Klaybear looked at his twin for a moment before speaking; there was a quality in his voice that he had never before noticed, a kind of resignation, as if he had given up. He wanted to reach out with the eyes of his mind and examine Rokwolf’s mind, thinking that something had happened to him. Instead, he turned sideways on the bed and pulled on his boots, then he stood and picked up his staff, the eye-shaped emerald beginning to glow as soon as his hand touched breath-giver. “Show me what you’ve done, since you say Klare is still asleep.”
“She was, yes,” Rokwolf said, turning to leave the bedroom and enter the main room of their secret sanctuary. He led his twin into the stable, past their three horses, contentedly munching on hay and grain, and into the larger cave. “See, the light is turning orange, so sunset must be near, although the chamber is never completely dark: the light at night is a gentle silver, but where it comes from I cannot tell. Tevvy reckoned that we are far underground.” He led Klaybear across the dirt track, and the fresh hoof prints, to the center, where he had planted many different vegetables. “It looks like a week has passed today, by their growth,” he noted pointing to some bean plants climbing up their poles.
Klaybear put one booted foot on the fence dividing the track from the garden. “You have been busy,” he noted. “I never pictured you as a farmer, my brother.”
Rokwolf shrugged. “I do what needs to be done; I have always done what needed to be done. Why should I do otherwise?”
Klaybear looked at his twin for a long moment, then sighed. “What am I going to do about Klare?” he asked.
Rokwolf snorted. “I’m not really the one you should ask; my experiences with wetham have not been positive,” he replied, looking at his garden. “You should ask Delgart. He still seems to have a way with wetham; I’ve already seen his effect on . . . ,” but he stopped, sighing and shaking his head.
“What is bothering you, wolfman?” Klaybear asked in twin. “Ever since you have joined us, you have been hiding something from me; what is it that so troubles you?”
Rokwolf looked back suddenly, on hearing Klaybear calling him by his secret name from childhood. He opened his mouth to respond, but nothing came out. After a time of silence, he shook his head slowly then shrugged. “It does not matter, bearman; it is nothing.”
“The fact that you will not speak of it tells me it is something significant,” Klaybear replied.
Rokwolf drew himself up to deny what Klaybear was suggesting, then he looked at his twin and deflated. “I hate waiting,” he whispered, “I should be out there, doing something, instead of being trapped in this tomb, but someone had to stay behind and watch over you, and I was the best choice, since the others had things they needed to do. Also, they thought it would be better for me to stay, since we are twins, and Delgart had to return to Holvar for . . . ,” he broke off, looking back toward the stable.
Klaybear turned, hearing the sounds of someone moving inside the main room. Both started in that direction, then heard a startled exclamation, followed by a frightened scream. Before either could move, a streak of green shot out of the stable and flung herself into Klaybear’s startled arms. Klare’s honey-flecked brown hair was a tangled mess, her robes twisted around her small frame, and her feet bare.
“You left me alone!” she sobbed, desperately clinging to him.
Klaybear held Klare tightly, stroking her hair and kissing her; unnoticed, Rokwolf turned away, moving back toward the garden and climbing over the fence. “I’m here,” Klaybear whispered, “you’re safe.”
“Don’t ever leave me alone,” Klare implored, then her face flushed, “except, of course, at night,” she added, then bit her lower lip. “Oh, but I do not think I could ever sleep again: the nightmares are horrible!” she exclaimed, shuddering against him. “Sometimes I see my home destroyed, and all my family dead; other times I see purem leering at me, and laughing, and I realize that I am naked, and then I start to scream, from the pain, because they . . . they . . . ,” and she stopped speaking, burying her face in his shoulder. Her body shook violently, so Klaybear held her tighter, trying to quell the shaking and sobs. When the sobs and shaking had nearly stopped, she lifted her head, looking up at him. “They are dreams, aren’t they?” she asked, but before he could even think of how to reply, she went on. “But I feel sore,” her face flushed, “in certain places, where I should not feel sore, and at times, I feel sick, which is strange, since I have not eaten for days, it seems.” Then her face went white, and she pushed away, turning and doubling up, retching, but the heaves that wracked her body were dry. After several minutes of dry heaves, she wiped her mouth, then slowly stood and wrapped her arms around Klaybear.
“The first time I awakened,” Klare went on, “I felt filthy, so I got up and took a bath, and I found blood and . . . ,” she hesitated, searching for a word, “something else, as if it were that time, but it didn’t look right. So I washed, and I washed, and I discovered all my muscles were sore, especially my legs, so I stayed in the tub for a long time, and it was quite strange: the water never cooled,” she said, looking away. “Then, after I got out, dried, and dressed, Rokwolf found me, which was a surprise, since I thought he was in the desert, then he told me that I was mistaken, that it was more than a year later, and that you and I were married. He even showed me things that he claimed were ours, from our house, which upset me, and so he gave me a sleeping draft.” She looked toward Rokwolf, who was on his knees, pulling weeds.
Klaybear said nothing, troubled by her behavior; he now understood what his twin meant: Klare liked to talk, but she never babbled, and now, she was babbling like the proverbial fishwife.
“I can’t understand why I feel sick every time I wake up,” Klare began again, her face pale, “it would make more sense if it were the morning, and I were pregnant, but that is not possible,” she hesitated, looking up into Klaybear’s face, “unless Rokwolf was telling the truth, or the nightmare was real,” she paused, looking horrified, “but that would mean . . . ,” she started to say, then Klaybear cut her off.
“You’re not carrying the child of a puri,” Klaybear interrupted, “you’re carrying our child, and I saw him in a vision, or a dream, I had before waking. He told me . . . ,” he hesitated, trying to keep his voice level while holding back tears, “he told me to heal you, but so did my mother, and your mother,” he finished, his voice cracking.
Klare looked shocked. “No!” she exclaimed, “it cannot be true,” she faltered, and something inside changed, her face reflecting her realization. She sobbed and buried her face in Klaybear’s chest. Several minutes passed in silence before she lifted her head and looked into his eyes. “So I’ve lost more than a year of memories? How is this possible?” she asked, sounding stricken.
Klaybear sighed. “Something happened when the purem . . . ,” he paused, searching for a term that was less offensive, “captured you and Rokwolf.”
“Where were you?” Klare interrupted.
“In Shigmar’s tomb,” Klaybear replied, “retrieving this staff,” he pulled his left arm from holding her, to show her the glowing staff, “named breath-giver.”
“Why didn’t you take me with you?” Klare asked, again interrupting him.
“You had to stay in Kalbant, watching over your mother, who had been critically injured by the purem that attacked and destroyed the village,” Klaybear replied.
“You couldn’t have waited?” Klare asked, frowning.
“No, Shigmar was under attack by at least four legions of Gar’s forces,” Klaybear replied, trying to keep his voice level, which was difficult to do. “My master learned that this staff, Shigmar’s staff, was the only way to save the city.”
“Didn’t he send for help from the Fereghen?” Klare asked.
“As soon as he learned of the attack, but the seklesi legions sent were attacked near the Crossing of Reema, and did not arrive until after the walls were breached, and they lost half of their forces in a battle with a second army. So my master w
as right; the staff was the only way, but the cost . . . ,” Klaybear said the last to himself.
“What cost?” Klare asked.
Klaybear looked down at his wife, angered by her constant interruptions, intending on telling her to be silent, until he saw the confusion written on her face. This was more difficult than he could imagine; she had forgotten so much that he did not know where to begin, so he answered her question. “When I activated the staff, a wave of destruction moved outward, taking the life force of everything and everyone one in its path,” he replied, his voice dull. “Each and everyone passed before my face, I . . . ,” he stuttered at this point, “I saw all of their hopes and dreams, all that each lost by having his, or her, life ripped from each one at that moment. I saw them all, felt all the pain, anguish, suffering, anger, and all of their accusations, as each one was absorbed by the staff. For three days, I have relived those moments, seen them all imprisoned, heard their accusations, cries of pain and lost hope, staring up at me,” he stopped, unable to say all that he felt, even to his dearly beloved wife. He was surprised by her response.
Klare’s face had softened, filling with concern; she reached up and stroked his cheek, then his hair; she put her small hands on his face, kissed him gently. “My love, what can I do to help? You must not blame yourself; you did what you had to do, what was right.” She kissed him again then held him fiercely, her own problems forgotten for the moment, and Klaybear suddenly knew what he needed to do to help her: she was, after all, the best young healer in the school, so they needed to find a way to enter the school so that she could work her arts upon those who survived, losing herself in her work. He thought about it for a moment, trying to think of a way that would engage her without raising her suspicion.
“I think we should find a way back into the school,” Klaybear noted.
Klare looked puzzled. “But you said the city was destroyed,” she said, “so why would we want to do that?”
“To look for survivors,” Klaybear went on, “maybe they have gathered in the dry parts of the city, maybe in the school; I suspect that they will need healing. Besides, I’d like to try this staff,” he held it up, “to see how effective it is at healing. It is, after all, breath-giver.”
Klare looked at him a long moment before speaking. “I suppose,” she said finally, “and we might be able to find some supplies, since,” she nodded toward the garden where Rokwolf was working, “we need more than fresh vegetables, some flour would be nice, maybe some dried meat and fruit,” she added.
Klaybear turned to look toward his twin. “Rokwolf, how many people would you say survived and took refuge in the school?”
“I don’t know, exactly,” he replied, looking up. “Delgart and the other seklesem explored the ruins,” he stopped, thinking for a moment. “Quite a few, from the way he talked, why?”
“We should find a way to get in, and help them,” Klare said, her voice sounding surer, more like her old self, “and Klaybear wants to play with his new staff,” she added, a grin twitching at the corners of her mouth.
Klaybear looked down at her, surprised. “Play?” he said.
“That’s what you wethem do, whenever you get a new toy,” Klare grinned, but it looked strained.
“Actually,” Klaybear replied, “I was going to let you play with the staff, since you are the better healer,” he grinned down at her, but then his face fell.
Klare looked stricken; her eyes filled with tears. “I am so sorry,” she sobbed, “I did not mean . . . what a horrible thing to say!” She buried her face in his shoulder, shaking as she cried.
Klaybear held her tightly, stroking her hair, trying to hold back his own tears. Rokwolf stood and brushed the dirt from his hands, shaking his head.
“I’ll go into the sewers,” Rokwolf said in a soft voice. “Where should I look for a way into the school?”
“The bridge just inside the waterfall?” Klaybear asked and went on when his twin nodded. “To the east of the bridge, there is a passage running north and a gate that leads into one of the guard towers; you can try there. I do not know if they managed to clear the passageway out of the dungeons, but there is a ladder further down the east passageway the goes into the dungeon under the school.”
Rokwolf nodded. “I’ll go see,” he said. “You two should probably get something to eat while I’m gone. I imagine you are quite famished, not having eaten for three days.” He grinned and turned away, then laughed when he heard Klaybear’s stomach rumble.
Klare pushed away, lifting her head. “My dear,” she sniffed, “I have been derelict in my duties.”
“Derelict?” Klaybear replied incredulously.
Klare nodded, wiping her face with her sleeve. “I should have anticipated . . . ,” she began, but Klaybear interrupted her.
“Where are your verghrenum?” he asked, pushing back her sleeves.
“My what?” she asked, looking startled.
“The gold bracelets?”
“Oh, those,” Klare replied. “I must have forgotten to put them on after I bathed, why?”
But Klaybear did not answer her. “Rokwolf!” he shouted.
“What?” Rokwolf shouted back.
“Klare’s verghrenum!” Klaybear yelled. “She left them in the bath!”
“On my way,” Rokwolf replied.
“What’s wrong?” Klare tried to ask, but Klaybear picked her up and ran toward the stable. “What are you doing?” Klare asked, confused by his urgency. “Put me down!”
Klaybear ignored her, having shifted his awareness, as he ran, to the mental, looking for any telltale sign. He shifted back when he did not see anything obvious, just as he came to and entered the stable. Rokwolf ran toward him, and Klaybear stopped and dropped Klare onto her feet, pulling back the sleeves of her robe and holding up her hands; Rokwolf slipped the gold bracelets over her hands.
“What are you two doing?” Klare asked.
“Anything?” Rokwolf asked.
Klaybear shook his head once, shifting his awareness again, so that he could examine her mind more carefully.
“What are you two doing?” Klare asked again, beginning to sound irritated.
When Klaybear didn’t answer, Rokwolf whispered. “Checking to see if Gar has tampered with your mind, again.”
“Again?” Klare said, surprised. “He’s tampered with it before?”
Rokwolf nodded but did not reply.
Klaybear sighed, shifting back. “Nothing,” he said, “although I’m not as good as Thal.”
“Who’s Thal?” Klare asked.
“We should probably have him check,” Rokwolf said, “just to be sure. Although, when I first put mine on, I passed out, because my verghrenum were fixing the tampering.”
Klare stamped her foot, looking furious. “Would you please explain what you are talking about, why you acted so strangely over a pair of bracelets, and who is Thal?” She looked from one to the other, and both flinched from the sting of her look.
Rokwolf laughed, but stopped suddenly, looking down at his bracers; Klaybear felt it also.
Klare looked at her bracelets. “Why are they growing warm?”
“Which symbol?” Klaybear asked.
“What do you mean?” Klare asked.
Rokwolf touched his bracers. “Tevvy’s symbol: we arranged the signal so that he could report to us anything that he finds out, so it means he wants one of us to contact him with the staff.”
“Who’s Tevvy?” Klare asked. “And how can we contact him with that staff?”
Klaybear sighed. “I’ll try and explain it all to you while we are getting something to eat.”
Klare bit her lip, and her eyes filled again with tears. Rokwolf turned and stalked from the stable and back into the cave with the garden to work until the light failed, giving Klare and Klaybear time to eat before they contacted Tevvy.
Klaybear took her in his arms and held her for several minutes, until her quiet crying subsided.
“It�
�s wrong!” Klare exclaimed, wiping her face with her sleeve.
“What’s wrong, dearest?” Klaybear asked.
“That I cannot remember what has happened,” Klare replied.
“Thal believes that we might be able to repair the damage with Melbarth’s rod,” Klaybear noted.
Klare frowned up at him. “There you go again! Who is this Thal? And this rod? And where is this rod?”
Klaybear touched her arm, then reached up and pushed back the honey-colored strand of hair that had fallen across her face. “I’ll start with the last couple of weeks.”
Chapter 4
The power of Melbarth’s rod is phenomenal; the shortsighted fools at Melbarth had no idea what they kept in a display case! With this rod I can finally turn the wedaterem, discarded by the Great Lord and infesting this swamp, to my service, changing them from solitary creatures into a powerful army. . . .
from the Journal of Motodu, recovered by the Chosen in the Great Year
Translated by Hierarch Thalamar
Tevvy traveled south with the remnants of the seklesi army in the company of Marilee and Delgart, who were treated as heroes by most of the soldiers and officers, but when they reached Holvar after two days, he declined the offer to stay with them and join the victory party, stating that he wanted to get an early start the next morning. He spent the night in a seedy inn on the south of the river, leaving as the sun was rising. The road south followed the course of the Iorn River as it flowed toward the Inner Sea, passing a spur of the Monti-sterlastan, the Mountains of the Firm Star, to his right and west, and the Emerald Sea, to his left and east, a grassland bordered by the river to the north and west, the Inner Sea to the south, and the Skergrut Escarpment nearly 100 miles to the east. Herds of wild horses roamed the open plain, and Tevvy heard the familiar rumble of hooves about an hour after sunrise, as a herd galloped along the river bank then swerved east, deeper into the grassland, running for the pleasure of it. Tevvy shaded his eyes and watched until the herd faded to a blur of colors and a distant rumble. Legend held that at the dawn of history, the Emerald Sea ran for a thousand miles east, and that there were herds of horses large enough to carry the megatrem, largest of the giant creatures who walked on the earth. In these enlightened days, however, nobody believed such fairy-stories.
The Redemption, Volume 1 Page 71