"You have no wings." Maríana had just noticed this as they hovered over the marker. She glided in a circle around the fragile light, but the Guardian floated in the air.
"I have no body," the Guardian said, her smile radiant now. "It has been thousands of years since I had a physical body. I no longer need to return, since I have chosen the path of the Guardian." She floated to a spot directly above the light and extended her fingers over it. "Now, Maríana de Reuilles! Do what you were born to do! Bring your world through."
Maríana threw her head back and sang out the note that Iranzu had made her repeat hundreds of times. As she glided around and around the light, she sustained the note, until she felt a pull in her belly. Energy from the physical realm streamed through her. The Guardian's fingers wove a complex pattern, working the fine beams of light into a brilliant net. Maríana raised the note a half tone and sustained it to the limit of her breath.
They continued this way, Maríana bringing the light through her body and the Guardian plaiting it into thick strands, until they were up in the clouds again, well above the valley and the mountains. The net shone now, a fine web of light that rose up into a sphere, entirely covering the valley and anchored by the twelve markers that now burned brightly on top of the mountain peaks.
The Guardian grasped Maríana's hands. "Fine work! You should not have to do this again for some time. I think..." she broke off as the dark sky was suddenly flooded by a light that no words could describe. "Don't look at it!" she ordered Maríana. But it was too late.
Maríana's eyes filled with the light that was at once every color and no color, a light that lived and breathed and sang. A light that cried out in love and joy. Come home. She closed her eyes, but it bled through her lids, touched her everywhere.
"It is alive! It is calling to me," Maríana cried. "Iranzu! Why didn't you tell me it was alive?" She reached her hands into it, watched the trembling sparkle as it flowed through her fingers. "I am here," she said, then turned to the Guardian. But the Guardian was not there. There was only the living light, all around her.
She had gone through the Door.
Chapter 37
RICHARD turned his head to the side, felt the scratchy wool of the rolled blanket under his head. His eyes blinked open. He stared blankly at the tree trunks that surrounded him. What was he doing outside... ?
Maríana! He'd fallen asleep waiting for her to return from the mountain. He leaped up and ran to the path, looked eagerly up and down the length of the curving track that led from the river all the way up the mountain. No one was there.
He slapped his thigh and cursed. What a time to fall asleep! He bundled up his pack and slung it over his shoulder. Maríana must not have seen him when she came back down. He would find her at the stone house with Iranzu. Sprinting to the bridge over the river, he did not stop running until the stone house was within his sight.
The village was silent. He couldn't see any children playing outside and there were few people on the road. He nodded to the people he knew and marched up to the door of the stone house, bursting inside and slinging his pack on the floor.
"Where is she?" He glanced at the neatly-made box beds and the long oak table where Iranzu and Adelie sat. "I saw the lightning last night," he continued, marching up to the table. "I know she got inside all right. Now, where is she?" He stopped when he saw Adelie's reddened eyes.
"Sit down, Richard." Adelie reached out and grasped his arm. He allowed her to pull him onto the bench in front of the table.
"We all saw the light," Iranzu said. "The whole side of the mountain lit up when she entered the stone." He sighed and put his head in his hands. "We were following her until she completed her task of drawing the net. After that, we could not sense her any longer."
"Then where is she?" Richard's jaw locked as he stared into Adelie's face. It kept his teeth from clattering. He leaned forward, forced his mouth to open. "Where is my Maríana?"
"We think she is lost in the stone," Adelie said.
Richard slammed his fist on the table. "No! She is still alive. I would know if she had died." His voice broke. "I would know."
He turned and walked out the door.
RICHARD pounding the walls of his stone hut until his knuckles were raw and bleeding, yet he could not feel them. He looked at the jumble of clothes, his flute, the new gown Leila was making for Maríana. Then he drew in his breath and blinked his eyes hard. None of this was doing any good, none of this would help Maríana.
Marc entered the hut. "What are you doing?"
Marc looked wary. Well, no wonder. Richard hid his hands under his thighs. He must look mad.
"I am getting ready to climb up to your cave to get Maríana out of that damned stone." he said. "But I only have my sword here. There is nothing I can use to help her." He drew his hands out from under him, made fists. "I had to leave Reuilles-le-château with nothing. Nothing but the clothes on my back." Marc wavered in the doorway. Richard lowered his voice. There was no need to frighten the boy. "If only I could have brought my breast plate, or even my chain mail. Anything that would shield me from the force coming out of the stone."
Marc yelped. "Armor!" he squeaked.
Richard jumped off the bed and clutched Marc's tunic. "What did you say? Tell me!"
"You need armor?" Marc asked.
"You mean you have armor here? In this village?"
Marc nodded. "Yes, armor, very new armor."
Richard grabbed his sword. "Where is this armor?"
"I don't know what you have in mind, but Gorka has armor." Marc's face went impassive, but Richard could see the tremble of excitement in his limbs.
Now Richard grasped Marc's arms. "Take me to this Gorka," he said.
"I WAS ARMORER to Thibaut of Navarre. But I grew homesick for my valley." Gorka hefted the armor. It had a blue sheen to it. "This is what I was making before I left his court."
Amazed, Richard stared at the metal plates. "We have chain mail and breast plates, but nothing like this."
The suit formed an entire body-covering; chest and trunk, arms, hands, legs and feet. The helmet was made to cover the head, with a slitted visor that creaked when Richard lifted it.
"Can I try it on?" he asked, already pulling the metal gloves over his hands.
Gorka smiled and shrugged. "Anything for our Breton knight," he said.
Marc frowned, running his fingers along the joints. "It may be a little small."
Richard slipped into the arm-coverings. His hands stuck out and his wrists showed, but with a little adjustment to the gloves, his skin was covered. He looked at the leg plates and metal boots. "We can loosen these so I can wear it." He used his knife to pry the joints apart just enough to allow him to place his legs inside. He shrugged his body into the breast plate and back, donned the leg coverings.
Gorka made a small cry of amazement. "You really are a knight!" he said, eyes popping. As if Richard had just stepped out of a tale.
Richard frowned at the helmet. He had no time for their admiration. "Gorka," he said, "can you make a metal plate to fit over this part of the helmet." He pried the visor off, removed the gloves. "A plate that has no slits at all?"
"Of course! But why?" Gorka was puzzled. "Won't you want to be able to see?"
Richard looked at the helmet. This might work. Even if it did not, he would not give up, would not leave Maríana up there. "I will not wear it long, but it is important that nothing be able to penetrate it." How could he withstand a force that nobody understood?
"I will make it for you now," Gorka said, moving toward his forge.
Marc was grinning, his feet tapped the floor. "I knew you were a knight," he said. "But seeing you in this!" He waved his hands. "I always dreamed about being a knight, riding into battle in my armor!" He lifted Richard's sword and swung it around, knocking a flagon of ale and a bucket of pig's entrails onto the floor.
Richard flexed his arms and the armor creaked in protest. He rescued the sword. "I wi
ll keep this." Then he drew the metal gloves over his hands again, wiggled his fingers. "No one I know has armor like this. Gorka has made something quite new." He turned to Marc. "I may not have your magic, but at least I know what I can do with this armor, and this may be the only way I can bring my Maríana back."
MARÍANA was nestled next to something warm. Something that moved and sent tingling shivers through her. She opened her eyes. Someone's arms enveloped her, arms that held her gently. She stared at the hands that grasped her. Glowing, fine-grained skin. She stared at the line of the thumb, the square fingers, the transparent nails, then she jerked her head away. This was a trap, wasn't it? Earlier, she had followed the vibrant strands of a fern all the way to its roots and into the earth below. She must have wandered for days now, entranced by the landscape of this place. The gurgle of running water tickled her ears, yet she could not focus on anything but the arms that held her. Everything else was a soft blur of colors and light.
"Guardian?" she said, shaking her head. "I thought I went through the Door."
"Maríana!" This was a familiar voice, surely. But a voice she had not heard in months. "You have joined us so soon! How did you die?" The tones were low, pleased, with a dramatic rise at the end.
Maríana pulled away from the arms that held her, spun and rose up into the air, held the back of her hand against her mouth. "Oh, my God." Tears formed shards of crystals on her cheeks.
Ibrahim sat upon some kind of chair, one brow elevated. "Flying is fun, isn't it?" He beckoned to her. "But come down now." She curled her arms and legs inward, tried to drift toward him. "I want to talk to you."
"Are you real?" Nothing else seemed to be. Everything was always changing, even as she looked at it. After she had plunged into the earth to trace the roots of the fern, she had drawn in on herself, had somehow shut this world out. For a time.
Ibrahim took her hand and kissed it, tugged her to the ground. Or what felt like ground. She felt the pressure of his hand, saw the sparkle in his eyes as he regarded her. But his form shone and his skin was unlike anything she had ever known, firm and soft, yet more like a pliant statue than a human. Her fingers grew warm and prickled when she touched him.
He motioned for her to come closer. "How did you die? I had no idea..."
"She has not died, love." A voice that sounded very much like Adelie came from somewhere behind Maríana. "Not yet, anyway." Suddenly Ibrahim's face transformed, filled with so much light that his features disappeared in a luminous burst. Two strong, slender hands came into Maríana's view.
"See?" the voice continued and the hands grasped a translucent coil that seemed to be attached just above her navel. Maríana jumped as the hands tugged and she felt it all the way to her toes. "The cord is still there," the voice concluded and the woman who spoke moved next to Ibrahim, kissed his radiant face. Pitch black hair flowed around her shoulders, her eyes glowed emerald. "Maríana." She gave her greeting with a nod.
"Mama?" Maríana reached toward Thérèse, but she could not seem to stay on the ground. Her feet lifted and she started to spin again. Thérèse laughed and pulled Maríana into her embrace, anchoring her in between Ibrahim and herself.
"Now, now, petite." Thérèse stroked her hair as Maríana shook, stared at her mother's face. "It is wonderful to see you, but definitely too soon. Did you come through the stone?"
Maríana found she could not speak, but managed to nod.
Thérèse sighed. "I thought so."
Ibrahim touched Maríana's face. "Once you go through the Door," crystal pieces made tracks across his face, too, "you cannot return."
"Quiet, my love." Thérèse's fingers caressed Ibrahim's lips. "Not now." She pulled Maríana closer and rocked her back and forth. "I must think."
Maríana was sure centuries passed while she was rocked in her mother's arms. Yet no time at all had passed when Thérèse released her.
"Mama," Maríana said, rubbing at her eyes. "I am sorry that I turned away from you." What would have happened if she had embraced her mother by the pond, so long ago?
"What do you mean?"
"I saw you in the pool in your garden. I was young and I did not understand... I just saw a water creature with no eyes. I did not know it was you."
Thérèse became very still. "So." Her voice dragged; for a moment an image of her damaged face danced upon the radiant form Maríana saw before her. "I was there." She shook her head and sighed. "It is I who should be sorry, petite. I frightened you, didn't I?"
She pulled Maríana to her side again. "I never listened to Father when he told me what I must do after death. I think I wandered for a while in a dark dream." She turned to Ibrahim.
"You are fading again," she chided.
Ibrahim yelped, holding his transparent hands up to his face and glaring at them. As he stared at them, they became solid. First the palms, them the long fingers, finally the tips. He grinned. "I was thinking of the Mevlana," he said. "I have been visiting a man in Konya," he told Maríana as he floated off the ground. "I met him when he was a boy. Now I talk with him sometimes, when he dreams." He looked around at the light, shimmering in hues that were beyond color. "I think he is dreaming, now. That is why I was fading. He is calling me," he added.
"You can leave me here with my daughter," Thérèse said. "We will not be angry with you. Go now, Ibrahim. Go and see your Djalal-o-din." She dimpled at him as he lifted his hand in farewell, and vanished.
Thérèse shook her head. "It is better for him to leave now. It would be too hard for him to see you go back," she told Maríana.
"Then I can go back?" See Richard again?
Thérèse nodded. "I think so, but I must take you to someone first." She held Maríana's hands, drew her up where they floated in a lazy circle. Thérèse pulled her close at first, then held her at arm's length, looking into her face. "You do look like Louis-Philippe," she said, her voice wistful. "Maríana."
"Yes, Mama."
Thérèse hesitated. "I want you to know that Ibrahim and I will always be as close to you as your next breath. But I also want you to remember that there is a cost for all of this, for what we can do. We may not be able to see everything, but we can trust in the final result." She raised her arms in a graceful circle over her head.
MARÍANA swirled through a great distance. The changing landscape that had entranced her disappeared. She thought her mother was still next to her; yet when she blinked, she was in the living light again and Thérèse was gone.
But she was not alone. A body began to form out of the gleaming, breathing light. It never formed completely, a limb reached out, a smooth face emerged. Yet she knew it was a man. Tendrils of compassion, strands of peace flowed toward her. She caught at it with her hands, heard the voice within its shimmer.
"Why did you come through the Door?"
"Someone called to me," she answered.
Amusement sent ripples through the light all around her. "I do not remember calling to you," he said. "Wait for a moment." The light trembled again and a small boy appeared, ran toward her. "Here is the one who called you."
Maríana opened her arms to the child. "You look like Richard when he was a boy," she said. "But your hair is lighter." She ran her fingers through his fall of chestnut hair. He turned his face up to her and smiled, his brown-amber eyes sparkling. "How could this be? Is all that we were still here?" she asked, "Is this Richard when he was little?"
"Mama," the boy said.
"What?" Maríana cried. The boy faded into smoke, leaving only a memory of warmth in her arms.
"Even now you carry him within you," the form said.
"So you will let me return."
"If we are to send you back, you must do something."
Maríana inclined her head. Here was the cost. "And that is?"
"The cauldron cannot stay in your valley. It must return to its source."
"The cauldron?" She knew of no cauldron.
Now she could see the shape of a tall man, legs stretc
hed and trunk expanded. His mouth moved as he spoke to her.
"The chalice Iranzu gave to you," he said. "The cauldron of life."
"Take it to its source?" How, where? She would need a disguise. And a guide.
"You need not carry it that far," the form said. "But you must take it to your home."
The light around her shivered, streams slipped away from her fingers. "My home?"
"To Reuilles-le-château. You must take the cauldron there, give it to the one who will carry it to its source."
"They will kill me." She had only just escaped. Even a disguise would not serve her there. "Please," she whispered. "Do not ask this of me!" The boy. She would never have him, never hold her son in her arms. They had already taken her daughter. "How can you ask me to do this?"
"I know you are afraid, but this is what you must do. What has been set in motion there is unfinished." The form drew back, receded.
"And if I do not?" She was already dead, wasn't she? No one had ever survived crossing over. Well, maybe Jesus. But she was not the Son of God. She was not even a very good daughter. Hadn't she left her father there to face the Inquisition?
The form came forward again, reached out to her, caressed her cheek. His touch set waves that spread out around her. "Then you must stay here."
"I see." This was the price. It meant death either way.
"We cannot guarantee the outcome, but it must be done," he said.
Maríana wrapped her arms around her, rocked back and forth. This was it, then. Perhaps she could survive it, perhaps not. She had no other choice. She was dead right now. If she agreed to do this thing, she would see Richard again. One more time. She straightened her back, lifted her chin. "Tell me exactly what you want me to do," she said.
RICHARD pulled the helmet over his head. "Perfect!" His voice was muffled, but he could be heard. Gorka beamed at him as Marc helped him remove it.
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