by Carol Berg
“…the archon might instruct his consort to repair this imbalance,” I said. “And the Chosen can forcibly remove the kirani of the Mountain and the Sea from the Canon.”
“I believe this is why he names Nysse Chosen. He hopes to repair the Canon by sheering it in twain.” After speaking this grim verdict, Kol stretched his legs straight in front of him, linked his hands behind his back, and bent his forehead to his knees, raising his linked hands skyward.
I leaped to my feet, appalled, certain that Kol’s theory was correct. Ronila had purposely destroyed the map in front of me, knowing that my news of it would be a torment to Kol and Stian. “Tuari may have yielded to your argument, uncle, but Ronila will find a way to kill you…you and Stian…and me, too, if she learns what’s happened here. She wants to ensure the Mountain and the Sea are lost forever along with the Plain and the Well.”
“I shall warn my sire,” said my uncle, his voice muffled by his knees and the effort of his stretching. “We shall need his help to get thee into the Canon.”
This made no sense at all. “I cannot pass for one of you, no matter my gards. I cannot dance. I’ve no idea what to do.”
He released his arms, drew in his legs, and bounced to his feet. “Return here at high sun on the solstice, and Stian will instruct thee. There will be sufficient distraction in the Canon for him to slip thee into his round.”
“Distraction?”
Kol raised his arms and bent wholly to one side and then the other, holding each for longer than my sympathizing muscles could bear. Then he stood upright and bent forward from the waist. Supporting his weight on his arms, he slid his feet in opposite directions until it seemed he must rip himself in two. He settled his groin to the ice, then stretched his arms forward, flattening his chest to the ground as well. After a very long time, breathing slow and deep, he rose again.
“I shall issue challenge to the archon, asserting my right to dance the Center,” he said. “If I prepare sufficiently, my kiran of challenge shall be of such a nature that none shall question my right, and for certain none shall pay any mind to a new-marked dancer in a minor circle of Stian’s Round. I shall dance thy sianou, rejongai. Unusual—but then, all that touches thee is unusual. That the Well is reclaimed will ripple through the senses of the long-lived as a spring zephyr. And on solstice night when the season shifts, I shall infuse the gold veins of Dashon Ra with the power of the Canon and trust thee to put the world right again.”
His confidence…his courage…left me breathless. “And if you fail, uncle? Or if Stian is caught bringing a halfbreed into the Canon? Or if Ronila—?”
“Be off, Valen rejongai. I’ve work to do.”
Chapter 30
The few-quellae walk took me from the Well into the ruin of Gillarine, and only twenty or thirty steps more transported me from the cloisters into Renna’s well yard. The high walls left the yard in gray-blue shadows. A leaden afternoon—a proper reflection of my spirits. Flicks of sensation—a taste of moisture in the air, the feel of damp earth beneath my feet, the spongy moss between the stones—afflicted me with a yearning like that of a traveler on an evening road, hoping to see a warm and well-lit house over the next rise. And my gut felt uneasy.
I sighed and strolled toward the stair. I dared not hope that this third passage had somehow cured my doulon craving. I must speak with Saverian. I needed clothes. I needed sleep. I needed to know what day it was.
“Who’s down there?” The gruff challenge came from high atop the wall that separated the well yard from the inner bailey. Someone had spotted me. “Gatzi’s thumb! What’s that?”
“There you are!” This shout, emitted in the squawking timbre of a young male, came from much closer. “Did you fall out of your head just because you spilt a bit of dye on you? You’ll freeze out here, and His Grace won’t like you tainting the well with dye!”
Confused, I glanced over my shoulder just in time to see a great bat flying across the yard, only I realized, as the dark mantle of wool fell over my head, that it was but a boy carrying a very large cloak. No sooner had I twisted the heavy folds so that my face poked out of the hood rather than into it, than Jullian shoved me into the deeper shadows of the colonnade.
“I’ve been waiting for you, Brother Valen,” he whispered, as the guards on the wall speculated quietly on the likely parentage of a fool who’d walk naked in the freezing well yard after spilling dye on himself, and wasn’t it an odd kind of dye to shine so brightly. “I didn’t think you’d want to be seen…this way.” He sounded disapproving, but then, he persisted in calling me Brother.
“I’m grateful,” I said, fastening the clip at my neck. “It feels right to wear only the gards when I’m in the wild, just as wearing a cowl feels right in an abbey. But when I’m back amongst the rest of you, it’s damned awkward. Tell me…how long was I gone?”
“A sevenday, it’s been.”
“Seven days!” Dismay erased what smattering of confidence I’d held on to. The solstice was but two days hence. Sila Diaglou would likely be crossing Caedmon’s Bridge this very night.
“Everyone’s worried, but no one will speak what’s on his mind, especially to me. There’s going to be a battle here, isn’t there? A magical battle that will mean the dark age is come?”
“Yes.” Jullian was no longer a child to be sheltered with sweet lies.
He straightened his back. “I knew it. They keep saying I need to be hidden in some fortress along with Mistress Elene and Brother Victor, but Mistress Elene vows she will ride out to war tomorrow. Mistress Saverian insists Brother Victor is too weak to travel anywhere, but he winks at me when she says it. We believe—Brother Victor and I—that there’s only one place we ought to be when this battle comes. Prince Osriel told us how you took him there so quickly, and if you were to take us that same way, then Brother Victor wouldn’t have to ride out in the cold. We’ve no other Scholar.”
His boldness stilled my churning thoughts. “You want to go to the lighthouse.”
He bobbed his head.
Simple logic and the boy’s stalwart stance testified to the rightness of such a course. Brave Jullian, the brightest student the abbey had ever nurtured, with the wise and capable Victor to mentor him, could become a Scholar well worthy of those who had died to give the world hope. To deny these two the chance to honor their vows to their god and their brotherhood would be to forswear my own.
I bowed to him with sincere solemnity. “In the name of the lighthouse cabal, I would be honored to transport the Scholar and his mentor to their duties. Teneamus.”
Jullian released a deep-held breath, no doubt erasing the pent arguments he’d held ready to hand, and squared his shoulders for the next challenge. “I suppose we’d best tell the others.”
I grinned and started up the stair. “I’ll tell them. But I’d give a good deal for a shirt and a mug of ale first.”
“I’ve tunic, braies, hose, and all over here. The physician gave them to me to hold for you.”
“Just tunic and leggings, I think. No braies today.” The walk from the Well had kept my new gards stinging.
Osriel, Elene, Saverian, and Brother Victor were taking supper in a small dining chamber. The sight of my friends tucked away in the homely warmth of the firelit room struck me with a terrible sadness, poised as we were at the verge of the abyss.
Word of my arrival had preceded us. The prince had abandoned his meal and stood stiffly by the hearth. “Welcome, Valen,” he said, gesturing to the table where two fresh bowls, spoons, and cups had been set. “Refresh yourself. You, too, young watchman. We’ve sent for more.”
“Thank you, lord.” I took a knee, hoping to reassure the prince that I wasn’t planning to abduct him again. “It is fine to see you recovered from your ordeal.” Though he was gray-skinned and gaunt as always, naught of weakness marred his posture, nor any outward sign of his saccheria.
As soon as he gestured me up, I turned to Elene. Her skin bloomed a much healthier hue tha
n his. Even from across the room, I felt the robust life in her. Only her great eyes betrayed knowledge and grief beyond bearing. “Dearest mistress, forgive my not coming to you on our return from Palinur. Anything…anything…you need of me, please ask.”
She lifted her chin. “Later this evening, after you have paid your service to His Grace, I would appreciate a private word. I wish to hear of my father’s death.”
“Of course, Thanea.” I bowed deeply. Osriel would have a deal of trouble preventing his newest warlord from riding out to face her father’s murderers.
Beside Elene sat Brother Victor, resting his diminutive chin on folded hands. I smiled and cupped my palms together. “Iero’s grace, Brother.”
He smiled and returned the gesture. “Good Valen. Well met.”
I had saved Saverian for last. As I’d pulled on the clothes she’d left me, I had imagined her ironical smirk as she attempted to pry out what I’d been up to by inspection alone, and I had prepared a properly humorous and mystifying retort.
But her dark eyes smoldered, and she seemed on the verge of explosion. “Gratifying to see you’ve rejoined us, Magnus.”
“Saverian,” I said, swallowing my jests unspoken. How had I offended this time?
I took the vacant stool between her and Jullian. The boy was already laying a fine-smelling portion of meat over a thick slab of bread in his bowl. Timely and agreeable as Kol’s provender had been, my stomach yearned for the hot and savory. I dug in and rejoiced when a serving woman brought in another tureen. Perhaps the uneasiness in my gut was just this and no warning of perversion.
The small room vibrated with unspoken questions. Yet, though they had already finished their meal, the company gave me time to eat by sharing news. Elene reported that Prior Nemesio and his monks were safely bedded at Osriel’s remote hold at Magora Syne, that Thane Boedec and Thanea Zurina had arrived with their house warriors three nights previous, and that scouts had reported Harrower troops on the approaches to Caedmon’s Bridge.
“I’m glad to hear the brothers are safe,” I said as I refilled my bowl. “I presume Prince Bayard’s legion accompanies the Harrowers.”
“They follow,” said Osriel, “but they appear to answer only to my brother, not the priestess.”
“Thanea Zurina and her men rode out yesterday to meet the Harrowers at the Bridge,” said Elene, a simmering anger scarce contained. “But Boedec’s force is ordered to remain here along with Renna’s garrison. His Grace seems to believe such a strategy does not condemn Zurina’s house to annihilation. Though my liege forbids me, I’ve sworn to ride after her come the dawn and lend her my household’s support.”
I glanced up at Osriel, whose dark eyes had not left me, and at Saverian, who brooded and bristled, mouth tight as a pinchfist’s heart. Then I blotted my mouth and decided I’d best forgo a third portion of the well-seasoned mutton, lest the tensions in the room crack Renna’s thick walls.
“I’ve had a strange journey,” I said. “I’d like to think I bring some small hope for this confrontation, but I’d best let His Grace judge. However”—I stood, raising my cup that brimmed with its third filling of Renna’s best ale—“as this might be the last feasting night of the lighthouse cabal for a goodly while, I would like to wish godspeed and all good hopes to our new lighthouse Scholar and his mentor. Luviar himself could not have chosen better or braver.”
No honorable Evanori may refuse to join a toast to a fellow warrior. Nor may he interject his own contravening opinions before the drinking’s done. Monk, prince, physician, and thanea raised their cups and drank. As I was likely thirstier than any of them, I drained my cup first and got the upper hand in the ensuing remarks.
“Abbot Luviar would not have us forget our vows on this night,” I said. “I understand the urgency of getting these two securely housed before the solstice. Thus I’ve offered my newfound talents to escort them to Gillarine. Yet, were I to attempt more Danae shifting before I’ve slept, I would likely deposit them in Aurellia or in the middle of the sea. Which means, Mistress Elene, that I must prevail upon you to delay riding out to war on the morrow, as you and Brother Victor will both be required to open the lighthouse. Am I correct in that?” I did my best to appear guileless.
It was Brother Victor started laughing first. Jullian appeared to have acquired a healthy sunburn, but soon ducked his head and snorted into his sleeve. The prince blurted a modest chuckle that soon erupted into Gram’s best humor, and even the two women, one beset by indignant grief and the other by gods knew what, soon joined in. Elene knew very well that her intent to ride off to the bridge was rash and futile.
Naught was fundamentally changed by our laughter. Grievance and worry held their grip on each of us. But no one argued with my pronouncement. Osriel returned to his chair, and we talked for a while of how the lighthouse had come to be. Brother Victor recounted the story of my novice punishment when he first showed me the astonishing library, and we spoke of what might be needed to keep the two scholars safe in a future that was naught but hope.
As Brother Victor and Jullian withdrew to their night prayers, Osriel saluted the monk with a hand on his heart, then turned to Jullian and bowed. “Brave Scholar, wisdom, courage, and honor must ever be our beacon through this storm. I can think of no one better suited to light our lighthouse.”
Elene touched my hand as she made to follow them from the room. “I want to be angry with you, Valen, but you make it difficult.”
“I must keep practicing, then. No one has ever noted such a difficulty.”
“When you’ve done with Osriel…”
“I’ll come.”
Saverian had slipped out without a word to anyone. Her anger afflicted me like a saddle sore. Every passing moment seemed to aggravate it. Only duty kept me from running after her to settle matters. Osriel was waiting.
“As always, you tread the verge of treason, friend Valen.” Cup refilled and in hand, he stretched his feet toward the fire. “But I do thank you for reminding us of our common purpose. And most especially—Elene will not hear logic from me.”
Without waiting for an invitation I dragged my stool closer and perched. “And it is entirely logic that forces you to hold her back from danger?”
His color rose. “Logic is all I can afford. Believe it or not, Elene is her father’s worthy heir, a dauntless and skilled warrior, and a leader warriors will respect. Anger makes her even more formidable. But for this mission, courage must take on a different face. Zurina knows exactly what I’m asking of her.”
“To run. To let the Harrowers believe that her sex makes her weak and afraid, so they will think nothing of chasing her all the way to Renna and the world’s end.”
He drank and then swirled his cup idly. “So must I die on the solstice or not?”
“If Kol succeeds at what he plans, no…”
I told him all. And as I feared, neither Kol’s intentions nor the chance that I could heal the world’s wounds changed his determination.
“If you bring me word that Kol has won his challenge, I will joyfully accept the personal reprieve,” he said, after reviewing every nuance of my story. “And that you could be destined to heal these plagues and storms leaves me in awe and inspires hope for our future. My faith in you is immeasurable. But I must and will raise the revenant legion. Tales of hope and faith will not persuade Sila’s fighters to lay down their arms, even if you were to stand before the hosts in all your glory to deliver them. Do I not fight the battle two days hence at Dashon Ra, then it must be fought another day in Ardra or Morian. Here I can set the terms. If you’ve brought me an alternative, Valen, then tell me.”
And I could not. Though I believed Osriel’s enslavement of dead souls would carry him down a path of wickedness no honorable intent could redeem, I had no argument to stay his hand. Sila Diaglou and her grandmother would leave Navronne in ashes and Aeginea desolate.
My conversation with Elene was little easier. We sat stiffly in her chilly retiring roo
m. The hearth fire had already been banked. I spoke of her father’s courage, but gave no details of his horrific end. And I confessed that I had not been able to redeem my promise to turn Osriel from his path. “I’ve brought him hope, though,” I said, but did not reveal how slim. “How goes it with”—I waved vaguely at her belly—“you? You seem well.”
“I could not hide it longer from Saverian. She says all seems to be as it should be. A hundred times I’ve thought to tell Osriel, but then I say: If he did not change his plans for me, why would he change them for a child he does not even know?” She did not weep or plead this time. Nor did she invite an embrace or comfort.
“Hold your secret close, mistress. Even so important a matter, from one who is dearer to him than all others…I doubt it could sway him just now. He is too locked into this course, and at the least, we need him clearheaded. But there will come a time when it’s right.” I hoped.
We agreed to leave for Gillarine at midmorning.
I returned to the tower room assigned to me, threw open the window, and sat on the bed to unlace my boots, imagining each of my friends doing the same. Each of us alone, anticipating the trial to come. Of a sudden I could not bear solitude. I relaced my boots and hurried down.
