Gazing at him still, Jah-lila never flinched. “My prince,” she said, “you and I alone know what befell upon the Plain so long ago, who trusted whom and who betrayed. Honor binds me to hold my tongue until you speak.”
“Never!” the haggard stallion shrieked. “Your spells ensnared me once—”
Members of the herd scattered as, for a moment, it looked as though the wild-eyed king might fly at her—but the Red Mare held steady, her gaze fixed upon him square.
“I charge you now,” she answered, “for your own honor’s sake, speak plain. It is your only hope of peace.”
With an inarticulate cry, the mad stallion wheeled, sprang away up the slope. Below, all around Jan the unicorns watched with expressions of anger, or pity, or scorn. Not until the king’s form had nearly reached the treeline did the young prince come to himself with a start and spring forward to follow. His dam stepped quickly to block his path.
“Hold, my son. It is himself he flees—and none of us may catch him till he turn and stand his ground.”
Jan snorted, dodging, but it was hopeless. His sire’s form had vanished into the trees, the thunder of his heels already faded. Restlessly, the young prince paced a circle.
“What maddens him?” he cried.
Ses shook her head. “Only Korr may answer that.”
She did not stand aside. The prince’s eye fell on Jah-lila, facing him with calm, unfathomable black-green eyes.
“What do you know of this?” he demanded. “Why is my sire in such terror of you? What befell the pair of you upon the Plain?”
The Red Mare’s glance flicked after the fugitive king, then turned to rest ruefully upon her daughter Tek. Bitterly, wordlessly, Jah-lila turned away.
That eve was Moondance, the first, so Jan learned, since the sad return of the courting band that fall past. Now unicorns came from all quarters of the Vale to dance in celebration of their newly restored prince and hear his tale. Jan told them of the City of Fire and his captivity there, of his truce with the gryphon and his decision to treat with the pans as well. Finally, he showed them fire. Striking the tip of his horn to one heel, he set ablaze a great heap of deadwood set upon the rocky outcrop of the council rise.
From the far hillside as the flames rose up, one dark and lonely figure watched. Jan recognized the gaunt silhouette against the moonlit sky, but dared not go to seek him yet, lest pursuit drive the mad king entirely from the Vale, where none might hope to find him. With difficulty, the young prince resigned himself for now. Soon, he vowed, he must follow his sire—to the smoking Dragon Hills, if need be—and riddle out the reason for his madness.
Moon reached its zenith in the sky. Jan lay beside his mate and twin heirs. His dam and her weanling nestled nearby. The young pan nursemaids, fallen deeply asleep, sprawled alongside Lell and his own twins. Dagg and Ryhenna, Teki and Jah-lila rested nearby. Casting his gaze out over the slumbering herd, breathing the scent of them and of moonlight and of smoldering fire in the warm spring air, Jan found himself if not wholly satisfied, for the moment at least, at peace. It was good to be back in the Vale and among his people again.
Weariness overwhelmed him. He dozed. Aye, I have led you a merry round, I know, the soft, familiar voice within him whispered. It will not be the last.
Drowsing, he felt no tremor, no surprise. He floated, suspended as by lapping waves between waking and sleep. Starlight surrounded him. The gryphon feather lifted in the breeze.
Are you willing to accept yet, the goddess murmured, that you can neither summon nor dismiss me, and that my words must reach you whenever and in whatever form I wish?
He seemed enveloped by a medium dark as midnight yet infused with light, that was at once both sea and stars, peopled with other travelers besides himself: swimmers sleek and spiral-tusked.
Are you ready to understand that I am the world, Aljan, where all that befalls you is me and my true voice speaking to you—whether I choose the use of words or no? I have not deserted you and can never desert you, prince of unicorns, my Firebringer, Dark Moon.
After
How my tale has rambled, and how late the night has grown! Truth, I had meant to tell you all, as I promised yestereve—yet I have gotten no further than Jan’s return from the City of Fire. Bear with me, gracious hosts, I beg, for I am old, more than thirty winters: a good age for any unicorn, and a vast one for daya among whom I was born.
Ah, well. Summer nights are pleasant, and you have been most tolerant of an old mare’s champing: you whom the Vale dwellers so long called renegades, but who justly call yourselves the Free People of the Plain. It is always a joy to sojourn among you. Rest sure, I will tell you what remains of my tale, and all in one sitting, if you will but meet with me upon this same spot tomorow eve.
Then will I spell you the rest—all of the rest—of the tale of the Firebringer; how Jan drove the hated wyverns from their stolen dens, thus regaining the Hallow Hills for his people, the children-of-the-moon. Of this and much, much more shall I speak. Come again tomorrow, I charge you. This time, faithfully I vow, you shall hear Jan’s story to its end.
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Dark Moon
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Dark Moon ft-2 Page 24
