Restoration

by Carol Berg

  “As my scars have done? Kasparian says that even these two that remain may vanish in time.” I helped myself to a glass of wine, marveling that my hand was steady. “Perhaps you’ve allowed them to stay to remind me of human perfidy.” Let him make what he would of my bitterness. I was interested only in his answer.

  “Ah, you are indeed perceptive. These two blemishes ... rascally difficult to erase. Their roots delve so deep. We’ve scarcely begun your education—so many, many lessons to be learned—but we’ve no need to rush, and reminders will be valuable.” He whirled about, his face alight as if the moon had risen in the southern sky beyond his garden windows. “Everything of your human past will be altered in the moment of your change. Not lost, but made remote, as if it belonged to someone else, like a story told you in your youth. Without some mitigation, such a drastic shift of mind would be frightening, I think, and I would not have you feel that I’ve stolen your life. So I’ve allowed these last physical anchors to remain until you can release them yourself, along with the painful memories they represent.”

  Gods have mercy, he was proud of his plan. He was doing me a “kindness.” I breathed a little easier and, behind my folded arms, kneaded the ache buried deep in my side beneath the “blemish.” A flimsy plan had come to me in the hours since I had returned from the gamarands. A dreadful gamble with incalculable stakes. And I would not be able to depend upon myself to make the proper moves; the very thought made me queasy.

  “Good enough,” I said. “I just want to be done with the business. Leave me the reminders. I’d rather not be drawn into stupid plans like this last one ... gods, their ignorant, foolish schemes. All it would have taken to prevent this disaster was for Aleksander to entrust his plan to the intermediary I had chosen. What arrogant stupidity. I thought he had learned better.”

  “You are a tool they use for their own purposes,” said Nyel. “What friend forces his comrade into violating his conscience?”

  Night settled on the mountain, the day’s clouds scattered with the north wind. The clearing weather left the air cold, and the stars that popped out of the blackening sky were hard-edged like glass. As Nyel summoned Kasparian to send us into the world of dreams, I paced and fidgeted, grateful at the Madonai’s occupation that allowed my thoughts to focus on my dreamer and what I was going to say.

  Before I had composed half the words I needed, Nyel returned with Kasparian in tow. The bullish Madonai’s dislike burned steady as he arranged the chairs about the game table. Verdonne’s revelations had explained Kasparian’s hatred and jealousy. How bitter to see your master bestow his gifts upon your jailer ... upon one who was not born Madonai ... upon the son who had not loved his father as well as the attellé who had given up everything to share his master’s exile. How unjust must fate appear to such a one.

  Kasparian lit a candle as we settled around the table. A spider crawled up the pillar of wax. Nyel, his lean face eager, had the enchantment poised on his tongue, and before the first drip of wax had slumped down the candle, engulfing the struggling spider, I was floating above the sea of dreams.

  She was only dozing. The trail of her dream was so faint and so quickly passed that I came near missing it. But explosive enchantment had possessed me from the moment of Nyel’s touch, and I would not have failed to take the path of my desire had her dream been the length of a snowflake’s life in desert noonday.

  “Seyonne!” Elinor pressed her back against the lemon tree, sleep startled from her dark eyes. “What are you doing here?” Her aspect was wary, but not cowering, which spoke everything necessary about her courage. To wake from an afternoon drowse and see a man standing over you clothed in naught but a sword belt and garish light could be nothing but disconcerting, especially when the last you’d heard of him was that he had brought down a building to crush your foster brother’s head. Unfortunately I was not going to ease her mind on that afternoon.

  “I’ve come for my son. It’s time for him to live with me.”

  I might well have struck her. She leaped to her feet, face flushed, all uncertainty dismissed. “You gave me your word!”

  “Things change,” I said.

  “You said you would suffer anything to keep Evan safe and loved and happy,” she said. “I believed you.”

  “And so I will do. Where is he?”

  “Look at yourself, Seyonne! You’ll frighten him. You frighten all of us now.”

  “Do you doubt me, too, Mistress? What more must I do to prove myself?” We stood face-to-face on the steep, dry slope overlooking the crude tent settlement where I had last visited my child. The sun angle was low, the world streaked and splashed with red-gold light that no one would mistake for darkness. “I will not discuss this. It’s time Evan learned of me and of his rightful place in the world.”

  Her graceful jaw grew hard. “And what would he learn? We don’t even know what you are anymore. Even the Prince fears you’ve changed into something other. How can I hand over my child to one who—?”

  “Evan is my child. He should be with me, not running about the desert with a band of miserable outlaws in the middle of a human war. With your stupidities and your ignorance, you’ll all be dead within the year.” I gathered a wind to fill my wings and took a step toward the tall woman. “Do not doubt my intent, and do not test me. Remember Parassa.”

  Her bold flush had faded, but she neither backed away nor withered under my glare. “None of us will forget Parassa. Was it not Parassa where your blind blood thirst killed my brother Farrol—a man who called you friend and crippled Gorrid—a man of honor and faith who has sacrificed his personal vengeance to serve your Prince? Where seven of Lord Kiril’s men fell at your hand because you would not lower yourself to speak to the Aveddi? What makes you think you are fit to care for a child?”

  True. All true. Her accusations stung like the tail of a whip. And now I was to violate the one vow I had thought inviolable. I was to put my child in danger. But I knew my friends, and nothing else would make them believe ... “Tell me where he is, or I’ll burn every tent in this camp to find him.” My voice thundered through the dusty air, threatening to crack the rocks and split the trees. “I’ll wring the necks of your people one by one if you try to keep him from me.”

  “Fires of heaven.” At last she began to believe.

  I swept my wings and took flight, circling about her like a vulture over carrion, shouting so that all in the settlement below would hear me. “Where is my son?”

  “All right, I’ll show you.” She picked her way down the slope, stumbling a few times in her hurry. However, she did not stop thinking. “You’ll take him to Kir‘Navarrin?” she said, calling up to me.

  “It is his home. His right.”

  “You’ll need someone to care for him. He’s so small ...”

  “I can conjure servants to see to his needs.” I swept my wings again, swirling the dust around her.

  “Conjure servants ...” She squinted up at me as if trying to see through my skin, and then she shook her head. “Don’t you understand? He’s afraid of strangers. It’s usual for children of his age. You can‘t—”

  “He’ll learn.”

  She slipped on a patch of loose rock and almost lost her balance. Her breathing ragged, she stopped for a moment to test her footing and scan the slope for a safer route. The people of the encampment had started to gather, shading their eyes against the last sunbeams and staring up at us. “No matter what you’ve become, you cannot be cruel enough to take a child away from everyone and everything he’s ever known.”

  “Do not tell me what I can and cannot do! Am I still a slave? Everyone tries to set my course, telling me do this, do that, hold back, take care, you must, you must not. But things will be different now. I have found my true home, my true form. I have inherited such power as you cannot imagine and will have scarcely come into my prime long after you and these human creatures are dust. I wish my son to inherit my father’s legacy. And I will have the boy out of danger.
Damn your insolent—”

  “And are there no dangers in your new realm?” She interrupted my bellowing, her gaze unwavering.

  An arrow of fear pierced my wits as if shot straight from Elinor’s eyes. Careful. Careful. I had planned to say these things—to make her fear me. But power was swelling my shoulders and my chest and my loins, was stretching my wings, threatening to distract me from my purpose. I was ready to lash out at her in ways I never intended.

  Brutally, I forced myself to concentrate. I would be changed only when I returned to Nyel, when my dreamer slept again. Keep to the plan. Nyel is watching ... “I am not unreasonable. You may send one person with him.” Unless I could make this plan work, my child was safe nowhere.

  I soared upward before she could answer and flew toward the settlement. As Elinor ran the last steep descent, I furled my wings and touched my feet to the dusty road a few hundred paces from the gathering crowd. I folded my arms and turned my back to them.

  Behind me, shuffling steps and low murmurs gave way to a firm tread and familiar voice. “Speak with me, Seyonne.” Aleksander’s footsteps stopped at a considerable distance.

  I fixed my eyes on Elinor and said nothing. Only a few moments later, when the woman ran breathlessly down the road to join him, did I turn to the Prince. The crowd had parted to let him pass, and he bore himself as a king confronting a messenger from an unknown realm. Feyd stood behind, his head bowed where I could not see his face. Was the Suzaini youth shamed that I had come to someone else or was he hiding his relief? Beside the Prince stood a stone-faced Blaise, holding my son. Evan was looking at me curiously, a finger stuck in his mouth as he clung to the bony Ezzarian.

  I forced my attention to Elinor. “Who will accompany the child?” I said, taking up as if there were not a hundred new wit nesses to our conversation.

  Elinor looked from me to the others and back, beads of sweat glistening on her forehead. “Seyonne has come for Evan,” she said to the others. “He wants to take the boy to safety in Kir‘-Navarrin.” Her words spilled out quickly, shutting off the protests that Aleksander and Blaise had ready. “He is ... adamant ... so there’s no use arguing. Please don’t fuss. And someone must go with them so Evan won’t be afraid. I’m going to go.”

  “Linnie, you can‘t,” said Blaise, biting back his fury. “You heard Fiona tell us of her sickness. You wouldn’t survive for more than a few months.”

  “We’ll face that when it comes,” she said.

  “I’ll go,” said Blaise. “The boy is comfortable with me, and I can—”

  Elinor shook her head. “You’re needed here; the Aveddi depends on you, and the future of this Empire is more important than any one of us. Besides, Seyonne charged me with Evan’s care. I will not abandon my child.”

  “As you wish.” I nodded to Elinor as if the others had not spoken. “Make what preparations you need. I will require your brother to escort you through the gateway of Dasiet Homol to the tower in the gamarand wood. Once there, he will open the way as Fiona described it, but only you and the child will proceed to the room at the top of the tower. Be warned that I will permit no deviations from my commands. In the tower room, you have but to request entrance to the fortress, and you will pass through. Is all clear?” Elinor nodded, and I continued. “This is for the child’s safety. For his future. Fathers must do what is necessary for their sons, and sons must know their fathers and remember them.”

  “Linnie ...” Blaise’s plea was to no avail. Elinor kissed him and said he needed to see to horses and water while she gathered up Evan’s things.

  I walked away from the crowd to wait, deliberately ignoring them again. Their hostility was like a bitter wind, and I felt the furtive movements of hands to knives and swords. When the first boot moved in my direction, I whirled about and snarled, filling my wings and shooting fire from my fingers.

  “Off with you,” said a quiet command. “You’ve not skills enough to face him.” When the crowd withdrew, I turned away again, watching the moon climb off the eastern flank of the valley. Soon only Aleksander stood behind me; I felt his eyes hot on my back. “Talk to me, Seyonne. Or must I call you some other name? Where is my friend ... my brother... the man who saved my life and my soul and taught me how to use them? There are things I would tell him, news he would be glad to share.”

  I made myself stone ... or as near to it as a shapeshifter dares go.

  “I need to know if my friend intends to return, for I sorely need his help and his wisdom. But only his.” Steps brought him closer. “I understand what happened at Parassa. Everyone understands—even Blaise. Holy Athos, Seyonne, I hold no blame to you that I don’t hold to myself. More live because of you than died because of you. But it can’t happen again. Please, let me know that you hear me.”

  But I did not turn, and I did not speak, and, after a while, he walked away.

  Within half an hour, Blaise brought the horses. While others loaded bundles and waterskins on the saddles, Aleksander stood to the side. Soon Elinor came to me, carrying my wide-eyed son in her arms. “Is there nothing I can do to persuade you to wait awhile?” she said. “Until he is a little older and can understand what’s happening?”

  “Only if you can assure me that this war ends today.” I paused for a moment, glaring at her. “I thought not.” I made sure my voice could be heard by all. “You may inform any who are interested that since he cannot trust my judgment, I no longer serve your Aveddi, but only my own purposes. You are correct that I am not as I was. But I’ll not abandon this world to chaos and confusion. I will continue to aid in this conflict as I promised, and I will expect all agreements and compacts with me to be similarly upheld. Humans are renowned for breaking faith. I still wear two scars that remind me of it every hour.” I pointed to the two that remained.

  I believed I felt a change in Aleksander ... a caught breath ... a stiffening back ... a grave surety. But I was not looking at him, so I could not be certain. Faith.

  I flew high, watching as Elinor and Blaise held a last hurried conference with Aleksander, made hasty farewells to the rest of the assembly, and set out riding through the moonlit desert, their forms blurring on occasion as Blaise worked his magic. Elinor leaned forward in the saddle as if riding into battle, the wind catching tendrils of her long hair and whipping them across her face. Evan rode in front of Blaise, the man’s body a shield around the sleepy child. Near moonset the weary horses plodded up the hill to the Place of the Pillars, the twin ranks of white stone that stretched moon shadows across the grass. Blaise built a small fire. As her brother began the work to open the gateway, Elinor wrapped Evan in a blanket and held him in her lap, rocking him slowly. I sat atop a distant pillar and watched them, weaving an enchantment of drowsiness and casting it over the woman.

  My choice was made for Evan’s safety. For all of them, so I told myself, though the cold sweat that trickled down my spine spoke of doubt. For Evan to be secure, I must put him in danger, trusting Elinor to shield and comfort him through whatever was to come. But I had been wrong so many times, had misjudged so sorely, and my craving was so great that it could be clouding my judgment. These seeds I sowed could be the very kernels of destruction. The prophecies that had shaped my people’s history had described a dreadful ending. A square of stone from a mosaic portrayed one possible future of my deeds as unrelieved blackness, and to touch that palm-sized square was to feel the despair of the world. But I clung to Gaspar’s words. You must walk the path you’ve chosen. For the light to triumph, there must be darkness. An old man’s rambling was my hope. Not my sword arm, not my senses, not my insights or intelligence or experience. Only a desert-born vision, a woman’s courage, and a prince’s strength and faithfulness.

  Elinor’s head began to droop. I inhaled the clean, sweet air of the human world, and as the woman settled beside her child to sleep, I turned away and embraced the darkness of my dreaming.

  What must it feel like for the shore when the ocean’s tide rolls out? Teemi
ng life withdrawn. Ceaseless activity stilled. The land’s edge washed clean, only flotsam and jetsam remaining to be withered by sun or picked at by birds. Ponderous weight removed, and the essence of sand and rock left exposed to bask in the day’s warmth. Glorious simplicity. So I felt when I stood up from Nyel’s game table no longer human.

  I stretched out my arms and examined them. Both hands present, forearms ridged with sinew, elbows, broad shoulders ... nothing to disturb the eye. Nor anything to restrict further examination, for I stood halfway between the fire and the garden window, unclothed save for my sword belt. Outdoors it was snowing. Legs whole and well formed. I did not glow golden in this realm. Chest. Little hair ... I’d never had much. The knotted white line just below the ribs on my right side speaks of unfaithfulness, mistrust, betrayal, ignorance. Belly. Loins. Yes, still male, too, all parts intact. Wings ... a thrill in my gut when I felt them tightly furled against my back. Was I to be winged forever? Everything accounted for. My hand touched the left side of my face ... brutality, cruelty, despair. These scars were like drips of acid touching pleasured skin. I would be rid of them as soon as I knew how. And I knew ... by all the world’s wisdom, I knew so much already, now the tide of pain and ugliness had receded and left me Madonai.

  Other eyes were examining me. Young old eyes alive with exultation. The old man stood beside the frosted window, his face reflecting the hearth fire. Not smiling yet, for there was still the final gifting to accomplish once he was sure of me. His hair seemed grayer and his lean face dry and soft, as though the robust flesh beneath his skin had already turned to dust.