* * * * *
Joran looked over at Ky’ara as they rode, wishing there was some way he could help her. Sometimes it felt like their link was all but severed…and then other times he would catch a glimmer of her pain and it would nearly knock him sideways. If only she would talk to Taren about it! To Joran it seemed obvious that the normally enigmatic Keeper cared for Ky’ara far more than for some former love from a life long-past. Stupid girls and their inability to communicate! he thought exasperatedly, but his heart wasn’t really in it. Ky’ara’s emotions were clearly crippling her in a way that made her incapable of addressing the real issue, which was her fear of losing Taren. In a way she seemed to think that if she just ignored it, she wouldn’t really lose him because she wouldn’t know that he’d chosen Myrnai over her…the problem was then she also ignored the very distinct (in fact, Joran thought it was almost certain) possibility that Taren hadn’t chosen Myrnai.
Joran sighed internally and turned his attention back to the path, allowing himself to relax into the state of perfect alertness that would allow him to sense any dangers that may lie ahead. If he couldn’t protect Ky’ara from her own internal struggle, at least he could make sure she was physically safe. The day passed without incident, and as the sun began to set they made camp just inside the forest that stretched from the hills outside the village to the southern edge of Grey Lake.
* * * * *
Lauryn and Sukylar rode into Veré just before midnight two days after Sukylar’s collapse. Blessedly, the streets were quiet and there seemed to be little suspicion at the inn Joran had chosen as their meeting place. The bleary-eyed innkeeper and one of his sons had helped her bring Sukylar to a comfortable room on the ground floor, then left without questioning her. Sukylar lay there silently, barely breathing. He’d regained consciousness only once, just long enough to eat a little soup when they stopped to rest a few hours before sunrise. He’d hardly stirred when she dragged him back onto his horse and set off as it started to get dark. His wounds hadn’t improved at all either: the black stuff was spreading, and it seemed the herbs Lauryn tried were doing little to slow it.
If only Myrnai were here! she thought, not for the first time. There was only so much she could do without magic, and since the wounds were magical in nature, she doubted any of the ordinary cures for infection would help much. She was hesitant to call on an ordinary healer because they were sure to inquire about how he had come by such unusual wounds. Revealing that they’d had a run in with “ghosts” would either make them think she was lying to cover up some illegal use of magic that had gone wrong, or would land her in an asylum. Both possibilities would draw the wrong kind of attention from city officials. She would just have to wait for Ky’ara and hope that she knew what to do about this sickness. Because if not, there was no doubt in her mind that Sukylar would die.
Chapter 8: Deliberations
Calistra sat next to Jeorj’s bed as the old woman examined him. It had been months since his injuries and he had been up and about for the last few weeks, but she wanted to have him checked out one more time before clearing him for duty. The Elders’ Council was hesitant to ok an invasion just yet, but Calistra wanted to be ready to deploy at a moments’ notice when they finally stopped their bickering and saw that her way was best.
“Well, he’s certainly not at a hundred percent,” the healer commented briskly, dismissing the spell she’d put over her eyes to help her examine Jeorj’s ribs. He grunted irritably.
“I haven’t been at a hundred percent since the first time my dad tossed me on my backside when I was foolish enough to talk-back to him during training,” he said.
“That may be,” Calistra replied, “but I’m not clearing you for duty unless Myrnai agrees that these injuries won’t slow you down—I won’t have you fatally injured because I put you back into action too quickly…otherwise it’s me your father would be tossing out on—”
“Okay, okay, I get the picture,” Jeorj grumbled. He pulled his shirt back on and looked at Myrnai. “When will I be able to start training again? All this laying around has made me soft and weak. Even if Calistra won’t let me fight, I need to keep my skills up.”
“You should be able to start some basic exercises—nothing too strenuous and nothing near as heavy as that axe I’ve heard you favor. Start with some basic stretching and things that use your own bodyweight. You’re rehabilitation will progress faster if you let your body determine the pace. Your ribs may be fine now, but you tore a bunch of muscles too and now that side of your chest is a mass of scar tissue. Go gently or it’ll knot up and tear again—then you’ll be back to square one.”
Jeorj sighed and nodded respectfully, though Calistra could see he chafed under the restrictions. As for herself, Calistra was constantly blown away by how much Myrnai understood about healing. Despite the detrimental effect her sudden appearance had had on Ky’ara, the old woman had been an invaluable resource for the rebellion. She’d been training many of the organization’s healers in techniques and concepts they’d never heard of before and even the less powerful mages among them were now much more efficient and capable. Luckily, they’d had little reason to need experienced healers here in Doraicolé, but that was all likely to change as soon as they moved against Tirem. She only wished she knew when that would be—she hadn’t heard from Joran in well over a month, so she had no idea if they’d discovered anything new or where they may be. She didn’t want to start a war that would make it impossible for them to get where they needed.
“You look troubled.”
Myrnai’s gravelly voice broke through her thoughts. Calistra sighed, rubbing her temples.
“Just wondering where my brother and Ky’ara are and if they’re making any progress,” she answered.
Myrnai nodded understandingly. “I imagine they’re finding answers and uncovering secrets no one else could possibly discover,” she said reassuringly, “That girl is a stronger filylumis than any I’ve encountered in five hundred years.”
“Daughter of Light?” Calistra asked, translating the term. She was unsure how it applied to the conversation.
“What the Shaari call an Ysinkai,” Myrnai clarified. “Between that and her determination, I think she will accomplish what she set out to do.”
Calistra nodded, lost deep in thought.
“You still look concerned,” Myrnai said wryly.
“Well, it’s just that…when Ky’ara left she didn’t seem as determined as you’ve insinuated. The way your appearance here affected her relationship with Taren…I think it broke her spirit. She doubts him and so she doubts herself…that kind of emotional turmoil can have a strong effect on someone’s magic.”
“Surely they’ve worked things out by now?” Myrnai replied quietly, “They’ve been travelling together for months.”
Jeorj finally chimed in, to the surprise of both women. “I doubt it. She was pretty torn up about it…wouldn’t give me any details of course, but she spent a bit of time in here with me after you first arrived and Amischel gave me the gist of things. It’s like you said, she’s stubborn. Only in this case that’s working against her. I doubt she’ll make the first move…and he doesn’t seem the type to do it neither.”
Myrnai shook her head thoughtfully, “No, he certainly wouldn’t.”
Calistra looked at him in astonishment, “I never figured you for an expert on relationships, Jeorj. That was surprisingly insightful.”
The bearded man blushed furiously and bent to grab his sword from under the bed. “You’ve hardly let me outta this room in months; I’ve had far too much time to think…it messes with my head.”
Calistra held back a cheeky comment and merely shook her head in amusement. “What do you think you’re doing with that sword anyways? Myrnai said no lifting heavy weapons!” She scolded a moment later when Jeorj started to leave the room.
“She said nothin’ as heavy as my axe,” he retorted, “Have you tried lifting my axe? This sword ain’t near as heav
y!”
Calistra just gave him an exasperated look, which he promptly ignored as he walked out in the hallway. She turned to Myrnai, expecting to share an eye roll or maybe an amused shrug, but the old healer didn’t look exasperated, amused, or even angry. This time, she was the one who looked troubled.
“It’s not your fault,” Calistra reassured her, recognizing that she was dwelling on the topic from before, “Well, not entirely. But you couldn’t have known what coming here would do to Ky’ara, and your contributions are likely going to save hundreds of lives in the coming war.”
Myrnai nodded briskly and followed her out of the room. The old healer watched as Calistra made her way down the hall, then turned and walked the other direction to the room she had been given to sleep in. Her eyes were still troubled.
* * * * *
Hallahna stood across from her father, arms folded resolutely, trying to keep her irritation in check. Others had often commented on how even-tempered she was, for a Shaari. She didn’t think so; years of dealing with her father had simply enabled her to keep her anger in check better than most. Compared to dealing with his pig-headedness, even the ignorance and cowardice of Outsiders was easy to bear with patience.
“We have already committed half our warriors. The clans will not want to entangle ourselves anymore in this struggle,” the Shaari chief stated.
“You mean you don’t want to entangle yourself anymore. Your feeble argument is exactly why you need to come with me!” Hallahna argued, “Half our warriors are a hundred miles away! Most of our wing-bonded are with them. It is not safe for you and the others to stay here and expose yourselves to the King’s vengeance!”
“We are capable of defending ourselves against mere soldiers. Even the trolls they may send against us will not be a match for our steel. You may have most of the prime warriors, but those who have remained have experience. It is a risk we understand.”
“And will you risk the children as well?” Hallahna asked sharply, “Will they understand the danger they face if the King decides to leverage his soldiers against us in punishment for helping the rebellion? There are so few of us left—what if the Destroyer sends Djakyls to destroy these huts? You do not have enough dragons here to face such a threat!”
“Because you took them!” her father yelled.
“You gave me permission,” Hallahna replied coolly.
“I gave you permission to take two hundred warriors to prevent the destruction of the rebels at Ainon Caseia because, without them to fight, the King would certainly turn more attention to us…it was a necessity. But I did not give permission for them to be wing-bonded, nor did I expect you to promise them to the rebels indefinitely!”
“You didn’t forbid it,” Hallahna answered calmly.
“I underestimated your audacity!”
His tone held just a hint of amusement. She could sense that in many ways he was proud of her boldness. Hallanha sighed, her anger lessening.
“Father, you have already agreed to this alliance. It is not a sign of weakness to request a place to live within one of their fortresses,” she told him.
“I will not allow my people to be swallowed up in the machinations of outsiders! …even if they do fight Keburukan.”
“Then can you at least see fit to move our people to a safer location?” Hallahna pleaded.
Her father hesitated for a moment.
“We will not leave our homeland. I have spoken.”
Hallahna clenched her fists down at her sides, staring him in the eye until he looked away and dismissed her with a flick of his hand. She stalked angrily to the door of the tent, throwing the flap of heavy material to the side as she exited. If her father would not organize an evacuation there was nothing she could do. The Shaari people were proud—they would not see the danger, and if they did, they would only see that as more reason to stay.
Above all else, show no fear.
Hallahna ground her teeth in frustration. Being fearless had done her mother no good. Fear might have saved her life. It might have kept her from joining the Hunt three months into her pregnancy. Fear might have made her turn and run, rather than facing down the wild boar. Maybe then she wouldn’t have miscarried, wouldn’t have bled out slowly while no one could do anything to help. Fear of death might have given her the will to live, to stay with her eleven year old daughter and ten year old son.
Showing no fear was the worst cowardice of all.
The Shaari princess sighed and hefted her glaive from where she had left it outside her father’s tent. She had not always fought with him this way. Before her mother’s death, they had been close. After the accident, however, he had become strict and immersed himself completely in tradition. The Shaari were an insular people to begin with, but he seemed determined to cut them off from the outside world entirely. Her mother’s death had done the opposite to Hallahna. She had ached to explore the outside world, to experience the other cultures and make her mark on the world. Her excursions outside of the Shaari’s secluded valley had often lasted days at a time, angering her father and leading him to impose even more limits on her freedom, which of course had only led her to push back even harder.
Of course, she thought grudgingly, he had been right about some things. She’d been captured last year during one such excursion—a detour that would have cost them all dearly, since the necromancer had demanded the Shaari people swear an oath-bond to him and join his force or he would kill her. Luckily, Ky’ara had come along and rescued her before that could happen.
Her debt to the Ysinkai was part of what had led her to push so hard for this alliance, but even beyond that, she felt deep down that her people needed help. There were less than two-thousand of them left. Culture and tradition were all good in theory, but without inter-marrying with the other races they would be extinct or crippled in no time. Her father’s irrational attachment to this valley would eventually destroy them.
It was a problem for another day. She’d been here for weeks now and clearly it was going nowhere. It was time to rejoin Asara and the others fighting with the rebellion. Maybe once she was gone her father would see the wisdom of her words and follow through without his pride getting in the way. The irony of her culture was never lost on her—they claimed to eschew fear, but were so unbending, so full of pride. Didn’t they understand that, deep down, the root of pride was always fear?
Chapter 9: Dreams
Ky’ara floated aimlessly in a world of mist. She knew she was asleep, but somehow this place didn’t seem to be just a dream. It was eerily similar to her other dreams, just without the island. Her feet touched down lightly on the ground, and the mist thinned so she could see her surroundings. She was in an empty field. Grass rustled quietly underneath her feet as she took a hesitant step forward. The sky was a dim grey, the grass a muted green, and when she looked down, she was surprised to see that she was barefoot. Her nightclothes were gone, replaced by a simple white gown that extended nearly to her ankles. She fingered the dress curiously and the material slid silkily over her skin. It was softer than anything she had ever felt.
“Hello Ky’ara.”
The unexpected noise startled Ky’ara, and she flinched involuntarily, spinning around to face the woman who had spoken.
“Hello.” Ky’ara’s voice was quiet, and she cast her eyes downward—not willing to meet the other woman’s eye. She had recognized the voice almost immediately of course—even without the gravely tones that age had imposed upon her, Myrnai’s voice was very distinct.
The silence stretched on and Ky’ara was suddenly aware of a steady murmuring that filled the air.
“It’s better not to listen to them you know,” Myrnai commented after another stretch of silence as Ky’ara strained to understand the voices on the wind.
“Who—what are they?” Ky’ara asked. She looked around hesitantly, searching for the source of the noise.
“They are spirits, and voices of the dead, and even some murmurings of sleeping mag
es and others who unwittingly touch this place in their dreams,” Myrnai answered, her voice softer, younger.
Ky’ara looked up, “Oh…” Her breath caught for a moment as she finally met Myrnai’s gaze. The older woman had suddenly shimmered and over five-hundred years melted away, leaving a pretty girl who was nearly the same age as Ky’ara.
“I thought you might recognize me better if I appeared how you know me first,” Myrnai responded to the puzzled look on Ky’ara’s face, “This place—the Dreamworld as many have come to call it—reveals our true selves. With a little concentration I can take on the same form I do in life,” her image shimmered back into that of the old woman that Ky’ara knew, “but I find that tiring.” She returned to being the beautiful young girl.
“What are you doing here?” Ky’ara asked wearily, deciding to cut straight to the point. She could feel the pain starting to eat away the edges of the careful barrier she had created around her heart. It was easy, seeing Myrnai like this, to understand why Taren loved her.
The young Myrnai smiled faintly, “You know why I am here, just as you know what it is I wish to speak about.”
Ky’ara shook her head, unable to speak—afraid it would only increase the pain.
Myrnai frowned suddenly, pity showing clearly on her face. “I didn’t realize—but perhaps that is why you are the one, instead of I... It is a good thing I didn’t wait any longer for you to solve this on your own, I’m not sure you can.”
“What do you mean?” Ky’ara gasped. The ache in her chest was spreading. It was amplified in this strange place, ten times worse than normal. Hadn’t Myrnai said that being here revealed truth? Was this it then—the true pain she felt? Without any of the barriers and rationalizations she had used to dull it in life?
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