by T. A. Miles
Finally, Alere said, “I will see the Blades united, but from there I cannot promise you anything. The master of the Keirveshen has been destroyed, but the shadows themselves remain. I still feel that I must hunt them to be assured of the safety of my house and my family.”
Tristus should have felt relieved, but instead he felt a weight sinking inside of him. Feeling depressed, he could only nod in response to Alere’s words.
THE DAYS PASSED slowly and silently. Awkwardly, Tristus thought as lay awake on his blankets, gazing into their dying campfire. Alere didn’t actually ride with them, just as he hadn’t throughout the previous journey through the Alabaster Mountains and across the Flatlands. The white elf scouted ahead and occasionally came back to report his findings, none of which had been much to worry about. Tristus found himself constantly thinking back to the start of his journey with Xu Liang and the others. He was sure that they had despised and distrusted him at first, all but Xu Liang and Taya. Xu Liang seemed to have no open opinion and treated him fairly while Taya was the only friend he could count among them for the first several days. Alere had scarcely looked at him, and Tristus could have counted the number of times he’d actually spoken to him on one hand.
How could he have known the elf’s feelings? Where had such feelings come from? What did he mean when he said that his heart had become rebellious? Had he previously been in love with someone else? Why did he ask about Xu Liang—whether or not Tristus had confessed his feelings to the mystic? Why was Shirisae regarding him with such pity? What did she know that he did not?
It was becoming unbearable.
Someone touched him through the darkness, and he jumped involuntarily. In his sleeplessness, his eyes had long grown accustomed to the shifting darkness as the hours of night moved over him—across a moonless, starless sky—and he quickly realized that it was Shirisae kneeling beside him.
“It is your watch,” the lady elf informed him. “You look tired. Have you not slept?”
“I’m fine,” Tristus lied, aware that that wasn’t what she had asked. He sat up and pushed both hands through his hair. Then he sighed and forced a polite smile. “It’s your turn to rest, Shirisae. Sleep well.”
Through the darkness he saw her red lips form a smile.
She touched his face with a sister’s affection, then chastely planted a kiss on his forehead. “I fear that I have placed an unfair burden upon you,” she said gently. “Please forgive me, and try not to think about it so much. I, of all people, should know that fate cannot be rushed or forced. Would you still offer me your heart in friendship, Tristus Edainien?”
“Shirisae,” Tristus said, swallowing the emotions as they climbed his throat. “I gave my heart to you in that way long ago.”
“Then I am content,” she whispered, and hugged him briefly before slipping away into the darkness.
Tristus sighed and wiped his eyes, then rose to find a place to sit and keep an eye on the camp.
They had crossed Windra’s Channel earlier in the day and traveled through gentle hills on their way back to the harsh, dark mountains along the upper edge of the Alabaster Range. They had at least another day’s journey ahead of them, not including the hours it took to ascend to Vilciel. Perhaps there he could find a room to lock himself into and shut out the world for a span. He loved these people dearly, but he didn’t know how to handle their loving him back, or their apparent inability to do so, in one particular case. He hadn’t expected this when he set out from Andaria alone.
Tristus wandered a few yards from the campsite and held his cloak about him with one hand, feeling cold in his armor. Holding Dawnfire in his other hand, he stared south, envisioning the mountains he couldn’t see through the darkness, recalling the city that had stolen his breath and the people he had left there. He missed Taya. Her kindness had come so automatic and unconditional, he felt like he could say anything to her. And he needed someone to talk to about now, someone who would just listen. Shirisae was lucky to have D’mitri. Tristus sometimes wished that he had siblings. He had cousins, but none that he felt particularly close to.
Sensing movement in the open darkness around him, Tristus tensed and took up Dawnfire in both hands. The action reminded him that the spear was the only significant weapon he had left. He’d lost his father’s sword in the bog in front of Vorhaven’s manor. He didn’t think that he needed another weapon, but the sword of the Order had sentimental value.
“It’s me,” Alere announced, and Tristus was finally able to descry the elf’s shape when he slipped down from Breigh’s back.
Tristus relaxed his stance, but felt his insides knotting.
“Sleep if you like,” the elf continued. “There isn’t anything for miles to be concerned about.”
“Thank you,” Tristus said somewhat flatly, “but I’ve slept enough.”
I’ve tried to, at any rate, he added in secret. He should have known better than to think that he could hide anything from Alere, however.
“You have been unable to sleep,” the elf said, simply as a matter of fact.
He seemed as distant and imperturbable as ever, but Tristus would never be able to see him in the same light again. He knew now that there were multiple chambers within the elf’s heart, and that not all of them were storage for vengeance.
Alere seemed to sense this and said, “I have made you uncomfortable.”
“No,” Tristus replied at once. “No, Alere, you haven’t.”
He felt the elf’s clear eyes penetrating the darkness, cutting away the lie so that he could see clearly the truth hidden behind it.
Tristus sighed in defeat. “All right. I am a bit unhinged about this. I never expected...I didn’t think that...”
Alere said nothing, as if waiting for Tristus to finish. When Tristus failed to do so, he cast his own voice into the silence. “This is strange for me as well. I have cared for no one deeply, outside of my family.”
Tristus waited, feeling somehow that the statement was incomplete, that the elf should say he hadn’t loved anyone outside of his family since...since some affair long past. But Alere didn’t say anything more, and suddenly Tristus recalled what Shirisae had said about him, that he was young, even by elf standards. How young? Surely Alere wasn’t...surely he couldn’t mean...
Tristus was unable to finish the thought in his amaze that quickly became dismay. Maybe Alere didn’t actually care for him in that way. Perhaps he was only confused. For an instant Tristus felt almost ten years younger, and then he suddenly felt very old and culpably insensitive to those around him while he was wrapped up in his concerns for himself.
“Alere,” Tristus finally said, and then suddenly realized he didn’t know what else to say. He’d been thinking of all that Gerrick had said to him, but none of it seemed to apply here. For Tristus it had already been established where his interests lay. His problems had stemmed in the past from shame and embarrassment, fear that he was not normal and, worst of all, immoral in the eyes of God.
Alere didn’t know God as He would know the elf, regardless of his beliefs, and it wasn’t clear whether or not Alere’s current inclinations were ingrained or circumstantial.
At length, and more to himself, Tristus said, “I feel as if I know nothing about you.”
“If you knew, it is likely that you would not understand,” Alere replied quietly. “We are vastly different.”
Tristus looked at him across the darkness, feeling leagues away from him. “Who is vastly different? You and I, or elves and humans?”
“Both,” Alere answered. And in the next moment he said, “I cannot withdraw the statement made with my actions, but I will not force the subject.”
Something in the elf’s words irritated Tristus. “Indeed, you cannot withdraw such a statement, nor how boldly it was made. You cannot dismiss it either, Alere.”
“Perhaps you should not have pressed for an answer you were not prepared to accept,” Alere suggested in an even, reasonable tone that made Tristus r
ethink the elf’s maturity, again. He seemed as far removed from boyhood as a man could get without having one foot in his grave.
“How was I to know you would deliver such an answer? You’re closed tighter than a greedy merchant’s purse and I had, after all, only recently crawled out of a slimy, reeking bog.”
Alere laughed just then, and Tristus tried vainly to maintain his anger.
“What?” Tristus demanded. And then his lips rebelled, forming a smile when he continued. “What do you find so...blasted amusing?”
“That I might be inclined to agree with a dwarf,” Alere replied, still smiling, and it was a look that suited him, in spite of himself.
“What do you mean?”
“On reflection, you are more prone to trouble than any man—or elf, for that matter—that I have ever met.”
“I don’t agree with that,” Tristus said, no longer amused. Thoughts of the past crept forward, along with those moments he had been forced to relive in Vorhaven’s manor, under the influence of demon sorcery and the Night Blade.
“Do not take offense,” Alere said, seriously now. “None was intended.”
Tristus nodded, looking away from the elf. “No, I’m sure it wasn’t.” Then he shook his head. “I’m sorry, Alere. Perhaps I am wearier than I believed.”
“You should rest,” Alere advised, and Tristus didn’t realize the elf had come closer until his hand became a gentle weight on his shoulder.
Again, Tristus nodded, avoiding Alere’s pale gaze. “I’ll be fine, Alere. Thank you...for your concern.”
The elf hesitated, and Tristus began to feel pleasantly warm and unpleasantly awkward.
Don’t, he begged in silence while Alere lingered near. Please, don’t.
And then, as if hearing Tristus’ pleas, Alere drew back and left him alone.
A relieved sigh escaped Tristus, and it was several moments before he was able to breathe normally again.
VILCIEL HELD NO awe for Tristus this time. As he returned to Skytown, he felt a malignant terror swelling throughout his body. He had done what he set out to do, and been more successful than he seriously believed possible, finding not only Alere, but the Night Blade as well. However, now the time had finally come to face the consequences of just how he had gone about the deed.
He’d withheld his intentions from Xu Liang, allowed one of the mystic’s guards to abandon his duty, stolen Blue Crane, and in effect stranded the mystic in a strange place with no recourse but to wait and to wonder. He kept thinking of Xu Liang’s quiet anger, the soft tones of disapproval and the delicate frowns that chastened far better than any heated upbraiding Tristus had ever received within the Order. And such tones and expressions hadn’t even been truly aimed at him yet. He could only anticipate the moment, and the remorse already filled his heart to the point of pain. He imagined the organ would burst when he actually beheld Xu Liang’s wrath, as subtle and insidious as a slow-acting toxin.
Tristus would die of guilt. He resigned himself to his fate.
Their arrival was expected in Vilciel, just as before, but rather than griffins and strangers, friends were waiting for them this time. It was Taya’s squeal of delight that brought Tristus somewhat out of his trance. He could not ignore the dwarf maiden when she ran across the snow-covered yard at the top of the final staircase to greet him. He crouched down to meet her, so that she could throw her short arms around his neck instead of his legs, and hugged her back with alacrity. He had indeed missed his little friend.
“What took you so long?” Taya demanded. “I thought something dreadful had happened!”
“Something dreadful did happen,” Tristus replied, absorbing her generous warmth as she continued to hold him. “Thankfully, everyone came away all right.”
“What happened?” Taya asked, deeply concerned. “You’re not hurt?”
“No,” Tristus answered, pulling gently away from her. “I’m all right. I’ll tell you everything later.” He stood to greet Fu Ran. He’d been expecting the large man’s grin, but he was unprepared for the bear hug that came with it.
The Fanese giant stepped back to look at Tristus after nearly crushing him. “You look like you’ve been through all of the Infernal Regions at once.”
“I feel like it,” Tristus sighed.
Fu Ran laughed, folding his arms across his broad chest. He indicated Alere with a flickering glance. “I see you succeeded in recruiting him back into our camp.”
Tristus looked over his shoulder at the stoic white elf, still mounted on Breigh, seeming completely removed from the occasion, except to return D’mitri’s glare when the Phoenix Elf delivered one by way of welcoming his sister back.
“Yes,” Tristus said absently, looking again at Fu Ran when something of more immediate concern suddenly came to mind. “There is something I have to tell you, Fu Ran...about the way Bastien...”
He didn’t get the chance to finish. His attention was drawn, like water from a tipped glass on a canted table, toward the approaching figure of a man he’d last seen barely strong enough to sit up by himself. The mystic’s recovery appeared incredible. He walked again with ease and elegance, his silken robes brushing the snow while he moved without haste. Xu Liang’s hair was pulled back from his face once more, revealing not the beauty that Tristus recalled, but one greater, one earthlier, as his spiritual grace had retreated back within him. He was still thin, but he appeared less fragile and there was actually color in his cheeks, and a luster in his dark eyes that seemed to reflect life, rather than the magic that had been sustaining him before. His expression was tranquil, affirming his exquisite fairness and at the same time peeling apart Tristus’ heart, relieving the pressure that had been building since he started up the mountain upon which Vilciel stood.
Xu Liang approached silently, trailed by Gai Ping and the other guards that had stayed in Vilciel. The Fanese warriors fell back just before the mystic reached Tristus, whereupon Xu Liang proceeded to bow, and said neutrally, “Welcome back, Tristus Edainien. I am pleased to see that you and the others have returned safely.”
Tristus didn’t know what to say, moved by the gesture and stunned by the lack of reproach. He said nothing, and was quickly distracted by Guang Ci, who came forward just when Xu Liang straightened from his bow.
The guard held the Night Blade flat in both hands and dropped onto one knee. He bowed his head and spoke respectfully in Fanese.
Xu Liang stared at the black sword as if it had no recognizable shape or form. A moment of silent study deciphered what was being held before him—what was being offered to him—and he finally gave Guang Ci his response. The words meant nothing to Tristus, but the guard’s actions seemed to explain.
Guang Ci pulled the Night Blade closer to himself, then stood, bowing to his superior, and speaking in what seemed to be humble acceptance to the honor that had been bestowed upon him.
The mystic looked to Alere next, silently, then at Tristus again, and finally at all of them. “I request an audience with all of you indoors. Please come after you have sufficiently rested and refreshed yourselves.”
And then he bowed once more and left.
The formality of the affair made Tristus wonder if he should expect anger after they’d gone in, out of the view of Vilciel’s general public.
“How is he?” Tristus asked Fu Ran, watching the mystic depart.
“He seems normal,” the former guard said, shrugging as if unconcerned.
Tristus frowned, confused until Tarfan stepped forward and explained. “The mage and the ox here aren’t on speaking terms at the moment.”
Tristus sighed heavily, wondering if the Swords truly represented order, having selected bearers in such turmoil as they happened to be. And when it wasn’t the bearers directly, then it was the people they needed to support them.
“He’s been having nightmares,” Taya said gently. “He doesn’t seem to remember them much when he wakes, but they make him feverish. He doesn’t complain, but I’ve seen him cl
utching at his chest like there’s a tightness or a burning inside, and I’ve heard him coughing. Not badly, but still it’s clear that he isn’t completely recovered from the aftermath of Ahjenta’s Flame.”
“Did you talk to the priestess?” Tristus asked, his concern deepening. He wondered if Xu Liang could still reject the Flame and die anyway, after all their efforts and his.
“Ahjenta talked to us,” Tarfan informed peevishly. “She’s more confusing to listen to than Xu Liang when he’s speaking Fanese.”
“He’ll be all right,” Fu Ran finally said, irritably. “He’s stronger than he looks.” He clapped Tristus on the shoulder. “Come on. It’s a long walk back to the rooms. You can tell us all about your journey into Upper Yvaria along the way.”
XU LIANG STOOD upon the ledge of the enormous window of his borrowed dragon-sized room. He looked out at the cloud-layered horizon until he sensed the arrival of his guests. Shortly afterward, he heard them.
Shirisae had come first, leading D’mitri, Tristus, and the dwarves. Guang Ci arrived next, separated from his fellows—who guarded the entrance of the vast room—by the sacred Blade he now carried. Now Xu Liang understood why the young man found it so easy to disregard duty as he had when he left Vilciel with the knight. It was his destiny to come into possession of the Night Blade.
Fu Ran entered the room alone, as did Alere, whom Xu Liang had honestly not been expecting to see again in this lifetime. Perhaps the elf did not feel that his personal quest was over. Or perhaps he yet found himself drawn to his destiny as the bearer of the Twilight Blade.
When everyone had arrived, Xu Liang turned to face them. He gestured to the floor. “Please, bearers of the Celestial Blades, place your weapons here and then sit down, if you will. I must apologize, by the way, for this room’s lack of accommodation.”
Predictably, Tristus came forward first, and laid Dawnfire almost reverently upon the stone floor, as if in offering. Guang Ci followed, delayed only by Fu Ran’s belated translation of Xu Liang’s western words. The Dawn Blade and the Night Blade responded to each other, gleaming faintly, like familiar classmates whispering to one another while their tutor’s back was turned.