The things she had seen and felt made her bite her lip in an attempt to hold back tears. The plains were not kind to those who cried. Father had told her that, and yet Father was not here. He had not been one of those burning as they ran from the gathering, which was comforting, but they had not been able to find him in the panic after.
Now there was only Mother—stern, not prone to giving comfort, and mortally wounded herself. She'd admitted all those in a steady voice not long after they had put the Bastion behind them. “I won't be able to get you far, children, so you must be strong.”
Mother glanced back, as if she could hear her daughter's fears, except the child knew she couldn't. Nothing but silence now ran between them. Even Byre's childish emotions no longer butted against hers.
She patted her brother's hand, trying to communicate some comfort, but he pulled away. “It hurts,” he cried, before subsiding with a sniffle.
Their mother's gaze turned to them at that noise, before searching the horizon—but there was no pursuit. The Caisah had dished out his punishment and there was no need for a chase.
Kourae the Light, the child had heard men whisper Mother's name when she passed. Most beautiful and most powerful of the Vaerli she'd been—not so, now. Her golden skin was burnt and blistered and her hair, which had once brushed the ground, now sat in singed clumps around her head. Only those proud eyes remained as astounding as ever—even without the pricks of light in them. Still she held herself straight: only one arm tucked around her belly and its grievous wound. Leaving a trail of blood for miles, she should have been dead hours ago. Some residual magic still clung to her, but it was failing and death was tucking its fingers about her. Perhaps it was just pride that kept her going, for she alone of all the gathering had raised a sword against the Caisah.
Kourae tripped over her own feet, and only a grip on the horse's bridle held her upright. The girl child managed to stop a strangled cry before it escaped her throat. Mother seldom tolerated weakness.
She was looking up at them, her face gray and limbs shaking, but her voice remained strong. “You know the way from here…the village of Annor—you remember it?”
Her daughter nodded as bravely as possible.
“Find some people to take Byre in. If you can make them a good family,” she paused to suck in a ragged breath. “Then go—get away before the Harrowing is complete.”
With that, she released the bridle and turned aside; no long speech, no declarations of love for her children. Vaerli were not used to words communicating what emotion should have.
The girl cried but made neither tears nor sound.
The past spun away, and the storm carried her somewhere else—somewhere warm and dark.
She could hear her own heart beating in her ears and a warm breeze running over her naked skin. It was dark, but she was not afraid because she was not alone. Strong male hands touched her with gentleness and care, and stranger still was the whisper in her mind, the empathic feeling of love. She was crying in awe that she was experiencing how Vaerli loved for the first time. Bodies touched and merged, but minds did too. A vast expanse of fears, secrets and deep passions was laid open to her, as hers was being to him. It was Finnbarr the Fox. Talyn didn't need to see those remarkable eyes; she could feel them locked on her in the darkness. His red-gold hair, she could only feel as silky thickness in her hand. Such intimacy should have terrified her, but she felt only freedom. To know and be known so deeply was horrifying and wonderful.
The Chaos storm could not last forever and the winds of change blew away.
“This one is weak.” The voice was deep like a resonant drum. Talyn leapt up and threw the blanket off. Behind her Syris surged to his feet, offering a strong back to what was suddenly a very dangerous situation.
The great opalescent eyes of a griffon were staring down at her, his wings of peacock blue blotting out everything else. The remains of the Chaos storm were scrolling away across the sky in streamers of greens and yellows, and Talyn could feel her own self-confidence going with them. For the griffon was not alone.
Glancing out the corner of one eye she could see a centaur, all muscle and straining strength, and her blood ran cold—for she recognized them.
Of all the Kindred, the Named were the most dangerous. Given names and forms by Vaerli, they had been set free of those bonds by the Harrowing. No more dangerous creatures lived in Conhaero.
She could sense nothing in the before-time. They were completely elemental and not bound to normal rules. Still, she dropped and rolled under Syris' belly, not thinking about anything but escape. She drew her mother's blade and pulled herself in one smooth movement onto the nykur's back. The remnants of the chaos storm were in the ether, but Syris was still faster than any mortal horse. He bolted forward like a bullet from a pistol, needing no urging. The smell of Named Kindred was not to his taste.
Talyn rode him as blindly as a normal human. The before-time meant nothing to the Named and she felt its loss with the pounding of her heart, and the fear that brought sweat to her brow.
So she didn't feel the griffon's dive at her. The faintest breeze told her a second too late, and then there was only the sudden red-hot pain as its claws locked around her. She cried out, fingers reaching for Syris but finding only air as she was carried from his back.
The world twisted and turned. Talyn got dizzying glimpses of the ground, but she managed to hold onto her blade. The pain was an amazing—an excruciating—wake-up call to the realities of flesh that she had ignored most of her life. This was how her victims felt, all the agony and the helplessness.
She was let fall, and this time her numbed fingers dropped her sword. It was useless anyway. She was too sore and bloodied to do anything more in that instant than roll over and groan. The griffon's claws had cut through bone and sinew. The Third Gift would take hours to heal the damage: if she lived that long.
The centaur danced closer; he was a golden, well-muscled creature, his equine part a bright chestnut, his human a swarthy male with curling black hair and eyes that brimmed flame.
“I know this one.” His voice was deep like ancient caverns and his vambrace-sized hooves edged closer to Talyn.
“Drynis Alorn,” she muttered, wiping blood from her eyes. Even among the Vaerli there were few that Named Kindred, for there was danger and power in such a doing. She recalled now her uncle's wife Mallor had the making of the centaur, though she did not know the fate of his Namer. However, there was one thing she was sure of. “You were imprisoned along with the rest of the Named. How did you escape?” Locking away the Named had been the last action of the Vaerli.
The fiery pits of his eyes burned brighter. “It was a crime that has been corrected, pitiful remnant of the Vaerli.” His great fist closed around her shoulder, dragging her upright to meet his gaze. Talyn caught her breath at the pain the mistreatment caused. “The Named now walk the earth once more, and soon we shall not be alone.”
She glared at him, wondering what he could mean. The sundering of the Gifts meant there could be no constraints on the Named now, and that could only spell trouble for everyone. Her eyes wandered to the blade, lying not far off.
Drynis laughed and gave her a little shake. Holding her aloft like some prize, he thundered, “Dare you try your mettle against me, little one?”
“Enough,” the griffon's voice interrupted the centaur's delight. “We have not the time for this. Kill her, eat if you will, but do not make us late.”
“Why eat one bitter Vaerli when sweeter meats await?” Drynis dropped her to the ground. “Besides, our masters may well want to question her.”
Talyn heard the words and was surprised. The Named had no masters except those who Named them. With the Harrowing, though, such bounds meant nothing.
Unfortunately, she could not afford the time to find out. Thrusting the pain of her wounds away, she surged upright, powering her legs with her remaining strength. She reached the blade in the sand as the centaur and griffon arg
ued. It felt much better to have her hand wrapped around the hilt. She swayed slightly on her feet but kept her weight balanced evenly, ready for them this time. They would attack together, but they would also learn she was no easy victory.
The inhuman eyes blinked and the centaur's golden face creased with a broad smile full of sharp white teeth. “The little one thinks it has claws. Much has changed since your time; you don't even know that it's over, do you?”
The griffon beat his wings, making the sand swirl, and Talyn had to steady herself as best she could. “Time is short, Drynis. The Caracel begins and we must feed.”
The centaur stepped closer, and those huge hooves struck the earth with intense menace. “You are right, my friend. Our Lords command and we must obey—but I will bring a gift.”
Talyn readied herself. This would end quickly. Her only thought was of the Golden Puzzle and how everything she had strived for would end.
He moved no closer. Instead he raised his hands and those eyes burned brighter. “In the name of Chaos.”
Every nerve suddenly exploded. Lightning flashed inside Talyn's head as the agony of a thousand Vaerli leapt to life inside her. She had wished fervently for the Second Gift, the empathy she only dimly remembered. Now, it was abruptly turned against her. Unlike the flash from her brother, this was from all her kin. Every little bit of anger, fear, and hurt found a place inside her. The Gift was turned against her, and she screamed—finally taken by that which she had never expected. The world dissolved into terror, and when darkness finally took her it was a kind of relief.
If there was one comfort that remained to Equo, it was Nyree's hand in his as they struggled through the sea of angry and desperate people toward the port. Several times he had thought he'd lost Si, Varlesh, and the children they carried. Yet somehow they kept together—even through the sweat of fear and the atmosphere of panic.
It was not just emotion that clouded the air, but also smoke blowing toward the lake. Depending on how the wind blew, they were either choked by it, or slightly revived by the competing breeze coming off the water.
Above, the great circling birds of prey of the Swoop provided a terror-inducing presence. They had once been the harbingers of the Scion of Right but were now used by the Caisah as a weapon of fear and destruction.
Nyree spared a glance up, and a flicker of horror passed across her brow. She must have seen them in better times.
Together with Si and Varlesh, Equo locked arms and tried to push the crowd toward the shoreline.
Nyree raised her voice. “To the water, my friends—we must get to the water if we want to live!”
Those immediately around them calmed a little hearing her familiar voice, but there were too many terrified people for them all to take notice. Folk who would have made rational decisions only minutes ago were reduced to primal creatures driven by smoke and fear.
“Crone's hairy whiskers, keep to the main streets,” Varlesh yelled in Equo's ear as they were pushed and pulled in the swelling mob. He jerked his head to where some people had been funneled into the smaller alleyways, and it was immediately apparent the fire would find them before they could free themselves. Varlesh caught a glimpse of tears running down Nyree's face—but they were not of fear, they were of grief. Luckily, the mob prevented her from going back, or he suspected she would have.
They made it to the jetty, where there was even more panic, for the Swoop had set fire to the boats. The Portree owned very little, but these vessels were their livelihood and how they measured family, and now everything, from the smallest coracle to the twin-masted fishing vessels, was in flames. The Swoop circled above, watching their handiwork, like beautiful vultures.
Nothing remained to any of the people here; given the choice between a fiery death and the water, they chose the water. Many leapt off the collection of jetties and piers, while others rushed through the sand to the waves. The lake was their natural home and now they were swarming toward it, wading out into the sucking mud, and carrying their children on their backs. Indeed, several carracks seemed not that far away.
Equo moved forward to join them, but Si held out a restraining hand before he got very far.
The Caisah had many creatures, not only in the skies, but also under the water. A terrified woman who had been the first into the lake was the first to cry out. Her scream was high pitched, horrified and disbelieving. She raised a hand as if waving to those on shore, and disappeared under the water. Then she reappeared a moment later, hysterically calling for help. The waves frothed with blood when she went down a second time. She did not reappear.
Now the water became as panicked as the land; people splashed about, screaming, unsure where they should go. It was perfectly horrific, just the way the Caisah liked things. Those who miraculously survived this day would never forget it—and would remember not to challenge him again.
The crowd was in danger of breaking the pier. Equo's small group, tightly huddled together, were close to being pushed into the heaving water or being trampled under the feet of those still on land.
Nyree grabbed hold of Equo. He held onto her fingers, knowing they would likely not survive long. The two children clutched them, almost beyond terror.
“Well, I for one will not die like this,” Varlesh bellowed, cutting through the screams and shouts with real anger. “We show what we can do now, or lose everything!”
Equo reached out with his other hand to catch hold of Si's, then he in turn reached out and grabbed Varlesh. The sensation of Nyree's fingers vanished—there was only the line of men. The sound and horror of the world faded into a muffled drone which seemed as insignificant as a bee in the flowers. It was a kind of bliss to fall into their old ways.
They had not done this for many years, perhaps generations of other people. In the back of Equo's mind was the certain knowledge that performing a Union right now would bring the Caisah's attention. But these people could not die today while they watched.
Varlesh let the hum begin in his chest, a tuneful throaty noise that passed along to Equo. In his throat he gave it shape and form, a melody was traced through it. Then onto Si it went and it was his mouth that let it out into the world. It was a joyous sound; for though they had not practiced the song for an ancient time, it was still as fresh and beautiful as from the first day. The Union erupted from Si's throat, a rain of exquisite music sweeter even than the Vaerli's maie atuae. For indeed it was their people who had taught Nyree's the greatest joy in music. His people were bards: the only true bards.
Even if there were dire consequences, it felt like bliss to hear the Union raining about them. The people were stopping. Even those in the water could not hold onto panic when the music washed over them. Through them it passed, speaking of the fragility of flesh but also of its beauty and its wonder. Few words there were in the Union, yet those that there were spoke of the triumph of hope and determination over loss and weakness.
The body is the glass through which we see the world.
Si's song brought the mob to a halt. They listened, swaying. Their cheeks, to a person, wet with tears.
Nyree clutched the children to her and wept without sound. Her eyes were raised to the sky but what she saw there she did not share. The Union would be hard on her most of all, with the loss of the Second Gift.
Equo looked up too, seeing the Swoop flutter in strangely disarrayed patterns as the song reached them. Peregrines, falcons, and vultures squawked and cried their piercing cries. From high above a thick powerful form with great hooked talons dived down in a mass of screaming feathers. But even the Whitefoam eagle's magic could not break the Union. Instead, Azrul the Commander of the Swoop shed her avian form in a flutter of white light and there before them was the scion of the Lady of Wings.
Equo could see a certain raw-boned youthful beauty in her face. The Union showed them everything. It pulled back the pretensions people liked to build around them and displayed the communality that all creatures of flesh shared. She was blink
ing the huge burnished gold eyes of the eagle she'd been and swaying slightly to the sound pouring from Si's mouth. As the music went on, the gold gave way to brown in her eyes.
Varlesh tugged at Equo's arm, gesturing out to the lake but voicing nothing to break the Union. Equo nodded affirmation.
His companion's chest filled with another note: deeper and more powerful, a stirring sound that rattled the bones. He passed it on to Equo, who threaded it with the melody of command, the call of the Union to flesh to obey. Then Si took it and gave it words of gentle demand.
The waters heaved and bent as the previously deadly bodies with their silvery leather backs rose to the surface, forming a bridge across the waves. The backs of the killers would lead them across the harbor beyond the rocks, to where the fire could not reach.
The three men, singing the Union between them, led the way, stepping easily on broad wet backs. Below them beat the hearts of predators, but the Union held.
The people by the lake followed eagerly after, willing to accept the hand of salvation even if it did come in an unexpected shape. Parents hoisted their children high and carried them nervously over the strange bridge. Friends and neighbors helped each other cross, faces full of fear and joy.
Nyree came last, her eyes glazed and thoughtful, and her feet sure on the backs of monsters. She stepped down next to Equo on the sandy shore opposite the harbor and looked back. The captain of the Swoop was a small figure from here, but she did not move. Azrul the Whitefoam eagle for once did not know what to do. Si let the Union fade. The music filtered away on the wind. The people sighed, released from its hold, suddenly aware of what had just happened. It was very few to have saved from the whole city, hundreds rather than thousands.
The creatures of the deep, the dark demons of the waves who had been summoned for other purposes than that of the Union, sank back into the water and disappeared.
Azrul, too, was released. Leaping into the air, she was enveloped in a blaze of white light, becoming once more the powerful form of the eagle. Her call when it came was somehow both defiant and mournful. The charcoal gray cloud of the rest of the Swoop condensed around her. Then she was gone, flying to her master, disappearing back into the smoke above the city.
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