“You know this?” he asked, surprised.
“Yes. And Colton sends his armies against Concordia now, of all times? He fears him. He fears the heir. Why else?”
“The boy must find the Gem!”
“He must,” she agreed. What if Ormachon chooses to leave? What of Tomas? The quest? the terrible thought struck her.
“So many innocent lives…” Liam lamented.
“The people must continue to fight despite the odds. We must assist them, encourage them. It won’t be easy. But if they don’t resist, the Dark One will turn all of his attention to the Quest and to the twins. Power, Liam.” She spread her fingers wide and the canopy above expanded. The air beneath grew still, quiet. “We must use it now. Whatever Oleander fears, we must be prepared for. What is the Dark One planning that might shake the foundations of faith more than another assault upon an innocent city?” And why won’t the trees fight? What do they know? Her insides churned but her face remained cold, unruffled.
“He can’t harm the twins yet. He doesn’t know where they are. Tomas is strong. Very strong.” His voice wavered.
“Yet, Liam. He can’t harm them yet. But if we weaken further? What then?” They are not standing against him. We must. “In his arrogance, he’s assumes it’s the leaders who matter most. Maybe he will attack Promanthea or another of the Chosen,” Blodwyn suggested,
“A Lalas? Is he bold enough for that?” Liam stood up straight.
“Is he strong enough?” she shot back. “My fear is that the trees are not prepared for such a possibility. They contemplate other things.” Like how to leave us, she thought. “Will you stand with me Liam? If we are faced with a choice, will you stand with me?” I’ve said it. There’s no turning back. She flung her arm in the air and the canopy evaporated. The rain fell hard against their faces. Blodwyn leaned her head back and let it wash down her cheeks.
“Against the others?” he asked.
“Against any who threaten the earth,” she replied. She clutched her staff and slammed it against the ground. The earth shook and Liam stared at her. “You came to me with doubts. If the quest is at stake, I ask you now, will you stand with me?”
“Will I break the bond?” he stammered. “Will I let Oleander die alone if he chooses to depart?” Blodwyn stood motionless and watched him. A vein pulsed in his temple. His eye twitched. He turned and bowed his head.
“Yes,” he replied.
Chapter Forty
There was much these days to be concerned about, far too much. Davmiran’s thoughts flitted from one problem to another. It shouldn’t have seemed odd his mind was uneasy. But, this felt different. The shards, which he kept in the original pouch first given to him by Premoran, were tied to his belt wherever he went. When he slept, he did so with them under his pillow, his hand wound up in the strings. The ring hung from its thong around his neck as usual. He could feel them both always. Some days they spoke loudly and some it was just their presence he was aware of, but tonight they were uncommonly silent.
He reviewed the thoughts that concerned him, one by one, trying to pinpoint the cause of his distress, and it occurred to him that the absence of communication itself was what was bothering him. He had grown so used to it. He reached for the pouch and loosened the string. In the pitch dark, he could still see the outline of the objects within it. The sight of them comforted him. With his other hand, he grasped the ring. The cold radiated through his fingers.
Strange, he thought. Always warm. Not tonight. Not now.
Fumbling with the strings, he pulled the pouch open and spread the shards out on the bed. They glowed and illuminated the area around them, each a slightly different shape. Pulsating, they effused muted and varied colors, soft, soothing, but always shifting in hue, at times opaque, at others as dense and solid in appearance as the hardest of rocks. None longer than two inches and each conical, they were so much alike and yet so incredibly unique. With little to distinguish one from the next, he could identify each as if it had its name written upon it.
They held the memories of centuries, so powerful he lost himself within them. Cairn’s teaching’s prepared him. He couldn’t have done this before. He shielded his thoughts and viewed them from behind a mental screen where he could interact without losing control. He felt them tugging at him, drawing him in. The visions were intense. And he did live them. Worlds of memory opened up before him, crossing all boundaries of space and of time. He emerged from each encounter older, stronger, smarter… never the same.
These experiences drained him, but he was adept at it by now. They contained far too much for most minds to absorb. A mental wall rose up around him, solid and secure.
One of the shards was spinning on its pointed axis. Light bathed the walls of the room, dancing up and down, faster and faster. Pictures, images of days gone by, materialized and vanished. No judgments. Pure experience.
It was Acire’s shard that spoke the loudest. The Lalas’ essence was strong, its voice clear. He saw it all. A beautiful city, rivaling Gwendolen in size and majesty, empty of people, cracking and crumbling to ruin, spiraling towers of dust rising into the sky. Two figures stepped from the rubble, their backs to him as they walked away. Devastation behind them. He fought the sadness. He needed to see. Sorrow lurked behind the images every time, like an animal stalking its prey. He pushed it away.
When will there be joy again, he wondered.
The ground shook. At least it seemed as if it did. These sensations were as real to him as anything could be. Rhythmic. He knew what it was. Acire’s heart, the center of the great Lalas’ being, was beating for the last time.
What are you trying to tell me? he questioned. Why must I see this?
He felt the tree’s exhaustion and the relief that accompanied it, a confusing jumble of emotions. The tree gave up, and though the decision that caused it to depart resonated within him, he still could not understand it. He witnessed Acire’s reconciliation with death, but was unable to find a reason for it.
You gave up for what, Acire? For what? I don’t understand.
Everything moved, shifted. He was rushing headlong down a dank and twisting tunnel! His balance fell away and nausea gripped him. Tumbling through space, blinded by the speed, he realized it was Acire’s consciousness he was astride.
His mind’s eye burst into a pool of liquid. Music played in his head, voices bombarded him and images flooded his brain, but they were not Acire’s alone. Other trees were there too. Many others. Their thoughts merged as if they were of one mind. Acire drank deeply of the water, sucked it in and it spread all around him, rushed over him, thoughts, memories, visions, all at once. The stream of life, he thought. Beautiful. So beautiful.
Shock… horror. His breath flew from his chest. The blow sent him reeling. Acire recoiled and withdrew in an alarming rush. A taint upon the water! Certain. Tangible. Devastating. The Lalas’ consciousness flew backward, away from this place of revulsion. The darkness, the contamination, the emptiness rushed after him, but he outran it. He was faster. It couldn’t catch him. For now! He was safe for now. But, behind the relief of his escape lingered the knowledge of its presence in the world and of its burgeoning power, a knowledge that loomed over Acire’s thoughts like an opaque shroud over the sun.
Davmiran felt the threat, imminent, insistent. All at once he understood the consequences. He saw through Acire’s eyes what would become of the world if this engulfed him too. He drew back, frightened, alarmed, and then overcome by an inexplicable ache. At that moment, the great tree’s decision to depart became crystal clear.
He is afraid he will be unable to resist! He has no choice but to die! There was more. In fleeting images that shook his soul, Davmiran saw the darkness spreading, seeping into the trees, coursing through their trunks and branches and foliage as they drank of the waters that sustained them. From one to the next it spread, their shields collapsing before its growing power. Acire’s greatest fear, realized in a vision! He betrayed the First and l
ed the Dark One to it and to the Gem! A second vision flooded his senses; the youngling in Pardatha stretching out toward the waters, innocent, confident, anxious to meld with the others, unaware of the lurking danger. No! His head flopped against the pillow.
His eyes blinked open. The room was dark. Can’t see anything. Dav leaned over and lit the stub of a candle on his bed table. Parth. Still in Parth, he realized.
With the side of his hands, he shoveled the shards back into the pouch. They were silent and dull. He tied the string and attached it around his waist. The ring hung from its necklace, the metal cold against his chest. The scent of the Dark One permeated the room and in the glow of the candle he still saw the blackness rushing toward him. And then he felt it. Something entirely different. A blackness unlike any other, unlike even the Dark One’s essence.
So close to me. It came so close. He steeled himself against the memory.
A horn blew somewhere in the tower. It blew again and he stood up and reached for some clothing to throw over his sleeping tunic. As he pulled his boot over his foot, someone knocked lightly at the door.
“Wake up, Dav,” Robyn dar Tamarand’s voice sounded from behind the barrier. “There’s a group at the gate.”
Dav opened the shutter on the wall and looked through the modest window. Three figures stood out against the backdrop of the woods, the morning sun highlighting them as they approached the Tower. He unlatched the door. “Tamara’s back.”
Robyn nodded.
“I hope she’s not too late,” Davmiran said.
Chapter Forty-one
A dwarf, an elf and a human boy together on the road. An uncommon sight. The fabric weaves…
“Tomas, you’re still so sad,” Preston sensed his mood. His horse nickered and blew out air as he pulled on the girth. Since they bid farewell to Queen Esta and Stephanie outside the walls of Avalain, and Tomas met with Ormachon, they had hardly talked. Tomas was quiet. Too quiet.
“Is it that obvious?” He kept his eyes on his horse’s bobbing head and waited for the others to mount.
“Yes, it is,” Preston replied. “Did you learn what you needed to from Ormachon?” He finally asked. He’d been wanting to since they started on the road again. Tomas was silent. “Was it as hard as you anticipated?” Preston questioned. “You know, to speak with him after so long?”
“We’ve reached an understanding.” Tomas’ arms slackened, the reins flopped against his horse’s mane. “Ormachon did what he had to do. He told me that and I believed him. Revealing my location was a risk he felt he had to take.”
“And you forgive him?” Preston asked. He felt a sting in his throat.
“His decision was hard for him to make, hard for me to reconcile. I’m just one. He thinks differently than we do.”
Preston stiffened and swung his leg over the saddle.
“What of the bond Tomas? Is it still strong between the two of you?” Elion’s voice was gentle.
The loneliness in Tomas’ face was clear, almost like a smile. He hesitated for a moment, words waiting to be said. “I understand it differently now.” He wasn’t talking to them. He was talking to himself.
“What do you think Gwendolen will be like?” Preston asked, changing the subject. “Has anyone been there since Cinmarra fell?” He clicked the animal on.
“I suspect some scavengers and vagabonds have,” Elion said. “There’ll be little left any of us will recognize.” He kept his eyes on Tomas. The mention of Gwendolen sparked his interest.
“I was a newborn when they sent me away,” Tomas said. “If I had any memories of the place they wouldn’t be pleasant ones, I imagine.”
“How was it you and your brother were separated, Tomas? No one ever told me.” Preston managed to make even the hardest questions seem natural, easy, though Elion flushed.
“I have no problem talking about it,” he sensed Elion’s discomfort. “I don’t blame the King and Queen for doing what they did.” He called them the King and Queen, not mother and father. “I was raised by my Aunt and Uncle. They had no children of their own, and I was a son to them. I loved them and they loved me.” His face softened. “Though they told me who I was, of my heritage, it was like listening to a story about someone else. I never wished for a different life.”
“So why did your real parents send you away?” Preston asked again.
The road thinned and the row of trees that was beyond the fences now lined them. The drainage ditches disappeared and the road itself was worn and broken the further from Avalain they traveled.
“I wasn’t expected to live very long. They left me in the Spiritwood to die.” The way he said it made it sound mysterious, not frightening. “I was born with a disease no one believed I could survive. They were worried that if I stayed in the castle, or even the city itself, that my brother might also become infected with it.” Tomas’ voice wavered. My brother. The heir.
“But of course you didn’t die,” Elion said, his eyes on Tomas’ face. He’d heard the story many times from his mother, but knowing Tomas, changed its meaning.
“No. I didn’t.” His thoughts clung tight to his head like steam above a simmering pot. “The trees succored me and, eventually, Trevor and Safira found me and took me in.”
“Did they know who you were?” Preston asked.
“Yes. Though only a few knew of my birth at the time.” So few know the truth. Elion? You do. “ Mira advised them at some point. She was my brother’s guardian. She cast him from Gwendolen in the final hours.” He spoke as if he was there, dreamy-eyed.
“In fact, Preston, Davmiran is named after her. Baladar saw to that!” Elion added.
“What was his name before?” Preston asked.
“Marcus,” Elion answered. “But he doesn’t remember. Mira cleared his mind of all he knew before the casting. He’s Davmiran dar Gwendolen now.”
“It’s better that way,” Tomas said, pensive still. Minutes. Just minutes between us. It’s better.
“You were the lucky one then,” Preston said.
Tomas looked at him with a delayed smiled. “I guess so,” he paused. “As a child, it all seemed unimportant. My aunt and uncle were careful about what they revealed and when. Pardeau was a small town. The heir to the kingdom of Gwendolen wouldn’t have fit in too well there.” The heir. Elion knows, why doesn’t he mention it? My brother… he’ll find the Gem.
Preston leaned back, thinking. He’d never fit in too well anywhere, either. “Who killed them, Tomas?”
“I don’t know,” his eyes sharpened. “Cairn of Thermaye had just arrived, and I was with Ormachon and him when it happened. We didn’t have time… we didn’t know.” He cocked his head to the side. “Calyx sensed the trouble first and Cairn followed him back to the house, but he was too late. They were already dead. Cairn buried them, and then I found the ring. It was there all along and I must have known that somehow.” He sounded surprised, like he was thinking about this for the first time. “I never even had the chance to say goodbye.”
“If you never saw the sunshine, then you wouldn’t mind the rain quite so much.” Preston couldn’t help himself.
“But it would be rain nonetheless,” Tomas spoke softly, as if to himself.
“When they realized you weren’t sick anymore, why didn’t they send you back home?” Preston asked.
Distracted, Tomas flapped the reins against his horse’s neck. He didn’t reply.
“When your brother was born, the entire world knew about it,” Elion stepped in. “The birth of the heir to the Gwendolen throne was not something to be taken lightly. Had someone come along later making claims about another heir…” Elion stopped himself short. “It was better nothing was known about you at all.”
“Were you ever really sick, Tomas?” Preston had something on his mind. “If your aunt and uncle knew about you and were prepared to find and raise you, perhaps this was all planned. Maybe your being sick was just a way to keep you safe all these years. If no one knew of your
existence, then no one could hurt you.” He looked off into the distance, anxious. “And Ormachon just happened to reside near your aunt and uncle’s home. A coincidence?” He smirked. “What if…” Preston’s mind was flying. “What if your brother had died with the rest of your family, no one would have known you existed, that an heir was still alive.”
Tomas didn’t flinch. He sat and listened, but he didn’t respond.
“Davmiran’s alive Preston,” Elion cut in. “They’re both alive.”
“But…” Preston wouldn’t give up the thought.
“What are we hoping to find in Gwendolen?” Elion glared at Preston.
“A clue. An answer maybe,” Tomas responded, his face blank, unreadable. “There’s a page that was torn from the Tomes. Ormachon believes I’ll be able to read it with the help of the ring. He told me to go home. To find it.”
“Has it been a secret until now?” Preston asked. “Ormachon never mentioned it before?”
“No,” he replied, his voice hardly audible. “I didn’t have the ring. I needed the ring…” The Tomes. The prophesies. If I had died then. If Colton had found me when Ormachon…
Elion saw Tomas sway in his saddle. He reached over and steadied him and Tomas jumped at the touch. “You have a lot to think about,” he said, trying to keep him calm. He hoped not too much. He was only a boy after all. “Gwendolen’s a long way from here. It’s going to take us more than a week to get there no matter what we do. We’re going to have to stop somewhere on the way and there aren’t too many options.” But there was one. “There’s a town called Tallon we should reach in two days ride. I think we should head for it.”
Tomas stared right through him. His eyes dilated. He began to move his lips, then stopped.
“We used to go there in the summers ages ago,” Elion continued, worried. “My mother visited the wells for their healing waters. It’s the town where the Lalas sing.”
At the mention of Elsinestra, Tomas’ face relaxed. “Tallon,” he repeated the name aloud. “It’s where Ormachon goes for nourishment and to share with the others. The waters there do more than heal.” Give to the child what he has come here to borrow….
The Revenge of the Elves Page 31
