by Cindy Dees
For her part, Sha’Li seemed struck speechless.
Lunimar—for who else could this person be?—bent down and lifted the mug to his lips. “Very nice,” he murmured.
Rynn smiled and said politely, “I’m pleased to learn that the elder beings have discerning palates.”
Lunimar threw his head back and laughed, a rich, joyous sound. When his humor passed, he addressed Sha’Li. “Why have you summoned me here, White Guardian?”
“My friend,” she gestured to Kendrick, “has suffered a great loss. He was ritually gifted with the power of the were-boar by a nature guardian, one Kerryl Moonrunner. But through no doing of his own, that power was stripped from him by another being of great power and, I fear, great malice. Kendrick suffers terribly from the loss of that part of himself, and it is my fondest wish that you show him a path by which he might one day regain his gift.”
Lunimar turned to face Kendrick. “How did you find living with the were-gift?”
“Difficult at best. Agonizing at worst,” Kendrick answered.
“And yet you seek to regain this curse?”
“Through the eyes of my mentor, Kerryl Moonrunner, I saw some of the threats that even now approach this land and these people. How could I not accept the power along with the pain that I might better protect them?”
“A worthy answer.” Lunimar stepped forward and laid a hand on one of Kendrick’s shoulders. The two men stared at each other for a long time. Will got the feeling some sort of silent interview was being conducted.
At length, Lunimar’s hand fell away from Kendrick. “I have seen into your heart, and it is pure. You are worthy of the gifts you were given and which you ask for once more.”
Kendrick bowed his head. “Honestly, my lord, I do not think so.”
“Which is exactly why I say what I do. Pride has been the downfall of many a powerful warrior.”
The words went straight to Will’s heart, a warning and advice to live by. If he didn’t know better, he would say Lunimar had made the statement specifically to him. He bowed his head, acknowledging and accepting the wisdom.
Which was why he didn’t see exactly what happened next. A bright flash of light made him flinch, partly blinded. When he looked up, both Kendrick and Lunimar were bathed in the shaft of moonlight, glowing brightly. As quickly as it had come, the light departed, leaving Will blinking and straining to see in the sudden dark.
Gradually, his night vision returned, and the clearing came into focus once more, a pale shaft of moonlight—no brighter or dimmer than usual—bathed Kendrick, on his knees now beside the mug and plate on the ground. The man in white was gone.
“What in name of Under Urth was that?” Eben demanded, rushing forward to help Kendrick to his feet.
“Your cheek!” Rosana exclaimed.
Will saw Kendrick reach up and brush at something on his face. A mark. A gold crescent overlaid upon a black eight-pointed star. “You’re marked, Kendrick! Just like Sha’Li. Well, not just like her. Your mark is gold, where hers is white.”
“Does that mean he has accepted me?” Kendrick asked wonderingly.
“It means more than that,” Sha’Li said soberly. “It means he has granted your request. That’s the mark of the Chosen of the Moon.”
“What does that mean?” Kendrick asked.
Sha’Li smiled. “I’m not sure. But I suppose you’ll find out.”
“Am I a were-creature again?”
She shrugged. “Most tribe members come by their powers gradually, over a period of time. I have never seen Lunimar himself gift someone, though. Maybe you have all the powers of the marked ones, or maybe you still have to earn them.”
For the first time in a very long time, Kendrick’s shoulders were square, his head held high, as he walked out of that moonlight and back to their campfire. Will followed behind, profoundly relieved. They needed their friend back at full speed if they were to succeed in their increasingly perilous quest.
In a moment of prescience, it dawned on Will that Lunimar had not randomly gifted Kendrick with were-powers. There had to be an urgent purpose behind such a boon.
So much for feeling relieved. What did the greater beings know that he didn’t?
CHAPTER
26
To say trekking through the Thirst was rigorous didn’t quite capture the exhaustion and discomfort of this journey. Raina’s usual headache was supplemented by constant pain from heat, dehydration, and blinding sun during the days. The nights were better, but the sand continually sucked at her feet, weighing down each step and getting inside her boots, rubbing her ankles and soles raw.
Without Hatma, they never would have found the seeps under rocks or tiny oases tucked in deep valleys that kept them supplied with life-giving water. Raina began to forget what green and growing things looked like as the days passed, the vast and unrelenting Thirst around them nothing but sand and more sand.
One night as they stopped to eat and refill their skins at a seep, Hatma commented, “They say that once this place was covered by water. The Estarran Sea used to curve inland all the way to the western end of Iridu. Once I found the skeleton of a great fish in the Silver Sands, uncovered by a sandstorm.”
“What are the Silver Sands exactly?” Raina asked.
“Magical sands infused with silver. Changelings who venture into this region often lose their minds. They wander off and die unless they can be convinced to listen to their companions.”
“Why changelings?” she asked.
“Unknown” was Hatma’s only reply.
The fifth morning of their trek, as they pitched camp in the lee of a dune, Raina broke down and asked their guide, “How much longer do you think it will take to reach this zinnzari woman?”
“Tonight, if the weather holds.”
Lakanos looked up at the sky quickly. “What’s wrong with the weather?”
“Storm’s brewing,” their guide muttered.
Raina looked up at the sky, which was the same dirty color of blue that it had been every day of their trek. “How do you know?”
“I feel it in my bones.”
Cicero asked the scout, “How bad does it feel?”
Hatma shrugged. “Bad enough. Sometimes we get lines of storms. Several light storms come through, and just when you think it’s cleared up and life can go back to normal, the big one hits.”
“Sounds like a hurricane,” Lakanos remarked.
“Aye,” Hatma agreed.
A sand hurricane? That sounded ominous.
“We should get an early start tonight,” Hatma declared.
Lakanos agreed quickly and then helped Raina finish setting up her tent. She wasted no time crawling into it to rest. If they were going to be racing a sandstorm, she would need all her strength tonight.
Indeed, when Hatma reached into Raina’s tent a little before sunset, wind whipped around the guide, peppering Raina’s skin with sharp grains of sand, a harbinger of things to come. They wrapped their bodies from head to toe, tying shut sleeves and pant legs with lengths of sinew, using their sunshades over their eyes even though dusk was falling. Anything to keep the blowing sand from creeping into their clothes and scouring at the tiniest patch of exposed flesh.
“Drink as much water as you can,” Hatma instructed them. “It’s easier to carry inside of you than on your back if we have to move fast.”
While the three of them complied, guzzling down as much water as they could, their guide continued, “If you get separated from the rest of us, for the Lady’s sake, stand still. Do not wander around blind in the storm, or we’ll never find you. Hunker down. Use your tarp as a tent. It’ll get buried, so every hour or so you’ll have to dig a tunnel out to the side, then bending up to the surface so you can get air. Make the bend in the tunnel or the wind will sandblast you to death.”
That sounded like a rather unpleasant way to die.
Hatma unrolled a long rope and shocked Raina by actually tying their waists together as sh
e instructed, “Stay close and keep the rope slack so you don’t pull each other off your feet.”
“I thought you said we would beat the storm to our destination!” Raina shouted to be heard over the howling winds.
“And so we shall if you all can keep the pace I set tonight,” Hatma replied.
“This isn’t the storm?” she shouted.
Hatma’s laughter was carried away on the wind, but Raina got the gist of what the guide thought of that.
Leaning into the wind, Hatma set out, leading the three of them like pets on a leash. How the guide saw where to go or maintained any sense of directional orientation, Raina hadn’t the slightest idea. For the most part, she kept her head down, her face turned away from the worst of the blowing sand, and followed the rope blindly. Thankfully, Lakanos’s bulk blocked some of the gale. But still, it was unbelievably hard going, every step requiring immense effort and concentration.
They did not stop to eat, but rather chewed on tough dried meat as they slogged along. She was as tired as she’d ever been, and she’d been pretty thoroughly exhausted on several occasions over the past year or two.
Darkness set in, and the world narrowed down to the constant howl of the wind and the shifting sand swirling around her ankles. Sky and sand blended into one, and she moved through it in a daze of fatigue and pain.
All of a sudden, she bumped into something large and hard, oomphing as the breath rushed out of her. Lakanos had stopped in front of her, and she’d run right into him.
“Are you all right?” he shouted back at her.
“Yes! You?”
“Fine. We’ve reached a cave. Watch your head.”
Without his warning, she undoubtedly would have plowed right into the low overhang. She paused to shout the warning over her shoulder to Cicero and then ducked inside. The shock of stillness was palpable.
She shook herself, sending a cascade of sand to the floor of the room-sized cave. Then she unwrapped her head and peeled back the layers of her clothing. More sand piled up at her feet. “There. Much better.”
Hatma grinned at her. “You did well for a gai-gee.”
“A what?” Raina asked.
“An outsider. Someone not born to the sands. I knew the warriors could keep up with me. But you I was not so sure of.”
“The daughters of Tyrel are tough,” she declared stoutly.
Cicero grinned. “Or merely too stubborn to know when to stop.”
Lakanos found that hilarious and joined the kindari in laughing at her.
Raina shrugged, secretly well pleased with herself. She’d kept up under the most trying of conditions. Glancing around the modest cave, she asked, “Where are we?”
“This cave lies a day’s walk from Kahfes, the great crossroads of the Thirst. It is here I last saw the old shaman you described.”
Cicero was wandering around the room, using a hand torch to examine the place. “Someone’s been here recently. Looks like they live here. Is there another chamber farther in?”
Hatma smiled. “Well done, wild elf. This is an outer chamber that serves as a buffer against storms and heat. The dwellers of this place make their homes deeper into the rock.”
“Ah ha!” Cicero exclaimed. “Clever arrangement.”
Raina moved over to the opening he was examining. A broad sheet of rock stood in front of a gap accessible from either side of the big rock. Beyond lay an opening into a much larger cave.
A dozen doorways, these blocked by hanging skins or wooden doors, opened off the central cave. As soon as they entered the space, several men appeared in the doorways, armed with wicked curved swords and hard expressions. But as soon as they spotted Hatma, their demeanors changed entirely. Greetings and thumps on the back were exchanged.
One of them asked, “And who do you bring along with you like a gaggle of lost sheep?”
Hatma made quick introductions all around as Raina and the others continued unwrapping and uncloaking. Raina got down to the White Heart tabard, and an excited exclamation went up. Immediately, a half dozen children and various people with injuries and illnesses came out of the side caves.
Without even stopping to think about it, Raina reached out to the listless toddler who looked the most desperately sick, lolling in his father’s arms. She gathered healing and surged it into the child.
And reeled back, clasping her head in agony.
Lakanos reached her side first. “What ails you?” he asked urgently under his breath.
“It’s nothing,” she managed. Blinking hard, she cleared her head of the searing agony and moved forward to the next child. This time she was more judicious in the amount of magic she summoned, gathering only enough to turn the tide of the child’s hacking cough toward healing. Steeling herself as she cast the spell into the child, she managed not to react to the pain this time.
And then she started healing adults. Waves of emotions broke over her. Fear, rage, lust, envy, longing, and grief poured through her until she choked on them, barely able to force words past the feelings to shape her healing. But vividly aware of Lakanos watching her like a hawk, she gritted her teeth and continued healing her way through the cave’s denizens.
Before she’d gotten halfway through the adults, she felt like vomiting. It was too much. Her mind and spirit could not contain the excess of feelings and impulses, memories and suffering. She was losing herself in all of it. Losing her mind.
In truth, it was a minor bit of healing for her, and yet she felt on the verge of passing out. She knew full well that if Lakanos figured out how sick she really was, he would yank her out of this place and march her straight back to Dupree whether she liked it or not.
She was so close to finding Gawaine. She and her friends had been working at this for two years. Not to mention Vesper was closing in on him as well. She had to keep going until they woke the Sleeping King.
It didn’t help matters when Lakanos stepped close behind her to mutter, “You’re positively gray. What’s going on with you? I’ve heard tales of you casting ten times this much magic without breaking a sweat.”
“I’m fine.”
His eyes narrowed, and she said quickly, “We’ve had a hard journey, and I’m a little tired. That’s all.”
She turned to heal the next person, a man who was suffering from some sort of fever that had him sweating and shivering at the same time. A spell for curing disease was in order—
The next thing she knew, she registered being on her back. In a dark place, the air thick with incense and the smell of smoke. Voices spoke quietly over her head.
“—seen it among my kind before.” The voice was female, but old. Raspy.
“How did you fix it?” This voice was male. Deep. Lakanos.
She kept her eyes closed, shamelessly eavesdropping on their conversation.
“My kind were closely tied to the land, and it was from there they drew their magic. The most talented casters not only drew magic but also the thoughts and feelings of the wild creatures to them.”
“How did that work out?”
“Some learned to control the feelings. Block them out. Some didn’t. Like your girl here.”
“What happened to them?”
“They died.”
A long pause, then, “Unacceptable. There must be a way to fix her.”
“In truth, I’m amazed that the amount of healing she did earlier didn’t drop her where she stood. She should already be dead.”
“Mayhap she is strong enough to overcome this affliction.”
“Make no mistake about it, warrior. No mage survives this affliction for long. She’ll die, and soon.”
“There has to be a way to save her!”
“If she stops using magic completely, she’ll stop drawing the emotions that overwhelm her.”
“She’s White Heart.”
“You asked how to save her. I answered.”
“You never found another way to fix your healers?” Lakanos asked. Raina was surprised at the
note of desperation in his voice. He was genuinely worried about her.
Leather squeaked as if someone had shifted position on a hide-covered cushion. “My people have tried everything. Eventually, for some reason, every mage so afflicted casts too much magic and gets lost in the wilding. It’s too much for their bodies and minds to handle, and they die.”
Raina lay very still, absorbing that news in dismay. Dry fingertips touched her temple, and Raina lurched, surprised, looking up into an ancient face lined with age …
… and more importantly, lined with faint, red brown lines in the circular scallops of a spiderweb.
“You’re zinnzari?” Raina asked.
“I am. And who are you, child?”
“My name is Raina. I need to speak with you urgently and in private.” She started to sit up, but a combination of the woman’s wiry hand on her shoulder and the sudden return of smashing pain to her skull conspired to force her back down.
“Rest, child. You’re not going anywhere soon.”
“Where am I?”
“In my hovel. A little dustup is blowing outside, and you need to regain your strength. You know better than to use your magic in your current state, do you not?”
She answered in a small voice, “Yes.”
“Good. Then sleep. It’ll do you good.”
She closed her eyes and dozed until returning voices woke her once more. Beside the fire, the shaman sat on a low cushion covered with some sort of furred pelt. Cicero sat on the floor beside her, and Raina noticed that Lakanos chose to stay by the door, his hand resting on the pommel of his sword. The woman was staring at her, however.
The shaman said, “Hatma tells me you’ve made a very long journey to find me.”
“I have,” Raina answered carefully, testing the pain in her skull. Back down to tolerable levels. Thank the Lady. Apparently, this had not been the day she killed herself by casting too much magic.
“What brings you to see me, child?”
Gawaine’s warning firmly in mind that the zinnzari would likely not be enthusiastic about helping her wake their legendary king, Raina took a deep breath. “These past few years, my friends and I have sought to wake the Sleeping King, a man you know as King Gawaine of Gandymere.”