Ironhand (Taurin's Chosen Book 2)

dead. Tears leak from under her eyelids.
“He was… a brave man,” I say, feeling clumsy. “I think—I think I would’ve someday wanted to call him friend.”
“My… brother…” she breathes out.
I sit back on my heels, trying to see a resemblance between my memory of Daral’s face, and the one Flutter now wears.
I wait for her to speak again, but she’s already asleep, tear-trails shining on her cheeks.
There’s an eilendi at my shoulder. “We will take her away from this desecrated place, to heal in the Light Wells. Come, she needs rest.”
Outside, Mehmet meets me and we both look across at the ruin of Malaki Crater. Highwind soldiers and Deep Night creatures are either gathered in groups or amble aimlessly under the hawk-eyed stares of the baradari.
“What will you do now?” he asks me.
I jerk my chin towards the prisoners. “Take them home.”
“And after that?”
I shrug.
Mehmet hesitates. “There’s always a place for you at my campfire.”
“I—thank you. But,” I look up at the sunset-stained sky, “perhaps it’s time for me to find my own home.”
Two years later
 
I’m wiping slates and sorting chalk in the one-room school-house when Mera peeks in. “Excuse me, miss.”
I glance up and smile. Mera’s one of my brightest students. She reminds me of a bird with her quick, flashing movements, inquisitive eyes, and sleek, round-cheeked head.
“Sheep herders have come down from the plains.”
My heart skips a beat, like it always does when I hear this. “Thank you for letting me know, Mera.” My voice is steady and so are my hands, still working away.
She dimples at me and vanishes.
I make myself finish my task. I make myself rise with dignity, put away books and supplies, walk—not run—to the doorway, close up the school house.
I stand on the steps, looking over the town marching down the slope, houses with steep-pitched slate roofs and narrow cobbled streets snaking between them.
Markesh. Sooner or later, anyone who comes off the high plains to bring livestock to market goes through here.
My hands are clenched in the soft cream of my robes. Not the white of the eilendi or the brown of the novice, but something both in between and set apart. I no longer fit into the hierarchy of Taurin’s priests. I don’t know if I ever will again.
For now, I’m content to be Markesh’s only school teacher.
With a sigh, I relax my fingers and smooth the fabric. As always, the look of my own hands gives me a slight surprise. They’re not the long, pale hands of a cloak, nor yet the brown, square hands of before, but somewhere in between the two.
This, too, is something I will have to live with all my life.
I walk down the streets, in between houses leaning toward each other, and find my way to the outskirts of this small town. Even if I didn’t know the way, the stench of sheep and the general commotion would lead me down to the valley.
There’s a well here, and some stony, sparse pasturage for the sheep. The herders won’t stay long; they’re on their way to bigger markets in bigger valleys. Some will travel even as far as Banarkand.
I step over sheep dung, lifting my robes, and search the face of every man. There are grizzled grandfathers, wiry teenaged boys with laughing faces, and men with closed inscrutable expressions.
I look at them, but they don’t look at me, at least not directly. Their gazes slide over my face and land somewhere beyond my shoulder.
That is the way of their people. My status as a representative of the eilendi keeps them from discourtesy, but I have found out the hard way that not a single one will talk directly to me.
Later, I will fetch old Orlo from where he’s slouched over his wine to act as go-between. I’ve ceased grinding my teeth in frustration over it.
Besides, I’m looking for a man who will look me directly in the face, who will answer when I speak.
I’m past the well, the makeshift tents of the sheep-herders, and beyond the gazes fixed on my back. Now there are only sheep, and the steep rise of the plateau beyond them.
Not today, then, either.
I turn, and as I do, my glance catches on a man sitting under a stunted tree, working on some leather.
My breath catches, then comes out in a hiss.
The dog sitting near him examines me as I approach, decides I’m no threat, and turns his attention back to his master. It’s a working dog, wise and guarded, but I sense its affection for its master.
I’m glad of it.
He looks up as I stop, then gets to his feet in a courteous gesture. There’s no recognition in his eyes, just a mild curiosity. His face is still hard—it will never be soft again—but it’s no longer as stark and bleak as it used to be.
His right hand is concealed by a glove that goes under the cuff of his simple shirt.
I want to be dignified but I can’t help grinning like a fool. “Good day to you,” I say, lowering my voice, “Kato Vorsok.”
He tenses, gaze sharpening, eyebrows drawn together.
I wait, and let him take a good look at me.
“Ahhh,” he says. He doesn’t smile, but there’s a softening of his mouth.
“Indeed,” I say.
“What are you doing here?” he says, jerking a chin toward Markesh.
It’s on the tip of my tongue to say, Looking for you, but it’s not time for that. Not yet. “I’m the school teacher here.”
“School teacher.” He tries the term on me for size. A frown deepens between his brows. “Did the eilendi send you away after all? They said—”
I shake my head, cutting off his indignation. “No, it wasn’t them. It was me. I-I no longer belong there.”
“Have you lost your faith?” He’s as blunt as ever.
“No.” I can be blunt, too. “Did you find yours?”
He thinks about it, rubbing his stubbled chin with his left hand. “I don’t know,” he says, at last. “There are times where I feel nothing but a quiet peace,