Page 97

Lovers Lost Now Found

RIV

It took a while before Riv calmed down, helped by a cup ofkahawathat Élisa had brewed for him.

She brought it back to her chamber, where he half sat, slumped against the cushions along the boulder that formed the bulkhead.

Élisa’s soul bled as her gaze raked over his drawn face. They were lovers lost, now found.Butcould their tormented souls ever heal?

His eyes were desolate and distant as he worked through his wretchedness.

Her heart twisted with sorrow as she leaned over and kissed the corner of his red-rimmed eyes, then joined him in the sprawling bedstead, lifting a lithe leg behind him, cradling his back on her chest as he drank.

She sang to him, sweet and husky, repeating the soft song she used to sing to him years ago. She hoped they’d cut through his malaise, like they’d done the first time they’d met, and heal his agony.

She stroked his back and shoulders until he sighed and relaxed into her embrace.

He was so precious,she thought. How she’d managed to live almost a lifetime without him was beyond her.

‘I’ve always wondered about that song. What do the words mean?’ Riv asked, his low rasp cutting through her thoughts. ‘You declined to share back then, fearing I’d find out where you were from.’

She gave him a wry smile. ‘It’s an old Katánian song of prayer to The Kuíla - the Sky Eagle, the giver of favorable wind and the preserver of life. It’s an invocation for healing, offspring, unity, and security. I’ll sing it to you in standard.’

Her voice then lifted into a velvety refrain.

‘We revere you, Kuíla, Our Eagle, Sun and Preserver:

He who buries flaying knives and spinning swords

Who restores the harsh lands and rugged soil

Who rebuilds the black-lava mountains and the white diamond plains.

You, Kuíla, Chief, the great healer indeed,

He who breathes forth men so that they may live.

Chief, receive this soul of your name,

Heal him with all your strength and might,

Sow the seeds of offspring in his loins that he may beget like bees,

Hold his K?st together that it be not cleft in the land,

Give him strength so that strangers may not come to possess his groves.’

‘So lyrical,’ Riv said when her voice fell away. ‘You sing it so well.’

‘Sante.’

‘Beget like bees, though?’

Élisa chuckled at his jesting.

‘It’s a potent blessing,’ she added. ‘Didn’t it lead to a son? Mayhaps you’ve many more in your quiver, Sableman.’

As Riv’s eyes smoldered at the promise, Élisa continued. ‘On a serious note, the blessing works. The ache in your soul will ease soon because the Chief Preserver will not allow you to suffer any more.’