Tansen kept his gaze fixed on the approaching clan leader as he replied, "They want me to kill him."
"Shouldn't someone go in after him?" Ronall prodded, gazing out across the tossing waves, his mind reeling with fear for Zarien.
"The assassin just did," the sea-born father said. "It's not wise to send more than one rescuer into the water unless it's necessary."
"Then let's get into the oarboat and go after—"
"We just lost it in the earthquake, toren."
Ronall considered jumping in after Najdan, because drowning in those big waves—which he would surely do if the dragonfish out there didn't get him first—would be preferable to facing Tansen if Zarien died.
"Toren, the dragonfish can't kill him, even if it attacks," the sea-born man said soothingly. "You saw the scars."
"Josarian only jumped into the volcano once," Ronall pointed out. "Even the Firebringer didn't count on living through something like that twice. Zarien shouldn't, either."
"Look!"
Amidst the heaving waves, Najdan's arm stuck up, shir in hand, signaling to them.
"Is Zarien alive?" Ronall asked weakly.
No one answered. Najdan started swimming back to the boat, towing Zarien with one arm. The boy looked dead.
Oh, Dar, just take me now.
Ronall stared stupidly, feeling numb and useless, as the family sprang into action, throwing a line to Najdan to haul him in, then bringing Zarien's limp form aboard the boat.
"He's bleeding," Ronall mumbled, watching the sea-born mother and her two daughters work on Zarien's prone body.
The sea-born man pointed to the foremast, which was now destroyed, as if broken in half by the hand of a goddess. "When the other boat hit us, it smashed our mast. It hit Zarien, and he was tossed from the boat."
Ronall heard Najdan climbing on board behind him, breathing hard, but he didn't take his eyes off Zarien.
"I don't think there can be a dragonfish stalking us, toren," the sea-born man opined.
"I saw one. I'm sure I saw one," Ronall murmured.
"No. The boy was in the sea, bleeding, for too long. If a dragonfish were so close, it would have attacked before we brought him aboard."
"Maybe it was frightened away or hurt in the earthquake."
The man shrugged.
Suddenly Zarien gasped, choked, spewed sea water, and then start coughing.
"Is he all right?" Ronall asked.
"Yes," the mother assured him. "He will be fine."
"That boy," Najdan said wearily, "is a lot of trouble."
"We should go ashore," Ronall suggested.
"Or farther out to sea," Najdan countered.
"No one's going anywhere today," the sea-born man informed them. When they both looked at him, he explained, "One mast is destroyed, the other badly cracked, and our oarboat has been lost. Until we can repair the cracked mast, we're anchored here, whether we like it or not."
"There are hundreds of boats here," Ronall said. "Maybe one of them will take us ashore."
"That will depend," Najdan pointed out, "on finding someone who doesn't have similar problems right now."
"The other clans want your life," Tansen said to Jagodan. "Yours for the ones you took. That will cancel the debt and end the bloodfeud."
They sat alone together in the little stone dwelling where Mirabar and Faradar slept each night. The two women, as well as more than a hundred men, waited outside, beneath the smoke-filled sky, while Tansen presented the terms of truce to the clan leader whose impetuous slaughter of his wife and her lover had destroyed the eastern shallah alliance and put all of Sileria in jeopardy.
Jagodan nodded, his expression stoic and weary.
Tansen studied him. "You expected this, didn't you?"
"Wouldn't you have expected it?"
Relief, dark and sad, unfurled inside of Tansen's chest. "It's why you were so late in coming here, isn't it? You had to... make plans. Prepare your clan to carry on without you."
"I've chosen my eldest daughter's husband to lead the clan after my death. You will like dealing with him. He's honorable and more... cool-headed than my brothers or my sons."
"Good." Tansen couldn't take his eyes away from the dark, haunted, intelligent ones which gazed into his. "We're facing—making—a new world here."
Jagodan nodded. "Yes. I understand that now." His voice was raw and exhausted. "One act of vengeance... so typical, even so honorable... My faithless wife and the sriliah who dishonored me by bedding her... To kill them for their betrayal, and to kill others in order to defend my right to kill them..."
It was their way. It had always been their way in Sileria.
"But then I saw it destroy the alliance I had built," Jagodan continued. "I saw Verlon regain territory we had taken away from him, and I saw people go thirsty because of it. I saw clans who had fought together against the Valdani and against the Society now turn on each other..." Jagodan's eyes misted with tears as he whispered, "I saw what I was destroying. Not just the alliance, but the whole future. I have dishonored all the sacrifices which my clan has made, and forsaken all the people who've died to free Sileria. Forsaking my slain loved ones, and even the Firebringer himself..." He sighed heavily. "All for one act of vengeance, so typical... even so honorable."
"I'm so sorry I sent Kiman—"
"No, Tansen," Jagodan said. "He was a good fighter, a shrewd warrior. We brought the Society to its knees. We were nearly free. You couldn't have known what he would do, what my wife would want. I don't blame..." Jagodan shrugged. "It was just... Honor. Vengeance."
Tansen nodded. "I understand."
"Yes. If anyone would understand that, it would be the last of the Gamalani." After a moment, he added, "And if anyone would understand why I'm willing to die for it now, it would be the roshah who has led all of Sileria against the Society."
Roshah. Stranger. Outsider. Foreigner.
"No one here has called me that for a long time."
"It's what made you who you are," Jagodan told him. "I don't mean a great warrior. You would always have been that. Oh, you wouldn't have those two swords and all of those..." He made a vague gesture. "... fancy Kintish fighting skills. But you would always have been a great fighter. You were born to be one. Anyone can see that."
"I will always remember a compliment like that coming from a warrior like you," Tansen said sincerely.
"But if you had not traveled in other lands and learned to think like a roshah, not just like a shallah, where would Sileria be now? Who would have taught Josarian how to fulfill his destiny? Who would have led us after the Firebringer died? Who would have challenged Kiloran himself?"
"Sometimes," Tansen admitted quietly, "I wonder if I've done the right things."
"What man does not, unless he's an unthinking fool?"
Tansen nodded. "We can no longer be who we have always been here."
"I know that now. I understand that there is something beyond the battle, beyond the bloodlust, beyond the pleasure of killing assassins and waterlords." Jagodan sighed. "The Lironi have sworn a bloodvow." He opened his fist and showed Tansen the recent cut on his palm. "We are done killing other shallaheen. Forever. The Lironi have sworn to shun any member of the clan who kills any Silerian except those who support the Society. My son-in-law will ensure that the clan honors this vow after I die."
Tansen closed his eyes. "I wish there was another way."
"But there isn't, and you know it. I have to die. My clan can only lead the others again and our vow can only have meaning for them if I pay for the lives I took in vengeance." After a pause, he asked, "You will do it?"
Tansen nodded. "The other clans agreed. I have no clan of my own anymore. No feud with any of you. I seemed the best choice for an... executioner."
"You are. They knew I would recognize that they're offering me an honorable death." Jagodan nodded and stood up. "I am ready. Shall we go do it now?"
Tansen rose. "You are a great man, and Sileria
will be poorer for your death."
"Perhaps not," Jagodan said. "Perhaps my time is passing even as we speak, and the time for cooler heads is arriving as I die. If the days of vengeance and bloodfeuds must come to an end, then those of us who lived by them must come to an end, too."
"That's... too many people."
"Then may my death teach them to embrace a new way." Jagodan placed a hand on Tansen's shoulder. "I understand you have a son now?"
"Yes." He smiled. "I do."
"That's good." Jagodan nodded. "I wish I could have met him."
"So do I." He was being polite; he didn't think Zarien and Jagodan would have liked each other. There was so much about a man like this that Zarien could never understand, just as the boy could probably never understand Tansen's genuine admiration for him—or how Tansen could now kill him.
This was their way. This had always been their way in Sileria.
"You must teach your children differently than our fathers taught us," said Jagodan.
"Yes," he promised, the sorrow of his memories sweeping through him.
"So that they will be better than we are."
He heard Mirabar's voice in his heart: She will have the power they do, but she'll better than they are. Better than you, or me, or any of us.
"Because," Jagodan said, "Sileria needs them to be better than we are."
"Yes," Tansen vowed, "they will be better. They must be, or we will dishonor every sacrifice we have made and every death we have mourned."
"I won't ask you to swear a bloodvow," Jagodan said. "I know you'll give your life to make it so."
"I will," Tansen said—wishing, after all, that Zarien could be here to meet the man he was about to kill.
Chapter Twenty-One
Wife and weapon are not to be lent.
—Silerian Proverb
Elelar placed her hands over her belly, where the hot glow felt like it would soon immolate her. She clenched her teeth as fiery pain seized her body, and when that wasn't enough, she screamed.
What was happening? Was she miscarrying?
The mountain roared, making the cavern tremble. There was a flurry of hissing and steam as lava dribbled into the watery domain from a thousand different sources. The volcano was becoming more restless, the tributaries more active.
I'm not going to live long enough to miscarry.
Where in the Fires was Cheylan? With no sense of day or night, Elelar found it impossible to measure time; but it seemed like a long while since he had last been here.
Please, Dar, don't tell me he died in the earthquake.
Elelar closed her eyes, fighting panic. She doubted anyone but Cheylan knew where she was. If he was dead...
No. He's coming. I know he's coming again.
Everything Elelar had feared was coming true. She'd been hit by falling rock during the recent earthquake, and she believed the cavern could well collapse if a more severe one occurred. The flow of lava was also increasing here, and she could hear the rocks groaning under its onslaught. How soon before it broke through and flooded the cavern?
Her heart pounding with fear, Elelar lay on the hot, damp floor, tired, sweating, and filthy. Something incendiary churned inside her womb. She doubled over with a renewed wave of pain and screamed again.
This pregnancy is killing me.
She wouldn't survive much longer here, that much was clear. However, since she didn't particularly relish the idea of wandering through these tunnels until she died, she would give Cheylan a little more time.
He had agreed with her persistent demands to be moved to a more comfortable location. She suspected it was her deteriorating physical condition that convinced him; she'd seen something like shock at her appearance cross his face last time he'd been here. He had said, in his detached and unpleasant way, that he'd make other arrangements and then take her to her new prison the next time he came. She thought it was probably inconvenient for him to keep bringing her food here, since his alacrity suggested he'd always intended to remove her from here—perhaps just not so soon. However, he hadn't seemed to accept Elelar's assertions that this cavern was deadly as well as uncomfortable.
As the mountain rumbled again and the rock groaned eerily under the strain of the lava pushing against it, Elelar shivered and hugged her knees, praying for the hot pain in her belly to fade. Cheylan was an idiot. If he were here right now, he'd realize just how much he was risking by keeping Elelar in this cavern any longer. What good were all his grand plans if she died here within a day—perhaps within moments?
Damn you, Cheylan, where are you?
Mirabar watched Jagodan, more impressive than most of the waterlords she had ever seen, address the crowd gathered in the tumbled ruins of what had once been Gamalan's main square. She and Faradar stood quietly together as he accepted the eastern clans' price for a renewed alliance, and as the other clan leaders acknowledged his decision, made peace with the Lironi, and recognized Jagodan's chosen successor—not only to lead the Lironi but also to lead the rest of them, as Jagodan had done.
She felt her mouth tremble when Jagodan announced he was willing to die, because she knew what that meant.
Why does it always have to be him?
Tansen stood beneath the ash-dulled sky, his coarse black hair flying in the dusty wind which whistled through Gamalan, the village where he had once found the mutilated corpses of everyone he loved.
I can't watch this.
But she couldn't turn away, either. She couldn't leave Tansen alone with this.
Jagodan exhorted them to free Sileria from the Society and to follow the example of the Lironi, who had sworn a bloodvow to end the centuries of bloodfeuds and vengeance which had been their whole way of life.
Mirabar placed a hand over the cool glow in her womb.
Things will be different. I swear they will.
As the sole Guardian present, Mirabar came forward, prayed for Jagodan, and asked for his yahr. This she gave to his son-in-law, who could give it to another Guardian some day if he wanted to Call Jagodan from the Otherworld.
The westering sun streaked the tormented sky as red as blood, casting grim shadows across this mournful place as Jagodan spoke his last words and knelt in the dust and ash. He fixed his gaze on the tumultuous peak of Mount Darshon, offered whatever silent prayer he wished to share with the destroyer goddess, and then said to Tansen, without taking his eyes off of Dar's mountain, "I am ready."
"Stand back," Tansen muttered to Mirabar without looking at her.
She felt Faradar's firm grasp on her hand pulling her away. "Perhaps you shouldn't watch."
Mirabar let Faradar pull her far enough away so that blood wouldn't splatter on her. "If he must do it, then the least I can do is watch."
Tansen spoke, his voice so subdued she could hardly hear it. "May Dar honor you as I have always honored you."
He raised his sword, paused as a gust of wind blew his hair across his face, and then brought the blade down on Jagodan's neck. It was over instantly.
Faradar gasped and turned her head away. Mirabar never saw the blood, or the head separate from the body, or the corpse fall to the ground. She never took her eyes off Tansen's face. And he never revealed any emotion at all.
"You've got who?" Verlon exclaimed, pushing himself to his feet with the aid of his cane as he gaped at Cheylan.
"I've got the Yahrdan," Cheylan repeated to his grandfather.
Verlon's momentary excitement shifted to hostile skepticism. "You told me the Guardian boy Semeon was the Yahrdan, and you were lying."
"I wasn't lying, I was wrong. I've explained before," Cheylan said. "Mirabar thought her visions indicated Semeon, but when her visions persisted even after the boy was dead..." He shrugged. "Since then, she has learned much more. Meaning I have learned much more. Everything I need to know, in fact."
"Then where is the child?" Verlon demanded darkly.
"I've got the woman whose womb carries him."
"So kill her!"
"Actually, grandfather, I was hoping to convince you to shelter her here." Verlon's home was warded and very well defended, and far more comfortable than the cave where Elelar, who was deteriorating at an alarming rate, now huddled. Cheylan didn't believe Dar would destroy the ancient and sacred cave where Sileria's future now ripened, but he did believe that Elelar's terror might lead her to do something foolish.
Verlon's face contorted with suspicion. "Why would I shelter her here?"
"Because it's my child whom she carries," Cheylan said.
The old waterlord's jaw dropped. A moment later, he guessed, "You're lying."
Cheylan smiled. "No, I'm not. Ask her, if you don't believe me."
"What makes you so sure this child is the—"
"Prophecy. I know what Mirabar knows. And perhaps slightly more." Cheylan added, "My child. Just think of it, grandfather. Your bloodline ruling Sileria. Isn't that what we both wanted?"
Verlon studied him with cold, dark eyes. "You seem very sure about this."
"There can be no doubt."
"Who's the mother?"
"Torena Elelar shah Hasnari."
"She's married," Verlon pointed out. "You'll have no claim—"
"No one, including Elelar, seems to know if her husband is even still alive. Besides, he's a Valdan."
"You're saying she will acknowledge you as the father?"
"Oh, I don't think she'll survive the birth," Cheylan said gravely. "At least not for long."
"Ah. You're abducting her," Verlon guessed.
"I've already abducted her. Now I need a safe place to keep her until the child is born."
"What about Tansen and Mirabar?"
"Let's be optimistic and hope that Kiloran kills them both. If not, of course, then we'll have t—"
Verlon gave an ugly cackle. "You don't know, then."
Cheylan went still. "Know what?"
"They're both here."
"Here?" Cheylan said.
"Here in the east, I mean."
"Where?" he snapped.
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