Page 55 of House of Dusk

SEPHRE

N ilos was gone the next morning. She rolled up from her blanket, only biting her lip once at the ache of her healing skin.

A quick survey of the shelter told her he must not be far.

His pack was propped against the wall, and there was even a pot bubbling in the embers of the campfire, smelling of oats and honey.

But the man himself was nowhere to be seen.

He’d left his sword beside her blanket. For her? In case the skotoi grew impatient of waiting and came hunting?

She stared at the weapon for a long moment.

Bending, she brushed her fingers just above the leather-bound grip.

It had been over nine years, but she still remembered the feel of a sword in her hand.

The strength and surety of it. False strength, she reminded herself.

False surety. Then drew her hand away. He’d probably just gone off into the scrubby woodland to piss.

She busied herself putting on the new clothing.

It was unnerving, to look down and see no gray, only muted blue and warm brown.

It made her feel displaced, unreal. The same feeling she remembered from those first weeks after the end of the war, missing the heaviness of her armor, the routine of her soldier’s life.

Sephre glanced at the brightening horizon. Either Nilos had a bladder the size of the moon, or he was off on some other business. Trust is too easily broken , indeed.

She set off down the slope, toward the village.

· · ·

It was the dog that led her to him. She heard the excited barking even before she reached the edge of the brushy woods. Then Nilos’s voice, warmer than she’d ever heard it.

“Hush, Turtle. You’re going to wake the village, silly girl. I know, I know, I’m glad to see you too. There you go. Good girl.”

Sephre halted behind a screening hedge of thornflower, watching as Nilos hunkered down in the dust, rubbing the belly of the wiry, brindled hound writhing ecstatically at his feet.

Well. Hardly the dire secret meeting she’d feared. She watched, bemused, as Nilos continued to lavish the dog with attention, murmuring indulgently.

Then abruptly the hound—Turtle, for reasons Sephre could not fathom—rolled back onto her feet, cocking her head toward the nearest cottage. She gave a small, hopeful yip.

Nilos stood, suddenly tense. He backed away a single step.

Someone was moving inside. Sephre heard the murmur of voices.

Nilos spun on his heel then, darting away with the same speed she remembered from their fight.

By the time the cottage door opened he was gone, fled up the slope to Sephre’s left. No doubt heading back to their shelter.

She ought to go, too. But curiosity held her. Why had he come here? Clearly it was a familiar place, judging by the dog’s reaction. He’d said his brother no longer lived here, but perhaps he had other family still?

An old man stepped out into the dawn, blinking owlishly. “Turtle? What’s wrong, girl?”

The hound came to him, yipping, tail spiraling with feelings clearly too large to be contained by her small body. He rubbed her ears. “Was it a wild boar again? I hope you left it well alone. Eh? What’s this?”

“Grandfather?” Another voice, high and sweet. A girl appeared from inside. “What is it?”

The old man had stooped to pluck something from the ground. Sephre leaned forward, trying to see.

The girl gave a squeal of delight as her grandfather held up the object: a small wooden horse. “Is it for me? Where did it come from?”

The old man let the girl take it from him, his attention shifting to the hillside. Sephre shrank low as his gaze skimmed over her hiding place.

“I...” He coughed, clearing his throat. When he spoke again, his voice was firm. “From the forest nymphs, no doubt. They must be trying to lure you away to join their revels.”

“Ooh!” The girl looked delighted by this possibility.

“But a strong nymph needs a good breakfast,” said the old man. “Back inside now. Go show your gran.”

The girl giggled, disappearing back into the cottage. Her grandfather lingered another few heartbeats, still staring at the hillside. Then he, too, returned within. The door clattered shut. And Sephre crept away, her mind full of questions.

· · ·

Nilos was tending the fire when she emerged from the woods near the shelter. He watched her over the pot of oats. “You followed me.”

Just as well he’d guessed. It spared her having to use the frankly ridiculous story she’d come up with about getting lost trying to find a spot to relieve herself. “Who are they?”

“My parents.” He dished porridge into a bowl for her.

She took it. “And the little girl?” The child looked nothing like Nilos, but perhaps she took after her mother. Though what had the old man said? Go show your gran. No mention of a mother.

A smile crept onto Nilos’s face, like a relentless sun, rising even on a day of mourning. “My niece. Cardis’s daughter. My parents took her in, after Cardis died.”

So the brother was dead. She cleared her throat. “Why didn’t you stay to see them?”

Nilos gave a small shake of his head. “It’s too late for that. I’ve changed too much. They wouldn’t know me.”

The words were a puzzle. Changed how? “Your dog knew you.”

“Turtle loves everyone.” His expression had closed, snapping tight. Maybe he should be the one named turtle.

She stirred her oats. The steam brushed her cheeks. She waited until he hunkered down with his own bowl cupped in his hands. A tactical move. It might make him less likely to flee her next question.

“How did it start?” she asked.

He frowned at the porridge. “Well, in the beginning the world was tumult and void, and Chaos ruled all.”

She rolled her eyes. “I meant collecting the marks.”

“Ah.” He took a spoonful of the oats. “Are you sure? Did you know that in the Bassaran tellings, Chaos births five children, not four? But the first is wicked and selfish, and devours his younger siblings rather than share creation with them. They escape—messily, I imagine—and cast the firstborn into the abyss for all eternity.”

Sephre waited. His humor melted away, leaving only a tense jaw, eyes that fixed on the middle distance.

“About four years ago,” he said. “My brother was living in Helissa. We had word he was sick. By the time I reached the city, he was already gone. His wife was ailing, too, and Gaia was only five, so I stood the tomb vigil alone. That’s when it happened. When he...came back.”

A cloud passed over the sun, the shadow making her shiver.

“At first I thought it was a miracle. Or a mistake. The physicians were wrong. He hadn’t been dead, only asleep. He even knew my name. But it wasn’t him.” Nilos grimaced as he spoke, as if the words were rancid.

“A skotos,” said Sephre.

“He said I was marked. He touched me, grabbed my arm, and—” Nilos paused, setting his bowl down. He tugged up his left sleeve to reveal a familiar seven-sided ring.

“And then?”

“And then he tried very hard to kill me. It was probably a good thing I didn’t know how to fight back then.

” He gave a bitter laugh. “I couldn’t think of anything better to do, except to toss my lamp in his face.

Not quite as effective as the holy flame, but it works, in a pinch. He burned to ash. I killed him.”

She managed to keep her voice steady. “It wasn’t your brother.”

“I know,” said Nilos. “I know, but it doesn’t...” He broke off, shaking his head.

Her heartbeat thrummed in her ears. She gripped her bowl, knuckles pale. “It doesn’t make you feel any less guilty. I...understand.”

He met her gaze for a long moment, then nodded.

“So, that was that,” he said. “I really did collect stories, at first. Legends of the skotoi, of the Serpent. It was only later I learned how to find others like me. The first mark I took was from a little girl, in a fishing village on the southern coast. I was a blundering fool, and nearly got myself gutted and smoked by her family. But with each mark I understood more. I learned tricks to make it easier, like the dreamfast.”

“But why you?” Sephre asked. “What made you so special?”

He laughed. “We all want to think that we’re special, don’t we?

That the Fates chose us for something great?

” He shook his head. “It’s why so many soothsayers can make their living telling people that they’re this or that hero reborn.

But we’re just mortals, Sephre. All we can do is to act based on what we know.

What the world gives us. If I hadn’t been so curious, if I hadn’t started looking for answers, maybe none of this would have happened.

Maybe someone else would be here in my place. Sometimes I wish...”

She held her tongue, waiting. But he swallowed whatever he’d been about to say, and continued, “There were others before me. I found records, most of them useless, but enough to scrape together an understanding of what the mark meant. There was a scribe in Tarkent accused of a series of murders, thirty years back, who claimed it was the work of demons and that she had been trying to save the victims by cleansing them of the Serpent’s mark.

She was executed,” he added, grimly. “I knew that might be my fate, as well.”

“But you didn’t let it stop you. You became a traveling crusader. I ran away,” she said, bleakly. And she’d once been so convinced he was a villain. “Do you know what I did? Before I came to Stara Bron?”

“Do you want to tell me?”

The question took her by surprise. That he was giving her a choice. Her past had never felt like a choice. “I poked my nose into your life,” she countered. “Spied on your family.”

He regarded her steadily. “Maybe you did run. I can’t judge that. All I know is that you didn’t stop caring. That you’re here now. Because you refuse to abandon the boy with the big ears and all the questions.”