Sentinelspire - Mark Sehestedt [99]
Berun took a deep breath and squeezed his eyes shut. Part of him wanted to throw the hammer into the brush and sneak out of the Fortress again. Killing all those people with the hammer and the blade Lebeth had given him, it had felt… good. And that scared him. Scared him more than anything had ever scared him. Kheil had reveled in blood. Seeing the last light of life leave his victims' eyes had once brought a pleasure beyond any spiritual bliss or sexual delight. It had been the closest he had ever known to defining true ecstasy. But Kheil was dead. Dead and gone. Executed, justly executed, he told himself. Stabbed and sliced and bled out on the Tree of Dhaerow.
But life had brought him back. No, not life. That didn't quite describe it. The sheer power of Livingness, of all living things, had pulled him back, had put breath into his lungs and hot blood pumping through his veins. Berun-and Berun alone, not Kheil-knew one thing more than he had ever known anything: the absolute preciousness of life. He knew it, though he doubted he could put words to it. Love was the closest word he could find-the love for life had been imprinted on his consciousness. Death was cheap. Worse, it was easy. Life… there was no price for it. That his heart now beat fast and his breath came quick at the thought of killing, of taking the lives of others…
All your life you have dealt death. Now the god of life calls you. Time to answer. The words spoken so long ago. Master Chereth's low voice, just beginning to rasp with the onset of old age.
Then another voice, softer and warmer and more recent- Beware, son of the Oak Father. Even truth can deceive, when the seeker walks darkened paths.
Crouched in a crumbling building in the night, listening to the storm and the cries of the patrols looking for him, smelling the blood of dead men mixing with the sweat and rain on his skin and cloak, Berun felt as if he were on a very-dark path indeed. He felt… lost.
The temptation to flee was strong. The assassins knew he was inside the Fortress. They were hunting him inside the walls. It would be all too easy to make it back through the tunnels where they wouldn't be looking for him, to find his way down the mountain and disappear into the Endless Wastes.
But there was Lewan. Somewhere in this Fortress, Lewan was still a prisoner. If there was even a sliver of hope that the boy was alive, Berun knew he had to find him and help him.
Never had Berun felt so confused. So frightened. Finding Lewan and fleeing would change nothing. He had died to the life of an assassin. Had he been raised to life, tried so hard to make a new life, only to find himself being used to kill again? Whether it was the Old Man, paying him in pleasure and profit for his skills, or the Oak Father, cloaking his actions in terms like justice and vengeance and the Balance… it all amounted to the same thing: he was here to kill. The fact that he found himself enjoying it only frightened him all the more. In his heart of hearts, he had hoped for more, wanted to believe that there was more purpose to his life than killing.
Sauk would have laughed at that notion. Life was struggle, death the ultimate reward for everyone. To balk at killing only meant that you stood a good chance of getting your reward a lot sooner than most. To hunt and kill the strong only made you stronger.
It was true, Berun knew, but as his master had been so fond of telling him, it was only one leaf on a branch on a tree whose roots ran very deep. And so, Berun sat in the dark, listening and trying his best to see the rest of the tree-maybe even glimpse the forest-and so find the Balance.
Berun, you must help me. Chereth's words, sent to him in a vision. Come to me, my son.
And the words of Lebeth. To see the light, child of the Oak Father, to protect light for us all, you must bring vengeance to the