“Don’t ever do that again.” She tried to make it an order, but it came out a plea. “No mind-speaker would ever do that.”
“I’m sorry.” He was. But he couldn’t promise to not do it again. No king could make that promise.
After a while she asked emotionlessly, “So what now?”
“I don’t know. Why don’t you try to kill me in my sleep?” He started to crawl over to the boat, but collapsed before getting there, and everything winked out.
Sunlight on Carlodon’s face gradually woke him. He could hear the murmur of water and the rustle of leaves, and he could smell fresh wind and stale sweat. He was on his back, his arms and legs outstretched, and his fingers were raking across damp sand.
The last two years of peace had accustomed him to the luxury of daily bathing, and now he felt grimy. Even on board ship he’d had the cook warm up a pot of water so that he could sponge off in the cabin. How long had he been on this beach?
With his eyes still closed, he braced himself and sat up, groaning as stiff muscles protested. He cupped his hands around his face to shade it, but his eyes still watered as he blinked them open. The day was cloudless, the sea was blue, the sun stood near noon. It felt like a long time since he’d eaten. He turned in the direction he thought the rowboat should be, but it wasn’t there. He turned another way, but it wasn’t there either—just more trees and sand and rocks.
Was this the same beach? Where was Haliena? He managed to get to his feet and cast long, appraising looks around, and yes, this was definitely the same beach—he thought he could now tell which rock was the one that had started it all. But no boat, no packs, and no Haliena. He held the idea of a shield over his mind, and the idea of lowering that shield, but he could not sense her. He could sense animals—there were quite a few birds and rodents watching him—and he could sense power, like he had sensed the warm sun on his face; but his wife was not here.
The boat had been ... here. He followed a broad, shallow track across the sand to the water’s edge. He went back, and under a clump of ferns where it had escaped notice, he found the water canteen.
He cursed, several times. The woman had taken a rowboat onto the sea by herself rather than stay with him. Of all the stupid ...
She’d probably wanted to get off the island before she got sick—assuming people could still get sick by coming here—but she should have woken him. The last island his ship had passed before arriving here was forty miles to the west, but with a calm sea and some sort of sail, they would have made it back there. Her father had a fishing fleet, she’d been on all kinds of boats before, she had the gift of weather-sense ... but alone ...
There was nothing he could do for her now. She had chosen.
He took a breath, let it out. He looked around at the sunny day and the quiet beach.
No boat, no food, no bow, no rod, no blanket, no weapon. Everyone thought he was dead. No one would finish the castle he was building in Chrenste. His friends and his enemies would inevitably—even cheerfully—return to war and tear apart the kingdom he had fought all his life to build. The Lakemen would break the treaty he had forced upon them, and their raiders would steal the harvest, and the farmers would flee to the towns and forts.
That is, if all of this hadn’t already happened in the month he’d been away.
An unexpected smile crossed his face. Just wait until I get home. He would have such interesting things to share with the priests, the warlords, all his subjects—once they recovered from heart failure ...
He decided to put off thinking about just how he would get home. Right now he had to find a freshwater stream to drink and wash in. If there were fish in it, he had to figure out how to catch them; failing that, there had to be nuts and berries around. He wasn’t worried about finding food.
He actually wasn’t worried about anything. An unexplainable, completely inappropriate confidence filled him to overflowing, so much he had to spread his arms and take in deep breaths of the salty air. He would find a way. He was the king, after all.
There it was.
He was still too far away to see it clearly when he first spotted it, but he knew he was right. Within a few moments he saw the deep purple banners at the tops of the masts—just below black ones that had not been there before. They streamed this way, then that way, as the caravel tacked. The west wind that had brought them to the archipelago now fought them as they fled the island they had found within it.
But he had found a thermal two hundred feet above even the banners, and only a few flicks of feathers kept him on course toward the setting sun. He was rapidly catching up. Which was good, because ahead, he could see—although those on the ship could not—land. His land. His city.
He had been sitting on his beach on his island, watching the gulls, wishing that he could fly like a bird. And since it now seemed that for him, anything was possible, he had decided to try to turn himself into a bird. And he’d succeeded.
His entrance was perfect, because kings know drama, and because he had practiced his landings on many islands between there and here. The falcon, the largest falcon anyone had ever seen anywhere, alighted on the deck. Men drew back, eyebrows raised, then started forward, arms raised—presumably to frighten him away—and Carlodon released the magic he had been holding so tightly for so long.
White light surrounded him, but it was soft, and fire raged through him, but it was controlled, and short-lived. When he could see once more, he was crouched on the deck, his hands planted forward to steady his newly formed human body. Newly formed, but still fully clothed; he did not understand that part, but then, what part of this did he understand?
He understood the effect it had, at least. Sailors and soldiers stared, beyond shock—even, in those first moments, beyond terror, as their minds tried to insist that what their eyes had seen could not be real. It gave him time to stand up, to raise his mental shield, and to think about what to say.
He had tried to think about that on the way here, but logical, sequential thought had eluded him. Or, rather, had eluded the bird. Him, as the bird. He suddenly felt just a little bit terrified about what he had done to himself.
Then a soldier fell to his knees and cried out, “Your Majesty!”
All followed, even the sailors. The ship missed the tack, and as Carlodon stood there, the ship’s master came out of the cabin bellowing about staying on course. He stopped, and his broad face went ashen. Then the ship pitched, and he tumbled onto the deck.
Then Bor appeared at the ladder to the hold. He, too, stared; he, too, went white; but he, alone, came forward. He passed through the ranks of kneeling men until he reached Carlodon. Though Carlodon knew it couldn’t be true, it seemed that after only a few days, Bor had more grey in his beard, less flesh in his cheeks. He wore his helm and his breastplate and his sword. He had to be worried about what would happen when they reached the harbor at Chrenste and people saw the black banners above the purple.
“My king,” Bor said finally. “You live.” He extended his hand, but stopped.
“I live.” Carlodon reached out and gripped Bor’s forearm, and in another second Bor’s hand tightened onto his.
“You truly are immortal.” Bor’s voice held a reverence Carlodon had never heard from him before.
“I may be.”
Bor hesitated again before saying, low, “Where is the queen?”
Carlodon shook his head and told him the truth: “I don’t know.”
“Torc’anniz,” a red-haired sailor said aloud. It sounded like the old language, and it seemed that the sailor hadn’t even realized he’d spoken aloud until Carlodon turned to look at him. Then he shrank back into his fellows and pressed his face to the deck.
“What did he say?” Carlodon asked Bor.
“He has named you.” Bor paused, obviously for effect. He was starting to recover. Resilient, was Bor.
“And what has he named me?”
Bor grinned a wicked grin. “Lightning-rider.”
/> Chapter 1
Graegor crouched to pick up his little sister and boost her to his shoulder. Waking her up and trying to make her walk would take longer than just carrying her, and he had to get down to the lake. He swayed as he stood up—she was almost four and getting big. He was tired from so many games of stickball, and his arm was especially sore from that huge, perfect throw to get Craig out, but he couldn’t rest yet. It was time to see the green flash.
The bell kept ringing as he joined the swarm of other children carrying or herding younger brothers and sisters up the lane to the main street. Near the fountain they met the mass of townspeople on their way to the grass near the swimming beach. Ted’s sister and her new husband were leading the way, with two wildly excited yellow retrievers. The bride’s white wedding dress looked golden in the sunset.
Audrey was awake now, and twisting in his arms. “Where’s Momma?”
“She’s over there. Quit squirming.” He couldn’t actually see their mother, but no one in town would miss the green flash on Solstice.
The street became a dirt path through the dry grass rolling down the hill to the lake, and the grownups clustered to talk, like they always did when something interesting was going on. Graegor wound his way through them to get to the little beach. He had no chance of seeing the green flash unless he could actually see the sunset. And this time he wouldn’t blink. He had blinked last year, and the year before that, but this time would be different. He wouldn’t blink, he would see the green flash, and he would have a lucky year.
A few other boys and girls were at the bottom of the little hill, and he joined them where the water lapped the dark sand. He lowered Audrey to the ground as the wind cooled the sweat on his skin. Audrey inspected insects in the mud as they waited, once tugging at his hand to see if he would let go, but he wasn’t about to allow her to wander off when she couldn’t swim yet. He’d have to chase her, and maybe miss the flash.
To the west, just out of the line of the orange sun, the tiny island in the lake looked black against the pale grey-blue of the calm water around it. He really wanted to go out there this summer. He was ten now, his father couldn’t keep telling him no. Maybe if he saw the green flash, it would mean that his father was going to let him go camping with the older boys. Maybe he’d even help Graegor build a canoe so he wouldn’t have to tag along in someone else’s. And then maybe something amazing would happen. Craig had found a sword on the island last year, a real sword, and since no one knew where it’d come from he’d gotten to keep it.
Ted and some other fisher children appeared from different points in the crowd, and most of them headed straight for the mud a few yards up the beach, where the meadow slushed into the cove. Ted grinned at Graegor, and the top pointy tooth on the right was missing. “Look!” He pushed his tongue into the space the tooth had left. “I bit an apple and it came right out!”
“What’ll you do with your penny?” It was all the new apothecary would pay for baby teeth.
“Buttons.” He pulled at the big gap in his shirt between his collar and his ribs. “Finally. Stupid tooth’s been loose for days.”
“You should’ve just pulled it out.”
“Who cares, it’s out now! I’m lucky today, first my sister’s moving out, then my tooth came out—I’m going to see the green flash for sure!”
“Me too.”
Ted grinned again and sprinted up the bank to the mud, where the other fisher children and a few town children were already stomping. Graegor was happy that Ted would get his penny, but he was also a little tired of having friends who were so much younger that he was, friends who weren’t even in school with him. He’d lost his last baby tooth months and months ago.
Audrey was trying to pull him back up the hill. His eyes searched the crowd for his parents, but they weren’t anywhere near the front. Then he heard the acolytes’ bells ringing, and everyone quieted and made room for the procession that had come from the chapel.
Graegor and the other children pressed closer to the line of grownups to clear a strip of sand for the two white-robed acolytes carrying the Circles, the brass bells, and the silver bowl. After them came the priest. He was old and bald, but he still walked straight, dressed in robes of white and yellow with a green stole. Only a few feet from Graegor and Audrey, the acolytes turned and made room for the priest to stop at the edge of the water. He seemed to do nothing for a while—Graegor supposed he was praying—but then he turned to face the townspeople and lifted his arms, and everyone bowed their heads.
“In the name of the Most Holy God, the name of Your Creation, the name of Your chosen people, and the name of the One who will come again. Let it be.”
“Let it be,” Graegor murmured with everyone else, and traced the four rings of the Godcircle over his heart.
“Lord Abban, we thank You for another cycle of the seasons. We welcome the summer You bring to us. On this, the year’s longest day, we celebrate Your name.”
“Praise be to Lord Abban,” all replied. Audrey tugged at Graegor’s hand, and he squeezed hers to remind her to be quiet.
“As is our custom on the two Solstices, we are also celebrating the joining of two lives. We ask You to bless this marriage and to give it prosperity and happiness.”
“Praise be to Lord Abban.”
“We gather together here at sunset, on the shore of the lake that gives us life-giving water, on the edge of the forest that gives us life-giving food.”
And again they offered praise to Lord Abban. One of the two acolytes turned and dipped the bowl into the lake. When it had filled, he stood up and held it in front of the priest, who traced the Godcircle on the surface of the water. “Lord Abban, let this be the water of Your blessing, the water of Your light. With this water, bless us with Your wisdom and Your strength.”
“Praise be to Lord Abban.”
All stood with heads bowed as the acolyte moved slowly among the crowd. Each person dipped his or her fingers into the water and traced the Godcircle on his or her forehead. It took a long time for the bowl to get to Graegor, and several times he had to crouch and whisper to Audrey to stop fidgeting. When the bowl finally came around, he quickly blessed himself, and Audrey waved her little hand through the same motions. Fortunately the bowl moved away before she could splash in it like she’d done last time.
At last everyone had been blessed, and the acolyte returned the bowl to the priest. After another prayer everyone sang Summer of Joy. Graegor didn’t sing loudly, since he knew he didn’t sing well. He wished that other people who didn’t sing well would follow his example.
When the last, long-held note finally ended, the priest stood with his head bowed for several moments before he lifted his arms again, and Graegor’s head bowed with everyone else’s. “Lord Abban, we pray that we will always be worthy of Your love. And at those times when we are not worthy, we pray that You will forgive us.”
“Praise be to Lord Abban.”
“May we always have peace in this life.”
“And everlasting joy in the next,” the people murmured.
“We ask for the blessing and intercession of Saint Carlodon and Saint Davidon of the first millennium, Saint Michaelis and Saint Ferogin of the second millennium ...”
... and Saint This and Saint That, and so on and so on. They prayed for the health and prosperity of all L’Abbanists everywhere, and for all who may still come to follow the right path. They prayed for the health and prosperity of all Telgardia, for the king and queen in Chrenste and their children, the duke and duchess in Farre and their children, and the baron and his sisters. They prayed for all their kith and kin, wherever they may be, and Graegor dutifully asked Lord Abban to bless his grandmother, uncle, aunt, and cousins in Daviton. They prayed that they would be ready to greet Lord Abban’s chosen, the One who will come again, when He was revealed.
And then, at last, the prayers were over. “Let it be.”
“Let it be,” repeated the town back to the priest. Grae
gor kept his head bowed, but his eyes came up a bit to see the priest tracing the Godcircle in blessing.
Audrey tugged at Graegor’s hand again. The priest and the acolytes were moving back toward the grownups so that the children could come forward to see, and Graegor squinted to the west to judge the position of the sun. Nearly half of it had already disappeared over the horizon at the far end of Long Lake.
“Gre’gr!” Audrey complained as the noise of talk rose again. “Where’s Dolly?”
“Dolly? You left her at the field.”
She pointed back toward town. “We have to go get her!”
“In a few minutes. We have to see the green flash.”
“I don’t want to.”
He tried to be patient. “See how the sun’s all red? It’ll turn green for just a split second, and if you see it, you’ll have a lucky year.”
But it was past her bedtime, and her frowning little face clearly said that she had seen sunsets before and they no longer impressed her. She tried to pull her hand out of his, but he held on, even when she started to yelp and dance in fury.
“Here it comes!” someone shouted, and a hush fell over the crowd. The sun was a mere sliver now, not even bright enough to hurt Graegor’s eyes anymore. But then Audrey wrenched her hand away from his, and he whirled to grab it, then whirled back. He fixed his eyes on the sun, which was still there, still there, still there—and—gone.
Gone. But—what had happened? Why hadn’t he seen it? He was certain he hadn’t blinked, he was positive he hadn’t blinked. But the sun was gone, and he hadn’t seen the green flash.
“I saw it!” he heard a girl yell from the mud puddle, which sent up a chorus of “I saw it too!” from all over the crowd. Graegor was almost ready to add his voice, furious with disappointment, when he saw Ted’s sister and the tanner and some other grownups shaking their heads and saying, “I didn’t,” so he shut his mouth. There was never a time when everyone saw it. Sometimes nobody saw it. But he had been so sure he was going to see it this time!
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