“You’ve been quiet,” Jassan said.
“What should I say? I don’t expect this to work any better than any of the other attempts.”
“Do you not want the House of the Yahinv to attempt this?”
She turned to him, looking up at his deep green eyes. They carried a sense of understanding, and there was a sense of purpose within him. She suspected it bothered him to remain in Farsea as the House of the Yahinv attempted to determine what to do with her, but he had not openly objected. His purpose, the reason he had returned to the north, had been to find the other warriors, and find why they hadn’t joined Nahrsin. But now that he knew, now that he understood that there was another breeding taking place and that the warriors had all gone to try and stop the breeding, she suspected he wanted to be with them.
“I’m not opposed to them attempting it, but I don’t have much hope it will make any difference.”
Jassan smiled. “You have lost faith in the gods?”
Had she? In her time while captured and tormented in Rondalin, she could have lost her faith, and she had been tested, but she still held faith that the gods had something in mind for her, some purpose. She was a Mage, born with gifts from the gods, and destined to serve on their behalf, to use her abilities—or power—to help maintain peace.
No. She had not lost faith the gods. And if she had, seeing the Antrilii, seeing the way they served so willingly, and even more than that, seeing the merahl, had shown her their sense of purpose, but it was one that she didn’t share. She was not a warrior. Not like the apprentice Magi who had proven themselves. Jassan had shared with her what Roelle and the others had done, the way that they had fought, and the bravery they had displayed—and the way Roelle had died. That was more like the Antrilii, but it was something else as well. It was more like their Founders.
“I think coming to Farsea has given me even more faith in the gods,” Isandra said. “Seeing the Antrilii, and seeing the merahl, and the way that you fight, has helped me recognize that the gods have a purpose for others.”
“You don’t think they have a purpose for you?”
“My purpose was serving my people. That has been taken from me. Rebecca and the others of the Yahinv have attempted to heal me, but they have failed. I didn’t expect that they could do anything, and I appreciate their willingness to try, but at a certain point, additional attempts will only frustrate them.”
Jassan chuckled. “You must know the House of the Yahinv well.”
“No, but I know women like them. I know what it’s like to try and fail when you feel the answer should be right there at the edge of your understanding. I know what it is like to feel like you have the skills, the knowledge, and the ability, but not be able to do anything with it.”
“If you let them, I believe the women of the House of the Yahinv would continue to try different things.”
“They have tried. I have had nearly a dozen different healing salves rubbed on me. Most tingled or burned, and one stunk, but none have done anything.”
“Perhaps it is only more time that is needed.”
“I don’t think it’s a matter of time. Indeed, time is the one thing I don’t have. Before long, I think that any ability I have remaining will fade, and with it…”
That was her greatest fear—losing all of her ability. And if that happened, would she lose her life as well? Would she fade, ceasing to exist? The abilities were what made her a Mage, but they also kept her alive. She didn’t know if that was what happened to Wendiy, or if it was something else, torment much like what Longtree had promised to her.
Jassan touched her hand, and there was comfort to it. It was strange that she should have to come to the Antrilii lands for her to find comfort from anyone, and stranger still that she would have to lose everything she was, all of her abilities, to find someone who genuinely seemed interested in helping her.
Isandra pulled her hand away. There was no use in letting him get too close to her. All that would do is to hurt him, and possibly her as well. Considering she didn’t know how much longer she had left, she didn’t want to hurt anyone else.
“The Yahinv will decide whether they have tried enough,” Jassan said. He met her eyes, and he smiled, a warmth there that she didn’t deserve.
They stood side by side, watching the snowflakes drift down at the edge of the city, the mountains stretching out and before them. After a while, someone approached, a woman with long gray hair, splayed over a blue and silver-striped robe. She nodded to Jassan and turned her eyes on Isandra.
“Elder. It is time.”
Isandra glanced up to Jassan. It would be easier if he could go with her. But in the House of the Yahinv, none were allowed other than those invited by the women. From the sound of it, Jassan had never been in the House of Yahinv, and few of the tribe chiefs were invited in, so it was an honor for Isandra to have been not only invited in, but brought to the second level where they had attempted to heal her.
Jassan took her hand and squeezed softly. “Go. I will find you when you are done.”
“I doubt they will be successful.”
“Go with an open mind. Know that the women of the Yahinv are the most skilled of the Antrilii. They can use their gifts in ways that others cannot. If anyone can help you, it will be they.”
She forced a smile. It did no good to tell him that any of the Magi would be better than one of the women of the Yahinv, regardless of their ability, and regardless of the fact that they appeared to possess similar blessings from the gods. From what she could tell, those of the Yahinv did not manipulate the manehlin in the same way as the Magi, and did not have the same facility. They preferred to use medicines and herbs, and had a fondness for salves, none of which was necessary for what the Magi did. None of which was helpful when it came to healing—at least not with healing that would restore manehlin that had been stolen from her.
“Thank you, Jassan. You have been kind to me.”
He looked at her quizzically. “This is not goodbye, Isandra.”
“Perhaps not, but I wanted to thank you, regardless. You have been kind to me. I know that you want to find what happened to the rest of the warriors, and I know that you want to ride back into the mountains to find the breeding grounds.”
“That will happen in time,” he said.
She arched her brow. That was the first she had heard of it, the first she had heard that Jassan would be leaving her, that he would be riding south. Would he leave her with the women of the House of the Yahinv?
She knew that he would. He would have to. There was nothing she could do to protect herself out there, nothing she could do to keep herself safe. He and the other warriors would always be forced to form a ring around her as they had when the groeliin had attacked the other time.
“I haven’t asked about Tarin recently. How is he?” The last she had heard, the Antrilii warrior had been steadily recovering. That surprised her. The type of wound he had sustained would be enough to kill him, but either he was more resilient, or perhaps there really was something to the type of healing the Antrilii practiced.
“He will recover.”
“That’s what you’re waiting for, isn’t it?”
Jassan nodded slowly. “He has fought many groeliin. I would not go into battle without him.”
It seemed like there was more to it than that, but she didn’t want to push him on it.
With one more squeeze of his hand, she started after the gray-haired woman, trailing after her as they made their way away from Farsea, and along the hidden trail that led toward the House of the Yahinv. It was an isolated place, but only a half a day’s walk from Farsea. She hadn’t taken the time to explore, to learn whether the other Antrilii cities were similarly close, but had a sense that they were not. She had not seen any Antrilii heading in any other direction.
When they reached the House of the Yahinv, she expected that she would be let inside, but a massive circle had been erected out of logs. Their tips had bee
n sharpened and plunged into the earth, standing in a ring. There were seven of them, one for each of the women of the Yahinv, and each had an inscription upon it that she noticed as she came closer.
“What is this?” she asked the woman. She didn’t know her name, though she hadn’t learned many of the other names of the members of the House of the Yahinv. Most had attempted to heal her, and had left her otherwise alone.
Rebecca stepped away from one of the logs, her wrinkled face neutral, and unreadable. Was she frustrated that she had failed at healing Isandra? Was she irritated that they were forced to try whatever this was? From her expression, Isandra couldn’t tell.
“This is called the Circle of Polash.”
“What is that? One of the Yahinv?”
Rebecca shook her head. “Polash was one of the first Antrilii, one who had spoken to the gods, who had learned lessons from them, guided in the ways of their energies. We will borrow from that knowledge now, and we will attempt to work something that has not been tried before.”
Isandra looked around, feeling a hint of anxiety growing within her. She had recognized that the women had some ability, so letting them try something on her that had never been attempted before didn’t leave her feeling comfortable. She didn’t want to be a test subject, and didn’t think that she wanted to see what they might be capable of doing, especially as they were not trained by the Magi, and didn’t have the same ability as the Mageborn.
“Rebecca… I’m not certain that this is right. What is this circle?”
“The circle is formed for specific purposes. We attempt to join our energies and use that combined energy to create greater thanksgivings to the gods.”
“This will be a thanksgiving to the gods?”
“This will be whatever it must be, Isandra of the Magi.”
Rebecca took her wrist, reminding her of how she had first led her into the House of the Yahinv. She guided her toward the center of the circle, leaving her standing amidst the towering logs, essentially a focal point within the circle.
Each of the women took a place in front of a log, standing with their backs against the logs, facing Isandra. The circle was small enough that they could reach out and touch the women beside them, taking each other’s hands. A soft chanting began, and with it came a buildup of energy.
Isandra could feel the energy, and had she wanted to leave, that opportunity had passed. The force of the energy pressed around her, ringing her in such a way that she was frozen in place.
Had she really thought the women of the House of the Yahinv were not talented?
They might not be Magi, but they had abilities, and they clearly had talent with manipulating the manehlin. Had she any of her abilities remaining, she thought she might be able to see what they did. This was nothing like anything the Magi had ever done, not at all like any manipulation of power that the Magi ever attempted. Yet, there was no question that there was power here.
The chanting continued, power building steadily.
Isandra felt it pressing on her.
Tentatively, she reached toward her Mage ability, straining to reach that empty part of her mind, that part of her that had once been able to connect to the gifts of the gods.
It was there, but it was weak, distant and faded.
Touching it, she felt the leaking sense once again, but it was different today. It had been different since joining the Antrilii, and she thought that it had been because they had allowed her to ride rather than walk, or perhaps because she had been malnourished when they came across her, and being safe, riding instead of walking, and being nourished had built up some of her strength. But maybe it was simply the nature of the Antrilii, and the nature of their abilities.
The chanting built, rising to a crescendo.
Power pressed on her, and it came strangely, rising from the ground, rising from the posts behind the women, from the air itself.
Her ankles began to burn.
When she’d been branded, it had been a cold sort of fire, and she immediately knew that something had changed about her, something that took away what she had been, what she was. This was like that… and unlike it.
Could they heal her?
Isandra allowed herself a moment to feel hope.
The warmth rose within her ankles, becoming more than the burning sense that she had felt, now becoming painful. She wanted to move, wanted to run, the pain was so much that she didn’t think she could tolerate it, but the power of the women of the Yahinv held her in place, preventing her from going anywhere.
She understood the purpose of the logs. They held Rebecca and the others in place as they pushed on her, giving them leverage. But what was the purpose?
The burning continued, seeping up into her legs, rising higher, and now into her belly. The same burning rose even higher, into her chest, and then hung there, unmoving. It was a physical sensation, but it was one that she felt on a deeper level as well.
They were healing her.
Then the burning began to retreat, leaving quickly.
It felt as if a cold quenching put out the fire in her legs. Then something within her pushed back, fighting against what Rebecca and the others did, forcing their magic back out of her.
And then their power faded in a pop.
Isandra sagged to the ground. She felt as if she had been running for days. One of the Yahinv—Rebecca, she realized—reached for her ankles and traced her fingers over them. Their voices were distant, but appraised her in a clinical fashion.
“We had some success, but we were pushed out.”
“Yes. We needed more power.”
“I’m not sure that it was power so much as it was something about the branding.”
“The brands have changed.”
Isandra’s eyes snapped open. She looked down to her ankles and realized that what one of the Yahinv had said was true. The brands had changed. She didn’t know what that meant, but as she reached toward the distant part of her Mage abilities, she realized that they no longer seeped out of her.
Her heart hammered quickly. Perhaps they hadn’t healed her completely, but they had managed to stop the draining of what little of her Mage powers she had left.
Maybe that was enough. It would have to be.
Chapter Thirty-One
Roelle lay panting, the pain nearly incapacitating, though something had changed. She was able to sit, and could move her arms and legs, something she hadn’t been able to do for… Long time. Her mind was clear, and she remembered the vision—or the dream, whatever it was—as clearly as if she had experienced it.
“Roelle?”
Selton’s voice was nearby, and edged with worry.
“I’m okay,” she said.
“I thought… It doesn’t matter.”
She realized that she was still holding his hand, and that he sat, propping her up. She turned, opening her eyes so that she could see him. “What happened?”
“You faded on us. I thought that you were gone.” He patted her hand, and a frown twisted his mouth. “You shouldn’t be sitting. How are you able to sit?”
“I don’t know. I had a vision. I think it was one the gods sent to me, and they drew me toward the Great Forest.”
“Were they angry that we used the Forest to trap and destroy the groeliin?” Selton asked.
Roelle shook her head. “I didn’t have that sensation. It seemed as if they were calling me to them. As if they wanted me to go there.”
“You had a vision of the gods?” Lendra asked.
Roelle looked around her. Selton must have called a stop to the procession, they were camped, the Magi warriors now arranged in an orderly fashion, a small campfire burning at the center of the clearing, the smoke from the crackling flame alerting her that this was not still the vision from which she had just escaped.
“Where are we?” Roelle asked.
Selton waved a hand. “When you… faded… I called a halt for the day. We’re probably a few days still to Vasha.”
The pain retreated from her back somewhat as she sat there, and she felt energized, more strength than she had felt in several days. Was that an effect of the vision, or was that because she had been sleeping?
“How long was I out?”
“Nearly a day,” Selton said.
“A day? You didn’t keep moving toward Vasha?”
“We tried. Every time we moved you, you would scream. We tried using the sedative Nahrsin gave us, but you refused to swallow. The only thing that kept you calm—and comfortable—was leaving you here.” He looked up at Lendra. “Lendra noted that you seemed to be resting more easily the longer that we were here. I thought…”
“You thought that I would recover enough to survive the rest of the journey.”
He nodded. “We need to get you to Vasha as quickly as possible. Whatever is happening to you is getting worse. Resting might have given you a reprieve, but I think it’s temporary.”
Roelle turned toward the east and realized as she did that she detected the same drawing sensation that she’d had in her vision. But this time, she was awake.
Why should it be that she would detect this? Much like in the vision, there was no question that she was pulled toward the east, toward the Great Forest.
“What are you looking at?” Selton asked.
Roelle tore her gaze away from staring at the emptiness in the east.
Not emptiness. Far to the east, she would reach the Great Forest, the home of the gods. If what Lendra said was true, then perhaps now, it was Jakob’s home.
“I feel… drawn.”
“Drawn where?” Selton asked.
“Are you drawn to the Forest?” Lendra asked.
“In my vision, I felt as if I was pulled. When I followed it, it led me to what I think was the center of the Great Forest. When I was there, the pulling sensation changed and started drawing downward.”
Twist of the Fibers (The Lost Prophecy Book 4) Page 25