Queen of Song and Souls

by C. L. Wilson

  Her mind froze in surprise, but an instinct she’d never known she possessed took command of her body. Even before she realized what she was doing, she snatched the whirling blade out of the air and sent it flying back towards Gaelen in a single smooth, graceful motion.

  He caught the dagger on its return flight with similar ease and launched a second blade immediately. He launched a third before the second even reached her hand, then a fourth and fifth shortly thereafter. She caught and returned each blade until there was a constant stream of Fey’cha arching through the air between them, and her hands moved with a blurring speed that matched Gaelen’s own.

  He spoke a word, and the Fey’cha disappeared in the blink of an eye, reforming securely in the sheaths crisscrossing his chest. Silently, he dissolved the barrier of magic he’d erected to keep Rain and the others from rushing to Ellysetta’s rescue when the first of his blades had flown.

  The moment the weave was down, Rain leapt forward. His hand shot out and a hammer of power exploded from his fingertips. It slammed into Gaelen and knocked the former dahl’reisen off his feet, flinging him several man lengths through the air to smack into a tree. Rain snatched Ellysetta up into his arms, his eyes glowing fierce and deadly bright.

  “Every time I begin to trust you, vel Serranis,” he snarled, “you insist on proving me a fool for doing so. You dare throw a blade at my shei’tani?”

  “She was never in any harm,” Gaelen muttered. With a grimace, he peeled himself off the tree trunk and gingerly took two experimental steps.

  “You didn’t know that. What would have happened if she had not caught your Fey’cha?”

  “Don’t take me for such a dim-skull,” Gaelen snapped. “I am her lu’tan. I would die before letting her come to the slightest harm—and you need to begin believing that. I can’t have you trying to stop me every time I do something without explaining it to you first.”

  “And yet you knew I would distrust you. That shield was up even before you threw.”

  Gaelen grimaced. “I know you, Tairen Soul. But put your mind at ease. Before I threw my Fey’cha I spun a weave on them that would have invoked my return word if her catch were even a fraction off.”

  That admission mollified Rain. His tight, protective grip on Ellysetta loosened, and she slipped free.

  “Next time, give a warning.”

  “I wanted to see what her instincts were. A warning would have negated the test.”

  “What sort of test, Gaelen?” Ellysetta asked in a shaken voice. She stared at her hands as if they belonged to someone else, then lifted her gaze to his.

  Tajik answered in Gaelen’s stead. “You reacted to his throw like a warrior dancing the Cha Baruk. Though how vel Serranis knew you would escapes me.”

  Cha Baruk, the Dance of Knives, was what the Fey called warfare, but it was also the name of the warriors’ dance in which deadly blades were tossed back and forth in a show of power and dexterity. Ellysetta turned to Gaelen in confusion. “How did I manage to do that, when I haven’t hit a single target I’ve aimed at since we began?”

  “I spun a weave on the blades to make you see them as if they were a bit higher and farther away from your hand than they truly were.”

  “Why?” Rain asked, his eyes narrowing.

  “For the same reason I drew a red circle on a tree when a brown circle was the real target. I knew where her hands would be when she saw my blades coming.”

  “And how did you know that?” Bel asked softly, his eyes steady on his friend’s face.

  “Because everything she has done since she gripped her first blade has been without flaw. Every throw she made, the way she held her blades, the way she released them—everything was exactly as I would have done it. The only difference is that I stand a head taller and my reach is a hand or two longer. No one—no matter how natural a talent—just picks up a blade and executes such perfect form the first time they handle a knife.”

  Gaelen turned to Ellysetta. “You modified the grip Bel showed you before you threw, to put your thumb on the spine of the blade for better guidance and surer aim. Why did you do that?”

  “I…” She glanced at her hands in surprise. “I don’t know. It just felt…right that way, more comfortable.”

  “I throw the Desriel’chata the same way. As does Gil. As did our mentor, Shannisoran v’En Celay. It was the grip he taught all his chadins.”

  “What are you getting at, Gaelen?” Rain demanded.

  “Do you remember that time in Teleon, before we traveled through the Mists, when the seizure took her and she spoke the Warrior’s Creed?”

  “Of course. It’s not something I would ever forget.”

  “Well, what if the Mages did more than just tie the soul of a tairen to hers? What if they tied the soul of a Fey warrior to hers as well? It would explain how she can kill without suffering the way our women do. And how she knows the words to the Warrior’s Creed and throws Desriel’chata and dances the Cha Baruk like a Fey who long ago heard the Warriors’ Gate whisper his name in greeting.”

  “You are suggesting that the soul of my shei’tani has been somehow…manufactured…by the Mages, pieced together from the souls of others. But you forget she is my truemate. That bond only the gods can forge between two souls. Nei.” He shook his head. “Nei, there must be some other explanation.” Rain turned to the Elf in their midst. “You Saw my shei’tani’s need to wield steel like a warrior—did you also see this?”

  Fanor shook his head. “Anio, but you should ask your question of the Elf king. He who is Guardian of the Dance Sees many things lesser Seers do not.” The Elf waved a hand towards the crackling fire, where the spitted rabbits had turned golden crisp. “Come and eat. The food is ready, and we must ride again soon.”

  The Faering Mists

  The beautiful Fey lady guided Lillis through the steep cliff paths of the Rhakis. As if in deference to the lady’s presence, the Mists thinned while they walked so Lillis could see the tree-filled valley below.

  “What is your name?” Lillis asked.

  The lady smiled down at her and answered in Celierian. Her voice sounded like music. “You may call me Eiliss, little one.”

  “That’s a pretty name. My name is Lillis. Where are we going?”

  “Someplace where you will be safe.”

  Lillis scrambled over a hillock. “You’re speaking Celierian now.”

  “Because that is the language you speak.”

  “Oh.” Lillis accepted the answer without question. “Have you seen my Papa or my sister, Lorelle?”

  Eiliss brushed the backs of her fingers across Lillis’s cheek. “I have, ajiana. I’m taking you to them now.”

  “Really?” Tears of relief pooled in Lillis’s eyes. “You mean they’re safe?”

  “They are, and soon you’ll all be together. Will you like that?” The trail turned in a steep U and continued on downward another several tairen lengths before reaching the valley floor.

  “Oh, yes.” Snowfoot was purring quietly against her chest. The comfort of Eiliss’s peaceful Fey presence soothed him, too. Lillis stroked the kitten’s downy fur and scratched beneath his tiny black chin. His eyes closed in bliss and his purring grew louder. “What about Kieran and Kiel? Are they safe, too?”

  “Their fate is not mine to know, but if they entered the Mists, they will find the welcome due all warriors of the Fey.”

  When Eiliss smiled into Lillis’s eyes as she was doing now, Lillis just knew everything would turn out all right. Her concern for Kieran and Kiel melted away like the fingerling curls of mist swirling around them.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Elvia ~ Deep Woods

  “Do you think Gaelen is right about a warrior’s soul being tied to mine?”

  Ellysetta and Rain walked along the crystalline banks of an indescribably beautiful Elvish river called the Dreamer, whose bed and banks were lined with sparkling cabochon jewels worn smooth by the river’s gentle current.

  Aft
er their bell’s rest at lunchtime, they’d ridden hard and fast throughout the day, stopping only to rest and water their horses. They’d reached the river just before dusk and made camp. Tomorrow, they would cross the Dreamer and enter Deep Woods, the ancient forested heart of Elvia.

  “You are a Tairen Soul,” Rain replied. “Most of your abilities can be explained by that fact.”

  “But not the warrior’s skills.”

  Ellysetta hadn’t touched another blade since lunchtime, half-afraid of what other deadly skills and disturbing revelations might come if she did. All afternoon, she’d felt the curious and speculative gazes of the Elves—and even her quintet—upon her. Once more, she had become an oddity, a mystery, a puzzle to be solved, and she hated it.

  “It occurred to me that the High Mage could be a swords-master and that I know how to throw a blade because he does,” she confessed, when Rain didn’t answer immediately. “But he wouldn’t know the Cha Baruk, would he?” The tiny jewels that lined the riverbank like sand crunched beneath their boots as they walked.

  “It is unlikely,” Rain said. “Chadin train for three hundred years before they stand in the Dance as you did with Gaelen this afternoon.”

  “So then you do think Gaelen’s right?”

  “I don’t know what to think.” He stopped and turned to take her arms. “Shei’tani, I can see this troubles you, and I know my reaction earlier is partly to blame. Believe me when I say that any horror you sensed was not directed at you but rather at the idea that the Mages might have discovered how to manipulate truemating.”

  “Rain…”

  “Here, feel for yourself.” He took her hands in his, and her acute empathic senses—heightened further by their shei’tanitsa bond—could detect his sincerity. “No matter how your soul came into being, it is still the soul—the only soul—that calls to mine. And I would have it no other way.” He brushed a curling tendril of hair back behind her ear. “Ver’reisa ku’chae. Kem surah, shei’tani.”

  She did not doubt him. With his skin touching hers, his emotions as clear as words on a page, she could not. Still…

  “But what if the next skill I discover isn’t something good, Rain? What if it’s something horrible?”

  He gave her a smile so sad it nearly broke her heart. “You’re speaking to the man who scorched the world, Ellysetta. There is little even a Mage could do that is worse than that.”

  “Rain…”

  He bowed his head and resumed walking. “I do not pretend to understand how or why you can do most of the things you do. I merely accept all that you are, and wait for the day that you can do the same.”

  That was the crux of the matter. Rain struggled every day with his guilt at what he’d done, just as she struggled every day with her fear of what she one day might do—and not even just what she might do if the Mage claimed her soul. She was beginning to think Mama had been right to fear Ellie’s magic and try to rid her of it.

  “And if that day never comes, Rain? If I never can accept what I am?”

  “You will. You seek answers to the questions you hesitate to voice—even though you fear what those answers might be. I see it each time you discover some new, unexpected talent.” He reached up to stroke a hand through the thick, unbound curls spilling down her back. “You insist on thinking yourself a coward, when you are braver than any woman I’ve ever known. And though I do not much care for the Elves, there is no one better than Hawksheart to unravel the mysteries of your past and reveal the possibilities of your future.”

  “Our future,” she corrected. He’d taken to doing that these last days since the Eld attack…talking about events to come as if he wouldn’t be there to share them with her.

  “Our future,” he agreed. For what little time we have left.

  “‘What little time we have left’? Why do you keep saying things like that?” When he didn’t answer, she stopped walking. “What’s going on, Rain? I know you’re not thinking of returning to the war without me, because I won’t be left behind. We’re stronger together than we are apart. I thought that was already settled.”

  “Ellysetta…shei’tani…”

  He reached for her but she brushed his hand away. “Don’t ‘Ellysetta shei’tani’ me. Talk to me. Tell me the truth.”

  “I always tell you the truth.”

  “Nei, you don’t. You never lie, but you don’t always tell the whole truth either. You simply don’t talk about things you don’t want me to know.”

  He opened his mouth, then wisely shut it again. “I do not want to worry you unnecessarily.”

  “Silence when I know something’s wrong worries me more.”

  He lowered his eyes. The thick black lashes formed shadows on his cheeks in the moonlight and shielded the lavender glow of his eyes. “We are at war, Ellysetta. Much can happen. I am the Tairen Soul. I will lead each battle, and the Eld will make me their primary target.”

  “And none of that is any different than it has been since we left the Fading Lands.”

  He sighed. “Something is different.” He gazed out at the river. The crystals lining the riverbed refracted the silvery moonlight, making the water dance with pale rainbows. “I am different.”

  “How so?”

  He bent to pluck an oval crystal from the bank and rolled the stone slowly between his fingers.

  “Rain?” she prompted.

  With a swift flick of his wrist, he sent the crystal skimming across the river’s surface. Each time it touched the water, a splash of bright color lit up and rippled out in concentric rings. When the stone sank, he turned a somber gaze upon her. “The bond madness has begun.”

  For a moment, her heart stopped beating. Her mind emptied of all thought, leaving only a disorienting buzzing. The world itself seemed to freeze for several long moments. She swallowed and licked suddenly parched lips. “H-how can you be sure?”

  “I am sure.”

  “But how? What makes you think it?”

  “The signs are beginning.”

  “What signs?”

  “A moment ago, you heard my thoughts. I did not send them in Spirit, but you heard them nonetheless.”

  “Perhaps that’s a sign of our bond becoming stronger.”

  “Nei. Our bond is strong—stronger now than it ever has been—but you cannot enter my mind at will until the union is complete. You heard my thoughts because I am losing the ability to keep them contained. It is one of the first effects of bond madness.”

  She frowned. “How can you be so sure that’s what it is? Nothing else about me—about us—has followed Fey conventions. Why should this be any different?”

  He smiled sadly. “I am sure. Each moment of the day, I make a conscious effort to keep from broadcasting my thoughts. I have been doing so since the first battle at Orest. If I stop…” He closed his eyes. And just like that his thoughts were in her mind. Not on Spirit, not backed by power, and not because she was making the effort to hear them. They were just there, as clearly as if he’d spoken them aloud.

  The first sign of bond madness is a Fey’s inability to keep his thoughts private. He broadcasts them. First in moments of weariness or vulnerability, but then more frequently, until he cannot stop what is in his mind from spilling out. The next sign is difficulty controlling his temper, so he is swift to Rage. Then comes loss of control over his magic.

  She clasped her hands together to stop their shaking. “How long?” She could barely force out the question. “How long do you have?” She loved him. She loved him more than she ever knew she could love someone. More than she loved Mama and Papa and even more than she loved the twins. In their few short months together, he’d become the foundation of her existence, the Great Sun that shone light on her world. She could not even contemplate the thought of a life without him.

  “Not long. A few months, if the gods are kind.” Swaths of straight, silky black hair brushed his cheek as his head drooped. “The war and all the souls I still bear upon mine will speed the m
adness. You saw yourself how quick I was to Rage that night the Eld attacked. I’ve been testing my control of magic since then, too. If I don’t focus enough, my weaves don’t spin as they should.” He looked up. “Bel suspects the truth, but I would rather none of the others know until I can no longer maintain my control.”

  She tried to assimilate what he was saying, while her mind worked frantically to think of a solution, or at least a way to slow the progression of his madness until they could complete their bond. “I could try to heal you—to heal your soul as I healed the rasa.”

  He shook his head. “Nei, shei’tani. My soul is yours to heal, but only through the completion of our bond.”

  “But Rain—”

  He pressed fingers to her lips. “Shh. Las, shei’tani. Shei’tanitsa bars you access to my thoughts and to my soul until you accept me into yours. Even if it did not, I know what it cost you to heal the rasa. I bear more death on my soul than Gaelen did when he was dahl’reisen, and I remember what it did to you when you touched him. Not even to save my own life could I allow you to go through that again.”

  “So you’d rather die than let me try? Rain!”

  His jaw clenched in unyielding lines. “I would die a thousand times over before I let you suffer one-tenth of my torment—especially on my behalf.”

  “And what do you think I’ll suffer when you’re gone?” she cried. “I love you, Rain.”

  “And I love you, but there is only one cure for the bond madness. Without that, there is nothing to be done.” He took her hands. “Let’s not waste our time fighting a battle that cannot be won. Instead, let us concentrate on winning the one that can.”

  Ellysetta wanted to protest. She wanted to force Rain to let her at least try to heal him. But he was so certain it would not work—and so unwilling to risk hurting her—that she knew he would not be budged. She pulled out of his grip and stared blindly at the river.

  He regarded his empty hands and sighed.

  For several chimes, they stood there in silence, watching the river flow by. A fish leapt into the air, its scales shining like blue jewels in the moonlight. It splashed back into the water, and ripples of purple, green, and pink flowed out in vivid color.