Realm of Light - Deborah Chester [63]
“I can’t defeat Beloth,” Caelan said.
“Choven and the people of men are separate, yet they fit together to create a balance of harmony,” Moah said as though he had not heard. “We lack the aggression, the ambition, the insurmountable will of men. Men lack reverence for all sides of the life force. Men refuse to see the truth, and they walk in fear.”
Moah turned his head and stared deeply into Caelan’s eyes. “You, Caelan, are of the Choven yet not of us. You are a man, yet more than a man.”
Caelan did not want to hear more. He shook his head. “No.”
Moah smiled, and his dark eyes gleamed. “Yes. You have come to the truth, Caelan. Gaze into it, and know. You were born of woman and man, yet of spell-force also. At your birth, the auspices were thrown and your name was given. You are Caelan M’an i Luciel. It means Man of Sky Who Brings Light.”
Frowning, Caelan mouthed the unfamiliar words to himself. “Is this why you gave me the sword?”
Moah spread his dark hands wide in the equivalent of a shrug. “Tell me a truth that you have known all your days.”
The sudden change of subject again threw Caelan. “I don’t understand.”
“Think. What is a truth in yourself that you have always known? What have you always been?”
“Rebellious,” Caelan said flippantly without thinking.
Then, at Moah’s sober look, he sighed and took the question more seriously.
“I kill,” he said, and met Moah’s gaze. “That is my essence. That is my truth.”
“This shames you?”
“Of course! You’ve been talking about the many forces of life and reverence and truth. I destroy that. I take lives, whether in light or in shadow.”
As he spoke he glared at the Choven, standing there in white purity and total wisdom. How did the blood taint on his hands measure up against Moah’s standards?
Yet Moah did not seem shocked or offended by him. “Exoner was made for you as a gift. Our most skilled smith forged it while the spells of strength and valor were chanted into it.”
“It is a wonderful sword,” Caelan said impatiently.
“Does it not sing to you?”
“Yes, but I—”
“To hear metal sing is a precious gift to the soul, given to few. Exoner will serve you well in that which is to come.”
Caelan shook his head. “You don’t understand,” he said. “I cannot accept it.”
“It is not a bribe,” Moah replied. “The Choven do not buy men.”
Caelan’s suspicions returned. “No?” he countered. “Then what do you want from me?”
“For you to be true to yourself.”
“You want me to kill? Is that showing reverence for life?”
Moah lifted his hands. “Calmly. Remember that you are in a place of safety. Do not fear.”
“I’m not afraid,” Caelan snapped. “I’m angry.”
“You are a king,” Moah said. “Act like one.”
This rebuke surprised Caelan enough to silence him momentarily. Then he said, “I’m no king. I’m an ex-slave, arena trained for combat. I—”
“You have shared with Kostimon, the greatest king in the history of the people of men,” Moah said. “You were linked to him in Choven fire. You know his heart. You have swallowed his spirit. You wish to rule.”
Caelan opened his mouth, but he could deny nothing. “Yes,” he said simply.
Moah nodded approvingly. “The truth sounds well on your tongue. You bring ambition to the Choven. You bring ruthless will and the strength of a warrior to the Choven. Yet you have a kind heart and a gentle soul.”
Caelan wanted to laugh in derision, but he found himself yearning for Moah’s assessment to be true. “Once, perhaps, but that was beaten from me.”
“The soul cannot be beaten,” Moah replied, “unless it chooses to be. We are metalworkers. We know how to temper and refine steel. You have been tempered in order to meet your destiny. Had you not been a slave, you would never have learned the lessons of survival. Had you not been a gladiator, you would never have learned how to be a valiant warrior. Had you not been brother to Lea, you would never have learned to love another. Had you not been