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Pitied and Purified

Chapter 50

Azrian didn't know how, but she was able to convince Nkwe to leave Clan Poallu with her. He didn't seem eager to travel with her, of course, and looked at her for several seconds as if she were not only insane but also an insane slug that completely disgusted him. Then something in his bitter blue eyes relented, and she knew he would rather leave with her than stick around and watch Natasha be with someone else.

Nkwe naturally seemed to suspect that Natasha had asked Azrian to take him with her. Azrian knew because the thought was ever floating on the surface of his mind. She could hear it alongside all his little worries and fears. He still thought often of Zeinara and his sister. After living with them for years in the forest, they were his family and the only family he had left. Now they were gone. And without them, he seemed . . . lost.

The tribes of the northern realms traveled long distances with small sleighs pulled by teams of wolves. Azrian and Nkwe each stole a sleigh for themselves, taking four wolves for each sleigh, and made haste in the dead of night, flying fast over smooth banks of snow, as the Harbor moon loomed enormous in the sky.

As they rode along, Nkwe would think of Mogethis, and Azrian would hear some of his thoughts, floating away like butterflies escaped through the clasping fingers of a desperate child. He was trying so hard to keep his thoughts contained, but his worries were too loud.

Azrian remembered Mogethis - not because she had ever met her but because she had seen Mogethis in Etienne's mind. During those times when they met in the Halfway Place, Azrian would lay in Etienne's arms, and he would talk about Zeinara, Nkwe, and Mogethis, who were living with him in Wychowl.

As she lay with her cheek on Etienne's chest, Azrian would take his paw and close her eyes, and she would see flashes of Mogethis. Mogethis poking a pouting Zeinara on the nose. Mogethis nearly falling out of a chair drunk, her skirts flying up, papers swirling, and Zeinara running away giggling. Zeinara pranking Mogethis with spiders in her bed. Zeinara emptying a flask that belonged to Mogethis and filling it with water. Zeinara trying to run after one of her pranks was discovered, only to have Mogethis grab her by the tail, yank her back, and tickle her. Mogethis would then hold Zeinara, who would sigh her giggles away and fall asleep in the vixen's arms. Mogethis and Zeinara appeared to have a playful rivalry: Mogethis would fall into long spells of drunken, bitter isolation and would ignore Zeinara completely; Zeinara would play a prank on her, which was really a plea for her attention; and Mogethis would give in.

Mogethis was so beautiful that Azrian might have thought she was sleeping with Etienne if the visions did not make it abundantly clear that Mogethis actually seemed to despise Etienne. She mocked him and defied him at every given opportunity, both publicly and in private. She was petty and vile (sometimes horrifying the slaves by cruelly smacking them across their faces from the opposite side of the room with magic alone) to the point that Etienne's staff and advisors were afraid of her and warned him to send her away. But Etienne always allowed Mogethis to stay. Because it made Zeinara happy.

Azrian also saw many visions of Nkwe and Zeinara. She saw Zeinara running to Nkwe, gleeful and squealing his name. She saw Nkwe smiling and lifting Zeinara into the air. She saw Zeinara sitting on Nkwe's lap as he read to her. She saw Nkwe . . . being a father to Zeinara. Each memory was, of course, from Etienne's perspective, so Azrian could only imagine Etienne had stood by, watching from a distance as someone else raised his daughter, as someone else had her love.

Etienne's memories of Zeinara were not anywhere near as warm. When she was a small child, Zeinara seemed afraid of Etienne. She hated his eyepatch, and anytime she was sitting on his lap, she would stare at it in horror. Being with Etienne seemed to be a chore to Zeinara. They would walk together through the gardens, and she would hold his paw, but her face was always bored. She never ran to him the way she ran to Nkwe. And there were no memories of Zeinara on Etienne's lap as he read to her. There was a rift between father and daughter, and though she didn't understand it then, Azrian thought she understood it now: it was because of Azrian.

Zeinara seemed entirely convinced that Azrian was her mother. That day on the bridge of light, she had been adamant that she must see Azrian's face, that she must learn the truth. Why hadn't Etienne ever bothered to tell his child the truth? Why hadn't he told her about Taiga? Why hadn't he sat her down and explained . . . anything? Azrian supposed it was for the same reason that he didn't read to her or tickle her or spend any time with her: Etienne was sad because he wanted Azrian, and as a result, wound up neglecting his own child.

That she could cause this rift between father and daughter pained Azrian. That she had caused a rift in the world pained Azrian. Aonre was broken and in chaos, and it was her doing. S'pru was on fire, and it was her doing. As she was traveling with Nkwe, she saw S'pru in her dreams, and Nerayn was on her throne in the CrystalPalace, ruling with blood and fire. Nerayn, the female Azrian had trusted to nurse her son, had betrayed her and was wielding Skkye Glass in Maret's name. Maret's name! Azrian had expected Ayni was behind everything, but Maret? There was so much happening at once, Azrian wanted to just sit down so she could breathe. And for the first time in twenty years, she wanted her mother. She wanted Nhlahla.

"That whore is not your mother," whispered a voice in Azrian's ear. Atieno's voice.

Azrian squeezed her eyes shut. "Shut up! Go away!" When she opened her eyes again, Nkwe was looking at her in amazement, but when she caught his eye, he looked away, shaking his head irritably, as if silently bemoaning the fact that he had to travel with a lunatic. He snapped the whip on his wolves and they pulled his sleigh far ahead.

"Do you know who your real mother was?" Atieno hissed. "Our darling father never told you, did he?"

Azrian blinked irritably. "What do you want?"

"What does it matter_what I want?" Atieno growled. His voice was so close, he could have been standing right beside her, but she could see nothing. "Do you want to hear about your _real mother or not?"

"As if you'd tell me the truth," Azrian muttered under breath.

"Your real mother," Atieno said, "was Ainanani."

"Fang Lily?" Azrian repeated. She blinked, savoring the name. She had never known her mother's name - assuming, of course, that Atieno was not pulling lies out of from under his tail.

"Yes," Atieno confirmed, "Fang Lily."

"What was she like?"

"The same old cliché. She was beautiful and wild, a defiant princess whose antics broke her father's heart . . . In fact, you are everything like her. She would be proud."

Azrian glared. "Just tell me --!"

"Tell you what? Why she left you? Why she abandoned you to your precious Nhlahla?"

"My mother didn't abandon me . . ." Azrian muttered, hating that Atieno had picked such thoughts from her mind. If she was honest, she had spent her life believing her mother had, in fact, abandoned her to some old male fox and that Nhlahla had then found her. Nhlahla never told her much about her mother, only that she found Azrian with an old fox who had died of a heart attack. And . . . that her mother had been in love with Nhlahla.

"Your mother died in childbirth," Atieno said softly, and Azrian was surprised by the hoarse sorrow in his voice. "The old fox who helped her give birth to you stole you away in the middle of the night. He received a vision from Ti'uu that you would become a _goddess_and rule on high," he said with malice, and Azrian could hear the jealousy in his voice. "He didn't want the dogs getting their grubby paws on you."

"What happened to him?" Azrian asked.

"He fled with you to the Fens, of course. Where he died, leaving you alone. His soul came through the water of the Valley, screaming for Ti'uu to find you."

"The Valley? The SummerValley?"

"I was in the SummerValley, watching as all of it happened," Atieno explained dryly. "Not like there was much else to do, really. Your life has been _fascinating,_little sister. Watching as Hellene kicked your pert ass was more than delightful."

Azrian's eyes narrowed. "Gee, you're welcome," she muttered under her breath. "At least my pain and suffering_entertained_ someone."

"Most certainly," Atieno returned with a mischievous smile in his voice. "Your mother was watching as well. She reached through, tried to guide you --"

Azrian gasped, remembering the fox who had helped her escape her cell in the Wychowl, the fox who tried to talk her out of creating S'pru. She had spent all these years believing it some guardian spirit, perhaps the soul of a mortal who had grown attached her. There were many such souls in _Celankobi,_and she had been there for quite some time. The spirit had been so beautiful, so sad, so worried for her. That was her mother?

"That was your mother," Atieno confirmed, emerging from Azrian's thoughts. "It's a pity you didn't listen to her. So many had to die because of your foolishness. Tisk."

Azrian glowered at his insults, then peered thoughtfully into the distance. "She's in Skkye then?" she realized.

"Duh. Ti'uu rewarded her suffering with immortality. She lives in Skkye as his bride. . . . as does her lover."

"Her lover?" Azrian gasped. "Is Nhlahla --"

"What? No! Not that milk-cow Nhlahla."

Azrian's lip curled. "Stop insulting Nhlahla! Why do you hate her? What has she ever done to you?"

Atieno hissed angrily. "I tried to kill you so many times when you were a child," he said, making Azrian's lips part in surprise. "I used my power to reach through the waters of the Valley, and as you were swimming, I wrapped the waters like fists around your throat . . . but Nhlahla always found some way to step in right when I thought I had you. She would pluck you from the water . . . or snatch you up just as I had succeeded in making something fall on you. You were lucky."

No, Nhlahla was lucky, Azrian thought. "So you've been trying to kill me all my life," Azrian said darkly. "I'm so shocked."

Atieno chuckled softly at her sarcasm. "Not all you life, dear sister. Once you went to Wychowl, I figured Hellene would do my dirty work for me."

Azrian's face darkened. "Now I see why you were in the SummerValley. You were a prisoner there, weren't you?"

There was a pause, and then Atieno whispered bitterly, "Yes."

Azrian smiled, proud to have finally gotten under his skin. "You were denied Heaven," she said, "and cast down the stair from Skkye. The Valley was sealed off and had been for centuries. So you had no way out. You were left there with nothing to do but spy on me. And probably masturbate."

Azrian could hear Atieno grinding his fangs. "How astute," he said darkly. "Though you will find, dear sister, that the SummerValley is not so terrible a place. I knew true peace there, despite my loneliness. The Valley is open now because our dear_father, in his infinite wisdom, has opened it. And he is a fool. Every shrine with a portal to the place can now send anyone there. Anyone. Your allies _and your enemies. You will be in true danger when you go there. That is why I was to have accompanied you."

"Trying to frighten me?" Azrian said, unimpressed. "I'll do just fine without you," she said, watching Nkwe's back as he drove his sleigh ahead of her, his mane beating back in the wind.

Atieno made a scoffing noise. "Why? Because you have that bitter bitch_Nkwe? He'd betray you at the drop of a _hat. You are nothing to him. Face it, little sister: you are alone."

"I am nothing to him, but Zeinara is everything to him. I can help him find her --"

"And then what? He can't return to Wychowl. You know this. He knows it as well. His life as he knew it is over. Really . . . what has he to lose? If he kills you . . . or simply let's you die . . . he has everything to gain. He blames you for the earthquakes, don't you see it? He blames you for Taiga's death."

Azrian swallowed hard.

"He will slit your throat," Atieno went on quietly, "without blinking. He can't be trusted."

"Who said I trust him? But I need his help. I don't think I can do this alone."

"You can't," Atieno confirmed. "And for that, you have my sympathies."

Azrian snorted. "What?"

"I may despise you, Azrian," Atieno said gently, "but at the end of the day, Nkwe is right: you are my baby sister. I love you and I hate you, I pity you and yet I withhold all mercy, only the way fire can both destroy and purify. Do you know the real reason I was cast from Skkye?"

"Should I care?" Azrian sighed.

"I loved Ayni," Atieno said anyway. "And I loved her the way no male has ever loved a female. Ti'uu caught us together, caught me enfolded in her wings, enfolded in her legs --"

"That is disgusting."

"It was. I did such nasty things to my supposed 'aunt.' They called me a Son of Mercy because Ti'uu was merciful. They believed I deserved a harsh punished. I had slept with my own aunt, after all. But was it incest, really? The gods have no bodies, they have no corporeal form. They are not related by blood, for they have no blood. Fucking Ayni was like a little cloud fucking the larger cloud it broke from. Nothing more."

"So Ti'uu isn't really my father," Azrian realized.

"Not in the mortal sense, no," Atieno confirmed. "He is your father in the sense that he orchestrated your birth. He imitated life to impregnate your mother. You are born of spirit and blood. You are half-god. I was born purely of spirit. I was an immortal, potent and fierce, a prince in the realm of Skkye, proud and respected, free to fuck whom I pleased. I, Atieno the Ravisher! Ayni saw the fire in me, and she knew a true god. She took me to her bed. And it was then that Ti'uu cast me down. He cast me down because he envied us."

Azrian didn't know what to say. After a long pause, she muttered, "He is still our father. And killing your own mother was still terrible, regardless of your pathetic excuses."

"My mother's last words," Atieno whispered, "were begging, pleading my father to show mercy to her son. I was a Son of Mercy, after all . . . Azrian, listen to me . . ."

"Do I have a choice?"

"Don't become my mother," Atieno said, startling Azrian. "Don't let Nkwe kill you . . . don't let Ettoras hold your dying body as you whisper pitifully for release . . . Mohaua . . . she deserved a better son than I. If Ayni's curse should burn you, Ti'uu will stand by. He will not help. As he did not help the others."

"Ayni's curse?"

"Yes."

"What is it? You've spoken of it before. You and Nkwe both, actually."

"He's really kept you in the dark, hasn't he?" Atieno said in disgust. "Very well. When Nadheertia first became the slave of King Antony, he took her for his bride, but he treated her like his whore. He fucked her publicly, on his throne, in his court, before all the dogs, as they knelt before him, stiff with discomfort, trying to ignore the threat of erections that were ready to burst from the panting desperation of it all. Antony tore Nadheertia's clothing off, made her sit on his cock, and fucked her brains out. It was supposed to be symbolic, to show that he had conquered her throne and all that was hers. She screamed, she cried, and nearby, an artist fulfilled his commission, painting a portrait of the rape."

"Why, for fuck's sake!" Azrian burst, so loudly that Nkwe glanced back at her. She dropped her eyes, and Nkwe looked way again.

"Because he could," Atieno said simply. "Ayni was disgusted by it all. She hated Antony and wanted him off the throne. You see, he was merely a reincarnation of Hildrith'el's son, the one who was lost when mortals brought war on Heaven. There are some things you just don't do. Reincarnating your son is one of them. Forcefully pulling a soul out of the Cycle can make things . . . wrong. When Xantu came back as Antony, he was evil. The dogs adored him, of course, and some of his brilliance and kindness still blazed through, but for the most part, his was a reign of terror. At least for the foxes. He despised_them, as if he could remember how they had once trapped and murdered his immortal sister. But he uplifted the _dogs," Atieno said, a sneer in his voice, "and made life Heaven on Aonre for them. Ayni was furious. She tried to replace Antony with her own dogs --"

"The Carringtons," Azrian muttered.

"The Carringtons," Atieno confirmed. "But when Antony refused to marry the big breasted Andalusian bimbo who was shoved in his face, Ayni cursed him, so that any half-fox children he had with Nadheertia would die by fire. She cursed his blood, so that Ti'uu's every attempt to merge dog and fox would fail."

"But that's stupid!" Azrian said at once. "Etienne is descended from Antony and he isn't evil! Why can't she just let him be?"

Atieno chuckled darkly. "You've no idea how magic really works, have you, baby sister? You don't _take back_a curse. You break the cycle."

"How?"

"By doing something different. The curse already skipped you, because instead of marrying Etienne, you ran off and created S'pru."

"That's good then! Maybe I broke the curse --"

"No, you haven't. Have you been listening to me, dummy? You broke nothing. Etienne is still in love with you, so there's still every possibility that you might marry him."

Azrian swallowed. "And if I don't?"

"Ettoras, Azrian. Did you forget your son? The one you forged in dreams? The spirit-child born of the spirit place?"

Azrian stared into the distance as her brother's words sank in. Ettoras had been conceived in the Halfway Place, which was a place of spirits. But that did not protect him from Ayni's curse. He carried Etienne and Azrian's blood.

"I've got to get Ettoras h-home," Azrian said, her voice cracking with fear.

"Now you understand," Atieno whispered to her. "Of course . . . you have to save home first. Good luck with that, by the way."

Azrian glanced at S'pru, which was still burning brilliantly in the sky. "And this has happened before?"

Atieno snorted. "Many times. You aren't the first Azrian by any means. The last one - what was her name -- Ac'thalian. She was brilliant. A sly old cunt. She did much better than you."

Azrian glowered.

"Wormed her way," went on Atieno, "right into Prince Tomas' court, stole his heart, wrapped him around her little finger, drove him mad with love for her . . . and then Ayni sent one of her children to poison his heart against her. Prince Maxwell Carrington. And, oh, he was everything. Handsome, charismatic . . . hung like a horse."

Azrian's lips twisted irritably. "So what happened to Ac'thalian?"

"Tomas killed her, of course. Her and the dog-fox brat they'd begotten." Atieno tisked. "Shame. She was brilliant, I tell you. She ruled as queen of Varimore for many years before her death. Something like thirty. So their child was no child. But Maxwell was a son of Fire. He burned brighter."

"How is that possible?" Azrian demanded. "The dogs would never allow a _fox_to rule them!"

"They would if they thought she was Nadheertia," Atieno said bitterly. "And they did. They bowed to Ac'thalian for many years. Of course, once Tomas senselessly killed her, she was written out of history, and he went on to marry at least eight more times -- buxom, featherheaded bitches who couldn't tie their own laces let alone stab him in the back. But he never quite got over Ac'thalian. Managed to conceive a child with his last wife before he finally strangled her as well."

"What! That's horrible!"

"I know!" Atieno said gleefully. "All those bitches, strangled in a fit of passion --"

"Stop it. It isn't something to gloat over."

"Suit yourself," Atieno sniffed. "The real tragedy lies with Ac'thalian. She and her child were tossed out like yesterday's garbage. I don't think they even have proper graves. Tomas might have had them thrown down the well. Poor queen."

Azrian wrinkled her nose in irritation. "Why do you like Ac'thalian so _much_but despise me?"

"Why, baby sister," Atieno mocked, his voice coming from her other ear, as if he had finally moved, "is that a hint of _jealousy_I detect!"

"No!" Azrian snapped.

"Ac'thalian was brilliant, as I have told you. She discovered my existence and tried to help me escape the Valley. I was going to help her keep the throne. And believe me, with my help, that bastard Tomas would never have harmed her. She was a clever cuss, but our darling father kept her from me. So Ayni's curse prevailed."

"You would have broken Ayni's curse?"

"For Ac'thalian? Anything."

Azrian rolled her eyes. "So why didn't Daddy - why didn't Ti'uu help her?"

"Ask Ti'uu," Atieno said darkly. "When Ac'thalian died, Maxwell Carrington kept on as Tomas' lover - a scandalous thing at the time -- and it was _he_who ruled Varimore for fifty years, pulling the strings of the mad king, who adored him and did almost anything he asked."

"But why send Maxwell? Why not send a female?"

"That's the thing. Ayni has always conceived sons. You never hear about Daughters of Fire, do you? Well . . . there was Hellene. But for the most part, Ayni's Carringtons always conceive males. And even when they are female, half the time they can't conceive. Believe me, she was very bitter that Maxwell was not a female who could bare the child of Tomas. But he did pretty well for his time. Even better than Donica, I'd say."

". . . you speak as if you've been in touch with Ayni."

"I have. The water acts as an open communication in the SummerValley, just as it does in Skkye. You might remember that when Nkwe has stabbed you in the tits and you need your mommy's help again."

Azrian scowled. "Why are you telling me all of this?" she demanded.

"Because dear Father doesn't want you to know. I have to get my kicks somehow, don't I? I'm dead."

"I wish you were deader," Azrian muttered.

Atieno laughed and was silent. He didn't speak to her again.

Azrian and Nkwe traveled for days in silence. Nkwe never asked Azrian if she knew where they were going and didn't seem to care. He stared straight ahead, weary and resigned, and it was just as Natasha had said. He seemed to have given up on ever seeing Zeinara or Mogethis again.

Azrian knew where to go because the SummerValley called to her. It was a place of very strong magic and seemed to be the source for the anti-magic wards that were so heavy on the air. The fact that the villagers still feared Nkwe even with such wards in place aptly demonstrated their deep-seated fear of magic. Magic was a horror story they had learned word for word at a very young age. Magic had been banned for a reason, they were told. Magic was the source of all bloodshed and strife in the south, they were told. Meanwhile, S'pru was more magical than the whole of Aonre, its very trees, oceans, and rivers teaming with magical energy, and it had been more peaceful than Northlyn Harbor for twenty years. But now that she was on Aonre, Azrian looked around, and she asked herself . . . at what cost? Was creating S'pru really worth the cost? Or had the price been too steep? She should have listened to her mother and wondered in shame if Ainanani watched her actions from Skkye and wept.

Had Azrian wanted to enter the SummerValley through a portal, she knew she could not, as NorthlynHarbor had no magic and no shrines. The beasts of the Harbor did not worship the gods and, in fact, ignored them altogether. Azrian thought they seemed happier for it as well. They weren't constantly fretting to appease some god. They lived as they pleased, loving who they chose, hating who they chose, with no gods pulling their strings, dictating their fate, or sending them into battle. The place was completely . . . free. Azrian had always meant for S'pru to be such a place. Instead, the foxes of S'pru worshipped her, and instead of living for themselves, they lived for her. She was their goddess, The Beginning and the End, who protected them from the wrath of the other gods, who protected them from the dogs, who made the forest grow and the sea churn. She was a being to be worshipped, to be adored, and they would never see it any other way.

One evening, Azrian and Nkwe sat around their fire, as nearby, their wolves curled up to rest. Nkwe had prepared a stew from a rabbit he caught earlier that day and they ate it from the bowls that were already packed in the sleighs they'd stolen. They were silent as they ate, and it had been that way since they left Clan Poallu. But tonight, Azrian could tell Nkwe wanted to talk. He kept glancing at her. He would open his mouth, but then he would change his mind.

"What is it, Nkwe?" Azrian said at last. The cold wind lifted, and she pulled up the hood on her bearskin coat. She smiled as she drank from her bowl: the coat still smelled like Prince Tatuk.

"Things are very . . . strange," Nkwe said at last. "I never imagined it would turn out this way. I never thought we'd find Zeinara . . . but I also never thought we would find you. You and that . . . _demon._I am glad the little vixen did what you could not. Even if you punished her for it in the end." He glanced darkly at Azrian and went back to his bowl.

Azrian twisted her mouth irritably. "Was there a point to that? Or did you just suddenly feel like insulting me?"

"A little of both," Nkwe said with the barest hint of a smile.

"I didn't punish Leyta. Atieno took a hold of me. He made me ask for her head. I tried to take it back, but I couldn't convince Tatuk that I hadn't meant it. What was I supposed to say? That I was possessed by my dead brother?"

Nkwe went very still and stared at Azrian. "Possessed?" His eyes narrowed as he realized. "Is that who you were speaking to before?" He snorted and returned to his bowl. "And here I thought you'd finally gone insane."

Azrian looked at her own bowl. "I also see things . . . I see Etienne." She frowned. "I think he's in trouble."

Nkwe snorted and shook his head. "When is that fool not in trouble? I'm surprised you're rushing to the SummerValley," he said bitterly, "instead of running off to save your love. And, of course, completely ignoring S'pru."

Azrian glared at him.

Nkwe drank from his bowl, uncaring.

"How was he the last time you saw him?" Azrian asked, trying to keep the concern from her voice.

"Don't worry, Second Light," Nkwe sneered. "He wasn't pining away for you."

Azrian looked at him irritably.

"Alright," said Nkwe with a shrug, "he was. Beat his breast and everything. Happy?"

Azrian gave a half-smile. "A little." She was surprised when Nkwe laughed. His laughs were always so short and harsh, it was difficult to tell when he was being sincere.

"How will Etienne feel, I wonder," Nkwe said, "when he discovers that all this time, he had a son. When he discovers that you hid this from him."

"Ha. You actually care about Etienne's feelings? And here I thought you hated him."

"No, I pity him," Nkwe returned. "Which is nearly the same thing for me."

Azrian laughed hollowly. "I kept it from him because it was necessary. I don't owe you any explanations."

"The hell you don't," Nkwe said, peering at Azrian with burning blue eyes. "You tore the world apart, Azrian. Or did you forget? You owe me everything. I am not coming with you to the Valley to _help_you. I am coming with you to find Zeinara and my sister." He returned to his bowl, stirring the contents bitterly with his spoon. "The waters of the Valley," he said, "allow one to see almost _anywhere._Even into Skkye itself. I could use them to find her."

"Which her?" Azrian said lightly.

Nkwe didn't look up. "Both." He shoveled stew into his mouth. "So do we understand each other? We are not friends. We must travel together, but we despise each other."

"I don't despise you," Azrian said, watching Nkwe with sad eyes. He looked at up, and she said with a frown, "I pity you."