25. Caspyn
Chapter 25
Everything hurt when I woke up the next morning, although not as much as it had before. Thankfully, the damp smell of wet food and sweat had been replaced with soil and an herb I had smelled far too often through my years. It was the same one Jayse had used to patch me up on more than a few occasions. Of course, just thinking of her brought with it a whole different ache, the hollowness in my chest ripping open. I winced as the same cold cloth ran over my wound.
“Oh my,” a woman gasped, her voice soft as though she was talking to me, but also trying not to wake me. “It doesn’t hurt that much, does it? I’m sorry, I’ll be more gentle.”
“You would think with all the scars on him that nothing would hurt him,” another voice piped up, this one noticeably younger and male.
“Look at this one,” the young male whispered as he ran his finger over a particularly long scar that stretched across my chest. With how fast the touch left and the hiss from the woman his hand had clearly been batted away.
“Shhh Ziah, he could hear you,” she hissed, as though she hadn’t been talking to me.
“Hear me?” the boy, Ziah, chuckled. “He’s slept through everything you’ve done to him so far. I doubt he’d wake up from me touching a scar. Besides, look at it…”
“Ryndle said to guard, not touch.” A soft cloth moved over my abdomen, her hands tugging and pulling as she removed the bandage that was there. Her fingers were warm as they grazed over my abdomen, each touch sending waves of heat right to my core. Right to where my magic was lying in wait.
It was the same as before, the low rumbling of my power circling through my body under my skin. I could feel each power individually, feel the heat, the cold, and the darkness of them. They were stronger than before, even if the sensations were still muted and healing.
Her fingers slid over my side, her hands warm against my back as she shifted and rolled me.
“You seem to be doing a fine job of touching, regardless,” my voice was as scratchy and rough as it had been before, the snap hollow in my lingering fury. The woman yelped and jumped back, leaving me to flop to my back after she had lifted me to wrap the bandage around my abdomen.
I hissed, grinding my teeth together as pain lanced through my gut. Still, it was not as bad as it had been, the ripples dissipating almost as soon as they had come. I could work with this.
Grinding my teeth, I swallowed my grunt and shifted, pulling myself to sit. Pain that was near agony twisted through each muscle as though physical barbs were pulling and ripping against the muscle. I ignored it all, refusing to do more than hiss as I controlled my breathing and the pain.
Blankets fell away as I sat on the small mat I had laid on, the once white covering stained with blood in some places. The wagon I was in before had gone, leaving the soft glow of a canvas tent and two people that had shifted toward the door. Another cot had been placed near the opening in a clear attempt to guard me.
The woman had recovered from her shock long enough to stare me down. She pushed her long ashy blonde curls behind her ears as she stormed back over to me and went back to work. She was a tiny thing, the dress she wore too big, her limbs lanky as though she hadn’t quite grown into her adult body, although judging by the way she held herself she was far past that age.
“Well, good morn’ to you too,” she said in that same calm voice, although I didn’t miss the hint of warning that was there. “At least this will make it easier to bandage you.”
The boy, however, was still standing by the opening to the tent, eyes like damp sand staring with wide disbelief. He wrinkled his nose, the absolute mass of freckles that covered his face converging together as I turned my scowl on him. I could not tell if he feared me, or in awe of me. Probably in awe. Even though I had never seen that look given to me, I knew it well. Knew the amazement. It was the same I had given the Queen’s warriors when I was a boy, back before I knew who they really were, and what they really did.
His look was the same.
I growled in warning. I was not one to be in awe of; it was better he learned that quickly. I killed people. The Goddess knew the people from my home now thought I had killed one not too much older than he was. He couldn’t have seen more than a decade, even if he had reached that age. At the sound of my growl his eyes widened further, as though he couldn’t take me in fast enough.
“Stop,” My tone was a guttural warning as the woman rushed back over with clean bandages in her hands, clearly ready to finish replacing the ones that were covered with stains of red and yellow. The boy flinched. She, however, didn’t stop. I wasn’t sure who I had spoken to anyway.
“I will do no such thing. Your wound will fester if I don’t clean it, and now that you are sittin’ I’ll be cleaning it properly.” She shifted forward again and I finally turned, my eyes already narrowed at the woman as I growled in what could only be warning.
She, however, rolled her eyes.
“Do you really believe you are an animal with all this growling?” Her deep blue eyes narrowed as she pursed her lips, the action tensing through her neck and pulling at some of the golden tattoos that ran along her collarbone like a necklace, the tops of the letters just visible over the hem of the too loose collar of her dress. “I’m not going to hurt you. I don’t hurt. I heal. I’ve already done most of that and I’d rather it not open that wound back up and allow it to rot. Now, if you don’t mind.”
My spine prickled at the look she was giving me, those eyes boring into me before she stepped toward me again. She clearly wasn’t scared of me, even if the boy was now pressing himself against the canvas of the tent. Although his look of awe had not left.
He really needed to stop looking at me like that. He really needed to stop looking completely. You would think the Lightens had never seen a scar before.
“Fine.” My voice was still a growl as I lifted my arms, giving her access to the wounds that I could feel throbbing on my gut and my back.
“Thank you, your majesty.” She gave a false little curtsy, and I had to restrain the growl of irritation that was tickling my throat as she kneeled beside me and finished rolling away the soiled bandage, her hands gentle as she moved.
Her hair was a golden nest of curls that tickled against my chest, her bronzed skin revealing more and more tattoos as she moved, the scent of her wafting over everything.
I had never smelled anything so sweet before, the floral aroma of her was delicate like the roses I had purchased in Turin once, or the oil that they sold in the beauty shops. It wasn’t roses, however, it was something I had never encountered before. Something that I couldn’t place. The scent reminded me of something familiar and welcome. Like home, even though it was nothing like the salt and wind scent that had always been from home.
I stiffened as she leaned in, her delicate arms wrapping around me to roll the old, stained bandage away.
“Sorry,” she whispered, her movement slowing as though it was the touch that had caused the sharp intake of breath.
“You are Lyani,” I whispered, recalling the name Ryndle had spoken of the woman who had tended to my wound. She pulled away the last of the bandage, my skin tightening as the air hit the wounds. She didn’t hesitate to cover it with a damp cloth, her motions a feather as she washed it.
“It means Heal.” She said it as though it was simply how they introduced themselves. “And you are Caspyn, light bringer.”
That airy quality had returned to her voice as she wiped away what had stuck to my skin. The smell of my blood blossomed through the air, although thankfully not as strong as it had been in the wagon.
“It is just Caspyn.” I was firm. She said nothing.
The boy stepped away from the canvas wall, that amazement on his face somehow deepening further.
“I am Ziah, it means fighter.” He was grinning as he looked me up and down, his eyes lingering on each scar and muscle. At least his fascination with me made sense, even if it was misplaced.
I wasn’t a fighter. I was a killer.
“Well, Caspyn. I am glad we found you when we did. This is nearly healed.” The cloth dropped into the basin with a soft, damp thud and I looked down, prepared to still see the open wound where the harpoon had passed through me. There was no hole. All that remained was a stretch of scar tissue over a circle near the size of my palm, much larger than I had first felt through my leathers.
The hole was large, the scar tissue perfect and pristine, if not impossible. Just staring at it, however, was causing my blood to boil, the weak tendrils of my fire magic boiling right to the surface.
It was not the scar that was pulling at all my rage, however, it was what was above it.
Glittering lines of yellow swooped over the tanned planes of my skin, two foreign words permanently penned there. Judging by the pain that lashed over my back I had to assume that they were placed above that opening as well.
“What have you done to me!” The words roared and rattled the canvas of the tent as I jumped to my feet. My magic spiraled through my body, heating and lashing at my skin as I raged, even as I swayed and struggled to stand.
“Oh, Goddess,” Ziah gasped, fear finally replacing the awe on his face as he plastered himself back against the canvas of the tent.
“Will you calm down, you are going to tear the skin again,” Lyani snapped and pushed me back to sitting, her hand hot and dangerous on my shoulder.
“And you,” she snapped with as much firmness as she turned to Ziah who was once again caught between awe and fear. “Watch your language or Ryndle will have your tongue.”
His jaw snapped shut, those eyes still wide and staring as he nodded.
“Now you,” those bright eyes flashed to me again, her gaze boring into me. Fury was boiling under my skin, the rage at seeing those marks on my skin only growing.
They had tattooed me with those words.
Those words!
I tried to stand again, but her grip held firm, her hair falling around her face as she leaned closer. Her scent hit me hard, but it wasn’t enough to calm the fury that was boiling through me.
“Without those words and their power imparted to you by the Goddess you would have died. To reject those words is blasphemy. If you want your gut to open and the Goddess to take you away instead of giving you more time on this plane then I’ll be happy to cut them from your skin. Although, judging by the rest of you you’d be going to the underverse, not the garden. But if that’s what you want, I’ll be happy to oblige.” Her face stretched to a calm crescent that sent as much ice down my spine as my magic was.
That same growl vibrated against my chest as my magic continued to swirl, too weak to do much more than simmer in my rage.
“What say you, Caspyn?” She leaned closer, that warning in her gaze deepening. “Will you reject the gift of continued life the Goddess gave you and welcome yourself into whatever life is waiting for you after this? Or will you stay, accept the words and see what path your future holds for you?”
Every muscle in my back tightened as I straightened, refusing to look away from her knowing gaze. She already knew she had won. We had both seen the size of my wound. If she were to open it back up no amount of stitching could heal that.
Her smile stretched as she reached for the clean bandage.
My magic was still simmering dangerously, my muscles still a wall as she placed some salve over the stretches of new skin.
“Tell me,” I stopped her, wrapping my hand around her wrist. She was just as tiny as she appeared, the muscular boulder of my hand swallowing her wrist. I could feel each bone and tendon as she turned to look at me.
“What does it say?” The tendons in her wrist flexed at my question, but she didn’t shift away, even though she was so close I could see the tiny speck of gold in her eyes, the color nearly the same color as the words now inked on my skin.
“What did you ink on me?”
She gave me another look before she unwound the soft cotton, placing it over the healing hole, and the words above them.
“What do they say?” I asked, staring at the tops of the letters before she covered them again.
She paused for only a moment before she looked up, her eyes meeting mine for only a breath before she went back to work.
“Bedayn grynolin.” She whispered the words as though they were a prayer, each sound pulling gently from her mouth. It was more music than language. Even with its beauty I found myself stiffening. “It means to heal by the power of blood.”
Blood.
“Whose blood?” Each word was a harsh snap whether I wanted it that way or not. She didn’t even flinch, although Ziah was looking between us in what could only be explained as a panic.
“Your blood, the blood of your ancestors. The blood of Okivo and all who came before. This is not something to be upset about, Caspyn. In fact, you should be grateful to the Goddess and those who came before you for lending you their blessing. You healed faster than I have ever seen.”
Because of my blood. Because of whose blood runs through my veins. Every muscle and sinew in my back coiled, that thick, muddy vio magic swirling dangerously close to the surface. My great-grandfather’s power, Fae, yet not.
I was not Fae. I could not be.
“What language is that?” I asked the words broken as she secured the bandage in place, her fingers freezing against the clean cotton at my question. I did not miss her quick glance toward the flap in the tent, toward the boy who was now shifting on his feet.
Silence drifted through the tent, the soft sounds of people seeping through the canvas for the first time.
“It is not simply a language,” Lyani whispered in that soft prayer voice of hers “They are marks taken from the halls and the books found in the Temple of the Sister.”
Wonderful. I was now branded with words or symbols from some ancient temple that also happened to be copied all over the bodies of these religious zealots. That same rage and fury as before bubbled to the surface, it tangled around my spine and in my gut as it took control.
“Are all the tattoos written in these… marks?” I didn’t even try to hide my snarl. Those words should not be on me.
It was Ziah who answered, his head bobbing up and down furiously as he stepped forward
“Yes! They are given when we have milestones, need blessings, or when we accept the path that the Goddess has given to us.” He was practically bouncing up and down, the frantic nature of him reminding me so much of Amari, of Lily, that my gut clenched. All of that pain mixed dangerously with the fury that was absolutely everywhere.
“This one here,” he moved into a babble as he shoved his tattooed wrist out to me. “It says Ziah. Fighter. It was penned on me last summer after I got this one,” he pulled down his shirt, still bouncing up and down. The more he moved the more he reminded me of the girls, the more something inside of me cracked and broke.
“This one means ‘strength’ Ryndle himself gave it to me after–”
“I don’t care about the damn tattoos!” I snapped, all of that darkness ripping from me as I tried to stand again. Although this time I was successful, my massive bulk towering over the tiny boy below me. The boy who was now looking up with wide tear filled eyes.
I should feel bad. I should care. But I couldn’t. I wouldn’t. Caring would lead me nowhere.
Ziah opened his mouth as though to say something, gasps and sputters mixing with the beginnings of tears before he turned and raced through the flap of the tent, a garden of tents and tattooed people mingling between them appearing for only a minute before the canvas fell back into place and left me alone with Lyani who was bristling with something beyond the anger she had before.
This look I knew.
This look I had seen far too many times before.
Hatred.
“What is wrong with you?” She was snarling.
“Nothing is wrong with me. I don’t care about his damn tattoos. I–”
“Only think of yourself?” she cut me off, that snarling hatred burning into me as she stepped right up to me.
She didn’t rise any taller than my collar bone, her frail frame like a feather against the boulder that I was. Neither of us moved, hard eyes locked on the other. My chest heaved as I tried to keep the rage at bay. Keep the magic that was suddenly alive and simmering underneath my skin, a shadow of what it was.
“I do not think of myself.” I snarled, lip curling. As if she had any idea of what I had lost, of what I had given up to save my sister. To save them all. She had no idea what was coming for them. She had no clue of what I needed to do to save them all.
Without me they would all be dead soon.
“Ha! Then I am sure you wouldn’t care that that boy lost his parents to raiders last summer. He held his Ma as she bled out, I couldn’t save her. He didn’t want to live after that. Ryndle himself tattooed strength on him so that he would keep going. So that he knew he could and that he was surrounded by those who loved him. That he would know the Goddess loved him and wanted him here with us. It was only after that that he knew his name was right for him and he got the tattoo of his name, of his true purpose on his wrist. But I guess you already knew that, didn’t you? Since you only think of others.”
“I don’t have to know everything about someone to think of them. I have done more for your people than you will ever know.”
“My people?” She laughed at that, one sharp sound that was more like a bark. I blinked at her, that thick magic still pushing against my skin. I played through the similarities, my heart clenching at the memory of Lily falling into the abyss of the ocean.
“Really? Tell me, what have you done for my people? Judging by the scars that line your chest and arms I would say there is too much blood on your hands to have done much of anything good for anyone in Okivo.”
“You do not know what I have done.” I was snarling now. This woman stood there with hatred in her eyes. I did not need her judgment; I did not need her approval. “You know nothing about me.”
“I know enough. I have seen enough. I know this, for someone whose name means light bringer you seem to have nothing but darkness around you.” She snarled, before she turned, the tent flap opening and swaying in the wind as she walked away from me and into the camp of laughing children, of tattered tents, and joyful people who were moving and dancing and laughing in the last light of the setting sun.
I watched her go. Watched the children laugh. Watched the smiling men and women with their swirls of tattoos until the tent flap softly fell into place and left me alone with her words; each and every one of them stinging a line right into my heart.