Hubris - 45. The Lost Daughter

Even as a thousand voices told Barghast that the likelihood a child, lycan or otherwise, could have made this far inside the cave and lived, he followed his twin o’rre deeper into the cave. Doubt is the boon of progress. Words the seer liked to say often when he was a young pup fresh from his womb mother’s teat. The seer would say this when he felt the urge to fling the puzzle box across the cavern in frustration.

Whatever cord guided Crowe and Barghast deeper into the caves was far superior than the lycan’s senses. The source of the practitioner’s powers transcended the limits of the physical senses.Time and time again it had led them deeper into the darkness only to lead them back into the light. With each agonizing trial they overcame, with each hard won victory earned Barghast sensed that something was building not just between them. Not just binding them together stronger than ever - it went beyond that. Something great was in the works. We will not see it until we stand in the light of day, but it is there nonetheless.

It was the same force that brought them together time and time again. Sometimes it came in the form of the seer who Barghast was beginning to suspect was Gaia. Sometimes it came in the form of the glimmering city on the horizon. Sometimes it came in the form of Crowe pushing through the fear even when it threatened to consume him. Even when Barghast was sure the burden of his undertaking seemed like it would surely crush him, his twin o’rre had a way of defying expectations.

After what seemed like a lifetime of sliding past jagged rock and squeezing their way through narrow spaces they came to another foul den. The only relief in reaching the den was the chance to stretch his limbs and his lungs and that the cavern was not being used as a nest but as a simple burial ground for the dead. Crowe looked upon the piles of bones both human and otherwise, his expression flat. He is more determined than any lycan warrior I know, Barghast thought with a rush of affection that made his chest feel warm. Many of my clansman…my brother Shibas for instance…would have turned and run back for the buffalo tents with their tails in between their legs. My father? What would my father have done? He would not have taken such risks for one wayward child. Not for one of his own. Certainly not for me…

There were times when each test seemed inconsequential: the Cycle pulling a cruel on the practitioner, using his heart to lead him astray. This was not the case. In the small town called Timberford and now with the people on the beach he was carving a space for himself in this black world. A light that slowly grew brighter. If he says the foolish girl is alive then she’s alive. My beloved has yet to lead me astray.

They picked their way through the bone pit, cutting left through another narrow passageway. Barghast heard Crowe’s heart speed up. For the first time since crawling out from under the wedge where the Okanavian had thought they would surely die (a thought he would never share with his beloved) the crease between his eyebrows ease and his frown turned into a broad grin of triumph that made the barbarian’s heart start to wag and his hopes rise.

It was here that he detected something faint but familiar through the sickly sweet stench of the crustaceans. The sweet honey scent was not as strong as Crowe’s smell nor was it the same but it was similar and it was growing stronger with each step. Strong enough that it squashed all doubts and made him feel like a guilty cowardly pup for having any doubts at all.

They found the girl in the next tunnel. How she’d gotten this far Barghast could only imagine. She was so small it scared him. Scared him to think of her squeezing her way past these jagged tunnels with all its countless dangers. Just one of those carnivorous larvae could prove fatal to her. He’d seen how they’d devoured human flesh. She was huddled in the middle of the cavern, resting in a wedge of rock, her scabbed knees tucked towards her chest for warmth. Her eyes roved behind resting eyelids in a torturous doze that could hardly be called sleep. Her face was streaked with dirt.

Crowe hissed words under his breath. Words that could have been prayers to his Monad - is he my Monad as well? Do we share Monad and Gaia? the lycan wondered absently - or words of reassurance to the girl. He’d pulled a blanket from the pack at his back and was now spreading it out to wrap protectively around the girl. He was trying to be soothing so as not to frighten her.

His movements were stealthy and graceful but he was no lycan. His foot scuffed a stray ridge of rock next to the spot where she rested. Underneath the sky or in the field such a mistake might have proven inconsequential, but here so far underground the sound was amplified.

The girl's head jerked up. Her eyes snapped open so that Barghast could only see rings of white. Her hair, once a coppery red color, was now burnished by dirt from the cave. The lycan had enough filth in his coat to brave a dip in the ocean if they ever escaped this labyrinthine nightmare. The Okanavian believed now more than ever that they would. His beloved had said they would find her and they had. He'd known where to find her when Barghast's Gaia-gifted senses had failed them.

Before the girl could let out a shriek, Crowe clapped a hand over her mouth. He pressed a finger to his lips. “Your parents are safe on the beach. They're waiting for you on the beach but right now we have to be very quiet. This cave is full of those creatures. Do you understand?”

Slowly the girl nodded. Her eyes were very wide and glassy. She reeked of fear.

“If I take my hand away are you going to stay quiet?”

Again the girl nodded.

Crowe pulled his hand away. Slowly she clambered to her feet. Her eyes widened when she saw Barghast. “Don’t scream,” his twin o'rre whispered. “His name is Barghast. He's not nearly as frightening as he looks.” The sorcerer tipped him a conspiratorial wink. “We are going to get you out of here and we are going to be very quick and very quiet about it. Do you understand?”

Felisin gave him a shaky nod. She made a small sound that could have been an, “Aye” or could have been a sob. Barghast was too distracted with thoughts of leaving this place when Crowe said, “And Barghast is going to carry you.”

The Okanavian laid his ears back with a whine. “No.”

The practitioner placed his hands on his hips with a frown. “And why not?” he demanded in that clipped tone he used when the barbarian had said something to displease him.

Offering his arms to his beloved, Barghast stepped forward. “I'll carry you.”

Crowe gave him a long pointed look that said he was no fool. “I don't need you to carry me. I need you to carry her and lead the way while I cover our back. Do you understand?”

The lycan tucked his tail in between his legs. “If it makes you happy…”

“It isn't about what makes me happy. It's about what keeps us alive. Now do as I say.”

Barghast bowed, spreading his arms out to the girl. With a prod from Crowe she came willingly enough. When he lifted her and felt how light she was and she put her arms around the lycan’s shoulders, a strange thought struck the lycan. Once you were this small and I never got to see it. How I wish I could have seen you when you were this innocent and you didn't bear the weight of the world on your shoulders.

With this thought in mind it was time to focus on the task at hand. It was up to him to lead the girl and his twin o'rre to safety. Tucking the girl securely against him, he began to climb back towards the nest with Crowe close on his paws.

                                                          …

It was impossible for Crowe not to look into Felisin’s eyes and see himself in them. Eyes so wide all he could see were the whites. Eyes that had seen more than a child her age should see. When he looked at her he saw the small boy who had spent many cold nights shut in the cellar of the old house. He’d spent many of those nights clawing at the door until his fingers were bloody nubs; he would beg for the old man to let him out, often screaming until his voice was raw. When the primal fear of the darkness finally numbed him, the young boy would huddle in the middle of the cellar and wear the same blank look Felisin wore now. Waiting. Waiting for the moment when Petras would open the door and release him.

Only I didn’t have anyone to free me from the dark like she does, he thought. I faced the dark and the cold alone. Had I known I wasn’t powerless back then I would have fought back. I’m not powerless anymore…

He reminded himself that just because they’d found the girl did not mean they were safe. They still had a long way to go before they reached the beach. By now her parents, Edward and Claudia, were most likely wondering if Barghast and he would return or if they had perished with their daughter as well.

They had made it back to the nest without incident but now the shadows writhed. A crustacean the size of a large cattle dog shot from behind a rock pillar, pinchers flashing open and closed. Felisin screamed. Barghast shouted something in Okanavian, lunging forward. Crowe slashed at the creature with his rod, letting out a war cry. Invisible blades sliced into the creature, splitting its carapace down the middle. Its body went limp, skidding across rock.

“Keep going!” Crowe shouted, no longer aware that he was shouting. The walls of the cave were teeming with monsters. They scampered down the walls from unseen places. They rose out of the ground, seeming to rise from the pits of Inferno itself.

He spun in dizzy circles. His rod whipped through the air like a knife. Explosions of white light shook the ancient rock around him. Crustaceans died with tortured shrieks that brought a savage grin of triumph to his lips. If the practitioner could have seen himself he would have balked at the sight of his face: lips stretched in a leer, beads of sweat trickling down his face. Because it wasn’t just crustaceans he drove apart with fury and retribution. He saw the faces of torchcoats; he saw the faces of the occultists who had dwelled in the temple outside Timberford; he saw the undead servants of Hamon; he saw the reavers from the Mirror Expanse. In the end they were all the same: they’d all tried to stand in his way and they’d all fallen into the Void’s Oblivion for making the mistake to do so.

Having turned a full clockwise circle, he could now see through the smoke and detritus that he’d opened a hole wide enough for Barghast and he to break through. Already that hole was closing. More crustaceans squeezed their fat bodies through fissures in the ceiling, in the floor. Spores burst apart to unleash thousands of spawn. In front of him, Crowe could see Felisin had buried her face against Barghast’s shoulder. Good girl, the practitioner thought. I don’t want you to look. I don’t want you to see my true face when the masks come off.

He sensed the mother before he heard her. The air inside the chamber seemed to thicken and grow still. For a moment - only a moment - the swarm closing in on them hesitated. Then the mother - still yet to be hidden, yet to be seen - let out a roar from somewhere beneath their feet.

This time Crowe and Barghast were ready. The lycan tucked his shoulders around the young girl, whispering something in her ear. In that moment Felisin must have been more afraid of the monsters in the cave than she was of the one carrying her to safety for she clapped her hands over her ears without hesitation. A fury of wind whipped at him, threatening to throw the practitioner off his feet. He screamed - not in pain or fear but in defiance. He found a foothold within himself and dug his heels in. Cracks webbed away from his feet, spreading towards the swarm that had begun to advance forward again only to hesitate once more as if uncertain. They fixed him with their stalk-like eyes, mandibles and pinchers snapping at him. A wall of mana thrummed around him, solid as a wall. A carpet of larvae roiled on the floor as if contemplating whether or not they wanted to take a chance and attempt to breach the barrier he’d formed around himself.

The shaking in the chamber calmed. He could hear Barghast moving behind him, moving ever closer to the mouth that would lead them back onto the beach.

Hundreds of stalk-like eyes watched him with rage. With intelligence.

“Twin o’rre!” he heard the Okanavian whine behind him. “Come!”

The herald did not turn. He did not so much as twist his head around. He gave the swarm a feral grin. His eyes were no longer blue but twin points of white fire. When he spoke his voice was not that of a youthful boy who had left his farm to go on a pilgrimage not a year ago, but the voice of a commander who had faced down many battles and emerged victorious. “You’re more than just the brainless insects you appear to be, aren’t you?” demanded with a laugh. “You know who I am and you know that in all your hundreds of thousands you do not stand a chance against me. Tell me, do you sense your end?”

Barghast appeared at his shoulder. His eyes bugged from his head. His ears were pressed flat against his skull. Felisin sagged in his arms. Most likely she had crawled back into the den of her mind where it was dark and it was safe.

Only for the time Crowe looked into those amber eyes did the storm that grew inside him still. “I’m right behind you. But I don’t want anyone to stumble into this cave of horrors. Not ever again. Not even an Elysian-damned torchcoat.”

The lycan nodded in understanding. “We shall wait.”

The practitioner turned back to the swarm.

Another bellow from below shook the caves. Large chunks of rock broke away from the wall, slamming into the floor like the errant fists of an enraged giant.

The swarm slithered forward, screeching as one creature with thousands of mouths.

Crowe screamed at the gust of foul-smelling wind that battered him. Such a force should have sent him crashing into the wall at his back but once more Monad’s light anchored him to the earth. The cave shook as if thrown into a whirlwind. Each pulse of his will tore through the scaly creatures, twitching appendages still hot with life even as they were torn away and strewn carelessly through the air. And still the thing still hidden - their mother - roared and in that roar the herald could hear her fury, her agony. No mother likes to know they’ve failed in protecting their children, the practitioner thought. Perhaps it will teach her not to let them attack others.

In the wake of his own fury the cave was tumbling down like a tower of playing cards. Rocks larger than train cars rained down on top of the crustaceans driving them back into the tunnels. Those who were not quick enough were crushed to puddles of glue.

Barghast pulled at Crowe’s arm and this time the herald did not choose to stick around. The caves were truly coming down in earnest now and it was a mad dash through the first cave where they’d found Felisin’s doll. Felisin had the doll and was hugging it to her as if her very life depended on it. She did not release her hold on it even as the practitioner and the lycan burst into the night.

At their backs a hungry beast snarked hungrily. The sorcerer risked a glance over his shoulder. They were not being pursued by the beasts from the sea. The cave was completely gone, having tumbled down into a growing pit that reminded the practitioner of the gaping hole they’d left in the Mirror Expanse where the ruins of Vaylin had once been. It seems in spite of all our efforts, we leave holes everywhere we go, he thought. Were it not for the fact it felt as if his ribs would rupture through his flesh, the bitterness of his laughter would have reflected the gloomy din of his thoughts.

A bellow pulled his attention back to the front. Mammoth’s massive equine form parted from the darkness. His hooves kicked up clouds of sand as he backpedaled to a stop. He found himself strolling forward to greet the shire horse, the rider every bit as relieved to see the mount as the mount was the rider. The horse nipped at his hand affectionately as he ran his fingers down the length of the mount’s broad neck. Cords of muscle stood out beneath the beast’s fur. Tension that eased beneath the practitioner’s familiar touch.

The rolling horizon at the ocean’s edge was a silver line that spread from edge to edge. The cries of the gulls had ceased for the evening. Barghast settled Felisin on the horse. If the young girl was aware that she was out of the cave, she showed no signs of it. She still wore that dazed expression that had the practitioner worrying for her mind. Whatever horrors she had witnessed before this dreadful day did they compare to the ones she’d endured in the caves?

A dark-gray tail - black in the night - swatted him playfully on the back of the rump. Now that they were out of the cave, the adrenaline that had been coursing through the sorcerer, lighting his nerves with lightning, was ebbing. All at once he felt drowsy. There was no denying his stomach’s rumbling demand for sustenance.

“Climb up on the saddle,” the lycan rumbled. The keen glow in his eyes said he was happy to be out of the cave. Happy to be alive. Crowe felt it too somewhere beneath the fatigue. “What will you do?” he asked in a sleepy voice.

“I will walk alongside you. It is not a far walk to the beach for a lycan.”

Crowe wavered on the spot, overcome by a longing for the lycan that left him uncertain - that momentarily swept aside any thought of where he was or why he was here. All he was aware of was the towering yet familiar outline of the lycan. He wanted to touch him. He wanted to sift his fingers through his fur.

Later, he told himself. Later when it is just the two of us. Just the way it should be.

He nodded. Before he could reach for the reins Barghast lifted him into the air as easily as he’d lifted the girl. As the horse started back in the direction of the beach, the Okanavian’s paw closed around the herald’s hand. Together they walked side by side, holding hands, their silhouettes framed by moonlight.

The crash of the waves against the sand pulled at him. The stars winked overhead like spectators craning to get a look at the hapless travelers below. The night had taken on a surreal quality: They shouldn't have been alive but they were. The girl had run into the cave fleeing monsters only to fall right into their den. Apart from scraped knees and elbows, she was physically unscathed but she looked up at the stars with a withdrawn expression that made the herald eager to be rid of her.

You can't make it as if she isn't here simply by ignoring her! Petra’s caustic voice crashed in with the tide, making the practitioner’s shoulders jerk. Barghast caught the reflex. He turned his head, taking note of the hooded expression on the practitioner’s face. It seemed the ghosts of the past always haunted his beloved after a battle. The herald showed no signs he was aware of being lost. For Crowe the past was a real thing and it had a way of lurking around the corner, waiting to upheave him from his foothold in the present. Petras continued unabated. As always he had to have the last word. We want to believe children are exempt from war’s uncaring eye. That the flames of retribution and change will skip over them. After all they are our guides to the future. Through them we believe we can change the future. But now you are finding out the hard way…aren’t you? The warmachine doesn’t care whose blood it spills as long as it has what it needs to keep its engine spinning. It doesn’t care who it gets it from.

Before Crowe could respond to the phantom who taunted him in his mind, Barghast said his name. He paused long enough beside Mammoth to point at something in the distance. Sure enough from where he sat atop the saddle, Crowe could see the billowing flames of a large bonfire. Though they were little more than blurs from this vantage point, the practitioner knew the faces he saw encircling the blaze belonged to that of the refugees. He breathed a sigh of relief. They were still here. They hadn’t left. He looked down at the girl. The darkness was thick enough it was impossible to tell whether or not she was awake. The steady rhythm of her breathing stilled the panic jolt of his heart. She’s still alive. Within moments she will be reunited with her parents.

The blood of the damned and the innocent alike might feed the engines of the warmachine but at least there was one innocent who did not deserve to die and who would live to see another day.

The quiet murmur of voices grew into an excited clamor as Mammoth drew closer to the makeshift encampment. Bodies shrouded in light jumped to their feet. More human forms came darting back from the water’s edge with makeshift torches in hand.

He didn’t know how they could be here so quickly. All at once things were happening more quickly than he could keep track of. Peter and Claudia seemed to materialize straight out of the night. The sobs of delight they made were primal and naked as they pulled a stirring Felisin from the saddle. Other refugees gathered around them like a veil. Ashe loped towards Mammoth, a broad grin on his face. He limped but that he could walk at all was a miracle. Mammoth stepped back with a startled snort.

“You healed me!” Ashe cried. He reached for the stars with his palms. His eyes appeared to burn with Monad’s fire but it was only the cast of the moon that created the illusion.

“We thought you were dead,” Edward boomed in a voice that wavered. The look of wonder he gave the herald turned his blood to ice. “We heard the roars. It made the ground shake beneath our feet. At one point all the crustaceans on the beach lumbered into the caves. They didn’t even look our way; it was as if we didn’t exist. We heard the caves come down and we were sure…But you’re here and you brought our daughter back to us. And Ashe…his leg is mostly healed. By the time the sun comes up in the morning it will be nothing but a scar and a story to wow the lasses. Monad sent you to us. You’re the herald, aren’t you?”

The inside of his mouth tasted of lead. His tongue sagged in the bottom of his mouth like stone. The words were there and he knew the answer, but to tell the man the truth, to actually say it out loud, would open a door he wouldn’t be able to shut. The door’s already open. It’s been open. It opened long before that day the Seraphim fell from the heavens and set you on your pilgrimage.

“I am,” he croaked hoarsely. “But I’m also just a farm boy who’s traveling with his companion to Caemyth. Herald or no, I couldn’t just stand by. Your daughter, is she…?”

Felisin stirred, rubbing at her eyes with grubby fists. Her eyes widened like saucers of milk the moment she saw her parents were bent over her. Feeling like a voyeur watching something he was not meant to witness, the practitioner steered the horse past them. He passed Ashe who lurched after Mammoth like a drunken idiot. He passed the refugees who followed cautiously behind Ashe, their eyes bright with wonder. He felt Barghast tense behind him; his chest vibrated against the hollow between the sorcerer’s shoulder blades.

Once he was sure they were no longer being followed, Crowe brought Mammoth to a halt with a pat on his long neck. Barghast and he climbed down. He felt the lycan’s eyes on his back like hot irons. “I do not blame you for not wanting to stay back at the caravans,” Barghast said as he pulled out the bedrolls and laid them in the sand. “You know I prefer it when it’s just the two of us. But their reaction bothers you. Why?” He came up behind Crowe and pulled him against his chest. “You brought their daughter back to them. Had we not gone into the caves she surely would have suffered the same fate as that soldier. I can think of no worse fate.”

“Nor can I,” Crowe murmured.

“Does their admiration bother you?” The barbarian curled a finger beneath the herald’s chin, massaging the flesh gently. His shadow blotted out the stars.

The practitioner closed his eyes with a contented sigh. “Not just their admiration. That boy…you saw how he reacted. He didn’t just look happy to see me, he looked mad. It wasn’t natural. He acted drugged.”

“It will wear off, twin o’rre. By morning he will be back to normal.”

“Did it for you?”

“Indeed. Though it did seem to have a stronger effect on him.”

Crowe giggled. He looked up into Barghast’s golden eyes. Their glow made a chill of pleasure trace his spine. When they’d first met he’d found them unnerving but now they were becoming familiar. As familiar as the lycan’s earthy smell. As familiar and comforting as his touch. “You’re a lot bigger than he is.”

“Indeed,” Barghast growled again. Slowly his face drew closer. “I’m also a lot bigger than you are, my sweet.” His arms folded around the practitioner. His lips pressed hard against Crowe’s. His tongue poked teasingly at the smaller lips smothered against his. The sorcerer’s lips parted, granting him entry.

Barghast kissed him deeply, tongue swirling inside his mouth. Though the practitioner could not see them because his eyes were closed, the lycan’s flickered open and shut, focusing on Crowe with a look of utter rapture. Only when Barghast sensed all the tension had drained from Crowe’s body did he pull away with great reluctance. “Let me carry you to bed, twin o’rre. It has been a very trying day.”

He lifted Crowe as easily as he’d lifted the girl. Settling down on the bedroll, he curled around the practitioner, forming a cradle. The practitioner felt something very hot and hard pressing against his backside. He rolled around to face the lycan so that the tips of their noses almost touched. He trailed a hand suggestively down the barbarian’s broad chest to his belly, earning him a rumble of pleasure. “Do you want me to…?”

Barghast laughed. The sound was like gentle thunder in Crowe’s ears. His paw combed through the practitioner’s hair, twining it lazily around his fingers. Crowe could hear the contented lull of his heart. “I would like nothing more. But I am bigger than you and though I do my best not to hurt you I leave bruises on your flesh.” He lifted the practitioner’s arm to his lips. He trailed kisses from his palm down to the inner cup of his elbow.

“You’re very gentle,” Crowe assured him. He pressed the tips of his fingers into Barghast’s chest.

“I know you would never hurt me without meaning to. And you don’t. We don’t always have the luxury of resting in a bed, do we? I won’t press if you’re certain, it’s just…” the practitioner’s cheeks flushed scarlet. “...you do sweet things for me all the time. I rarely do anything sweet for you. I want to pleasure you when you are aroused. I want to make you feel the way you make me feel.”

Barghast’s paw engulfed the right side of his cheek. “You do more for me than you know. You keep me safe. You are fierce and loyal and kind. You are a patient teacher who shows great discipline and wisdom for one so young. How could those who are lost not follow you into the light?”

Crowe pressed the heel of his hand to his mouth to smother another giggle.

Barghast’s tail thumped excitedly against the bedroll. “What is so funny twin o’rre? Am I being witty?” He grinned, deliberately letting his tongue fall out of his mouth. His eyes widened in a dopey expression that sent the practitioner into a deeper fit of laughter. How I love that sound, Barghast thought. It is like the sweetest music. Bit by bit he lets down his walls and opens himself up to me. He grows both more comfortable in his own skin and more trusting in my arms. I shall cherish every moment with you, my beloved. I shall turn over every secret rock with care and admiration.

Once he was able to regain his composure, the sorcerer cleared his throat. “Who would guess you were such a romantic?”

The Okanavian pressed his ears back. “Romantic? This is a new word? What is it?”

Crowe hesitated, trying to reconfigure the jumble of words in his head into something coherent. His mind had grown sluggish and gauzy. He was tired and he knew it wouldn’t be long before sleep took him, but he wanted to stay up with his lycan a bit longer. Once we wake up in the morning, it will be time to get back on the saddle again. We’ll be lucky if we make it to Caemyth by nightfall. “A romance is like what you and I are doing, I suppose. It’s when two people care about each other so greatly they are bound together by their connection.”

“Like twin o’rre?”

“Very much like twin o’rre.” The herald continued to pamper the fierce looking barbarian. “Similar in concept but different in culture. Do you see what I mean?”

“I do!” The excitement and wonder in Barghast’s voice was palpable. “How are they different culturally?”

“The connection is built over time. There’s usually a process that forms the connection. It’s when the pair do things they enjoy together. Dancing. Going to shows. Eating together.”

Barghast’s ears twitched back and forth; his eyes beheld the sorcerer with great fascination. “What are shows?”

“They’re performances put on by actors. They used to perform them at the synagogue in my hometown. Actors get up on what’s called a stage and they dress up as characters and act as them to tell a story.”

Barghast was shaking with barely concealed excitement now. “Indeed. I know now of what you speak! Back in my old life we put on similar ‘performances’ as you call them. Often they were renditions of well known clan leaders from previous generations and Iterations - stories preserved by our most respected elders. Clan leaders like Vhamus Fiercepaw and his rival and brother, the arrogant but no less ambitious One-Eared Khamus. The den mothers would wait until the moon was high and the stars dappled the sky and they would set and light the torches around the stage. My siblings and I would jostle for the best spot - oftentimes it was a tie between my brother Shibas for we are the oldest and largest of the litter - and the ‘actors’ as you call them would take their positions.

“My father would often play the opposing clan leaders, sometimes filling in as both if they were not in the same scene together. My father, Rhaederghast, chieftain of my clan, was an audacious man blinded by his own hubris. The clan would sing his name in praise after the torches were blown out as if he were a great actor, but really he was only playing himself…no matter the role!”

Barghast’s gentle rumble had turned into a resentful growl that made the practitioner pause to choose his words carefully. This is the first time I’ve heard you talk about your past life, my lovable lycan. It might even be the first. It seems even in our attempts to outrun the ghosts of our past lives we are connected, you and I.

“Are you asleep, twin o’rre?” the barbarian whined cautiously. “I didn't mean to get upset. I am not cross with you. It’s just…there’s a reason why I don’t like to talk about my father. We rarely saw eye to eye. He never understood me. I don’t think anyone ever understood me except the seer, Llamia was her name. She was my mentor when I was a young pup.”

Wrapping his arms around his broad shoulders, Crowe pressed a kiss to Barghast’s snout. Barghast’s tongue swept across his lips and chin. “I thought we were past the point of apologizing to each other for our flaws. It seems we have both suffered ills in our past lives. Perhaps even then Gaia and Monad were trying to prepare us for what was to come.” His laugh harbored within it with an edge of bitterness. “It almost cheapens the experience, doesn’t it?”

A heavy silence followed. He could feel the lycan watching him intently. He could hear the train gathering speed in his broad skull.

When the lycan did speak it was with a wistfulness that pulled at the practitioner’s heartstrings. “I would have liked to have courted you in the way that is proper in your culture. To treat you with the respect you deserve.”

“That's kind of hard to do when you're on the run and you can't understand each other, don't think, you silly lycan? Aren’t you the one who keeps reminding me reminding me we have all the time? Or…” Crowe paused before admitting a hard unavoidable truth. “Maybe we don't.” He held up his three-fingered hand. Maybe we don't. Perhaps we're not as important as we think we are and one of us could go at any second. In two days time, tomorrow at the earliest, we will reach Caemyth. I've longed to see the city since I was a child. They say it's guarded by massive walls and the market spans several whole blocks. Of course, I don't know what it looks like now with the way things are now…but it's enough that you and I will get to explore it together.” He resisted the urge to hide a shy grin. “In truth I can't think of anyone I'd like to see it with more.”

Barghast kissed him the final time for the evening. It was brief but no less hungry. “Sweet dreams, twin o'rre. When you open your eyes, I will be here.”