Why? Ilvani thought. Why hasn’t the circle been broken?
Panic seized her. Had she truly banished Yaraella, or was she still here, holding Ilvani captive?
Then she saw him on the lakeshore—the reason she was still here.
Ilvani kneeled next to Ashok’s lifeless body. She clutched the obsidian stone—her lifeline. It had their blood on it, hers and Ashok’s.
His eyes were closed. His scarred face looked more at peace than she’d ever seen it. She reached out her free hand, her fingers hovering above the skin of his face, his neck, and chest. Shadows bled from his body and encircled her hand.
In a violent motion, she hurled the stone away and tried to grasp the dim vapor with her hands. There was no way to hold it. Her hands were useless again, always useless.
“It’s too easy,” Ilvani whispered. Tears ran down her face, but she barely felt them. Her body was frozen. She couldn’t breathe under the weight of the ice. Playfully, mockingly, the shadows lingered at her fingertips, but when she moved, they scattered. Even her breath drove them away.
She looked up and saw a figure striding toward her across the vast nowhere realm. He had to walk a long way, but when Ilvani saw his face at last, the ice tightened around her heart. Another moment and it would crush her.
“Brother,” she said in a voice dredged up from the deep, frozen sea.
“Well met, Ilvani,” Natan said. The cleric kneeled in front of her, with Ashok’s body between them. He touched Ashok’s chest, and more of the shadows drifted away. “You shouldn’t linger here, Sister. Living people aren’t welcome.”
“Why did He let it happen?” Ilvani asked, her voice trembling.
Natan said gently, “Why don’t you ask Him?”
“No.”
He sighed. “Still stubborn. But you’ve come far, Sister, and I’m proud of you. You’re becoming what you were meant to be.”
“What was he meant to be?” Ilvani said, looking down at Ashok’s dead face. “A shadow in the void?”
Natan’s expression was full of sorrow. “Part of him wanted this, Sister—he welcomed it. Now that Ashok has seen it, a part of him thinks the void is inevitable. Death is the only certainty, so he embraced it harder than ever so the fear of it would not destroy him.”
“Too easy,” she repeated in a hard voice. “Tempus must claim him.”
Mild surprise lit Natan’s face. “Are you asking on his behalf?”
“I shouldn’t have to!” Ilvani cried. “The gods don’t need my plea.”
“Tempus does,” Natan said. “He cannot claim Ashok because Ashok shuns the gods. No one can touch his soul—”
“Then I claim it,” Ilvani said. “By the Veil between this world and all others, I will keep his soul for him, until he decides where it belongs.”
“You don’t have the power to change his fate,” Natan said. “Don’t you remember your own words, Sister?”
“Then what’s the purpose!” Ilvani clenched her hands into fists and watched the shadows fly from her. “Why do I hear the whispers in the dark? Why do the spirits, the telthors, and the hateful ghosts pluck at me? What’s the purpose of making me see things that burn my eyes if I can’t change their fates?”
Natan closed his eyes. A light suffused his skin and flushed the gray color golden. He was so beautiful, his scent so warm and real that Ilvani wanted to bury herself in it and fade away. When he opened his eyes, he looked content, full of something that blossomed from deep within him. Ilvani knew that look well. In life, he’d worn it every time Tempus spoke to him in a vision. The rapture was all the more intense in death. Natan was with her and yet far beyond her reach—he was at one with his god. She felt joy for him and at the same time an intense hatred and envy of Tempus.
“There is a price for what you ask,” Natan said.
“I’ll pay it,” Ilvani said immediately.
Natan sighed. “You were always reckless, Sister.”
I have nothing left to be afraid of, Ilvani thought. “What does Tempus ask?”
Natan’s expression softened. “He wants you to be whole—to know that when you’re alone in the dark, you don’t have to hear the whispers unless you wish to. There are ways to silence the shadows, Ilvani, to see the deceptions in the void. The witches know. Tempus wants you to learn from them. You must find the strength to stand on your own for what’s to come.”
She read the sadness in his eyes and understood. “You won’t come to me again, will you?”
“I’m sorry,” her brother said. “You have everything you need, Ilvani. This last thing I can do for you, I do with joy.”
Ilvani looked down. Natan held his hands out to her across Ashok’s chest. She clasped them, and the sensation almost broke her, it hurt so much. She let one choked sob escape and bent to kiss his knuckles.
“I miss you,” she said.
“And I you.”
The golden light filled Ilvani’s hands. She looked up. Natan was gone, but the light spread from her hands to Ashok’s body and trapped the shadows.
Finally, Ilvani thought. Souls were precious as memories and as insubstantial. But for this one moment, she held them in her hands. She wouldn’t let them fly away.
She flung her arms wide to gather all the shadows.
Ashok awoke to warmth and disorienting silence. He was lying on the raft in the middle of the witch’s circle. Sree was gone. The landscape—the lake and surrounding forest—was serene and quiet.
Logically—if he could use the word—he knew he was dead, that this was some sort of spirit world, a mirror of Rashemen, but he wasn’t afraid. This was nothing like the realm of shadows where his father and brothers waited for him. And he wasn’t alone.
Ilvani lay asleep beside him, her head resting on his chest.
Ashok didn’t move, not wanting to disturb her peace. He felt her warm breath on his skin as she slept. The sky above them was full of slowly moving stars, turning and turning inward toward an inevitable vortex. They flashed red and blue, and they blazed brilliant white against the black field. Beneath the spiral, the moon rose, its crater face spilling milk white pools like waterfalls on the ground. Ashok felt utterly peaceful, but he wasn’t afraid of the sensation. His soul had never felt so fully a part of his physical form—whole and inviolate.
He wondered vaguely how long they would stay in this mirror world. Not long, perhaps, and in a sudden flash of knowledge, Ashok understood that he wouldn’t remember this other realm, its moon, and its gently flowing stars. Nor would he be able to recall this sensation of completeness. He wondered if this was the mythical Feywild spoken of by the witches. Or was he truly dead? Had he shed the physical realm completely to become a pure soul?
But Ilvani was there, an anchor in the peaceful, surreal landscape. Maybe she would be able to explain what it all meant. He was too tired to think about it now, so he let his eyes close. Just before he drifted off to sleep, he felt Ilvani’s hand touch his own. His fingers brushed her skin and the edges of a stone clutched in her palm. He held on to both and slept.
Ilvani awoke from the ritual to violence.
The treants came out of their madness, but not in time to stop their children from destroying the raft and breaking the ritual circle. Ilvani had the sensation of falling and heard the cries of the witches a breath before the lake swallowed all sound.
The freezing water shocked her back to full awareness. She fumbled at the clasp of her long cloak. The weight of the saturated fabric and chains threatened to drag her down, but she ripped the garment over her head and thrust it away.
She started to claw her way to the surface, when she sensed a presence near her in the water. It could have easily been an enemy, but something told her it wasn’t. Without thinking, she dived down and swam. The presence grew more distinct, and Ilvani reached out in the darkness.
She grasped a handful of wet wool, hair, and skin. A feeling of familiarity overwhelmed her. She remembered grasping Yaraella’s arms in her dreams
, trying futilely to keep her from the storm’s grasp. Each time, she’d failed to save her. But she could save Yaraella’s child.
Ilvani pulled the girl against her chest and kicked toward the surface. The freezing water deadened her sense of touch. When her head finally broke the surface, Ilvani could barely feel the child she clutched in her arms.
She swam toward the dock, but her strength flagged. When she thought she would go under, hands caught her and hoisted her out of the water. She made out the dim outline of the dock by the torchlight. Someone spoke, and more hands came and took the child from her limp grasp.
Blankets fell on her, the heavy, warm weights settling against her skin and lulling her into a half sleep of exhaustion. Voices echoed above her—sometimes she could understand them, sometimes not.
“Are they all out of the water?”
“Yes, but at least one didn’t survive the ritual.”
“Who?”
“The hathran Sree. Agny is tending to the rest. Her magic won’t let them freeze to death.”
“Then our duty is to see to our own fallen.”
Ilvani thought she recognized the voice of the Rashemi warriors. She fought against unconsciousness, tried to speak, but her teeth chattered uncontrollably.
“What of the shadar-kai?”
“They live; they can see to themselves.”
“One didn’t. I saw his corpse.”
Laughter sounded. “Your eyes deceived you. The corpse walks and breathes. He’s treating the others’ wounds.”
Ilvani relaxed and stopped trying to speak. Ashok lived. Yaraella’s child lived. She thought she could ignore the voices now and sleep.
EPILOGUE
IN THE WAKE OF THE RITUAL, THE RASHEMI LEFT THE SHADAR-KAI to themselves while they gathered to mourn Sree’s death. Ashok didn’t know how he survived the witch’s poison, but since he had, and knowing Ilvani had come out of the ritual whole and freed from Yaraella’s influence, Ashok decided to tell only Agny about Sree’s betrayal and Yaraella’s murder. She in turn could one day tell Elina, when the child was ready to bear the truth.
Beyond that, in Ashok’s eyes there was no justice left to seek. Sree paid for her crime, and according to some cryptic remarks made by Ilvani, Yaraella’s vengeful spirit had moved beyond the concerns of this world.
The morning after Sree’s burial, Ashok found Ilvani sitting beside the lake. Wrapped in his cloak—he didn’t remember her taking it again—she shivered against the wind coming in off the lake. Ashok sat down beside her. They didn’t speak for a long time. Ashok tapped the ice-covered surface of the shallows with his knuckles, watching the cracks spider out toward the middle of the lake.
Finally, he couldn’t bear the silence any longer.
“I don’t remember all of it,” he said. “But you were there, this time. Weren’t you?”
“Yes,” she said. Her voice sounded rough, as if she’d been asleep.
“What happened?”
From the depths of his cloak, she exposed her hands, cupped them, and examined the scars on her arms.
“Not so useless,” she said. “My hands. I touched …”
“What?” Ashok said.
She hesitated, but then pulled her hands back inside his cloak. “The whispers are quiet now. The telthors are respectful. They know when to be still.”
“That’s good,” Ashok said. He was disappointed that she wouldn’t say more about what had happened to him in the spirit realm, but he didn’t press her. “The caravan won’t return for many days. Skagi and Cree are in favor of meeting them between here and Thesk. They’re restless to be gone from Rashemen.”
She stared out over the lake and didn’t reply. Ashok thought he’d done something to anger her.
“Do you want me to leave?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said.
Her answer pained him, but Ashok dutifully started to rise. She clasped his wrist to stop him. The touch surprised him. He looked at her questioningly.
“Yes, I want you to leave Rashemen,” she said slowly. “Go without me.”
“No.” The word came out before he’d even had a chance to think. She wasn’t making sense again. “Ilvani, we can’t leave you here by yourself.”
She scoffed at that. “I’m never alone, not in this world or any other.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“You meant this land is dangerous. You mean the witches won’t accept me. They don’t like me. It’s all the truth, but it doesn’t matter. They’ve agreed to a bargain. It’s done.”
“Done?” Ashok looked at her incredulously. “When?”
“While you slept,” Ilvani said. “I spoke to”—she hesitated again—“Agny and Reina. They will teach me to silence the whispers, to control where my mind strays. In return, I’ll help them prepare Yaraella’s child for her future. If they understand what I see, they will help her to cope with what she sees. The bargain is made.”
Ashok didn’t know what to say. “All this while I slept,” he said faintly.
“You needed time to heal,” Ilvani said. She added, “You still do.”
“I get no part in this decision?” Ashok said, a petulant note in his voice.
“You’ll have to argue with Tempus,” Ilvani said. A rare flash of humor lit her black eyes. “Those disagreements rarely end in your favor.”
“Did he send you a vision?”
She shook her head. “I didn’t ask for that.”
“Then what—”
“He wants me to be at peace,” Ilvani said simply. “The witches are the way.”
“How long will you stay?” Ashok asked.
“For as long as I’m tolerated,” Ilvani said. “Or until Ikemmu calls me back. Not more than a season, I think.”
The wind picked up, and she clutched the cloak tighter around herself. Ashok looked at her slender hands and small, shivering form. How could she survive up here in the cold North, so far away from the place where she was born? Who would protect her?
As if she could read his thoughts, Ilvani said, “You should worry about yourself. Do you want to live or die, Ashok?”
She so rarely called him by his name. Ashok couldn’t remember the last time he’d heard her use it. He read the seriousness of her gaze. She expected an answer. “Does it matter?” he said.
His reply made her unhappy. Ashok saw it in the way she shrank from him and dipped her chin inside his cloak. “He was right,” Ilvani said, sighing.
“Who was right?”
“Is that the path, then?” Ilvani said. She seemed to address the question to herself. “To embrace life before anything after can be considered? We have to mend ourselves?”
“Ilvani, I’m sorry, but I don’t understand,” Ashok said, frustrated. He still had so much to learn about her, yet now she was asking him to go.
“You will,” Ilvani said. “Have faith.”
It was Ashok’s turn to sigh. “Why does everyone ask that of me? Why do they try to push me toward one god or another?”
A faint smile touched her lips again. “Not faith in the gods—in yourself and your friends.”
She seemed so sure of herself. Ashok wondered if he was seeing a glimpse of the person she was meant to be, a woman free of the shadows of the past. They both had long roads ahead of them, but for now, Ilvani’s peaceful expression calmed some of Ashok’s uncertainties.
“Why did you come to me?” he asked her. “In that place …” Why was it so hard for him to remember? “You could have died.”
“Why did you help me?” she countered. “Why do you risk death for the brothers, for the humans, for Ikemmu?”
“Because they’re worth protecting. They’re all I have.”
“Yes,” Ilvani said. This time she seemed satisfied with his answer. “A choice—one that has nothing to do with the gods.”
Ashok considered her words. Mareyn found joy in her goddess, a guide to walk the dark roads by her side. Ashok had found that bond in his compa
nions. He needed nothing else.
“I can have faith in that,” he said.
They sat by the lake together, watching the colors drift on the water until the winter sun went down.
THE END
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Jaleigh Johnson lives and writes in the Champaign/Urbana area of Illinois. When she’s not sitting in front of her computer creating stories, she enjoys sitting in movie theaters, gardening in her backyard, or gaming in the basement. In addition to the Unbroken Chain series, she is also the author of the FORGOTTEN REALMS books Mistshore and The Howling Delve.
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