The Window and the Mirror

by Henry Thomas

  When she saw his face her eyes went wide and the words stuck in her throat. She blinked at him disbelievingly and stammered a few times before her eyes grew wide again and she sank down to her knees. “My lord!” she said astonishedly. “My Lord Illithane, my noble lord. You’ll not remember me, but you took in my family and others from my village after cruelties were visited upon us by the young Lord Uhlmet. You saved us, my lord, and I am forever grateful to you.” The words tumbled out of her. Her hard exterior was gone now, and Joth was looking not at an airship captain but a young woman just past the flower of her youth with her heart in her hands expressing her genuine gratitude to this stranger who stood before her.

  Lord Illithane? Joth looked at the man who had rescued them as he stood there bearing all of their scrutiny. Galt and Kipren were whispering excitedly to each other. Elmund was on his knees next to his captain, staring up at the man in wonder.

  The leader of the rebel armies who had opposed the Magistry? They had killed him, Joth thought. Killed his entire family. Could it be true, he wondered? Could this legendary general and warrior be the somewhat plain and normal-looking man who stood before them now? Everyone was on their knees, except for he and Eilyth. He looked to Eilyth but she was staring at the man, studying his face. The ship’s crew and young Bellan were all looking up at the man, their faces full of adoration. The man himself seemed overcome with emotion. What at first seemed a reluctance to admit his identity had fallen away and was replaced with something else, something that was hard to define. It was not shyness. Was it embarrassment, or shame?

  At last Joth realized it to be the admission that he had failed. There was a guilt involved. Guilt over the lives lost, the battles fought in vain. Joth could see it in his face, but he could also feel it coming from the man, could sense it in his energy. He had been broken by failure, by loss, by heartache, and misery so debilitating that it had marked him. It was not so much that the man was ashamed of his identity, he was ashamed that he had failed, that he had given up, that he had lost. And all of it was wrapped inside the raw wound of a broken heart. It was easy to see now that Joth knew where to look.

  “Please, get up. You needn’t do this.” The man took a step toward them, but they stayed kneeling. Joth felt Eilyth’s eyes on him for a moment but when he looked back at her she was looking to the man in the cloak. The Lord Illithane. He met her eyes.

  “When will you stop running?” she asked him quietly.

  He looked at all of them for a long time. The wind whistled coldly through the hold. They were all watching him expectantly.

  Finally, he spoke. “I already have.”

  Acknowledgments

  I’d like to thank Marianne Moloney for her early edits and infectious enthusiasm about the story. I would also like to thank everyone at Rare Bird Books for their hard work and wonderful support.