No, Bryn tried to say. Her lips felt numb, her throat closed. Not a sound came out.
“Please, Sir Troubadour,” Selid said, “take this to the queen. And when you have done so, write a song about it.”
Avrohom's eyes, usually so merry, were grave as he accepted the scroll. He bowed. “Her Majesty shall read your words,” he said.
Frightened, Bryn looked at Selid. Kiran had warned her that the Master Priest was hunting her. She'd only nodded and said she knew. But what if Renchald found her? Blood, my blood, is given.
“There's more,” Selid said. “ You must be there when this message is delivered, Bryn. It's you who can bring the winds of change to Sorana.”
Dawn spoke into the quiet, looking very serious. “Winjessen is about to align with both Ellerth and Monzapel,” she said, “and Vernelda will oppose Keldes. Momentous events are poised to happen.”
Kiran dropped back to his couch and watched Selid and Bryn, his uneasiness growing. They knew something they weren't saying; he was sure of it.
His head felt hazy and sick, as it had ever since Renchald had stormed his barriers, leaving him weaker than a newborn colt abandoned by its mother; wobbly on his legs, searching for what he could not find. He didn't seem to be healing. His ribs hurt as much now as they had right after the guards kicked him. Though he'd visited his inner landscape repeatedly, he could only stumble about in a fog, unable to find what was robbing him of strength.
The voices around him seemed distant, as if spoken by people on the other side of a wall. With an effort, he concentrated. “We'll leave early. You can ride pillion with Jeffrey, Bryn,” Avrohom was saying.
Kiran roused himself. How much of the conversation had he missed? “Obsidian can carry both Bryn and me,” he cut in. “Selid and Lance must come with us too. They're in danger from the Master Priest.”
Silence greeted his words. Zeb began drumming his fingers on the mantelpiece; Negasi and Jeffrey looked away. “Kiran,” Avrohom said, “I'm no healer, but I can see you're not fit to stand up, let alone ride. And if that stallion is everything he's said to be, the Temple guards will be searching for him as hard as they search for you.”
Kiran looked at Bryn. The golden flecks in her eyes were like sparks of sunlight. It seemed to him she shined brighter, now that the wind had returned to her. Who, upon seeing her, could doubt she was the most extraordinary woman in the world?
He forced himself to his feet. “We must go with you.” He took three steps before he tumbled.
As promised, Bryn took Obsidian for a run after everyone else was asleep. Riding the stallion quieted her nerves only a little. After she'd returned him to his stall, she crept in to where Kiran slept by Selid's hearth. Jack was curled at the foot of his couch. He opened one eye at Bryn and then sank back into slumber as she kneeled beside Kiran's head.
“Kiran,” she whispered to his sleeping face. “Kiran, I need to thank you.”
He stirred. The bruised skin under his freckles looked sickly in the moonlight. “Because of you,” she said softly, “I was able to lift the curse. I found what didn't belong in my landscape. You were right about that, as you've been right about so many things.” She bowed her head over her hands. “I'm sorry I ever doubted your friendship.”
She was startled when a rough finger brushed her cheek. She raised her head and saw Kiran's shadowed eyes squinting at her. “It's all right,” he whispered hoarsely. He propped himself on an elbow, but then immediately slid down to rest on his pillow again, flinching in pain.
“What did they do to you?” she asked miserably, fear rising in her heart. He looked worse than he had the day before. How could she leave him? What if he died while she was away? “Did Clea curse you?”
“No. Master Priest breached my barriers. My landscape is covered in fog. When I enter it, I can't see anything else, nor can I think clearly. My dream body keeps weakening.”
Bryn took his hand. “ You can't get any weaker.”
“I've done all I know to do.”
She leaned in closer. “Maybe I could help. If you can trust me.”
He didn't pull away, but a small frown appeared between his brows. “Trust you?”
“We could pair with each other to heal you.”
“No. Too dangerous for you.”
“Please, Kiran. It would mean everything to me.”
“Can't risk you.”
“Together we would have more strength, wouldn't we?” She squeezed his hand, willing him to listen. “Please.”
His eyes met hers searchingly. “But you've never paired before, have you?”
“No. But the Master Priest said I was ready.” She spoke firmly, though she felt unsure. “Please, Kiran. What harm could come to me?”
He moved his hand in hers to lace their fingers together.
“Agreed?” she pressed.
“ You must promise to get away if you begin to feel weak.”
“Of course,” she lied.
He stopped resisting. He closed his eyes.
“Will you do it, then?”
“We can try,” he murmured.
“Now,” she urged. “Tomorrow will be too late.”
He gave a slight nod. “Ready, then.”
Bryn prepared herself. Kiran's link, when it reached her, was faint, but it was enough to take hold of. She felt an uneasy thrill as she fused with it.
Their dream bodies stood together on the ground of open pairing, a timeless place in the abanya, lit by clear light. From here, they might go to either of their landscapes, or to a different time; they might travel anywhere in the world.
Kiran's dream body looked even more ill than his physical one, his aura ragged. He nodded to her wearily and led the way into his landscape.
Heavy fog enveloped them instantly. Bryn couldn't see him anymore. She strode determinedly into the mist, hand outstretched, hoping to find the border of his barriers. When she met a wall she groped her way along it, trailing a hand to feel for any fissure.
Her head spun. Her legs as she walked grew heavier and heavier, as if shot through with lead. Death seemed to seep from the ground and crawl through the air. Her legs wanted to give out, but she pushed on through the dreary fog.
There. She could feel a jagged break in the wall.
Here, she called, hoping Kiran could find her.
The break was sealed with something; Bryn felt along the edges of what seemed to be a wedge of stone. Touching it, she felt a deadly sense of futility. She stood with her hands on the wedge, summoning her will to fight.
Beneath her hands, a wind sprang up, a sudden forceful burst of bright air shaped like a quarry hammer. Warm and strong, it pounded the wedge, hammering against the darkness.
The wedge neither chipped nor cracked. It contained a will of its own, formed into density that refused to give in. As Bryn beat against it, her sense of futility deepened. A frightful tiredness weakened her.
No, she said, renewing her grip on the bright hammer. I won't be turned aside. I will stay here and swing this hammer forever if need be.
She swung against the impervious wedge. She didn't know how long she stood there in the dark fog, fighting the block of stone Renchald had set in Kiran's landscape. She only knew that she would keep going until she couldn't lift the hammer anymore. Weariness filled every part of her dream body, but she wouldn't quit.
At last she struck a blow that suddenly dis-integrated the wedge all at once. The rock exploded into a cloud of dark dust that quickly vanished.
Utterly exhausted, Bryn rested her hands on either side of the gaping breach and called for Kiran. Are you there? The wedge is gone. Can you rebuild the barrier?
Thinning shreds of mist began drifting away, revealing more of the towering barrier wall. Then Kiran was beside her, the hands of his dream body replacing hers on the breach, his arms spanning the gap. Yes, I can mend it, he told her. Thank you, my love.
Bryn woke with a start. She was sitting with her legs tucked under her, her h
ead cradled in her arms, which were leaning against Kiran's couch. A thin beam of grayish light streamed through the window. It must be near dawn.
The last thing she recalled was being within Kiran's landscape. He had told her he could mend his barriers. And called her my love.
Or had he? Bryn unfolded her legs, wincing. Even her bones felt tired.
Kiran's sleeping face looked very peaceful, and his color was better. She mustn't wake him from such a healing sleep.
Twenty-two
Selid couldn't sleep. For her, the bedroom was filled with bright silver light all the night through, light that enveloped and eased her mind.
At daybreak, she and Lance saw Bryn and Dawn and the troupe on their way. Bryn made them promise to follow as soon as they were able. Selid tried to reassure the young prophetess, but Bryn was deeply anxious.
The carpenter and his wife waved to the travelers, and then went inside to check on Kiran. He was sound asleep, Jack sitting watchfully at his feet.
“Don't worry,” Lance whispered to Jack. “We won't wake him.”
They tiptoed into their bedroom. “He's mending,” Lance said. “His color is better. I'll begin the packing, get the horses ready. We can ride out as soon as Kiran wakes.” He stroked Selid's hair. “We've another long journey ahead.”
A very long journey, from which there is no return. Selid heard the Oracle's words, but somehow her fear had gone. She understood that it didn't matter where or when they went. Keldes would find her.
But Monzapel, too, would be with her. With her, and with Lance, forever.
She smiled at him. “I want to stay beside you today.”
Kiran woke feeling refreshed. He sat up cautiously. When he drew breath, his ribs were only slightly sore.
Sensing the change in him, Jack jumped up and began licking his face.
The sun was low. He must have slept through the day. A fragrant smell drifted from the kitchen, where he could hear Selid and Lance moving about.
Kiran slipped outside, happy to be able to walk without help. He entered the washhouse, where he gratefully bathed. He was eager to see Obsidian but decided to eat first; he was famished.
He went inside. Selid set soup and bread on the table, inviting him to eat. His stomach rumbled. “Bryn kissed your forehead before she left,” Selid said, sitting across from him. She looked different somehow. The day before, when she'd spoken so passionately about prophecy, she'd been lit like a candle, but a candle too small for the great flame burning within her. Now, she glowed as though the Moon Goddess had a hand on her head, tranquil and serene.
Kiran spooned delicious soup into his mouth. “Did they leave early?” he asked.
“At dawn.”
Lance put a hand on Selid's shoulder. “We're ready to travel,” he said. “We'll leave as soon as you've eaten.”
Kiran took another bite. “Traveling at night will help hide us.” He heard a sound at the window, an urgent thumping. He slid back his chair. Peering through the curtain and fading rays of sunset, he saw a bird dashing itself against the pane. “The cardinal!” A sudden sense of peril overwhelmed him. He turned to Selid and Lance. “ You waited. For me,” he cried.
They didn't answer. Urgency made Kiran short of breath. Regret choked him as he thought of the time he had taken bathing. “We should go. Now.” He turned to the door.
Jack was ahead of him, growling a warning. Kiran opened the door. The dog streaked out.
They all heard enraged neighing from Obsidian.
The shadowy yard was crawling with armored men.
Run, Jack. Don't let them capture you.
“The animal is unimportant, let him go,” said a familiar voice. The Master Priest stepped out of a squadron of Temple guards, the last rays of the setting sun smearing his face with blood-colored light.
Kiran didn't try to fight or run this time. There were too many of them, and besides, if he didn't resist, perhaps they'd let Selid alone. “It's all right,” he said. “I'll go with you.”
“That you will,” said Renchald, coming up to the door and pushing him backward into the room.
Obsidian, Kiran called silently. Run, Obsidian. Run away. He heard the stallion's frantic snorting.
Renchald looked at him sharply. “I warn you, Kiran, the horse is well tethered. If you urge him to run, he will be injured. If he injures himself or comes near you, the guards are ordered to kill him.”
Kiran called again. Let them lead you. The frenzied sounds of the horse trying to get his liberty faded. Renchald gave Kiran a grim nod and brushed past, flanked by Bolivar, guards swarming after them.
Selid and Lance stood before their hearth. They faced the Master Priest. “So,” Renchald said. “Keldes claims you at last, Selid.”
Lance put an arm around her protectively. “Please, sir. We do no harm.”
“Ah,” Renchald answered. “That is where you are mistaken.”
Selid's gentle eyes looked through the Master Priest. “Ellerth will bury you, Renchald. I have seen it.”
The Master Priest lifted the hand that held his ring. Selid stared back at him serenely.
“My regrets have flown, Renchald,” she said. “They belong to this world no more.” She turned to Lance. “Goodbye, my love. Walk in Solz's light.”
Both Lance and Kiran flung themselves at the Master Priest, but guards grabbed them. Though they fought with all their might, they couldn't break free.
Renchald nodded to Bolivar, who stood near Selid. In one motion, the soldier drew his sharpened dagger and took hold of the back of her head. For an instant the blade seemed to catch time itself and hold it still, a silver edge of eternity waiting for all to bear witness. Then Bolivar struck with swift and hideous grace, cutting Selid's throat. He let her down, gently enough, on the hearthstones.
“No,” Lance whispered as her blood poured. He struggled against the soldiers holding him.
Selid smiled at him, and him alone, as the life left her eyes.
The carpenter twisted his head toward the Master Priest. “ You have killed the bravest, dearest soul of all.”
Renchald nodded again to Bolivar. Lance saw the dagger coming for his own throat, but he didn't flinch under the blade. Reaching for Selid, a strange gladness filled his face. He made no sound as death came for him.
Kiran went rigid. He saw through a watery mist. The soldiers guarding him pushed him to his back on the floor and pinned him there.
A face leaned over him, cornflower-blue eyes and a spiteful smile. A long black feather fringed with gray waved in front of him. The scent of carrion filled his nose. Clea's lips formed words he couldn't hear through buzzing ears. He tried to escape, but his strength failed him. His lungs labored but seemed to bring no air.
At last she slid the feather into its case. Kiran could breathe again, and sound returned to him. He heard her say, “ You will obey the Master Priest of the Oracle.”
Blackness rolled over him, bringing welcome oblivion.
Standing in the doorway of the carpenter's house, Ilona grasped the doorjamb for support. The effort of concealing her shock and revulsion made her feel intensely faint. She trembled, exerting herself to keep upright. She had not been prepared to see Selid and her husband murdered, Renchald's dark threats about the Lord of Death notwithstanding.
Gods of earth and sky, what have I become part of?
Every curse that Ilona had witnessed in the past had been conducted with utmost solemnity, with due regret that such a course had become necessary.
Not this time. Clea had been all too gratified to use her power to curse Kiran. She had positively gloated.
What if he was right to refuse to pair with a mind such as hers? Ilona felt a strong pang of guilt at having agreed to sanction a compliance curse against the swan-chosen acolyte. She looked at Lord Errington's daughter, whom she was now charged to take to the queen.
Ellerth forgive me.
When Kiran regained consciousness, he heard the sound of wheels moving
and felt the motion of a carriage. He listened closely but couldn't tell who might be riding with him. He kept his eyes shut, feigning sleep, guessing he was guarded. If he didn't show he was awake, maybe he could take time, precious time, to think.
In his mind's eye Selid and Lance rose up before him. He saw them die again.
They could have been safe if they had gone without me. His despair mounted when he remembered Clea's curse: You will obey the Master Priest….
What would he do when Renchald ordered him to tell what he knew? Would he become a traitor to his friends and to all he believed? I know too much: how Brock and Dawn write in code; about the Gilgamell Troupe and Selid's message.
He vowed to fight the curse, but even the thought of resisting left him intensely nauseated. Worse, his mind felt fragmented, his thoughts like tired birds fluttering aimlessly.
Forcing himself to concentrate, Kiran imagined that Bryn was beside him. The thought of her comforted him. She, too, had known this sickness and hopelessness.
And overcome it. She had proved that a curse could be lifted.
He racked his brain to remember what she'd said. I found what didn't belong in my landscape. His idea that the curse would attempt to blend itself into the inner landscape must have been correct.
If only he had asked her to say more. Now she was gone, on her way to the queen. He would simply have to do what he could by himself.
Weariness urged him to go back to sleep, to wait until he was better rested before trying to undo the curse. But then he imagined the Master Priest commanding him to betray his friends and felt a frightening impulse within himself to obey.
No, he must keep awake.
Kiran squirmed on the carriage seat to ease his body, moving carefully, pretending continued sleep. To give himself heart, he summoned the memory of pairing with Bryn.
It took longer than usual to get to his inner landscape, but his dream body finally arrived there.
The sky shone golden. In the distance, scarlet mountains rose. Streams glittered as they poured down the mountainsides, weaving into bright waterfalls that leaped to join a silver river. The river sped across lush plains to a well-made stone dam. Below the dam, the water slowed, creating pools.
The Light of the Oracle Page 19