by Tad Williams
They’ve taken everything from me. They laughed at me. Everything.
The fury turned into a kind of wild glee. He felt strength flowing through him. At last! He brought the rock down upon Ingen’s head, lifted it and smashed it down again, then over and over uncontrollably until hands pulled him away from the body and he slid down into his own red darkness.
Khendraja‘aro brought him to Jiriki. The prince’s uncle, as all the other citizens of Jao é- Tunukai’i, was dressed in dark mourning gray. Simon, too, wore pants and shirt of that color, brought to him by a subdued Aditu the day after the burning of the Y ásira.
Jiriki was staying in a house not his own, a dwelling of pink, yellow, and pale brown circular tents that Simon thought looked like giant bee-hives. The Sitha-woman who lived there was a healer, Aditu had told him. The healer was taking care that Jiriki’s burns were given proper care.
Kehndraja’aro, his face a stiff, heavy mask, left Simon at the house’s wind-whipped entranceway and departed without a word. Simon entered as Aditu had directed and found himself in a darkened room lit only by a single dim globe on a wooden stand. Jiriki was propped up in a great bed. His hands lay upon his chest, bandaged with strips of silky cloth. The Sitha’s face was shiny with some oily substance, which served only to accentuate his otherworldly appearance. Jiriki’s skin was blackened in many places, and his eyebrows and some of his long hair had been scorched away, but Simon was relieved to see that the Prince did not seem badly scarred.
“Seoman,” Jiriki said, and showed a trace of smile.
“How are you?” Simon asked shyly. “Are you hurting?”
The prince shook his head. “I do not suffer much, not from these burns, Seoman. In my family we are made of stern stuff—as you may remember from our first meeting.” Jiriki looked him up and down. “And how is your own health?”
Simon felt awkward. “I’m well.” He paused. “I’m so sorry.” Facing the calm figure before him, he was ashamed by his own animality, ashamed to have become a screaming brute before the eyes of all. That memory had weighed heavily on him in the days just passed. “It was all my fault.”
Jiriki hastened to raise his hand, then eased it back down, conceding only a small grimace of pain. “No, Seoman, no. You have done nothing for which you should apologize. That was a day of terror, and you have suffered far too many of those.”
“It’s not that,” Simon said miserably. “He followed me! Ingen Jegger said he followed me to find First Grandmother! I led her murderer here.”
Jiriki shook his head. “This was planned for some time, Seoman. Believe me, the Red Hand could not lightly send one of their own into the fastness of Jao é-Tunukai‘i, even for the few moments it lasted. Ineluki is not yet so strong. That was a well-conceived attack, one long considered. It took a great deal of power from both Utuk’ku and the Storm King to accomplish it.
“Do you think it a coincidence that First Grandmother should be silenced by Utuk‘ku just before she could reveal Ineluki’s design? That the Red Hand creature should force its way through just then, at a tremendous expense of spell-bought strength? And do you think the huntsman Ingen was just wandering in the wood and suddenly decided to kill Amerasu the Ship-Born? No, I do not think so, either—although it is true that he may have stumbled on your trail before Aditu brought you here. Ingen Jegger was no fool, and it would have been far easier for him to track a mortal than one of us, but he would have found his way into Jao é-Tunukai’i somehow. Who can know how long he waited beyond the Summer Gate once he had found it, waiting for his mistress to set him upon her enemies at just the right moment? It was a war plan, Seoman, precise and more than a little desperate. They must have feared First Grandmother’s wisdom very much.”
Jiriki lifted his bandaged hand to his face, touching it for a moment to his forehead. “Do not take the blame upon yourself, Seoman. Amerasu’s death was ordained in the black pits below Nakkiga—or perhaps even when the Two Families parted at Sesuad’ra, thousands of years ago. We are a race that nurses its hurts a long time in silence. You were not at fault.”
“But why!?” Simon wanted to believe Jirki’s words, but the horrible sense of loss that had threatened to overwhelm him several times alrea ’y that morning would not go away.
“Why? Because Amerasu had seen into Ineluki’s secret heart—and who would have been better able to do that than she? She had discovered his design at last and was going to reveal it to her people. Now, we may never know—or perhaps we will understand only when Ineluki sees fit to display it in all its inevitability.” Weariness seemed to wash through him. “By our Grove, Seoman, we have lost so much! Not only Amerasu’s wisdom, which was great, but we have also lost our last link with the Garden. We are truly unhomed.” He lifted his eyes to the billowing ceiling, so that his angular face was bathed in pale yellow light. “The Hernystiri had a song of her, you know:“Snow-white breast, lady of the foaming sea,
She is the light that shines by night
Until even the stars are drunken ...”
Jiriki took a careful breath to ease his scorched throat. A look of surprising fury contorted his normally placid face. “Even from the place where Ineluki lives, from beyond death—how could he send a stranger to kill his mother!?”
“What will we do? How can we fight him?”
“That is not for you to worry about, Seoman Snowlock.”
“What do you mean?” Simon restrained his anger. “How can you say that to me? After all we’ve both seen?”
“I did not mean it in the way it sounded, Seoman. ” The Sitha smiled in self-mockery. “I have lost even the basest elements of courtesy. Forgive me.”
Simon saw that he was actually waiting. “Of course, Jiriki. Forgiven.”
“I mean only that we Zida‘ya have our own councils to keep. My father Shima’onari is badly wounded and Likimeya my mother must call the folk together—but not at the Y ásira. I think we will never meet in that place again. Did you know, Seoman, that the great tree was burned white as snow? Did you not have a dream once about such a thing?” Jiriki cocked his head, his gaze full of subtle light. “Ah, forgive me again. I wander in thought and forget the important things. Has anyone told you? Likimeya has decreed that you will go.”
“Go? Leave Jao é-Tinukai’i?” The rush of joy was accompanied by an unexpected current of regret and anger. “Why now?”
“Because it was Amerasu’s last wish. She told my parents before the gathering began. But why do you sound so unsettled? You will go back to your own people. It is for the best, in any case. We Zida’ya must mourn the loss of our eldest, our best. This is no place for mortals, now—and it is what you wanted, is it not? To go back to your folk?”
“But you can’t just close yourselves off and turn away! Not this time! Didn’t you hear Amerasu? We all have to fight the Storm King! It is cowardice not to!” Her stern, soft face was suddenly before him again, at least in memory. Her magnificently knowing eyes ...
“Calm yourself, young friend,” Jiriki said with a tight, angry smile. “You are full of good intentions, but you do not know enough to speak so forcefully.” His expression softened. “Fear not, Seoman. Things are changing. The Hikeda‘ya have killed our eldest, struck her down in our own sacred house. They have crossed a line that cannot be recrossed. Perhaps they meant to, but that matters less than the fact that it has happened. That is another reason for you to leave, manchild. There is no place for you in the war councils of the Zida’ya.”
“Then you’re going to fight?” Simon felt a sudden pinch of hope at his heart.
Jiriki shrugged. “Yes, I think so—but how or when is not for me to say.”
“It’s all so much,” Simon murmured. “So fast.”
“You must go, young friend. Aditu will return soon from attending my parents. She will take you to where you can find your folk. It is best done swiftly, since it is not usual for Shima’onari or Likimeya to undo their own Words of Decree. Go. My sister will come to y
ou at my house by the river.” Jiriki leaned down and lifted something from the mossy floor. “And do not forget to take your mirror, my friend.” He smiled slyly. “You may need to call me again, and I still owe you a life.”
Simon took the gleaming thing and slid it into his pocket. He hesitated, then leaned forward and carefully wrapped his arms around Jiriki, trying not to touch his burns as he gently embraced him. The Sithi prince touched Simon’s cheek with his cool lips.
“Go in peace, Seoman Snowlock. We will meet again. That is a promise.”
“Farewell, Jiriki.” He turned and marched swiftly away without looking back. He slowed his pace after he stumbled once in the winding hallway, a long, wind-rippled tunnel the color of sand.
Outside, immersed in a swirl of confused thoughts, Simon suddenly realized that he was feeling a curious chill. Looking up, he saw that the summery skies over Jao é-Tinukai’i had darkened, taking on a more somber hue. The breeze was colder than any he had ever felt there before.
The summer is fading, he thought, and was frightened again. I don’t think they’ll ever get it back.
Suddenly all his petty anger toward the Sithi evaporated and a great, heavy sorrow for them overtook him. Whatever else was here, there was also beauty unseen since the world was young, long preserved against the killing frosts of time. Now the walls were tumbling down before a great, wintery wind. Many exquisite things might be ravaged beyond reclaiming.
He hurried along the riverbank toward Jiriki’s house.
The journey out of Jao é-Tinukai’i passed swiftly for Simon, dim and slippery as a dream. Aditu sang in her family’s tongue and Simon held her hand tightly as the forest shimmered and changed around them. They walked out of cool grayish-blue skies into the very jaws of winter, which had lain in wait like a stalking beast.
Snow covered the forest floor, a blanket so thick and cold that it was hard for Simon to remember that Jao é-Tinukai‘i itself had not been covered, that in that one place winter was still held at bay: here outside the magical circle of the Zida’ya, the Storm King’s handiwork was so terribly real. But now, he realized, even that circle had been broken. Blood had been spilled in the very heart of summer.
They walked through the morning and early afternoon, gradually leaving the densest part of the woods and moving toward the forest fringe. Aditu answered Simon’s few questions, but neither had the strength for much talk, as though the awful cold had withered the affection that had once flowered between them. As uncomfortable as her presence had often made him, still Simon was saddened, but the world had changed somehow and he had no more strength to struggle. He let the winter world flow over him like a dream, and did not think.
They walked for some hours beside a swift river, following it until they reached a long gentle slope. Before them lay a vast body of water, as gray and mysterious as an alchemist’s bowl. A shadowed, tree-covered hill jutted from it like a dark pestle.
“There is your destination, Seoman,” Aditu said abruptly. “That is Sesuad’ra. ”
“The Stone of Farewell?”
Aditu nodded. “The Leavetaking Stone.”
The abstraction finally made real, Simon felt as though he were stepping from one dream into another. “But how will I get there? Am I supposed to swim?”
Aditu said nothing, but led him down the slope to where the river rushed into the gray water, spilling across the rocks with a roar. A little distance along the shoreline, out of the way of the river’s turbulent inflow, a small, silvery boat bobbed at anchor. “Once every hundred or so winters,” she said, “when the rains are particularly fierce, the lands around Sesuad‘ra flood—although this is certainly the first time it has ever happened when Reniku the Summer-Lantern was in the sky.” She turned away, unwilling to share thoughts written on her face so that even a mortal could understand. “We keep these hiyanha—these boats—here and there, so that Sesuad’ra will not be denied to those who wish to visit it.”
Simon put his hand on the little boat, feeling the smooth grain of the wood beneath his fingers. A paddle of the same silvery stuff lay in the hull. “And you’re sure that’s where I go?” he asked, suddenly unwilling to say good-bye.
Aditu nodded. “Yes, Seoman.” She shrugged off the bag she had been carrying on her shoulder and handed it to him. “This is for you—no,” she corrected herself, “not for you. It is for you to take to your Prince Josua, from Amerasu. She said she believed he would know what to do with it—if not now, then soon.”
“Amerasu? She sent this... ?”
Aditu put a hand on his cheek. “Not exactly, Seoman. First Grandmother had asked me to take it if your imprisonment did not end. Since you have been released, I give it to you.” She stroked his face. “I am glad for your sake that you are free. It pained me to see you so unhappy. It was good to know of you—a rare thing.” She leaned forward and kissed him. Despite all that had happened, he still felt a quickening of his heart as her mouth touched his. Her lips were warm and dry and tasted of mint.
Aditu stepped away. “Farewell, Snowlock. I must go back and mourn.”
Before he could even lift his hand to wave, she turned and disappeared among the trees. He watched for some moments, looking for some sign of her slender form, but she was gone. He turned and clambered into the small boat and set the sack she had given him down in the hull. It was of good weight, but he was too weary and sore-hearted even to look at what might be inside. He thought it might be peaceful to fall asleep here in the boat, at the edge of the great forest. It would be a blessing to sleep and not wake for a year and a day. Instead, he picked up his paddle and pushed himself out onto the still water.
The afternoon fell away and the deep chill of evening came on. As Simon floated toward the growing shadow of Sesuad’ra, he felt the silence of the winter world envelop him, until he thought he might be the only living, moving thing upon the face of Osten Ard.
For a long time he did not notice that there were torches bobbing before him on the twilit shoreline. When he saw them at last, he was already close enough to hear the voices. His arms were cold and numb. He felt as though he had no more strength left to paddle, but managed to push himself a few last strokes, until a large, splashing shape—Sludig?—waded out from the rocky verge and pulled him into shore. He was lifted from the boat and half-carried up the bank, then surrounded by an army of torchlit, laughing faces. They seemed familiar, but the sensation of dream was upon him again. It was not until he saw the smallest figure that he remembered where he was. He staggered forward and swept Binabik into his arms, crying unashamedly.
“Simon-friend!” Binabik chortled, thumping him on the back with his small hands. “Qinkipa is good! Joyful! This is joyful! In the days since I was coming here I had almost lost my hope to see you.”
Simon wept, unable to speak. At last, when he had cried himself dry, he set the little man down. “Binabik,” he said, voice raw. “Oh, Binabik. I have seen terrible things.”
“Not now, Simon, not now.” The troll took his hand firmly. “Come. Come up to the hilltop. Fires have been built there and I am sure there is something cooking. Come.”
The little man led him. The crowd of familiar strangers fell in behind, talking and laughing among themselves. The flames of the torches hissed beneath a soft fall of snow, and sparks rose into the sky to drift and fade. Soon one of them began to sing, a good, homely sound. As darkness crept over the drowned valley, the sweet, clear voice rose through the trees and echoed out over the black water.
Appendix
PEOPLE
ERKYNLANDERS
Barnabas—Hayholt chapel sexton
Breyugar—Count of the Westfold, Lord Constable of the Hayholt under Elias
Colmund—Camaris’ squire, later baron of Rodstanby
Deornoth, Sir—Josua’s knight, sometimes called “Prince’s Right Hand”
Eahlstan Fiskerne—Fisher King, first Erkynlandish master of Hayholt
Elias—High King, Prester John’s
eldest son, Josua’s brother
Ethelbearn—soldier, Simon’s companion on journey from Naglimund
Fengbald—Earl of Falshire
Gamwold—soldier dead from Norn attack in Aldheorte
Godwig—Baron of Cellodshire
Grimmric—soldier, Simon’s companion on journey from Naglimund
Guthwulf—Earl of Utanyeat, High King’s Hand
Haestan—Naglimund guardsman, Simon’s companion
Helfcene, Father—Chancellor of Hayholt
Helmfest—soldier, part of company that escaped Naglimund
Hepzibah—castle chambermaid
lelda—Falshire woman, Gadrinsett squatter
Inch—foundry—master, once Doctor Morgenes’ assistant
Jack Mundwode—mythical forest bandit
Jael—castle chambermaid
Jakob—castle chandler
Jeremias—chandler’s boy
John—King John Presbyter, High King
Josua—Prince, John’s younger son, lord of Naglimund, called “Lackhand”
Judith—Cook and Kitchen Mistress
Langrian—Hoderundian monk
Leteth—Miriamele’s handmaiden
Malachias—one of Miriamele’s disguise names
Marya—one of Miriamele’s disguise names
Master of Scullions—Simon’s Hayholt master
Miriamele, Princess—Ellas’ only child
Morgenes, Doctor—Scrollbearer, King John’s castle doctor, Simon’s friend
Osgal—one of Mundwode’s mythical band
