Flight of the Renshai

CHAPTER 37

Saviar stroked through an awkward parody of yrtventrig, holding the last pose hopefully while Subikahn paced in an angry circle around him.

"No! No! No!" Subikahn knew his own frustration had to mirror Saviar's. It pained him to see Saviar's discomfort so plainly displayed. Maneuvers he had once performed to near-perfection had become tight and graceless. "Where's the fluidity? Where's the power?"

"It's coming," Saviar promised.

Subikahn nodded stiffly. He could not deny that Saviar had improved to a great extent in one short week, regaining more than half of his strength, a hefty dose of stamina, and most of his agility. Still, it drove Subikahn near to madness to see his capable brother forced to regain lost ground rather than progressing toward ever more significant achievements. "Again!"

"Again," Saviar agreed, launching into the Renshai maneuver without a hint of the animosity he had sometimes shown their torke. They both knew that the more time he spent with his swords, the faster he would return to his former glory. His last performance would not have satisfied the least discerning Renshai.

Subikahn glanced up to the grassy hill, where Chymmerlee kept her vigil. She had interrupted them only once, to bring Saviar a ladle of water that Subikahn had slapped coldly from her hand. The look of shock and betrayal on her face had inspired a stab of guilt that Subikahn had kept hidden. He had never apologized, and Chymmerlee had learned to keep comforts, words, and self away until the sessions finished.

This time, Saviar performed a passable version of yrtventrig, his sword capering like a live thing, his feet skipping lightly over weeds and stone, his arm demonstrating the calm fusion of deadly quickness and power that belonged to Saviar alone. It was not his best performance; if he were fit, it might have seemed a bit lazy and notably slow. However, the creases on his sweat-streaked face made it clear to Subikahn that Saviar had done the best he could currently manage.

"Not bad," Subikahn admitted.

Saviar beamed, which caught Subikahn off guard. He was not trained as a torke, and he had only once considered his twin something other than an equal. That lapse still haunted him, and he had spent all of Saviar's recovery atoning to his sword.

"We're done until after supper."

Saviar dutifully sheathed his swords. "You're sure?" His gaze strayed toward Chymmerlee, as Subikahn's had moments earlier.

"I'm sure."

Saviar remained in place. He clearly had something to say.

Subikahn did not rush it. He checked over the perfect edge of his sword, delaying until his brother managed to work through his reluctance.

At length, Saviar said, "Do you… like her?"

"Her?" Subikahn followed Saviar's gaze. "Chymmerlee?"

"Yes. Do you like her?"

It seemed a nonsensical question. "Of course, I like her. She saved my brother's life."

"Yes." Saviar moved with restless dissymmetry. "But when I say 'like,' I mean-"

Subikahn finally got it. "-desire?" he suggested. "Lust? Do you mean do I want to thump her?"

Saviar's cheeks flamed. "Um… that's not exactly… I mean… I just…"

He's still a virgin, Subikahn realized suddenly. Up until this year, so was I. "I'm sorry, Saviar. I shouldn't have been that crude." He added reassuringly, "Don't worry. I'm not interested in her… that way." He could not help asking, "Are you?"

"I think…" Saviar did not look at his twin, still blushing. "I think… I might be. How… how do you tell?"

How do you tell? Subikahn had never considered his emotions in physical detail, but he tried for Saviar. "Do you want to be with her nearly all the time?"

Saviar nodded.

"Does her every look, every touch, every smile usurp the rest of the world for that one moment?"

Saviar's brow knitted in thought. "I-"

"Do you want to…" Not wishing to further embarrass his brother, Subikahn softened his question, "… kiss her?"

"I already did," Saviar admitted, the flush still clear on his face. "Her lips tasted so good, so… familiar."

Subikahn placed a hand on his hip in mock sternness. "Don't you think you should have asked me about my feelings for her before you kissed her?"

"I… I… suppose. I'm… I'm sorry… I…" Saviar's eyes narrowed. "I thought you said you weren't interested."

"Not interested in her." Subikahn smiled. "I'm still perfectly interested in teasing you."

"Funny."

"And it's no wonder she tasted familiar.You know, while you were 'out,' we shoved a reed down your throat and she chewed up your food so you wouldn't starve to death." Subikahn waited for a look of utter disgust that never came.

Saviar's cheeks finally found their normal pale color. "She did that for me? That's so…"

"… disgusting?" Subikahn inserted.

"… sweet. So caring."

Subikahn rolled his eyes. "You like her 'that way,' all right. Have at her."

"Have at?" Saviar gave his twin another irritated look. "You're talking vulgarities again."

"No. Practicalities. Sex is the only real relationship you two can ever have."

Saviar shook his head, one side of his upper lip drawn upward. He clearly found the turn of the discussion distasteful. "How so?"

"Because bringing our bloodline into theirs is all the Myrcidians really want from us." Subikahn turned away, not wanting to see the disappointment on his brother's face when he pointed out the only viable truth. "They know we can't throw spells, so we're useless to them in that regard. We can help strengthen and vary their line, I suppose; but we'll also further dilute it. Only you and I know we don't actually have a trace of the magical blood they're expecting from us."

"I've been thinking about that-" Saviar started, but Subikahn broke in.

"No, Saviar, it's not us giving off that aura. It's just the sword they're detecting."

"Is it?"

"Yes." Subikahn did not want Saviar deluding himself for love. "I haven't seen a 'glow' since I gave it to you. I could see them plainly while I held it, whenever they used magic."

"But Renshai have interbred with other peoples they conquered. Maybe-"

"Maybe some Renshai carry the blood of Myrcide. Maybe. But it's not likely to be us. Mama descended from the line of Modrey, the most pure-blooded Renshai." Subikahn shook his head. "I'm sorry, Savi, but Kevral Tainharsdatter was Renshai through and through. And, if the mages of Myrcide ever find that out, they'll run us through and through." He mimicked a sword thrust into each of their guts.

Saviar did not argue, though they both knew death by Myrcidians would not come in the form of a sharpened weapon.

Subikahn sighed loudly. He knew the time had come. "Savi, there's something I need to tell you."

Saviar looked at him brightly, all interest. The seriousness in Subikahn's voice had clearly not escaped him.

Saviar had no memory of the events preceding his coma. Subikahn had told his twin that an attack by Northmen had resulted in the wound in his thigh. The lie had slipped past his lips without forethought or intention. When it came time to admit his own hand in the wounding, the words would not come, his mouth would not allow him to speak the truth. "You still remember nothing of the day you got hurt?"

"Nothing," Saviar said.

"So you don't remember… our duel?"

"Duel? We dueled?" The skin around Saviar's eyes crinkled. "You mean spar, don't you?"

Subikahn did not wish to argue semantics. "Spar, then. What made it a duel to me was that we had a wager riding on it. If I won, you would stop bothering me about my 'secret.' If you won, I would reveal it."

Saviar nodded sagely. "Ah! So we were sparring, dueling if you wish. So that's how the Northmen caught us off guard."

Subikahn did not disabuse his brother of that notion, nor did he confirm the lie. He preferred Saviar go to the grave believing a stranger had inflicted the wound that nearly killed him, not for his own sake but for Saviar's. His twin had already talked about his disappointment in their younger brother, in their mother, in his grandfather, and, most especially, in his father. Saviar had one family member left to believe in, and Subikahn would not betray that trust, no matter how wrongly given. They had both acted with childish bravado, foolishly. The guilt for that mistake was Subikahn's alone to bear.

However, Subikahn refused to prey upon his brother's memory loss for his own gain. Though it might shatter their bond as fully as admitting the stabbing, Subikahn had to fulfill his promise. "Saviar, you won that duel."

"I did?"

"And you earned the right to know what happened in Stalmize, if you still want to know." Though he did not expect it, Subikahn hoped Saviar would play gallant and allow the mystery to remain hidden.

"Of course I want to know."

Subikahn glanced up the hill to ascertain that Chymmerlee remained in place, that she had not slipped within earshot as their practice finished. "Remember, it sundered the bond between my father and myself. You know how close we were. Don't you worry that it might do the same to us?"

"No," Saviar said with a matter-of-factness ill-suited to the significance of the moment. "Because you said it didn't involve murder, and nothing less than the deliberate slaughter of family members could pull us apart."

Subikahn huffed out a breath he did not realized he was holding. "All right. Here it is." He paused, not for dramatic purposes but because once he spoke the words, he could not retract them. "My lover…" He glanced at Saviar.

His twin waited patiently, a blank expression on his face.

"… is…" It came out in a rush. "… Talamir."

Saviar blinked. He gave no other reaction. "Talamir?" he finally said. "Your torke?"

Subikahn nodded, still waiting for understanding to sink in to Saviar's mind.

"I don't think there're any rules against loving your torke. Are there?"

Clearly, Saviar did not understand. "I didn't say I loved him, Savi, though I do. I said he was my lover."

"All right."

Saviar still did not seem to understand the significant point, so Subikahn went right to the heart. "Don't you get it, Savi. I thumped another man."

Saviar's brows knitted, not in disgust but in consideration. "What was that like?"

Astounding. Subikahn did not speak the word aloud. Though true, it did not address the actual intent of the question. "It was like… like having sex with another man." It clearly needed saying, outright and clear as finest crystal. "Saviar, I've made love with women, too; and I didn't enjoy it. I greatly prefer men, and Talamir is the only one I want. Forever."

"I get it." The rephrasings and repetition seemed to have done their job. "So, why is this a problem for King Tae?"

Or not. "Why is this a problem…?" Subikahn could not believe his brother's deliberate denseness. "Saviar, aren't you hearing me. I slept with a man. And when I say slept-"

"You mean sex," Saviar finished. "You've explained that. I admit it's a bit unusual, but you're not the first male lovers in history."

"It doesn't bother you?"

Saviar's broad shoulders rose and fell. "Why should it? It means you and I won't compete over the same… um… lovers. Right?"

Subikahn laughed, as much from relief as the idea that he could ever contend with handsome, honest Saviar when it came to attracting a mate.

"Like our fathers did."

Saviar had an undeniable point. Tae had had little to offer Kevral compared to Ra-khir, yet she had slept with both of them. Of course, she had chosen Ra-khir in the end.

"So you're not repulsed by me?"

"Often," Saviar joked. "But not because of who you love."

Subikahn smiled, openly, genuinely. Never in all his imaginings had he expected his brother to take the news so well. He had pictured himself justifying, pleading, crying, shouting. This was too easy. Does he really, truly understand what I'm saying? He wanted to gush, to fawn all over his twin, to tell Saviar that no better brother existed in the world. Yet, only the barest portion of his appreciation emerged, "Thanks, Savi."

Saviar dismissed the less-than-effusive praise with a wave. "Thanks for what? Loving my brother the way he is? It's only as it should be."

Saviar made it all sound so simple. "My father didn't see it that way. It's a capital crime in the East, and he's convinced Talamir raped me."

"Did he?"

Subikahn could not make sense of the question. "Did who what?"

"Did Talamir rape you?"

Rage and sadness stirred within Subikahn. He had not allowed himself to dwell on the situation for a long time, focusing all his worry and attention on Saviar. "Of course not."

"Tell that to your father."

"I did. He won't listen. He wants to believe that Talamir took advantage of me, that I'm completely innocent. He thinks if I experience the world, I'll realize Talamir actually did coerce me. That I'm not really a… a bonta."

"A what?"

"A bonta," Subikahn repeated. "It's a vulgar, Eastern term for a man who sleeps with men." The need to explain took some of the sting from the word.

"Bonta," Saviar repeated, to Subikahn's surprise. "Bonta, bonta. Hmmm." He looked directly at Subikahn. "I like it. If I ever have a daughter, I think I'll name her Bonta. Bonta Saviarsdatter."

Subikahn could not help laughing. The term could never hurt him again. "Saviar, you're an idiot."

"Yes," Saviar agreed. "And don't you ever forget it." His smile suddenly wilted; then, as quickly reappeared, broader than before.

"What?" Subikahn demanded.

"I just remembered something. What Mama told me to tell you when she gave me the sword." He patted the hilt of Motfrabelonning. "It didn't make sense to me at the time, and I was so focused on having seen a Valkyrie, on having Mama speak to me after death."

Subikahn held his breath. He had never worried about not getting one of Kevral's swords. She had exactly two; it only made sense for her to gift them to the sons who had attended her death.

"She said…" Saviar paused just long enough for Subikahn to worry that the proper portion of memory had disappeared along with the recollections surrounding their duel. "She said," Saviar started again, " 'Tell Subikahn he will find true happiness when he is true to what the gods made him.' "

Subikahn considered the words for several moments, not wanting to misinterpret his mother's dying message. He thought he knew, but he needed confirmation that he was not just putting the spin on them that he preferred. "What do you suppose she meant by that?"

Saviar tapped his foot, giving his brother a sidelong look. "I think she was trying to say…"

The pause made Subikahn impatient, "Yes?"

"She was trying to say that…"

Subikahn's next utterance held suspicion. He had a feeling Saviar was baiting him. "Ye-es?"

"Get used to being a bonta, because it's what the gods made you."

Subikahn finally let out his held breath in a ragged sigh. "I was hoping you'd say that."

The weather grew cold much more quickly than a change of seasons could explain. Calistin had lost track of time but doubted entire months had passed without his knowledge. The forest gave way to twisted, struggling trees and brush burned by frost. Evergreens predominated, dull-spined and prickly, and the ground lay frozen into hard craters that hampered the footwork of his new sword maneuvers.

Children scurried through the brush, gathering stray bits of wool that clung to brambles and limbs. They stared at the trio as they passed, sometimes gawking at the blazing sword practices, but they did not run frightened nor approach with questions. Soon, Calistin noticed sheep droppings near the bits of wool, then the animals themselves placidly grazing on tough shoots and scraggly nettles.

Treysind dashed up to announce, "There's a town ahead." Ordinarily, interrupting a Renshai's practice meant death or, at least, the threat of it. But Colbey and Calistin went at it so much, it seemed impossible not to catch them during a session or spar. Treysind had taken to shouting from a distance when he wanted or needed their attention. By the time they reached him, he apparently reasoned, they would not impulsively disembowel him in a frenzy of misplaced battle rage.

This time, Colbey took the disruption totally in stride. He ended a complicated demonstration with an abrupt sheathing of both swords. "Ah, yes. That would be Aerin." He gave it a crisp Northern pronunciation: Ah-REEN.

"Aerin," Calistin repeated, breathless from practice. He tried to remember why that name sounded so familiar. His eyes widened in sudden recognition. "As in the tribe of Aeri?" Realization struck like lightning. "We're in the Northlands?"

Treysind and Colbey both laughed, and the elder continued, "We sort of thought you'd realized that when we passed through the Weathered Mountains."

Calistin could only stare. How could I miss a range of mountains? He recalled traveling amidst green hillocks and deep valleys, but he had expected rugged, snow-capped peaks and naked stone. Bearn lay nestled among the mountains, the castle carved directly from the granite slopes, so he supposed the terrain had not seemed strikingly different from normal.

Treysind sprang immediately to Calistin's defense. "When ya cuts through passes covered in green stuff, it ain't that diff 'rinter than normal forests is. An' it ain't like ya gived 'im much time ta look 'round an' enjoy tha view."

None of that mattered to Calistin. He found himself staring at the barren landscape with new eyes. Ultimately, the Renshai belonged here; or, at least, they once did. The tribe sprang from this hostile land at a time when their infants spent their first nights alone outside, to assure only the strongest received benefit of scarce resources. Here, the ancient Renshai lived and died in bloody battles fought against their neighbors. It had become a mantra to the Renshai that they would one day return to the homeland they had not occupied for centuries. "Next year," went a common celebratory prayer, "may we dance in Renshi."

"Where?" Calistin said softly, somehow knowing Colbey would properly interpret the question.

Colbey went right to the heart of the mostly unspoken query. "Renshi used to sit just east of Aerin. Now, some of it belongs to the Aeri but most to Shamir.You will travel right across it to get to Nordmir, which sits even farther eastward."

Calistin could not imagine a better tour guide. "You can show me where my people…" He amended, "Where our people originated. So much history-"

"No, Calistin." Colbey looked out over the Northlands with a clear wistfulness that defied his words. "I can't go with you any farther."

Calistin's heart felt as if it froze in his chest, no longer beating. "But… I… need you. Now most of all."

"No," Colbey repeated. "You never needed me. I just satisfied my urge to assess and interfere."

Calistin supposed the immortal Renshai spoke truth, yet he knew his life would have taken an entirely different turn without their meeting. "How will I ever know if I mastered those maneuvers you taught me?"

"You'll know. And you'll invent the rest and more. You have the drive, Calistin. And you're lucky enough to have the build and natural talent, too."

"But it will take me years."

Colbey laughed so hard, several children looked up curiously from their wool gathering, and Treysind smiled broadly.

Even Calistin could not stop the corners of his mouth from twitching upward. "Am I that funny?"

"Apparently, you inherited at least one thing from me. My damnable impatience. And that, Calistin, is no fair gift." Colbey glanced into the sky with an almost apologetic look. "I suppose it goes hand in hand with practicing oneself into oblivion in a quest for perfection. We cannot wait for anything and find fools nearly impossible to suffer. And it is that very curse that makes it impossible for me to accompany you any longer."

Calistin knew Colbey had been born in Renshi, had lived there for some time prior to the tribe's banishment. He had participated in the long and ancient exodus which had resulted in the Renshai leaving a trail of destruction and devilry through the West and East, earning the hatred of all the peoples of the world. "You're saying you don't want to look upon the world of your childhood?"

"I'm saying," Colbey said slowly, "that I can't. Everything an immortal does on Midgard leaves a mark well beyond his intentions. If I enter a city of Northmen, there will be a battle, and it will not end well for Aerin. I no longer have a right to participate in mortal combat, no matter how much I might crave it."

Calistin supposed he understood, but he yearned for Colbey's knowledge more than anything in the world. Like a drug, it had entered his system and become all-consuming. Nothing mattered but his next practice; it gripped him with all the raw, basic desire of an addiction. "Then I'll give up my battle.We can go back West, and you can train me."

Aside from a pained wince, Colbey ignored the suggestion. He had made his point. He had come merely to talk, and that decision had had consequences far beyond his intentions. "Calistin, I came to tell you something that I never actually said. Every time I broached the subject, we wound up burdened by explanations, in a different place."

Calistin studied his torke, trying to focus on his words rather than his own urge for just one more spar. Colbey's leaving bothered him beyond this one need. Once the elder left, Calistin would find himself with too much time on his hands to ponder all the information dumped upon him. He would have to decide how he felt about his past, his family, his blood. He would have to consider emotions he would rather pack away forever. His very platform, his understanding of reality, would collapse beneath him. "It's about my soul, isn't it?"

Colbey nodded, his expression unreservedly sober. "Your only hope to enter Valhalla comes through the bloodline you otherwise would never have needed to know. Had it not been for the spirit spiders, I would have left your situation as it was, your family foundation solid, and your mind unfettered with concerns for heredity."

Calistin lowered his head, uncertain. He waffled between wishing he had never found out and rage that no one had told him as a child. Once, he had demanded to know why his parents had kept this secret from him; another time, he had berated Colbey for telling him at all. He had a right to know where he came from, yet that knowledge came with pain and burdens for all involved. He realized now that he struggled with the same ambivalence about knowing what to do for his lost soul. "Without a soul, what hope do I ever have of reaching Valhalla? The purpose to which I dedicated myself since infancy, to which all Renshai dedicate themselves from infancy, no longer exists."

"The Valkyrie should never have told you."

Calistin might have agreed, had Colbey not since offered him hope. "But then I would have died worthy and never found Valhalla."

"Yes," Colbey agreed, "and her mistake opened the way for me to help you. Because now, instead of interfering with mortals, I'm only making up for another immortal's lapse. Calistin, I believe your only hope of finding Valhalla is the same way I did it."

"Immortality?" The suggestion confused Calistin. "But you said I'm not immortal."

"You're not," Colbey explained. "Yet."

Guarded hope arose, mingled with confusion. "Yet? Isn't immortality something you're born with?"

"Usually." Colbey glanced at the wool gatherers to assure none of the children came near enough to overhear their conversation. Though Northern, they also likely understood the Western tongue. "Because it's extremely rare, even since the beginning of the world, for immortals and mortals to interbreed. And, of course, you realize even immortals can be killed, they simply don't die of disease or age."

Calistin had never paid much attention to such details, or anything that did not pertain directly to Renshai and swordcraft. "I've heard elves have an end age. That they're not true immortals."

"Semantics." Colbey seemed resigned to the necessary tangents that allowed him to make his point. "Elves live centuries at least, millennia at best. When an elf 's time comes, his soul gets recycled into the body of a newborn. Without a passing, there can be no new elfin life. Cyclical immortality some call it, but immortality nonetheless. The Cardinal Wizards, when they existed, had a similar system. They chose their time of passing, and their souls joined that of their chosen successor, which allowed each to become subsequently more powerful." He winced at some distant memory. "Unfortunately, in my opinion, it also made them more and more crazy. Whether or not the previous Wizards became spiritual guides and assisted with magic, it could drive a man beyond insanity to have the thoughts and voices of others in his head."

Treysind finally spoke, "Sounds like ya gots firsthand 'perience."

Colbey made a noncommittal gesture. If he did, he would not discuss it. "The point being that there's not much history to go on when it comes to mortal/immortal crosses. There are no known examples of Wizards or elves interbreeding with mortals until Princess Ivana."

Calistin grimaced. The grotesqueness of that child had driven every elf but her mother into hiding.

"But, as near as I can figure it, the few of us with a significant amount of divine blood can earn our immortality."

Calistin asked the only question he could. "How?"

Colbey met Calistin's gaze levelly, like a man speaking truth, not stalling or playing. "I don't know."

Nevertheless, Calistin huffed out a loud sigh. He hated social games and nearly always lost them. "You don't know? Or you don't want to tell me?" He added angrily, "Let me guess: you want me to figure it out for myself because that's part of the whole damned process."

Colbey only stared, as did Treysind.

Calistin tried to explain his overreaction, but it only came out sounding more bitter. "Look. When it comes to battle, I'm the…" He bit off the word that usually came next: "best." He could not speak it in front of Colbey, who had already shown himself to be the superior warrior. "… one you want," he finished lamely instead. "But I'm ignorant about a lot of other stuff. Even simple things. I just never…"

"Had the chance to learn it?" Colbey suggested. "Never had the need?"

"Yes," Calistin snapped defensively. "It's the only way to become the best at something. To live it from sunup to sundown and into your dreams. Because every moment you're eating, sleeping, or engaging in unnecessary conversation or entertainment, you're missing a chance to improve your skills. And time is one thing you can never get back."

Colbey bobbed his head thoughtfully. "Thank you, Calistin. I can't say I haven't lived those very words at certain times of my life. But I do hope you spared some time to learn the Northern tongue, because you're going to need it for the next few weeks or months." He pursed his lips, "Unless, of course, you intend to walk into the first tavern you see and announce your tribe. Then, I can virtually guarantee you won't need to know any other words."

Calistin snorted. "I can handle myself against dozens of Northmen."

"But eventually, the hundreds that follow will overcome even you. Is that how you want to die?"

"It's how every Renshai wants to die."

Colbey did not say another word, but his brows slid upward.

Treysind's face revealed all the emotion the others did not. His features creased in agonized worry, and he wrung his hands in frantic circles. "If ever' Renshai wants it, how's come they don't jus' all do it?"

"Yeah," Colbey said taking up a position directly beside Treysind. "How's come they don't?" Although he mimicked the boy's speech, he did not do so in an insulting manner, and Treysind clearly took no offense.

"Because," Calistin started heatedly, then paused to consider. As he did so, his mood went from heated to less so, and finally to embarrassment. He felt the warmth move from deep within him to only the surface of his skin. "Because deliberate suicide is only courage if there is no other way."

"Go on."

"If one chooses a course of action solely for the purpose of dying, it… it…" Though Calistin had heard it from his mother and other Renshai, he could not remember the rest of the quotation.

Treysind gave it his own twist. "It's jus' stupid."

"Couldn't have said it better myself." Colbey smiled and winked conspiratorially at Calistin. It was one of his own famous sayings his charges had mangled.

Calistin could not help grinning. It was the first time he and Colbey shared a joke at Treysind's expense rather than his own.

Colbey turned serious almost immediately afterward. "I'll leave you with this: First, don't hurry. With or without true immortality, your divine blood will cause you to age far slower than even the average Renshai. The gods do nothing quickly. Immortality can never be won overnight or with a singular action. It will require you to think, to emote, and to behave in a manner that makes you worthy of Asgard at all times. Competent swordsmanship, Calistin, will not be enough. Until now, your ignorance may have helped you, but-from this point on-it can only hurt."

Calistin licked his lips and closed his eyes, suddenly terrified for reasons he could not wholly understand. His life, once so simple, had become complicated beyond all reason. No longer could he hide behind his strict dedication to his sword. Other matters demanded his attention, and the Renshai no longer tended to his every other desire, obviating his need to think, to consider, to grow. He raised his head to beg reassurance, to ask one more question, then another, to prevent Colbey from leaving him when he most needed guidance. But, when he opened his eyes, the old Renshai was gone.