The Light That Binds

by Nathan Garrison

  “Nice to see you too, my dear,” he said.

  Slick Ren’s lips pressed into a tight line. “I’ll give you a proper homecoming soon enough. But if I so much as glimpse a single black scale—”

  “Vashodia is far away, I assure you. Do think I’m crazy enough to bring her here?”

  “Well, you have been known for the occasional lapse in sanity.”

  “What? Like marrying you?”

  “Among other things, yes.”

  “Well, I’ve had enough bloodshed to last anyone a hundred lifetimes. The last thing I need is you two going at each other’s throats.”

  “Oh darling, it will be me going for her throat . . . and she’ll never see it coming.”

  The breeze dried the sweat from Jasside’s skin as she lay against Mevon’s chest, only to moisten it again as intermittent gusts caught mist from the waterfall. Bright sunlight shone down from a clear, open sky, reflecting from her husband’s eyes, which matched the hue of the wild grasses upon which they lay. Its warmth was just enough to counteract the wind’s cooling effect.

  Not that she lacked when it came to heat.

  “I’m . . . sorry about that,” Mevon said.

  Still struggling to control her own heaving chest, Jasside noted with amusement the hint of breathlessness to his words. She’d made him work for it, this time. “What could you possibly have to be sorry about?”

  “After that apple fell from the basket, I saw you bend over to pick it up. And . . . well . . . I’m not sure I gave you much of a choice after that.”

  Jasside laughed softly, remembering his hands reaching for her from behind, forceful and insistent with need. Yet, even then, he’d paused, waiting for her to give assent before letting his desire take hold, infecting them both with its insatiable passion.

  “Did my response give you even the slightest indication that your touch was unwanted?”

  “Well, no, but—”

  “Then you have nothing to be sorry for.”

  “Still. Twice before breakfast? We’ve never done that before. I don’t want you to think I’m being greedy.”

  “Impossible,” she said. “The only reason we haven’t done so before is that we were too busy. Not to mention that after a day of fighting we had barely enough energy for, what some would call, ‘the basics.’ I’m glad we finally have time to . . . explore.”

  A smile split Mevon’s face open wide. “Me too.”

  There was a kind of surrender to love, she realized. To truly commit was to make of one’s self a gift, and to give it freely. Finding someone who would not only take that gift and unwrap it with care, but also give of themselves in return was a thing she’d seen all too rarely. That she could perform this exchange with Mevon, a man she’d once hated with every fiber of her soul, well, she needed no more proof of miracles than that. Without forgiveness, unconditional love simply could not exist.

  She reached past him and snatched an apple, one of many that had tumbled into the grass after the basket had—along with her robe—found itself strewn on the ground. She bit into the glossy skin, chewing slowly, and let the cool, sweet juices salve her parched throat. With that last bit of uncomfortableness finally relieved, her body relaxed into a state of complete satisfaction.

  Rolling onto her back, she stared up at the sky, content in every way imaginable. After Yandumar ordered everyone to go enjoy themselves, she’d brought Mevon to this place, a spot near enough where she grew up to be familiar, yet far enough away from anything resembling civilization to be considered secluded. She’d formed a small building for their shelter, though they hadn’t done much inside it but sleep. Instead, they’d spent their time exploring the nearby terrain, searching for plants to eat, and just simply . . . being. No battles to fight, no people to save, no desperate orders to give or follow. It was exactly what they’d needed to rediscover both themselves and each other.

  And yet, she knew it wouldn’t last.

  “I like it here,” she said, after nibbling the apple down to the seeds, then tossing the core away. “Wouldn’t it be nice if we could just stay here forever?”

  “Yes,” Mevon said. “It would.”

  “We could plant a garden and hunt occasionally for food. We’d only go into town when we felt like it, and not because it was expected of us, or because we were needed. We could live out our lives in peace. We could even, if you wanted, raise a family. I would add a new room to our house every time . . .”

  “That sounds lovely,” Mevon said, wrapping an arm around her and hugging her close. “That sounds lovely indeed.”

  Sighing, she nestled back into him. It was nice to fantasize about the future, even if the odds of it ever coming about were anything but in their favor. “How long, do you think, until they call us back?”

  Mevon grunted. In that short exhalation, Jasside read volumes. They both knew how clever and persistent the ruvak could be.

  “Not long,” he said.

  Jasside did not disagree.

  “Come on,” Lashriel said, tugging at his hand. “We are almost there.”

  Gilshamed stumbled along behind her. He did not know where they were going, or why they had to walk the last half a league instead of flying, but neither point of ignorance concerned him. He was with his love, alone and untethered to all responsibility. Nothing else seemed like it could possibly matter.

  “Just over this hill and it will be in sight. Oh, I cannot wait for you to see it!”

  Gilshamed smiled. Though he was only a few centuries older than her, it appeared as though the last two thousand years had simply not affected her. She still retained the relatively youthful vigor that he remembered in his ancient memories, and it was a good thing that she did; that energy, that exuberance for life and all that came with it, was the only thing that had been keeping him going.

  After another few dozen steps, they neared the crest of the hill. Lashriel swept a hand out before her, smiling widely as she announced, “And here we . . .” She trailed off, her arm slowly dropping to her side.

  Before them was nothing but an ashen wasteland.

  “I don’t understand,” she said. “It’s supposed to be right here.”

  Gilshamed surveyed the valley, which was covered in old lava flows that had long since crusted over, only allowing a few scattered patches of foliage to poke through the grey. “There is little about this place that tugs at my memory.”

  “It is the same for me. But that should not be so! That is Mount Elurath right there,” she said, pointing to the solitary, snowcapped peak rising high out of the plains. “And where we stand now is a league and a half from the summit, on the leeward side. We should be able to see—”

  Words succeeded where the vista had failed, and Gilshamed felt memories older than the empire spring back to life within his mind. “Taranis Valley,” he said. “The place where we first met.”

  “I was but a student at the youth retreat here, and you one of the mentors. It was quite scandalous when we started courting, especially since you were five times my age and already being groomed to take your place on the High Council.”

  “It was your eyes that first ensnared me, but your compassion that held me in the trap. I always was drawn to the very things that I lacked.”

  “As was I.” Lashriel gestured forlornly to the view before them. “But that place is gone now.”

  The mountain must have erupted during or soon after the Cataclysm, wiping away one of the more cherished places from their youth. She did not have to speak it out loud for him to understand why she had brought him here. Despite her best efforts, he had felt himself slipping away, caring less and less every day about the fate of the world.

  It was difficult to believe in hope when it seemed less real than dreams.

  “I had intended . . .” Lashriel shook her head. “I suppose it does not matter anymore. Let us depart. It was a mistake to come here.”

  “No,” Gilshamed said, wrapping an arm around her shoulders before she
could unfurl. “You were trying to give me a reason to fight on. A reminder of better times to sustain my will through the dark days ahead. That you would even try means much to me, my love. It is no fault of yours that the very land beneath our feet has been irrevocably altered from the days of our youth.”

  “So much has changed,” she admitted. “But the land is the least of it. There’s not a culture around today that I recognize. They’ve become so alien to me that the ruvak themselves do not surprise me. Even you and I are different from the way we would like to remember ourselves.”

  “My love for you will never change.”

  “Yes, it will—and that’s a good thing,” she said, catching the look of protestation on his face. “Change may always be frightening, but it is not always bad. Our love today looks nothing like what it did when our hearts first latched on to each other. In another thousand years it will be different still. Should we sorrow over those lost flutterings that so dominated our young selves? Should we rage against the incessant machine of time that will eventually destroy what defines our love today?”

  “Of course not, but we—” He stopped himself, shutting his lips just before they let loose the words that would do her the most harm.

  Unfortunately, as always, she knew him too well.

  “You do not think we will live that long.”

  She did not speak it like a question. Around you, my love, my soul remains ever unguarded.

  “No,” he said, after a long moment.

  “Perhaps you’re right. But I do not think that matters.”

  “How could it not matter? If I cannot save you, then what is the point?”

  She stared once more toward the place their old retreat had once stood. “For the youth, of course. For the children alive today, and all those yet to come.”

  “I do not care about them. Only you.”

  “I know. I, however, do care. I care about them a great deal, and I will fight until my last breath to ensure that their day has a chance to dawn, even if I do not live long enough to see that sunrise. But I do not have your strength, your courage, your implacable will to see a task through to the end.

  “You lived for two thousand years sustained only by a dream, and in the end, you turned that dream into a reality. All I ask is that you help me do the same.”

  Gilshamed lowered his eyes. Her words had stung him. Not in any malicious way, but it hurt to hear them all the same.

  “I have been selfish,” he said. “And my vision seems as though trapped in a tunnel. You are, as ever, entirely right about me. I cannot continue fighting for you alone. But for your dream? For all those for whom your heart pours out?” He smiled. “Now that is a cause worthy enough to claim my full attention.”

  Arivana watched as the sun shed its last light over the vineyards. Neat rows of plants rolled out over gentle hills as far as she could see, which was even more impressive considering her skyship floated fifty paces above the ground. Thousands of field hands stirred below, laughing and joking with their sun-burnished brethren as they finished up their daily labors, the fruit of which quite literally now rested in her glass.

  She saw several of them staring up in her direction, a response she’d grown accustomed to; flying vessels were still a rare sight in the empire. She held up her glass in salute, smiling as the sunlight danced within the swirling liquid like wildfire. The figures all waved back and released jubilant ululations.

  “I’m normally more of an ale person,” Daye said as he stood beside her. “But this isn’t bad.”

  Arivana glanced over at his wine, as red as blood whereas hers was only faintly pink. “Though I’ll not argue the quality,” she said, “that particular vintage is too strong and sour for my tastes.”

  “And yours is much too sweet.”

  “Well then,” she said, pausing to take a sip. “It appears we’ve both found a drink to suit our temperaments.”

  Daye frowned. “I’m not that sour. Am I?”

  Laughing, Arivana patted him on the arm. “Leave it to you, my king, to hear only the perceived slight while missing the compliment entirely.”

  He grunted as he lifted his own glass and tapped it against hers with a sharp yet short-lived ring. “Well spoken, my queen. As always. I suppose I’ll have to learn that particular skill eventually.”

  “You mean speaking well? Don’t be silly. The less you speak the more people are reminded that you hail from the barbaric north. Silence, on your part, will only intimidate them into doing whatever we ask of them.”

  “Are we tyrants now, to bully others into doing our bidding?”

  She shrugged. “We could be, if we wanted. The throne hasn’t had this much true power in thousands of years.”

  “Sounds like fun. What sort of foul rules should we force upon them first?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe we could make everyone be nice to each other?”

  “Outlaw meanness? They would absolutely hate us for that.”

  “We could outlaw hate, too.”

  “If we did, they’d just find a loophole through pettiness and sulking.”

  “Yes, but once we sentence them to acts of altruism and charity, I’m sure their attitudes will change.”

  “Now that is wishful thinking if ever I heard it.”

  “True,” Arivana said with a sigh. “Being a tyrant is more difficult than I thought.”

  “Plenty of people still manage it,” said a voice from behind them. “It’s not that hard when people willfully blind themselves to any cruelty not immediately directed at them.”

  She and Daye both turned as the figure approached them. “Claris,” Arivana said. “I take it our course is set?”

  “Just waiting on your word to depart,” Claris replied.

  “Depart?” Daye said. “We just arrived here this morning and you already want to leave?”

  “Why not? I’ve had a lovely time learning about the wine-making process and sampling the best this land has to offer, but there’s so much more of it out there to explore!”

  “We’ve already seen half of this entire continent, it seems. Will you not be satisfied until your eyes have claimed the rest?”

  Arivana spun outward, scanning a horizon quickly succumbing to long shadows. “But it’s . . . all so beautiful. True, many parts of it are different from what I’ve seen elsewhere, but it’s no less stunning a sight. Some places we’ve come across already have been unique enough to steal my breath away. Beauty takes so many forms and is measured differently by each observer. I would never forgive myself if I didn’t take the opportunity to find it everywhere it lies. Especially here, in a land that’s been so long a mystery.”

  “I couldn’t agree more,” Daye said, reaching out grasp her hand. “I just find it a shame that true beauty can usually only shine amidst the ugly things in this world.”

  He squeezed gently, and she felt something pulse through her. Though his touch had never been unwelcome, not even from the awkward start of their relationship, it had never been something she necessarily craved. Something had changed that, somehow. As their eyes met and did not waver in their mutual regard, she realized that this was the first true moment of intimacy between them.

  Claris cleared her throat. “Well, if you won’t be needing me . . .”

  With reluctance—or perhaps to leave them both wanting—Arivana broke her gaze, glancing over at her aunt. “Do me a favor before you go?”

  “Anything.”

  “She may have declined my invitation to join us in today’s affairs, but I wouldn’t want her to miss out. Would you please bring Sem Aira a glass of wine?”

  “It would be my pleasure. Which kind?”

  “Any kind she likes,” Arivana said, turning back to her husband. “She’s no longer a prisoner, after all.”

  Vashodia skipped along the bottom of the Chasm, sending waves of power down every canyon, cave, and crevice. Darkwisps spilled into the main floor of the massive wound in the planet, flushed out by their th
ousands. Her spheres feasted. Every pocket in her robe was already stuffed with newly formed homes for her little friends, and she’d even begun filling the sack strapped over her shoulder. It wouldn’t be long before that, too, was full.

  It was strange that so many of the disembodied souls would choose to linger here. She understood the aesthetic appeal, of course, but not the instinctive one. When she’d shattered the Shroud, most of the darkwisps trapped within it spilled out into the world at large, seeking out lightwisps, and thus, a long-overdue end to their presence upon this world. That had been just as she’d expected.

  “Then why are all of you still here? Were you waiting for me? Did you know that I’d come back someday and have need of you? Well, need is perhaps too strong a word. You are, after all, not much more than a means, a convenient way to more simply reach an end.

  “Which end, you ask? Oh, please. As if that mattered. Plan A is forgotten, plan B a distant memory, and plan C . . . we don’t talk about plan C. Honestly, why even bring it up?”

  The sack was getting heavy, now. Vashodia slowed.

  “All I know is that the game is coming to a close. And, as always, I play to win.”

  She formed in the air beside her a basket of sorts, imbibing its bottom with repulsive force, then dropped the sack inside the floating contraption. Her burden removed, she straighten her back and brushed her hands together.

  “That’s better. And thank you all so much for your participation. I’m afraid I’ll have to solve this little mystery another day. But trust me, no matter how things turn out, I will still have plenty of those to look forward to. Now—”

  All other thoughts subsided in an instant as she felt someone brush against her mind. She had not expected that. Indeed, she’d even taken steps to actively block all attempts to commune with her.

  From every source but one.

  She plunged into commune, barely giving herself time to form before saying, “It’s about time, brother.”

  “Vashodia!” Draevenus said. “Thank Ruul I got through. You’ve no idea how good it is to see a friendly—well, to see your face, anyway.”