92

The Naming

3 Months Later

Candle stood before the bronze, nervously tucking her curls into the intricate braid that was woven into her hair. She turned her head this way and that, trying to decide if it was neat enough.

"Nervous?" asked Delen, from the doorway. "Here, I brought you some tea, you should drink something. They are all waiting."

Candle gulped, and nearly scalded her throat.

"I'm ready," she said.

"I really don't know why you are nervous. There is nothing you can do to mess this up."

"Easy for you to say."

"How do you mean?"

"You were a baby when you got your Name."

"You might have grown a bit," said Delen, "and you might spend half your time as a dragon but you are still a baby. Make no mistake." She grinned and hugged Candle, who huffed, half in amusement and half in annoyance, trying not to disarray her curls. The dress she was wearing felt strange. She had never worn anything like it. It came down to her ankles and floated around her as she walked. The fabric was black with silver embroidery that reminded her of a starlit sky. She ran her fingers through the skirt and wondered how much it would get in the way if she needed to put a dagger through a wight's heart. With some regret, she decided it would not be practical attire for every day, no matter how glorious it made her feel.

"What name did you choose?" Delen asked. Candle laughed and shook her head.

"You'll have to wait and see," she said. "You know it's bad luck to tell."

"Pfffft," said Delen. "Only you could worry about such a thing after surviving a demon possession. I'd say you have used up your quota of bad luck for one lifetime. But it's nearly time."

They walked down the stone corridors and a flight of steps, exiting into the fell. The Temple of the Sages was tucked into a steep ravine and the shadows were deepening already. It was nearly twilight. It was cool but not cold, but Candle shivered anyway, nerves eating her up from the inside. Further down the path tables and chairs were set up. A slight autumn breeze teased its way through the jugs of drink and plates of food placed on a large table for the after ceremony festivities. At the end of the path, Candle could see figures gathered in the dying light. She swallowed. They were waiting for her.

She took a step forward along the path lined with silver trees, her feet crunching on the leaves.

"Psst," a voice from above made her jump. A shadow dropped out of the nearest silver tree and turned morphed into the grinning figure of Murmux. "I made you something," he said and pressed a wreath of flowers into her hand. Candle examined it. The flowers were small and delicately formed, perfectly matching the blue of her eyes.

"Thank you," she said, a little overwhelmed. She held quite still as he placed the wreath carefully on her head, and planted a quick kiss on her cheek.

"Come on," said Delen, nudging her, "or you will be late."

Candle hurried down the trail, her breath coming quick and fast. In no time at all, she was standing at the Sage's altar, under the largest tree she had ever seen. The branches swarmed with dancing witch-lights, and their luminescence bathed the waiting faces of all her friends and family with their gentle light. Everyone was watching her in silence. Expectant. The air was heavy with anticipation. Standing in front of that ancient stone slab with the old Sage, Candle was gripped with panic, wondering if it was all a dream, that she would wake from any moment, alone and unloved in a cold tower. But no. It was real.

She felt the twilight arrive in her bones. The convergence of energy shifted as the worlds aligned, the air about her thickened, and suddenly she was surrounded by her Ancestors. The elderly Sage smiled at her and lifted her face to address both the living and the dead.

"We stand here together," she said, "in the sight of our Ancestors both living and passed–" Everyone present looked upwards toward the Highway of Souls. The first stars were already visible, spinning gently on the axis of the heavens. "–to Name this child. She comes to us later than most, but no less worthy. Her patience and Devotions have been noticed and her Ancestors welcome her."

Candle turned to face the crowd, feeling the press of ghostly fingers on her shoulders, the whisper of many kindly voices.

"My love–"

"My child–"

"My sister–"

"May your life be compassionate and full," the Sage intoned. "I Name you, in the sight of these witnesses, Candle Meraud Jowanet Enys."

Before the crowd exploded into cheers Candle heard the sharp intake of Jotham's breath. Then she was crushed under a pile of emotional friends as everyone gathered around to congratulate her. The next few hours passed in a blur of happiness and merriment and it was nearly midnight before she was able to sneak away and collapse against a tree trunk with a piece of cake.

"Very nice," said Locryn. "I was worried you were going to go with something ridiculous and pretentious."

"Always the charmer," said Delen. "Congratulations, Candle. I'm so glad you stumbled into the Ancestors Own that day. Holy Ancestors, has it really been so long?"

"Me too," said Candle. She looked around, putting down her empty plate. "Has anyone seen Murmux?"

"He's over in the glade," said Locryn with a snort. "With that devil child you brought back."

Candle snorted and walked in the direction Locryn had indicated. Delen and Locryn trailed along behind her, bickering. Murmux was nowhere in sight but Zephi was sitting in the glade, her small face smudged with chocolate, and her eyes fixed on the delicate skull of the bird she had been carrying about since the battle. As Candle approached she set it down with a flourish, watching intently. When nothing happened she let out a groan and scowled.

"Why won't it work!" she cried in frustration, looking up at Candle with wide, liquid black eyes. Her lower lip wobbled dangerously.

"I don't know," said Candle, and offered a consoling arm.

"How in the Night did she manage to raise a mountain giant," said Locryn, "when she can't even raise a tiny bird?"

"The Old Man was not dead," said Jotham, appearing from the shadows, "merely sleeping."

He hugged Candle with one arm, and kissed the top of her head.

"Thank you," he said. She grinned up at him. Naming herself for her distant great grandmother felt right. And while Jotham refused to have a crossing ceremony ("She's already gone, what would be the point?") Candle knew he was still in mourning for the sibling he had lost. In truth, for both of his sisters. Candle feared for Jotham's wrath if he ever encountered Hezekiah in the flesh.

"That makes no sense," said Locryn, pensively. Jotham shrugged.

"I am no Necromancer," he said.

"Thank the Night."

"Congratulations on your Name, Lady Enys," said the Mester. Candle turned in surprise. The Mester had not been present at the ceremony, although she had been invited. Candle inclined her head.

"Eisheth," said Jotham, by way of greeting. The two have come to an uneasy truce in the last few months, but Candle still found it strange to see them together. The air fairly crackled with tension even when neither of them was actively antagonising the other.

"Sorry I missed the ceremony," the Mester continued, after a brief nod in Jotham's direction. "I had something I needed to attend to. So? Do you have a Name?"

"Candle Meraud Jowanet Enys," said Candle, trying to keep from sounding too proud. The Mester's lips twitched and Candle wondered if she too was remembering all those months ago when Candle had introduced herself as Meraud. Grandmother Meraud had been delighted when she had informed her, the spirit of the old lady puffing out her chest and enveloping her granddaughter in a ghostly, whisky-scented embrace.

"Very nice," said the Mester. "Easy to remember."

She looked down at Zephi who was still staring fixedly at the tiny skull and the hard lines of her face softened.

"Come here, little one," she said, in fluent Old Teurek. Zephi looked up at her but didn't move.

"Why," she said, in the same language.

"I might be able to help you," said the Mester, pointing at the skull. Zephi's eyes brightened and she bounced over to show the Mester her runework.

Jotham and the Mester both leaned over to look and bumped their heads together. They glared at each other, then both leaned forward to peer at the tiny skull, squinting at the runes.

"Her rune of waking is perfect," the Mester said. Then she switched to Old Teurek. "This rune needs to connect." She pointed a finger, tracing the offending line. Zephi carefully connected the lines with a slow careful stroke of her blade. There was a hush as everyone stared at the skull, cradled in Zephi's hand. Only Candle saw the spirit darting through the trees. A second later the tiny skeleton assumed the ghost of a body, its wings flapping in an unfelt breeze. Zephi crowed in delight as the ghostly bird took flight, circling the glade before coming to a halt to perch on her shoulder.

"I did it!" Zephi said, holding up a finger for the spirit to nuzzle.

"Great," said Locryn. "Now we are facilitating the raising of the dead."

The Mester looked a little embarrassed.

"No harm is done as long as the spirit is not bound," she said. "If the bird can choose to return or otherwise. Its will is its own."

"The Sage's might disagree with your philosophy," said Delen, a serious look on her face.

"It would not be the first time," said the Mester, looking guiltily over her shoulder toward the temple. She pursed her lips looking down at the happy child playing with her reanimated bird. "We do need to have a serious talk at some point, little one."

"You know where to find us," said Candle. There was no way she was letting the Mester talk to Zephi on her own. Her fist curled over the scar on her palm. The Mester looked surprised but then nodded towards Candle before taking her leave.

"Where is Murmux," Candle wondered aloud.

"He's back there," said Zephi, looking up from her bird. She sniffed disapprovingly. "He's high."

"What?"

"How?"

"I gave him some moonsilver," said Zephi, touching a pale finger to the tip of one of her horns.

"What in the Night for?" said Candle and Jotham at the same time. Zephi shrugged, turning away. "A project. He said he would make me a pet. But I don't need one now, I made one for myself." She smiled proudly at the little bird which fluted soundlessly on her palm and flapped its translucent wings.

"Murmux?" said Candle, walking into the trees. "Murmux? What are you doing?"

She found him sitting on the ground with his back against a large silver tree.

"Hey!" he complained, shielding his eyes from the witch-light. "Too bright!" She dulled it to a glow and looked at him. He was sitting, staring intently at his arm, a silly grin plastered on his face.

"Murmux? What are you doing? Are you alright?"

"Candle, is that you?" He looked up at her, his eyes unfocused. "Why are you looking so different today? Pretty. I mean you are always pretty. I like your dress, I wish I had one just as nice. Ow!"

He stabbed himself in the arm with a needle.

"What are you doing?" asked Candle in alarm, kneeling down beside him. He was fiddling with a little dish which held a shimmering concoction of what seemed to be moonsilver and blood. She moved to make sure she was standing downwind and covered her nose.

"High," said Zephi. "I told you."

"You," said Murmux, "are just jealous cause you are not Candle." His eyes glazed over. "Really everyone is looking very beautiful today." He squinted at his arm and then dipped the needle in the mixture again. "Ow. I'm not doing anything."

"You are clearly doing something."

He stared at the air in front of him blankly for a few seconds and then seemed to recollect her presence.

"I miss my tattoos," he said. Leaning closer Candle could see the beginning of markings on his arm.

"After all the effort we went to kill the Queen?" she said, aghast. "You are just going to rune yourself up again?"

"No, no." He giggled. "Of course not. Don't worry so much! I've never known such a person for worrying over every little thing. Ow."

Murmux looked up and saw her frown. "It's my own blood," he said as if this explained everything. "It's fine. So I am bound to myself..."

"That makes no sense."

"And I'm not making runes. Ug, I've had enough runes on my skin for a lifetime. I never want to be a slave again."

"So what are you–" she peered closer, "–drawing?"

"Something else. You have a lot of questions. Can't you see I'm trying to concentrate?" He blew her a kiss and then looked down at his half tattooed arm "We'll see if it works," he said, more seriously.

"Oh my giddy Ancestors," said Delen from across the way.

Murmux looked up and started as if seeing Candle for the first time. "Has anyone ever told you, you have remarkably pretty eyes?" He leaned backwards, and missed the tree trunk "Zephi! Look at her eyes!"

"I've seen them," said the little girl, unimpressed. "When will she be ready?"

"She?" asked Candle.

"My pet," said Zephi, as if that explained everything. Candle turned her head to get a better look at the tattoo Murmux was inking on his forearm. The outline of a small creature was curled around his bicep.

"Is that a –"

"An aardwolf pup!" cried Zephi happily. Candle had seen aardwolves in the fell. One of the few mammals that could survive the continuous presence of the twilight spirits, aardwolves were nocturnal predators with teeth that could crush a skull. The pups, however, were surprisingly sweet and fluffy.

"That can't be healthy," said Locryn.

"I have no idea," said Delen, helplessly. "I've never met anyone quite like Murmux."

"Thank you," said Murmux. "Right," he said, suddenly all business. He laid down the needle and flexed his arm. They all watched in fascination as the ink tattoo of the aardwolf shimmered and settled into his skin as a black outline. It glinted silver where it caught the light. "Come on, little one," he said, coaxingly.

Everyone watched. Candle's breath caught in her throat, although she wasn't really sure what she was waiting for. Then the lines on Murmux's skin stirred. They bulged, and wriggled, and then in one smoothing rippling movement detached from his skin to solidify in the air. Candle gasped as it coalesced into the shape of a small, fluffy aardwolf, as real and substantial looking as any of them standing watching. The little creature stood there, uncertainly, smelling the air with its black snout and watching them with dark, inquisitive eyes. Large, pink, bat-like ears protruded from each side of a pointed face. Its fur was tawny grey, with well-spaced black tiger stripes. A great tuft of black hair stood up along the ridge of its back like a Mohawk and its tail was as fluffy as a summer cloud.

"Nxi!" cried Zephi, holding out her hands. The aardwolf sniffed her outstretched fingers, and hesitantly went over to her. The pup turned in a circle to look at everyone with wide eyes and then settled down next to Zephi. Candle wasn't sure who looked more content the wolf or the girl. Jotham appeared in the glade suddenly, and the magical creature shot through the air and dived into Murmux's arm. She sank into his skin and the outline of the wolf appeared once more. The lines squiggled and drifted fearfully around to the back of his arm, where they became once more an unmoving tattoo.

"Look what you did!" cried Zephi.

"Oaf," said Murmux, glaring at Jotham. He patted the tattooed outline, making murmuring noises, clicking his tongue. "She'll come back soon," he said to Zephi, "once she gets used to the noise."

"What did I do?" asked Jotham, spreading his arms wide.

"Nothing," said Candle, patting his arm. "Come on, let's go and find some cake."

THE END of NIGHT NATION

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Ansel, Candle, Jotham and the rest will return in Dawn Watch, coming um at some point.