by Katy Winter
In time they reached the Shadowlands where Kedric promised he'd take Benhloriel. They found his mother who welcomed home her son. He was joyfully received by us, but we could see how deep the hurt had gone and how mistrustful the boy had become. He slept uneasily, always crying out that he'd be removed. It took all our skills to make Benhloriel see he was safe with us and that no one could harm him anymore. It took time.
Kedric had the boy evaluated. He was told the boy must go to Yarilo and tried to make Benhloriel see that he had to go there to fulfil the potential we all saw so clearly. He finally made the boy see that it had to be, though Benhloriel wept. He fought against this for a long time. He left us to train as a mage, though he ran away from there more than once. It was only when his dragon was told he mustn't take Benhloriel from Yarilo that he had to settle and, finally, respond to those who tried to heal and teach him.
His mother and Kedric had a child of whom Benhloriel was very fond. He spent as many of his days as he could with his little brother, his adoration of the child shining in those luminous violet eyes. With the child, here in the Shadowlands, Benhloriel was supremely happy. It was written and it is believed. He says that he was.
Kedric died, but Benhloriel's mother lived on for very much longer as we do. She adored her sons, the youngest named Chloronderiel. Like his older brother he was auburn-haired, as we are, but he had the clear Yazd eyes. We're told he was allowed to visit Benhloriel on Yarilo where no other than those mage-born may tread. Chloronderiel wasn't mage-born. He was, though, very proud of his mage brother.
Our people could see how healed Benhloriel was and how dearly he loved his younger brother. Chloronderiel unified our people, gave us purpose and wisdom and made many of us see the necessity of living as one with ourselves and with our world. We settled in towns and prospered. He encouraged us to learn of all things, to trade and to know other peoples of Ambros. He was the founder of our people as a civilised race that followed the sacred words of one called Sarequin, child. We call him our ancestral patriarch whom we still revere today. We revere and honour Benhloriel equally, because he helped his brother in all he achieved for us." Istarial went quiet and there was a prolonged silence.
Finally, Chlorien asked, "How does this connect me with you, Istarial?"
"As the cycles passed, Benhloriel shortened his name for his life on Yarilo, and we accepted that, though to us he's always Benhloriel, Burelkin or Ancient One. He's known as Bene. He's your greatsire, child."
Chlorien's hand went to her mouth, her face expressive of complete disbelief. She was unable to speak and sat back, her eyes closing while she tried to think and absorb the significance of Istarial's words. No one else spoke.
Chlorien opened her eyes, lifted her goblet to rather white lips and said almost inaudibly, "So you, then, are the greatchildren of Chloronderiel?" Istarial looked ruefully across at Nikos who sighed faintly.
"Beloved, you don't know about age and differing time shifts, do you?"
"Father told me a little," admitted Chlorien. "I know Yarilan time's slower than Ambros time and that he's old in Ambros terms. He told me so." She stopped, her eyes swivelling to Nikos and widening. "How old's my greatsire, Nikos?"
"He's very, very old, Chlorien; mages are, little one, especially a venerable Archmage such as Bene. He must be four, or even five, hundred Yarilan turns now." Nikos turned to Istarial. "Does that sound correct to you?"
"Yes," agreed Istarial, watching Chlorien. Chlorien was too preoccupied to respond. She was thinking of the gentle, ageless scholar who was her father and found the thought of his age too incomprehensible to cope with. She blinked.
"How old do you people live to?" she asked on a whisper.
"We can live to one hundred and forty Ambrosian cycles, child," Istarial said calmly. "Some live less, others longer, as with all peoples."
"The Gnosti live long like you," she offered tentatively. Istarial nodded. "And the Yazd?"
"They live long lives, Chlorien, though not as long as us, no. An old Yazd would be a hundred and ten Ambrosian cycles. It's not that different from yourselves, is it?" Chlorien shook her head.
Istarial passed the slumbering Kasphros to Ayesha and went to refill his goblet. Nikos lounged beside Chlorien, his hand rested gently on her hair.
"Do you now understand how many generations on Istarial and his family are, little one, from their patriarch? Chloronderiel lived long, but he's been gone from Ambros even longer." A shiver shook Chlorien, but she answered easily enough.
"I do."
"And you comprehend the relationship?"
"Yes," she said clearly. "I need to think."
She got unsteadily to her feet and walked away from the group, a hand up to her face. Nikos rose, too, his eyes following the slender figure moving away and a frown coming to his forehead. Istarial crossed to him.
"Not too much too soon, was it?"
"I think not, my friend," responded Nikos serenely. "She'll need to go alone to think often over the next seasons, because now she's ready to know much that had to be held back. What she has to learn will be much harder than this for her to bear, believe me. This is only the beginning."
"Her brothers, Rox. Is that what you mean?"
"It'll do as a start," said Nikos quietly. Istarial chewed on his beard.
"Will she know what she must face once she leaves the Shadowlands and Lilium?" Nikos shook his head.
"No. She won't know until the moment she confronts it. It's best that it be so."
"It's hard on her, Nikos."
"It has to be. So it has been for her brothers for cycles. It's why her happiness now is so important. She must, one day, remember it." Istarial didn't miss the inflexible note to the Rox's voice and he turned to look at the far figure, now crouched.
"She's so young," he mused.
"They all are. That's what's so cruel."
The deep voice sounded deeply sad as Nikos refused to speak further and strode in Chlorien's direction. He put his arms about her, drew her to her feet and gently propelled her forward, his head bent in conversation. Istarial looked thoughtfully and long at them before turning his attention to an awakening boy. He sensed deep grief in the Rox and wondered at it.
~~~
The days came and went, Nikos apparently content it should be so and Chlorien happy as she learned about the world of the Shadowlanders. Her twentieth cycle passed without notice.
Her knowledge increased, her perceptions of the world she inhabited deepened. She learned of other dimensions and times, accepted that existence offered a range of perspectives, that much was changeable and interchangeable, but not everything. She learned that the laws set down for the maintenance of Ambrosian balance were unalterable and irrevocable. She was taught, again, that action must be controlled by knowledge and understanding, that rash deeds were unacceptable and she now comprehended, though still in a limited way, the significance of the equilibrium and the importance of balance. All Autoc taught her re-surfaced, but this time was more clearly comprehended, as was "action and reaction", a concept both he, Nikos and the Gnosti, had tried so hard to explain.
The importance of unity and harmony in the structure of all things was reiterated and she acknowledged that enlightenment could come from nowhere but within. Her spiritual completeness came with Nikos on their visits to Lilium, but here in the Shadowlands she was as she'd been with the Gnosti, communing with herself, taking counsel of heads older and wiser and submerging herself to Ambros in her entirety. This new introspection matured her and she was often found alone, miles from the centre of Halcyon, lost in thought.
She was taught archery skills, how to run while conserving energy, how to create shapes in space that were new to her. She learned to interpret individual will with deeper understanding. Its power frightened her and she sought solace with Nikos. The Shadowlanders took her with them into their uniquely suspended semi-conscious state, where she could explore, ask questions, seek answers and come fully to terms with
who and what she was. Their aeons of wisdom and experience flowed effortlessly into her and she willingly absorbed it. She surfaced, her eyes opening into Nikos', hers expressing surprised awe. He was always there with her. He never left her alone.
The discovery of her brothers brought both sorrow and unspeakable joy. She listened while Nikos and Istarial outlined what their lives were since Ortok, inwardly grieving for those she loved dearly and weeping, again, for the agonising death inflicted on her mother and Bruno. She bent her head in her hands in anguish at the fate inflicted on Bethel and Luton, and Daxel's loss through his twin, completely unable to speak for several hours as she left the glade they all sat in at a stumbling run. Sarehl's suffering and losses overwhelmed her.
Nikos found her later, seated by a stream, where she stared blankly into the water, her eyes red-rimmed and wide and her cheeks still damp from the flood of tears that swept over her every so often. He crouched beside her, a hand touching her face. She turned to him, desolation touching violet eyes in such a way Nikos felt a wrench.
"Beloved, you mustn't grieve so," he chided gently.
"Bethel -," she began, then choked.
"Yes, little one, he was taken and brutalised in ways I hope you never fully comprehend. He's been deeply hurt, but he's alive and rises above the things done to him. He's a remarkable young man with unique gifts. You must see him as he is, not as the tortured boy the warlord abused, and that must give you hope because you thought for so long he was dead."
"Why did no one tell me he was alive?"
"Would you have coped with that knowledge before today, little one? Look at you now! Would you only have wanted to know he was alive, or would you have sought more about him?"
Chlorien's hand caressed the belt she always wore while she thought. Her lips quivered when she spoke.
"He was such a beautiful and gentle musician, Nikos." Her voice faltered.
"He still is, Chlorien, you may believe that. He's grown to manhood, but your brother's the essential boy from Ortok under the slave."
"And Lute?" The voice quavered pitiably and another rush of tears fell down the pale cheeks. Nikos brushed them away.
"Time will tell us much about that young one, little one. He's still in thrall to his master, but I'll never believe he's any different from the brother you knew in Ortok either, though that part of Lute's submerged in the slave persona of Malekim's apprentice. We pray Lute still has his essence. That's rare, because the mage invariably drains them from his victims as he did with Alfar. I don't know why Lute's intact, unless he wasn't seen as an immediate threat to his master."
"He's suffered too, hasn't he?"
"You've met a projection of Malekim, child. Need you ask?"
"No," shivered Chlorien.
"He, too, is agonised, but in a different and equally, if not more, destructive way, beloved, but I believe he'll be like Bethel in time. We must be patient. It was time you knew of them."
"Dase," whispered Chlorien. "He'll have been only partly alive without Lute."
"Yes," agreed Nikos gently. "He knows desolation and total emptiness. His has been no easy path, Chlorien, and he's old for his cycles, but he, too, is alive."
"And Sar. You say he's alive and in the north."
"Yes, as Istarial said, Sarehl's very much alive, though the warlord did his damnedest to dispose of him. Malekim knew long ago that your eldest brother was a threat to his plans for Ambros. That the young man's still alive is nothing short of miraculous - his wounds at Ortok would've killed another man."
"I only knew him as a scholar, Nikos, not as a fighter."
"We all change and adapt to circumstances if need be, child. Your brother's no less a scholar than he was. He's more."
"Hold me, Nikos," Chlorien murmured. "The mage's plans were so deep laid that I'm afraid of what might've been done to me."
"Then put that out of your mind, little one," recommended Nikos firmly. "You must be given time to adjust to what you've learned, but there must be comfort in what you now know."
Nikos touched Chlorien's belt in such a way that it drew a watery smile and a lessening of the anguish that darkened the violet eyes to almost black.
In the days that followed Chlorien came to terms with how life now was for her brothers and for herself. Her immediate despair over Bethel lessened when she heard more about him, but her anguish, for a twin brother she knew would try to betray her, made her both mournful and squeamish. She understood what her true father had done to Ambros but his full purpose remained undisclosed because she wasn't ready to comprehend the enormity of what he'd chosen to do. What she did know was that she'd confront him one day.
She listened to the stories about the Conclave of Readers and Seekers and recognised, in the mage's attempt at its destruction, how important it was to Ambros. She learned of the rise of the Vaksh, shivering at the description of the warlord to whom she was to have been taken, then listening to some more as she heard of the even faster and more vicious rise of the Churchik. She soon knew that they used everyone else to service their needs, other societies absorbed to that need, or totally destroyed as Samar was. She saw no hatred of the Churchik in the faces of those who spoke dispassionately about them, only sad resignation.
She listened to the tales of destruction wrought by the southern army and thought wistfully of the lovely young brother with the velvet eyes who smiled so gently at her, and then of the twin brothers who teased her unmercifully and with whom she'd romped and fought. Luton's grinning face would come to mind and threatened to choke her.
She was acutely aware how threatened Choja and the desert folk were because the warlord would try to storm through the desert to return south victorious, and also how the Gnosti, who were precious to her despite the brevity of her encounter with them, could be harmed. It gave her much to think about. Though she understood how deeply threatened Ambros was, she didn't perceive her place in the continuing balance that was so critical. She wasn't ready for that and it wasn't mentioned. When she once asked Nikos about Lian, she was gently touched and told that when it was time for her to know she would. And Amaris continued to grow.
When it was time for her to leave Halcyon she knew it was so the morning she and Nikos awoke in concert. Nikos closed his eyes, but Chlorien yawned, stretched and arched her back as she stared up at the light coming from the ceiling.
"What season is it?" she asked absently.
"It's autumn, little one," he replied, opening his eyes that looked lazy and content.
"Halcyon has no seasons."
"No."
"Nor has Lilium?"
"Not as there are elsewhere, child, that's so." Nikos put his hands behind his head comfortably. "Why do you ask?"
"Kasphros is growing very fast."
"Yes, little one, he is. It's nearing time he's taken home where he can be brought up with other cubs."
"He's to go to Lilium." It was a statement from Chlorien, not a question.
"He's a Rox, child." Nikos put out a gentle hand, turning Chlorien's head to face him. He saw resignation in her eyes and shook his head. "Why are you sad, little one? Don't you want him to go? His will be a full and long life on Lilium. He's blessed to be there."
"I know," whispered Chlorien. "He's happy there when we go. I know, too, it's his destiny as much as we have ours." Nikos pulled Chlorien close.
"He'll prosper, beloved. He has those who love him," he assured her. He thought, very sadly, of Ortoriol. "He may choose to wander Ambros in his Ambrosian form in cycles to come, but that's his choice. Both he and Amaris belong on Lilium and Amaris will be birthed there. Whether she'll come to Ambros I've no way of knowing. They can't come with us while we travel. They'd be endangered and they're too precious for that. Besides, Sophos wouldn't permit it."
"No," murmured Chlorien in a muffled voice, her face hidden under hair.
"Kasphros' untutored, child, and the young can be exploited and hurt because of that."
"Wouldn't he be safe
here with Istarial whom he loves?" Nikos stroked the black curls but made no reply. "When do we leave?"
"You don't need to ask that, little one, do you?" teased Nikos softly, his hand twining in the hair. "You tell me, beloved."
"Today," came faintly. Nikos merely nodded.
~~~
They were greeted when they rose and sought out the Shadowlanders, smiles changing when they recognised departure was imminent. The glow in Istarial's eyes faded a little when he saw confirmation in Nikos' flecked ones.
"You're leaving us," he said flatly. Chlorien nodded. "Where do you go?"
"Lilium," said Nikos quietly.
"With Kasphros?" Nikos nodded. Istarial sat beside Chlorien who sank down at the base of the laken tree. "We'll miss our little boy. Does he stay on Lilium?"
"Yes," responded Nikos, his eyes staying fixed on Chlorien.
"You're leaving very soon, aren't you?" Istarial asked softly, his hand taking Chlorien's in his. Nikos got abruptly to his feet.
"I'll fetch Kasphros. Where is he, my friend?"
Istarial indicated a second courtyard beyond where they sat, where Ayesha sat calmly cradling Kasphros, rocking him. Nikos walked over to her, and, squatting beside her, admired how the light played on her long auburn hair as she moved. She glanced up, her grey eyes luminous and gentle. Nikos decided, some time since, that she was profoundly thoughtful and the most fair-spoken of the descendants, always gracious and obliging and anxious to please others. She was selfless. She was exceptionally far-sighted too. Nikos respected and cared for her.
"You've come for him?" she asked quietly.
With an easiness they all noticed characterised him, Nikos responded, "It's time. The cub must go to his home on Lilium."
"And Chlorien?"
"She may feel a little strange being there a long time, but she'll adjust."
"When will we see you again, Nikos?"
Ayesha saw a slight tremor catch him and also caught the shadow that crossed his face. His eyes had never looked so melancholy as they now did and it made Ayesha give a slight whimper of premonition as she responded to the outstretched arms, surrendering the sleeping child. She made no comment, though her eyes searched Nikos' face as he gazed at his son.
