Analindë rested while the brighter light kept her anchored to that spot. She let her mind drift. It felt so good to just be, to float in the safety of the haven. Comfort and wellbeing resonated all around where the brighter light held her; he made soothing sounds.
He? . . . Yes, Andulmaion was definitely a he.
Moment after slow moment she connected to the dimmer light and felt a form begin to take shape. Painstakingly she tucked the little wisps back into herself. By the time that only one piece remained she was exhausted again. So she paused a moment to gather her strength. She didn’t understand why it was so important to fit into this shape, but Andulmaion was adamant she do so. He didn’t say so much in words, but the song his wind sang to her was very insistent.
The soothing shushing sounds surrounding her lulled Analindë into a sense of peace and comfort, giving her strength. She took a deep breath and reached toward the last stray bit to tuck it in. It resisted and held back; she pushed harder, then jabbed it with force. It slid into place, making a latching sound as it did. A bright light flared up within her, blinding, and then dimmed.
As she lay still, the space she filled gradually brightened. It wasn’t quite like the solid glowing radiance holding her, anchoring her, but it grew. The light fluttered, and with every bit of regained strength, it glowed brighter.
Little by little she recognized the shape she had taken . . . a leg, an arm. Sensation returned; tingling spread down her limbs and raced over her body. She felt cold. Her limbs. This was her body. Everything returned, rushing in at her at once. She understood. What she’d been trying to do. Where she was. Shocked, she opened her eyes.
“I couldn’t find them.”
“I know.” Andulmaion held her tightly to him. They were on the couch; his arms and legs were wrapped around her, anchoring her in place. She got the sense that he thought he would lose her if he let go. Her head was cradled on his shoulder; he brushed her hair with his hand and continued to murmur, “It’s okay, everything will be all right.”
She recognized the comforting sounds she’d heard before and realized that tears streamed down both their faces.
“I was lost.”
“You are found.”
“I wouldn’t have made it back, except I heard your call. . . . Thank you.”
He said nothing, but continued to hold her safe for a long time. Analindë closed her eyes again and simply rested; a dull painful throbbing racked her body, as if she had used her muscles beyond their ability. They refused to move again.
Candles flickered, almost gutted. “How long was I gone?”
“Too long. I was worried.”
“I traveled three-quarters of the distance to the Mountain City, but I couldn’t find them. And then I couldn’t find myself. . . . If I had more strength, I could’ve found them, I know I could have.” One candle sputtered as smoke filled the air followed by a faint whiff of vanilla and cinnamon. “But I’m afraid to go back. It was different this time.”
“Shhh, don’t worry. There is no need. Master Therin and the other mages will find them. Let me make you some tea. Then you will rest until Master Therin’s return.” He gently untangled himself from her and laid her back upon the couch as if she might shatter into a thousand pieces if jostled too much, and then he moved away from her. She attempted to raise her head to keep him in sight, but was unable to lift it off the couch.
He returned a moment later with a warm cup of tea. He wrapped his arm behind her, helping her to sit up straight. As he tipped the cup to her lips, she drank. The tea was sweet and it sickened her. She didn’t want to drink anymore, but he made sure she finished it all and then he poured her another. When she finally recognized the taste, she fought him no longer. It was a tea reserved for those who were nigh unto death from exhaustion. It was made from sticky cubes of power infused sugar. It gave strength to the body.
When she regained enough command over her body to hold her own cup, they sat, she on the couch, he in his armchair, drinking more tea and waiting for Master Therin’s return. Neither of them spoke of what had happened, of how Analindë had nearly become forever lost in the void. Instead, they let the heavy silence surround them like balmy air before a storm.
The Twenty-Fifth Chapter
DEEP INTO THE NIGHT ANDULMAION woke as someone tripped his ward at the foot of the tower. He sent a tendril of thought winding down the staircase and recognized Master Therin slowly climbing the stairs.
Andulmaion quietly rose from the armchair and stretched his cramped muscles; his neck was going to be stiff tomorrow. He gazed down at the young woman he’d almost gotten killed and berated himself yet again. What had he been thinking? He hadn’t been thinking; that was very clear to him now.
Careful not to wake Analindë, he moved past her couch to make fresh tea. Master Therin would need a cup and he could use one as well. He carried the tea tray over to the sitting area and studied Analindë while he poured himself a cup. He grieved that he’d caused her more harm. The young woman had been tired enough without his thoughtlessness added to the mix. She was so powerful and so smart that he sometimes forgot that she was younger than he, not as advanced along in her studies.
He sat back to sip his tea, remembering how nice it had been to hold Analindë in his arms; he just wished that she hadn’t been dying at the time. Other circumstances could have given him that privilege, but it was not to be. He would not take advantage of their situation. Besides, there were other considerations he needed to take care of before he could think of wooing a wife.
He sensed Master Therin lower the shields long enough to slip inside the suite of rooms. The old master looked haggard. As he sank onto one of the armchairs, Andulmaion handed him a cup of the same tea Analindë had drunk earlier. Andulmaion patiently sat down, respectfully waiting for his mentor to rest. The coming reprimand would not be comfortable and he deserved all of it.
Halfway through the cup it appeared that Master Therin’s flagging energies surged, renewed. The old master looked about the room, as if sensing the shifts of power for the first time. He looked between Analindë sleeping on the couch to Andulmaion and back again.
His face hardened, and with a steel-edged whisper stated, “The residual levels in this room are enormous! What happened while I was gone?”
Analindë’s eyes shot open, fluttered shut, then opened again. The Energy behind the words woke her as the whispered words had not. She pulled herself upright on the couch. Had Andulmaion just frowned at her? She knitted her eyebrows in confusion. He handed her a cup of tea. Her hand shook as she took it.
“I assisted Analindë as she attempted to track the human wizard in the void,” Andulmaion said stolidly, as one who is taking ownership for a grave mistake; his face turned ashen.
“You can do that?” Master Therin said. A light gleamed in his eyes for a brief moment, then it was gone. His eyes roved over her, searching. “You did not anchor yourself properly.” He said reprovingly. “Andulmaion, explain.”
“I have never been able to see into the void,” he said contritely.
“Tell me in order exactly what happened.” He glared at the apprentice.
Realizing that Master Therin was placing the blame entirely on Andulmaion’s shoulders, Analindë rushed to explain. “When the Humans were hunting for me in the forest, I was able to see them within the darkness of the void. Thus I knew how to avoid them and whether I needed to hide or run faster. When we learned that the Humans had disappeared out of the mountain passes, I thought to find them again, just as I did when I was in the forest.” She glanced down at the steaming cup of tea in her hands. The shaking had stopped.
“Only this time, they were too far away, I couldn’t find them. I nearly . . . became lost.” She glanced up quickly to catch Master Therin’s reaction and back down again in shame. Andulmaion was shifting uncomfortably in his chair. Her cheeks felt hot; the tips of her ears burned. Her heart was heavy. “Everything lost focus, and I couldn’t think, didn’t know
who I was. Andulmaion called me back.” She lifted her eyes to look at the elven man beside her. His posture was now stiff. Remorse wove its way through his song and he slumped down into the couch.
Master Therin had grown still during her telling; a long moment passed in silence before he turned stern eyes toward Andulmaion. “You did well to call her back when you did. Any longer and we might never have found her. But she should never have been allowed to attempt the void in the first place. She yet has much to learn.”
Andulmaion flinched at the words.
“Analindë,” he turned to face her, “Circumstances have forced growth upon you much too quickly. In this case you try too much, too fast. It takes centuries for the most adept of us to learn how to enter the void and return whole. I want you to promise that you will not attempt any new castings without permission from myself or from any of your other professors. It is dangerous.”
Although not unexpected, his words caught her off guard. Something in her stiffened, taking offense at what he said. Of course she knew the void was dangerous, she’d almost died there. But she’d already been visiting the void, albeit briefly, since the moment her powers had flared to life. She knew that she had failed miserably and put herself and Andulmaion at risk, but where was the constructive criticism? For him, it was always just the criticism or brush-off. It was not helpful to have him berate her further.
And as for doing spell work, would he be around the next time she wanted to try a new spell? Who was going to hold her hand and shepherd her through the process? For it definitely wasn’t going to be him, no matter how much he claimed he was there to help her. How else was she to learn proper procedures unless someone took the time to teach her. She wanted to cry. She felt so alone.
“Andulmaion,” Master Therin swiveled back to face her companion. His eyes, if possible, became even harder; the stars in them blazed then stilled, making his words lash out with a ferocity that turned Andulmaion’s stillness to stone. “I will not have you encourage her in this; you should have stopped her. I do not have time to deal with you both right now. I will handle both your punishments later, once I’ve had time to think of consequences. In the meantime, you are forbidden to aid Analindë in anything beyond shielding.”
“Yes, Master Therin,” he replied.
“You may now retire for the evening.” Analindë did not misunderstand the order and rose to her feet. When dizziness didn’t rush in to overwhelm her, she hesitantly crept across the room, using tables and chairs to help keep her upright.
“Andulmaion,” she’d reached the door when Master Therin’s voice stopped her. She heard him re-enter the room but didn’t turn around to watch. “Your new casting. Has progress been made?”
Andulmaion launched into a description of the morning’s successes and failures. She didn’t stay to listen. Instead, she dragged her weary body into her room, dressed for sleep and fell into bed. Despite the huge fears that worried her and Master Therin’s strict edict, she thought about trying the void at least one more time. She just needed some really good instructions on how to navigate the void. As she drifted off to sleep, Analindë realized that Master Therin had given her an enormous clue as to how she had gone wrong. She needed to learn a lot more about anchoring, and soon.
Dawn came early the next morning, too early. Pale light spilled through Analindë’s windows, filling her room with the rosy glow of morning. Wind howled around the tower, making a sort of music as it whistled around the windows and eves. With the beginning days of winter fully past, brittle coldness had settled in for a long stay.
Analindë slowly rolled out of bed; every muscle in her body howled like the wind racing past the tower, and though she was pretty sure the wind shrieked with joy, her muscles did so in pain. Wincing, she staggered to the bathing room, hoping that a hot soak would help her. She scooped a handful of lavender salts into the water, brushed out her hair, and stepped into the bath.
The marble radiated blissful heat, soothing her aching muscles as she leaned back. She slipped down under the surface of the water reveling in the silence and calm that enfolded her. When she could hold her breath no longer she surfaced again, and lay back resting her face just above the waterline. The water lapped against her cheekbones, lips, and eyes, while her nose turned cold.
She let her mind drift as the water soothed, rambling along one thought at a time. Foremost on her mind was that she hadn’t had any nightmares last night. She found it ironic that she should finally have a good night’s sleep, yet she found herself still troubled by the horrible dreams. She’d been absolutely shattered last night; perhaps that was the key? To be too exhausted to dream?
She let those questions go and found herself thinking about her anger. If she was honest with herself, her anger was based in frustration, which led her thoughts to complacency. Yesterday while she’d trod around the garden she’d basically come to the conclusion that she’d become too complacent, too content to be coddled, and safe in Master Therin’s tower. She was too easily pushed around by ‘those who knew better’. She’d thought of taking action many times, but really hadn’t until last night. No more. The complacency would stop now.
As she thought of the Humans and the Traitors and the havoc they had wreaked upon her family and the turmoil that had enveloped the entire Realm, she felt resolve firm up inside her. She would not retreat, but act. Learn how to fly.
She rubbed soap into her hair and thought about war. Her parents had made her study war for about thirty-five years, one war after another, looking at strategies and weaknesses, analyzing outcomes and decision making. From her studies, one thing bothered her the most. The cost of war. Commerce, trade, industry, ecosystems, power flows, monetary values, agriculture, livestock, and intellectual studies . . . these things were always impacted by war. Sometimes it had taken centuries to recover. The world and its people still bore the scars from their most recent conflict, The Elven Wars.
And then there was the cost of lives. Precious lives cut short, well before their time. Even the most vile of all Traitors usually had good things to contribute to society. Things they would discover and share with others including strides in knowledge or culture. All lives had value, no matter their intellectual leanings.
War must not come among the elves again.
Could war be stopped? Could they totter back over the brink and away from the line without battles being fought? Whether or not they could, she was done sitting on the sidelines. She wanted to play a more active role, helping and assisting where she could in ways that intersected her daily life.
She thought of the current dilemma and felt anger toward the Traitors. They had done grievous harm when they’d turned against their own. The capricious humans only aggravated her. Their short lives, seventy to eighty years at best, compelled them to be one day friend, the next day foe. Such was their nature. It was the Traitors and perhaps the second sons who were ultimately responsible.
Revenge kindled in her heart, smoldering and burning within her, and she wondered what harm it would do to let that fire rage within the hollow shell she was. If she could harness that anger, perhaps it would be okay for the interim, but she’d been her mother’s daughter for long enough to know she couldn’t let the hurt rage for very long.
Determined, Analindë vowed that she would find a way to search out the Humans in the void, and then she’d lead the high council to them. She knew she could find them, she just didn’t know how to look for them yet. When she did find them, the Humans would be questioned and the elves that betrayed the Realm would be hunted down and held responsible for their crimes.
She turned her thoughts to the problem the void presented. She wouldn’t think about her fears just now. She’d only think on things she needed to do. First off, she needed to find out everything she could about anchoring. If she were to survive the void again, she’d need to know how to properly form her anchor. Next, she wondered if searching the void was akin to scrying? Perhaps Andulmaion would know.
She quickly finished her bath, dried herself off with one of the soft towels stacked on the shelves and donned a robe. She began to brush out her hair and was shocked when she actually looked at her reflection in the mirror. She was not surprised by the face that had filled back in or the midnight tresses that had grown longer, but by her eyes. They were different. They were still grey-green, but the eyes looking back at her were not her own. They were tired and wiser; the stars within them had deepened. The naiveté inside her was gone, replaced by the hardness of reality. Anger and strength radiated in their depths, the innocence of youth set aside for adult things.
Having been sheltered by her family her entire life, she wondered which was worse, living in blissful ignorance or brutal realism.
Analindë braided the sides of her hair, gathered the braids to the back, and let the rest hang free. She gently replaced her brush on the counter and turned away from the starkness that the mirror had revealed.
She quickly dressed in a pale rose gown shot with silver threads. It flowed gently around her while its loose sleeves came to points at her hands. Embroidered flowers decorated the hem and neck. Satisfied that her appearance was good enough, she pulled on some slippers, grabbed her favorite ring from her bedside table and left the room.
She was the first to arrive for breakfast. Releasing the shields, she opened the door to the landing and picked up the breakfast tray. Ripe strawberries and fresh cream sat in separate bowls, a few apples were stacked to the side, along with some sweetbreads that were a favorite of hers. The cooks made them with almonds and honey with a dab of creamed cheese in the center.
Analindë (The Chronicles of Lóresse) Page 36