by Brian Fuller
“Believe it or not,” Udan cut in loudly in an attempt to head Volney off, “there are shards worse than this one. Gen knows about one of them. It’s so cold your face falls right off after a few moments.”
“You know,” Volney ranted, “I’ll never understand why it is that other people try to make you feel at peace with your situation by telling you there’s a worse one. Is that supposed to make me feel better? It’s like stabbing me in the leg, twisting the blade around, and then telling me I should be grateful it’s not in my eye! For Erelinda’s sake, can someone conjure me up a warm bed and a decent meal? It’s been so long!”
Gerand crossed to his friend and put his arm around his shoulders. “We all feel the same, Volney. Udan was merely pointing out that we at least have a chance to survive here. Have faith, friend. Better sand than snow.”
“I am sorry,” Gen apologized to everyone after letting the red fade from Volney’s cheeks. “I wish there had been time to prepare or some other path we could have followed.”
Mirelle latched onto his arm as if preparing for a summer stroll in a pleasant garden. “We all had the choice, Gen. You didn’t force anyone here. What do we do now?”
“Shelter first, then I’ll scout around for signs of food or water. We need to find protection from the sun and the wind. These pitted black rocks should hold a myriad of caves we can avail ourselves of if we can find an outcropping big enough. We’ll go slowly. Try not to exert yourselves overmuch.”
For the next two hours they wandered about in the dreary wasteland. Seething pools of boiling mud radiated a foul smell, and they steered clear of them when they could. The pools increased in size and frequency the further they pressed on, and Gen finally called for them to reverse course, Volney murmuring under his breath.
The rest bore up well, but as darkness started to fall without their finding any outcropping of significant size, they had to settle for the lee side of a rounded hump of a boulder that had a smoother, solider aspect than the jagged black ones they had searched during the day. Wind had scooped out a small bowl around it, and they descended the slight incline and sat heavily against the stone in complete exhaustion, all except Mena, who knelt by Gerand.
“Is there any comfort I can give you, Milord?” Mena offered. Gerand’s face contorted in surprise.
“What?”
“I could rub your shoulders or your feet, or you could lay your head on my lap for comfort while you rest. I could sing you something to take your mind off of a difficult day.”
“No,” Gerand declined, fumbling to sort his thoughts and feelings out. “No. I mean, thank you, but no.”
“I’ll take any of those, Mena,” Udan said hopefully. “My feet are killing me.”
Volney laughed. “That won’t do, Udan. She is his wife.”
“You two are married?” Udan asked incredulously. “Since when? Torbrand let you marry his daughter? How in all of Ki’Hal did you manage. . .”
“Shhhh,” Volney warned him. “We don’t talk about it.”
“No, really, I must hear the. . .” Gen’s shook his head, and Udan let the subject drop.
Mena, disappointed, rose to go.
“I apologize,” Gerand blurted out quickly, “if I’ve offended you, Mena. I don’t wish you to think that anything you have to offer me is somehow undesirable. Rather, that in circumstances such as these it would be ungentlemanly of me to accept comfort when it should be my place to provide it. If there is something I can do for you to ease your burden, then name it.”
She returned to his side. “Then let me serve you. Please. Let me stand by your side. I know my father bequeathing me to you was a deep insult to your honor and to your nation. I can’t imagine how much I must disgust you or what loves or friends you lost when I was thrust upon you. I cannot undo what it is done, but at least give me the chance to show you my worth. I will not hope that you can love me as I do you, but if anything I can do will blunt the bitterness in your eyes every time you look at me, let me perform it.”
Awkwardness pervaded the party as they witnessed this private moment, Mena’s heartfelt intensity momentarily distracting them from hunger, thirst, and fatigue. Gerand, stunned to silence by this sudden vehemence, regarded his estranged bride and took her hand tenderly, signaling for her to sit by her side.
“Mena, what was done to us was wrong. . .”
“I know, but. . .”
“Listen for a moment. I will not use you or have you serve me like a slave.”
“I don’t want to be your slave!”
“Please, let me finish. I cannot love or even like someone I do not know, and I cannot trust your regard for me until I am sure you know me, and not just some ideal you may have conjured up of Tolnorian nobility. I have faults enough to sour any good woman’s opinion. The best I can offer you—and all I can accept from you now—is your company and your conversation. Let us plant that seed and see what grows.”
“Bloody well said!” Udan interjected inappropriately. “Though you’re a fool to turn down the foot rub.”
Gerand shot an angry look at Udan before turning back to Mena, who smiled gratefully at her husband. “Thank you for your concession. I will make the most of it.”
She put her hand on Gerand’s bearded cheek and kissed him lightly on the lips before settling in next to him. Gerand’s face couldn’t quite settle on an emotion, though he offered no protest at Mena having taken a little more liberty than they had agreed upon.
“Can I speak with you privately for a moment, Gen?” Mirelle requested.
“Certainly.”
The others watched as the two disappeared around the rock and walked out into a stiff wind, Gen reflexively assuring Cadaen that he would keep Mirelle safe. The clouds had cleared up, allowing a chill to goosebump Mirelle’s arms. The shards intermixed with the stars, coalescing into even bands, evidencing their gradual journey toward the day of Unification. Trys now waxed half full. Mirelle led Gen toward a smaller boulder nearby before addressing him in low tones.
“Did Athan’s plan work? Is Chertanne alive?”
“He is. I did it myself.”
Mirelle shook her head in acceptance and paced in a slow turn, thinking. “I had no qualms with Chertanne dead, and I doubt you did either. While it complicated the prophecy, I was happy that the Chalaine was free.”
“The Chalaine made me swear to do it, or I would have declined.”
“No doubt Athan hung you over her head as leverage.”
It was Gen’s turn to pace, running his hands through his hair. “Nothing I have done since Elde Luri Mora has felt right. Now I’ve led everyone to this cursed place. We’ll die here if we don’t find water soon.”
“I’ve learned a bit about faith lately, Gen,” Mirelle said. “Maybe it’s time you rely on that. How are you going to explain to everyone that Chertanne is alive?”
“How can I without exposing myself?”
“You need only say that the Chalaine told you that the Church managed to resurrect him somehow. That is all that need be said. As for our escape, your fighting prowess will suffice as explanation.”
A shout from Cadaen sent the two sprinting back to the boulder where they found everyone standing and staring into the darkness. On a hill to the east, a single figure, shrouded and unknowable, stood perfectly still. Tendrils of thin fabric from its cloak whipped in the wind, the immobility of the apparition suggesting a statue beneath the clothing. Gen raised his arms in a placating gesture and took a step forward, but a sudden wind kicked up dust and sand, and when it had passed, the phantom had gone.
“Haunting,” Udan said.
“But it is a good sign for us,” Gen offered, voice hopeful. “Someone is on this shard and has survived here. I’m going to go look around.”
Gen searched for signs of civilization until midnight but found nothing promising. The next day bloomed as hot and miserable as the last. The farther they traveled east, the fewer outcroppings of stone they encountered. The
dunes piled higher, and the black sand intermingled with a fine dust that clung to their teeth and lips and settled in their ears and boots. Near midafternoon, Mena abruptly stumbled and fell face first to the ground. Everyone gathered around the stricken woman quickly, Gerand pulling her over onto his lap and wiping her sweating face with the inside of his cloak.
“I’m glad she fell first,” Udan panted. “I won’t be far behind.”
Gen, sick with worry, turned toward them. “We shouldn’t travel during the day. After our encounter last night I had hoped we would find signs of civilization by now. Everyone stay here and rest. I’ll try to find somewhere for us to hole up.”
After an hour of searching, Gen found a dry river bed running north and south, providing some shade against the punitive sun. By the time he had collected everyone and marched them there, both Mirelle and Udan needed support, and Gerand sweated profusely as he practically carried Mena down the sharp incline and into the shade.
“Is anyone hiding any food?” Volney petitioned. “My cloak is starting to smell like roast pork for some reason.”
“I’m afraid the prison guards neglected to portion out enough porridge to us to stuff any in our pockets before we left,” Udan answered. “Remember? You were there.”
Volney beat the back of his head against the rock before resting the front on his knees and dozing off in the sweltering heat. The rest of the party followed suit save Gen, who regarded them with sadness. He couldn’t let it end this way if he could help it. While he couldn’t conjure up food without suspicion, water, he thought, he could manage.
As evening came on, he left the others behind and scouted out a small cave worn out of the side of the riverbed wall. It was dark, low, and dusty and he hoped that no one in the party had enough lore to tell that water had not graced the small chamber in decades. He rested for a moment in the cooling air, for despite his conditioning, the exertion and worry wore upon him more than he let on.
At last, he straightened and knelt, placing his hands on the spot. Digging deep, he pulled in every ounce of power he could and willed the rock to transform into water. As he finished, his head spun with weakness and his limbs refused his command. He toppled over into the pool that he had created, helplessly bobbing facedown on the surface. His exhausted mind screamed danger, but nothing could motivate his muscles to move. Dimly, he enjoyed the cool caress of the water and its feel upon his sunburned face. The woozy calm of fading consciousness and undulating caress of the water felt more like home than any place had for months.
The sheltered riverbed protected Gen’s footprints and allowed Cadaen to find them easily, even in the fading light. He warned the rest of the party to stay clear of them as they proceeded worriedly, calling out the lost Protector’s name. They had not gone far when they encountered the low cave and the pool of water, and only Cadaen and Mirelle waited to satiate their thirst as they cast around for more clues of Gen’s whereabouts.
“The trail leads to the water and no further,” Cadaen reported as he and Mirelle took their turn to drink amid the grateful tones of their companions. “Look at the shape of this pool,” Cadaen continued. “It is regular, more like a carved cistern. Perhaps fed by an underground spring. The water is very clean.”
Mirelle pulled everyone together, face thoughtful and lined with worry. “We cannot continue to search tonight, but we must be careful at this place. The pool here is not natural, and, since this is the only water we have found, it is likely that whoever lives here knows about it. My guess is that Gen encountered the owners of this well. Whether he speaks with them now or was killed or taken captive, I cannot guess. We have but two swords now, and we keep watch. There is enough water here for days, but we must find food or perish.”
“There is no need for worry.” A strangely accented but beautiful voice from the outcropping above them startled them all. The robed figure they had seen the night before stood above them. The gray cloak enclosed her completely, only a hint of her face visible in the late evening. Long pieces of diaphanous cloth sown into the sleeves and sides of the cloak fluttered about in the breeze. She held a small sack in one hand. Everyone’s eyes shot wide as she stepped off the outcropping with easy grace and dropped fifteen feet to the riverbed, landing softly.
Everyone regarded their guest with wonder as she lowered her hood, her elven face and glorious dark hair stunning them with their majesty. Her cool blue eyes were tinged with sadness and reflected an innate pride as she crossed to Mirelle.
“Eat,” she commanded, placing a ripe peach in Mirelle’s hand and then continuing on to the rest. “I have only one for each of you, but there are certainly more to be had. Eat first, questions later. I am Al’Handra.”
“I am. . .”
“Mirelle,” Al’Handra interjected. “I know your names. Your reckless companion provided me with those.”
“Then Gen found you?”
“Rather, the reverse.” Al’Handra smirked, an odd expression for a face such as hers. “He is safe and in good condition. Many of my people would have left you out here to perish, despite his information, but I have always had a weakness for the race of men, and he provided me the best news that I have had in centuries. You find me magnanimous, and thus, you will not die here in the waste.”
“What did he tell you?” Mirelle asked, licking the juice off of her lips.
“That my daughter yet lives. You know her by her human name, Maewen.” Mirelle’s eyes widened and her lips parted to say something, but Al’Handra continued. “There are some other pieces of information about himself, the Chalaine, and the Ha’Ulrich that my master, Devlis, would speak with you about in private. We journey tonight. We shall commence when you are ready.”
They ate with delight, juice dripping through their fingers and down their chins, the peaches unusually sweet, almost decadent. The unexpected delicacy filled them, weary limbs forgetting their exhaustion. Al’Handra watched them stoically, their delighted reactions bringing her no pleasure or surprise, even their rather inelegant attempts to suck the juice off their sticky fingers. Shortly, Mirelle thanked her and signaled their readiness to travel.
Al’Handra nodded and walked forward at a steady pace, not looking back to monitor their progress or engage them in conversation. While her cold manner troubled them, if she could provide more food and somewhere better to rest, no one would feel compelled to complain about her manners. She led them down the dry riverbed, the night again clear and cold. After a two hour march, the shard edge approached. Al’Handra did not deviate, striding up to the precipice and stopping at the brink of the empty vastness.
“The stair is narrow and unprotected. If your legs are weak, wait until they recover strength before attempting them. I will go before you into Ras’Ael and announce your coming.”
With no further explanation she stepped off the edge and turned, descending down the stairs they could not see until they stood where she had, and when they did, their heads spun. Some two hundred steps had been carved into the shard edge, and—while appearing sturdy—they stretched no more than three feet wide with no rail between the stair and a plummet into blackness. Al’Handra walked down them confidently and evenly.
“I will need a moment before I try that,” Udan admitted, face pale. “Maybe more than a moment.”
“Shouldn’t we tie ourselves together or something?” Volney asked, voice queasy.
“No,” Gerand corrected. “That is for traveling through snow storms and fog. Here it would mean that if one person fell, he would drag everyone with him. We go one at a time with several feet between us. That way, when you stumble and fall, you won’t take me with you.”
Volney peeked over the edge and frowned, backing away. “I’ll say it again. I grew up on a plain.”
“I’m going,” Mirelle announced, and before anyone, including herself, could dissuade her, she stepped off the edge and onto the stair. Cadaen came after, and the rest trickled down at irregular intervals, Udan and Volney bringin
g up the distant rear. The stair emptied onto a platform in the middle of a broad opening stretching nearly a quarter of a mile across the shard face, the entrance into an immense cavity in the shard’s bowels. The smell of fruit and blossoms flirted with the air. Inside the cave an orchard was bathed in soft moonlight that flooded through the hole, the occasional winks of fireflies punctuating the darkness. Beyond the orchard, the light reflected off of something that gave the impression of a field full of sparkling, emerald stars.
Al’Handra awaited them on the platform, hands behind her back. After Volney gratefully joined the rest of the group on less treacherous ground, the austere elf spoke.
“Welcome to Ras’Ael, or in your tongue, the Grave of Light. Here you will find fifty-two elves and fourteen dwarves. There were more of us once, but thirty-two elves have journeyed to Erelinda after the manner of my people, and time has claimed thirty-eight of the dwarves that survived the Shattering. Among those here is our leader, Devlis, an elf mighty in the magic arts and steeped in lore. He will speak with Mirelle now and instructs me to see the rest of you quartered. Follow.”
She led them off the platform and down a grassy embankment onto a stone path that led around the orchard. Just as a complaint about the darkness formed on Mirelle’s lips, the fireflies of the orchard grouped around them, providing a weak but ample light to tread by. The path led to a railed stair carved in dark stone that led up to a shelf smoothed and shaped so that no crack or edge would catch a boot tip. The fireflies deserted them here, but as they walked on, the green stones they had seen sparkling in the distance flared to life and they stopped in wonderment.
Around them, massive trees rose from the rock at their feet and stretched into the air to where they supported the ceiling of the cave. While the intricate detail of the bark tricked the eye into seeing wood, a more careful examination by the light of the glowing green leaves carved in jade crystals revealed that the trees were indeed the work of art and not of nature.
Every detail, from root to stem, had been meticulously shaped from the dark rock, though Mirelle’s party found themselves hurrying by as Al’Handra strode forward unabated by their expressions of delight. As they passed, the green gem leaves winked out behind them and lit before, and in that light they caught glimpses of doorways and windows carved out of the stony tree trunks. Most yawned empty and black, but from time to time a curious dwarf or elf would stare out at them expressionlessly, faces bathed in the green light.
