Then a dark shape crossed from right to left outside the window, darker than the night beyond. A sentry. Someone kept watch outside his room in the deep hours of the night.
After a moment, he tried again to move his hand, remembering that it had failed him earlier. This time it responded, though his arm quivered with the exertion as if it lifted a dead weight. He held his hand at the upper end of its sweep, where the weight of it rested on the column of his arm above his elbow, which he braced on the bed.
The flesh of his hand was pinkish in hue and there was an even redder undertone about the knuckles. There were no calluses on his fingertips, as if they were attached to a hand that had never known work. Swinging his hand across the top of the arc, he brought it to his head and with trembling fingers felt of his face. The skin on his forehead and cheeks was tender to the touch and smooth. His beard had been reduced to fine stubble and his eyebrows seemed to be gone. He moved his hand higher. There was hair on the top of his head, but it was very short. While his dark hair had always been heavy and thick and long, this short crop felt thin and unaccountably pale.
He lowered his hand to his side and it was stronger going back than it had been coming up. He decided to see if he could sit. First, he pulled his legs up. They trembled, jerked, and complained, but gradually they came. He tried to swing his legs to one side, intending to drop them over the edge and use his right arm to lift himself. Failure. He tried again, but then was forced to lay back and stretch his legs out in order to ease the growing pain. Breathing hard, he closed his eyes, lay still, and rested.
When again he opened his eyes, light poured into the room through the window. He had fallen asleep and morning had come. He rolled his head and looked to the left. Ka’en still slept in the chair, but she had changed positions, her dark hair had been brushed aside and he could see her face. She looked pale, drawn, weary. Another candle had been lit sometime in the night, and it had also been used up by the intervening hours; it smoked and guttered as it came to its end near the wreckage of the other.
He felt stronger and decided once again to try and rise. This time he succeeded in sitting, drawing his legs up and swinging them over the side of the bed opposite from Ka’en, intending to leave her undisturbed. The blanket fell from his upper body, exposing his oddly pinkish flesh. Despite a fire roaring in the fireplace at the far end of the room, the air was chill, and he reached back to pull the blanket around him. Before he could accomplish this, something warm and pliant fell about his shoulders. It was a robe of soft, purple cloth.
“What are you doing, Aram?”
Ka’en came around the end of the bed and pulled the two halves of the robe together across his chest as he smiled up at her.
“I didn’t want to wake you, but I need to get up and move around if I can.”
She returned his smile but shook her head. “You need to be in bed.”
“No. I can’t lie here any longer.” He raised his stubbed eyebrows. “How long?”
Her smile failed a bit. “Will that always be your first question?”
“How long, Ka’en?”
She sighed. “Three days, my love, four nights.”
At the look of chagrin that instantly appeared on his features, she raised a hand, silencing him, and then leaned forward and kissed him on the forehead. She retrieved a chair from beyond the table and brought it over near the bed and sat in it, facing him.
“There is nothing to worry you, Aram. The sword and the armor are safe under the bed – including the hood – Findaen brought it later. The town is safe, as are its people. There is no sign of the enemy. Alvern watches from the sky and the wolves patrol the woods and the hills, although Leorg and the big white female come by every day to check on you.”
“Shingka?” He frowned. “And Leorg?”
She nodded. “They are always together.”
“I wonder what that means, if anything?”
She laughed quietly. “I’ve watched them together – it means exactly what you suspect. She’s completely enamored of him.”
“Well,” he said. “Imagine. And the men?”
“All safely home. Findaen has started the patrols to the river again; he wanted me to tell you that. But there has been no sign of any enemies. The people from the village below Flat Butte came back with him – they’re living in the new buildings northwest of town with the young men from Stell.” She paused for a moment and pursed her lips, staring into space. “I guess that’s all.”
“What about Thaniel and Durlrang?”
“Durlrang is just outside, by the door. Thaniel comes every morning to the foot of the stairs. Findaen meets him and passes on my report about your health and progress.”
He looked down at the strangely pink flesh of his arm and ran his fingers along his wrist and forearm, and felt the stubble of the growth of new hair. Next he felt his jaw, feeling the same wiry stubble and then his hand went to his hair, which was very short and felt fine.
“What do I look like?”
She smiled gently. “You look like the man I love.”
“No – I mean –”
She took his hand in hers. “Would you like me to bring a mirror?”
“Will I be shocked by what I see?”
“No. But you should know that your hair is – was completely white.”
He watched her a moment. “Was?”
“Completely.” She reached up and ran her fingers across the top of his head. “But it’s already coming back in black, at the roots.” She met his eyes. “Don’t worry –you look more like your old self every day.”
“And my face?”
Her fingers dropped down and caressed his cheek. “It was red, now it’s pink, and your beard is also growing back.” She cocked her head to the side and studied him with a look that was a mixture of curiosity and – oddly – mild distress. “You look a bit younger, actually, except for the white hair.”
“Perhaps you’d better bring the mirror.”
Aram had never had much interest in his own reflection, but he’d seen it sometimes, gazing back at him from the surface of a calm pool of water. The face that looked back at him now shocked him. His long dark hair was gone, replaced by a shorter thatch that was as white as snow, though Ka’en was right, at the roots there was a definite hint of the old familiar black-brown. He had no eyebrows, just a slight dark smudge above each eye, and his beard was a barely discernable stubble.
The skin on his face was pink, like a small child’s, and though possessed of the same severe angles as always, lacked some of the lines that had taken up residence there in recent years. Looking closer, he realized that they were still present, but were not as deeply defined as before. It was as if a few years of care and trouble had been subtracted from his features.
He glanced at Ka’en who was watching him closely. “And you still love this face?”
Her gentle smile returned, though hesitation remained in her eyes. “It’s the same face.”
“No, not exactly.”
“It will be.”
“But if not?”
She shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. I love you.”
He sighed and laid the mirror aside. “I always figured that you loved me in spite of my face, anyway.”
“Not true. It’s a wonderful face.”
He ran a hand over his strangely smooth features. “It must have been the heat that did this. Although – you’d think there would be more damage.” He frowned, remembering the unearthly blue light that had splintered the darkness, and the distant, ancient Voice that had preceded it. I will help him, the Voice had stated. He thought about the terrible volcanic heat that had penetrated the armor and the horrific pain as it had scorched his flesh. He looked down at the skin of his legs – also pink, like the rest of him, spotted with the faint stubble of re-emerging hair.
Someone had helped him, in ways indecipherable. The thought made him shiver involuntarily.
Ka’en had stepped away and was quie
t, watching him. “They told me what you did, Aram.”
He looked up at her but didn’t answer. There was hesitancy in her voice – a tone of caution – that unsettled him.
She turned away and gazed out through the window into the brightening morning. “The wolves have a new name for you.”
Frowning, confused and dismayed by the somber formality of her tone, he still said nothing, waiting for her to continue.
“I heard them talking about you.” Her head moved slowly, marking the progress of the sentry as he went by the window outside. “Andrum Formentius Adamantum – that’s what they call you, in their own tongue.” She turned her head and looked at him. “I asked Durlrang what it meant.”
Aram watched her expectantly and remained silent.
She pivoted to face him. “It means – the fire that walks and is stronger than death.” There was profound distress now, seeping into the topaz-colored depths of her eyes as she gazed at him. She turned and went to a chair on the far side of the window where she sat and stared down at her clasped hands for a long minute. When she looked up again, her gaze went not to him but to the fire at the other end of the room. She opened her mouth as if to speak, but then shut her lips tight, frowning.
Aram stirred uneasily. “What is it, Ka’en?”
She looked at him then and her eyes were moist. “Are you?”
“Am I what?”
Ka’en swallowed and it seemed to him that she trembled. “Are you stronger than death?”
“No.” He shook his head. “No – of course not.”
She looked away again, and her voice was soft and low. “I hear so many things about you. Many think that you are a god, especially now – the birds and wolves, and Mallet, are convinced of it. Others believe that you are one of the ancients. The horses –”
“You know what I am.”
“I know what you told me.”
“I told you the truth.”
“And I want to – I do believe you.” There was an undercurrent of protest in her voice, as if she argued with herself. “But how do you do these things, if you are but a man?” She stood with her arms wrapped tightly around her breast, hugging herself. “How does a man make a mountain bring forth fire and then emerge from the burning rock alive? Findaen told me the whole of the story – how you went down the mountainside, how the burning rock came out of the mountain and destroyed an army of thousands. He told me that a rainstorm came up like magic and quenched the fire that surrounded you, and that you were then struck by lightning.”
She shook her head, gazing at him in troubled astonishment. “I alone, of all that I know, have believed you to be a man. But I’ve had three days to listen to everybody, and to think about everything, and I – I no longer know what to believe with any certainty.”
“Enough.” A surge of anger made him strong; he stood. “You know who I am. I told you. Yes – it may be true that I am the son of Joktan – a descendent of that ancient line. Maybe it’s true – I have only Joktan’s word on it. All I know for certain is that I am the son of Clif and Maefin – good and decent, hardworking people slain by the enemy because I resisted him. I am also the brother of Maelee – taken away to satisfy his wicked purposes. And I am the man that will avenge those deaths. That is who and what I am.”
The surge of strength dissipated, though the anger stayed; he slumped onto the bed. “I’m not sure why I was chosen to receive the weapon of Manon’s defeat, but I possess it and I will use it – to protect you and avenge them. I don’t care what anyone thinks of me, Ka’en, or what they call me – it is of little or no importance. Except for you –”
He pushed against the bed with his arms and tried to stand again, but could not. “No, enough. Besides, we’ve had this conversation before – twice, I think. Twice is enough.”
She met his glare and lifted her chin in quiet defiance. “I need to have it again.”
Aram watched her for several moments as his arms began to tremble with the strain of supporting his body and the anger subsided. Then he released the pressure on his arms and sighed. “Alright. You want to know the truth about what happened on the mountain?”
“The truth?” At his use of the word, she stiffened, searching his face. After a moment, she nodded slowly, her eyes wide, troubled, afraid. “Yes – I – want the truth.”
“I don’t know.”
Ka’en stared at him, and then reached blindly for the chair, pulled it to her and sat. “What do you mean – you don’t know?”
“Just that. I don’t know how I am still alive.” He looked away from her, out the window, and watched the shadow of the sentry pass back and forth. “When I went down that mountainside, I expected to die.” He heard her sharp intake of breath but did not look at her. “I knew from prior experience what the sword could do, and I knew that the armor would grant me some protection, even in the worst of conditions, but still, knowing what it was that I intended to do, I expected to die.”
He thought back to the conversation he’d had with Joktan on the high plains in the early spring and remembered the words of the ancient king when enunciating his reasons for assaulting Manon. Those same words applied now. He moved his gaze back to Ka’en. “It was desperation that moved me, Ka’en, nothing else. Manon had completely out-maneuvered us – had sent an army too large to be resisted to within a hundred miles of – you. There was only one way to stop it, there was no other choice – so I took it. I did not expect to survive my choice.”
Aram drew in a deep breath, still holding her gaze. “As to why I survived? I cannot answer that. Someone far greater than me took a hand, I guess. But I cannot answer questions that are too deep for me.”
He turned to gaze out through the curtained window again, but he could feel her eyes on him. He decided to take the plunge. “I’m going to tell you something, Ka’en, that no one else can ever know – must never know. Ever.” Aram looked at her and waited until she nodded her assent. “The sword has two Guardians, mighty creatures – they are called Astra – sent by the gods to see that it does not fall into the wrong hands. If ever I die, they will take it up and return it to whence it came.” He watched her. “They are in this room now.”
She jumped, her wide eyes went wider, and her startled gaze swept the width and breadth of the apartment.
He shook his head. “You can’t see them, Ka’en. I’ve seen them but three times and then only when they wanted to be seen. They caused the lightning that you saw that day on the plain before the gates of Derosa when Thaniel and I first came to battle.”
Her startled eyes settled back on his face. “And these…creatures – they saved you from the fire?”
“No.” He shook his head again. “Although they might have done, had I given them time. But I was afraid that they would have prevented me from driving the sword into the mountain, so I kept my intentions hidden until the last moment. You see, I don’t command them; their allegiance is to One much higher. He it must be who saved me this time.”
She gazed at him in astonished silence for a long moment. “The – Maker?”
He shrugged. “I can think of no one else with such power.”
“The Maker kept you alive?”
“I cannot think of another reason why I would be sitting here now.”
She did not breathe for several moments. Then, finally, she spoke slowly, tremulously. “So He does care about all this – about us.”
Aram frowned at the making of such a presumptive leap, but then nodded uncertainly. “So it would seem. Or, it may be that He simply responded to the Guardians’ request. But who am I to say? I am here, but not by the virtue of my own strength. By all reasoning, I should be dead.”
The silence stretched out as Ka’en considered everything he had told her. Outside, the lone sentry continued in his monotonous task, and the morning light strengthened as the sun cleared the trees. Eventually, she seemed to relax, little by little. Finally, after several quiet minutes, the tenuous suggestion of a smile to
uched the corners of her mouth and then moved like a hesitant shadow across her face. When she spoke again, she sounded more like the Ka’en he knew, though her voice was barely more than a whisper, and her eyes, as they found his, were yet uncertain. “So, you’re not a god?”
He laughed, a wry, bitter sound. “No, not even close.”
“Not a god.” The soft smile gained a bit of confidence. “Just a man?”
“Barely that.”
“More than that, but just a man?”
“Your man – as long as you wish it.”
Her eyes grew somber at that and her smile vanished. “I wish it forever,” she said quietly.
She moved her gaze back to her hands, and Aram felt a chill touch his heart because of her lingering uncertainty. Unquestionably, the last few days had been one of the most distressing periods of her young life, listening to wild descriptions of all that had occurred on the slopes of Burning Mountain. Indeed, he could hardly fathom the events of that afternoon himself. But this – distance – between him and her was intolerable.
He cast about for something, anything, to dissolve the air of uncertainty that yet hung between them. There was, he realized, but one thing to be tried, and it concerned something that had nagged at him for months.
“Ka’en.” Her eyes came back to his face. “Will you teach me to read?”
Confusion pushed at the edges of distress in those lovely eyes. “Will I teach you –?”
“To read, yes. Letters, and words, on paper, like those your father deals with every day. I wouldn’t recognize the marks for my own name if I saw them. Please. I don’t know how to read things that are written down, and sooner or later, it will become a problem.”
A look of wonder dispelled all else from her features. “Aram – you can’t read?”
He laughed harshly. “It should not surprise you. Manon has little interest in educating his field-tenders – no matter what they might become later.”
She gazed at him for a long moment, her lovely face a study in conflicting emotions. Then –
Kelven's Riddle Book Three Page 7
