"Not you, sweetling," Ceera murmured. "Noveni, even those touched by imbrose, have an incredible talent for blinding themselves. We can't afford blindness, because it takes all our alertness to be tied to the World and serve the Estall with our imbrose. We see it as a duty, a stewardship, while others see imbrose only as a toy or weapon. But Noveni, they can ignore uncomfortable details. Pyris loves you, so he is more comfortable ignoring the imbrose in your blood."
"And in Pirkin's," Mrillis added. "If feelings don't improve by the time he reaches the testing time, I'm afraid Pyris will refuse to send Pirkin here to stand before the Zygradon."
"If he doesn't change, if feelings don't change..." Emrillian swallowed hard and knuckled the tears from her eyes. "I will not allow him to deny our son his heritage. My son's heritage. I will bring Pirkin back to the Stronghold and not set foot out of it until he is grown. Or Pyris comes to his senses."
"Oh, my dear--"
Ceera's look of helplessness hurt Mrillis worse than their daughter's pained resolve. He understood how she felt. He couldn't decide what was the right course of action. He wanted to place all blame on Pyris, but knew he could not, in all fairness.
There were too many people to blame for how things had changed, and he was one of them.
* * * *
Before Emrillian packed up to return home to the Warhawk's fortress, word came that plagues had appeared in the villages bordering the Taywauk Mountains. That in itself was suspicious, and after hearing the symptoms, so similar to the plagues that arose after the Zygradon had been forged, Mrillis felt certain that the plagues were rooted in magic. What was Endor trying now? Was this the final assault, or just another of many testing feints?
"It's the same illness that we fought soon after we forged the Zygradon, but it spreads without need for touching or even sneezing on someone," Ceera said, after hurried reports came from half the villages.
The silence from the healers sent to the other villages worried Ceera and her council. Had the healers, shielded with the strongest healing spells the Stronghold could produce, fallen victim to the plagues? Or had they been stopped by more brutal means: swords, spears, knives, fire?
"Is it possible Endor wants the same thing as last time?" Nainan said.
Several others at the table looked momentarily confused. Mrillis fought down the flicker of irritation. Of all those at the table, only he, Ceera and Nainan were bound to the Zygradon in any way.
"He has to know by now that attacking one of us will not get him anything. Severing the Threads will not kill us now, and killing us will not give him control over a Thread bound to the Zygradon," Ceera murmured.
"How would he know?" Mrillis offered, simply to force the others on the Council to think. He agreed with Ceera, because he suspected Triska of being a spy for her brother, even if unwittingly. It had long ago become second nature to never discuss serious topics, especially matters of magic or politics or the security of the Stronghold, in Triska's hearing, just in case she was an ear for her brother. However, after all the times they had been proven wrong about Endor in the past, he wasn't willing to make any assumptions now.
"The wise choice is not to take the Zygradon out of the Stronghold at all," Sephrinia offered, after glancing through the scroll with the report of the original wave of plagues so many years ago.
"We cannot let those innocent people die, when we hold the power to heal them," Nainan snapped. "Cowardice does not suit us, even when there is so much at risk."
"Does the bowl have to leave the Stronghold at all?" another asked quickly, cutting off the retorts Mrillis could see on the faces of several members of the Council. They were the ones who still expressed some reservations about Nainan, because of her parentage.
"Yes. Simply because of distance. We can send teams out to heal, we don't have to cluster around the bowl to tap the power in it, but the plagues ravage villages on the other end of the continent," Ceera said. "That is too far to stretch the connection. Like sending boiling oil down a long pottery pipe to pour down on your enemies. By the time it reaches the opening, some of the oil and a great deal of the heat has been absorbed by the pipe."
"We can't risk sending you out there," Mrillis said quietly. He rested his hand on hers. "Endor has never forgiven you for rejecting his love."
"He had no love to offer," she retorted with a crooked smile. "But I know what you mean. I've known for years that he must eventually destroy me and Deyral before he can have any hope of defeating us."
"And me, first," he said, twining his fingers through hers.
"None of you should leave the Stronghold," Fellina said. "What have you been training all your descendants for, if not for such a time as this?"
Mrillis and Ceera traded glances. Fellina was right, but how could they send their daughter out to face the plagues and whatever traps Endor might have set for the teams of healers?
"Don't be silly," Emrillian said, with a breathy, somewhat nervous chuckle, when the Council called her and Belissa and other children of the forgers into the chamber to hear the proposal, and her parents' reservations. "We have twenty times as many Valors as we did back then, to protect us."
"We had no Valors back then, dear. This was before your father and I realized we were in love," Ceera said.
"You're forgetting," Mrillis retorted, determined to inject some levity in the situation. "We knew we were in love, but you were waiting for me to wake up and show some spine, and I was positive you were too good for me, out of my reach."
"The fact of the matter is," Emrillian cut in, when the two of them just smiled at each other, "my generation has been training for this, and the Valors have been training for this. What use are we to the world if we do not act? I read the report, Mama, and I would wager another hundred people have died today. People are dying as we argue. We need to act."
"You need to speak with your husband before you take such a step," Mrillis said.
"He does not own me, like some Noveni men think they own their wives," she snapped, an angry flush touching her cheeks.
"On the contrary, you belong to each other," Ceera said, and reached across the table to take their daughter's hands. "And what about your son? This is a risk you two must consider, together."
"I will leave Pirkin here," she said quietly. The flush faded so rapidly, Mrillis ached for the conflicting emotions churning through his daughter's heart.
* * * *
Pyris agreed with the plan, though he hesitated when he learned Emrillian intended to lead the team that would guard and transport the Zygradon. He personally chose the Valors and the soldiers who would ride with the healers, to guard and support them. He hesitated again, when Emrillian quietly informed him she would leave their son in the Stronghold, then agreed that it was the safest place in the World for the boy.
Cafral and Efrin returned from Moerta, where their hunt for the Encindi grew more successful with each moon. Mrillis rode with the two princes, who coordinated the defense of all the healer teams and matured visibly in the race to reach the mountain villages before too many more people died. He knew Athrar was proud of his sons, and he vowed to guide and protect the boys as if they were his own blood.
He devoted everything he had to finding the place where Endor's magic had its foundation, and cutting off the power that fed the illness. If he could have chosen, he would have ridden with Emrillian, but Pyris insisted on riding with his wife. The leader of the Valors still held onto his resentment for the Rey'kil leadership. Mrillis didn't want to be a source of contention and irritation between his daughter and her husband. Emrillian wasn't so weak that she would feel she had to choose between her parents and her husband, but Mrillis suspected that Pyris might just ask that of her. His absence would give them time to mend their differences and soothe wounded feelings.
Hadn't the struggle against death and evil brought him and Ceera closer?
True, his wife said, when he shared those thoughts with her after they finally grew solid i
n his thoughts. But you and I never argued about much. We agreed on the big, important things, and the little things, well, we knew they were little and not worth fighting over.
I wish she had fallen in love with one of the boys who grew up with her, he admitted, and muffled a chuckle.
After all, he rode with Cafral on one side and Efrin on the other, and the two princes wouldn't understand if he laughed for no reason at all. Mrillis didn't want to have to explain he carried on a conversation with Ceera, with most of the length of the continent between them. He didn't worry about the princes' reaction to being reminded of the power of the Threads, but those who rode with them might overhear the conversation.
Mrillis had decided that silence and discretion were the wisest course of action, when having to deal with Noveni over the long term. The distrust Pyris showed for Rey'kil had grown noticeably among the people. Rey'kil with little imbrose resented and distrusted those who were strong in magic. Noveni distrusted anyone who displayed more than minor healing or location talents. 'Useful' gifts, as some of the ignorant insisted on calling them. He wasn't sure what side of the widening chasm the two princes stood on. They had grown up with Braenlicach before their eyes, and understood the power of the sword and the gift of tamed star-metal. What kind of education had Athrar and Ygerna given their sons, in the Rey'kil portion of their heritage?
We can settle these things later, when the healing has begun, Ceera said, when he shared those new thoughts with her. You and I are not responsible for the minds and hearts of the entire World, love.
No, but the Estall called us to protect them and give them wise examples.
Later. Such problems have always been there, rising and falling like the waves on the sea. They will be there long after you and I are dead. She sent him a sensation of her arms wrapped tight around him, and Mrillis smiled, feeling the ache of loneliness ease.
* * * *
The teams of healers joined their imbrose to spread healing through each village where they stopped, to give energy to weak bodies struggling against the disease. The Valors wove a barrier of Threads around each village, to blunt the inimical power that drained life and vitality from the people and twisted their inner resources to generate the disease within them.
Emrillian had charge of the Zygradon, because she had the strongest and purest link to it of any descendant, and because of her bond with Mrillis as his daughter. When the teams were ready in each village, they linked to her, she called to Mrillis, and he opened the floodgates on the power that flowed from the Zygradon, through him.
It's like standing in another room, watching a roaring fire in a furnace, then suddenly standing on the threshold, about to fall into it, Emrillian declared, after the first successful wave of healing. She sounded giddy as she touched the Threads to report to both her parents. A residual bond remained among all the healers, and Mrillis heard faint echoes of agreement from the others.
I think they're all drunk with the first flush of victory, Ceera confided to him in private. Is the analogy of fire too accurate? she continued, opening her thoughts to their daughter and her companions again. Is anyone scorched? Does their imbrose feel... I don't know, swollen? Larger than before?
More like scoured clean, Mama. Emrillian laughed. I think there are a few who won't want to go back to what we were before. I could feel them trying to reach through the link and grab hold of the Zygradon. Like calves who won't stop drinking even when their bellies are about to burst.
Who? Ceera asked. The sudden chill and stern alertness in her voice hit Mrillis at the same moment the analogy struck him as odd. And dangerous, he realized, after a moment of thought. Some tried to deepen their bond with the Zygradon, to keep it wide open, perhaps to feed the power of the bowl to someone else. Mrillis had no idea if someone could force his link to the bowl to stay wide open. He wasn't about to risk finding out.
Emrillian's laughter didn't fade quite yet, but she hesitated a moment before giving the names.
Watch them, Mrillis said. I will try to identify them, the next time I feed the Zygradon's power to you.
How do you feel, Papa? You aren't burned by all the fire? Emrillian asked. The fact that she didn't ask any questions about the order told him she already had an idea of what he and Ceera feared.
More like molten metal, he said, putting his thoughts aside for later, when he had time to analyze the implications. Why hadn't he considered this possibility before? Just because Endor had been gone for so many years didn't mean he had no way to contact and influence the next generation.
You're not burned? Not even scorched? What does it feel like?
I'm like a pipe that carries water, or a stone channel that allows molten metal to flow into the molds the smith uses. I don't feel much of anything, because I am doing what I have been formed to do.
Emrillian's audible 'humph' of pique, that meant she had been given something to think about and chew on for a while, prompted laughter from both her parents. Ceera spent the rest of the communication time sharing news about Pirkin, and the images, sounds and feeling of him cuddled in her arms right that moment.
Do you ever wish we'd had more children, love? Mrillis asked as they prepared to separate for the night.
Sometimes, Ceera admitted, laughing softly. But I was afraid. We had one perfect child, and I was sure the next would be the exact opposite.
Mama! Emrillian laughed, somehow managing to sound both embarrassed and disgruntled. Pirkin is perfect, and I fully plan on all his brothers and sisters being perfect, too.
All? Mrillis asked. How many more children are you planning on having?
I don't know. She sighed. Pyris wants more. We haven't really talked about how many, only that we want more.
Mrillis wondered if his daughter's desire for more children was to please her husband, rather than herself. He kept silent, and put that thought aside to chew on later, also. Ceera made no comment on it, in those few seconds after Emrillian left them, before she bade him sleep well, and vanished from the Threads.
Mrillis sighed and wished he wasn't prone to think so many things, so deeply, and to always look for the bitter side of the situation. He was the way he was because Le'esha, Breylon and Graddon had worked together to form him for a purpose. He wouldn't have changed any part of his life, but sometimes he wondered if he would have been happier as a simple man, without the fate of the World resting in his hands.
* * * *
The healer teams moved to their next assigned villages without incident or attack. When Mrillis spilled the power of the Zygradon to his daughter, he reached a little deeper into the flow of star-metal power, seeking those attempts to keep the pipe open, as his daughter so aptly described it, and paid special attention to those she had named.
Not so much calves refusing to let go of the udder as leeches trying to bite through a thick membrane and into a vein, he shared with Ceera.
I don't want to have to expel anyone from the company of those pledged to the Zygradon, but if--
The sudden silence startled him, sent an icy stab of fear into his chest, so he almost shut down the flow of power to Emrillian. Mrillis tightened his grip and shifted more of his awareness away from the Zygradon, reaching through the Threads back to the Stronghold.
A barrier stopped him, almost threw him backwards with enough force to snap his connection to the Threads. Mrillis yanked hard on his link to the Zygradon and pulled power deep within himself. He pushed through the barrier of tangled, bloody red Threads as if it had turned to wet, charred parchment. Then he had time to wonder and rage that someone had erected a barrier around the Stronghold, to try to keep him out.
Utter terror and fury spilled through to his mind, as if a stubborn shutter on a lantern suddenly snapped open. Mrillis heard Pirkin crying, heard women shouting in panic and alarm and anger. He smelled blood and burning through Ceera's nose, and that was a relief, because his first terror-filled, instinctive reaction was to think she had been killed, or at least kno
cked unconscious.
Triska cursed, snarling like an animal, writhing in the grip of two women who tried to pull her away from Ceera. Mrillis reeled and dug his fingers tight into the arms of the camp chair where he had settled himself less than twenty minutes ago. Vaguely, he was aware of the two princes grasping his arms and asking what was wrong.
Pirkin wailed, terrified and furious, his little arms and legs thrashing so he might throw himself off the nest of blankets on the couch at any moment. Nainan lay in a bloody heap on the floor. Ceera struggled to put out a series of small fires that kept popping up throughout the sitting room of her and Mrillis' quarters. She staggered, losing strength as more blood spilled from deep stab wounds in her belly and arms.
For one fractured moment, Mrillis nearly let go of everything, to reach through the Threads and slap Triska hard enough to embed her in the wall behind her. He choked on a sob of fury and flung all the power he could spare from the Zygradon to Ceera, to help her with the fires and her wounds. He had to keep Emrillian from catching even a hint of the struggle, and maintain the power flowing from the Zygradon to the healers. There were more lives than just his family's at stake, and he resented that necessity. For one infuriated, bitter moment, he wanted to toss the burden of the World off his shoulders and leave the helpless and ignorant to their fate.
Ceera shrieked the fury she had always fought down before and caught up a thick, ember red Thread Mrillis pushed toward her. In a moment, she flung it around Triska's neck and throttled her, draining her dry of energy and consciousness. Triska collapsed so quickly, she nearly pulled the women who had been fighting with her down to the floor. The sudden stillness in the charred room startled Pirkin into silence for a moment.
Then Mrillis felt the itching burn of poison from the blade that had bit deep into Ceera's flesh.
Poison, love, he shouted, and didn't care who heard.
I know. I'm fighting it. She sounded breathless with sobs. Mrillis--I think Nainan's dead. Pirkin. Oh, my sweet Pirkin!
Braenlicach Page 22