“Wasted tears. Better they were shed over the years lost between what has been and what must be, or not shed at all and her attentions put to proper focus. My brother did not deny himself her company for three centuries that she might spend them mourning those who were neither lost nor in need of her compassion.”
“Then why did he?”
Her eyes were bound, yet still her gaze chastised him. “Because it was necessary, Raine.”
“For the good of the realm?” He heard the cynicism in his tone and inwardly cringed at it.
“If you deny still that my brother works for the good of all there is little hope for you,” she declared. Then she turned to face him and cupped his cheek with her hand, adding more kindly, “But I do not think that is so.”
Raine stared into her blindfolded eyes, knowing she saw him clearly, that the cloth was no barrier to their connection, and he tried to rein in the imminent sense of doom that threatened to send him spiraling out of control.
Raine D’Lacourte considered himself a good man. He tried to be fair and just, honest in his dealings. He tried to consider more than the good of a few. But what truly speared him—what had shaken him to the core and kept him lying awake in the bitter hours each night since coming to T’khendar—was that he did not know if he was a good enough man to admit that the Fifth Vestal was a better man still.
“Isabel,” he lamented in a fierce whisper, “how do you take a man who you felt had betrayed everything that you had between you, and whom you have consequently vilified for three hundred years…” He squeezed her hand tightly, drawing strength from her touch, took a deep breath and continued, “How do you reconcile such a thing once you learn it was…” —gods above it was so hard to say!— “…wrongfully done?”
She took his hand with both of hers then and leaned to kiss his cheek tenderly. “With a little faith, all else shall become clear.”
“Faith,” he growled grimly. “It has never been my strong suit.”
“Yes, we’ve noticed that about you.”
“Isabel—” but he cut off his own words, for the force of another man’s thoughts suddenly silenced him.
In the same moment, Isabel’s lips spread in an exquisite smile that brought such a radiance to her face, it alone might have silenced Raine. “Come join us, Ean,” she called into the garden at large.
Raine turned on the bench as a man stepped around a column, and the Vestal recoiled at both recognizing Ean val Lorian and realizing it was he who exuded such fierce thoughts of protection and possessiveness toward Isabel.
More startling still was seeing how the fifth-strand currents surged toward Ean and collected around him, awaiting his command. These perceptions defied Raine’s comprehension. He could not be facing a youth newly born to his gift. These were the workings of a wielder in the prime of his understanding.
Raine stared, trying desperately to make sense of what he saw, and that’s when it registered…
“Oh gods above.” The knowledge sent him to his feet.
Suddenly it all made perfect sense. Björn sending a Shade and his zanthyr to protect an inconsequential prince was incomprehensible, but to do so in order to protect one of his generals newly Returned…
Of course he’d had to keep a long arm for the sake of Balance, but Björn would go to any lengths to reclaim one of his generals, and especially Arion Tavestra, the eternal soulmate of his sister Isabel.
Raine pushed both hands to his hair and stared at Ean.
As the tensely-charged moment seemed likely to draw out indefinitely, Isabel rose and extended her hand to Ean. He came obediently to her side and offered his arm that she might rest her hand upon it. “Ean, I believe you know Raine D’Lacourte,” Isabel murmured with benign amusement, all but laughing at the both of them. “Raine,” she said then, “I believe you know Ean as well. Perhaps I should leave the two of you to—”
“No!” they both exclaimed with equal heat.
Isabel attempted to suppress her smile and failed miserably, but Raine suspected she didn’t try very hard. “Hmm,” she said then, turning from one to the other of them. “This is…intriguing.”
Raine finally regained his composure. “Ean, it is good to see you well,” he managed, meaning it—much to his own surprise. “I see that you have reunited with Isabel, and…and I’m happy for you.”
Ean seemed to relax somewhat, but the currents still surged around him.
After a moment, Isabel murmured, “Perhaps you might release the fifth, my darling, as a show of faith in Raine’s veracity.”
Ean looked to her as if seeing her for the first time, and Raine realized then just how much danger he was in. Ean was so enwrapped in the fifth that he might’ve snuffed Raine like a candle with the least provocation, with the slightest misstep toward Isabel.
And if Ean feels thusly toward her, imagine what her own brother must feel.
Suddenly the idea of Björn allowing any harm to come to Isabel was utterly unimaginable. How could he and Alshiba have been so deceived, so misled by their own hurt and confusion? How could they have let themselves forget everything they knew to be true about these dear friends whom they’d once respected so deeply?
Raine resurfaced from these thoughts to notice with some relief that Ean had finally released the fifth.
“I’m…sorry,” Ean said then, clearly meaning it.
Raine shook his head, his diamondine gaze serious and thoughtful. “We have both come through a long journey to reach this moment, I suspect. But we are not at odds, Ean. Not anymore.”
Ean nodded, and Raine saw a darkness leave his gaze. “I’m relieved to know that. It has been…difficult, this feeling that I betrayed everyone.”
Raine regarded him soberly. “I suspect the others will have to work through their own confusions, even as we continue to do.” He looked to Isabel then and gave her a grateful look. As painful as it had been, there was edification in confessing one’s heart to Epiphany’s Prophet.
Isabel preempted his next statement by saying, “You must go to him, Raine.”
“I know,” the Vestal returned grimly. “I have an idea where I might find him.”
“I expect that you do.”
Thus did Raine take his leave of Isabel van Gelderan and her true love, and although the encounter had been shocking and painful and altogether immensely uncomfortable, as he left the cloister, Raine felt a lightness of spirit that he had not known since before Tiern’aval fell.
***
Carian walked in dreamscape. Somewhere on the vast distant plain, Dagmar worked his talent, weaving the pirate into the blank canvas of his dreams. Now that he’d arrived, however, Carian wasn’t sure what to do. Dagmar had explained that the closer Carian got to Gwynnleth’s dreams, the more the world would assume focus, but right now Carian saw only formless mist.
“Birdie!” he called for lack of anything better to say. “Oh, birdie!”
In the silence that followed, Carian tried not to feel the fool. It wasn’t that he had any great love of the avieth—or so he told himself—but she was…well, special. Anyone could see that, surely. And she didn’t deserve an end like this. The avieth was a warrior—Carian had seen that in her from the moment of their first meeting—and no warrior should be left to wither and die in their dreams.
Plus she was courageous, and passable smart…and she had a really nice ass.
“Birdie!” he called again, smiling at the appellation he’d created for her. He thought it entirely apt, though she seemed to deplore it vehemently, which only made him use it all the more. “Come my captivating canary!”
Silence. The mist drifted endlessly before his vision, revealing nothing.
Carian took a break from calling her to snarl a few curses. This improved his mood considerably, so he tried again. “Birdie! Now listen up, little bird, my cock-loving cockatiel…I know you’re desirous of my loins now. Don’t be shy! You can watch me banging the lizard tonight if you come now, little lovebird.”
Silence again, but Carian thought he could just make out a mountain in the distance. He took it as a good sign and tried again. And again.
And again.
Though time lengthened, gradually Carian began to see shapes in the fog, and it heartened him, emboldened him—as if he needed such encouragement—so he persisted through the endless hours despite feeling utterly foolish shouting into the mist.
“Birdie!” Carian called for the thousandth time as if it was the first. “Oh, Biiirdeee! Where are you, chickadee? Come to your master now, sweet parakeet. Biiirdeee! Oh biiiiiir-deeeee…”
“Hello, Islander.”
Carian spun to Gwynnleth as the world suddenly exploded into vivid color and form. At first completely shocked, in the next moment the pirate let out a whoop and grabbed her up, pinning her arms at her sides as he swung her around, ignoring utterly her raging, indignant protests.
***
As Raine made his way to the Hall of Games, he reflected on what seemed an ironic twist of Fate. This was so far from the reunion he had often imagined, where he overcame Björn through strategy and righteousness and Balance chose his side for once; where he brought the Fifth Vestal in shackles before the Council of Realms to answer for all of the crimes Raine and Alshiba had attributed to him.
Raine pushed a hand through his hair, his diamondine eyes intense. How far he’d come on this journey…how far he’d yet to travel.
But that he’d traveled any distance at all was due to Isabel.
Ironic, Raine thought again. He did know faith after all. He knew faith in Isabel, and recognizing that he could know faith in any form had somehow allowed him to know other sides of it, too.
He still didn’t see why Björn and Malachai had created T’khendar, but he was willing now, much to his own amazement, to trust that small bit to faith—that Björn did have a reason for creating the world, and it was nothing so petty as having his own realm to rule. Nor had he done it simply to show he could—two of the many suppositions Raine and Alshiba had entertained.
No, whatever the reason for T’khendar’s creation, it was essential to Alorin’s survival.
The truth seemed so utterly simple to Raine now. Why couldn’t he have seen it three centuries ago? It seemed a bitter pill to realize, also, that while he could so easily sense the truth in others, this one had eluded him completely.
Absorbed with self-abasements, Raine walked through the Hall of Games, barely noticing anyone else in the vast room, and headed out onto the balcony where he’d spent the Solstice with the drachwyr.
That had been an unexpected kindness on Björn’s part, though to be sure there had been purpose in it too. Björn never did anything without purpose stacked nine layers thick.
The day was uncommonly warm and humid, the air heavy and saturated with the promise of rain. Laying his hands upon the railing and gazing out over the deep valley, Raine saw a storm building in the south—a massive wall of charcoal clouds poured over the near mountains and rushed their way. For the first time, Raine observed the world through a different pair of eyes, seeing it for an incredible accomplishment instead of a shocking affront.
Still…it only followed that such a display of power and skill would frighten the very souls out of people.
“Why…?” Raine whispered desperately to the world. “Why did he create you?”
But T’khendar kept Björn’s secret close to its bosom.
“This is my favorite view,” Björn offered as he came to stand beside Raine. Even having expected he would come, Raine still started at his arrival, at seeing him in the flesh. By Cephrael’s Great Book!
The Fifth Vestal settled hands on the carved stone railing, and Raine noted his oath-ring sparkling in the muted light of the rising storm. He wondered if it might be more pure of color than his own. His eyes moved upward from the ring, past Björn’s sky blue jacket to his face in profile, to his patrician features, strong lines framing straight nose, cheekbone and jaw…and finally to his eyes, cobalt blue and intense, gazing earnestly upon the world he had created—for there was no doubt in Raine’s mind but that T’khendar was wholly Björn’s creation despite Malachai’s being blamed for it.
His oath-brother seemed a quiet force beside him, focused and still, harboring all the latent power of a calm ocean at dawn. It surprised Raine to realize he’d missed the familiar—if intimidating—feel of Björn’s presence. He hadn’t looked upon the Fifth Vestal in three-hundred years, yet the man didn’t seem to have changed at all. There was something profound to Raine in that recognition.
Things were changing for him…shifting…realigning seemingly without his control. Some of the threads of the pattern he’d held so inviolate within his consciousness had unraveled all the way back to their origins.
Raine turned back to the view, swallowed. He felt Björn’s presence emanating as waves washing over him, stirring a deep emotional response. He fought to keep hold of his composure, clenching his jaw against the force of his own feelings, for there were centuries of thoughts, confusions, frustrations and betrayals represented in this moment.
That he could stand shoulder to shoulder with his oath-brother at all and honestly not want to kill him was incredible. That he could be there willingly wearing the mantle of his own guilt was beyond the impossible. Yet there they both stood.
Words failed him.
“The mountains were Cristien’s idea,” Björn offered, glancing at Raine, who met his gaze but for the flash of a moment and still felt pierced by it. “Malachai wasn’t much of a decorator.”
Raine forced himself to take a deep breath and let it out slowly. Then he asked with careful regard, “Was it all of you, this creation? Everyone on the Council of Nine?”
“It would be unfair to say otherwise. Certainly one man alone could not have harnessed the necessary forces, nor conceived of so many disparate and vast patterns within his own single consciousness. It took all of us, and it was still far from perfect.”
“It looks fairly perfect now,” Raine startled himself by saying.
Björn turned him a smile, and their eyes met again. Met and held, and more passed between them than ever might be spoken aloud. “That must’ve been hard to say,” Björn offered after a moment.
Raine grunted and looked back to the view, exhaling heavy sigh. “You cannot be surprised to know your plan accomplished its purpose,” he admitted tightly. “I am not the same man who passed through the node a fortnight ago.”
“If you were, I would be supremely disappointed. But I cannot take credit for bringing you here. It was Isabel who demanded it.”
Raine blinked in surprise.
“Dare not imagine much escapes Isabel,” Björn advised with a sagacious glint in his gaze. “I am too often praised—or vilified—for what is only her brilliance.”
The words touched closely upon a painful truth, and Raine looked back to the view with deep feelings of regret battling to claim him now. “Why didn’t you trust me?” he heard himself ask quite against his own volition—the question just burst out of him colored by hurt and anger, spurred by bitter confusion.
Björn gave him a look of gentle apology, sensitive to his fragile state. “It was never a matter of trust, Raine. It was a matter of understanding you, of knowing what you could believe. It was simply application of the Fifth Law.” He gave him a compassionate look. “How long did it take you to accept that Malorin’athgul were in our realm actively working to destroy it?”
“Too long,” Raine admitted grimly.
“And how willing would you have been to accept it when they were but a promise darkening the horizon?”
He didn’t have to answer that, for the answer was obvious.
Jaya had the right of it, Raine thought bitterly, hating himself for his own evident shortcomings, for his failure to envision something broad enough that he might’ve gained Björn’s trust before now.
“But it’s also application of the Eleventh Esoteric,” Björn added, an
d at Raine’s questioning look, he explained, “A wielder is limited by what he can envision himself envisioning—so says the Eleventh Esoteric. This Esoteric should never be confused with the Fifth Law, for they are not the same. A wielder might envision any manner of things and be great in his application, but he will yet be limited in his scope if he considers there is something outside of his ability, if he considers his power to be limited in some way.”
Björn turned to face Raine and leaned sideways against the railing. “Take Malachai.” He opened his palm to the view and the storm now blowing in over them, his blue eyes holding Raine’s gaze captive. “Malachai was not limited in what he could envision. He could envision an entire world, could he not? And make no mistake of it, Raine, Malachai was the focal point for this working—through him, we channeled it all. Yet he was limited in what he could envision himself envisioning. He could see a great city, but he could only imagine it formed of the bedrock of the world. He could see a great sky, but it was boiling with the ash of volcanoes newborn. What reason not to raise Niyadbakir already formed of alabaster? If he could create it at all, it follows that he could create it of any stone, any material, does it not?”
Raine nodded, holding his gaze, hearing more than just this story but an entire undercurrent of explanation, of reasoning, of belief.
“Malachai was limited only by what he could envision himself envisioning. He was limited by his disbelief in the scope of his ability. This is the true message of the Eleventh Esoteric.”
Raine drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. Here was a man whom he’d vilified for three hundred years, and instead of laying blame, instead of requiring Raine’s contrition… Instead, here Björn was trying to help him understand that Raine hadn’t failed him at all.
He looked out over the valley as tears came unbidden.
He thought of the thousands of times he’d spoken out against Björn, of the heinous things he’d accused him of. He thought of all the people who believed Björn van Gelderan was a traitor—in no small part due to Raine’s own account of but one side of that coin. Truly—Björn had told them nothing, and perhaps he had some culpability in his lack of explanation—but the bulk of the defamatory content had been created by Raine and Alshiba in their attempts to craft explanation out of the inexplicable—and of course they’d supposed the worst.
The Dagger of Adendigaeth (A Pattern of Shadow & Light) Page 58