# 16 - He's Not The Hero

“So, Ahrimaz,” he says after he quits laughing.  “I suggested to Limyé that you need to exercise and the only people who can really work you out are me, Yolend, Rutaçyen, and perhaps a couple of the Maison du Loup students.”

I, who am usually more articulate than most, was stunned speechless.  “How on earth do you expect to keep me from trying to kill you all?”

“Well, first of all there’s your oath to Limyé, to be his patient.  In his defense, he is horrified by everything about it, except the exercise.  And my beloved, as far as I know, never broke an oath except one given under extreme duress.”

“I keep telling you, I’m not him.”

“So are you a liar then?”

“How dare you doubt—“ I bit my tongue.  “You’re good.”

“So I’m told.” Again that grin.  I found myself watching his lips.

“If the best warriors of three Coalition countries, the war-master of the Maison, and an Imaryan healer with soporifé can’t discourage you from trying to either kill us or break out – against your own sworn word, I again remind you – I’ll have to say that there aren’t many places in this world where you could hide, or try to do the empire building thing.  Apparently that opportunity happened hundreds of years ago.”

He’s right.  The bastard is right.  “So why are you here in Inné instead of licking your Stag Lord’s boots?”

“I am the Stag Lord in this world and the Herd is most effectively ruled by the Does.  Sagari had me give her a child and then told me to get myself scarce, unless a war cropped up.  So I came to be with my beloved.”

“What?” Again, I’m poleaxed.  “You’re the Cylak Stag Lord?”

He held up both hands in that expansive, enormous shrug of theirs.  “I was the warrior who caught the King Stag and rode him home.”

In this world, Ahrimaz and his loves are… all three… Kings in their own lands rather than being slaves to me. This is so wrong.  I’ll think of that later.

“I give my word that I will not try to break away from training, though I swear I will do my best to hurt all of you.”  An imp of the perverse poked me.  “By your King Stag’s antlers, I so swear.”

He nodded.  “I accept in the name of the Doe and her First Fawn.”

I got up and thrust my hand through the bars.  Will he trust me to take it?  Will I trust me to keep my own word?  He looked at the hand, then at me.  Then he rose and took off his gauntlet and took my hand, skin to skin.

I wanted to howl. I wanted to crush his fingers with mine.  All that happened was that I shook hard enough to rap my forearm against the iron bars of my cage.  There was this awful whine coming out of my throat and I fought to turn it into a snarl.  I managed a cough.  He held my hand as though I was his beloved.  Warm. Supportive. Loving. Like velvet over iron because I could feel how strong he was in this world, where I hadn’t… confined him, the way they were confining me.  Tiger and Tigress this is ironic.

I snatched my hand back and tucked it into the opposite armpit.  “We’ll come and get you tomorrow morning,” he said.  “And the war master intends to whip you into shape again quickly, for your mental health, and ours.”

I managed a nod.  The war master’s name I didn’t recognize.  Not one of my eerie ghosts from another world.

*

Sleep well, my child. Sleep sound.  You are approaching a breaking point and will need your strength.

“Who are you?”

“You know.  Deep in your blood you know me and have from before the moment you first drew breath.”

“But I really want a name.”

“Of course you do.  Humans.  Namers.  You have to clip the infinite into pieces so that you can comprehend them.  But you can actually comprehend the whole if you let go of yourself.”

“That makes no sense.  I have to protect myself.”

“It is ego speaking.  And the wail of the infant below that.  It becomes the ultimate safety.  Your father used pain to lock you in ego and id, tie your intelligence, your passion and your compassion to agony.”

“Tell me something I don’t know, Darkness.”

“That’s a good name for me.  If you’ve been in the desert under the God’s Brutal Eye, I come as a blessing.”

“No. I’m not a witch. I’m not I’m not.  I call Fire, not Water.”

“I am only allowed to protect you from Fire so much, my child. Your brother drags the flames away from you, in both worlds.”

“You know about both worlds? How?”

“I am focused on these two as the source of contagion.”

“Who is ill?”

“God.”  I am rocked even though I long to rend these loving arms, long to bury myself in them and be safe from pain, both at the same time.

“He’s dying, you said.”

“No longer.  Your family’s prayers are powerful… and your other self is healing the other world.”

“NO NO NO!  He’s not better than I!  He’s not the hero!  I am. I have to be.”

“You are the hero, my child.  Everyone is.”