The Beauty of Darkness (The Remnant Chronicles 3) - Page 12

I heard the scuff of boots behind me, the others turning at the remark, then silence. The air was taut with expectation.

Tavish immediately backed down. “I meant nothing by it.”

“Of course you did.” I took a step closer. “You have strengths, Tavish, that I greatly admire. Your skills helped save Rafe’s and my lives, for which I’ll always be indebted to you. But there are other kinds of strengths too. Quiet, gentle ones that are just as valuable, even if you don’t entirely understand them.”

“Then help him understand.”

I turned toward the mouth of the cave. Rafe had returned with a load of firewood in his arms.

He set it down and walked over with the rest of us. “Help us all to understand.”

They waited for me to say something. I braced myself for that familiar feeling of failure that always came with the mention of the gift, but instead, a new feeling settled over me, a feeling that was firm and solid. For the first time in my life,

I didn’t feel something shrink back within me. The shame that had plagued me in the Morrighese court had vanished. I wasn’t compelled to offer apologies for what they couldn’t—or refused to—grasp. That was their burden to bear, not mine.

I hobbled over to Rafe’s sword, sheathed in its scabbard on the cave floor. I drew it out in a swift motion and held it high. “This is your strength, Rafe. Tell me, is it is loud or quiet?”

He looked at me, confused. “It is a sword, Lia.”

“It’s loud,” Jeb offered. “In battle, at least. And deadly.”

Sven reached out and gently pressed the tip downward out of his face range. “A quiet warning too, when hanging at your side.”

“It’s well-honed metal,” Tavish added pragmatically.

“Which one is it?” I demanded. “Metal? Loud? Quiet? Deadly? A warning? Even you can’t decide.”

“A sword can be many things, but—”

“You define a sword by terms and a world that is familiar to you in all the ways you can see, feel, and touch, but what if there was a world that spoke in other ways? What if there was another way of seeing, hearing, and feeling? Haven’t you ever sensed something deep inside? Saw a glimpse of it play out behind your eyes? Heard a voice somewhere in your head? Even if you weren’t sure, this knowing made your heart beat a little faster? Now increase that tenfold. Maybe some of us know more deeply than others.”

“See without eyes? Hear without ears? You’re talking magic.” Tavish made no effort to keep the cynicism from his tone.

Strangely, it reminded me of myself the first time I spoke with Dihara. I thought about what she had said to me: What is magic but what we don’t yet understand? I shook my head. “No. Not magic,” I answered. “It’s something deep inside, as much a part of us as our blood and skin. It was how the Ancients survived. When they’d lost everything else, they had to return to this language of knowing buried deep within them in order to survive. Some were stronger in this knowing than others, and they helped others survive.”

The skepticism remained etched in Tavish’s eyes. “It was only a few words you heard, and you were half asleep,” he said. “Are you certain it wasn’t just the wind?”

“Are you any more certain of your own skills and gifts? Do you know with certainty how your carefully laid plans will play out? Does Orrin always know exactly how straight or far his arrow will fly? When any of you swing a sword, do you know with complete confidence that you’ll bring down your enemy? No, I’m not always certain about the gift, but I am certain about everything I heard this morning. It wasn’t just the wind, as you call it.”

Rafe stepped closer, a scowl darkening his face. “Just what did you hear this morning, Lia? Everything.”

His gaze chilled me. He knew I’d held back.

“Don’t tarry,” I answered, which they had already heard me say. I cleared my throat and added, “Or they will all die.”

There was a tight moment of silence. Glances were exchanged between Tavish, Sven, and Orrin. They still believed in their long lead. I knew it was a reasonable conclusion. The bridge was heavily damaged. Kaden himself had told me the only other way across the river was far to the south. But I trusted what I’d heard too.

“I don’t expect you to believe everything I’ve said right this minute. Even though Rafe told me you were the best soldiers of Dalbreck, I didn’t believe you’d make it alive to the Sanctum, much less be able to help us get away. But you proved me wrong. Sometimes all it takes is a single ounce of trust for more to grow. Maybe that can be a starting point for us.”

Tavish chewed on his lip and finally nodded. A shaky truce.

Rafe dusted off bits of leaves and dirt on his sleeves as if trying to dispel the tension in the air. “We’re out of harm’s way now. That’s what matters,” he said. “And headed for home—if we don’t starve first. Let’s get dinner going.” They all gladly followed Rafe’s lead, occupying themselves with the business of making camp—something solid that they could all understand.

* * *

Over the next few days, I came to know my rescuers better. I often had the opportunity to ride beside one of them when Rafe veered off to a higher lookout or scouted a blind trail ahead—which happened with great frequency. He claimed he was only checking for ragtag Vendan patrols that might still be out here. I suspected he was simply itchy in his saddle. After all the weeks he’d had to hold back and forcibly restrain himself in the Sanctum, he was finally free, and it seemed his long-pent-up energy needed release. If I’d thought his smile was disarming before, now it undid me. When he came back from a vigorous ride, his face flushed with heat, his hair tossed with the wind, and an easy smile lighting his face, I longed for us to be off the trail and somewhere private.

I often found Sven watching Rafe with what I thought was a father’s pride. One day I had asked how long he had been Rafe’s assigned steward. He said Rafe had come from a wet nurse to his care—give or take a few years.

Tags: Mary E. Pearson The Remnant Chronicles Fantasy
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