by R. M Garino
“I have not betrayed you,” she said. She moved from behind the table, into the open space he occupied. The way she held herself, the way she moved, put him on edge.
Logan was rigid with rage. Surely she did not mean to draw. The Arielle he knew, his Arielle, would never dream of opposing him. But the evidence was here. He fell into the practiced breathing exercises that were second nature. He was faster. He appraised the situation and felt himself relax. She would not have a chance to draw a single blade before he was on her. The Satyagarha, however, could turn the odds in her favor. He knew from Mason’s tutelage that he could not stand against such an armor.
“I told you, before I came to the Gates, that we were through.” She inched closer as she spoke. He focused on her movements, not allowing himself to be beguiled by her words. “I am no longer bound by what was. It is time you let it go as well.”
“You told me you loved me.”
“And I did. Once.” She relaxed her stance, straightening both arms and legs as if she had just become aware of what she was doing. “And in a way, I still do. But not the way you want. You have to accept that. I still want to be your friend. You are still important to me.”
“Your actions prove the lie,” he said. Her words, the calm and reasoned way she presented them, with a note of pleading in her voice, pierced him to his very core. He remembered his promise to his sister, and he regretted his words the more he heard Arielle speak.
She stepped closer, pulling the glove off. Her movements were slow, hesitant, as if she was afraid of his response. She held her bared skin out to him, inviting him to touch it.
“I tell you true, Logan Fel’Mekrin,” she said. “See for yourself.”
He reached for her. She drew back before he could.
“There are things I would rather you not see,” she said, keeping just out of reach. “It will hurt you, and I do not want that. But knowing this, if you still wish to see my truth, then by all means see…”
She held her hand back out, and it was his turn to hesitate. What would he see? Did he want to bear witness to her coupling with Kal’Parev? He did not know how he would react to someone else touching what was by all rights his. Was this a ruse, a way to cripple him, allowing her a chance to strike unhindered? She released her hold on her sin’del, allowing it to expand to its normal parameters. He could see her concern, her nervousness. He could also see that she was telling him the truth. Her offer was not veiling a darker intent.
He took her hand in his, and braced himself against the sudden rush of sensation and images. They skittered past his awareness, at first flashing past at far too great a speed to comprehend. Then they settled into a more sedate rhythm as his mind was able to sort and organize the new information. The memories were vivid, as if he had lived the events himself as opposed to watching it from the outside. The intensity of her feelings stunned him. The emotions he had experienced with her, even in their love making, paled in comparison to what he now beheld. It was an effort to disengage, but he forced himself to release her. The duration of time was irrelevant. The information was now stored within his own mind, and it would float across his consciousness for days yet. He stumbled to his upended chair. Arielle cupped his elbow and steadied him. She extended her energy field to wrap around the chair. It righted itself, and she helped him to sit. His head collapsed into his hands, and his tears came of their own abandon. She stayed with him, and pulled him against her, smoothing his hair as he wept.
The scenes continued to play through his mind, and he was unable, unwilling to stop them. Her image of Angus was suffused with a happiness he had not thought possible. It stood in stark contrast with her conception of him. The accuracy of her impression tore at him, how well she knew him, made his loss all the more poignant. Threading through it all was the love she still bore him, as she claimed. But it was made insignificant in comparison. Her memories of him were all there, devoid of all self-righteous dissembling. The things he’d done to her, what he told her and himself were in her best interest stood in stark juxtaposition when stripped of all pretenses.
A single sob escaped him, and he drew back when in control. She still held him, but at arm’s length. He affected an air of understanding, but he could not keep the discontent from clouding his sin’del. He did not want to accept this truth of hers.
“Do you remember the imaginary friend I told you about so long ago?” she said. She wiped the tear from his cheek as he nodded. “As you can see, he was not imaginary after all. There is a unity, but it is still forming. It is forming of its own accord. Neither of us have anything to do with it. It just is. It has always been a part of us. I wish I could have spared you this, but I want you to understand. You need to realize if you are to have any hope of surviving the Sur. Shane once told me that place has the ability of taking what we believe and twisting it, warping it to use against us. I could not let you go in there under the belief you had convinced yourself of. Focus on how you appear to me. Focus on the truth, and the Sur will have no power over you.”
His voice was still locked away inside of him, choked off from uttering his thoughts. Mason had told him as much on several occasions. The only ones who exited were those who could see the truth through the illusion. The Sur was in essence a trial of insight as much as ability. He railed against what he had seen, but he knew it to be the truth. He moved to run his finger across her cheek, but stopped himself. He did not want any more of what he had just seen.
Arielle took hold of his hand, and pressed her face against his palm. The sensation of pride suffused him, flooding him with an image of his last sparring match against Lotus, the Weapons Master at the Vaults. A succession of images, all wrapped around the sense of intense dignity flooded into him. Intermixed with the visions of his prowess were memories of his kindness and generosity. Though few, these elevated her pride in him above his displays of his skill.
Tears were streaking down Arielle’s cheeks when she drew away. She placed a kiss on his forehead, along with a profound sense of her affection, and stood.
“Charge against your enemy, Logan,” she said, caressing his hair. “Come back to us, and make them remember your name.”
Her benediction said, she left him. The door closed behind her, and he collapsed in on himself, giving release to the full extent of his grief. He had lost one tether, and now, he was adrift.
CHAPTER SEVENTY-NINE
Tasked by the Council
“Field Marshal,” Logan said, covering his surprise with a hasty salute.
“Good Evening,” Dugal said. He did not wait for an invitation, but breezed past him. Logan forced his jaw to unclench. He hated when those above him chose to remind him of his place.
“Can I offer you tea, sir?”
“No,” Dugal said, his gaze drifting about the room. “Thank you, but this is not a social visit. I will not be staying long.”
“Then I await your leisure, sir.”
Dugal finished his cursory inspection and fixed his attention on Logan.
“You have been tasked by the San Headrim,” he began. “Over the past several years, there have been a number of incursions from the Sur. They have been intensifying in both quantity and intensity. The Council believes this is the result of a naturally occurring breach, a bore, if you will. They want you to try and find it while you walk the Sur.”
Logan considered the information as it was presented to him. He was, he had to admit, honored that they had chosen him, but he was not really surprised.
“And what do I do once I have located the bore?”
“You are to note its location. Nothing more.”
“How will I know if I have found it?”
“The light, for starters,” Dugal said, walking to the hearth and staring into the flames. “The Sur is a place of darkness, son, and the light of creation will shine through. And, of course, the beasts will be thickly concentrated there.”
“And how will I mark its location?”
Dugal h
anded him a pair of plain gold rings. Logan bowed his head as he accepted them. One he slid over his left thumb, and the other over his index finger. He tapped the two bands together, and when he separated his digits, a square, one foot by one foot, ethereal blue screen appeared in the space.
“This is a tactical display, not a comms array. It has been outfitted with a map of the Sur from the archives, dating back to the time before its separation from the Quain. We have then overlaid every significant finding from every subsequent insertion. The display will update the map as you move.”
Logan saluted. “Find the bore. Return with the display. Yes, sir.”
“Best of luck, Logan,” Dugal said with a single nod.
Logan frowned as he watched him head for the door.
“Sir,” he said before Dugal could touch the handle. The Field Marshal paused, and dropped his hand. He did not turn. “I have a report from my tour with Elc’atar Mason. It may have bearing on the recent disappearance of a member of the Fifteenth.”
Dugal turned, his lips pursed. Without a word, he held out his hand and received the envelope.
“One thing more, sir,” Logan said.
“I do not wish to discuss the state of Arielle’s affairs with you, son,” Dugal said and moved toward the door once more.
“But sir. The unity.”
Dugal spun without warning, forcing Logan back a step. “What do you know of this?”
Logan corrected his posture, standing at attention as he addressed a request from a superior officer. “I know she has a unity to Angus Tu’renthien, sir. She claims it is a natural occurrence, but I suspect treachery.”
Dugal stood before him, studying his sin’del.
“If there is any treachery here,” he said after a pause, “it is the Creator’s doing. No one else’s.” He laid a hand on Logan’s shoulder. “She is beyond you now. You have to move on.”
“How can I move on knowing what I know? How are you not livid over this?”
“Who said I was fine with it? Surely not I.”
“Then you must agree that I have the stronger suit.”
Dugal shook his head and removed his hand.
“Give it over, son. It is not up to me to choose.”
“Son? By acquiescing to this I believe you forfeit your right to call me that.”
“I’ll call you whatever the feck I want!” Dugal stepped closer. He was not a tall man, but still seemed to loom. “Put this from your mind. You have been tasked by the Council. From this point forward, your only concern must be completing your mission.”
“Sir, I have only ever sought to earn renown in your eyes– “
“Which you have, as a student. Now, I need you to show me what you are capable of as an Elc’atar Guard.”
“To what end? I needed your approval to marry your daughter. Now she will not have me. What does it serve me to remain in your good graces?”
“Are you declining the San Headrim’s request?” All traces of good humor had vanished from his face. “Are you willingly endangering the Lethen’al out of spite? Out of jealousy? Are you so craven? And you are asking to be accepted to the Guard?”
“I am asking to marry the woman I love!”
Dugal fell silent. Logan closed his eyes, berating himself for allowing such a childish outburst, such an unacceptable show of emotion to spill forth. And yet, how was he to stop it? Everything he had worked for was falling away, just as it was within his grasp.
“My apologies, sir,” he said. “I let my emotions get the better of me. I accept the San Headrim’s mission, and I shall complete it or die in the attempt.”
“Preferably the former,” Dugal said as he held out his hand. “We will discuss these things in greater detail when you return.” He cast one last look at Logan as he opened the door. With a final nod, he left.
CHAPTER EIGHTY
Vale of Sorrows
The Lethen’al assembled well before dawn in the Vale of Sorrows. They formed rank together by House, by Pride, and by squad, forming a corridor leading toward the weathered, circular gate that stood upright and alone in the middle of the valley floor. A pair of braziers lit the rough stone, the flames dancing on the rock face. A quartet of Magi knelt beside the barrier, two on either side of the opening, waiting upon the arrival of the Yearlings who would enter the Sur.
The equations the Magi use for this are impressive. Angus sent to Arielle as their Pride lined up. I only got a glimpse at a portion, and they’re outrageous. You would not believe how precise they have to be with their calculations.
Why? she sent. She knew he was trying to distract her, to take her mind off what was about to happen, and she appreciated it. He did not have to explain it. She just knew. Their connection had been growing in exponential leaps and bounds, and she found herself wondering at times if maybe her mother had been right about the idea of a formal marriage. How much longer could they keep this a secret? She could already see a silver-white cord connecting them when she focused hard enough. How long until others could as well?
They have to open a breach between the Quain and the Sur, and they have to keep it open until everyone is inside, he sent. They can only hold it for a brief time without attracting notice, but both the Sur and the Quain are in motion in all three dimensions. If they open it in the wrong place, the cohort steps through into nothing, or the Vale gets overrun by shrulks. There are wide arrays of variables to take into account.
And they open it again in three days? she sent, although she already knew the answer.
Exactly, but only for just as short a window. The Yearlings have to be ready to jump through the moment it opens. Arielle felt her anxiety rise with his words. He’ll be fine. Don’t worry.
Regardless of Logan’s skill, she knew how susceptible he was to certain things, how overpowering his clairvoyance could be, and she worried for him.
Lethen’al had continued to arrive throughout the past few days. Yesterday had been a day of silence and contemplation, and of course, recovery. For some of those who would enter the Sur, these would be their last days among family and friends. The celebrations had been rather . . . intense.
Eight Yearlings would enter the Sur, but there was no telling how many would walk out again. Some years, most returned to their family and friends. There were others, however, where none came back. What was certain was that some would fall. There had never been a year when all the candidates survived.
As the granddaughter of the Areth’kon Commandant, and the daughter of the Field Marshals, she knew how dangerous these final trials were, how painful to the families who lost children, and how difficult for the commanders to convey their condolences.
Groups continued to enter the Vale, and the corridor grew in length.
Her family was here already waiting with her grandfather by the circular portal. Gathered around them were the Heads of the Great Houses; Logan’s mother Endeara stood for her House. Her bearing was regal and stiff, radiating confidence and maternal pride. Her face held the same beauty of both her children, but where Gwen’s was aglow with warmth and humor, Endeara’s was cold and hard. Fel’Mekrin claimed six of the eight yearlings this year. Brenna, her golden hair crafted into an elaborate mixture of braids that Arielle envied, represented Le’Manon. They claimed the other two Yearlings. Finlay stood for House Kal’Parev, but he held to the back, as they had no candidates testing this season. He stood next to Roko, the Head of House Mer’Chien, who also claimed no candidates.
You all realize what this means, right? Caradoc sent to the entire Pride as he watched the Heads. The Pledging Ceremony is only a few days away. We get to pick our Houses.
Yeah, Darien sent. But first, we have to survive the Menace.
We got that, Hironata sent.
Survived the Gauntlet, and the Pit, Ossian sent, accompanied with a shrug. What are some shrulks?
Unlike the Pit, Demona sent, the shrulks here come in packs.
Wave after wave until we fall, Denuelle sent.
>
We stand as one, Gwen sent. No one denies us that, not even for the Menace.
Tell me again, how many do we have to hold against to test for Elc’atar? Nessah sent.
No number given, Ba’ril sent without hesitation. The more we survive, the more notice we get, and the higher our standing when they begin choosing apprentices.
I’d say we’ve made ourselves pretty noticeable already, Enid sent.
The Pride fell silent, reflecting on their own personal dreams.
Have you decided yet? Gwen sent to Arielle alone. Are you going to become Fel’Mekrin?
Logan expects me to, Arielle sent. So does my family.
Not to mention half your Pride, Gwen sent.
You know I don’t want to, Arielle sent. I don’t know if I can go through with it. It’s nothing about you, or your family, Gwen, but the other Houses offer teachings just as exciting.
You’ve already achieved a high level of mastery with those swords of yours. How much more can we teach you, really?
I’d be breaking with tradition.
Oh, you’re such a stranger to that, are you?
You know what I mean.
Tradition also seems to be that Rhen’val marries Fel’Mekrin, Gwen sent. It’s pretty damned obvious that that particular one is about to be broken.
Arielle was silent, the comment hitting a nerve that was still too raw.
So, what will it be? Gwen asked when Arielle did not reply. Kal’Parev?
Arielle sent along a mental shrug. Angus is pledging Kal’Parev.
There’s a surprise, Gwen said.
Arielle could not help but smile. He’s attracted to what Le’Manon offers, but he feels it’s his duty to stay with his father’s House. He’s still making up for the incident with Bowler.
And he will for a long time to come, from what Thomlin says.
