by Cindy Dees
He gestured toward the trees. And called out, “Show yourselves, my faithful guardians!”
She gasped as dozens of elves stepped out of trees, heavily armed warriors, battle mages with brightly glowing hands, archers, and more. How she had not seen them before she had no idea.
“These are the zinnzari.”
“The Children of Zinn?” Raina blurted. The old, white-haired kindari elder, had mentioned them. They served the Great Beast Spider, named Zinn.
Gawaine nodded. “The same. My elite personal guard. They and their descendants bind themselves to me in life and join me in death. When they die permanently, their spirits come to this grove where they continue to guard me for eternity. As they arrive, they share what they know of the goings-on in the material realm. Their perspective is limited, but it is more than nothing.”
Will moved away from them, perhaps to examine the elven guards more closely. Or perhaps he wished to converse with Bloodroot, who sulked silently in his tree. Gawaine commenced strolling along the margin of the trees, and she took the opportunity for private conversation with him to ask, “Have you ever heard of a human king, a great mage named Hadrian?”
“Yes, of course. He was before my time, but I know the tale of his reign.”
“Hadrian is said to have fallen into an eternal sleep of some kind, although not the same as yours, I believe. I am told it would take an infusion of ancient magic to wake him. If you were free of this place, could you give him such an infusion?”
“Possibly. It would depend on what put him into that sleep. And I am far from free of this place. Why do you ask this of me?”
“My family, the women of my family, are tied to him by an order of mages who serve his memory. I wish to break that bondage and free my sister and future daughters from this fate.”
Gawaine frowned. Stopped walking and held out his hand to her. “If I may?” he murmured.
She laid her hand in his palm. Massive energy pulsed through him. It was as if she touched the combined life force of all living things on Urth. She gasped as his fingers closed around her hand, their warmth and vibrant magic overwhelming her senses entirely. And something deep within her, equally vibrant and pulsing with life responded, welling up from some source she knew not.
Gawaine looked nearly as startled as she felt. He held her hand a moment more and then released it. She stumbled back, shaken to her core by the brief contact.
He spoke slowly, as if testing each word before he said it to see if he would be allowed to utter it. “Hadrian was a great mage, even for our time. Devoted to his people. When the great destruction of Haelos came, he appears to have taken measures to protect his subjects.”
“What great destruction?”
“Suffice it to say that there was a great battle that nearly destroyed this continent utterly.”
“How did Hadrian protect his subjects?” she prompted when Gawaine did not continue.
“You say the females of your line have been tied to him since the time of his death?”
She nodded. “That is what I have been told.”
Gawaine nodded as well. “I believe that Hadrian bound his power to his bride, and his bride’s life force to his people. Your life force. And that of your ancestors and your descendants.”
She stared. “I do not understand.”
“The greatest gift of female life energy is, at its essence, the giving of life. Birth. Renewal. I believe Hadrian tapped into that. I gather one of your ancestors was near him or with him at the time of the great attack?”
Raina answered dryly, “It was their wedding day. They were about to marry.”
“Even so. Hadrian tied his bride to his people. Enhanced her female life force with his magic and bonded it to his subjects to save them from destruction.”
Raina stared. No one had ever hinted at such a thing to her. And to her knowledge, not to her mother or sister or any of her ancestors who would have written such a thing down.
Gawaine continued reflectively, “Such a feat must have been a tremendous drain upon him. Is it possible that he lies now in a torpor from which his spirit is too magically weakened to recover rather than an actual sleep?”
“It is entirely possible,” she replied in dawning understanding. “The mages who guard him claim to be attempting to strengthen the magic of the women of our line that we might someday bear his children. Perhaps they refer obliquely to using our magic to wake him that he might have children.”
Gawaine said quietly, “Over time, knowledge is inevitably lost. Facts become history, history becomes legends, legends are bent and changed, and finally they are lost altogether as they fade into the mists of time.”
Was it possible that the Mages of Alchizzadon did not know about this bond of Hadrian’s doing? Had the facts of it faded into their current legend of breeding a bride for a dead king, rather than protecting a line of women bonded to a people to save them?
“What would happen if the bond broke?” she asked breathlessly.
“I do not know. What I sense of this bond in you leads me to believe, though, that your well-being, your power, is still directly tied to the well-being of Hadrian’s people—or at least their descendents. If they are strong, you are strong. If you grow weak, they will weaken.”
“What would weaken me?”
“Diluting the bond, I expect. If the women of your line were to marry men of little or no magical power, to have children outside of the bond, those things might weaken the magic of your line and, hence, weaken the bond. You, however, are quite strong magically. I sense no dilution at all in you.”
Had the Mages of Alchizzadon wittingly—and eventually unwittingly—protected Hadrian’s bond through their breeding program, after all? Had their efforts to strengthen the magic of the women of the House of Tyrel strengthened the bond itself? Were they not the villains she’d believed them to be?
She frowned, sorting it through. The mages did the right thing, even if they did not know the truth of why their actions were good. It was reasonable to assume that Gawaine had the right of it: that over time the facts had been lost and the current tradition evolved in their place.
But it was a hard thing to let go of her hatred for the blue-cloaked mages. They had still planned to force her into a relationship she did not want and to force her to produce children to continue the family lineage. Those things she could not forgive.
She looked up at Gawaine in anguish as the rest of it struck her and Justin’s dear visage flashed through her mind. “Then I must never marry of my own choosing. I cannot have children with the man I would love lest I weaken the bond with Hadrian’s people and weaken us all.”
He took a quick step forward as if he would comfort her. His hands lifted, but in the end he did not touch her. He only said gently, “Nothing is writ in stone in life. You may yet find a way to have everything you wish for. There is always hope.”
She did not see how he could be right. If the well-being of an entire people rested upon her and her sister to protect, she could not risk weakening the bond. Ever.
Gawaine’s voice pierced her silent grief. “In the meantime, you seem to have landed in the perfect position to strengthen your bond to the people and for them to strengthen you.”
She looked up at him quickly. “How is that?”
He gestured at her White Heart tabard. “Healing others strengthens you, I should think.”
Funny how the fates worked. She had desperately wanted to avoid the White Heart, and yet here she was. Doing the one thing that would best serve the bond she did not know she bore.
She looked up into Gawaine’s dark, wise gaze. “What happens if I die permanently?”
“It would likely diminish the spirits of your people. Mayhap the bond would jump to another female of your line. Or it could just end.”
“To what effect?” she asked reluctantly.
“Perhaps nothing. Perhaps utter destruction.”
She winced at that. Well then. Apparen
tly, she would not be seeking a way out of the White Heart anytime soon. Nor would she be seeking to interrupt the Mages of Alchizzadon’s practice of only allowing the women of her line to breed with the most powerful mages who were also natives of Hadrian’s lands. She highly doubted she would ever consent to have children with one of them, however. Mayhap she could find another way to preserve the bond and have a family on her own terms. She prayed that she would be allowed the time to figure it out.
She took a deep breath as a great weight lifted from her heart.
Raina glanced across the clearing at Will, where he spoke quietly with Bloodroot. “What must I do to cure Will?”
Gawaine studied her intently for another moment before shifting subjects with her. “You must find a sanguine fruit from Bloodroot’s tree. Not any Bloodthorn, mind you, but his tree. The one he inhabited, or at least the remnant of it. Unfortunately, I do not know where you will find it.”
She nodded her understanding and attended closely as he listed off several more ingredients. He finished with, “You will need to find a master potion maker to mix the antidote. And you will need to hurry.”
“How much time do we have?”
“I do not know. It will depend on any number of factors … how much he has tapped Bloodroot’s powers and interacted with him, how strong the boy’s constitution is. How much healing you can cast into both of them … Weeks. Days. Maybe hours. His spirit appears very weak.”
“And what of you?” she asked low.
“What of me?”
“How do we free you from this place? The peoples of Urth have grave need of you.”
“I know little of this Kothite Empire you speak of. Not all within it may be my enemies.”
She snorted. “They will most certainly think of you as their enemy.” She added belatedly and apologetically, “Please forgive me for speaking so bluntly, Your Majesty.”
He made an impatient face as if apologies from her were entirely unnecessary.
“Please call me Gawaine. My kingdom is a distant memory now.” She nodded as he continued, “That choice still lies ahead of me. If my path should lead me there, I will declare them ally or enemy when the time comes.”
As if there were any doubt how he would declare himself once he saw the devastation wrought by the Kothites upon their subjects and upon the land.
He smiled faintly as if reading her thoughts. “Even so,” he murmured.
“That reminds me,” she blurted. She fumbled in her pouch and came up with the perfect wreath of living, gold-edged leaves, uncrushed in spite of its sojourn in her crowded pouch and her recent violent exertions. “What of this?”
Gawaine’s face lit with pleasure. “My crown.” He added with a sigh, “My regalia is all that remains of Acadia, my mother.”
He reached out for it, and the moment his fingers touched the fresh leaves resting in her hand something powerful, magical, streaked through her. Something really powerful. A spark of enormous magic, orders of magnitude beyond anything she had ever felt before.
She clutched one side of the wreath convulsively, and interestingly enough, Gawaine did the same to the other side. She stared up at him and he stared down at her. Shock registered in his dark eyes. She felt it too. A sense deep down in her bones that the two of them shared a link. She didn’t know how or why, but it drew her to him with inexorable force.
“What was that?” she whispered.
“A connection made,” he murmured. “One of great power. Fate, even.”
… a sleeping king fated to thee as thou art fated to him … Moto’s prophecy came to her abruptly. She’d assumed Cicero’s friend spoke of the Great Mage, Hadrian. But had he spoken of this king instead? What on Urth? Of a sudden, butterflies filled her belly.
Gawaine did not take the crown; rather he pressed it back into her now-trembling hands.
“But it is yours—” she started to protest.
“Not here. Not yet.”
“I don’t understand—”
“It is not time.”
“You do not know what goes on outside of this perfect grove. How can you be so sure it is not time?” she exclaimed.
He did not answer, but rather looked over to Will. “I believe they have finished conversing,” he commented.
What did he mean? A connection made? What kind of connection?
Will glanced up and caught them watching him. He muttered one last, inaudible thing to Bloodroot and started across the grassy space to join them.
She asked low, “What is fated between us?”
Gawaine stared at her intently, as if peering straight into her soul. “As I told your friend, fate is what the stars place before us. Destiny is what we choose to do with that fate. Apparently, you and I are fated to meet again.” He paused, then added low, “That pleases me.”
To her vast frustration, Will’s arrival cut off any further conversation in that vein.
“My apologies for keeping you waiting,” Will intoned politely.
Gawaine murmured back courteously. “Raina inquired about freeing me from this place. It would be prudent, I think, for both of you to hear this.”
As Gawaine began to speak, it felt as if something huge … moved … in the cosmos. As if some gigantic chain of events had been set in motion. And this moment, these words, were the first link in it. If fate did exist, she and Will had affected it in a measurable and significant way by coming here. But to what end? Where would the chain lead them?
She listened with every cell of her being as Gawaine explained, “I do not know where my physical body lies on Urth. But I do know the green dragon, Hemlocke, keeps it. Find her and you will find my body. It is my physical form you must wake if you would free my spirit from this prison.”
Will nodded, listening as intently as she.
“This, too, I know,” Gawaine continued. “Hemlocke has bound the zinnzari into her service in return for allowing them to guard my body. Find the zinnzari and they will know how to find Hemlocke.”
“Who, exactly, are the zinnzari?” Raina asked.
“You named them the Children of Zinn, already. And to anticipate your next question, I do not know where to find Zinn. You said before that the Kothites have broken the Council of Beasts. Perhaps Zinn lives, perhaps not.”
“The zinnzari are a clan of kindari, then?” she blurted.
“I believe they have become such with the passing of much time, yes.”
“How do we find the zinnzari?” Will piped up.
Gawaine nodded at the crown she still held. “Use that to find the other pieces of my regalia. My shield and sword, my bow, and my signet ring may still exist. I expect there will be zinnzari near at least one of them.”
Raina was daunted at the prospect of yet another dangerous quest. But it was not as if she or Will could walk away from this. It was her duty to help the people of this land, and he had sworn to wake the Sleeping King. Neither of them had yet fulfilled their vows.
Gawaine was speaking again. “… this warning I give you. Be extremely careful who you trust and who you ask for help. Even the Great Circle cannot be trusted. Much has changed in my absence.”
“Is there anyone we can trust?” she asked.
“The Elder … if you can find him. But I do not know what form he currently takes. He is a body walker and takes on a new race and form in each incarnation.”
“The same elder whose symbol is an open eye?” she queried.
“That is him,” Gawaine confirmed.
“All right then,” Will said stoutly. “Find the zinnzari to find Hemlocke. Find Hemlocke to find your body. And how will we wake you once we find your body?”
“You will need an antidote to eternal slumber.” Gawaine listed out a set of components they would need to create the enhanced potion, and Raina memorized them carefully.
To Will, she said, “The first order of business is to cure you. Then we find the zinnzari.”
“The first order of business,” he correc
ted, “is to get out of here alive. I don’t know about you, but I do not fancy fighting any more drakken or fire hydras or giant trolls on the way out.”
Gawaine chuckled. “I might be able to help with that. I am not entirely powerless within this realm.”
“Is there any way we can contact you again that does not involve fighting our way back in here and facing all those monsters?” Raina asked.
“This is my dream, and you have entered into it and become part of it. Using the connection the fates forged between us, I believe I shall be able to enter your dreams from time to time, as well. If you do not object.”
Truly? “I do not object,” she breathed.
“I will contact you when I can, then. Safe travels and best of luck to both of you.”
And with that, Raina was falling, or at least it felt like falling, as featureless white mist rushed past her. Without warning, solid ground materialized beneath her and she thudded onto cold, hard ground a few feet in front of the great circular wooden door with its spiderweb of dream-catcher etchings. Will grunted beside her as he sat up.
“How are you?” she asked as she took inventory of her health. The fall and landing did not appear to have caused her any harm.
“I feel terrible,” Will groaned. “I did not realize how bad I felt until the effects of the poison were removed for a little while.”
She nodded sympathetically and helped him to his feet. “We’d better get out of here before any more monsters show up and try to eat us or cook us.”
They tugged on the door, and thankfully it opened slightly under their hands.
“Wait,” Will whispered. “Let me check for that cursed dog.”
She waited nervously as he peered around the corner.
“In its circle,” he reported.
They eased through the portal, sticking close to the wall without touching the glowing mushrooms. They pulled it shut behind them and Raina heard the latches tumble into place. It sounded as if they scrambled themselves automatically.
“One second,” Will whispered. “I want to try something.”
She watched impatiently as he laid hold of the two nearest hanging roots and closed his eyes. A great moving mass of roots began to move toward them, and she cried out, “Stop whatever you’re doing. They’re going to kill us!”