by Sam Bowring
Jandryn’s head appeared at the lower staircase. ‘Where’s Yalenna? Is she hurt?’
‘She’s fine,’ said Rostigan, as he shooed away a couple of lingering birds who were eyeing off the dead threader. ‘Come, Salarkis, we must fetch Mergan.’
Salarkis nodded and got to his feet.
In the room below, on a stretcher between two soldiers, Mergan lay bound and blindfolded, watched over by the remaining threader.
‘Take him to the roof.’
Salarkis gestured and Mergan rose from the ground with a muffled exclamation of protest. As Salarkis manoeuvred him up the stairs, Rostigan stared hard at Jandryn and the others.
‘Now,’ he said, ‘be off. I will see that all goes well from here.’
‘No,’ said Jandryn. ‘There is no reason –’
‘Go,’ said Rostigan, implanting the word squarely in all their heads.
Jandryn got a dazed look. ‘Come,’ he told the others. ‘We will wait at the bottom.’
Rostigan watched them leave. Was this the last time he would manipulate another person’s mind? he wondered. During the past day he had forced many beliefs into Jandryn’s head – that there was no need to ask why he was to follow Yalenna with Mergan, or who precisely Hanry was, and to ignore any threading which he saw Rostigan do. He and Yalenna had pre-empted eventualities so thoroughly – what would the poor man do with all the loose connections in his head? Questions might return to him in time, it was true, but perhaps they were best left for Yalenna to deal with.
Rostigan returned to the upper room to find Salarkis waiting for him by the stairs, still levitating Mergan.
‘What are you waiting for?’
Salarkis shrugged, and turned to float Mergan onwards to the roof.
As a mortal, Salarkis had proven no longer immune to Rostigan’s persuasion either.
For the last time? Certainly, if he went upstairs and gave back his gifts.
Across the steps a red flare reflected as, somewhere above, the Wound pulsed.
‘Well,’ he said.
RESTORATION
Yalenna opened her eyes. Her cheek pressed against dark stone, so smooth it almost seemed soft. She ran a finger over it, beneath the cocoon of her own snowy hair. Had she been here before?
Something was different. She felt as if she was smaller in her own skin. She was …
She raised her head.
Salarkis sat not far away, a pleasant smile on his boyish face.
‘Hello, Yalenna,’ he said. ‘How are you?’
She frowned. It was a good question. ‘What happened?’
Salarkis’s smile grew. ‘Why, you succeeded!’
Slowly he looked upwards, and she turned her head to follow his gaze. For a moment she was confused – what was she supposed to be looking at? There was nothing there. And then she realised.
The sky above the Spire was clear.
Except for … yes, there was a slight kink where the Wound had been, something like a faint scar, with a small round circle in the middle, a last little opening. It was far from the gaping hole it had been, and no threads waved from it like bloody ribbons, no cracks spread out into the sky.
Small in her own skin … because nothing seeped from her anymore.
‘I am …’
She sat up, put her hand on her chest.
‘I’m …’
‘You’re a young woman,’ said Salarkis. ‘Nothing less.’
Tears prickled her eyes and he moved closer to gather her into a hug. She found herself clutching him, crying freely on his shoulder.
‘But,’ she gasped, ‘what happened? Where are the others?’
He wiped some of her tears away. ‘You are the last to wake.’
‘Forger?’
‘He was here.’
‘Mergan?’’
Mergan too, and Rostigan. They have all given back their threads. They did not want to wake you – Mergan, mainly, said it was wise to let you rest, and come back in your own time.’
It was too much. The tears did not stop.
‘Where are they?’
‘They have gone down and out. I said that I would wait for you, since I am used to waiting here. Would you like to go find them?’
‘Yes, yes.’ She let him help her up. ‘Let’s go.’
They went down the stairs into the Spire. She was light on her feet, as if a great weight had lifted … almost too light, almost off balance. She could feel that she was not as strong as she had been, though she could still see the threads, still reach and touch them.
‘We were the most powerful threaders in the world, weren’t we?’ she said. ‘Yet I feel as weak and delicate as a dandelion.’
‘It will take some getting used to. You are still strong, take it from me. As strong as any person has the right to be.’
A burning need to see Jandryn rose in her. She was thankful, so thankful, to discover that she loved him still … and was indeed free to love him as much as she wanted. Her time as a Warden was finally over.
‘Here we are,’ said Salarkis. He stood aside from the Spire entrance, holding his hand through to the light. For a moment she remembered Forger doing the same thing at another doorway, not so long ago, and was almost afraid … but she took a deep breath and stepped through.
The Dale was just as she remembered. Patrols trod the ruins and mountainsides, the sun shining bright on freshly exposed surfaces. Towards the edge of the city she saw two figures walking – was it Rostigan and Forger?
Just ahead, looking over it all, stood a brown-robed figure with his arms crossed, the breeze rustling his long grey hair. Seeing him made Yalenna’s skin prickle, and her footsteps almost faltered, but she forced herself to keep going. He would, after all, be dead but for her, and she had to know if saving him had been a mistake.
He tilted his head slightly, seeming to sense her approach. Slowly he turned, and she saw the face she had known so well, before it had become twisted with malice. The madman’s gleam was gone from his eyes, his unblinking stare now dull and weary. It touched her only briefly, before sliding to some far away point.
‘Mergan,’ she said, drawing to a stop.
Grey strands wafted across his face. ‘Ah,’ he said, as he refocused. ‘There you are, sweet child.’
For a moment they stood regarding each other, unable to find the words.
‘How are you?’ she asked eventually.
The question seemed too prosaic for what lay between them, yet he nodded earnestly. ‘The fug is lifted,’ he said. ‘Or lightened, maybe, is a better way to put it.’
‘It wasn’t you,’ she said quietly. ‘You know it wasn’t.’
‘It did not seem like me, did it? And yet,’ he shook his head, ‘I don’t think I’ll ever get the taste of horse flesh from my mouth.’ He shot her a sudden, appraising look. ‘I remember you though, amongst the rest, and that’s a blessing. So strong, and working against it all, all alone. I’m proud of you.’ His eyes returned to the middle distance. ‘I’m sorry Braston is not here.’
‘Me too. But …’
Had she really been alone? Somehow, despite knowing she had sometimes felt that way, it was not how she remembered it now.
‘Salarkis,’ said Mergan, as the man joined them. ‘It’s good to see you too.’
‘We just saw each other,’ said Salarkis, his lips quirking wryly.
‘That doesn’t make it untrue, does it?’
Yalenna was glad to hear a hint of warmth creep into Mergan’s tone, even if it was not for her. Maybe it was because Salarkis had never been as close to Mergan as she had. There was less lost between them.
‘Ah, look,’ said Salarkis. ‘The rest of our number.’
The two figures were approaching. When Rostigan saw her, he smiled widely – a charming, knowing smile, such as he’d worn before the change, as opposed to the strangled snake she had seen pass for a smile on him more recently. Beside him, Hanry walked downcast. There were no lumps under his shirt – odd to s
ee him without his leather – and a stained bandage wound around his head, another around the stump of his hand. Rostigan touched his arm, murmured something, and he looked up and saw her. His eye crinkled, his expression turning to dismay.
‘Yalenna,’ he said, reaching out shakily, then withdrawing as if he dare not touch her.
‘Hanry,’ she said, moving to embrace him.
Strange, that such an impulse came to her so fast, when she had not dared to close a similarly small distance with her old teacher.
Forger was limp and hopeless in her arms, and spoke with the stop-start nature of someone trying to get words out between sobs.
‘How … can I … ever ask … for forgiveness? Oh, my. I have done such awful … such terrible … do you know how many …’
So many things. Too many.
‘It wasn’t really you, Hanry.’
‘But it was! I remember it all. I thought it was fun, do you understand? I thought it was nothing. Ahhhhh …’
As he crumpled against her, Rostigan rubbed his back.
‘It will take some time,’ he said.
‘Looks like you went down fighting,’ said Yalenna.
Hanry gave a pained laugh. ‘I did, I did. This is the least of what I deserve.’
‘No, Hanry. You helped heal the world.’
He drew back and looked away, wiping his nose with his stump.
‘And you?’ Yalenna asked Rostigan.
He nodded. ‘I’m all right. I already had centuries to come to terms with who I am. Broke the spell myself, you could say, so the change is not so shattering for me as it is for poor Hanry here.’
‘Poor Hanry,’ Hanry repeated. ‘My … the people I killed … and poor Hanry, you say? Oh, but my family, my little sis, she’s so long gone – I can never get her back! Never, never …’
He wept and wept, and it seemed to Yalenna that he would indeed need time. She hoped there would be enough in his mortal life.
‘Where’s Jandryn?’ she asked suddenly.
‘He wanted to come to you in the Spire,’ said Rostigan. ‘I bid him not to. As it turns out, while he was waiting for you, he discovered something.’ He pointed off past the Spire. ‘A cave, where the worms spawn. He is there now, organising their destruction.’
Yalenna felt her happiness momentarily threatened, that there was still such work needing to be done.
‘The Wound is not yet fully healed,’ muttered Mergan, staring at the sky. ‘Almost, very close, but …’
‘Maybe with the end of the worms, it will be,’ said Rostigan. ‘And after the last of the Unwoven die in their rocky graves, and the last silkjaws are hunted down, or fall apart.’
‘Maybe,’ said Mergan. ‘At least nothing will crumble now, I feel sure. No leaves spinning forever, no babes born with tentacles for limbs.’
Babes born, Yalenna thought. No Warden had ever had a child, but now, well, maybe she could?
‘I’m going to find Jandryn,’ she said.
At the base of a mountain, only just visible above piled debris, was the mouth of a cave. Jandryn stood on its cusp, gesturing and calling orders, as soldiers tramped inside. Yalenna was relieved not to have to enter the cave herself to find him. When he noticed her, he immediately seemed extremely bewildered.
‘Priestess!’ he said, rubbing his brow. ‘I left you? I’m not sure why – I wasn’t aware I had, until just now!’
She laughed. ‘It’s not your fault, Jandryn.’
She had no patience for any more talking, and kissed him there more deeply than she ever had in public before. A few soldiers paused at the cave’s entrance to whistle and catcall. As she came up for air, he scowled at them, but she could tell he didn’t really mean it.
‘Jandryn,’ she said, turning his face back to her, ‘do you know?’
‘Know what, my lady?’
‘I’ve given back my threads. I’m just a woman now.’
He looked pleasantly surprised, yet raised an eyebrow. ‘Just a woman? I don’t think I’d choose those words, exactly. But …’ He began to mull over some of the implications. ‘You are … I mean … you will age?’
‘I will.’
‘Not that I minded the idea of a wife who stayed young forever,’ he added. ‘But I did wonder what might happen when I grow old and bent, and you …’
He caught himself, and looked sheepish.
‘Wife?’ she said, taking her turn to raise an eyebrow.
‘Well, I … it was just a passing fancy … I did not mean to be presumptuous …’
She quickly shut him up.
After a time, she remembered where they were, and glanced at the cave.
‘What’s going on in there?’
‘Oh, you know, just another day in the Althalan guard – there’s a magical swamp hole from which the worms seem to emerge. We’re filling it up with rocks.’
‘But what about the soldiers, aren’t they in danger?’
‘Well,’ said Jandryn, ‘of course, but the worms are most deadly when folk get caught in their spell.’
‘Yes? So that is worrying, is it not?’
He laughed. ‘Priestess,’ he said, ‘no one is in danger of a dour mood today.’
Tarzi paced back and forth, idly plucking her lute without really producing any sound. She had seen, as had everyone, rocks fall from the upper levels of the Spire as if some explosion had occurred, followed by the arrival of a great cloud of crows, circling and cawing like mad things. She had seen the Wound flash a number of times, and after each instance it contracted, until finally it drew in its cracks like the tendrils of some retreating sea creature. Whatever had gone on up there, it seemed that Yalenna had succeeded – but where did that leave Rostigan?
She decided she could not wait anymore, she simply could not bear it. Without escort she broke suddenly from the camp, heading out into the Dale.
‘Tarzi!’ came a call behind her. ‘You should not go alone, it isn’t safe!’
She sped up, ignoring whoever it was. She would not sit and wait, she had waited long enough! She started to run, uncaring of the heads that turned to watch her. She must have looked somewhat comical, dashing along with her lute in hand, yet no one laughed.
Someone was trailing her – the soldier who had yelled after her, probably. From the sound of his footsteps he was catching up, as she began to run out of breath.
‘Tarzi,’ he said, moving alongside her. ‘It’s all right! I don’t want to stop you. I just want to make sure you travel safely.’
She had winded herself, she realised – how long had it been since that had happened? – and slowed down to a stop. As she bent over trying to catch her breath, a hand touched her shoulder. She glanced up at the man, and he smiled back with friendly eyes. He had grown a little, it seemed to her, since she had last seen him – maybe not outwardly, but somehow within.
‘Cedris?’ she said.
‘Yes.’
She found herself inexplicably happy to see him.
‘Where are you rushing off to anyway?’ he asked.
Salt stung her eyes.
‘Rostigan,’ she said. ‘I don’t know … I don’t where he is!’
Cedris rubbed her back. ‘Not to worry, Tarzi … look, he’s there.’
She tried to see where he pointed, but her vision was streaming and she could not make Rostigan out amongst the blurry figures approaching through the ruins. She wiped at her eyes desperately.
‘Where, where?’
‘There, Tarzi. He’s right there. See?’
And there he was, trudging along with a few others, a twinkle in his eyes as he sent her half a smile. She did not even register who else was in the group as she rushed to him.
‘Songbird,’ he managed to say, before she next to smothered him.
‘Are you well?’ she asked, squeezing as hard as she could.
‘Yes … my goodness, girl … it’s all right. Everything went according to plan.’
‘And did you … are you …’
‘There, there,’ he said, stroking her hair and kissing her forehead. ‘I’m the same old Rostigan you’ve always known.’
Hand in hand, Yalenna and Jandryn returned to the Pass, watched with interest by Loppolo, who waited with his officers.
‘Priestess!’ he called.
‘Give me a moment with him,’ she muttered to Jandryn, as she disengaged. ‘A word, my king?’
‘The Wound is sealed?’ he asked eagerly. ‘The threat is past?’
‘Yes, Loppolo.’
She folded her arms, wondering if the time would ever come to forgive this man. Then again, perhaps forgiveness wasn’t necessary. Did either of them really need it? Perhaps she would simply try not to think about him very much from now on.
‘You should know,’ she went on, ‘that I am no longer a Warden. At least, not in the sense that you understand. There are, in fact, no Wardens left.’
‘But what of Forger? Is he not in Ander? Must we not go and defeat him?’
‘Forger’s magic is undone. He will trouble the world no more.’
‘And Karrak? Were those his crows? We still have not …’
‘That is all I have to say about that, oh king. You need not do anything but believe it.’
Loppolo stroked his chin, but the idea seemed to appeal to him. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘that is excellent news. And so, er, you… you are no longer …’
‘I am no longer a threat to your rule,’ she finished. ‘If that is what you’re getting at.’
He frowned at that – not quite the display of jubilance she had expected.
‘But … well …’ He shot her a funny look. ‘You are still a powerful threader though?’
‘I am.’
‘So,’ he lowered his voice, ‘I had better remain a good king, even without anyone pulling my strings, as it were.’
Maybe he did want forgiveness, after all.
‘I hope so, indeed,’ she said. ‘Chances are that I’ll be in Althala for a time.’ She nodded towards Jandryn and the king understood. ‘So, I will be watching.’