She cared about Cheylan, but that was all. And she already knew she would never marry a second time without love. It was more than her heart could bear again.
"What news from the east did Cheylan bring?" Baran prodded, reclaiming her attention.
"Oh! Mostly about Jagodan shah Lironi's triumphs and defeats. Verlon's suspicions about Kiloran. The pilgrims going to Darshon from every part of Sileria."
Cheylan had also, she told Baran, agreed to gather Guardian forces and attempt to seize Wyldon's territory before Kiloran—or some other waterlord—could establish control over it. With little energy to spare for new conquests, Baran agreed with the decision she and Najdan had reached about this in his absence.
Now Baran shifted and moved toward the door of the chamber as if he meant to exit. Flooded with purpose in the wake of her vision, Mirabar forestalled his departure by asking, "What did you do besides meet with Dulien?"
"Ah. Well, I haven't killed Dyshon," he said regretfully. Looking tired, he came closer and sat down on the bed. "He's in Cavasar, I gather, which is farther than I felt able to go. Anyhow, safely escaping that region once Kiloran realized I was there..." He shook his head. "If I want to kill Dyshon, I suppose I'll need to think up some way to lure him closer to Belitar."
"What about Alizar?"
"Yes, I made it to Alizar." The Olvara, when asked for help against Kiloran, had said she would need some of the enchanted water flooding the mines of Alizar. Since she couldn't go there to collect it herself, Baran had done it for her. "I'll take it to her later, after most of the household is asleep."
Mirabar nodded, wondering if the Olvara would confide in him. During Baran's absence, Mirabar had told the Olvara the extraordinary secret which was her right to know—that there were other Beyah-Olvari alive in Sileria. Baran's teacher had been so moved that she was virtually incoherent for days, and the exultant chanting and celebration in the subterranean caverns was so loud, Mirabar initially feared that the rest of Belitar's inhabitants might hear it. However, the sound didn't carry that far, through that much rock, and so no one else learned the secret that Mirabar now helped Baran guard here.
The secret which, Mirabar now understood, would help their child become immensely powerful even though Baran wouldn't be alive to teach her anything. Or to corrupt her with his tormented, amoral, embittered soul.
"Baran..." she murmured, ignoring how ill and exhausted he looked.
"Hmm?" He glanced toward the closed door, evidently anxious to retreat to his own bedchamber—or maybe to seek the relief of one of Velikar's potions.
Mirabar traced the embroidered collar of his tunic, which was now too big for him. "I want this child," she whispered.
His mouth quirked. "I'm a little... tired."
This child would be what Baran could have been. Should have been. Would have been, if fate and a wildly grieving heart had not twisted him into what he was.
She moved closer to him, sliding her hands down his thin torso and under his tunic, seeking his skin. "I'll do all the work," she promised. "Stay."
His eyelids lowered and his breathing started to change. "I won't die in the next few hours," he assured her softly. "We could wait until I'm feeling..."
"Don't make me wait," she murmured against his mouth.
"Uh..."
Mirabar shrugged out of her own tunic, then pulled her undergarment over her head and tossed it aside. "I'm your wife," she whispered, kissing his neck. "Don't deny me."
"What did you see in that vision?" he asked with a frown, letting her draw him down into the pillows with her.
"I'm not entirely sure," she admitted. "But this child can save me."
"From what?" His eyes closed as she kissed his chest and slid her palms along his ribs.
"From what I must do." She framed his hollow-eyed face with her hands. "She can even, in a way, save you."
"From Kiloran?" he asked vaguely, his hands starting to tug at her pantaloons.
"From yourself."
His hands went still. He turned his head to evade her next kiss. "I don't need—"
"She can make a new future, and your power in her will be part of that, healing the very wounds that you have inflicted."
Baran shook his head. "There is no such thing as redemption here," he said. "Not in the land of the destroyer goddess."
"You're wrong," she replied. "You could have changed Sileria, Baran. But your heart broke you. So now you will leave behind a daughter to do your work."
"I'm leaving her behind to kill Kiloran in case we fail," he reminded her. "Don't confuse—"
"Yes," she agreed, "but that's not the work you were born for."
"It doesn't matter why I was born," he said stonily, pushing her hands away. "Not now."
Exasperated with him, she said, "You could have killed him years ago—but you couldn't bear to do it, could you?"
"Kiloran?" He scowled at her. "I have tried with all my—"
"No, you haven't," she said. "You've become a living legend over the years. You're one of the strongest waterlords who's ever lived. Yet Kiloran's still alive."
"Because he's even str—"
"Not that much stronger," she persisted. "Not enough. Not if killing him meant everything to you."
"It does! It always has."
Mirabar shook her head, no longer believing this. "You waited until you were dying, until you knew your life was over. Because before that, you didn't want to live without him."
"Even I'm not that crazy," he snapped.
"Yes, you are," she said sadly. "And now you may have waited too long. You may already be too weak."
"Waited?" Baran's tone was vicious. His grip on her arms hurt. "Why, pray tell, would I ever have waited, sirana?"
"Because you couldn't bear it if Kiloran died and left you alone in the world," she replied with certainty, finally understanding the grieving madman she had married. Baran had ultimately grown demented mourning the loss of his own soul as much as the loss of his wife. "You would have to face yourself if you couldn't spend all your energy hating Kiloran anymore."
"I have faced my—"
"No. You've always told yourself that this is the way you must be, that you have no choice. That he gave you no choice."
He sat up and pushed her away. "I did... I do have to be this w—"
"No."
"He didn't give me a choice," Baran insisted, his voice suddenly despairing. "Dar didn't give me a choice. And you cannot imagine how I hate Her for it."
"They had nothing to do with it, Baran. It was always your choice," she said. "And when you have lived for nothing but vengeance, what's left after you get it?"
"Stop it," he ordered her, rising from the bed.
She clung to his arm and gazed up into his tormented face. "You needed Kiloran too much to kill him. Until you finally knew you'd soon be dead."
"No!" He tried to tug away from her. "I won't listen... Stop. No." He shook his head. "Don't."
"Baran..."
"I could not..." He was breathing hard, his expression stricken, his eyes glittering with reckless emotion. "I could not have been anything else. Don't convince me, when it's much too late, that I could have been something else."
Mirabar found herself pitying him despite the many people he had killed and terrorized during his reign as a waterlord. "I promise you," she vowed, "your daughter will be something else."
"My daughter..." His face crumpled and he sank slowly onto the bed again, sitting with his back to her. "My daughter."
"She will be something new," Mirabar vowed. "A woman with the power which has belonged only to men in Sileria. A water wizard raised by a Guardian and the Beyah-Olvari. Baran..." He flinched when she touched him. "She will be the future. The Olvara sees it, and so do I."
"And I..." Baran sagged in defeat. He buried his face in his hands and sat there like that for a long moment, shutting her out. Finally, his voice muffled, he said, "If you're right, then it's a good thing I'll be dead. It's t
oo late for me. I can't... It's too late for me to become something else, Mirabar."
She said nothing, knowing he was right.
"I chose things..." He nodded slowly. "Yes, I suppose I did choose... things that can never be undone. I left parts of myself behind to die, and they can never be resurrected."
Mirabar touched him again. He didn't flinch away this time.
"Give me this daughter, Baran," she urged. "Give her to me before your time runs out."
He lifted his head. "You and I must succeed. Kill him. Destroy Kiloran," he said harshly. "So that she won't have to. So that she..." He took a few gusting breaths before concluding, "So that you can keep your promise. So that our daughter never becomes what I've become."
She sighed and pressed her cheek against his shoulder, relieved that he understood. Glad that he could understand.
"And when Kiloran's dead," Baran concluded, "I'll be ready to die." After a moment, he added, "You're right—I'll want to die. And then I can finally..."
She heard what he didn't say: Finally go to her, to my wife, to Alcinar.
Mirabar leaned against him, pressing her breasts against his back, reminding him of what he owed her before he could seek out his love in the Otherworld—if Alcinar was indeed dead, and if Dar granted him such a fate.
Baran sighed and sagged back against her, understanding her silent demand. Accepting it. Clinging to life to fulfill their mutual destiny. He turned to her, his eyes wild with madness and sorrow, and sought her kiss. His arms came around her with a strength she hadn't suspected he still possessed, and his mouth was urgent upon hers.
A child of fire...
His skin was hot, and she didn't know if it was anger, excitement, or the start of a fever which would further weaken him. His kisses were hungry, as if he sought her life force to keep him alive just a little longer, just long enough to destroy his enemy and sire his heir.
A child of water...
They touched each other with a familiarity which seemed unthinkable, even bizarre, whenever they weren't alone in their bedchamber, naked and entwined, like this. She clung to him because she must, because it was a destiny more imperative than any dictates of her heart. And there were thoughts, needs, longings she would never bring to her marriage bed, because they had no place here.
A child of sorrow...
His bitter heart engulfed her, and for once she did not shy away from his torment, not even from his madness. She let his terrible sadness consume her, let his heart wail inside her, let his hopeless yearning and insane bloodlust pour into her even as his seed did. The seductive cold of his power washed through her, flooding her senses, filling the vessel which Dar had chosen for his immortality. And Mirabar, who finally understood why Baran, of all men, must father her child, welcomed him.
Fire and water, water and fire...
Flame and ice mingled in her veins, in her blood, in her womb. She moaned and writhed beneath him, burning and boiling as the gift was given and taken, crystal-bright and lava-rich. The waters of eternity and the fires of the Otherworld, the ebb and flow of man and woman, the mingled heat and chill of passion and sorrow, of trust and enmity coursed between them and found a new beginning in her, a new caldera in which to grow and ripen.
After he rolled away from her, she lay still for a long time, staring at the damp-marred ceiling overhead, knowing that Belitar would forever be her home now.
She thought he had fallen asleep, so she was surprised when he spoke. "There will always be water magic in Sileria." She could hear in his voice that he already knew they had finally succeeded, had finally conceived their child. "Always," Baran repeated. "Tansen can't change that. No one can."
"I know," Mirabar replied, feeling the cool glow in her womb. "I know that now."
Chapter Ten
To rule water is to rule Sileria.
—Marjan
The sun blazed down upon the stark mountains, dry lowlands, and thirsty cities. Volcanic ash streaked and clouded the sky, and the nights were on fire with Dar's fury. She shook the ground with rage, Her tantrums coming ever more frequently and more violently as the season advanced. And while withering heat sucked life from the land, Sileria daily shed rivers of blood.
Josarian's loyalists swept through the mountains like the enchanted fire they bore with them, torching the holdings of the waterlords, destroying their influence wherever they could, and urging people to pledge their lives to the Firebringer's cause. The visions at Dalishar, like the visions which blessed Mirabar, promised a proud future if Sileria had the courage to fight for it. Josarian's dream of freedom from the Valdani was meant to be a new beginning, not a new enslavement to the Society. Thousands had died in the rebellion, but not so that those they left behind could serve the waterlords the way they had once served the Valdani.
The Society splintered and quarreled, some blaming Baran for Wyldon's death, others blaming Kiloran. If weaker sorcerers like Geriden and Meriten were too afraid of the old man to speak up, then stronger ones like Gulstan and Verlon were willing to do it for them. Having foreseen this, having recognized what Tansen was trying to do, Kiloran sent emissaries, peace offerings, and even assistance to embattled waterlords. After some of Kiloran's own valued men died helping Gulstan repel an attack led by Tansen himself, Gulstan relented and reaffirmed his friendship with Kiloran.
Other waterlords were harder to manage, though. Kiloran soon learned that Dulien had betrayed him and secretly sided with Tansen, foolishly believing the shatai would let him maintain his territory after Kiloran was dead and the war was over. Kiloran knew he must remind the rest of the Society how costly betrayal was, so he killed Dulien himself. Unfortunately, Baran had foreseen this and was waiting to spring a trap of his own. That demented sriliah drowned every man Kiloran had left behind to guard Dulien's territory after he'd killed him.
Searlon sought Tansen and the sea-born boy, but Tansen's camps were too well guarded for Searlon to approach Zarien there; and those loyal to Tansen died under interrogation rather than give away his plans, if they even knew them, so Searlon was unable to anticipate his movements. Meanwhile, Kiloran received word that some of Verlon's assassins had managed to locate and ambush Tansen. They failed to kill him, and Kiloran couldn't find out who had betrayed the shatai to Verlon, though he remained curious about this.
The great waterlord Kariman went on the attack, trying to reclaim the territory which Tansen had seized from the now-dead Ferolen. Kariman lost many men and his strength was depleted by the time he succeeded. It was estimated that dozens of Guardians died trying to stop him. Once in control, though, Kariman consolidated his power and struck out from his vast combined territory. It was now only a matter of time before Kariman brought Adalian to its knees. Although loyal to the Firebringer's memory, the city was suffering terribly. It was said that one out of every ten people there had died of thirst since the start of the dry season.
Cavasar remained mostly loyal to Kiloran, though its people were reluctant to leave their region and fight for him elsewhere. He convinced many of them to do so, though, by promising them a lifetime of lushly flowing water, and even a fair share in the mines of Alizar, if they helped him secure his power across Sileria. Sometimes though... Yes, sometimes it was necessary to inspire fear rather than love. The Cavasari had not forgotten Josarian, and a few of them were even brave enough to demand that others honor his legacy, too. Every so often, Kiloran ensured that a few of these upstarts' bodies decorated the city's main square, usually encased in a block of crystal-clear solidified water. An effective means of public execution; and an equally effective means of reminding the people that disobedience was not tolerated.
"The toren will stay with me," Zarien offered, as Tansen fretted about whom to leave behind with Zarien while the rest of their group attacked yet another's waterlord's stronghold.
"Yes, but while you're looking after Ronall," Tansen replied dryly, "who will look after you?"
"We'll be fine," Zarien assured him.
"We have got to get rid of him," Tansen said with an uncharacteristic flash of desperation.
"He seems very unhappy."
"That's a very generous interpretation of his character, son." Tansen shook his head. "For the first time ever, I think I pity Elelar. Living with that man for years..." After a moment, he added, "Of course, I pity him, too. Living with Elelar... I wonder if he always drank this much, or if marriage to her was what got him started?"
"Well, toreni are... different, aren't they?" Zarien said tactfully.
"We can't keep dragging him around Sileria with us." Tansen sighed and added, "I'm very tempted to let him just run away and get himself killed, but... it's not convenient now."
"Jalilar's baby," Zarien murmured.
"Yes. Jalilar's baby. And showing Ronall off in Britar," Tansen added, "did serve to stop the massacres there."
"Until all the fighting started, anyhow."
Tansen's face clouded. Many had died, on all sides, during his battle against Gulstan, who ruled the waters all around Britar—and Tansen had failed there. He rarely failed at anything, and the defeat took him hard. Zarien could tell, and he was sorry he had brought it up.
He tried to change the subject, "If only we knew where Torena Elelar was."
"I think I may know," said his father.
"You do?"
"But let's focus on the problem at hand," Tansen suggested.
"You don't need to leave anyone with me wh—"
"Yes, I do."
"I can stay behind by myself."
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