, as if concerned his younger brother might attack him. “Think about it, Saviar. Every one of us most closely resembles his grandfather. You’re a dead ringer for Knight-Captain Kedrin, and I’m told I look an awful lot like a young Weile Kahn.” He added sotto voce, “Assuming he was ever truly young.” His volume returned to normal, “Who do you think Calistin looks most like?”
Saviar studied Calistin as if for the first time, seeing nothing new or unusual. Their youngest brother looked most like the stereotypical Renshai: blond, pale eyes, sinewy and younger than his chronological age. Even the claw strikes of the demon had not appeared to change that. “I’ve always thought he most closely resembles Mama.”
“And who did Mama fashion herself after? Not only her look, but her walk, her talk, her fighting style? Whose wisdom was she constantly quoting?”
Saviar rolled his eyes. They all knew. “Colbey, of course.”
“Ever seen a drawing of a young Colbey?”
Calistin stiffened.
Saviar considered. He already knew Subikahn had guessed correctly, but the question caught him flat-footed. He had read a significant portion of Béarn’s enormous library, at least the part written in the common tongue, and everything he could find on the subject of Renshai. Some of it was illustrated, and many artists had drawn aspects of the legendary Renshai. To his knowledge, none of them was a posed or deliberate portrait, though. “Now that I’ve met him, I don’t think most of the older drawings look much like him, old or young.”
“Probably not,” Subikahn finally admitted. “But I’ve always imagined he looked exactly like Calistin. Because he is, in fact, Calistin’s blood grandfather.”
Calistin and Saviar spoke at once, in nearly identical words, “How could you possibly know that?”
Subikahn did not leave them guessing. “Because my grandfather and my father had their hands in the situation. And, unlike your parents, they were not sworn to lifelong secrecy, although they mostly maintained it in deference to Ra-khir’s request and his honor. I put together some of the information based on things I’d heard and learned, and wheedled the rest out of them.”
Saviar had to know the details. “Tell me everything.”
Subikahn looked at Calistin, who gave him a mortified look. “Later. When we’re alone,” he promised his twin, then Calistin. “And only with our brother’s permission. As you said before, it’s his secret.”
There was a difference, and he needed to understand it. “Yes, but not one he revealed. You figured this out on your own, and I want to know how.”
Subikahn gave his twin this much, “The final piece came from Captain, Saviar. He said after Calistin saved your life on Svartalfheim, the Sword of Mitrian, a rusted and crumbling relic of our people, cut through demon flesh like a scythe. I’m hoping Calistin knows the reason why because I’m not leaving this spot until he gives us some sort of explanation.”
Saviar tried not to appear nervous as he peered between them. If Calistin did not wish to speak, he would not. If Subikahn pressed too hard, it would result in a battle he could not hope to win.
Calistin uncoiled his legs and unclipped the scabbarded Sword of Mitrian from his belt. “I’m not exactly certain myself, but I’ve given it a lot of thought. Colbey said a day might come when I earned my immortality and the gems I commissioned for the sword would restore its condition. It has always been my position a man or woman who can’t defend himself in battle deserves to die, hopefully with enough courage to attain Valhalla. But, this time, when I saw Saviar fatally menaced, I acted from my heart or, perhaps, my soul rather than reason. It was the first time I felt truly bonded to my acquired soul as a single entity; it became an actual and integral part of me rather than something borrowed from Treysind.”
Calistin shook his head, staring at the wall as if through it and a long distance beyond. “I’ve given it a lot of thought since, and I’m still not certain if that’s the detail that explains how I earned my immortality. All I know is the event that was supposed to herald it, the restoration of magic to the ancient sword, happened.” He held the sword out to Saviar. “I want you to try it.”
Although Saviar already knew Calistin had become immortal, the words could not have shocked him more. The consummate Renshai, Calistin had only once allowed another to touch one of his swords, the one he had granted Subikahn to use in the war. Saviar was uncertain of his brother’s purpose and still a bit untrusting of his motives despite the many changes the soul transfer had created. Gaze fixed on Calistin, Saviar accepted it and unsheathed the blade. Instantly, he assessed the balance, finding it no less than perfect, at least as far as he could tell from that simple action. All the pitting and rusting had disappeared. For centuries, the Renshai had kept their artifact as well as time and oil and restorative techniques allowed. Eventually, they had banished it to a case, afraid any touch would cause it to crumble to dust.
Now, the blade looked shiny and perfect, as if newly forged. The hilt, which had grown nearly formless with age was now clearly in the shape of a wolf’s head, its once-empty eye sockets filled with glowing amber gems. With the sword in hand, Saviar could feel as well as see its magical aura as a golden light that hummed through his hand and surrounded the steel from its tip to its sculpted edge. He had seen better artwork in his lifetime, but no finer sword. After he had inspected it, Saviar tried a few tentative sweeps and stabs. It did not lead his arm in any way, responding only to his initiated movements, a sword that would do only what he asked but would strike true and remain sharp. It was a sword any Renshai would give all of his worldly possessions for, perhaps even his firstborn child. He wanted to communicate all of these thoughts, but none of them would come. Utterly speechless, he could only make a firm gesture of approval before returning it to its sheath and offering it back to Calistin.
But Calistin made no move to take it. “May I try Motfrabelonning?”
If anyone else had asked, or even Calistin under any other circumstance, Saviar would have politely but vehemently denied them. Now, he placed the Sword of Mitrian gently on his bed, unclipped Motfrabelonning, and handed the scabbarded sword to his youngest brother.
Calistin gave the sword a test similar to the one Saviar had performed, although with infinitely more grace and even more studious examination. Finally, he returned Motfrabelonning to its sheath. “Would you be terribly offended if I proposed a trade?”
Far more surprised than insulted, Saviar managed to stammer, “H-huh?”
Calistin explained. “The leader of the Renshai should wield the Sword of Mitrian forever onward.”
Saviar started to protest, but he could not find the right words even then. Calistin was right; the Sword of Mitrian was an artifact of the entire tribe. At one time, it made sense for their best swordsman to carry it. However, if the Renshai were to follow a leader, and it seemed politically necessary, the one in charge should have their symbolic treasure. “I’ll give it to Thialnir.” He added with even more difficulty, “And you should keep Motfrabelonning.” He felt as if he had just cut off an arm and given it to his brother.
Calistin clearly battled a smile. “To our leader. Thialnir. Right.”
Subikahn had no choice but to jump in now. “Calistin, I promised to return this sword to you at the conclusion of the war. I should have given it to you as soon as I got back, but I kept waiting for you to ask.” He started to unclip the sword Kevral had willed to Calistin. “Not terribly honorable of me, but then again, honor doesn’t exactly run in my bloodline.”
Calistin stopped Subikahn with a wave. “No, Subi. I want you to keep it. That way, we all still have swords that can assist against magic.”
Everyone but me. Saviar did not voice his bitterness; but, as he had turned down the leadership position, the Sword of Mitrian did not belong to him. He left the sword lying on his bed while his brothers attached or reattached the legacies of Kevral to their belts. Reluctantly, he raised the proper topic of conversation again. “We’re supposed to be deciding whether to approve Papa’s marriage plans.”
Calistin sat back down, shrugging. “I still think we should give him our blessing. The fact that he has promised to abide by our decision shows our opinions matter enough to him to sacrifice his happiness for us. I don’t think we should squander that trust when really, legally, and honorably, it’s his own choice.”
Saviar had had no idea Calistin could speak so eloquently. In the past, he had confined himself to insults and sword training. Nothing else had interested him. Apparently, living with a Knight of Erythane had affected him more than any of them had realized.
Calistin had not finished, “However, I’m leaving for an extended period of time, so I won’t have to deal with any consequences. So, if either of you decide not to consent, I won’t interfere.”
“Where are you going?” Subikahn inquired, and Saviar nodded to indicate he wanted the same answer. Born and raised on the Fields of Wrath, Calistin had shown little desire to leave it, even when his brothers had traveled to the Eastlands to visit Subikahn’s father.
“Valira and I are going North with Valr Magnus. He’s on a mission to reunite the Renshai with the other tribes of the North, and we’ve decided to try to help him.”
Subikahn’s mouth fell open, and Saviar supposed his must have done the same because he again found it difficult to speak. In a matter of moments, though, he managed. “You know you’re going to have to overcome many centuries of ingrained and continually reinforced prejudice.”
“I’ve never shied from a challenge,” Calistin pointed out, his tone dangerous.
“Agreed,” Subikahn said. “At least not from a physical challenge. But this is something entirely different, some would say utterly impossible, and, at least, not something one can win with sword strokes.”
“New Calistin,” he pointed out. “Freshly immortal and working on gods’ time. Besides, I’m sure Colbey will give me some guidance.”
Saviar decided not to point out Colbey had not managed the same task in the last two hundred years. It was a noble undertaking and, if it succeeded even a little bit, it was a far cry better than the relationship the Renshai currently had with the North. “I wish you all the best.”
“As do I,” Subikahn added. “And I suppose I should also butt out of the decision, given I’m also leaving.”
Saviar’s heart fell. He had only finally just reunited with his twin whom he had believed forever lost and remembered only as a sniveling coward. “You’re leaving, too?”
Subikahn made helpless gestures with his hands. “My love has been waiting for me in the East a long time now and has responsibilities there. I have to go back, but I promise to visit soon. Or you can come visit me.”
Saviar tried to swallow his anguish. “When are you leaving?”
“Directly after the royal wedding. I’m traveling with my father and whatever entourage goes with him.”
It was inevitable, Saviar knew. Subikahn was the only heir to the Eastern throne unless and until Tae chose to marry, which had once seemed unlikely to ever happen. Recalling Tae’s words to the misguided teen Renshai, Falinir, on the duplicate world, Saviar now had reason to believe Tae, too, would find his Tiega.
Once again, Saviar’s thoughts went to his father’s request. Calistin was right that Ra-khir had earned happiness and that Tiega seemed kind and loving. Still, whenever Saviar thought of the two of them together, it felt terribly wrong in a way he could not wholly define. He needed to search his heart for the answer that continued to elude his brain. He had a feeling it dwelt in emotion rather than logic.
Subikahn knew his twin well. “You’re still not sure what answer to give?”
Saviar sighed deeply. “I’m having trouble with ‘yes,’ but I’m not sold on ‘no,’ either. I need just a bit more time, perhaps some more information.”
“What about Keva and Darby?” Calistin suggested.
Something twinged inside Saviar. That made him wonder if Calistin had not hit upon something significant. “What about them?”
“Their mother probably gave them a speech similar to the one Papa gave us. Quite likely, somewhere else at the same time. Maybe if we all got together, we could find out how they feel about the matter. If one of them doesn’t want the marriage to happen, the decision is no longer ours.”
Saviar remembered Keva’s excitement when she first realized Ra-khir and Tiega might start courting. Not only did it seem unlikely she would stand in their way, she might have been the driving force behind the marriage. As for Darby, he already looked to Ra-khir as a father figure, although marriage would change their relationship and not necessarily for the better. Ra-khir had made it clear when Saviar had asked that he did not feel it honorably appropriate for a Knight of Erythane to train his own son as his squire. If Ra-khir married Tiega, Darby would have to apprentice a different knight. At least, Saviar hoped that would prove true.
Saviar suffered a sudden surge of righteous anger. If Ra-khir did not divest himself of Darby as a squire, it would mean he favored Tiega’s son over his own, a deep and terrible fear he could barely admit to himself. Saviar vividly remembered the time Ra-khir had berated him for disobedience. Shortly afterward, he had called Darby by Saviar’s name and playfully ruffled his hair. That mistake had wounded Saviar to his core, reminding him the closeness between himself and his beloved father was waning, leaving a massive hole, and Darby seemed determined to step into his place.
Saviar caught himself gritting his teeth before he remembered Colbey’s treatise on anger once more. It was not a matter of channeling; Darby was the very thing raising his ire. I was the one supposed to follow in the venerable footsteps of Ra-khir, to stand in his stead once old age claimed him. I wanted his position and his approval more than life itself.
And, yet, Saviar realized, he had allowed his Renshai training to derail his plans. For most of his life, he had struggled with that dichotomy. To become a competent Renshai meant devoting his life, soul, mind, heart, and honor to its edicts. The Knights of Erythane required equal dedication, and several of their mandates clashed. For so long, he had believed himself capable of both; well-meaning adults, including Ra-khir, Kedrin, and Colbey, had told him for almost two decades he had the ability to accomplish both if he only set his mind to it. Only now, Saviar finally realized to divide one’s dedication to two such pure endeavors meant slighting both of them. The time had come to bury one of his dreams or, better yet, to pass it on to someone who could give it the proper time and commitment.
Saviar needed to stop seeing Darby as a rival and, instead, as a kindred soul, perhaps even as a brother. The boy was not stealing Saviar’s dream; he was filling the void left by his inability to fulfill it. Ra-khir and Kedrin and Colbey had not lied or misled him. Saviar did have the ability to become a fully competent Renshai or Knight of Erythane, perhaps even both. But he finally knew for certain “both” was never going to happen, not unless the world itself changed in some significant way. And, most importantly, that was for the best. Saviar Ra-khirsson had a destiny as a Renshai. Because of Saviar’s own misplaced temper, Thialnir would remain their leader, but Saviar would assist the aging Renshai any way he could.
In that moment, all the rage, all the jealousy and irritation that had plagued Saviar diminished to a trickle. For the first time in months, he felt like no one other than himself. Driven by a sudden desire to make amends to Darby, to pass the mantle of knighthood and embrace him as a brother, Saviar suggested, “I know where Tiega, Darby, and Keva are staying at the Knights’ Rest Inn, and I suspect the youngsters are alone right now having a discussion similar to our own.” He laughed at the oddity of what he had just said. “Well, probably quite a bit different but initiated by the same decision. What do you say we all go over there and welcome them into the family?”
Calistin and Subikahn exchanged looks, smiled, and nodded. Saviar’s twin spoke first, “Just now, I can’t think of anything I’d rather do more.”
* * *
Saviar went to bed with the lightest heart he could remember in a very long time. He fell asleep quickly and slept soundly for several hours before a new concern awakened him, plaguing his mind until he had no choice but to sit up and take stock of the situation. He glanced over to Calistin’s bed and, finding his brother also moving restlessly, he rose and tiptoed to the bedside before hissing, “Calistin?”
The youngest brother was up in an instant, free of any binding coverlet and with Motfrabelonning in his fist.
Saviar backstepped and raised his empty hands. “Just wanted to talk,” he whispered, tipping his head toward the door. “Without waking up Papa and Subi.”
Calistin sheathed the sword and nodded, indicating Saviar should go first.
Saviar led the way out the door and wound around a few similar Renshai cottages, stopping at the edge of the woodlands. There, he took a seat on a rotting stump and gestured at the overturned trunk beside it. He and Subikahn had used this particular spot for late-night conversations many times. It allowed a clear view in every direction, including through the trees. He did not believe anyone had ever overheard them there. “I hope I didn’t wake you.”
Calistin took the indicated seat. “I was having trouble sleeping. I need to talk to you about the Sword of Mitrian.”
Saviar made a slight backward motion he suspected Calistin saw. It was the precise issue he had needed to raise. “I wanted to talk about that, too. I was hoping you’d present it to Thialnir instead of me. I don’t want to take the credit for revitalizing it when I had nothing to do with it. It’s your story to tell, your achievement.”
