Idai looked at me. “We could leave her here, Shikrar,” she said. “For a short time only, while we find somewhere to live in Kolmar, while we make our peace with the Gedri.” She snorted. “While the wretch gets over the Weh sleep.”
“It is hardly her fault, Idai,” I began, but she was laughing.
“I know, Shikrar, but you do realise that she will be remembered among us forever as being the only soul to sleep through our return to Kolmar! Nikis the Weary, perhaps, or the Unlucky.” With a groan Idai fluttered her aching wings, shaking off the water. “Though in my present mood I would be inclined to call her Nikis the Lazy.”
I snorted at that. “The thought had crossed my mind as well. Especially last night, when so many of us could rest on the High Air and you and I had to keep working!”
“It might be a good idea for more of us than Nikis alone to wait here, Shikrar,” she said quietly. “I have been thinking. Perhaps one or two should go first, to meet with the lords of the Gedri and speak with them.” She hissed her amusement. “We are, after all, going to be something of a surprise.”
Idai has always been able to make me laugh. “Ah, Iderrisai, I thank you,” I said. “It was well said, and I agree with you. It seems quite reasonable to send one ahead first. I will go.
“Either you or I, or possibly Kretissh,” she replied. “Do not forget, Eldest, you are our lord while Akhor—while Varien is away.”
“That was never decided, Idai,” I said gently. I knew she still felt pain speaking of Akhor, whom she had always loved. “Our King is chosen by acclamation, after all. Varien offered to give up the kingship, but still he is our King until the Kantri in lawful Council decide otherwise.”
She snorted. “It was decided by everyone except you. And you are the Keeper of Souls, and—”
“Kédra is perfectly capable of performing the Kin-Summoning,” I said, “and when I go to sleep on the Winds, you will be Eldest in your turn. What is a leader for, if not to lead?” I stretched my forelegs again, wincing at the cramp. “Besides, I cannot think of another way to avoid carrying Nikis for three more days.”
“Ah, Shikrar, now I believe you!” she laughed. Trizhe, lying nearest us, raised a mild complaint about the noise.
Idai lowered her voice. “Besides, Teacher-Shikrar, I spoke easily just now of making our peace with the Gedri, but that may not be a swift or a simple thing. There are those among us”—she glanced at me sideways—“who despise the Gedri and will always do so, no matter what you may say or do.”
I acknowledged her point, for until the year just past I was among those who felt that way. However, like the others I had merely been repeating the words and thoughts of my elders. When I finally met one of the Gedri—the Lady Lanen, now so dear to me—I was forced to reconsider the foolish opinions I had held for so very, very long. I was proud of myself for being able to admit to my own ignorance and to change, though with all that Lanen had done for me and mine I would have been the world’s worst fool not to have done so. Still, Idai was undoubtedly right.
“What then should we do?” I asked mildly. “We cannot force the Gedri from their lands. Would those who refuse to share the land with them consent to take to the high mountains, or the deep forests? Surely in all that great land there are places where the Gedri do not live?”
“Surely,” echoed Idai. “It is a very large place, and we are few.” She sighed. “We are very few, Shikrar. Think you we will have any kind of a future in that place?” She dropped her voice to the merest whisper. “Or any kind of future at all?”
I turned to her, surprised. “You are unusually bleakhearted, my friend. Of course there will be a life for us. The Kantri and the Gedri have lived in peace for many long years. We forget, we children of a latter day, that it is the exile and the separation that are unusual. We are going home, Idai,” I said quietly. “Kolmar is home to us, heart and soul and bone and blood, and the Gedri are our cousins. What other race can speak and reason, aside from our life-enemies the Rakshasa? Do not fear this change, Idai. All will be well. I know it.”
She sighed and let her head drop heavily onto my flank. “Your words to the Winds, Hadreshikrar, may they prove true. And I am soaked through. Shift over and lift up those stiff old wings, O wise one, it’s your turn to keep the rain off.”
Varien
Lanen slept now, a deep sleep granted by the Healers to help her recover her strength. Rella and I had cleaned her and changed her garment, and I held her in my arms while Rella helped the innkeeper bring in a new mattress and clean sheets and bedding. I laid Lanen gently down and Rella drew the quilts softly over her.
“I’m off to keep watch, Varien,” said Rella when I tried to thank her. “Jamie and I will keep wakeful. You get some sleep.”
“Lady Rella—”
She smiled. “I know, son, but save it for morning. You’re shattered.”
I put my hands about her waist, lifted her up and kissed her soundly. “Dear youngling,” I said as I put her down. She was sputtering a bit, but it was good for her. “In the span of my life you were born yesterday, and Lanen this morning. I thank you for your kindness—daughter.”
She laughed at that. “Wretched bloody dragon! Right enough, I do forget sometimes.”
“Watch well. I will take the duty tomorrow night.”
“Done. Goodnight then, grandfather!”
I closed the door behind her. I still wore my circlet, still felt like my old self, and as long as I was not using truespeech it brought me no pain. I began to wonder if it might not be wise to have it remade to be smaller and lighter, that I might wear it always. Shikrar had fashioned it in a stolen hour when first I was made human, that my people might know me. It was deeply kind of him, and I thought of him every time I wore it, but our talons are made for fighting and rending, not for such fine work as this. It could be half the size and still hold my soulgem securely.
As I sat there, my gaze on Lanen, my thoughts wide-scattered in my weariness, a great stillness arose in my soul. I welcomed it and let it sink deep, let it soothe the ragged edges of pain, let my wandering thoughts return and fall like leaves gently down inside it.
I rose and opened the shutters at the window to let in the night, breathing deeply of the cool air and taking pleasure in the starlight and the sharp scent of pine. In the darkness and the silence I was more alone than I had ever yet been as a Gedri. Lanen, in her healing sleep so close by, merely made the loneliness stronger. In sleep our loved ones are utterly beyond us, separate, locked in their own thoughts and untouchable. The Kantri call sleep invorishaan, the little death, and so it is; a kind of preparation for us all, to make true death easier when it comes.
Death had nearly come for Lanen.
I rejoiced that she was healed, but my heart was almost as heavy as if she had not been. The anger that had taken me in Elimar had astounded me with its vehemence. I had not known it was there. My anger was not truly aimed at Lanen; it was a mask for the fear that chilled me. The dread of losing her I loved most in all the world went bone-deep. I had watched Shikrar mourn his beloved for eight hundred years, and I knew in my soul that I was every bit as devoted as he. I had been furious at Lanen for defying the Healer, for putting safety aside in pursuit of true heating—but I knew that I would have done the same. Who would have the courage to sit and wait for death, relying on help that might not come, knowing that death would soon find you in any case if you did nothing? I did not have that kind of courage, but I had asked it of Lanen.
I also admitted to myself, in the soft silence of the moonlight, that I was beset by fears for the future. What manner of strange creatures did Lanen bear now? What was to become of them, and of her? Her blood was now mingled truly with the blood of the Kantri. I shuddered as Rishkaan’s words echoed in my heart. With a great effort of will I rejected them and clung to the truth of my own Weh dream, a bright vision of standing with Lanen and our children in the beauty of a new day. I let out a sigh and a prayer to the Winds that
I might be proven right.
In this strange sadness I lifted the heavy circlet from my head that I might gaze upon it. My soulgem. How far beyond understanding, to be able to hold it in my hand while still I lived! In the normal way of things our soulgems are severed from us only after we die. Once the fire within is unleashed at death, it consumes the body; the soulgem remains as the sole physical remnant of our existence. It is our link with our past, with our loved ones, it is—
Akhor, my heart said to me starkly. It is your soulgem. It is no longer part of you. That means only one thing. You are dead, Akhor. You are dead, and all your life before is dead with you.
The knowledge beat upon my brow, beat in my heart against the cadence of life. No! No! I live! I cried silently, gripping my soulgem with all my strength, feeling the facets dig into my flesh, sharp against my palm. I live!
Yes, I live. And Akhor is dead.
I knew in that moment that both were true, and the knowledge was agony. I would rather have been struck through the heart by the sword of an enemy, for surely it would not have hurt as badly.
Was I to lose all that I had been? Was I become human to be no more than human? A young man’s body with a thousand years of life and memory trapped within, with the knowledge of half a lifetime full of things that none would ever care about. I knew where the best fish shoaled off the coast of an island that was dead or dying. I knew how to catch the early thermals, where they lingered latest on a winter’s night, a hundred tricks of flying that Shikrar had taught me and a hundred more I had learned myself. I knew the joy of dancing on the wind at midsummer, of singing with all my people in a great chorus to shake the heavens with a voice that I no longer possessed. To fly with all my strength up to the High Air on a summer’s day, to find that broad wave and ride it, to dive swift as a falling stone and sweep back up into clear air at the very last moment, the fierce and soaring joy of it—never again with my own wings.
Never again at all, Akhor. Varien. Changed One.
So much that I knew, so much I had known and lived through, all useless now, all vain, all lost to me forever. The knowledge pounded against my breast like waves crashing on a rocky shore. I had been the Lord of the Kantrishakrim, the King of my people, ever restless, ever searching, desiring only their good in all that I did. In a moment I had cast it all away, when I bound myself to the woman who had caught my heart. It was a great shame to me to admit that I felt such a profound regret but I could deny it no longer. I loved her still, I always would, deeply and truly, but I was forced to admit to the silence of that deep night that my love for her would ever be touched by what I had lost. She had not changed me into a human, that was the work of the Winds and the Lady and we might never know the reason for it—but if I had never met her, I would be the Lord of the Kantri still.
The young moon sent gentle rays to bathe my hands and to bring a passing gleam to my soulgem, so bright in life—I twisted it this way and that, trying desperately to catch the moonlight again, to bring even a single moment more of life from the depths of it, severed from me for all time—ah, my heart!
I knelt in the pale rays of the moon with my soulgem cradled in my hands and wept. For the first and last time, alone in the soft moonlight, I mourned in my deepest heart the passing of Khordeshkhistriakhor, he whom I had been for more than a thousand years. All before and behind me was darkness and I was terribly alone.
It is often thus. When sorrow takes us, when after bearing overwhelming burdens we feel that the last weariness is come upon our souls and we would leave this life, it is because the Winds are preparing us for the next step. There must always be death before there can be new life. The soul understands no other way. Without darkness there would be no dawn; without winter, spring would never come.
This is a truth, but it does not make the winter less cold or the agony of death any easier to bear.
Still, perhaps I would not have been lost so deep in despair had I known that outside the window, even as I wept, stood my future.
Berys
My second task was to my first as darkness is to shadow.
I assumed my robes of state, for this time I called no Rikti. Only one of the Lords of the Seven Hells would serve my purpose. As a Master of the Sixth Hell I could command Rakshasa of the first through the fifth circles, and could negotiate with any of the great demons up to and including the Lord of the Sixth Hell. The only human who had ever dealt with the Lord of the Seventh Hell was the Demonlord, and it cost him his name, his memory and his life, in that order.
The task I had set myself in this second summoning was to learn how to get rid of the Demonlord once I had summoned him, in case he proved troublesome. I had learned much over the years I had worked on this final problem, but it was clear that I would have to summon the Lord of the Fifth Hell to learn what I needed to know. That Lord is the greatest demon that I have certain power over.
And still they try to tempt me, the fools. The Rakshi whisper words of power even as I prepare: so great a mage as I am has no need of precautions, my power is such that with it alone I will prevail over the degraded race of the demons, protection is for the weak—hah! Pitiful, pitiful. The screaming of spiders! I am no fool to give in to such obvious flattery. Before I complete the summoning I must know how to overpower him. I must be able to dispel him if I tire of him, or when I require him no longer.
Good, they have stopped. Annoying things. My robes of state, tied at the waist with knots that protect me, to bind the demons I summon to keep within their allotted places. Incense, thin and light that my mind would not become fogged as I concentrated.
I checked the scribed circles and the sigils at the seven points—all were undamaged. I lit fresh candles at the seven points, drew back my sleeves, lifted my arms in greeting and began the Invocation.
“I, Malior, Master of the Sixth Hell, do here make sacrifice of water and blood”—I broke open the sealed jug and poured the dark, dank liquid on to the glowing coals—“of lansip and living flesh, to summon to me the Lord of the Fifth Hell.”
I threw two handfuls of lansip leaves on the coals, then swiftly before I could think about it I drew out my knife, sharp as a razor and smeared with a salve to kill pain, and cut a strip of flesh from my arm. Even as I threw it on the coals I sealed the cut with my power to stop the bleeding. The pain was intense, but it helped me focus. The incense was fogging my mind despite my precautions.
Not the incense, fool, the Rakshasa. Don’t stop!
“I bind thee by knife and by blood, by lordship earned and sacrifices offered and taken,” I said. There before me in the coals a face began to form. “O Lord of the Fifth Hell, I summon thee”—and here I spoke his name. It was a spell in and of itself. I dragged the long syllables out of my memory, forced them past my lips. As ever, the end of the name was the hardest. I could feel the pressure of the Raksha on my mouth, on my lungs, trying to get me to speak too fast or stumble over my words, or best of all to fall silent—but I was not a Master by chance. Such things are commonplace when dealing with demons. If I were not able to resist and repel such attacks I would have died long since. I finished the name and stood back, for on the instant I completed it there was a creature sitting in the coals.
It was sitting because there was not room enough for it to stand in the small room. I had seen this Raksha before and knew it to be full eight feet tall. However, sitting comfortably on the glowing coals, in a semblance of a normal human body, it was surprisingly restrained. “What is it now, Gedri?” it asked. It sounded bored.
I knew better than to even appear to relax. “Thou art bound, thou art sealed to my service until I release thee.”
“Yes, yes, I know,” it said coolly. “What do you want?”
I had never seen this behaviour. It was disorienting. I almost stumbled over the chant I kept repeating in my mind to keep it out of my thoughts.
At that slightest suggestion that I might falter it screamed so loud my ears rang, and it leapt at me, trans
formed in the act into a ravening monster, horned and fanged with eyes of flame, reaching for my face with talons the length of my arm, like every demon of a child’s nightmare.
I never stopped my internal chant, never loosed my hold on the spelled bonds that held it. Its lunge ended at the scribed circle as though at a brick wall. “Pathetic,” I said, my voice calm and controlled. “Spare me your theatrics. I require information from you. Tell me what I need to know and I will release you.”
“We have watched you, you know,” it said mildly, retaining its new appearance but resuming its seat in the coals. “You entertain us.”
“You are bound, creature.”
“I know what you want. The way to rid yourself of the Demonlord.”
“Yes,” I said. The internal chant took less and less thought to continue.
“What have you to offer to me for so great a power as that knowledge would give you?”
“The price is paid already, creature. Blood and water, flesh and lansip. That is the price.”
“Ah, but this is knowledge deeper than a simple summoning. You must know that.” It grinned, showing several mouths in unlikely places. “You seek to change the balance of the world, little human. That is not purchased with a little strip of flesh, however tasty. I must have more.”
“What more, monster? Tread carefully, foolish one. If you demand more than the knowledge is worth you will be bound to my service for a year and a day.”
“You can barely hold me as it is, prey,” it hissed, in a voice thick with contempt. “Sooner or later you will falter, or forget, or stumble on your words, and I will dine well with a sweet sauce of triumph.”
“Stop wasting my time,” I said, drawing the binding spell tighter. “What more do you demand? I would know how to rid myself of the Demonlord once I have summoned him. It is not so great a knowledge.”
“It is worth much to you.”
The Lesser Kindred Page 35