Page 84 of The Seeker
“Meera?”
She turned. “Rhys, she found us.”
Yes, she did. Why?
Meera was speaking French. The woman appeared to understand it. But then, a ruler of the Uwachi Toma would have easily spoken French to communicate with the Europeans who invaded their land.
“I can see she found us.” But he couldn’t see whether they were welcome or not. “Atawakabiche of the Uwachi Toma”—he spoke carefully in French—“I am Rhys of Glast, son of Angharad the Sage. Archivist of Istanbul—”
“Where?” she asked.
Rhys racked his brain for a name she might recognize. “I am the archivist of Byzas, the city between the seas, now called Istanbul.” Some of the old scribes in Cappadocia used that name.
“You’re from across the oceans,” she said. “Like her.”
“Yes.”
“You are her mate.”
Rhys paused. “I am herreshon.”
Atawakabiche nodded. “Yes, I can sense that. You are welcome on my land.”
“Thank you, mother.”
“For now. When I have no more use for you, then you must leave.”
“That’s fair.”
“I don’t care if it’s fair or not. That is what will be.”
Rhys nodded carefully, but the Wolf was already ignoring him and speaking to Meera again.
“All my people are gone,” she said. “I believe I am the last one living. You must take my memories so that I may join them.”
“You could be correct,” Meera said sadly. “And I am so sorry. But surely there are other people you might—”
“No.” Atawakabiche made a dismissive motion with her hands. “I have made my peace with this. It is the way of ages and peoples and war. One group rises when another falls.”
“I don’t believe it has to be that way,” Meera said. “The Creator has granted you life despite your loss. You and your brother brought five centuries of peace to this continent. Can’t you teach us how? The Irin people desperately need peace.”
“You have a beautiful spirit,Somasikara, but what you’re asking for is more than you realize. When I have given my memories to your keeping, then I will be content to fade.”
Rhys heard Roch coming down the forest path.
“Atawakabiche, there is another with us,” Meera said. “He is my friend.”
“Then he may be on my land as well.” She looked up and narrowed her eyes. “I have seen this one before. He’s a son of the Old Ones.”
Rhys looked over his shoulder. Roch was standing with hastily-pulled-on pants and a half-buttoned shirt.
“Meera, you all right?” he asked.
“She’s fine,” Atawakabiche said. “Why are you here again?”
Meera started, “His mate—”
“No.” She held up a hand. “I asked him. He visits this wilderness often. I recognize him. What do you want?”
