Chapter 8 Esag
ESAG
The commission lay on Esag's workbench like an accusation. Anandur wanted a new figurine of Wonder, nicer than the one he'd carved of her as Gulan that Kalugal had found in Egypt.
Of all the requests Esag could have received, of all the people in the village who might want to commission a piece from him, it had to be Wonder's mate asking for a carved likeness of the woman Esag had loved and lost five thousand years ago.
He'd been putting it off, telling Anandur that he would get to it once he was done carving Khiann's likeness and getting a vision about his whereabouts, but he'd given up on ever receiving that vision, and he was tired of carving the same person over and over again even if that person had been his best friend and he still mourned him after all these years.
Besides, there was really no reason for him to keep delaying it. He and Wonder had made their peace, and all he felt for her these days was friendship.
Right, that along with a hefty dose of guilt.
Not love, though. Not anymore.
Had he ever loved her? He hadn't loved her enough to leave Ashegan and disappoint his family, so maybe he just hadn't really loved her.
Esag had no doubt that Anandur would have left the clan for Wonder if that was the price of being with her. He'd even accepted a position at Annani's sanctuary in Alaska because Annani had wanted her best friend with her.
That was the kind of love Wonder deserved.
The piece of olive wood in Esag's hands was perfect for the task.
It was fine-grained, with subtle variations in color that would capture the warmth of Wonder's skin tone.
He'd selected it carefully from his collection, running his fingers over dozens of pieces before choosing this one.
The wood spoke to him, claiming that it was what he needed to use.
Each piece had its own personality, its own potential waiting to be revealed.
He preferred working with wood for his figurines because it was more resilient than stone. Wood had a character that he could exploit for his figurines, while stone was inert.
Esag picked up his carving knife, the blade sharp enough to split a hair, and began with broad strokes, removing the excess wood to reveal the basic shape of a head and shoulders.
This part was mechanical, almost meditative.
His hands knew the motions without conscious thought—angle the blade just so, apply pressure here, ease off there.
His tiny workshop was filled with the soft whisper of steel through wood and the occasional gentle tap of his mallet.
As the form emerged, Esag's mind wandered to that first time he'd seen Gulan. When she'd looked up and met his eyes, she'd blushed and looked away, but not before he'd seen something in her expression that had stopped him in his tracks. Interest. Attraction. Possibility.
She'd been nothing like Ashegan, his intended. Where Ashegan looked delicate but had the character of a viper, Gulan was tall and strong, with broad shoulders and capable hands, and the sweetest of characters.
The knife slipped, and Esag cursed under his breath. He needed to focus. He was carving a figurine of Wonder, not Gulan. Wonder was confident, optimistic, radiating strength and warmth. The woman who'd emerged from stasis had become someone new, and she'd found her truelove mate in Anandur.
He switched to a finer blade and began working on the facial features.
The brow first—strong and expressive. He remembered how she'd raise one eyebrow when skeptical, how both would draw together when she was concerned.
The knife moved in precise, controlled strokes, each one removing just enough wood to suggest the bone structure beneath the skin.
The nose came next. Straight, proportionate, strong. He'd kissed that nose once, five thousand years ago, when she was still Gulan.
What a fool he'd been.
The mouth was trickier. Wonder smiled often now, laughing with customers at the café, teasing Anandur and even Brundar, whom not many dared to tease.
But the mouth taking shape under his knife wasn't smiling.
The lips were pressed together with something that looked like determination. Or maybe longing?
That wasn't right. He tried to adjust the angle of the lower lip to create the suggestion of a smile, but it made the expression look forced, unnatural. After several attempts to correct it, he realized he'd removed too much material. The proportion was ruined.
With a frustrated sigh, Esag set the damaged figurine aside. He'd have to start over. It happened sometimes. The wood had its own ideas about what it wanted to become, and fighting against that natural inclination only resulted in failure.
He selected another piece of olive wood, this one with a slightly redder undertone. Maybe that was the problem. Maybe he'd been working with the wrong material.
The second attempt went faster. His hands knew the proportions now, knew where to remove material and where to leave it. The basic form emerged quickly, and soon he was back to working on the face.
This time, he started with the eyes. Wonder's eyes were distinctive—emerald, but the painting would come later. Right now, he just needed to carve the subtle depressions that would suggest eye sockets, but as he created the delicate curves of eyelids, something felt off again.
The eyes taking shape weren't quite right.
They seemed rounder somehow, more vulnerable, but not in the way that Gulan's had been when he'd broken her heart.
When he stepped back to examine the face as a whole, he realized the entire bone structure was wrong.
The jawline was too delicate, the cheekbones not quite prominent enough. This wasn't Wonder's face.
Esag set down his knife and rubbed his eyes. Perhaps he needed a break. Perhaps his memories of Wonder were getting confused with memories of Gulan, and they weren't the same. Or maybe he'd been working on figurines for too long and needed a rest from it.
Perhaps he should ask Anandur for Wonder's photograph.
In five thousand years of carving, he'd never needed a portrait to capture someone he knew well. His memory had always been sufficient, his hands always able to translate what his mind saw into wood.
He couldn't bring himself to admit defeat and ask Anandur to supply a photo of Wonder.
Stupid, stubborn pride. But he couldn't admit to another failure.
With a sigh, Esag selected a third piece of wood. This one was lighter, almost white, with a grain so fine it was barely visible. Perhaps the third time was the charm.
He worked more slowly this time, more carefully.
Every stroke of his knife was deliberate, precise.
He thought about Wonder as she was now. The way she managed the café with easy confidence.
The way she laughed. The way she looked at Anandur, with a love so obvious it made Esag's chest ache with ugly envy.
He wished her and Anandur all the best, and he didn't begrudge their happiness, but he wanted what they had and knew he would never get it because he didn't deserve it.
The figurine was taking shape beautifully.
The proportions were perfect, the features delicate yet strong.
But as he worked on the expression, that same strange determination crept back in.
The set of the mouth, the slight furrow between the brows.
Was he projecting his own emotions onto the figurine?
He was just beginning to work on the hair when the vision hit him.
It came without warning, as they always did. One moment, he was carefully carving delicate strokes to suggest hair texture, and the next, the workshop disappeared entirely, and his knife clattered to the floor.
She stood before him, so clear he could have reached out and touched her. A woman who looked like Wonder but wasn't. The resemblance was strong—same basic bone structure, same rich dark hair, same stubborn bearing, but everything was just slightly different.
The eyes were blue, not green. A clear, startling blue like a winter sky. The frame was smaller, more delicate, though he could sense the same strength of character. Her hair was the same shade as Wonder's, nearly black with reddish undertones, and it fell past her shoulders in gentle curves.
Her belly was slightly rounded, but the only reason he knew she was pregnant was the hand resting protectively over the swell.
She wore a loose silk gown, the type Annani favored, but the cut was different.
The dress was designed to conceal her condition.
Most striking was her face, though, which was a study in conflicting emotions.
Fear, determination, hope, and desperation all warred in those blue eyes.
She was looking directly at him as if she could see him. Not through him, the way people in visions usually did, not past him as if he were a ghost observing from another plane. She was looking right into his eyes with an intensity that made him want to take a step back.
Her eyes were trying to communicate something. She wanted him to help her. But how?
Suddenly, with a flash of recognition that nearly brought him to his knees, he knew who she was.
Tula.
Wonder's little sister, whom he'd last seen as a child.
She'd been a spitfire even then, all knobby knees and defiant chin, following Gulan around, but while Gulan had been quiet and reserved, Tula had been more like Annani, too brave for her own good and happy to join in the most outrageous shenanigans the goddess had come up with.
Five thousand years had passed, and the child he remembered had become a beautiful woman.
Tula was with Areana on Navuh's island; he knew that much. When the goddess had left for Mortdh's stronghold, she'd taken young Tula with her as a serving girl.
Wonder had told him about Carol's rescue attempt to get Areana and Tula out of Navuh's harem.
They had both refused, Areana because she loved Navuh, and Tula because she loved Areana and didn't want to leave her.
According to Carol, they had both been fine, living a pampered life in the harem and content with their lives.
The woman in the vision didn't look content, though. She looked desperate. And pregnant—Fates help them all, she was pregnant on that island of monsters.
Then, as suddenly as it had come, the vision ended.
Esag found himself back in his workshop, gasping as if he'd run a great distance, sweat beading on his forehead.
He looked down at the figurine still clutched in his hand, and understanding crashed over him like a wave.
He hadn't been carving Wonder at all. His hands, guided by some force beyond his conscious control, had been shaping Tula's face.
The determination in the expression, the subtle differences in features—it all made sense now.
He'd carved three figurines of a woman he'd known as a girl five thousand years ago, a woman whose desperate situation had somehow reached across the distance to find him.
Did Wonder know? Did she have any idea that her little sister was pregnant and scared?
He knew that Annani talked with Areana once a week, so perhaps Areana had told her sister, and Annani had in turn told Wonder. Perhaps Wonder had even gotten to talk to Tula directly.
What were they going to do about it?
How were they going to save her?
Esag wrapped the nearly completed figurine in soft cloth and tucked it into his pocket. The other two he left on his workbench—he'd deal with them later. Right now, he needed to talk to Wonder, and he knew where to find her.
She was at the café, which was just a short walk away.
His mind raced with questions and implications. How had Tula reached out to him? Was it conscious on her part, or had desperation somehow triggered a connection? And most importantly, what could they actually do to help her?
Navuh's island was a fortress. The clan had managed to get Carol in and extract her, but that had required months of preparation, and Carol had assumed an incredible risk. Could they do the same for Tula, and in time before her baby was born?
The smell of coffee and baked goods announced the café before he turned the corner. The usual afternoon crowd was enjoying refreshments and conversation, and Wonder was behind the counter, smiling at a customer and handing him a pastry.
Esag paused at the café's entrance and watched Wonder work for a few moments. She looked happy, and he hated being the bearer of bad news. Not that becoming an aunt was bad, but having her niece or nephew born on Navuh's island with all that it implied wasn't good either.