Page 51 of Daughter of the Dark Sun
A moment to think, that is all. I will be back for you, Therat.
With a final glance, the raven-haired woman fled through the shimmering surface.
twenty-six
A Path to Tread
Time slipped by, theworld an afterthought amid the din and clamor of old memories twisting and breaking free from their cage. When Therat opened his eyes again the sun danced along the western horizon. Fires spread across the golden dunes, the world below bathed in an ominous red glow.
The superstitious of the Madhiri said fire-red skies at night meant the Sisters watched Eás, drawing near to the old homethey once shared with their Children. Therat never put stock into superstitions or divine meanings, or even the Goddesses themselves. Why should he, when they created a cruel world filled with even crueler people?
As the sun sank lower in the sky, a strange sensation took hold of the man who walked between life and death. The voices became a hushed murmur before falling silent like they did before. A blanket of warm comfort wrapped around the mind made into a battlefield for twenty-one long, torturous years.
“Wha-what is this?” The words slipped out as a sense of calm serenity pushed out all other thought.
An invisible arm wrapped around Therat, the embrace reminiscent of his father’s. Once, a lifetime ago, the little black-haired boy with delight in his eyes would run into those strong arms. They would wrap around his tiny frame and hoist the child high in the air. He would scream with joy and descend into a fit of giggles as he was pulled in close to his father’s heart. It had been an eternity since they last touched—oh, how would it feel if Therat could have one last embrace, one more murmur from his father declaring his love for the boy?
Therat fell, tumbling down into the fragmented memory rushing back. Where grief and anger would soon follow, instead a flicker of love took its place. Warm, bright, fervent love. A feeling lost to time, taken by force in exchange for a life unfit for living. Could some part of his heart once unburdened by pain and hatred be left alive?
A soft, almost imperceptible voice floated across the vast emptiness of his mind.
She is near, she is coming. You will find her again. Seek the guide in trees of silver and green, they will know the way.
It reminded him of his mother’s voice, the way she sang her words. He used to hear this voice as a child.
Run, fly, hunt for the truth! It is in your blood, little lost boy.
At the wordslittle lost boyMireithren’s face rushed back into his mind. The warmth of her deep brown ocher skin, her high cheekbones, the curved black scars etched into one side. The strange siren he met years ago, the one he waited for without reason. Theevranenithfrom behind the Wall, soulbound with the woman his brother loved.
Fire mixed with blood, a quickfire burst of pleasure verging on searing pain coursing through his veins. Mireithren’s mesmerizing eyes stared back at him, her raven-black hair with strands of sunlight swirling around the woman. A cruel smirk played at the corner of her mouth, inviting him in.Lose yourself in me, her eyes seemed to say.
Therat wrenched his eyes open, fighting a mind longing to behold the siren and surrender to her command. With a pulse of his heart, Mireithren’s face faded.
Blinking, Therat stumbled away from the corpse and up the high southern dune where he saw the woman in black. The sun said its final goodbye, another dance with the desert at an end. Therat scanned the horizon for any sign of the strange woman but found none, only rolling dunes stretching out to the southern sea. A bellowing laugh broke the calm stillness of dusk.
“Mad! I’ve lost it and gone mad! Mireithren watching me? A voice telling me I am bound to a woman whose name I made up? This is what I get for talking to myself out here. Adon was right. I have lost myself! Fading to the void, ever fading!” Therat spoke with a manic fervor, words tumbling over each other in their rush to escape. He ran fingers covered in swirling knotwork tattoos through his hair, pulling and squeezing in some desperate attempt to wrest the mania from his head.
Indecision paralyzed him. Long had Therat lived his life for others. First for Adon, to protect his twin from harm and death, and now for his parents, desperately searching for justice. But he couldn’t keep fighting for answers. His resolve was whittled thin,too many years spent searching the desert without getting closer to the truth; certain to find death before he found answers.
Therat wanted to blame his delirium, say his brain played tricks after so long spent in self-imposed isolation. Yet, even as he claimed to be mad, deep in the back of his scattered brain he recognized the woman’s voice he heard so many long years ago. Amaren, his mother called her, the Silver Maiden. An ancestor who watched over them, guided them.
A scowl settled across his face. Change never brought happiness before; why should it now? What could Mireithren offer? Fearful looks, empty platitudes, or a listening ear never asked for, only to turn away like all others, where all he knew. Even when the shadows slept, people always seemed loath to be around the man. Surely they could smell the wretched, foul heart decaying under muscle and bone. The gods would never create an equal for him—aliraes—or even a lover.
Darkness bred hateful and wretched beings. No one could ever love him, everwanthim. Thisevranenithwould be no different. Did she seek to use him as a weapon? The earliestevranenithleveled towns and destroyed entire communities. He shuddered at the thought of what Mireithren might do with his near-broken mind.
Therat didn’t know what to do. The great northern forest stood far away from where his parents’ blood soaked into the earth. It had to be a trick, some mind game of Mireithren’s. Yet… the runaway slave did speak of silver trees in the West and a meadow of blood where her masters lived. There was nothing left here to follow, no threads remaining that would lead him to the answers he sought.
Whether by a slave’s confession or a strange voice in his head, all signs pointed to the Siusir Forest. Perhaps Mireithren would not find him—indeed, he couldn’t even be certain who he saw on the dune. This is what Therat told himself, at least. Ithelped, thinking the decision to travel to the forest was his own, not something guided by fate. He only sought answers for his mother and father.
Therat turned to the northwest, one foot in front of the other. Tension built like a spring ready to let loose inside his body, the thrum of the Shadow-weave warping the air around skin still smeared with blood. With a deep breath, he leapt into the night. Limbs stretched and contorted, muscle ripping and pulling as it reformed under skin turning deep black.
The shadows descended, covering him with a fine mist before melting away. Landing on all four paws, Therat raced off, a massive black cougar streaking over the dark gold sands. The wind streaked across the soft fur over his shoulders, caressing each leg thick with muscles. He ran until the soft pads of his paws ached and burned, sand matted with fur, sweat pouring over the sleek black coat.
Therat would run until his lungs gave out, until the shadows claimed him, and his mind scattered to the winds. He would travel to the ends of the world and the home of the gods if it meant finding answers for his parents.
At last, Therat collapsed, mind too exhausted to concentrate on maintaining his shifted form. Pushing the tickling thought of Mireithren aside, he tried to recall his parents’ faces as he fell asleep.
The siren would not derail him. Could not derail him.
