by Sean Russell
Alaan shook his head. “The arrow wasn’t mine.” He glancedover at Tam, then Cynddl. “One of you, I expect?”
“We all played our part,” Tam said. He looked down at thechild, who had gravitated toward Fynnol and stood leaning against the smallValeman with a familiarity that only children could conjure with their chosenprotectors. “Llya found the arrow …” He glanced up at the Renne noblemen andthought that they did not need to know more about the boy who had become thevoice of a river.
Men-at-arms began to converge on the place-to see the deadsorcerer. They were battered, exhausted, a look of horror in their eyes. Theyemerged out of the thinning smoke like spectres, quiet as the dead. A secondgroup of riders appeared. These wore the purple of the House of Innes-a liveryTam could not see without a flash of apprehension.
“Is that Prince Michael?” Fondor said, a little surprised.
“Lord Fondor,” the young Prince said. “I’m thankful to seeyou unharmed.” He nodded graciously to Lord Kel, then looked over at theothers. “Alaan? You look like you have walked through fire.”
“And so I have, my Prince,” Alaan said. “We have managed tokill Hafydd for you, though it would never have been done without Lady Elise.”
“And where is she?” the Prince asked quickly.
“She has gone to tend a wound. I don’t think you will seeher again this day.”
“But she will recover?”
“So we hope.”
Fondor was gazing over at the prince’s party. “Samul?”
“I don’t believe this is Renne land,” Samul said quickly.
“No,” Fondor said softly. “These are the estates of theHouse of Innes. You have only the Prince to answer to, here.”
“Samul Renne has permission to travel my lands freely. Tosettle here, if he wishes. Without him and Jamm and Carl and Pwyll, I shouldnever have survived to take back my father’s army.”
“Pwyll!” Alaan said. “Where is he?”
“He was wounded-burned, in combat with Hafydd.”
“Where?”
“In the shade of the trees.” Prince Michael pointed.
Alaan scrambled up. “I must see to him.” Alaan turned to theothers. “I haven’t even asked if any of you are hurt?”
All were injured in minor ways, but all shook their heads.On such a day a broken arm would be considered good fortune.
Alaan looked from one Valemen to the other. “We owe a greatdebt to you, Cynddl, and to you northerners. This was not your war, yet youhave been in the center of it from the beginning.”
“It was no one’s war,” Fynnol said. “It was just the echo ofa struggle that began before history. A feud over … what, I still don’tunderstand. A child, perhaps. A sorcerer who succumbed to madness. A spellthat contained that madness.” He shook his head. “Perhaps it is about a swanthat did not want to die.” He looked up at the story finder. “Maybe you willmake sense of it, Cynddl. And put it all into a story.”
“There isn’t one story,” Cynddl said. “There are myriadtales to be told, all different and puzzling. It is vain to ask them to makesense. Rath taught me that: just tell the tales. They will speak forthemselves.”
Forty-six
The day was spent separating the wounded from the fallen.All through the morning boats plied back and forth over the river carrying thewounded to the healers and returning those who were beyond the healers’ skill.A great pyre was built for the dead beside the river, and silent companies ofthe living carried their fallen brothers there. Orlem Slighthand was not thereto be mourned, but his friends made a small ceremony by the river, and Cynddltold a story of Slighthand and his home in the hidden lands. The massivesword, rescued by Elise, was claimed by A’brgail as a relic of his order, forit was Slighthand and Kilydd who had secretly formed the Knights of the Vow somany years before.
“Elise should have been here,” Fynnol said to Tam. “It wasElise he loved and followed, even more than Alaan.”
“It was Sianon he loved,” Tam said, “and she’s gone.”
A cloud of sooty terns wheeled and dived into the river, bobbingup and taking once more to the air to call mournfully. The sun was over theother shore now, its light glittering on the dancing river.
Boats passed back and forth with news and families lookingfor their loved ones. The pyre was soaked in oil and lit, the smoke streamingstraight up for some hundred feet, then drifting south on a high wind.
Tam thought he should feel lucky to be alive, but he feltnothing at all. Sounds seemed to echo hollowly from some distant place, andeven his thoughts seemed not quite his own, surfacing randomly and often goingnowhere. He and his companions walked up the bank a little, where they strippedoff their smoky clothes and dived into the river. Tam floated there, on hisback, cradled by the cool water, the summer sun caressing his face.
“Is it over?” Fynnol asked after an age of silence. “I meanreally over?” The little Valeman floated a few feet away, his eyes closed.
“Caibre has returned to the river,” Cynddl said, “and Alaantook an ancient dagger from Hafydd’s body-a smeagh, I would guess-then burnedthe corpse. The Wills and the Renne have met in battle and the usurper, Menwyn,is dead.” He paused. “And a child returned from the shadow kingdom-returned asno one ever has before. If Alaan can repair the spell, then I think we can sayit is over … at least over for our lifetimes.”
They drifted like that for a time, listening to their ownquiet breathing and the distant crying of the terns. Alaan appeared on the bankand called to them, and they swam reluctantly ashore.
“How fares Pwyll?” Cynddl asked.
“Well enough. He tried to fight Hafydd on his own.” Alaanshook his head. “Of all people he should have known better. He’s with thehealers, now.”
“Where are we going?” Fynnol wondered.
“Across the river. I want to go see the Fael. They sent wordthat Eber is there, and he doesn’t yet know that Llya is safe.”
“And how will you explain what happened? That the child heknows is gone, replaced with a …” Fynnol let the sentence die, and glanced atAlaan, afraid that he had offered offense.
Alaan didn’t seem to notice. “I will tell him the truth;Wyrr went back into the waters, but his memories remain.” Alaan shook his head.“Llya was never born for an ordinary life, poor child. I don’t know what willbecome of him.”
Tam pointed to the crowds converging on the far shore. Pavilionswere being raised. It looked like a fair. “What goes on?”
“The Renne are gathering-to celebrate a victory, I wouldguess.”
“How can any celebrate this?” Fynnol asked, waving a hand towardthe still burning pyre. “Thousands lost their lives this day-thousands, fromall sides. If any won, I don’t know who it was.”
“The survivors won,” Alaan said, then reached out and put ahand on the little Valeman’s shoulders. “You, Fynnol Lowell.” But then thesmile disappeared. “But we have all been delivered from Mea’chi and Hafydd. Fewwill ever know or understand, but the living have cause to celebrate.”
A large boat was waiting to carry them across the river. Thegirl, Sianon, and Llya waited there under the eye of a kindly Renne guard. Shesquinted and blocked the sun with a hand, but Tam had yet to hear her utter asingle word. Perhaps the now-vocal Llya would have to teach her the handspeech.
Prince Michael of Innes, Carl A’denne, and several Renne noblemenstood by, all still smoke-stained and grim. They didn’t look like men who hadwon a war.
“There is a rumor,” Prince Michael said, “that one of themen from the wildlands shot the arrow that brought down Hafydd.”
“It was Tam,” Fynnol said, making a little mock bow towardhis cousin.
Prince Michael did smile then. “The river didn’t bring youso far without purpose,” he said.
“Why did you venture so far south?” Fondor Renneasked.
“We agreed to take Cynddl a fortnight’s journey down theriver,” Fynnol said, “in exchange for horses, but we got … los
t.”
“Lost on the river?” Fondor said, and he and the other Rennelaughed as though Fynnol made a joke. “Prince Michael tells us that you havefought many battles against Hafydd and his guards.” He made a little bow tothem. “You will always be welcome among the Renne.”
“And in my home as well,” the Prince said. “My estates arequite reduced, but I think I can still make you comfortable.”
They thanked the noblemen and settled aboard the boat. Thewatermen set out for the distant shore, angling up the river. A little breezeswept down the channel, and Tam closed his eyes and imagined that it carriedsome scent of home, of the mountains and the hay fields. He wondered what hisgrandfather would be doing in the late afternoon. Walking out to gauge thegrowth in the orchard, perhaps, or checking on his prized bees.
He could see the people thronging the bank and hear music beingplayed. Banners and streamers fluttered in the breeze, and costumed men walkedlike herons on high stilts. There was an atmosphere of holiday in the air.
“It seems like another world,” Baore said, staring. “Likesomeplace in the hidden lands that knows nothing of our troubles.”
“There has been pain enough,” Llya said softly. “Let therebe joy for a while.”
The men in the boat all shifted in their seats, glancing atthe boy. It seemed this new Llya would be as disturbing as the old-though in adifferent way.
Tam noticed three women walking along the bank, one nottwenty years of age. They wore dark gowns and black scarves over theirhair-widows. They went so slowly, as though time had changed its pace for them,while behind all was chaos and color. The young woman turned her gaze out overthe water and Tam imagined that their eyes met, hers soft with tears.
He remembered the man-at-arms they’d found floating in theriver with Tam’s arrow in his chest. It seemed like so long ago, and sodistant. Did his widow bear her grief with such dignity? Tam thought of all themen he had killed-so many he’d lost all count. He’d fired hundreds of arrows atdistant faces, never knowing if they brought a man down or missed their marks.He remembered the final river, an ink-gray artery running through the twilight.How many men had he sent into the darkness, and how long would they haunt hisdreams?
He shook his head and looked away, realizing that he wouldhave to brave his dreams because he was desperate for sleep. The Faelencampment was subdued. They were making preparations to have their archers return,for a company had crossed the river with Fondor Renne. Hardly enough to turnthe tide of a battle, but welcomed all the same. The Fael had given up theirlong held neutrality in the wars of men, and Tam wasn’t sure that was a goodthing.
As they were in the company of Cynddl, they weren’t requiredto explain themselves or what they wanted, and Nann, the elder, strode quicklydown to greet them. Tam still thought her the most un-Fael-like woman he hadever seen: practical and sober where the others were exotic and filled withmirth and mischief.
“Send word to Eber,” Nann said to a man standing nearby. “Tellhim his son is safe.” She crouched before she greeted anyone and gazed a momentat the two small children.
“And who are you, child?” she said to the girl.
“This is Sianon,” Llya said softly, causing Nann’s eyes togrow wide. “She came out of the dark land and doesn’t speak.”
“And you do, I see,” Nann said, glancing up at Alaan.
“It’s a long story,” he said in answer.
Nann stood slowly, looking a little unsteady on her feet. “Isee there is much to tell. Come, let us find Eber and remake his broken heart.”
The Fael did not look at them as they once had-like intruders-butsmiled and nodded to the strangers as they passed. There was palpable reliefthat Cynddl had survived. They did not want to lose their most gifted storyfinder and heir of Rath. A young woman brought him a bouquet of white flowers,which Cynddl received graciously.
“White flowers,” Fynnol said. “Does white signify love, orperhaps that you owe that young lady money?”
Cynddl smiled, his ancient face showing its true youth. “Redsignifies love, but we would never give red flowers after a battle where muchblood was shed. White flowers are often given to a story finder because theysignify high purpose and contemplation.”
“They will bring you wild roses, Fynnol,” Tam said, “signifyingno purpose and thoughtlessness.”
“Would you leave the wit to me, Cousin?” Fynnol said. “Ihave kindly left the heroics to you and try never to walk on your turf.”
“Is that what you do in the north?” Alaan asked, his moodlifting. “Neatly divide your areas of endeavor?”
“Yes, Baore gets feats of silent strength and loyalty;Cynddl ‘high purpose and contemplation,’ as you’ve heard; wit and the admirationof women are my province; and Tam, obviously, gets heroics, like the slayingof sorcerers and such.”
“Who does the common work?” Nann asked, “like hunting andcooking and gathering firewood?”
“Cynddl!” the Valemen all said at once, and laughed.
“And after he’s cooked supper, and cleaned all the dishes,”Fynnol said, “if we’re satisfied with his efforts, we let him tell a story.”
Eber appeared from behind a tent, striding toward them asfast as his ancient legs would go. Tears immediately appeared, and Llya sprintedforward and threw his arms around his father’s neck. For a long moment theyremained motionless, Eber crouching with his arms wrapped around the small boy,his eyes tightly closed, tears glittering in his beard like frost on snow.
“I thought I’d lost you,” Eber said at last, his voicebreaking a little.
“No, Father,” Llya said, his face still buried in his father’sbeard. “I knew just where I was.”
Eber’s eyes sprang open. Unwrapping his sons arms fromaround his neck, he gazed into the boy’s serious face.
“Llya,” he whispered, “you spoke …”
The boy nodded. “The whisperer in the river did it.”
“He gave you your voice …?”
Alaan crouched down so that he was on the same height asEber and his son. “Llya made a bargain with Wyrr-a temporary bargain. Wyrr wentback into the river, but he left Llya with a voice.”
Eber could not hide his horror. He gripped his son by theshoulders and gazed into his eyes. “He’s gone?” he said to the child. “Thewhisperer is gone?”
Llya nodded. “Yes, but he left his stories in my head.”
Eber looked confused.
“Memories, I think he means,” Alaan said, his voice full ofconcern.
“But he is only a child,” Eber said. “The memories of a sorcererwere never meant for him!”
“No, they weren’t, but I think they’ll fade in time.” Alaan’sgaze came to rest upon Llya. “I’m sure they are a jumble to him, withoutmeaning. From my own experience I know that imposing order on them is noteasily done. I think a child will just forget them.”
Eber clasped his son close. “Why did this have to happen toyou?”
“We had to trick the soul eater and get the jewel back,”Llya said, as though explaining something to another child. “Alaan had hispart, and Elise hers, and I had mine. And then I made a special arrow byputting it in the river, and Tam used it to kill Hafydd, who is also calledCaibre, and that is how we won the war.”
Tam laughed at this outpouring, unable to stop himself. “Itis as good an explanation as you will find, until Cynddl turns his hand to it,I suppose. But even his story will not have more charm.”
“You all look fatigued beyond measure,” Nann said.
“I think we’re more hungry than tired,” Cynddl said. Helooked down at the girl child. “And this child must eat and drink, and find hervoice.”
She still squinted at the light and looked more than alittle apprehensive. Tam wondered what the girl was thinking. Did she rememberanything from all the long years she had spent inside Death’s kingdom? Couldshe tell them, at last, what lay beyond the gate?
I will go into the river, Tam thought. He’d learnedthat much on th
is journey. There would be no dark gate for him; his story wouldbe added to the river’s.
A high, squeaking sound pierced the air, and Kai appeared,wheeled by the silent Ufrra, a boy walking at his side. Unlike the others whohad traveled to the Isle of Waiting, this trio looked unharmed, almostrefreshed.
“Kilydd!” Alaan exclaimed. “It must have been you whobrought everyone home.”
“It was I. We were hiding on the bank and saw Toren Renneand Eber, and all those you left behind. We loaded them all into our boat, andI still don’t understand how, but we returned here more quickly than I wouldhave thought possible.”
“The river has many branches, my friend, and no two thesame.”
“So it is said.” The two men joined hands, their eyesmeeting for a moment.
Tam couldn’t imagine what they were thinking, these two ancientmen, their memories stretching back into another age of the world. Whatjourneys these two had shared!
“And where is Slighthand?” Kai asked suddenly, looking around.
“Gone,” Alaan said softly. “Into the river at last.”
Kai touched the fingers of one hand to his forehead. “I torehim from his quiet life to go seeking you in the Stillwater. It was my doing.”
“Orlem was a warrior, Kilydd. He chose this cause. And whobetter than Slighthand knew the dangers? He had served Caibre and Sianon, thenwas the companion of Sainth’s travels for many years.”
“Yes, he understood the dangers …” Kai’s voice trailedoff. “But he has gone into danger so many times and returned unharmed.”
“Even Slighthand’s luck had to run out,” Alaan said. “Don’tblame yourself. Certainly Orlem wouldn’t blame you, Kilydd, I’m sure of that.”
The man in the barrow looked up at Alaan. “I am Kilydd nomore. Kai, they call me in this age. No one remains who saw the armies ofSianon and Caibre and lived through all the years of this age while thechildren of Wyrr slept in the river. I am alone.”
“And for this you should be honored. If I have my way youwill be an outcast no more, Kai.”
Three riders in Renne blue came into the camp, accompaniedby Fael guards. They were led to Alaan, where they dismounted and bowed.
