Airel - Aaron Patterson [86]
“Brother,” Yamanu said, his eyes beginning to glisten, “we shall be victorious if El wills it. I cannot see any other reason for our circumstances having been drawn up so tightly as they are in this moment. “The council does not see it, or insists on being blind, but I feel very strongly about the purpose of these heavy times. For what other reason would El allow us to be so threatened? Our last remaining option is to stand firm and wage war. It is for such a time as this that we have been born, bred, raised up, brought through many trials, and tasted both the triumph of the conqueror as well as the havoc of failure. The sinews of war are clustered in our hands—we need but pull on the proper cord at the right time. For such a time as this! “We have not yet begun to pour out the cup of wrath that has been stored up for the Seer and his ilk. Father has a plan, my friend… and I believe He is revealing it to us even now.”
Kreios cracked a smile in holy submission to El, looking at Yamanu. “You have the faith of a child my friend. I will take heart, and I beg your forgiveness for my doubt. It is both gift and curse to be such a practical thinker.”
Yamanu waved his pipe, moving the headwaters of the trail of heavy smoke that had been pooling at the hem of his robe. His laugh was pure, musical. “Friend, behold: the sun begins to rise. Let us also rise to the purpose of this day and be off. No use letting the Seer’s horde have another peaceful day.”
Kreios stood up, stretched, popped his back, and let out a grunt. He was getting old.
He found his daughter sleeping soundly in his brother’s room and went to her, nuzzling her skin. Memories of his beloved wife flooded over him as he held his daughter close, cradling her up to his face, hearing her breathing in soft snores. She stretched and yawned luxuriantly, her body showing the rustling of her thoughts, and he wondered with loving eyes what she could be dreaming.
He suffered himself to weep silently as he held her, wondering, but not quite asking, why the bonds of the family had had to be so violently shattered; why such a simple thing as his love for his daughter—and the memory of his beloved—would set into motion such a wicked menagerie of events. It felt as if creation might tumble in upon both of them at any moment. This moment, he decided, he made himself believe that he knew, was holy; he, warrior and husband and father, standing with his daughter in perfect embrace. He savored all of it, breathing in her fragrance deeply, remembering. He could not complain to God for his lot in life.
Kissing her softly, he whispered blessings in her ear and laid her down on her bed. She raised a tiny hand, yawned again, and cooed before slipping back into a deep sleep. He left the room quietly so as not to awaken Maria. Zedkiel was waiting for him outside on the balcony that overlooked the beautiful city.
“I will do my part, brother; do not worry your thoughts. She will be safe no matter what. I swear it by the life of the blood that courses through me.” They grasped arms, Zedkiel’s long hair wafting in wispy strands in the light morning breeze.
“I know,” was the simple response. Kreios was not able to say much more.
Zedkiel nodded and said in a hushed tone, “She will have the child tonight! I can feel it in my bones.”
Kreios smiled at his brother. “I am glad for you, brother. All will be well, and in the morning you will be a father.” The thought of Zedkiel holding his new baby in his arms brought on a pain so deep that he wondered if he might be jealous of his brother.
Kreios turned from him, gathering up his pack and his Sword. He held the sheath and listened to the voice that seemed to hang in the air, in his spirit. He could feel his daughter through it, and somehow he knew that she would be safe. He grasped the Sword and unsheathed it, running his hand along the flat of the blade,