The Last Hawk

The Last Hawk

By Catherine Asaro

(A novel of the Skolian Empire)

The escort returned Kelric to the AmberRoom the same way they had taken him from it; in complete silence, his wrists locked behind his back, without Deha or her retinue. The journey up the tower seemed endless. He couldn't even use his hands to lean on the rail as he climbed.

Inside the AmberRoom, Hacha freed his wrists. Brusquely she said, “Don't try to leave. An armed octet will be posted Outside at all times.” She turned and walked toward the door, motioning for the others to follow.

Rev spoke: “I'll stay a while.”

Hacha glanced back and shrugged. “Suit yourself.” Then she left with the others, closing the door behind her.

Kelric sat on the edge of the bed. “Is she always that abrupt? Or is it just me?”

Rev said nothing.

“Ekaf took the vow of silence.” Kelric said. “Not me.”

“I have no right to speak with you.”

“Hacha just did.”

“Only because she is now captain of your Calanya escort and Deha has allowed it. But she can't talk with you. Only to you.”

Kelric exhaled. “I don't understand any of this.”

“You can speak with other Dahl Calami,” Rev said. “And with Deha. But not to anyone Outside.”

“You do it too.”

“It?”

“Say Outside as if it were a title.”

“It is,” Rev said. “Those within Calanya are Inside. The rest of the universe is Outside.”

Dryly, Kelric said, “That leaves a lot of people Outside.”

“Yes. You are one of a very few.”

“Great,” Kelric muttered.

Rev sat in a chair. “Kelric, it is considered a great honor among our people.” He stopped. “I should call you Sevtar now.”

“Why Sevtar?”

“He is the dawn god, a giant with skin made from sunlight. He strides across the sky, pushing back the night so the sundgoddess Savina can sail out from behind the mountains on her giant hawk.” Rev smiles. “Deha thought it appropriate.”

“What's wrong with the name Kelric?”

“Kelric isn't Coban.”

“You're right, he isn't. But my name is Kelric.”

“You have a new name now.”

Kelric shook his head. This was getting him nowhere. He ran his fingers over his right armband. Akasi? Deha reminded him too much of Corey, his first wife, stirring ghosts better left buried. Corey had been a well-known figure, a hero of the people. During the long days after her death, at the ceremonies and state funeral, all broadcast to a grieving public, he had stood silent in his black dress uniform, a widower when he was barely twenty-four. On display before everyone, he had kept it all inside, how it tore him apart to lose her. In the ten years since, he had gradually regained his equilibrium. Now Deha came along, throwing everything off balance.

It was safer to thin of other things. He regarded Rev. “I thank you for your speech.”

“It was my honor.”

“I'm glad someone feels that way. I think Llach wants to heave me off a cliff.”

Soft thoughts. Photo by Elena.