Chapter Six #3
Zanya made a rude noise as they resumed walking.
“From what Sachi has told me about Sorin, he certainly seems like the type of man to reward arrogance. Not that I’d know with Klement.
Last time we were here, he seemed to go out of his way to avoid us.
Even Sachi, and she usually charms everyone eventually. ”
He had likely disregarded them because he did not think they would be useful to him—a laughable misapprehension, to be sure, but what else could Naia expect?
Klement continued to pester Einar about Petya, never seeming to grasp how close he’d often come to inciting Einar’s wrath.
The man obviously wasn’t as smart as he thought he was.
Naia almost said as much, but there were too many eyes and ears around them. So she tucked her arm through Zanya’s and murmured, “Lucky you, to have enjoyed such peace.”
Zanya’s laughter rang through the clear morning air, accompanying their progress down the path.
The people of Jamyskar were amazed and more than a little confused to see a line of gods filing into their village. But their confusion quickly gave way to a mix of relief and joy as the members of the High Court rolled up their sleeves—proverbial and literal—and got to work.
Elevia started with a quick survey of the various tasks already in progress, then directed those of her friends who were most suited to assist. The rest of the High Court, presumably accustomed to being bossed around in this manner, simply followed her orders.
Some of the structures on the beach had been completely obliterated in the attack.
People were dismantling those and sorting through the debris to see what could be repurposed and what had been lost. They pulled nails out of shattered planks and beams, and set aside intact windows along with the rest of the wood that could be saved.
Other buildings were damaged but still standing. Ash crouched next to one, examining its compromised stone foundation. As a handful of villagers watched in awe, he touched the cracked stone. Dust billowed up as the stone shifted, knitting itself back together at his command.
The awe was a commonality, and it did not seem to matter to the villagers whether the gods employed magic or simply picked up a tool and began to use it.
Ulric hung off the side of a building by one arm as he busily swung a hammer with his other hand.
Meanwhile, Inga had gathered a group of children, and their delighted laughter joined the busy sounds of sawing as the Witch pulled an endless number of chocolates from her small reticule.
The people of Jamyskar held the efforts of both in equal regard.
Naia paused in her own work. She’d taken over the task of picking up sharp little bits of glass where heat and magic had melted the sand.
It was too dangerous for the locals to do without heavy protective gloves, which not many of them had.
She had been careful, of course, but had still sliced her fingers half a dozen times.
Though the cuts healed quickly, blood still smudged the sack she held.
A group had clustered on the beach to set up a makeshift kitchen to feed the crowd.
On one side, tables had been hastily constructed of doors and planks set across pillars of stone.
On them, the fishermen had laid out the day’s catch for cleaning, and Elevia had joined them.
She might have been a staggeringly gifted military general, but she was also the Huntress.
She deftly gutted a fish and tossed the refuse to a nearby dog, whose backside wiggled furiously as he snatched his prize from midair.
Then Elevia waved her knife and said something that elicited a burst of uproarious laughter from the fishermen.
Just down the beach, a huge cauldron had been set over a crackling fire.
Dianthe was listening intently as she helped an ancient man tend the bubbling pot.
Naia watched as they added a huge mound of chopped vegetables to the stew.
Though it had been made with fresh catch, it smelled very much like the salted fish stew that Petya—and Naia—favored.
Maybe the recipe had even originated here, in this tiny village, and was still being shared from cook to cook as the generations passed.
The very ground beneath Naia’s feet began to shake, and a moment later, Arktikos rumbled by.
He was positively huge in his polar bear form, something she had not had the time to fully appreciate during the attack, and surprisingly fast, even as he hauled a sled piled high with shattered stones, ruined roofing, and splintered boards.
He pulled it up a small hill to a clearing that overlooked the beach.
There, the Phoenix had already conjured their cleansing fire.
Nyx glanced down and lifted a hand in greeting, one Naia gladly returned.
She understood the Phoenix, and believed in the justice of their mission.
They were dedicated to seeing wrongs righted and damage not simply repaired but undone, a truly noble goal.
If Naia had walked out of fire instead of the ocean near Seahold, she could easily have followed the Phoenix.
Aleksi led a small group of men and women up the hill to help unload the sled.
Together, they tossed the debris into the heart of the blue and silver fire, where it burned in that fascinating way that made Naia think of renewal instead of destruction.
There was nothing left behind, no ashes or scorched places where the debris once blazed.
The giggling grew into shrieks of laughter and excitement.
A smiling Sachi had joined Inga in entertaining the children, and was making small toys and trinkets fall out of the sky.
The children hurried about, utter joy on their chocolate-smeared faces, chasing the baubles and trying to catch them before they hit the scrubby sand.
Even Gwynira and Isa were having a good time.
Isa had taken over the small forge at the heart of the village.
With Gwynira’s help, she had been hammering hot iron into nails and hinges and latches all morning.
Their lighthearted chatter and laughter drifted out of the smithy, punctuated by the sharp rings of Isa’s hammer.
A thin, shimmering veil of protective magic surrounded them both, an aura that looked like the combined midnight starshine sparkle of both Sachi and Zanya.
It all seemed painfully familiar—the bustle of activity, the smell of the stew, the hints of magic mixed with very practical sweat and labor. Even the sounds felt like echoes, the hammer blows and shouts and laughter all bouncing around in Naia’s head, making it swim dizzily.
Then there were the people. Mostly, they had curtsied and bowed as they walked past, but left her to her own devices, as if they had been instructed not to bother her.
But a few had approached her anyway, to ask if she needed anything or to deliver small gifts of woven bracelets and carved seashells.
Every query and offering—for that was what they were, Naia realized—had been accompanied by a fervently whispered prayer.
“It’s uncanny,” a low voice murmured from just behind her. She turned to find Einar, stripped to the waist and wiping sweat from his brow with his discarded shirt.
He had said something, Naia knew that much, but she could not recall what it had been. For a moment, all her brain agreed to register was miles of bare, sweat-slicked skin, along with the fact that all she had to do to touch it was reach out.
Finally, she managed to clear her throat as she tossed another bit of glass into her rough-woven sack. “What?”
“How familiar this village is.”
Had he also been experiencing the same dizzying sense of having been here before? No, surely it was different for him, a secondhand but decidedly real knowledge of the place. After all, this was his heritage, whether he had lived it or not. “Petya must have taken so much of this with her.”
“She did.” His gaze drifted over the busy activity that blanketed the village.
“We settled down for the first time when I was . . . oh, maybe fourteen or fifteen? It was a little village on the coast north of the Blasted Plains. Mostly fishermen and others who made their living from the sea. Our little cottage could have been one of these.”
Naia could easily picture it in her mind, and she wondered if that was what she had been experiencing—a million tiny bits of memory, all blended together and snagging on the sharper edges of this moment.
“I’ve been feeling the same way.” She bent, uncovered another wicked bit of glass, and carefully pried it up out of the sand. “There must be so many little places just like this, dotted all along the coasts. I think I even remember some of them.”
Einar crouched down and stirred his fingers idly through the sand.
“I’ve seen dozens over the years. Hundreds.
But this island . . .” He paused as his fingers found a bit of glass and worked it free before lifting it up to her.
“I suppose you understand better than anyone how odd it feels to remember a place you’ve never been. ”
She had to smile at that. “Yes, I do.” Then, though she did not decide to do it, she found herself asking, “Do you think you could be happy, Einar? Staying here and being their king?”
He didn’t answer right away. His fingers returned to the sand, but instead of sifting through it to search for more glass, he traced an absent-minded spiral into its surface.
“I don’t know,” he said finally. “When we’re in the palace, surrounded by the court?
The idea seems absurd. I’m no kind of ruler.
But out here, working with the villagers? ”
Naia’s gaze locked on the rough spiral. A buzzing sound filled her ears, broken only by the thumping of her heart.
“It feels good to help the people.”