They watched but nothing more happened. Navir stepped forward. Blackthorne followed him. Wynne held her breath. Navir walked to the shape and bent to it. He picked it up and turned to Wynne.
"It's the Faerion again. Just a book."
"It's never been just a book," said Blackthorne.
"Give it to me," rasped Berimar.
Navir looked at him.
"Don't," said Wynne. "We can't trust him."
"Galamog is dead," said Berimar. "And my life is nearly over. All I want is one chance to see it again."
"Again?" said Navir. "When did you see it?"
"Heh, heh. You do not know?"
"I know," said Blackthorne.
"Of course you do. You were there."
"Where?" asked Wynne.
"The Faerion was not created by the Wierluns alone," said Blackthorne. "Berimar helped them. He gave them the structure of the book to fill with their power. He showed them how to accomplish their desire."
"It was before I foolishly allowed Galamog to trap me," said Berimar.
"Why didn't tell us?" asked Wynne. "Well could have prepared for this battle."
"I do not know the limits of Galamog's power. Because if I spoke it aloud, she might hear me and know I held such knowledge. And then she would try to force my mind to reveal everything I knew. I played a dangerous game for many years. She could have tried to destroy me at any time."
"It looks as if you are dying now," said Blackthorne, not unkindly.
"I believe you are right. It does not sadden me. There is a new era dawning."
"Is Galamog really dead?" asked Wynne. "Or imprisoned?"
"The Faerion was supposed to kill her," said Berimar.
"Supposed to? Can you tell if she is dead?"
"I can't sense her anymore but she is a Jungegud."
"A god?" said Wynne. "Can we kill a god?"
"Unlikely," said Navir. "I would guess she is imprisoned and if she escapes we should be far away."
A shout rang out from up the trail. Two figures ran down to join them.
"Berimar!"
"Dellana? Dellana, is that really you?"
She ran to him and hugged him. Behind her came a man in a habit. He grinned at the two, and then noticed the others.
"I'm Carle. I recognize Wynne and Navir."
"I am Blackthorne. Those two are Culver and Tomen. They are Tuors."
"Tuors! I thought they were only stories." He stared at them, and then turned away, embarrassed. "I see they grieve for the other one."
"Don't disturb them," said Wynne. "You are a member of the Brotherhood of the Rose?"
"No longer. I no longer follow their policies."
"I see. What can you tell us of Nantitet? How is Treteste governing?"
"Not well. Wierlandians have laid siege to Nantitet. I don't know all the details, but Sir Kirkes is leading a rebellion against Treteste. Prince Estes is with him."
"Estes?" said Wynne. "He's alive?"
"A man named Apal brought him to Nantitet."
"Apal is really Lord Tagera," said Navir. "I tired of Estes and left him in Tagera's hands."
"But why is Kirkes against Treteste?" asked Wynne.
"I believe the imprisonment of Queen Richela and Sir Kirkes led to his defection. I can say that I assisted in their rescue. I am no hero, and I don't mean to speak proudly, but it was a departure for me."
"We understand," said Wynne, smiling at Carle. "Tell me of the Wierland siege. Can they take the city?"
"I don't think so, but they are led by a berserker. He kills everyone. Sir Kirkes did not seem bothered by the prospect of fighting a berserker. I don't know anymore. I tend to ignore politics."
"Who is Dellana?" asked Wynne. She noticed Carle kept an eye on her and she recognized the glow in his face when Dellana was mentioned.
"Berimar's sister."
"I don't see the resemblance," said Wynne. "She doesn't favor him thank goodness."
"Indeed," said Blackthorne. "For centuries I believed they were husband and wife. A clever deception. Berimar was defying Galamog all those years ago. Interesting. She has magic?"
"Yes. I've seen her use it. She surprised me. She was also a member of the Brotherhood."
"Clever hiding place," said Wynne. "Daass would never have found her there."
"Someone did. I think Garlac knew who she was, or at least suspected some of her origin. He dug his nose into everything he found. Very little escaped him. I'm surprised we did."
"I'm afraid Berimar is dying," said Wynne. "I cannot help him."
"Nor I," said Blackthorne.
"Even if I had the strength, the damage to him eludes my skill." Navir tried to put his arm around Wynne but she pushed it away. He followed her away from the others.
"I must have more time," said Wynne. "I see your side now, but it does not ease the pain. You don't know what I went through."
"I respect your wishes. We have time. If nothing else, we have that."
"Navir, how old am I?"
"You are as you appear."
"The last of the Wierluns were killed hundreds of year ago. How did my mother survive that purge?"
Navir rubbed his forehead.
"Every choice I have made with you turned out wrong. I am glad I am not human, having to raise many children. How is it done?"
"How old?"
"Well, as near as I can remember, you were born 278 years ago."
Wynne's eyes filled with tears.
"Where was I all that time?"
"Mostly with me, but as a hawk. I decided to send you out into the world when I grew tired of caring for you in your Man form. I could trigger the transformation. Your human form wouldn't age while you were a hawk and the hawk is ageless. Your mother told me that. I became fearful for you when you changed into a Man on your own. I had been gone several days when I found a near death toddler in my lodge. You nearly starved because you couldn't fend for yourself, nor could you change back into the hawk. I decided then and there to find a suitable home for you. Then, I lost track of you and the years. I have no excuse."
"It helps to know. However it was, it helps to know. I must go away Navir, and find my true self, the one kept hidden from me. I will return someday. Say goodbye for me."
"Where shall I wait for you?"
"I will find you. Do not fear, father, I will find you."
He watched her shimmer and soar to the skies as the hawk. He watched her fly northward beyond his sight. He sighed and returned to the others.
Carle wiped Dellana's brow. Her hands glowed from the heat she transferred to her brother. Berimar's breathing was strong and even. Dellana slumped back against Carle.
"You have done well," said Blackthorne. "I did not know you had such power. I've never seen such skill in healing."
"We kept it a secret from everyone. Berimar feared Galamog would discover it and enslave me too."
"A wise decision."
"What will we do now?" asked Carle.
"We wait for Berimar to recover. Then I think we shall journey to the sea. Berimar and I grew up on the sea. I would like to take you sailing." She pulled Carle close and kissed him.
Blackthorne smiled and walked with Navir.
"Where shall you go?"
"I should like to see the Tuors safely home," said Navir. He arched an eyebrow at Blackthorne.
"As you wish," he laughed. "I'll behave. For a while. Goodbye my friend. Do not stay away too long."
They clasped hands and Blackthorne headed home. Navir watched the black shape grow smaller in the distance, shimmer and vanish. Navir walked to the grave of Elise. Tomen stood there. His hood covered his head.
"Where's Culver?"
"He already left for home. Wants to be alone. I will follow shortly. He's a good fellow and my cousin. But he is a poet and has been out of his depth. I will protect him without his knowledge. That way, I will breathe easier."
"Mind if I join you."
"I would be delighted, Navir
. My legs feel heavy already."
"Come then, we shall walk to Paglo in the wake of the poet. Perhaps he shall find his voice again on his journey."
"I don't know," said Tomen. "Elise was everything for him. Do you understand?"
Navir's eyes were dark. "Yes, I believe I understand completely."
Chapter 22
Culver had nowhere else to go. He had offers to stay with Wynne or join Carle in his self-imposed exile, but he needed roots, familiar roots, even with painful reminders. The pain would lessen one day, Wynne said, although the hollow feeling would be a constant companion. He needed to fill that hollow up with memories, tastes, smells; but no more adventure. He had his one adventure and the cost proved much too dear. He wanted to hear the life of the marketplace, the chatter of the merchants, and the creak of wagon wheels. He wanted to smell the fresh vegetables and bread. He especially missed the smell of the bread. He was through with adventures. He tried to think of poetry, but the words betrayed him. Harsh and vengeful words. He stopped. One day his life would move forward again. He promised himself.
He knew there would be some kind of reception for him, but the mood of which he had no clue. All of Paglo would mourn Elise and the thought made him smile. Elise deserved such honor. Her name should be taught to all the children that follow. Her name should be spoken with reverence.
He drifted into memories.
Culver's journey would last three more days. He walked slowly, enjoying the peace of the forest paths, knowing that the wars were over and no one tracked him. He ate his lunch by a stream, drinking the cold, clear water. Then he napped. The grass felt cool against his neck as he watched the clouds drift over treetops.
The next day followed as the previous one. He walked for hours, enjoying the peace around him. He began to see familiar landmarks, immersing himself into the comfort of Paglo. He neared the border now. He could almost smell the fresh bread from Brendan's ovens. Few things smelled as wonderful as melting butter on a hot slice of bread on an autumn's day. He stopped, suddenly, unable to remember what time of year it was, but then shrugged his shoulders and continued on his way. Seasons had no meaning for him anymore. It would always be winter; Elise was gone.
When he awoke after his nap that afternoon, he shivered. The sunset and the damp mist clung to him. He pulled his stained cloak tighter, hugging himself. Suddenly, he realized he wasn't alone. A black shape stood near a tree, not seven yards from him. It reminded him of Berimar's appearance at Blackthorne's gate so long ago, or so it seemed. He drew his sword, but the figure made no sound. He shivered, uncomfortable with swordplay despite his experiences.
"I am not here to harm you, Culver, you must believe that." The figure spoke at last.
"Who are you?"
The figure was silent, and then sighed.
"I thought myself a great man once, but the great fall so far and so hard. I miss-stepped and here I am, a fugitive."
"I don't know you."
"Ah, of course not. Another example of my once great pride. But I know you. I was called Garlac, the Vizier of the Brotherhood of the Rose. As I said, my fate is deserved. I sought to fly too high and the sun burned me."
"Fly? You're Men. I don't understand."
"Ah, I speak in riddles and metaphor. I assumed a poet would follow my speech."
"I don't feel like a poet anymore."
"Yes, your loss. You have my sympathy, dear Culver. I heard of the many talents of your Elise. I am sorry you lost her. May your heart mend soon."
"Thank you."
Garlac looked at Culver for a long while.
"I want to offer you a bargain. I have much lore, hidden away by the Brotherhood. What would you say if I could reunite you with Elise?"
Culver sat bolt upright, his mouth twitching.
"What would I say? She was my whole life. What price would be too dear?"
"Exactly my thought," said Garlac. "Exactly my thought. In exchange I would like some of your gardening secrets."
"Gardening? Not what I'd expect from a former Vizier."
"I concur. However, with your secrets I can make a great deal of money. Tuor weaving is in great demand and I believe traders would also welcome your garden products. It is a great opportunity. There are few options for me."
"Makes sense now. Gardening secrets for my Elise. How can you bring Elise back?"
"Not bring her back, but allow you to experience her presence again. The hollow place inside you will be filled. It's magic of a sort. I really can't explain it, but it works."
Culver sat thinking about Elise. Her memory was painful but now with Garlac's words he smelled the flowers she wore in her hair. He was sure her eyes searched for him. She still needed him and he must go to her.
"Magic? Is it dangerous?"
"No, of course not, although it is not without cost. It might prove stressful for you, but you will be amazed at the result. I guarantee satisfaction. You will join Elise."
"I will try it," said Culver. "How soon?"
"Immediately," said Garlac. He set out a candle and a mortar. Then he drew a line around Culver. "Sit very still and close your eyes. You must experience a little discomfort, but it is necessary."
Culver closed his eyes, thinking of Elise. Garlac spoke in a chant but Culver did not recognize the words and drifted back into his thoughts. He did not notice when Garlac stopped speaking.
Garlac watched silently, slowly licking his lower lip. His body seemed to shake briefly. He drew his dagger, walking close behind Culver. He looked at the sharp edge of the dagger, then at the trusting little Tuor. He paused, closing his eyes. Suddenly, the blade ripped across the Tuor's throat, blood pouring into the mortar.
Culver felt himself drifting on a wide cool sea. There was no landfall anywhere. The sky was a warm blue, soothing him. Somehow he knew the sea was bottomless but there was no apprehension about its denizens. There was a closeness about the sea, like a small room although it appeared to be endless. His soul floated everywhere at once, becoming, and yet constant, moving and still, and the contradiction felt good. The pain of his life drifted from him as the water washed him and he yearned for the next step. His eyes were closed but he knew there was a bright light overhead. His fingers tingled and he thought all the warmth drained out of his body. Then he heard the voices. He recognized one voice, but the words were unclear. Then the bright light came nearer and the voices disappeared.
Garlac collected as much blood as he could and lit the candle. His hands were soaked in Culver's blood. It was time for the spell. Mortic had warned him not to use it, but there was no choice. He would die if he did not attempt it. He started chanting.
A black mist rose out of the ground surrounding Garlac. Garlac's pale face dripped with sweat. His eyes nearly glowed through the mist, his hands shaking. His head snapped up. He saw movement in the near thicket. A lithe figure ran forward.
"Stop!" called the Daerlan. He jumped between Culver and Garlac. "What have you done?"
"Too late, Navir! Too late!" cried Garlac, prancing around the candle.
Navir knelt next to Culver, putting his hands on the wound and closing his eyes. His hands glowed with a golden light. Garlac, his face contorted, raised the dagger at Navir's back. Suddenly, a diamond tipped arrow pierced his chest. He fell heavily. Tomen entered the clearing, followed by King Ian, Avolan, and a company of Border Guard. Tomen knocked the candle over, covering it with dirt. The mist began to dissipate.
"I missed you, Elise," said Culver.
I know. I am glad to see you, but it is not your time.
"I want to stay with you."
There is so much left for you to do. Our home waits for you. Our people wait for you. I will be here, waiting. Time has no purpose here. Live your life, and then come to me. It will be to me as a moment passing. I will be waiting.
"I want to stay."
Go back, dear Culver. One day we shall be together again, but not yet. Not yet.
"He's opening his eyes," sai
d Tomen.
"It was a near thing," said Navir. Sweat dripped down his face. He wiped the hair out of his eyes. "I used all my skill to save him. I nearly failed."
"It was a good thing you followed him," said Avolan.
Avolan bent down to Culver's face. "He's still murmuring her name as if he's talking to her."
"He may have been," said Navir. "Some of the dead do not stray too far from their loved ones."
"Aye, she did love him."
The Tuors gently laid Culver on a litter and two of the Border Guard carried him followed by an honor guard. Navir, Avolan, Tomen and King Ian watched him go. No one spoke.
"Where will you go?" asked Avolan.
"I don't know yet," said Navir.
"You are welcome to stay in Paglo," said King Ian. "You would be honored here."
"Thank you, but I would intrude."
"Nonsense," said the King. "You will blend right in, except for your height of course. Culver would be glad of your company."
"There's room in his house," said Avolan.
"There was extra room even before Elise died," said Tomen. "It is a comfortable house."
"I will think on it."
"You are kindred spirits," said King Ian. "You have both lost dear ones."
Navir nodded, not trusting his voice, the rush of memories too strong.
"Wynne stayed there," said Avolan, not looking at Navir. "She was comforted and healed there. It is a goodly place for sitting and thinking."
"She did? Then I may stay. I'd like to think she would return here someday. I'll sit on the porch with Culver, listening to his poetry until then." He turned and followed Culver's litter. He felt a warm breeze caress his face. Overhead a hawk filled the sky with its cry. He looked up but only saw the shape as it vanished over the treetops. Elusive as memories. He smiled. It would be all right. Navir's heart sang.
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
The Faerion Page 24
