Total pages in book: 247
Estimated words: 242728 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1214(@200wpm)___ 971(@250wpm)___ 809(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 242728 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1214(@200wpm)___ 971(@250wpm)___ 809(@300wpm)
My own thirst caught me around the back of the throat, and I longed to leap into the river—to replace fire with water and seek out another element to balance the one that spoke with such warnings.
I went to stand, cursing the lancing pain as the deerskin pressed against my still bleeding mark.
“No, don’t get up,” Solin muttered, treading over his woven mats to a small shelf made of driftwood that he’d told me had been traded with a clan who’d travelled through the grasslands from the Simpin Sea to the west. I’d always like the silvery twisted shapes that reminded me of trapped waves in wood, but now I studied the shelves warily as Solin selected a slim narrow woven box, a folded piece of supple rabbit skin, and a small wooden jar with a stopper wedged in the top.
Carrying all three items back toward me, he hitched up his ceremonial furs, and folded gracefully back down. He tapped my knee. “Face me.”
Syn crawled closer but remained on her belly, her eyes locked on the items Solin placed in front of him.
I did what he asked, blushing as my stomach rumbled with hunger, and a longing to see Darro made my voice curt. “You’re awake, Solin. After three days no less. Your brother will wish to speak to you.” Planting a hand on the bison fur, I went to push upward. “I’m just going to check on Darro. Make sure he’s—”
“You can’t step outside yet. Not until the bind is finished.” His voice was stern, and hands quickly efficient as he opened lids and pulled out stoppers. “You’ve been shown your spirit guardian, and the ashes from the flames that granted such a vision must be tattooed into your flesh, so you can summon their gifts and wisdom whenever you are lost. I must also scribe you with the Fire Reader and Spirit Master’s emblem so every citizen of Quelis will know your new rank and power.”
His chin tipped up; his dark eyes met mine. His braids were as perfect as they had been when he’d snagged my wrist and dragged me into his lupic to perform the trance. His handsome face was unaged from such a long sleep. “Both of those things must be done before the sunrise or sunset following the trance.” He raised his shoulders in a half-hearted shrug. “In our case, both blessings must be scribed before the sun beds into the earth. Which means we don’t have much time.”
Scooting closer until our knees touched, he eyed up my deerskin dress as if seeing it for the first time. Which he was. I’d entered the trance wearing nothing but ash and oil symbols. His eyes narrowed a little, but he didn’t mention my new clothing. He merely cast his attention over me and asked, “You can decide where you will wear your spirit guardian. Tell me where you’d most prefer it.”
My eyes once again went to the closed entrance, fear thick that Darro still hadn’t woken, even with a healer’s help. Sighing, I looked at Solin’s own spirit mark on his right hand and wrist. I studied the careful lines and swirls closely, but, just like all the other times I’d looked, I couldn’t make out what it depicted.
“It’s a wasp,” he murmured, holding out his palm and revealing the thin banded body and hooked stinger of the angry cousin of a bee. Its wings were what feathered over his hand and up his arm, larger than any ordinary wasp, strong while flimsy, solid while fragile.
I sucked in a breath, meeting his eyes.
He gave me a gentle smile. “Yet another reason why you were always meant to be mine.” He looked away and pulled out a thin rod of wood from the narrow box. It boasted a wicked sharp bone awl, spliced into the end. The awl had been carved with a channel, thick on top and thin on the nib, ready to feed fire-ink into the wound it would leave behind.
Reaching to the side where bowls waited for stews and dinners cooked on the fire, Solin scooped a bowl through the cold ashes, then poured liquid oil over them from the wooden jar.
Looking up, he stirred the mixture with his forefinger, saying softly, “I was blessed with a mate when I was very young. Well before I stepped into my gifts and calling. She was the best weaver in the clan and incredibly kind and gentle. We bedded each other many times, but no younglings were blessed. After so many years of trying, the fire finally came to me and raised me to my true purpose. Our previous Fire Reader, Tral and my’s father, was dying, and his power siphoned to me. The clan had been waiting to see who would be the new Spirit Master and who would be the new chief. I’d hoped Tral would inherit the fire’s true gifts, but it was me they deemed most worthy. The night I was initiated was the night my mate left with a wanderer who’d been staying with us, leaving for Karfe and a new life.”