Healer of Sakkara

Chapter 9 - Revelations

"I am carrying you to your room, of course."

"Put me down! I'm perfectly capable of—"

"Neglecting yourself to the point of death, I know."

"Thanis!"

"I suggest you be quiet and stop struggling. We are drawing stares."

Beyond the echoes of Iksthanis's footsteps, Zenír heard whispers and murmurs of alarm and concern as they passed through the more populated areas of the great dwelling. He turned his face against Iksthanis's broad shoulder and shuddered with mortification and suppressed rage, but held his peace until they reached the privacy of his chambers.

As soon as he heard the door fall shut, he let loose.

"Set me down immediately!" he hissed.

"As you wish," Iksthanis said, but did not comply until he had crossed the room to Zenír's bed, where he put him down with infuriating carefulness.

"Don't touch me," he snapped, shoving the other man away.

Iksthanis backed off.

"Very well. I will leave you to rest. Meanwhile, supper will be underway by now. I will bring yours up. There's a choice tonight: mushroom and barley stew, or tomato soup with bread. Which do you prefer?"

"I can get my own damn meal. I am not an invalid."

"You are angry," Iksthanis stated after a pause.

"How perceptive of you to notice."

"Why?"

"Because you are too high-handed, Thanis!" Zenír shouted, losing his temper at last. "If I need your help, I shall ask for it; in the meantime I shall ask that you kindly—"

"But you won't," Iksthanis broke in.

"What?"

"You won't ask for help. You will endure, and suffer patiently, as if it is your desire to be punished by fate."

Zenír stood faster than was good for him, swayed on his feet and was forced to sit back down. He waited, expecting to hear an 'I told you so,' but Iksthanis said nothing and remained where he was.

"You have no right to judge me," he whispered, his throat too tight for normal speech as he found himself unexpectedly close to tears. "Or to pity me."

"Is that what you think?" Iksthanis sighed and approached once more, but kept his hands to himself. "I do not pity you, Zen. I love you. I thought you knew as much."

Zenír wiped hastily at his eyes. Perhaps he did need to eat something. "Since when?"

"Do you remember the night you sang your way out of that bar fight in Holt's Den?"

A laugh that was more of a sob escaped him, and Zenír wiped his eyes again. "You started that fight, if I recall."

"No, the man who tried to cheat me at cards started it. I didn't know the bastard had a troll. Anyway, it was later that night, once we were away and safe, that the truth first came to me in as many words: I love him."

Zenír's amusement faded, taking his anger with it and leaving a strange, soft sadness in its wake. "But that was years ago," he said.

"I did not dare imagine you felt the same," Iksthanis admitted. "But recently, I began to hope..."

"Hope is an evil thing," Zenír said, bitterness twisting the corners of his lips. "It leads to disappointment and despair."

"Am I to be disappointed, then?" Iksthanis asked quietly.

Zenír swallowed, lost a few more tears, and shook his head. "Do you remember that winter when we passed through Mirforth on the way to Edraxis? You saw those boys toss a kitten in the river, and you dove right in after it, despite the ice. Then you kept it warm and well-fed until we found it a home. That was when I fell in love with you."

"But that was..."

"Long before the bar troll, yes."

"Zenír..."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry," Iksthanis said quietly, sitting at Zenír's side, close but not touching. "Just tell me why. I feared to jeopardize our friendship, but surely you must have noticed how I care for you. Why did you never let me suspect I had a chance for so long?"

Zenír's breath caught in his chest. He felt as if he was about to step off a ledge without knowing how far he would fall. He wished with all his heart he could back away from it, find some other way down from this precipice, but he no longer had the privilege of pure self-interest. If he was right about what his dreams hinted at, and if he'd correctly interpreted the visions he'd received through the Dweller writings, then there was far more than his own heart at stake.

"Have you heard of the Archdeacon of Antara, Valentim Di Hespera?"

"Heard of him?" Iksthanis's voice lifted a little in surprise. "Of course I've heard of him. The man is a zealot — the embodiment of everything wrong within the Temple these days. If it were up to him, every man, woman, and child with a trace of magic in their blood would be burned alive. He was stationed in Pyrr during the Purge, if I remember. "

Zenír nodded. "Some twenty years ago, yes. He practically led it."

"He was responsible for the blasphemy laws in Edraxis, too. Anyone who spoke against the Temple could lose anything from a few coins to their head. Only those in good standing with the Temple could own property and run businesses. How do you think I ended up smuggling goods under a pirate flag?"

"Indeed," Zenír said.

"And don't get me started on his 'morality' teachings. If he had his way, the only pleasure to be derived from life would be the sweet release of death, and all the while, his coffers swell with the coin of 'true believers.'"

Zenír inclined his head. "That is he."

Iksthanis spat. "A pox upon him and his spawn. May they all suffer ten-fold. But why do you bring him up now?"

"Because war is coming to Sakkara, and if my second sight is to be trusted, then I think he's at least partly responsible for it." He took a breath and shut his eyes, though it did nothing to shut out the memories playing in his mind. "And... because he is my father."

For a moment, Zenír imagined he could have heard the beat of a gnat's wing, it was so quiet. Then Iksthanis got up and left the room, and in the crushing silence that took his place, Zenír remembered what it was to be alone.