Salera
I sought him then, following instinct, even as I trembled at the thought of the journey before me and wondered if I could find the place where I was raised. I had travelled far and wide in the years between and was not certain where to look, but there lived in my mind a quiet woodland up in the hills, where there was a cave once and pain, and a house in a clearing with a stream at the side. I knew somehow in the confused heart of me that it was there I would find him.
As I followed the mind’s trace that drew me to him, I saw many of my own kindred in passing. Some came to me with a glad sound and that was very good. I saw more than I had dreamt there might be and my heart knew joy at the seeing. But as night follows day so there is darkness in all things, and I also passed many of the Hollow Ones. They were shaped as we but there was nothing within them but pale fire and the need for food. They turned upon one another, rending in anger where kinship was lost, and my blood grew cold as the ice beneath my feet when I saw them.
I travelled long, by sun and moon, flying where I could, walking when I had to, seeking any sign of him or of my old home on the ground or in the air. I stopped to eat and sleep as need found me and hope carried me, until finally I began to recognise the land. The trees were naked so early in the year, though I remembered them with white flowers and red berries, but it was the same place. We had walked here together of a morning. I was come home.
Alas, his smell was cold, and my tail dragged in the dust that lay soft and gentle upon the threshold. I did not smell death, but neither did I smell present life. But there was food to be had in the wood, and water and shelter, and I could keep myself strong as I awaited his coming. For I knew in my soul that he would come, as I knew that day followed darkness. I had only to wait and watch.
viii
Journeys
Shikrar
The moon was dark. Full six se’ennights had passed since the night of the earthshakes that had wakened me from my Weh sleep.
My dear son Kédra and I waited in the entry to the Chamber of Souls, watching the sun set. The winter days were growing longer, noticeably so now, but the cold had returned with a vengeance. Frost was in the air, sharp and clear, and this night there would be no moonlight to soften the ice with beauty.
Kédra was fully trained in the Kin-Summoning but I had decided that this time I should undergo the fasting and meditation, for he still kept watch over his youngling. However, it was not necessary to spend every waking hour in preparation. Even though I had to keep to my chamber for the full fortnight before the Kin-Summoning, to fast and to quiet my soul, Kedra brought young Sherók to visit me every day to lighten the waiting.
The little one was astounding and filled me with delight. I had forgotten how swiftly they change when they are so very small. Each day he was more steady on his feet, each day it seemed that his wings grew. It would not be many months now before they were in proportion to the rest of him. He was already making the sounds that would flower into speech, and soon thereafter he would begin to send his thought-pictures to more than his mother and father. Truespeech was still a few years in the future, of course, but after a mere quarter of a year he was grown half again as large as he had been at birthing.
He was lighter in the scales than his father, for his mother, Mirazhe, was a burnished brass, and his colouring was somewhere between that and Kédra’s dark bronze, but his eyes were golden as an autumn sky and beautiful beyond words. When his soulgem was revealed he would receive his true name, but that would not be for nearly a year. The gem is too soft at birth to be uncovered and has a natural scale of skin that protects it. Eventually, when the soulgem has hardened, sometime in the first year, the scale dries and falls off. It is the first coming of age, the first step towards life as one of the Kantri, and a time of great rejoicing.
His very life was rejoicing to me. Every time I saw him, every time I picked him up and held him close, wrapped him in my wings, laughed with him, played with him, I saw behind him the form of Lanen the Wanderer, who had saved his life and that of his mother on the very day of his birth. And sometimes I imagined, or felt in my heart as deep longing, my lost Yrais. She was my one true soulmate, mother to my own Kédra and more dear to me by far than my own flesh: but she had died young, when Kédra was yet a littling. I had never stopped missing her, and from time to time of late I found myself speaking to the air, telling her of her new grandson. How proud she would have been.
The last rim of the sun disappeared behind low cloud. “It is time, my father,” said Kédra. He bowed to me, then stood in the formal Attitude of Respect. I was hard put to it not to laugh, he was being so serious, but I did manage to contain myself. I bowed in return and mirrored his stance. “Let us approach the Ancestors, in all humility, in this our time of need.”
I took one last deep breath of the night air and turned back in to my chambers. Kédra remained until I should call him.
All was prepared within. With a brief invocation to the Winds, I drew breath and sent Fire into the heart of the wood piled high in the firepit, for Fire is sacred to us and the Kin-Summoning a solemn duty and honour. Light blossomed with the heart of flame, flickering and gleaming off the walls and the floor of khaadish, set thick with the soulgems of the Ancestors. I cast onto the blaze certain leaves and branches, representing each of the Winds. They made a sweet smoke, which I inhaled deeply.
I had fasted full a fortnight in preparation and so was light-headed to begin with. The smell of kirik and tel-aster, merisakis and hlansif (that the Gedri call lansip) rose and blended in the still air of the cavern. The fire shone bright on the gathered soulgems.
The back wall of the inner cavern was studded with them. They were ranged in order, eldest highest, set deep in khaadish to protect them. Now, you must not imagine that set in that wall was every soulgem of every one of the Kantri who had ever lived. Even apart from the soulgems of the Lost, with their never-ending flicker of light and darkness, it had been several lifetimes after the Choice before we had learned of the Kin-Summoning. Also, it had happened from time to time that some of us had died in far-off places with none to retrieve our soulgems and bring them home in honour. I bowed before them all, with a private thought of sorrow over the newest of them—the soulgem of Rishkaan, who had died in the autumn fighting a demon master. He had killed the rakshadakh who had threatened us though it had cost him his life. “Lie safe on the Winds, old friend,” I muttered, then turned back to the fire and settled down, still breathing deeply of the smoke, and began the Invocation.
“In the Name of the Winds, humble I call upon thee, Ancients of our Kindred. O ye who sleep, graciously wake ye to listen. We who live call upon thee in our need. Lend us thy wisdom, speak again in accents of life, teach us who are thy children those things that are needful. Hear, speak, aid us. It is one of thine own who calls. I hight Hadretikantishikrar, of the line of Issdra. I beseech thee in the name of our people, speak.”
Kedra heard me and entered the Chamber, sitting far from the fire. I nodded at him, knowing I was protected now, and let my mind follow the smoke out the airhole far above.
I felt myself rising as on wings of mist even as I knew that I sat solidly on the ground. It is almost impossible to describe the sensation. I am told that the Gedri when they are desperately ill can feel something akin to it. My eyes would not focus but my mind was sharp and aware. Kédra tried to bespeak me, and when he could not he knew the time was come.
“O .my ancestors, I summon thee,” he said. “It is Khetrikharissdra of the line of Issdra who calls. The Gift of the Choice of the Kantrishakrim, the way to remember what has gone before, is needed sore by thy children. My father Hadretikantishikrar, the Keeper of Souls, stands near to welcome thee.”
I felt my throat change, and in the voice, much deeper and harsher than mine, that takes me at such times, I responded, “Speak, Khétrikharissdra. What so concerns the living that they take counsel with the dead?”
“Revered Ones, we have two questi
ons for thee. First, we seek knowledge of the firefields of our homeland, the Place of Exile.” That is how we name the Dragon Isle in our own language. “The earth shakes with greater violence than any now living have known. The mountains burn and run like water. Revered Ones, know ye aught of this?”
I felt myself falling again, down deep under earth and clear water, and rose with a different voice. It was lighter and more resonant than the Speaker. I had never heard it before.
“I bring thee greetings, Khétrikharissdra. I hight Khemirnakunakhor. In life I was called Keakhor, who led our people to the Place of Exile after the Day Without End. It was I who had found it long years before, for in those times I was a wide-traveller, flying to the limits of strength for the joy of it. I it was who saw the Isle much as thou hast described it, many years ere we arrived. But surely the earthshakes have never stopped, my child? What so stirs thee, thus to waken us?”
Kédra bowed again. “Of thy courtesy, Keakhor, see in the mind of thy vessel, my father Shikrar, that which we fear. He hath overflown the firefields. They burn in his mind and he hath known no rest from that sight.”
I felt the touch, gentle, ancient, of that mind upon my own. I felt its surprise.
“Thou hast done well, Keeper of Souls, to summon us.” I felt my head and neck bowing to Kédra. “Would that I had better tidings for thee. At the worst, when we feared for the life of the island itself, there was not half so much fire.” I could feel the astonishment of Keakhor whistling through me. “Name of the Winds, youngling, if thy seeing be true the very mountains begin to melt like snow in summer.” My head shook, sadly. “I fear me thou art in peril, my child, that all the Kantri are in peril, but I can be of no service to thee. The like hath never before been seen by any of us.”
Kédra bowed. “I thank thee, Revered One, nonetheless. And from thine own words, it would seem that thou are the best source for my second question. Far-traveller, Keakhor, who didst lead the Kantri to the Place of Exile, knowest thou aught of other lands apart from Kolmar where we might live? For thou hast seen the doom that awaits us here. If we are to seek another home, where must we fly to find it?”
Keakhor within me sighed. “Alas, youngling, again the truth I have for thee is not what thou wouldst hear. In life I flew high and wide, sleeping on the winds, seeking new lands. Thrice I came near death for that I had nowhere to rest or to drink. Keeper of Souls, there is no land that we can reach save Kolmar. West, south, north, there is only the vast ocean. Do not forget that Kolmar is our home, littling. Perhaps it calls us back. If you must fly there, know that two days east and a little south there is a small island with sweet water, where younglings and the wing-weary may rest for a time. I know of no other lands.”
Kédra responded swiftly, “Then I thank thee, Keakhor, for thy visitation, I honour thee for thy wisdom, and I release thee to sleep again on the Winds. Go in peace”
“I go, littling, but do not let thy good father waken yet. There is one here who would speak, if thou wilt hear her.”
Even in the depths of my trance I was surprised. I had heard of this happening, when I was trained by Leealissenit, but it had never happened to me before. Kédra nodded. “If there is one who would speak, we honour and welcome her. Farewell, Khemimakunakhor.”
“The Winds bear thee up, youngling,” said the ancient one, kindly, and was gone. Again the feeling of falling, dizziness, then caught up all in a moment by another.
Oh no. No, please, I cannot bear it.
“I give you greeting, my Khétri—what are you called, my littling?” said the one who spoke through me. It was the wonder of the Kin-Summoning that I could hear her voice and not mine. Oh, my heart.
I knew that voice as I knew the air that I breathed. It was Yrais, my beloved, my soul’s other half. I had not heard it in eight hundred years.
Kédra was shaken, though he knew not why. “I am called Kédra. Who speaks?” be asked, his voice heavy with awe.
“I am your mother, Khétrikharissdra.” she said. Kédra shivered to hear his true name spoken, but not with fear. The love in her voice could not be mistaken.
I knew that tone in her voice, she only ever used it when she spoke with me or with our son. Oh, ye Winds, bear me up in this. “Littling, I cannot stay, but when Keakhor looked in your father’s mind he saw bright and shining your own son. Know that Shekrialanentierók is known to me now, for all time, and know that my love comes to him through your father.”
Yrais!
“Fare you well in all your travails, my kit, you and Mirazhe your beloved and Sher6k your son, and may the Winds carry you safe wherever you fare.”
And she was gone, save for a sweet gentle touch on my mind as she left—a phrase, an echo, of the Song of the Devoted we had made together so very long ago.
I rose out of the trance of the Kin-Summoning racked with a pain I had thought long since healed. It was forbidden to call up the Ancestors for personal reasons. I had never dreamt to hear her voice again.
Kédra came near and held me, helpless, as I cried out my agony to the Winds. Sorrow endless as the long years, longing like torture pierced my breast, against which the pain of the end of the Kin-Summoning passed unnoticed.
Unless you have lost one you truly love you may not understand, but I would gladly have fought demons to have been spared that sweet, gentle touch, that voice so well beloved and so swiftly silenced forever, and the memory of a song I would never hear again this side of death.
Maikel
Soon after my lord Marik was restored to himself, Berys arranged for us all to leave my master’s home in the Merchant quarter of Elimar. We were to take up residence in Verfaren so that Magister Berys might continue his work at the College while looking after Marik. We travelled slowly: what should have been little more than ten days’ journey even in winter took nearly a fortnight, and it was hard on my master even so. I spent several days simply helping him recover from travelling.
Once he was feeling better both Berys and I took a great deal of time working with him, helping him to walk and, eventually, to ride again. His recovery was wonderfully swift, all things considered, but I was still concerned. The vision of his patched-together mind haunted me.
It was late one night towards the end of the second moon of the year, just as the worst of the winter was leaving and the days were getting longer, before I had the chance to speak to Berys alone. My master was asleep. He had ridden some few miles through the fields that day and eaten well afterwards, all good signs. I was delighted to see him doing so well, even as I feared it was but temporary.
I knew that Berys could not be working so late on anything of importance, but I was passing his chambers last thing at night on the way to my own and saw a light under the door. I knocked quietly and to my surprise was answered immediately by his servant Durstan. He welcomed me and took me in to Berys’s study after only a very short wait. I found him seated behind his desk, plainly busy but pleasant enough.
“Master Maikel,” he said, nodding to me. “You are welcome. I trust our patient is no worse?”
“He recovers still, Magister,” I replied, somewhat absentmindedly. There was a peculiar smell in the room and I was trying to think what it was. I thought I remembered it from somewhere.
“Then what brings you here?” he asked, smiling.
It was difficult to say, he seemed so kind and so concerned, but I knew I had to say something. “Magister, I have sought the chance to confer with you about Marik. I fear for him.”
“In what way?” he asked, genuinely surprised. “Has his condition deteriorated?”
“No, he is as he has been since you healed his mind,” I said. “But—”
After a moment’s silence, he said rather more pointedly, “But what, Healer Maikel?”
“It’s not right.” I managed to get the words out. “Magister, I have the greatest respect for what you have done, but I have seen his mind. It was lost and broken, and true enough you have healed it, but the heal
ing is patchy and largely on the surface. The break is still there, the rift between sanity and madness, and the bridge is very insecure. It would take very little to drive him back across and very little more for him to fall off altogether. My fear is that he would then be worse off than before.”
“Are you questioning my methods?” asked Berys, smiling. “He has done nothing but improve since I brought him back. He grows stronger every day, mind and body. What you are objecting to, Maikel?”
“I—well—forgive me, but yes, Magister, I question your method. I admire beyond words that you have brought my master back from that dry, dead place, but surely a slower approach would have had more lasting results. This patch, this overlay of healing—I fear it cannot last.” There. I had said it.
Berys stood up from behind his desk. He came close to me and stared into my eyes. “Hmmm. Seems to be wearing off.”
“What, already?” I asked, shocked. Did he know something of Marik that I did not? Surely that fragile sanity was not breaking already.
He laughed, a sharp, unpleasant sound. “I was not speaking of Marik. No, he will last some time yet. Perhaps in time my quick work will take root, though I do not know. However, he is well now. Is that not what you desired?”
“Not this way,” I said. Suddenly I was reminded of my old reservations about Magister Berys. I had perhaps been too critical, but there was still something wrong about him. Something about his eyes—oh Goddess. What were Marik’s first words to me? Not a simple greeting, not so much as “Hello Maikel,” no, he’d said “What’s wrong with your eyes?” I had wondered at the time. Now of a sudden I was frantic to be gone, to look in a mirror, to see if I had the same taint as Berys. In the same breath I remembered what the curious smell was.
Raksha-trace.
Dear Lady, see me safe out of here, I begged silently.
Her answer was swift in coming.
The Lesser Kindred Page 17
