by Carol Berg
Though I could not bear the thought of slowing, I knew the wisdom of preserving both horses and riders.
“I’ll see to the horses,” Paulo said, dropping from the saddle easily and reaching for my reins.
“You should rest for a while,” I said, taking his reins instead. “We’ll care for your horses this time.” With a little persuasion, Paulo sat on a log and allowed me to provide him with enough cheese and oatcakes for three men. While Bareil collected the animals and led them to the water, Karon strode down through the muddy snowfield and leafless tangle of vines and willow thicket toward the stream, stretched out on a sunny rock, and closed his eyes without a word to anyone.
“How are you feeling?” I asked, when Paulo had slowed his intake to a reasonable pace.
The boy’s eyes shone as he stretched both legs out in front of him and stared at them as if they were forged of gold. “He put it all back straight. Don’t hurt a bit. And he fixed the other one, too, as has never been right since I was born. I thought I was done for, and now I’m whole. I don’t even have the right things to say about how it is with me.”
His brow clouded as he looked down by the stream where Karon lay on the rock. “But he didn’t remember Sunlight. I told him as I had been taking good care of him since he left. Never thought he’d forget that horse. Horse didn’t forget him, not by a long ways.” The boy glanced up at me. “Didn’t think he’d forget you neither.”
I sat on the log beside Paulo, pulled an apple from my pocket and stared at it, discovering that my own appetite had entirely disappeared. Stuffing the apple away again, I tried to explain that, although the Prince had finally remembered a great number of things that he couldn’t when he was with us before, it unfortunately meant he no longer recalled anything about our journey together. “If he asks you questions about it, you can answer him. But it would be best not to volunteer too much. It makes his head hurt.”
“Guess it would,” said the boy thoughtfully, “having things goin‘ in and out all the time. It’s easier with people like me.” He tapped his head. “Not much doin’ in here. But then I don’t have to bother with nothing but my belly and my horses. If Sheriff’d just quit fussing at me about learning to read, I could do without my noggin altogether.”
I couldn’t help but laugh. Paulo always had a wonderfully pragmatic perspective.
CHAPTER 15
Karon
I knew our destination. From the moment I followed the lady and the Dulcé out of the cave and saw Karylis baring its hoary white chest to the blue of the northern sky, I knew it. Karylis, where I had learned to hunt, to climb, and to heal, the mountain that spread its mighty arms and embraced the fertile valley where I was born.
Hundreds of years in the past, my people-Dar’Nethi sorcerers exiled from a world they had forgotten and condemned as outlaws in this world-sought out places where they could begin a new life. Three families, including that from which I am descended, came to Karylis with its sweet air, rich soil, and clear rivers, and from their settlement grew a city of grace and beauty that they called Avonar. No man or woman of them could remember why they revered that name, only that it was a part of each one of them, so precious that it came to every tongue unbidden. They had long lost their memories of the other Avonar, the royal city of the world called Gondai, whence their ancestors had been sent here to maintain D’Arnath’s Bridge.
We were never very many. Of the thousands who lived in Avonar when I was a youth, probably fewer than three hundred were sorcerers, but you could not walk through the streets without seeing the wonders our people had created there: the gardens that bloomed long after frost, graceful roads and bridges that did not age or crumble, a society of generous people who lived in mutual respect and civilized discourse.
I had been away at the University on the day my city died. Reports said the valley had been completely surrounded by Leiran troops just after dawn, and that by nightfall every sorcerer-man, woman, and child-had been identified by informers, tortured, and burned. Every other resident had been put to the sword. My father, the lord of the city, had been the last to die. The Leirans would have made sure that he witnessed the completeness of their victory. At midnight they had torched the city, so that as far away as Vanesta, people could see Avonar’s doom written in the heavens.
I had not gone back after the massacre. Even for a Dar’Nethi there are limits on the sorrow that can be inhaled with the breath of life. I wanted to carry with me the image of a living city, not the funeral pyre of everyone I loved.
I had embraced the grief of that terrible loss as was the way of our people, and yet, I think I always knew that someday I would have to look on Avonar again. From what I could remember of my life in this world, I had never yet done so.
Only one thing would draw a Zhid sympathizer like this Darzid to the ruins of my home. Was it possible he had learned the secret revealed to me just before I left for the University? My father had said we were going hunting that day, but I’d found it odd that he invited me alone, without any of my brothers who enjoyed it more…
The soft folds of Karylis’s foothills were draped in mist. The trail was new to me, and I found myself increasingly reluctant to penetrate the sweet-scented vale. “There’s nothing here, Father,” I said. “We’ve seen no sign of any game, large or small. There are a hundred more likely trails.”
“Not for what we hunt today,” he said, riding onward, his strong back and broad shoulders commanding me to follow, even as my hands itched to tighten the reins and turn back.
The white-trunked birches were scattered over the grassy slopes, the glades open and smoothly green, and as the morning waxed, the sun banished the mist into the rocky grottos that stood as reminders that it was Karylis’s domain we traveled. The mountain itself was hidden by trees and swelling ground. A sheen of dewdrops lay on the grass and quivering leaves.
“We’ll leave the horses here,” said my father, when we came to a stream of deep blue-green that emerged from a towering granite wall.
“We shouldn’t be here,” I said as we dismounted, whispering as if my voice might divert some unwanted attention our way. “What is this place?”
My father laid his hands on my head, saying, “Be easy, my son. We’ve come to a place most precious and most secret. Only the one who bears the sign of the sovereign can know of it… no, do not protest. I am not rebelling against the Way laid down for us. Though of all my sons, I would entrust our future to you, I know that the thread of your life draws you along another path. Christophe is young yet, but he’ll be a fine lord, and I’ll bring him here when it’s time. But you, Karon… you cherish our history and our Way as no one else, and I cannot but think that this is a place you should know.”
At his touch my reluctance vanished, and we climbed alongside the stream until we came to two massive slabs of granite embedded in the hillside. They leaned together, leaving a triangular shadow of indeterminate depth between them. Power pulsed from the shadow, throbbing in my blood like the noonday sun in high summer.
“What is it?” I asked.
“It is our birthplace, one could say. From this place, some four hundred and fifty years ago, stepped three families seeking a new life.”
“The portal from the stronghold! But I thought all the portals were destroyed.”
Somewhere, in a place far from this hillside, lay the fortress where our people had held out in times of trouble. In the time of the Rebellion, when the extermination laws were passed, even the fortress had not been safe enough. Imminent discovery had forced our people to scatter, leaving behind a mystery, so our legends told us, something precious and holy that had existed since before our oldest memory. Though drawn to the secrets of the stronghold since I was a boy, I had assumed the portal destroyed.
My father traced the cracks and seams of the great stone with his strong fingers. “Those who remained in the stronghold said this portal was a link to the holy mystery and hoped that someday we would be able to practice our
arts openly again and discover its true purpose. And so, to my distant great-grandsire they entrusted the words with which it could be opened, words in a language we didn’t know, a secret to be guarded until times would change. We’ve waited all these years, scribed the words in stone so that time and faulty memory would not alter them-I’ll show you where they’re hidden. But, of course, times have not changed.”
I stuck my hand into the opening and felt nothing out of the ordinary. “Have you never been tempted to venture the passage, Father? To discover whether anything remains of the stronghold? Perhaps we could unravel the mystery, learn more of the past, make things better…”
“Yes, I ventured it once, as did my father and his.” He shook his head. “We found only this cleft in the rock. Perhaps our power was not enough. Or perhaps there is nothing to find any more. But you… who knows? You should try, I think.” He whispered the words in my ear, and his hand on my back urged me forward.
And so I stepped into the small alcove of granite. To an observer who could not sense the power of enchantment, the place would have been unremarkable, save perhaps for the feel of the air. While springtime lay a soft breath on the vale outside, within the alcove it was winter. Or perhaps the cold frost was only my first reaction to an enchantment that was not meant for me. As I walked the narrow passage that led me deep into the rock and ran my hands over the rough surfaces of the walls, speaking the words my father had whispered, the scars on my left arm began to sting as if newly incised. The longer I stayed, the more a bitter frost spread from my arm to the rest of me. Enchantment was everywhere, thrumming, pounding, swelling, filling my veins as if I had twice the blood of a normal man. So close… I summoned my power, drawn from life and healing and the beauties of the mountains and the morning… releasing it into the enchantment. So close… I could feel the walls thinning. So close…
But something wasn’t right. The enchantment would not yield, and soon I was shivering so violently that I couldn’t think. I ran back up the passage and into the daylight. “We’re missing something,” I said, my teeth clattering like a woodpecker’s beak on dead wood. “We need to learn what the words mean.”
Quickly my father bundled me in his cloak and built a fire.
“I’m all right,” I said, “except that I feel like I’ve spent the night naked on Karylis in midwinter.” I had no feeling in my left arm-or so I thought. When my father ran his fingers over my scars, I cried out, for his touch felt like hot iron. My left arm stayed numb and lifeless for almost a week… numb and lifeless and so cold…
I sat up abruptly. I must have fallen asleep as I lay in the winter sunlight. Idly, I rubbed my left arm where it had gone numb and looked about for my companions.
The boy Paulo was communing with the horses that grazed on a few patches of brown grass exposed on the stream bank. When he noticed my eye on him, he grinned at me and performed a hopping dance step, a spin, and an awkward bow. I could not remember ever receiving so winning a thanks. I grinned back at him.
The boy had been in tremendous pain when I joined with him, and in such a case, the relationship of Healer and patient can be very intimate. His fears were exposed for me to share: the terror that he would be more a cripple than he was already, more of a burden on the friends he so admired, beside which dying was of no matter at all. Yet he demonstrated an absolute trust in me. And as I worked and his pain eased, his thoughts kept returning to a horse called Sunlight… as if I might know the beast. This boy knew me.
The girl, Kellea, a Dar’Nethi girl, born in Avonar just before it fell-what a wonder that was-she had recognized me, too, and the Lady Seriana… The lady had called me Aeren when she looked on me that first time in her garden.
Dassine had told me that Aeren was another of my names, but that it was only an alias, not a third life to be remembered. I was grateful for that. The name was connected with my recent history-my mysterious second journey to the Bridge. Perhaps all three of them knew me from that time.
Lady Seriana… earth and sky, who was she? On this morning, when she was so angry with me, jagged rents had again appeared in the span of my vision. Through the terrifying gaps of darkness had poured such an oppression of guilt and sorrow that I would have done almost anything to escape it. But for Bareil nudging me to action, I might never have moved again. No, best not think of the lady.
I lay on my sunny rock as mindless as a cat, half asleep when Bareil came, bringing oatcakes and wine. “Is there some other service I may offer you, my lord?” The lines of worry carved so deep on his brow grieved me sorely.
“I can ask no more than you’ve already done today.”
“I do only as Master Dassine instructed me. Are you fully recovered?”
“For now. You were quick.”
“Then perhaps… The Lady Seriana would very much like to speak with you.”
Speak with the lady? The sunlit meadow suddenly wavered before my eyes, as though I gazed through the heat shimmer of a fire. “No. Not now. Tell her…”
How could I tell her that I was afraid of her? Clearly she knew more than she was telling me, yet I had to trust her, because Dassine did so. But whatever she knew and whatever she was drove me to the brink of madness. Any further along that course, and I would have to abandon the search, just to get away from her. Then I would be left with only the disturbing task of avenging Dassine. Better she think me a boor.
“Just tell her I won’t speak with her now. Perhaps later.”
“Nothing more?”
“Nothing more.”
CHAPTER 16
Seri
Though I tried to brush off Karon’s refusal to speak with me as a passing pique, he didn’t make it easy. As we left the snowy meadow, he vaulted into the saddle and rode out with Kellea before I’d even closed up my pack. When nightfall mandated the next halt, I tried to sidestep our disagreement. “Though the weather’s no warmer, at least the sky’s stayed clear,” I said, sitting down on the log next to him as Kellea doled out our supper, “but a night in Iskeran would still feel better.”
“Indeed.” His porridge might have been the most delicate roast quail for the close attention he paid it.
I jumped up. A mistake to sit too close. Even so near the fire, I felt the chill. “Would you prefer ale or wine? We’ve a bit of both left.”
“Wine, if you please.” He raised his head at that, but his gaze flitted from woods to sky to muddy earth as if I had no physical substance.
Surely this was D’Natheil’s reaction to my scolding and not Karon’s. Dassine had warned me that the lingering echoes of the temperamental Prince would remain with Karon forever. But I would not apologize. I had been right to keep him focused. We had to keep moving.
On the next morning, Paulo discovered the remnants of a camp just off the road. Kellea confirmed that Gerick had been there. Karon said the fire was more than two days dead. Though we rode harder after that, no one pretended optimism. The greater the gap between us and Gerick, the more difficult for Kellea to follow.
Late in the afternoon of the second day from the bandit cave, Kellea called a halt in order to take her bearings. We had ridden all day on a narrow road that was half overgrown with birch saplings and tangled raspberry bushes. Carved stone distance markers, broken and toppled over well back in the dense undergrowth, testified that the road had once been well traveled and much wider. Indeed, when we emerged from the thinning trees onto a broad slope, carpeted with winter-brown grass, the faded ruts and indentations showed the roadway to have been more than forty paces wide, sweeping up and over the top of a gentle ridge. A snowcapped peak was just visible beyond the hilltop, but my uncertain geography gave no clues as to our destination, and I’d found no inscription remaining on the shattered distance markers.
Kellea dismounted and knelt to examine two paths that split off of the main track. Karon did not wait for her direction, however, but pushed on up the hill, halting only when he reached the top.
“He’s chosen the r
ight way,” said Kellea at last, motioning us after him.
We joined Karon on the hilltop and found a view that was indeed worth a pause-the broad valley I’d seen from the bandit cave, no fire-shot frost plumes hanging over it any longer, only heavy gray clouds that promised snow before morning. The valley was much larger than I had imagined, a sweeping vista of grasslands and woodlands, small lakes and streams. The wide-thrown arms of the mountains were softened by leagues of rolling hillsides clad in winter colors, on that day a hundred shades of gray and blue. The valley’s beauty seemed virginal-unscarred by human activity. But for the contrary evidence of the road, I might have believed we were the first to look on it.
Yet the longer we gazed, the more disturbing the quiet. No bird chirped; no insect buzzed. Nothing at all dripped or trickled, hopped, or scurried. And somewhere just beyond the center of the valley was a line of demarcation, straighter than anything nature could devise. Whatever lay beyond that line was dark and indecipherable in the gray light. Uneasy, I turned to ask the others if they knew the place. Paulo, Kellea, and Bareil were staring at Karon, who gazed unblinking on the valley, tears flowing freely down his cheeks. And then I knew.
By more than twenty years he had outlived his family and his birthplace. Before I could speak, he urged his mount forward, moving slowly down the hill.
As we followed Karon into the valley, we saw remnants of human habitation: stone houses overgrown with brambles and dark windows like hollow black eyes, a lone chimney standing in a bramble thicket, rotting fences, fields gone wild, roadside wells and springs so wickedly fouled that only black-and-green sludge lay within twenty paces on any side. But these sights were benign compared to the view as we passed beyond the barrier we had seen from the ridgetop.