Into the Dark Lands

by Michelle Sagara

  He sighed. “When you are older, you will.”

  She gripped his bent hands in hers. “No.”

  He heard the age in her voice, saw the surety and the bitterness of it in the green sheen of her eyes. Suddenly he knew what she would say next, and regretted it.

  “But you spoke of another way. Not fear of dying, but dying itself. Physically.

  “Grandfather, you’ve seen me in the training ground. Talk to Telvar. I can fight, and fight well. Let me join the patrols. Please? If it must be, I’ll earn my circle on the field, near death at the hands of our enemies.

  “Please.”

  “Erin, to call upon the power of God so close to the edge—it is . . . difficult. You must be able to concentrate, ignoring pain or—”

  “I’m warrior-trained—unlike my mother.” She said the last three words, knowing that they would hurt him and unable to stop.

  The quick breath he drew was sharp. “Erin, you’ll make your ward in your own time and—”

  “Then what use am I now?” She caught the note of hysteria in her voice and clamped down on it. “Please.”

  “If you have not completed the True Ward once, you will almost certainly fail.”

  “Then I’ll die. But I might as well be dead now, for all the good any of you will let me do!” She wanted to turn and walk out but subdued the urge, willing the child in her to leave instead. She met his eyes squarely.

  It was he, at last, who turned away.

  “I will talk to the Lady.”

  The Lady of Elliath stared into the waters of her marbled fountain. Although magical sunlight glimmered off the rippling water, her eyes saw clearly what moved beneath the surface: the image of the outside world.

  The view in the wavelets was of Erin’s brown-robed back. Her long hair was drawn back and bound with copper in an imitation of a warrior’s braid. She sat beneath the shade of the trees at the periphery of the wood. No one interrupted her as she forced her hands into the fluid motion of the full circle that opened the True Ward.

  The frustration that radiated from the young woman could be felt in the Lady’s Woodhall; the Lady didn’t have to use her power to touch outward.

  Granddaughter. She straightened as the water shimmered into playful rippling.

  Footsteps echoed down the long hall. She had a visitor. She knew who it was.

  “Serdon.”

  Although he heard her call him, he waited until he could see her before he made his reply; he was dignified and old enough to feel no need to shout.

  He approached her and, when he was a few feet away, bowed deeply. “Lady.”

  “What brings you? Is there more trouble on the front?”

  “As much as there has been these last few years since ... these last few years.” He sighed at the near slip of the tongue; even now Kerlinda’s death was not spoken of in the presence of the Lady. “But no, it is not about the battle that I’ve come to speak.”

  “Another matter of concern? Come, Serdon.”

  She turned and he followed her, leaving the garden for an alcove in which there were two chairs. He took one, but the Lady remained standing; she rarely felt any need to be seated.

  “Speak, then. Tell me what troubles you.”

  “Erin.”

  “Ah.”

  Their silence acknowledged the truth of what they both knew. The Lady turned away, staring for a moment into the green of the large trees that grew in her eternal and isolated world.

  “You’ve spoken with her?”

  He nodded. “Again. But today—today she was more open. I think that if you were willing, you might be able to touch the anger and guilt that she feels. Might be able to soothe it enough to—”

  “I cannot, Serdon. Were I to try this, she would resist even my power,” It was true, but it was not all of the truth. She was doomed to keep all of the truth in silence to herself.

  The Grandfather sagged a little into his chair. If not the Lady, then no one. Erin had been to the three remaining healers of the Line Elliath—and five others from the various lines whose holdings were closest. Each time she had forced their power away. And without healing the bitterness that had so deeply scarred her, he knew that she would not—as she had vowed—be able to touch the Hand of God.

  As if reading his thoughts, the Lady said, “Serdon, she will not touch the Bright Heart, not in the way that the lines are accustomed to. I have seen it once or twice before, but never so strongly. She has much of the blood.”

  “Then what are we to do with her, Lady? She obeys our commands to stay here, but she will not do so forever.” He touched his forehead wearily, brushing back silvered strands of black.

  The Lady turned again to face him.

  “Send her, then. Send her to the front. Let her try to walk the path of Gallin.”

  The Grandfather rose to his feet; the chair could not contain the sudden surprise that he felt.

  “The front?” he said incredulously. “But she is not yet adult.”

  The Lady’s green eyes glowed brilliantly a moment. Slowly, the Grandfather resumed his seat.

  “She is adult by the standards of the mortal world—and that is the world we have fought so long to protect. If we cannot have her power as healer, let her exercise her skill as warrior. It is great.”

  He heard what lay behind the Lady’s words. Even so, he had his own determination. The anger in his voice reflected it. “Lady, Line Elliath does not send children into battle.”

  “By mortal standards, Serdon, we have done exactly that. Kredan joined the front when he reached his thirteenth year.”

  “Kredan was not a child. He touched the Hand of God. He proved that he understood what death is, what it means. Erin has not done that.”

  “No.” Her eyes never wavered. “But it was the battlefield that wounded her, not the lines. It may be that on the fields of battle, she will learn to heal herself.”

  The Grandfather knew, from the feelings that the Lady projected so strongly, that Erin would be sent to war. But he stayed an hour to argue against it. He was the patriarch of the line, and upon him fell the duty of protecting his line-children.

  “Erin, don’t fuss so.” Kat’s words came from around the pins in her mouth. She looked up at Erin, who was doing her best to stand straight on the stool as Kat pinned the hem into place.

  “I just want to make sure I look all right.”

  Katalaan rolled her eyes. “This is the first time you’ve ever done any such thing.”

  “Kat—”

  “I know, I know. It’s Belfas’s celebration.”

  Erin nodded.

  “Don’t jump about like that, I’m almost finished. ” Kat drove the last pin into the green velvet skirt and stepped back to admire her work. “Looks a sight better on you than on me, at least at my age.” It was a joke; Katalaan hadn’t worn this dress in over thirty years.

  “I just want to look good, that’s all. I—I want to make it up to him.”

  “Make up what, dear?”

  “Haven’t you been listening?”

  “Hmmm. Step down now, and you can look at yourself in the glass. But be careful, or you’ll prick yourself.”

  Erin jumped down lightly, strode across the room to the oval mirror, looked at herself, and frowned. “It doesn’t look much like me, does it?”

  She saw Katalaan’s reflection come to stand behind hers and fiddle with the laces at the bodice.

  “It looks fine. You look like a regular lady.”

  “You mean that people in the cities do this all the time?”

  Kat sighed as she tried to fasten Erin’s hair with an old jade comb. “More than once in a lifetime at any rate. Hold still. I never realized how fidgety you could be!”

  Erin tried to hide her nerves and failed utterly.

  “Erin, dear, you look lovely. Don’t be so nervous. There, that’s done it. Now look at yourself.” Kat smiled broadly. It was obvious that she was very happy to see her charge in the dress that
she herself had worn for her marriage years ago.

  Erin was speechless. She put up her hand to touch her hair and Katalaan caught it gently. “No, dear, don’t touch it.”

  “I can’t go like this.”

  “Why on Earth not?”

  “I look like—I don’t look like me.”

  “Well, I think you do. Come on, you’ll be late.” She hustled Erin down the stairs. “Remember what I’ve told you about table manners, all right?”

  “Right.”

  Katalaan laughed, kissed Erin on the forehead, and opened the front door. “Go on, dear.”

  Erin felt stupid. The skirt was all right, but the bodice—how did anyone breathe in something like this? She would have loosened it, but was afraid of unlacing it completely. The sun was setting on the path to the Great Hall, and she stopped fretfully. Maybe she just should have worn her student’s browns.

  But then she’d be the only one who wore them.

  She lifted her chin slightly. At least if she was going to stand out, she’d do it right. Or so she hoped.

  She reached the Great Hall and headed for the west wing, where long tables had already been set up for the celebration. Belfas was not the only one to become an initiate of the circle in the last three months, but he was the only one that she really cared about.

  Maybe she should have worn the browns. She knew she'd already hurt his feelings once and she didn’t want him to feel like an idiot—he’d already gone out on a limb by insisting that she be allowed to attend.

  People bustled by as the halls grew more crowded. That they stopped to stare at her didn’t help at all; she wasn’t used to being stared at. The ceilings, already vaulted archways double her height, seemed to loom taller as she walked.

  No. She was going to go home and change. She turned around abruptly and ran into someone. She stopped, started to apologize, then heard an astonished squeak that could only belong to one person.

  “Erin?” Belfas was either in shock or doing a good imitation of a fish out of water.

  Erin felt her cheeks grow hot.

  “Is that you?”

  A number of silver-gray robes seemed to gather around them as they blocked the hall.

  “Yes,” she hissed. “It’s me. Can we go now?”

  “The hall’s behind you.”

  She turned around and sighed.

  “Can I, uh, offer you my arm?”

  She smiled then, her cheeks still red. “Okay.” The brown velvet of her sleeve brushed against the new gray of his robe as their arms locked.

  And the dinner went very well. Erin remembered everything that Katalaan had taught her, and ate, in her opinion, like a lady. Belfas—well, he was still Belfas. Every time he went to touch a fork, he’d look at her to see if she nodded or shook her head. Any time he wanted to reach for something, he’d do the same.

  It made her happy to know that he was still Belfas and, even if he’d gone adult, he still needed her.

  And Belfas was happy to have her back. So happy, in fact, that he didn’t bother to feel guilty about becoming adult before she did. She was still Erin; of course she’d follow. They did everything together, didn’t they?

  He had almost finished his second dessert, filched from Erin’s plate when both were sure no one was watching them, when the door to the east hall flew open. The congenial chatter died away into the silence of four stone walls.

  “Grandfather, initiates.” The silver-haired master scholar gave a low bow. ”I’m afraid that the festivities for the evening are over.”

  Murmurs began as Latham paused to draw breath.

  “The Lady of Elliath summons you to a council of the full circle in the Great Hall. Immediately.” He bowed again, obviously out of breath. “If Erin is among you, she, too, is to attend. Else, she is to be summoned.”

  Erin stood, the brown and green of velvet marking her clearly. “I’m here.”

  Latham nodded. Chairs scraped along the floor as the hall emptied.

  The Great Hall was already crowded when they arrived. Erin caught sight of Elise, an older woman of the lines, wrapping her arms around a thin blue nightdress. Further into the crowd, she caught sight of Kredan’s back. He’d only come from the front last eve. He caught sight of her—it was hard not to—and whispered, “Up to Telvar.”

  She nodded and caught Belfas by the hand.

  Just before they broke through the last rank of people, Erin heard the creaking of the great doors as they closed. Light, so pale a green it was almost white, flooded the hall, chasing the shadows away from even the arches that towered so high above them.

  She stopped a moment, inhaling sharply. Belfas squeezed her hand. “Over here.” He used as quiet a voice as he could manage, but at least a dozen people heard him because the hall had suddenly become so quiet.

  Erin nodded and allowed him to drag her the rest of the way. She managed to maneuver skillfully enough that she only bumped into one more person. But she recognized that person even before he turned to stare down at her.

  Thanks, Belf. A blush started to rise in her cheeks. Why did it have to be Telvar? She was on the verge of stammering out an apology when he nodded sharply. “You’re here. Good.” He turned to face the altar, and Erin was forced to do the same; one didn’t question Telvar when he was this curt and businesslike.

  But she was curious. After taking a moment to catch her breath, she looked around at the gathering. Hundreds of people thronged the room in various states of dress. Almost all of them were familiar to her in one way or another. But why had they been summoned?

  She turned back to the empty altar and then craned her neck around again. Belfas was beside her, as usual. Kredan, she’d seen. Deirdre, still rubbing sleep out of her eyes, was four rows behind. Carla, war-scarred and wary even now, was standing silent toward the back.

  They were all adult.

  A flush of excitement reddened her cheeks, adding color that had been missing there for months. Daring Telvar’s impatience‚ she began to search every face she could see.

  All adult.

  Belfas tapped her urgently on the shoulder, and she spun around again, half-rocking on her toes.

  She wasn’t adult yet, and as far as she could see she was the only child that had been summoned. It gave her a hope that she had thought she would never have again. The smile she turned on her best friend was both anxious and warm.

  He returned it with a confused glance. The whole of the line in the holding had been summoned—undoubtedly for a very good reason. Why on Earth was Erin smiling like that?

  Erin wanted to hug him and laugh out loud. If Telvar hadn’t been standing beside her, she might have done it. Of course he couldn’t understand why she was suddenly so happy—he didn’t really comprehend how significant his becoming adult was to both of them; he had never really thought of her as a child.

  A movement from behind the altar caught her attention, and she schooled her face carefully.

  The Lady of Elliath entered the Great Hall, sweeping through the open arch, her arms held out to either side as if in welcome. She entered the edge of the inscribed circle and came to stand before the altar.

  Sight of the Lady was not unusual. But the light that she brought with her was; it glowed brilliant white, casting aside the previous green as if it were shadow or darkness. She was limned with it; her hair seemed to dance to invisible wind like strands of diamonds.

  So magnificent was the Lady that Erin did not immediately notice the man who followed her. He was not a familiar face or figure, but it was obvious that he held great power—one of the twelve, perhaps. He was tall, his hair was pale and fair, his skin almost translucent. She started to glance at the Lady again, then suddenly stared at the man. For although he carried the white-fire, his eyes, at this distance, were blue—not the emerald green that so clearly marked the Servants. She noticed then that he wore the surcoat of the line, and that it was not for dress; it was dirty and torn. In one arm he held a dented helm.

&n
bsp; There were only two things that could explain this. Either he had visited the Gifting of the Bright Heart and had truly mingled with the blood of God, or he was the Sarillar of Elliath—the single Lernari warrior-priest chosen to be the vessel for a part of the Lady’s power, her presence on the field of battle. And either of these things boded ill for the line.

  “Line-children.” The Lady bowed her head gravely in the man’s direction. “Andin has returned from Karana recently.”

  Erin gave a small start at the man’s name. It was truly Andin, Sarillar of Elliath. She found herself holding her breath, and tried to relax, as did everyone in the audience.

  The Lady did nothing to still the disquiet of the Lernari. Instead, she stepped to one side, and Andin strode forward.

  This close, Erin could see his expression. Beneath the light, there were scars across his face and brow—healed but nonetheless visible. The lines around his face were the only things that spoke of his age.

  “Line-mates.” He bowed. “I will—I must—be brief. Karana has fallen.”

  There was a ripple that passed through the audience, wordless but audible. Karana was the major trade city closest to the border. But it was not that close; a hundred miles or more from the fighting. At least it had been.

  He allowed the information to sink in before continuing.

  “A full four of the Twelve of the Enemy were present at the fall.” He closed his eyes. “And some six hundred of the Malanthi as well. Their exact numbers are unknown; Corvan was the only one among us who could memory-walk, and he perished. The enemy army has also availed itself of the nonblooded. Much planning has gone into this.

  “The Ninth of the Bright Heart fell in battle; the Twelfth of the Enemy preceded him. But our losses were great.”

  He seemed to slump for a moment and looked toward the Lady of Elliath.

  “Yes,” she said softly, the thrum of her power touching everyone. “Karana was in Elliath territory. This night, I must touch the Gifting of God and I must travel to the ruins of that city.”