Dawnbringer: A Forgotten Realms Novel (42 page)

Very well, he thought, following Tamack as he led him through the twilight over the foothills to the habitation that would soon be his.
The gods do nothing without reason
. He heard Lakini’s voice in his head, Lakini who had chosen promises made to mortals over his friendship, who maintained a foolish faith that her existence was anything but a cruel joke. She had betrayed him and would pay the price. In the meantime, he would acknowledge a kernel of truth in what she said, ignorant that it would destroy her.

If the gods had a purpose in condemning him to a lifetime as a rakshasa, doomed to be born a demon again
and again, he would twist the curse into a gift. He would find his place and cultivate his Powers. He would serve no master but himself.

The gods would regret this poisoned gift.

When Lakini left the stables, she took the descending path that led away from Shadrun, not giving the buildings of the sanctuary a glance. She walked down the mountain and out into the world, paying no mind to where she went. Sometimes she walked alone. Sometimes she fell in with other travelers.

One evening, she came upon a group of horse traders stopped for the night and preparing their dinner. They called on her to join them, and so she turned aside, happy for the companionship this time.

She watched while one started the fire for the stew.

“Watch this,” he said.

He drew a box from inside his pocket and took out a twist of paper. He flung it onto the kindling, producing only a sad puff of smoke.

The others laughed.

“I’ll fetch my flints,” said another.

“Wait,” said the man with the box, taking another twist and flinging it in its turn. This time the paper blazed, and a good fire flared up at once.

“Always a couple duds in the bunch,” he said with satisfaction. “But they’re worth it.”

She stood watch all night, not needing to sleep. Before the sun rose, the cook woke up to start the breakfast and Lakini wandered away, through the meadows starred with yellow and purple blooms, past where flat slabs of sandstone thrust at an angle from the soil. Past these she found the soft purple of foothills at sunrise and stood, unmoving, taking it all in.

Dawnbringer
, she thought.

The edge of the horizon looked like a transparent bowl filling with liquid gold. The sight warmed her before the actual rays of the sun could heat the night-chilled air. The great mechanism that made the world and all within and all without it cycled round and round, like all she had been and was going to be, born again and again like each day that dawned over village and ruin, city and sea, army and gravestone, rock and jewel.

Many thanks to Susan Morris for her inspiration and Mark Sehestedt for his patience, to Martin and the girls for their love and understanding, to the readers for reading, and to Pastor Nelson for not making me write the sermons.

Samantha Henderson is the author of the Scribe Award-nominated Ravenloft novel
Heaven’s Bones
, and her short stories have been published in
Realms of Fantasy, Strange Horizons, Fantasy
, and the anthologies
Running with the Pack, Steampunk II: Steampunk Reloaded
, and
The Year’s Best Science Fiction & Fantasy
. She is the co-winner of the 2010 Rhysling Award for speculative poetry. For more information, visit her website at
www.samanthahenderson.com
.