In the end, he came like any baby, born with hardship and pain in a sea of his mother's blood. The warm red flow of Elelar's blood shouldn't have startled Mirabar so much. The normalcy of it was just so unexpected, in the film of fire and ice that covered this child as he left his mother's body.
"Is he all right?" Elelar asked between harsh gulps of air.
Mirabar cleaned lava and blood away from his face, then rubbed his back hard, coaxing him into taking his first breath. He did so... and then wailed loudly. Elelar laughed with exultation and collapsed against Jalan.
"The fire," Jalan said.
"What?" Mirabar said, staring stunned at the baby.
"No, that's not fire. It's his hair," Elelar murmured.
The infant's orange eyes glowed like all the Fires of Dar. His skin was smeared with blood, and he cried like any other baby. The faint fuzz of his red hair gleamed lava bright on his vulnerable head...
"I know who this is," Mirabar said hoarsely.
"It's my son," Elelar replied.
"It's the ruler you foretold in prophecy!" Jalan cried, and the hundreds of pilgrims around them roared with exultation.
But Mirabar knew who this really was.
Come to me, he had said upon leading her to Elelar. To her destiny. To this moment. You are looking for me.
"It's the Beckoner."
Chapter Twenty-Five
Dar demands worship,
but the sea demands respect.
—Proverb of the Sea-Born Folk
Tansen had traveled the world, met extraordinary people, seen unimaginable places, witnessed strange customs and bizarre rites, and encountered truly bewildering events.
But he had never come across anything like this.
"They are insane," Faradar said with certainty, shouting into his ear to be heard above the hysterical trilling and ululating all around them. "All of them. They will be of no use to us."
Dar had been Calling these people here, to Darshon, from all over Sileria, and no one knew why. Now Tansen understood the confusion. These people were all clearly too incoherent to explain what drew them here. He'd be surprised to find one who could answer a simple question, never mind clarify what was happening here.
Most of them were filthy and wearing only tattered rags, as if they'd been here a long time. Others were better groomed, but their behavior was just as strange. Men and women reeled in maniacal dancing, shaking their heads madly, waving their arms, spinning around and around until they fell down—or else entered some kind of fevered state which enabled them to touch the lava flows without being burned. Tansen and his companion stared in disbelief as some of these enraptured praise-singers walked on the lava—even danced on it.
Faradar asked, "Have you ever seen—"
"Never."
"Are they Guardians?"
"No." The Firebringer's loyalists relied too much on Guardians to lose them without complaint. Tansen would know if they'd been deserting in such great numbers.
"They're just... ordinary people, then?" Faradar asked.
"I think so."
"Favored by Dar."
"Yes..."
In addition to the dancing, screeching worshippers who seemed to be everywhere on Mount Darshon, there was also—mercifully—water. He and Faradar drank, then filled their waterskins. He'd been to Darshon in the past but had never before seen so much water here. The intense activity of the caldera and the increasing number of lava flows were melting the snow at Darshon's summit and swelling the water supplies lower down on its slopes.
Dar was ensuring that Her most devout worshippers had water in a land tormented by the enduring dry season and the war against the Society.
"Siran!"
Tansen looked at Faradar, then followed the direction of her horrified gaze, hearing the screaming even as his eyes found its source. He took a reflexive step forward, then stopped himself. There was nothing he could do for the pilgrim whose ecstatic dance on the nearby lava flow was ending in agonizing death as Tansen watched.
"These people cannot help us find the torena," Faradar said. "They are beyond helping even themselves."
He looked around, trying to decide what to do. By now, Mirabar could be any—
"Tansen!"
Stunned to hear his name called under these circumstances, he peered through the glowing, mist-filled, ash-thick air. "Yes! Who's that?"
"Jalan!"
"Jalan?" Well, yes, if anyone was bound to be part of this religious madness, it was surely Jalan the zanar. "Where are you?"
"Here!" An absolutely filthy man jumped up and down, waving at him from the other side of the lava flow.
Tansen scarcely recognized him, he was so ragged and sooty. "Jalan, I need your—"
"She sent me to find you!"
He froze. "Who sent you?"
"The sirana!"
"Mirabar?" he shouted in mingled hope and relief.
"Yes! She said you would be looking for her, and I was to go as far as Gamalan if I had to, to find you and lead you to her."
"Is she all right?"
"Yes! She's with the torena and her son!"
"Her son?" he repeated incredulously.
"She's had a baby boy!"
"Elelar?"
"Yes!"
"The baby's been born already?" Tansen asked.
"Siran," said Faradar, "the torena was definitely not—"
"The promised one has come!" Jalan shrieked. "Dar's chosen ruler is among us! The child—"
"And Cheylan?" Tansen prodded, wondering if the women and the baby were in immediate danger.
"The sirana said to tell you he is dead!"
"By all the gods above and below," he murmured. "She did it. Mirabar succeeded."
"But siran," Faradar said. "How is it possible that the torena has already—"
"I don't know." His head was reeling. "I'm sure they'll tell us when we find them." He shouted to Jalan, "Where are they?"
Above the roar of the mountain, Jalan shouted, "Back that way!" He pointed vaguely behind him. Then he gestured to the lava flow separating them. "This flow wasn't here yesterday! What do we do?"
Tansen stared hard at the flow, his mind working. It was too broad to jump, even if he could find a good vantage point. He could scarcely believe what he was thinking of doing. Dar had spared him once before on this mountain, when he had come here to stop Josarian from jumping into the caldera. She could have killed him then—and nearly did—but She had wanted him to live, and so She had shown him mercy.
"Let's hope She still wants me to live," he muttered.
"Siran?"
"Go back down to the Sanctuary we found earlier," he advised Faradar. It had been abandoned and had a dry well, but it was the best place he could think of right now. "I'll bring them there. It may take some time, depending on Elelar's condition, and on... these lava flows."
"But siran, how will you..." She must have seen it in his face. "No! You can't!"
"If they can," he said, nodding to the chanting lava dancers, "maybe I can."
"And if you can't, you'll die—"
"If Mirabar is the shield and I am the sword," Tansen said, watching the river of fire ooze down the mountain, "then Dar will want me to go to that baby now. The Society has already murdered a pregnant woman in Sanctuary to keep this child from finding his place in the world, and right now he's got no protection except Mirabar—who sent Jalan to bring me here, so she must want help."
"You can't... What if..." Faradar made an awful sound. "I can't watch this."
Tansen's heart was pounding with fear, because no matter how clear his reasoning... Nonetheless, he went to the edge of the lava flow, stared into its liquid fire for a dizzying moment, then shifted his weight to—
"No!"
He paused and turned to find Faradar staring at him in appalled horror.
"You said you weren't going to watch," he reminded her.
"I can't look away."
He shook his head and turned
his back on her again. Right in front of him, a lava dancer was suddenly swallowed by the flow and sank screaming into its glowing embrace.
Tansen clenched his teeth and gently placed one boot on the flow. It moved, nearly startling him into losing his balance—Faradar shrieked behind him—but... it didn't burn. He shifted his weight onto that foot and didn't sink. The heat was intense, so overwhelming it blurred his vision, but several more steps carried him into the center of the flow without mishap.
He'd never felt anything like it. He was walking on liquid fire! It gave gently beneath his feet, then sprang back, as if lifting him, urging him to take each new step. The slow downhill movement threatened his balance, and he felt like a child just learning to walk; but he no longer felt afraid. Whatever quarrels existed between him and Dar, She nonetheless welcomed him now as he sought to protect the ruler foretold in prophecy.
When he reached solid ground again, the ash-strewn rocky surface on the far side of the flow, Jalan embraced him and started chanting his name. Tansen looked over his shoulder at Faradar, who stood open-mouthed on the far side of the flow. He made a gesture urging her to go back to the abandoned Sanctuary they'd found earlier and wait there.
"Take me to the sirana," he said to Jalan.
Elelar wore smelly, filthy clothing that a pilgrim had given her. She felt as if someone had tried to break every bone in her body before setting her on fire and then splitting her in half. Which, she reflected, was more or less what had happened to her recently. However, the humiliation of lying naked and bearing a child in front of hundreds upon hundreds of strangers was fading in the glow of exultation she felt as her child—my child!—slept in her arms.
Mirabar was sitting nearby, looking haggard, exhausted, and battered. Her fiery red hair was a mass of tangles, her clothes were singed, her skin was streaked with soot and ash, her glowing eyes looked almost eerily yellow, and she seemed to be in a bad mood.
"Did you sleep?" Elelar asked her.
Mirabar lifted her head and frowned, obviously not having heard her clearly.
Elelar raised her voice to be heard above the cacophony of the pilgrims singing her praises, Dar's praises, the baby's praises, Mirabar's praises... "Did you sleep?"
Mirabar looked around her in disgust. "Who could possibly sleep through this?" she shouted.
"I did. But then, I just gave birth." No matter how many times she repeated this in her mind, it still astounded her.
"What?" Mirabar shouted.
"Never mind."
My child.
Elelar had never known it was possible to feel this way. To love this fiercely. Just looking at him brought tears of protective love and motherly pride to her eyes.
He was not just any child, of course. Although he now seemed mere flesh, rather than fire and water, he possessed extraordinary power which she would have to teach him to use wisely. She'd need help, of course, since she didn't even understand his power.
Fire and water, water and fire...
She'd never even suspected it was possible. Nor had Mirabar, it seemed. And as for Cheylan... She shuddered and gave thanks that he was dead, even as she silently thanked him for giving her this child as his parting gift.
Because although this baby was a ruler foretold in prophecy, favored by Dar, and brought into this world through divine forces, he was, above all, her child.
My son...
She had always wanted a daughter, actually, but now she found that it didn't matter. He was hers, and her love for him was already overwhelming and unshakable.
"Are you hungry?" Mirabar shouted.
Elelar glanced up from her red-haired, fire-eyed baby and saw people presenting offerings of food and drink to Mirabar. Under normal circumstances, Elelar would have refused the frankly unappealing fare, but her circumstances hadn't been normal ever since leaving her estate.
"I'm starved!" she suddenly realized.
Mirabar helped her shift her position so she could reach for the food which the pilgrims placed between them. Then the two of them attacked the hard cheese, shriveled fruit, and bitter olives with graceless hunger.
Every so often, Mirabar rubbed her head as if it ached from all the noise.
The plan was to remain here, where they were surrounded by worshippers who would die to defend the child, until Jalan found Tansen and brought him here. Elelar supposed it could take days, and she wondered if she could restrain Mirabar from murdering some of the praise-singers before then. The famous sirana was starting to look very cranky.
"The volcano has been quiet since... since this happened," Elelar commented, leaning close so she didn't have to shout so loudly. "Do you think... I mean, could Dar's rages finally be over?"
Mirabar's weary gaze sought the snowline high overhead. "I don't know. The dancing lights, the colored clouds..." She met Elelar's gaze. "They're still there. I don't understand it. If She was preparing for the baby's birth..."
"Gaborian."
"What?"
"That's his name," said Elelar. "Gaborian. After my grandfather."
"Oh." Now Mirabar stared at the baby, her expression unreadable.
"What did you mean, before?" Elelar asked. "When you said he's... the Beckoner?"
"He's the one who brought so many of my visions, from the beginning," Mirabar said slowly, still staring at Gaborian.
"My baby?"
"He wasn't your baby then. He looked..." She shrugged. "More or less how I suppose he'll look when he's a man."
"Is he..." Elelar frowned. "Is he Daurion come back to life? Or..." She couldn't even bear to say it: Josarian.
"No," Mirabar replied. "He is... I think he is only who he is. This child. Gaborian. Someone whose will is so fierce and whose destiny is so strong... someone so necessary to all of us that he had the strength to reach out from the Otherworld, after centuries of waiting, when the time was right."
"You mean when men like Tansen and Josarian were living and ready to sacrifice... what they've sacrificed, if someone could convince them the time had come."
Mirabar nodded slowly, considering this. "And a time when someone of Cheylan's unique power came before Dar. Cheylan could never be the one to lead Sileria. He was too... twisted. But he had tremendous gifts to contribute to the future. As does Baran, though he..." Mirabar's pensive expression turned sad.
"Above all, the Beckoner chose you," Elelar said with certainty, wanting to acknowledge the tremendous bravery that accompanied Mirabar's extraordinary gifts. "Someone who could achieve the things you've achieved. Someone with your strength of will and your courage. If he had to wait for someone who could become the Firebringer, and for Tansen, and for Cheylan... He also had to wait for you."
"And perhaps because of me," Mirabar acknowledged, "a time when people would be prepared to accept him."
"Yes," Elelar realized, looking down at her baby's eyes of fire and hair of flame. For centuries, the Society had convinced Silerians that children like this were demons—when the truth was merely that someone like this was powerful enough, as Mirabar was, to be a threat to the waterlords.
"I wonder..."
"What?" Elelar leaned forward.
"I wonder how many times the Beckoner tried before, and failed."
Elelar caught her breath. "Do you really think..."
Mirabar shrugged. "It seems likely. There were many times we could have failed, after all. So many ways we could have gone wrong. Surely Dar has tried before to find the right time, the right people, to bring about... what we have all brought about."
Elelar didn't really know why, but she started crying. When Mirabar looked startled, she tried to apologize, but it only came out as incoherent sobs. The praise-singers became alarmed and started crowding them.
"The torena is very tired," Mirabar said to them, patting Elelar's shoulder. "Stay back!"
"Am I supposed to... to guide this child now?" Elelar wept. "Is that what Dar wants me to do? Or am I to give him up? Will that be my punishment for... for what
I did?" She couldn't give up this baby. She couldn't. They'd have to kill her to separate her from him.
Mirabar continued patting her back. "Tansen believes you're supposed to raise your son and teach him the things you know. I think he's right."
"I thought..." She cried harder. "Mirabar, I swear to you... What I did... I thought it was the right thing for Sileria."
The patting stopped. Mirabar withdrew her hand. "Don't ever ask me to forgive you, Elelar."
Her voice was so cold that Elelar felt as if she'd been slapped.
"Don't ever even speak his name to me again," Mirabar added, her expression hard. "I will not destroy my life—let alone Sileria—to take vengeance for what you did, but don't ever expect me to forget it or forgive you. It will always be there between us. I will always know the terrible things you do when you're so blindly certain you're right." She paused. "And unlike Tansen, I have never been fond of you, so I promise you I will kill you if I ever think it necessary."
In a way, Elelar was grateful. The words were a kind of punishment, and she wanted that. The promise was a kind of pact between them. They would need each other in future, because of this child; so they needed to understand each other, and—strangely—they finally seemed to do so, now, as Mirabar threatened to kill her and she accepted it.
"If you ever find it necessary," Elelar said, her sobbing now finished, "then I know you will."
"Mirabar!"
They both recognized his voice at the same instant.
Mirabar scrambled to her feet with renewed energy. "Tansen!" Her dirty face looked suddenly radiant.
He appeared then, a tall, familiar silhouette coming through the murky air, lit from behind by a lava flow farther down the mountain. Mirabar ran to him, and Tansen, normally so stoic and reserved, wrapped his arms around her in a fierce embrace.
Elelar watched them for a moment, then gazed down at her beautiful child. If Cheylan was right and Baran was dying...
Well.
The Destroyer Goddess Page 46