Too soon, though, Mrillis traveled beyond the faintest contact with Ceera. He didn't regret it as much as he thought, because the growing effort made his head ache. Besides, the weather was too beautiful, the adventure too new and exciting to let him be in a foul mood. He would be able to see Lyon and the Warhawk before they mustered the troops across Lygroes to prepare for the Encindi raids that would come with spring. He would talk about his journey with the other boys and compare their adventures when they all gathered on Wynystrys, and no one would tease him about being the Queen of Snows' protected, pampered favorite.
He had told no one on Wynystrys but Breylon about linking with Ceera. Mrillis couldn't quite decide if it was because the boys wouldn't believe him, or because they would mock him for having a bond with a mere girl-child. He didn't feel any shame; he liked Ceera more than most of the boys his age. She listened and she thought long before she said something. She didn't rage over inconsequential things or break other's possessions or play nasty tricks on children who were younger than her.
Mrillis put those thoughts aside and concentrated on learning the landscape, the landmarks, the sounds, colors, smells and the feeling of power moving through the land. When he was older, he would travel throughout Lygroes, using his talents wherever Breylon and Le'esha sent him. He wanted to be able to ride anywhere and everywhere on Lygroes, without asking for directions or a map.
The thought of learning Lygroes from northern shore to the southern tip, traveling the rocky cliffs of the west and the black sandy shores of the east, thrilled Mrillis. At night, he lay in his blankets and listened to Haster, the stargazer, telling stories about the stars. Every evening, as the stars rose above the eastern horizon, Haster gave him short lessons on how to find his way using the stars.
Mrillis wished Haster would continue on to Wynystrys, instead of staying with the Warhawk, but he knew better than to even speak his wish aloud. Haster was one of the most valuable spies who served the Warhawk. Men who could move across the land with stealth, blending into the landscape, were more valuable than ever. The Encindi no longer attacked in huge, loud masses that could be seen from leagues away. Their boats didn't make the sea white and red with their sails. They crept across the sea from Flintan in small boats, in groups of five or ten at a time, and crawled through the shadows, to attack villages and outlying farms. They slaughtered families in their sleep, poisoned wells, killed cattle and sheep in the fields and stole horses. Haster and the men he led had to be invisible to the near-invisible enemies creeping through Lygroes like choking vines, in order to stop them.
Mrillis listened to the men talk of the battles they had fought last summer and fall, driving Encindi out of Lygroes, and he wished he could stay with them and help protect the land. How could studying prophecies, learning discipline and preparing for the day his magical talents manifested compare to using bow, sword and spear to protect the innocent and helpless?
Haster's small traveling party rode south and west toward the Warhawk's winter quarters, following the course of the great river that emerged from the canyons of the Stronghold. Their band was two days away from the fortress and directly east of Wynystrys, when Mrillis saw a streak of white-gold tinged with crimson in the night sky, heading west across Lygroes.
"Starshower?" he asked, pointing.
Haster frowned, watching the path of the streak through the darkening sky. Mrillis saw more streaks join the first; smaller, perhaps higher up in the sky.
"A big one. Lots of star-metal falling down into the sea. Closer to Moerta than Lygroes," the tall, silver-haired man said finally.
"How can you tell it will fall into the sea?" Mrillis asked. He grinned, knowing Haster loved nothing better than to teach more of his beloved stargazer lore.
For the next few minutes, Haster talked and sketched in the dirt in front of their campfire. The other three men attended to cooking their dinner while the stargazer taught the boy. The third time Haster raised his staff and sighted through the crystal set in its head, to focus on the starshower, the big man froze. He muttered under his breath, glanced down at the calculations he had just scribbled, and looked up again.
"Sir?" Mrillis dropped down on one knee to study the numbers and the diagram of the arch Haster had just drawn. A shiver moved through his gut; the same shiver that came when he knew something without knowing how or why he knew it. "It's not falling right, is it?"
"Indeed it is not," Haster said, shaking his head. He continued watching the starshower. "As if something has grabbed hold of it, to pull it down onto the shore of Lygroes. Dangerously close to the port of Quenlaque, if my calculations are right. But how can that be done?"
"Not like starshowers are fish to be grabbed with a net, are they?" one of the men joked. His grin looked strained.
"A net?" He swore, louder, and closed his eyes. The crystal in the head of his staff flared for a moment.
Mrillis flinched, feeling a jolt through his middle and in his head, just behind his eyes. He shifted his sense of sight until he saw the Threads running through the landscape. They were fine. He shifted his attention to the web that hovered between the trees and stars.
Mrillis felt the ground shudder. Dizziness surged inside him. He couldn't pull away from the sideways vision as he watched the lines of the sky web waver and twist. They warped like a net being pulled toward the starshower. Like a fishing net, tugged along behind an enormous fish that didn't want to be caught.
"Somebody's using the Threads to pull the star-metal down on Lygroes," he blurted, responding to the certainty in his gut.
"I hope not, lad," Haster said. He swore again, in a tongue that seemed halfway familiar to Mrillis, with enough bitterness in his voice to make the boy jump.
In those few seconds of thinking and talking, Mrillis saw the streaks of light flowing from the back of the starshower change color and direction. The white-gold shifted toward crimson, and the streaks of light pointed into the sky, instead of trailing out behind like a cape in a stiff breeze.
"Gonna hit Lygroes instead of the sea," someone muttered among the three men behind Mrillis.
"Somebody is pulling it down," Mrillis insisted. He caught hold of the stargazer's wrist, remembering how those first tentative mental links with Ceera were easier if they touched. It was the only way he could think of to try to show the man what he saw.
Haster pulled free with a gasp, but not before blinding light exploded behind Mrillis' eyes. When it cleared, he heard all the Threads running across and through and over the land humming, clear in his head. Every color had its own note, and the thicker the Thread, the stronger, more intensely the sound vibrated through his bones.
"What did you do to me, boy?" Haster demanded. "What did you do to yourself?"
"The Threads are warping! Not just up in the sky, but down here on the ground, too!"
"I know they are, but I couldn't see it until you touched me." He grasped hold of Mrillis by his shoulders, using their shirts and cloaks as padding, a buffer between their flesh. "You're wide open, like a seed forced ahead of its time." He stared hard into the boy's eyes. "We're at war, and sometimes we have to use the weapons the Estall throws into our hands, whether we know how to use them or not. Do you understand me?"
Mrillis tried to nod. The humming in his bones and blood grew stronger. He felt as if liquid metal flowed through his veins, threatening to scorch to his marrow--but it hadn't scorched him yet.
He could touch the power running through the land. What could he do with it?
"We have to do something," someone said from what sounded like leagues away.
"Call for help, at least," another man said.
"Others have to know what's happening," gravel-voiced Maxin said. He knelt next to Mrillis and rested a hand on the boy's back, steadying him. "Will he be all right, do you think?"
"When the Estall touches us, we are always changed." Haster made a choked sound that could have been a mixture of sigh and laughter. "Yes...that's a different def
inition for everyone. But yes, we have to do something."
"Call," Mrillis managed to say.
With the sound of his own voice, something changed inside. He broke through whatever membrane tried to hold him prisoner, buzzing and smoldering with power. He could call Ceera.
Where are you? Ceera responded when he thought her name. She gasped, and it seemed her small, cool hand slipped into his when he showed her what he saw, the things that had happened. I'll tell our Lady!
The sensation of her hand stayed clasped in his. Mrillis knew he stood still, held up by Haster, but another part of him sped down the corridors with Ceera as she raced to find Le'esha.
"A starshower is falling on Lygroes!" the child called, and Mrillis called with her. "The Threads are being used to pull star-metal down on Quenlaque!"
Their voices combined, bouncing off the inner walls of the Stronghold, then penetrating the ancient rock to pierce the canyons and dart across Lygroes with the speed of wind.
On Wynystrys, Breylon touched the Threads and Mrillis heard him call. The boy acted as go-between, asking questions for Haster and the High Scholar and repeating the other's answers. The children trembled and felt their combined souls grow thin, but together they cried out the warning. Breylon sent out his fastest riders to warn the port of Quenlaque and the surrounding villages in the direct path of the falling star-metal and the death it could bring.
The Threads screamed, resisting as an outside force used them to draw death and destruction down on Lygroes. Mrillis felt as if the Threads ran through his own flesh, yanking him forward and back. He shouted, the sound torn out of him, and felt the response in every strong Rey'kil who could touch the Threads. Hundreds of adult voices responded, pulling with him, resisting the burning that stank of blood and rot and slashed hot knives along all his nerves.
With a final shrill shriek, the Threads sprang free of the starshower. They resumed their normal shape, no longer warped and twisted. Mrillis gasped and felt cool relief speed through his flesh, through Ceera, as the starshower sped across the night sky.
"It's let go," Haster said from far away. His voice grew thin and faint, and Mrillis thought he fell into a deep, velvety, dark well.
"He did it?" Maxin said. His hands braced Mrillis through the fall.
"Whatever he did. Estall bless us all. I hope the boy didn't destroy himself doing it." Haster's hand rested gently over Mrillis' face. His touch seemed distant, as if a thick coating of dust lay between them. "Rest, lad. You did well."
* * * *
Mrillis floated in soft, warm darkness. Someone sang to him with a low, gentle voice, in words he couldn't decipher. They touched his soul and soothed him whenever fear or a flicker of pain tried to scrape the darkness away. He felt more tired than he had ever felt in his life.
Once, the darkness grew thin enough for him to see a face. The eyes were green, standing out in stark contrast to the pale skin, brows and lashes. Tears glistened in those eyes, turning them to emeralds. A soft, pink mouth smiled at him. Mrillis tried to smile back, and drained himself so completely he fell into the darkness again. He sank into the soft warmth gladly.
Soon, though, he rose past the comfortable barrier, like bobbing on the gentle swells of the sea. He heard Ceera's voice, then Le'esha's, then other voices he didn't recognize. They spoke softly, making background music. Mrillis lay still a long while, growing used to the feeling of having a body again, the scent of lantern oil and wool blankets and the moaning of the spring wind past shuttered windows.
He smelled mud, the wet hides of horses, crushed moss and the herb-and-smoke scent of the fire pit at the central, high point of Wynystrys. That realization woke him fully, because he thought he was home in the Stronghold. When he opened his eyes, Breylon sat by his bed. Their gazes met. The white-haired High Scholar nodded, a faint smile breaking the expanse of his beard.
"So, you have awakened. You were gone a long time, young herald."
"Herald?" Mrillis' voice cracked. It felt as if he hadn't used it in years.
"You grasped the Threads and shouted warning so the entire land heard you." He nodded again. "Most well done."
"Did anyone die?" He didn't have to close his eyes to see the streamers of fire trailing behind the falling star-metal and the poison that would burn Quenlaque when it impacted.
"A few fools were hurt, who refused to heed the warning, but no, no one died. Only a small piece of star-metal survived the battle in the sky, and it landed in the sea where the entire cluster should have landed."
"That's what the higher web is supposed to do, isn't it? Push the star-metal away from Lygroes, into the sea." He moaned when the sound of his own voice and the movement of his jaw reverberated through his head in nauseating waves.
"Yes, that is what it is supposed to do. And does most of the time. Even Lygroes still fears star-metal. Already, many have voiced the fear that we must dismantle the higher web altogether, to keep our enemy from using it against us."
"The Nameless One?"
"Who can tell? He is not the only Rey'kil who has turned away from our laws and principles. Perhaps now that he has gone into hiding, others have become brave enough to act. Some are arrogant enough to think they can learn from his mistakes and take over the World." Breylon reached across the table next to Mrillis' bed and picked up a wooden cup of some dark potion that smelled of mint--but not strong enough to hide the odors of other, less pleasant ingredients. "Drink, and go back to sleep."
"I feel like I've slept forever."
"The day may come when you will wish you could." The High Scholar tried to smile, but the momentary flicker of hurt in his eyes showed Mrillis that he too thought of Graddon and wondered about the man's fate. "For now, though, you must sleep to be completely healed. You are most blessed, lad, that you did not entirely burn away all your imbrose."
"You've been worrying about that ever since I pulled Ceera out of the fire." Mrillis smiled, despite the ache that simple motion sent through his facial muscles.
"Hmm, true, and you did scorch and scar yourself in those earlier escapades. What you went through with the starshower... it burned away all the scars, so to speak, and dug deeper channels through your body and soul, to carry power. Something strange happened when we did battle over the starshower and Threads. Something we did not expect was revealed, and your very survival, my lad, is part of the lesson we have learned." Breylon tipped the cup against Mrillis' lips and the boy was forced to drink the entire sweet, slightly noxious potion, or spill it all over himself.
Before he could frame another question, the High Scholar held out his hand. Pale yellow Threads appeared in the air. Mrillis heard a mellow chord reverberate through the air, just before he fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.
Chapter Fourteen
Le'esha and Ceera came next to Mrillis' room in the healing house, bringing lunch. The girl climbed up on the bed and sat at his feet. She watched him, her head cocked to one side and her big silver eyes solemn. The Queen of Snows refused to let Mrillis ask a single question until he had finished his broth and tea and eaten the rolled up flat of bread filled with a gritty paste of healing herbs, dried berries and honey.
"Are we on Wynystrys?" he asked, as soon as she took away the wooden platter he had slowly emptied.
"Five days," Ceera said. She slapped Mrillis' foot under the blanket. "You slept the whole journey here, and five days after they put you to bed."
"That's not good." He fought the urge to slide down in the bed and curl up and shiver, with the blankets pulled up over his head. "What did I do?"
"We did," Ceera said, with another slap on his foot. "Nobody will tell us what we did, until you wake up and can listen." Then her little scowl softened. She blinked away a sudden glimmer of tears and stroked his foot through the blanket. "You protected me."
Le'esha smiled and shook her head when the boy could only give her a confused look. "The two of you grabbed hold of the Threads and pulled power from them...and somehow made
them like a sponge, to pull more power into them. That saved you both from being incinerated by the power flowing through you, because it absorbed all the excess you could not handle. Which is a mercy from the Estall, because you took the brunt of it, my lad, shielding Ceera."
"We used it. We changed it, so it doesn't hurt us," Ceera said, nodding for emphasis hard enough to make her silvery hair tug free of her braids. Then she grinned, like the little girl she truly was. "We just can't remember how we did it."
"And that is why we are here, to work with Breylon and the most powerful Rey'kil enchanters and most knowledgeable scholars, to discover what happened and how we can use it in the future." Le'esha held out her hand, and Mrillis gave his hand into her grasp. "You have a destiny that was written before you were born. You do not have the right to risk yourself so recklessly again, do you understand?"
"I didn't know what I was doing!" the boy protested. The effort made his head hurt.
"All the more reason to train you thoroughly," Breylon said from the doorway. "So you'll understand what you're trying to do, when you attempt the impossible." He shook his head. Though his mouth pulled down in a sour frown, his eyes twinkled with mischief. "Only the young are able to accomplish the impossible. When you become ancient, you'll be too busy telling everyone else to be careful."
Ceera giggled.
"Mrillis, you are all I have left of your mother, who was very dear to me. Don't break my heart with worry, please," Le'esha added on a whisper. She leaned forward out of her chair and kissed the boy's forehead. Her touch drove away the ache throbbing from his temples through his head, so he had feared his skull would burst open.
* * * *
"My friends and colleagues, we have been fools," Breylon began, when Mrillis and Ceera had taken their seats in the long meeting hall in the center of Wynystrys.
To the boy's surprise, he saw mostly nods and somber looks that agreed with Breylon's assessment, and even a large number of sheepish grins and heads shaken in bemusement.
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