by Rachel Lee
Cilla insisted that Ratha and Giri share their tales first, so they explained how they had been captured and sold into slavery, and how after a few years Archer had found them and set them free. How they had ridden with him ever since, freely sworn to his service.
“The years,” Giri said, “have not been without peril and loneliness. At any time Lord Archer would have let us come home, but we chose not to leave his side.”
Cilla nodded. “I would have done the same.”
“We have seen most of the known world,” Ratha added. “There is, or was, much that was good there, especially once we were away from the Bozandar Empire. We crossed the northern mountains many times on the caravan trail and saw the great cities there. But our last journey that way was not a happy one.”
He nodded to Tess. “We found Lady Tess carrying a child away from a slaughtered caravan. When we learned that the caravan had been attacked by servants of Lantav Glassidor, we set out to hunt them down. Since then…” He shrugged.
Giri picked up the thread. “We saw thousands die in Derda from the winter. The Adasen Basin is empty of life now, the farms ruined, the farmers dead. On our way to Lorense, Earth’s Root erupted…”
“Yes,” Cilla said swiftly. “That is when the clan mothers became truly concerned. Especially when they heard a fire demon had escaped.”
Giri shook his head. “We met with the demon. He came after us.”
Cilla drew a sharp breath. “But you are still here!”
Ratha gave Giri an elbow and chuckled. “We, uh, doused the flame, you could say. Do not upset our cousin, Giri.”
Cilla sniffed. “And do not treat me like a child. I am a woman now, preparing for war.”
Ratha sighed. “Aye. As we all prepare.”
“So,” Cilla said, shifting the subject back, “where did you go after you killed the fire demon?”
“To Lorense, to confront the hive master Lantav Glassidor. Our ladies here killed him while we fought with his minions. ’Twas an ugly affair, and we have been pursued ever since.”
Cilla nodded slowly. “I have heard of these hives. Are they really of one mind?”
“It would seem so, from what we saw.”
Cilla looked at Tess and Sara, who nodded agreement.
“At least at this time,” Sara said. “For we sensed another power behind Glassidor.”
Tess nodded slowly. “Indeed we did. And that is the power we must fear most.”
“It is,” said Sara quietly, “the power we will eventually have to confront.”
A shadow seemed to fall over the group, and the evening’s chill deepened further. Tess shivered.
“Well,” said Giri, breaking the pall of silence, “tonight is not a night for such unhappy thoughts. We are back with our Tel and, more importantly, with our cousin.” He raised his mug of ale toward Cilla.
“To Cilla, who was ever a scamp and now is beautiful besides!”
All mugs were lifted while Cilla laughed, but again Tess caught Giri’s eye, and what she saw there made her shiver yet again, but not from cold. Something ugly had taken root in his heart, and it terrified her.
15
Sara and Tess walked back to Gewindi-Tel’s lodgings by themselves. Cilla had offered to accompany them, but it was clear that she wished to stay with Ratha and Giri, and the two men would have been rude to leave the celebration being held in their honor. Tess had been quick to assure Cilla that they could find their way.
No one thought there might be any danger in the streets of Anahar.
The light flashing and twinkling within the stones themselves was enough to guide their steps. Cilla had pointed out a path that would take them directly to Gewindi’s area, but Sara and Tess discussed whether to go by way of the temple.
“I want to see if I can feel anything more,” Tess said.
Sara agreed. “It was…well, it was unlike anything in my experience. It would comfort me to know I have not imagined it. But…I want to get back to Tom, also. I have not seen him in hours, and he is still adjusting to his new…sight.”
Tess lowered her head. “I am so sorry about that. Let us straight away to Gewindi, then. The temple can wait for morning.”
Sara touched her shoulder. “No, no, Tess. It will take us only a short time longer to go by way of the temple. We can make a brief visit. If you wish to stay longer, I shall simply return by myself.”
But Tess shook her head. “No, I shall walk with you back to Gewindi. You have been away far longer than you intended, and Tom may be worrying about you, as well. Say no more.”
The city was built in concentric circles around the central plaza, and while the path they took curved often around trees and buildings, it reached Gewindi-Tel’s compound in about half the distance it would have taken them to go by way of the temple plaza.
They found Tom in their lodgings, not, as Sara had feared, alone, but instead with Archer, who was amusing the young man with tales of past adventures. From Tom’s laughter, it was plain that the tales were humorous.
But when the women entered the room, both Tom and Archer looked their way.
“I am sorry I was gone so long,” Sara said, hurrying to Tom’s side. “We meant only to stay briefly at the temple, but then we met Cilla, a cousin of Ratha’s and Giri’s, and when all was said and done, we went back to Monabi-Tel with her and found there a big celebration.”
“I warrant,” Archer said, “that Monabi is glad to see Giri and Ratha.”
“Aye,” Tess answered, smiling. “’Twas a big party.”
Tom turned his hand over and clasped Sara’s. “You need not apologize, Sara. You can hardly be with me every moment, nor should you. There are important matters afoot, and you are Ilduin. Besides,” he added with a crooked smile, “thanks to Lady Tess’s bandage for my eyes, I can see almost as well as I could before, although not with the same breadth.”
Sara nodded, as if she accepted what he said, but her face remained troubled.
“Also,” Tom added, “Master Archer tells me that the seer Erkiah Nebu has been sent for.”
“Aye,” said Archer. “A messenger has gone to bring him here. He will train Tom’s talent, I believe. A talent that will be invaluable in days to come.”
“If he cannot train me,” Tom said wryly, “at least he will be here to guide us.”
“How can anyone guide us through the days to come?” Sara asked. “The end is not fixed.”
“No,” Tom answered, “but there are often better paths to choose. Perhaps Erkiah Nebu will be able to see them.”
“Or perhaps you will,” Sara answered softly. “You have already seen things that helped us.”
“Aye,” agreed Archer. “And your heart is true, else the Ilduin fire would not have saved you.”
Tom turned his head suddenly. “As is yours.”
“Now wait, lad,” Archer said, shaking his head.
But Tom interrupted. “For the arrow to fly straight, first the bow must bend.”
Silence filled the room as the words, seemingly so prophetic, hung in the air. Then Archer rose abruptly and strode forth. Tess followed him at once, leaving Tom and Sara to their privacy.
She found Archer beneath one of the lacy trees in a small garden not far from the door of their lodging.
“Archer?” she called softly.
He didn’t answer immediately. He stood still, a large man who, it seemed, carried a larger burden.
She reached him and dared to touch his arm. He didn’t pull away, but he remained stiff and silent.
“Are you all right?”
“As right as I will ever be,” he replied flatly.
“Will you tell me?”
He didn’t answer. The night breeze had begun to stir, ruffling the feathery leaves above them. It was growing cold, and Tess could already feel the chill on her face. She sighed and slipped her arm through his.
“Why did Tom’s words upset you?” she asked, seeking another approach.
“Beca
use I am the bow, and I am bending once again. I have no taste for this war that is coming. I have no taste at all for war. But I can see no other course.”
“I know.” She, too, fell silent, wishing she had any words of comfort to offer. “It seems we have no choice but to defeat the Bozandar Empire. We will need allies in the battle against him.”
“It is always thus,” he said bitterly. “Ardred sets man against man, brother against brother, so that we may all do his ugly work for him. But I can see no other way. The Anari must be free, or there will soon be so few of them that they will not count for anything in the balance of the good versus the evil. The slave raids are becoming more frequent. The acts of annihilation by the Bozandari army are happening more often. This cannot long be sustained.”
“Aye,” Tess agreed.
“But still,” he said, turning his head to look at her, “but still I have no taste for another war. I have spent my life trying to find a way to avoid such, and instead I am once again thrust into the very heart of it.”
He stepped away from her and bowed. “Excuse me, my lady. I need to be alone.”
She let him go. Then, as a gust of chill wind blew over her again, she decided to go to the temple by herself. If the answers to this mess lay anywhere, perhaps it was there.
Tom and Sara had disappeared from the front room of the lodging, where a fire burned on the hearth, casting light and heat and cozy comfort, so Tess was able to go to her own room unseen and collect the heavy wool cloak she had doffed earlier in the day. Wrapping it snugly about her and pulling up the hood, she left for the temple, determined to learn all she could before it was too late.
The night’s chill had apparently driven everyone indoors, for the streets were empty, though the hour was not terribly late. The rainbow light dancing in the stones was just enough to illuminate her way, although the light was at times deceptive, creating shadows that moved.
She reached the temple quickly enough, and the instant her hand touched the door, it swung open before her. When she stepped inside, the door closed on its own, and she was surrounded by warmth, silence and the light of the torches that sprang to life at her approach.
She stood in the antechamber for several minutes, allowing the peace of the building to fill her and ease her heart. Gradually the tension that had never seemed to completely leave her since she had awakened among the slaughtered caravan without any memory, eased its grip and let go.
Only then did she step into the next chamber. Again the torches sprang to life at her approach, welcoming her, letting her know she belonged here. The statues of the twelve Ilduin seemed to look benignly at her, almost seemed to whisper, Welcome, sister.
Slowly she walked around the outer edge of the room, stopping before each statue and looking into its face, as if she might find some kind of answer there. Some kind of recognition. Once or twice she thought she might have felt a flicker, but she put it down to wishfulness.
When she reached the statue of Theriel, she halted and stared long into the woman’s face. All of a sudden, she realized that while Theriel’s representation appeared to be as serene as the others, that was only a superficial impression. Somehow the sculptor had also managed to convey a feeling of sorrow and loss, a sense of immeasurable grief behind those composed features.
In an instinctive response to the recognition of grief, Tess reached out to touch the statue. The instant her hand connected with the cool stone, she felt an electric tingle fill her body and heard a voice say, “You have come at last, my daughter.”
Stunned, Tess yanked her hand away from the statue and backed up several steps. Everything appeared to be as it had been all along. A shaky sigh escaped her, and she backed up another few steps, wondering if she were losing her mind as she had lost her memory. But the pull of the statue drew her back, and she placed her hand on the statue once more, this time on the face.
A song whispered through her mind, a song about not letting the sun go down and a man seeking himself.
The music sounded alien now, yet Tess knew it had once been more familiar to her than any song she had heard or sung in these past months. Images flooded in. Bitter tears. Sitting in the street, her mother’s head in her lap, that song wafting from the open door of a nearby shop. Her mother’s face horribly distorted, even in the sleep of death. Young Tess trying to wipe the blood from her mother’s face, to comb it from her golden blond hair with slender fingers. Trying to will her mother back to life, yet knowing the effort was beyond hopeless.
The sun had gone down on Tess’s life that day. She had stood in the rain at a gravesite, her fingers clutching a strong hand that quivered as much as her own. Her father’s grief. No sounds of laughter from the kitchen. No more arguments over schoolwork. No more evenings disappearing into endless conversation and laughter. Emotional night, as black as the bottom of an inkwell.
Tears streamed down Tess’s face as she held her hand to the statue. The weight of what she had forgotten crashed upon her like a rock slide, and her soul felt bruised and torn. The fringes of the memories were blurry, and she could not place where her home had been. But she now knew more than she had just moments before, and what she knew filled her with an empty, aching sadness.
“Yes, my beautiful daughter,” a voice whispered. “I know your pain. I felt it in every sliver of my soul and feel it still. But I needed you. Life needed you.”
Tess heard her own sobs as if from a distance, her attention focused on the voice. It was her mother’s voice, and yet not. Different in some inexplicable way, yet so close as to pull at every fiber of her heart. An ugly truth began to worm into her mind.
“Why…my…mother?” Tess asked, her voice shuddering with fear, anger building in her belly.
“This you will learn, my daughter. Here. You will know and understand.”
“You killed her!” Tess screamed. “You! Killed! Her!”
Tess beat her fists on the statue, small crackles of bone lost in a flurry of anguish beyond measure. Finally she stopped and saw the statue was flecked with blood. Her blood, now bursting into pure white flame. She looked down at her hands and only then felt the pain of fractured bones and torn flesh.
“Touch me,” the voice whispered. “I will make you whole.”
“No!” Tess screamed. “I would rather bear the pain than be healed by you!”
“If there had been another way…”
“Don’t tell me your ends justify the means. You killed my mother!”
“Tess,” the voice whispered, yet not a whisper this time. Now it seemed to echo with a thunder that shook her to her bones. “Theresa Elizabeth Birdsong. Listen to me.”
“No!”
“Listen to me!”
Tess looked up.
“She asked me to do it!”
The world seemed to spin. And then it went black.
* * * *
The party had faded into sleep for most of Monabi-Tel. Even Giri had finally given way to sleep. Only Ratha and Cilla remained, sitting together close to the dying embers of the celebratory fire pit, huddled against the chilly nighttime air.
“I never thought I would see you again,” Cilla said. “We hear about what happens in Bozandar, what our people suffer.”
“What you hear is barely half of what is true,” Ratha said. “If Lord Archer had not wandered past the market that day…”
“But he did,” Cilla said. “And you are here now.”
“What remains of me is here, my cousin. But what remains is a shadow of the man you knew.”
“What do you mean?” Cilla asked.
“I have done too much,” Ratha said, staring into the embers as if searching for meaning in the flicker of the coals. “I am hardly Anari anymore.”
“You will always be Anari, Ratha. That is your birthright.”
“Anari do not kill,” Ratha said. “At the very least, Anari do not kill without remorse. We were created thus, to be a race who could show men another way. Instead I have become�
��”
“What?” Cilla asked, her voice sharp. “Just what have you become? Other Anari have borne swords, Ratha Monabi. I and many like me will be bearing them in the days to come. Do you challenge their birthrights, also?”
Ratha shook his head, trying to find the words for what he wanted to say. He had come here planning to kill her brother. When he let the thought simmer and the old anger rose again, he still planned to kill her brother. Not in the heat of battle, but in cold blood. And he knew he was capable of such a thing. Something no Anari would so much as consider.
Yet this woman seemed determined to find in him some goodness that he knew was no longer there to be found. As if by her smile and the soft glow of her eyes she could impart to him the purity of her own heart. Perhaps once his heart had been so pure. But no more.
“I have cleaved a man in two,” he said, “and seen the look of disbelief in his eyes as his belly spilled upon the ground. And I have done that without so much as a flicker of feeling, save only the satisfaction of a well-aimed thrust and the relief that there was one less enemy before me. I have stepped in his gore to get to the next of his kind and thrust again. And again. Your heart is as white as the moon, Cilla, with not a single stain upon it. I can feel it. Anyone who knows you can feel it. But mine is not. I am stained, and stained forever.”
“Perhaps that is true,” Cilla said. “Though I know that my heart is not as pure as you believe. If so pure a heart ever existed, it has not for a long time, save for that of a newborn baby who has not yet known pain or loss, anger or jealousy or regret.”
She paused for a moment, as if waiting for him to respond, but he said nothing. She turned his face to hers and continued.
“There are others in this city who have killed. I have heard them tell tales of ambushing Bozandari, and the glee with which they describe their exploits. And I have heard their sobs in the night, when they thought no one could hear and the weight of their deeds came upon them. I cannot imagine that any sane man would bear that weight without sorrow, and I despair that any must bear it at all.