Daughter of the War Read online

  “Thank you, Lady Hosh,” she said.

  “Oh, dear.” Hosh sucked in a sharp breath. “I almost forgot where you’ve been all these years. Hosh. Just Hosh. I’m no lady, solcessa. Have a seat while I fix us a bite—I just gathered some fresh prickly pear, and I’m sure you’re hungry.”

  Rea nodded and edged cautiously around the room. She found a stool under the table to sit upon as Hosh went to the ledge, selecting one of the spiny gourds. Once cut, they released a sweet, crisp aroma that made Rea’s mouth water. She couldn’t wait to try one.

  “What is a solcessa?” Rea asked as Hosh peeled and sliced the strange fruit.

  “Just a pet name your mother used while you were in her belly.”

  “You visited her on the West Ridge?”

  “She visited me, dear girl.” Hosh laughed and turned to give her a wide smile. “Your mother led the Moon’s Chosen who served during the War of Two Princes.”

  Rea shook her head fiercely. “None of the Moon’s Chosen returned. That’s why Lady Oleena forbid anyone else from leaving the ridge.”

  “You are ill-informed, solcessa. One did return, and I suspect her daughter is the reason the high priestess chose to keep her people close to home, safe from the likes of my kind.”

  Rea blinked stiffly. “You’re a...”

  “Solanyan?” Hosh offered.

  “A man,” Rea said, astonished. “A man that makes seed.”

  Hosh cleared his throat and turned back to the kitchen ledge to continue chopping prickly pears. “Well, yes. I suppose that’s true, as well.”

  “How do you do it?” Rea asked, her curiosity now roused. “Is it magic? Or is it no more complex than how goats and sheep breed? Do you have a—”

  “Solcessa!” Hosh dropped his knife and pressed a pear-stained finger to his mouth. “These are not proper topics of discussion for polite company, and nothing you need concern yourself with right this moment. There are far more useful questions to ask.”

  “I’m sorry.” Rea sucked in her bottom lip and looked down at her hands. “I’ve never met a man before. There are none among the Moon’s Chosen.”

  “And you were born after the war when they stopped leaving the mountains.” He exhaled softly. “Yes then, on both accounts. There is a bit of magic, but I suppose in the end, it’s no more complex than the way sheep and goats go about it.”

  “Oh.” Rea picked at a thread on her robe, unsure what she should ask next. The sisters’ lessons had not included anything about the proper way to communicate with a man.

  “Mash vu Sol,” Hosh said, setting a clay plate of prickly pear in front of her. “Feast of the Sun.”

  Rea picked up a wedge of the dark red fruit and pressed it to the tip of her tongue. It was sweet but milder than the blackberries that grew in the temple garden. She took a careful bite, avoiding the dark seeds embedded in the prickly pear, and then moaned as the juice coated her tongue.

  Hosh set a second plate of fruit on the table and pulled out a stool to join her. He smiled as he watched her, the deep wrinkles in his face stretching to an alarming degree. Other than Magora, Rea was sure she’d never met anyone so old. Even the grandmothers in the flatlands did not live so long that they weathered to the degree Hosh had.

  “Who is Solurn?” Rea asked, deciding that anything included in the letter must be polite enough to question.

  “Right to it then.” Hosh chuckled and folded his arms over the table, nudging his plate away. “Solurn was a Prince of Solanya.”

  “And where is Solanya?” Rea asked, shoving another piece of fruit into her mouth.

  “Where was Solanya, you mean?” The wrinkles on Hosh’s face shifted as his smile sagged. “Did they teach you anything at that temple?”

  Rea swallowed and diverted her eyes. That temple? Hosh sounded like the resentful Sisters of the Hearth. Though there was no priestess present to overhear such blasphemy, shame warmed Rea’s cheeks.

  “The sisters taught me all a daughter of the Moon ought to know,” she said quietly.

  “Of course they did. Forgive me, solcessa.” Hosh gave her a tight smile. “Solanya was a realm a very long way from here.”

  “A realm of LouMorah? Like Belquar in the vale of elves?”

  “A realm of its own, on an island in a distant sea. But it was destroyed in a terrible war. What’s left of the Solanyans live along the southern coast of LouMorah, a realm they call New Solanya.”

  “The southern coast—” Rea gasped. “The foreign warmongers... Solurn was one of those princes?” she asked, remembering a little late that that made Hosh one of them, as well.

  “Ah, so the sisters did teach you about the war.” Hosh’s eyes lit hopefully.

  “There was not much to tell,” Rea admitted. “After the high priestess ended the trade arrangement with the elves, we were closed off from the lowlands. The sisters don’t even know if the war has ended—Has it ended?”

  “That’s a very good question.” Hosh pressed his lips together thoughtfully, then he nudged his plate across the table toward Rea, inviting her to eat his pear, as well. “I wish it had a simple answer.”

  Rea devoured the second pear, swallowing the seeds and licking the juice from her fingers. It was nice to eat something that wasn’t dried and tough for a change. The Calling feast seemed as if it had taken place months ago rather than days.

  She had more questions, but before she could say anything else, Hosh stood and went to the doorway to gaze out at the desert. The sky was growing darker through the thin curtains. Rea felt more rested than she had in days, and now she knew why. She’d slept through most of the day.

  “It will be night soon,” Hosh said. “There is a well out front if you care for a bath or to wash your robe. You can wear one of mine in the meantime.”

  Now that the sweet fruit was gone, Rea could smell herself, the stench of dried sweat in the pits of her robe and crusted to her skin with bits of horse hair and sand. She was a mess—a wild, stinking goat that had wandered in to dine at the table.

  “Thank you,” Rea said, making a point to push her stool in as she stood up from the table. Hosh already seemed to think the sisters lacked in their education. There was no need for him to doubt their manners or hygiene, as well. “Do you have soap?”

  Hosh stepped around her and through a doorway under the stairs, returning with a robe and a small bowl of cloudy liquid. Rea accepted it from him with a frown.

  “It’s yuca juice—enough for your hair and robe,” he said. “Wash up and get some sleep. There will be time for more questions in the morning.”

  Hosh pointed her outside to a ring of stacked stones near Pooka’s empty grain bucket. The horse was now lying in the shade against the hut, snoring loudly. As refreshed as Rea felt, she was looking forward to more sleep.

  A large, rope-tied bucket sat on the edge of the stone ring. It was fastened to a stick that lay across the mouth of the well. Rea glanced over her shoulder, wondering if she should ask Hosh for more instruction, but he had already vanished from the hut’s entrance.

  She laid the borrowed robe over the stones and took up the bucket before peering over the edge. The well was deep and dark, with the light of the setting sun only reaching a short distance inside.

  Rea dropped the bucket in and listened for the splash of water. Then she waited to be sure the bucket was full before pulling it up. She placed it on the sand at her feet and stripped out of her robe. The crystal necklace bounced against her chest, and she touched it fondly, wondering how Magora and Armal were faring at the temple without her.

  The yuca juice lather was different from the lye soap she was used to, but she worked it into her hair and robe as best as she could, then rinsed with the water from the well. When she finished, she dressed in the sleeveless robe Hosh had loaned her.

  The garment was bulky over her smaller body, but she managed to make it work by putting her head and an arm through the neck hole and belting the thin sleeve around her waist. She r
olled the loose fabric over her opposite shoulder until it remained in place.

  It felt odd having her arms completely bare, but it was more comfortable in the heat of the desert. At least while the sun shone overhead.

  Rea gathered her damp robe and went inside. Through the opening under the stairs, she could see Hosh’s form laid across a bed, his chest rising and falling as he slept—or pretended to anyway. Her questions had bothered him, but she would not let that stop her from asking more in the morning.

  She crept upstairs and laid her robe over the windowsill to dry before braiding her hair and climbing back into bed. A cool breeze drifted through the curtains, but Rea burrowed under the thick blankets and sent up a small prayer to the Moon, thankful that she had survived her true Calling—at least so far.

  Chapter Ten

  ONCE AGAIN, REA WOKE to light streaming through the curtains over her window. There was something about all the golden sunshine that invigorated her. At the temple, it had offered anemic illumination at best, filtering only through narrow windows in rooms that were not adorned with oil lamps or hanging sconces.

  The robe over the windowsill was dry, but the room had already grown quite warm, so Rea remained in Hosh’s sleeveless garment. Her crystal necklace moved more freely over her chest, exposed by the low collar. The length of the robe had hit just below the knee on Hosh, but on Rea, it trailed the floor. She fisted the material in one hand before descending the stairs into the hearth room.

  A rumbling grunt came from outside. Rea wondered what Pooka was carrying on about, but before she reached the threshold of the dwelling, she heard Hosh greet a newcomer with an even deeper voice. Another man, she assumed. Had she arrived any later, their paths might have crossed. Rea shuddered to think what could have become of her had she not found Hosh’s dwelling in time—if someone other than the sage had discovered her first.

  She tucked herself against the wall beside the entrance and listened, hoping to discover who the stranger was and what he wanted before announcing her presence. Hosh’s voice was strained as if he had been caught off guard.

  “It’s always a pleasure to see you, Kron.” Hosh chuckled nervously.

  “It should be,” the other man—Kron—said. “I always come bearing gifts from Pagro.”

  “Yes, yes.” Hosh laughed again. “He is too good to me. The hide is magnificent, and the herbs are delightful. Thank you, kindly.”

  “Will you not invite a weary traveler in for a drink?”

  “Of course! I was just on my way to sip from the well.”

  Kron snorted. “I had hoped for something with more bite, and perhaps a good night’s rest before departing.”

  “Well, you see...you’ve arrived a few days earlier than I’d anticipated.” Hosh sighed.

  Rea dared to steal a glance around the edge of the doorway, but the angle was not right, and Kron was still hidden from her view. Hosh, however, noticed her right away.

  “Come, solcessa. Allow me to introduce you.” Hosh waved his hand at Rea, and she timidly stepped out of the house. The sand was hot on her bare feet, but she endured the discomfort, too struck by the newcomer to move more or speak.

  Kron was more than a man. Rea would have understood that had she met thousands of them and not just Hosh. The same way she’d known that Pooka was not simply an overgrown goat. There was an awe-inspiring otherness about him.

  It was more than just the way he towered over Rea—Hosh, too, for that matter. More than the inky hue of twilight that saturated his skin, or the tangled mane that grew in a thick line along the arc of his scalp.

  Kron’s eyes were a pale shade of green, like frost-covered grass, and when his generous lips parted, she noticed that the teeth at the corners of his mouth were longer and overlapped the bottom row. His brows pinched together as he gave Rea a once-over.

  “She’s too small to pass for Solanyan, and too golden to be a sister,” Kron said, turning back to Hosh. “What are you playing at, old sage?”

  Rea tore her eyes away from the man’s face and took in his bare chest and the tanned leather that covered his legs and feet, wondering if he, too, was Solanyan.

  “This is Rea.” Hosh waved his hand again, urging Rea forward. She moved slowly, sensing Kron’s displeasure. “Solurn and Lyra’s daughter. She was raised among the Moon’s Chosen.”

  “Then how did she get here?” Kron asked, his voice grating through clenched teeth. He pointed a finger at Rea without looking at her. “Why is she here?”

  “I promised Lyra I would send for her when she came of age. Pooka fetched her a few nights ago.” Hosh squeezed Kron’s shoulder and drew him closer. “Rea is Solurn’s heir. She’s the only one who can restore the alliance between the realms, including New Solanya.”

  “What need do we have of an alliance with them?” Kron scoffed. “Solurn’s dead, and so are the worthy among his people.”

  Not Solanyan then, Rea decided.

  Hosh’s shoulders sagged. “Am I unworthy, nephew?” He lifted his weathered hand from Kron’s shoulder and touched the man’s cheek, dampening his scowl.

  With their faces so close, Rea could see how alike their features were despite the contrasting shades of their skin and hair—the squared angles of their jaws and the high cheekbones.

  “They did not deserve you, nor your father,” Kron said. “You are Mandoratti. You belong to the trees, not out here in this wasteland. Come home.”

  “Solanya was my home.” Hosh sighed and removed his hand from Kron’s cheek. “This desert is as close to it as LouMorah has to offer.”

  “You’ll die out here, all alone. Is that what you want?”

  “We will all die if the alliance is not restored.”

  “The Solanyans will die,” Kron countered, his scowl returning. “Let them.”

  Rea couldn’t decide if Kron’s statement meant the war was over or still raging. So much talk of death and defeat and more death to come, it hurt her heart, and it made her long for the safety of the mountains. This could not be what the Moon meant for her Calling.

  The creases in Hosh’s face grew deeper. He shot a sidelong glance at Rea before touching Kron’s shoulder again, his golden eyes glowing softly in the bright sun. Mountain lion eyes, Magora would have called them. That’s what she had said of Rea’s.

  “Word has come from Belquar,” Hosh said. “Aberon has risen, and with him, the Harom. It is only a matter of time before they march on the sacred realms of LouMorah.”

  Kron turned and stormed away from the dwelling, his hands working into fists as he kicked the sand and rattled off a string of words in some guttural language that Rea did not understand. Though the dance was familiar—she’d seen Armal do something similar after stubbing her toe in the temple kitchen.

  “Is he...well?” Rea asked quietly.

  “As well as can be expected.” Hosh frowned after Kron but did not try to intervene, letting him shout his anger into the open air. Rea could think of plenty of times she would have liked to do the same.

  She had done her best to follow the conversation, but the Moon’s Chosen had spent so long disregarding the lowlands, she was at a loss. Still, there were things she had pieced together.

  “The Mandoratti...” The word felt strange on her tongue. “The warrior race from the forest in the north?” Hosh nodded. “He said you were one of them.”

  “My father was,” Hosh confessed. “His fishing raft was caught in a storm off the coast, and he washed ashore on Solanya—the original continent—before it was destroyed.”

  “Father.” It was another word that sounded foreign to Rea, though she had heard the term before. “And he seeded your Solanyan mother? They bred like sheep?”

  “Well, they fell in love and were married first.” Hosh cleared his throat. The talk of seed was making him uncomfortable again, Rea realized.

  “But why would my mother breed like a goat with a foreign prince, whose people brought war to LouMorah?” Rea was still not convinced such a
thing was possible for one of the Moon’s Chosen. Were not their wombs blessed to only carry the Moon’s sacred race?

  Hosh snorted out a startled laugh, and a deeper snort came in reply from around the side of the house. Rea yelped and seized the sage’s arm when she realized that the beast was not Pooka. Two long horns sprouted from its forehead, and a metal ring looped through its nostrils.

  “What is it?” Rea hissed, positive this time that the creature was no goat—no mare for that matter either.

  “That’s Grunt, Kron’s mount,” Hosh said. “A fine sand yak, if a bit malodorous.” Hosh stepped inside the house long enough to fetch a brick of the crushed grain and fed it to the creature, sweeping forward the long hair that covered its eyes until it lay flat down the center of the beast’s muzzle.

  “No one knows what brought Solurn and Lyra together,” Hosh said, returning to their earlier conversation as he absently stroked Grunt’s head. “That is the magic of love. It knows no rules or boundaries.”

  Rea knew what love was—she felt it for Magora and Armal, Nyna, and even Sister Rashal at times. What transpired between the sheep and goats on the flatlands was not what the Moon’s Chosen considered love, but perhaps the realms of the lowlands had a different concept of the word’s meaning, some other nuance that elevated their breeding habits above the animals’. Something with a bit of magic, as Hosh had explained the night before.

  “Who is Aberon?” Rea asked, choosing a question that she hoped would have a clearer answer.

  “Solurn’s younger brother, the prince who started the war. He was born on the shores of LouMorah—” Hosh’s answer was cut short by Kron’s return.

  “How much time do we have?” Kron demanded. His gaze fell on Rea again, eliciting the same worrisome expression it had the first time he looked upon her.

  “Half a month? Perhaps less.” Hosh shook his head and sighed.