by Sandra Waugh
She kept her eyes on me. “The battle?”
“I was there in a vision, and—and he saw me.”
Her fingers tightened on mine. And there was a flicker of envy for that—that I had shared his last moment. She spoke it slowly, admitting it as if some terrible secret: “I never told him.”
Her pain was excruciating. I felt its stab in my own heart. I squeezed her cold hands, saying impulsively, “But I did, Evie. I told Raif you loved him. I thought it would keep him alive if he believed. I didn’t care truth or not, he needed to hear.… I want to believe it comforted him.…” I watched her a bit helplessly. “It was not right for me to say, that I spoke for you, but I was—”
“Lark, stop. It was right. You chose for me.” There was a long pause. Evie’s lip curved ever so faintly in relief. “Do you remember? I asked you to choose the one I would love, as my birthday gift.”
Of course I remembered; it was just unexpected. I thought I’d chosen Gharain, but it was our birthday when I’d found Raif in my terrible vision. And it was Raif whom I told of Evie’s love.
“I said you would know because you have the Sight. I said you would choose well.” Evie’s eyes were dry, but, soft as it was, her voice broke. “You chose well, Lark. You chose well.”
I tried to smile for her. “Raif’s last words, Evie. They were meant for you. He said, Love cannot die.”
“I know,” she said.
Love can be that simple. Evie shared her heart with few words, and with just as few words and no tears, she suffered its loss. It hurt to look at her. Grandmama had not been speaking of me when she said that heartbreak would be borne, but I was not at all certain that Evie could bear it. Or maybe it was I who could not bear so uneven an ending for my dearest friend.
Haunted, but no less perceptive, Evie turned her frank gaze on me. “Let me see you, Lark.” After a while she said, “You’ve changed.”
I took a breath. “Evie, if I could begin to tell you—”
She shook her head. “You don’t need to. You shine. It’s glorious.” Another moment and then she murmured, “I imagine Tarnec to be very beautiful.”
“Yes,” I said. “But so is this.”
Her eyes dropped briefly, and then she looked up, away. “This cottage, this village were a most special place to grow, weren’t they.” She wasn’t asking for response; she wasn’t even asking a question. I shivered a little that she spoke of our home in past tense.
There was a wistfulness in her tone: “Love, purpose, challenge … all of those things to open your heart and mind.” And then she feigned a smile. “Look, Lark, Rileg paws at the door. He wants you. We will talk later.”
She was slowly releasing her hands from mine, and I gripped them to make her stay. “Evie.”
She shook her head. “What a journey this must have been for you, Lark.” She gave a last squeeze to my fingers. “Everyone should make such a one.”
Evie was gone the next morning. She left her goodbyes in a scattering of marjorie and willow on the kitchen table as an offering of happiness and love to all. She took some provisions, she took her turquoise cloak, and she took some small bottles of herbs; which ones they were I would not have known, but Grandmama did, for I saw her later frowning at the empty spaces on the shelf. Grandmama seemed little surprised at Evie’s departure, though it must have made her heart heavy to lose her. And I? I’d not even been able to tell Evie of our shared marks, of what it could mean.
I cried. I might have cried longer, but a message dove came winging down to our porch and waited patiently for me to dry my eyes and untie the tiny roll of parchment that was on her leg. The ribbon was the brilliant rose color of Tarnec. It was the color of the flag I’d brought to Bren Clearing.
I gave the note to Gharain, watching his face darken as he read it.
“The king will not recover,” he announced heavily. “I must go back now.” He pulled me close for a moment and then said, almost hesitantly, his jaw against the top of my head, “Lark … the amulet.”
“He must see it,” I murmured back. “He must know it is safe returned.”
Grandmama filled a satchel with food. We invited, but she would not come with us. Merith needed its Healer. It needed a third elder as well, for sadly Sir Jarett was one who’d not survived the Troths’ attack, and Grandmama had taken his place with the eldest villagers. She hugged me very hard and said that it was not to be our last embrace. “Evie will return someday, and so shall you. In the meantime, we must each follow our paths.”
I walked through our cottage, letting my fingertips sketch over all of the things that made it home. I walked through the gardens and fields; I charged the ghisane not to overrun our land, though I strongly doubted it would heed me. And I said goodbye to neighbors and friends. They had no knowledge of my true journey; I’d been lanced by hukon, they knew, and understood my healing would be better protected wherever it was we headed. No one spoke of Castle Tarnec, and I would not tell of its secrets. I was merely going back with Gharain, the Rider, to live somewhere in the hills of Tarnec—the beginning of those territories that would remain unknown. But Dame Keren bowed to me when I went to bid her goodbye, and when I looked surprised at that, she simply fixed me with her bright gaze and smiled.
Quin knew my story, because I told it to him, and he’d not reveal my confidences. He put down his reed flute then, and claimed he would be a Rider. I grinned and said what of his sweetheart Nance, and what of the silly, smitten Cath, and did not our village need his music more than the hills needed a sword?
“ ’Tis not the sword I want, Lark. ’Tis a horse.”
Foolish as it was, I offered, “And if I can send you one horse?”
Quin looked at me with a stern shake of his head. “But you cannot, should not, do that. Think of the imbalance it would create in Merith.”
Balance—ever precarious. I made Quin promise that he would not attempt to enter the realm of Tarnec without first unfurling a flag from the rowan tree. And then I picked him a sprig of fern and said it was my offer of friendship and it would protect him. Not from Cath, though, I’d said with a wink.
And so, not two hours past the dove’s arrival, I set out with Gharain on horseback to Castle Tarnec. We rode side by side. The Life amulet stayed tied around Rune’s neck, swinging gently in the pack, for I would need both arms to hold Rileg when he tired.
After all, it was a distance to travel and he had only three legs.
BY HORSEBACK, MY original journey was halved. Even the rift the Breeders had opened between the Niler marshes and the Cullan foothills was bridged and offered no delay—we rode across the new timbers that spanned the crevasse, still oozing tree sap, while I held my breath and imagined the endless depth beneath us.
And it seemed in short time we were climbing the narrow trail to Castle Tarnec, four Riders having come to meet and lead us up. I greeted them happily and by name now: Laurent, Taran, Evaen, and Wilh. They were glad to see us.
Laurent asked after Evie, nodding when I told him of her departure and thanked him for saving her life. “I imagine she is missed,” he said evenly.
And then there were all the others to welcome me home. Home. Had I said it? I stood in the bedchamber where I’d spent but one full night, breathing in the scent of bell roses cascading outside the window. Home. Rileg curled up contentedly on the deep-piled carpet, and I sat on the great bed, closed my eyes, and breathed. This was not the moss and brown earth and milk soap scents of my cottage, and yet it smelled pure and sweet, and good.
“My lady?” Nayla was at the door. “The king is asking for you.”
I got up immediately, shouldering my pack with the crystal orb undisturbed inside, and left my chamber. But Nayla stopped me. “Not that way.”
And she led me away from the Great Hall, to a set of stairs that opened deep into the rock upon which the castle sat, and down many steps until she finally paused and said from there I must continue alone. And I did until the steps ended, opening onto
a wide octagon of smoothed stone lit by single tapers ensconced on each of the eight facets. A large font stood in the center, the only furnishing. Cool, a little musty … I stood in the keep of Balance, where the amulets rested. Except, not now.
“You did well, young Lark. I thought you would.”
The king was there, waiting. I walked quickly to him, bowing hand to heart, glad to see him, yet also sad. This was but a wan figure of the king. He was upright, but strongly supported by a stout wooden cane topped with a knob of crystal. I thought suddenly of Twig—how he’d faded from sight. The king looked to do that at any moment.
I’d forgotten he could read my thoughts. “Ahh, the gnome.” The king smiled. “He was gathered at your request.”
“I could not have claimed the amulet without his help.”
“Then you were wise to have asked.” The king shifted his weakened stance. I heard the deep weariness beneath his words. “And now you have brought the Life amulet home. May we see it?”
I opened my pack. It. The crystal orb. I’d rescued it, carried it, ready now as I stood there before the king to return it to its home.
My hand closed around the amulet, scooping it in one palm and drawing it close one last time. “It seems brighter here,” I said, marveling at the little thing glowing in my palm.
The king made a small nod. “Yes. But not as bright as it will be.”
He was right, of course. The orb pulsed with lovely warmth, and yet within the crystal, only the green threads gave off light.
“You must place it now,” he said. I followed his slow steps to the font. The bowl was wide and shallow on its tall pedestal, crafted from woods, stones, and metals—varied colors and textures all twisted and carved and shaped into a spiral of support for four unique holders.
“The small slash in the stone will hold our blade of Light,” the king said, pointing. “The nest of pearls is there for Death’s shell. The stone of Dark will be set inside the iron ring, and the center is for the orb.”
The special places for the Dark, Light, and Death amulets were points of a triangle surrounding the spot for the crystal orb: a simple bed of moss. I looked up at the king. His eyes crinkled.
“Go on,” he said.
With two hands I placed the orb gently on the moss. So simple. I heard the faint intake of breath—my own and the king’s—and then the whole room seemed to sigh with relief. It was a settling of the floor, of the space—firmer suddenly. Grounded.
“Ahh. Well done.” The king sighed, and I looked at him sharply. He was bent further, hunched over his cane as a final support before falling.
I moved to him. “Let me assist you back to your chambers.”
“Lark.” He wheezed a chuckle. “You do not imagine I can climb those stairs.”
“Then let me run for help. The Riders—”
“No. My time is over.” He looked at me shaking my head, refusing his refusal. “It is all right, Lark. I am glad of this.”
“But why can we not heal you?” I begged.
He sighed, but it was not a sorry sigh. “Lark, regardless of effort, a Complement cannot survive long after the loss of his Guardian.”
My hand was on his arm. “You were Complement to the queen? The queen was a Guardian?”
“She was,” the king said, pushing himself to stand taller. “Life Guardian.”
My hand fell away. “I cannot be queen.”
“My dear, you already are.” He nodded at my stunned stare. “Hear this, young Lark, and understand it well, for time is short. You, Guardian of our Life amulet, with the mark of Balance, you are now the rightful ruler of Tarnec. It is no easy demand. It is your charge to see that the other amulets are restored, and that the natural world is returned to Balance. In this you must succeed.”
I turned then and moved a little apart. I did not deny his words, but I needed a moment to let them sink in. To my side the orb pulsed its steady light. I had done that. I had brought the amulet home. Whatever uncertainties and fears had thrilled through, determined to wreck me, I endured. I’d brought it home.
I shifted, then stared, startled, because I saw there were other items in the room. A narrow bench had been hidden by the size of the font; four books were placed side by side upon it. For all the intricate crafting of the amulets’ font, this was quite spare in comparison, almost too simple.
The king knew my thought. “This keep was never intended for them.”
“These are the Guardians’ books,” I said, “which hold their destinies. Is this how we find the others?”
“Guardians awaken when crisis demands,” he reminded me. “They don’t know it yet, of course, but they are ready to be wakened, just as you were. The books are not necessary, but they do hasten discovery. And since they were loaned to us for this purpose, we should not ignore the opportunity. Read only the first page, the single verse that begins each book. It will hold the clues for your search. Aid the Guardians as you can.”
I walked over to the bench. The books lay so simply, so harmlessly on their makeshift shelf. There was my book, with the orb etched on it. The covers of the other three books were also etched: a shell, a stone, and a small, slightly curved blade. The books were beautifully made—the gilding on the edges, the smooth leather bindings—and yet they were not ornate; there was no fanfare to these lives, or the fates held within. And what were those fates? I wondered. How did they merge and intertwine with mine? Would the amulets each be returned and Balance restored? And if I opened to any page, would it speak of beauty or horror?
“It is not for you to read ahead, Lark,” the king whispered solemnly to quench my curiosity. “Leave them the freedom of choice. That is the honor of Balance.”
And what would be their choice when faced with the magnitude of the task—would they believe they could do it any more than I had? Poignance. Hope. That much I could feel from the books. Beyond that … “I have seen them, these Guardians,” I murmured. “They are young. We are all so very young.”
The king smiled. “Worry will not help them. Trust yourself.”
I laughed a little. “That was what Twig said.”
“A wise gnome, I’d say.”
My eyes widened. “You sent him,” I whispered. “You helped me through. The moonstone, the ally token, the things you meant to give to me—”
His smile broadened, though he shook his head. “The rowan tree is our friend. She helped me help you. Lark, remember Twig’s words: Your truth will be your greatest aid. The ally token was your truth. The voices you heard were carried within your own memory. You trusted yourself.”
I said, almost breathless, “The ruby drop that Twig gave me, that the Bog Hag wanted, which allowed me to step through to the Myr Mountains. Was it the Bog Hag’s tear?”
“A tear, but not hers. The last red drop of our queen’s blood, before the hukon turned it black.” The reverence was plain in his voice. “Our Guardian of Life is the essence of all things of this Earth. Her blood is every being’s blood. We must preserve a single pure drop to return to the rightful harbor so that souls will not be left in Chaos. Life returns to Death, Lark. Ever Balance.”
“You hadn’t intended to give it to me.”
His eyes crinkled. “It was my charge to return the drop, but since you took, shall we say, a shortcut to the Myr Mountains, I thought you might need such an offering to help you through. The Hag will carry it home.”
The Bog Hag. I’d crossed through one of Death’s realms to reach the Myr Mountains.
The king was murmuring, “The last pure drop of your blood was saved as well.”
“How—how do you know that my blood was still pure? I was in the mountains forever, it felt; how is it possible it was not completely tainted?”
“Because you would be dead.” The king looked at me very calmly. “Lady Lark, the queen was of great age; she had not your youthful strength.”
I asked what I’d always wondered: “Did she know?”
He made a faint smile.
“Remember that we willingly make our sacrifices.”
“But then she let Erema steal the amulets!”
“Unless the amulets are destroyed, war will ever wage between Balance and Chaos, for even Balance must be balanced,” he reminded me. “And yet Tarnec was breached so easily this time—perhaps the queen understood that a new era of Guardians was necessary, that the Keepers of Tarnec as well must strengthen to their task.” He waited a moment before saying, “The Life Guardian keeps watch long after the other Guardians have passed on. She knew a strong successor would be needed. She trusted you.”
And now it was his time. The king was fading before me. My hands reached out reflexively to draw him back, to shake him into solid form, but he pulled away from me a little with a heavy step, leaning hard on his cane. My voice went shrill: “That is made of hukon!”
The king turned his head to me with a wry grimace. “Balance is necessary, even when it seems a burden.” He raised a gnarled finger to point at me. “You carry yours within.”
I could feel the scar as he said it. The hukon stab would never be healed.
He looked up then, this king—eyes closing and a beautiful smile making his face glow. “Complement,” I heard. He was going to her.
“My love, my Life …,” he said very softly, and faded from sight. The hukon stick fell sharply to the ground, the crystal bursting into a thousand shards of flame and burning the evil wood to ash before I’d had time to catch my breath.
Done. I was Tarnec’s queen.
It was dark when I reached the top of the stairs. The hour was very late, for I passed no one in the corridor. I walked back to my chamber, pushing open the heavy door with a heavy heart, glad then when I saw Rileg, the fire in the hearth, and some tea keeping warm nearby. I scratched Rileg’s ears, took up my cup, and sat for a while watching it, waiting for the liquid to shiver, to prove I trembled at the challenges ahead, the way I’d crumpled, shivering on the cobblestones that day in Merith. But I did not tremble.
Nayla had left me a sprig of minion next to the teapot, a faint scent of honey and mint. And then I noticed something else on the tray. I gathered them with the minion, got up, and turned to the door to the garden.