by kubasik
14
Have you two ever had such feelings? Have you ever loved someone so much, yet yearned to escape, if only for a brief while? I once believed love would not be capable of such a contradiction. While growing up I used to think of finding someone to spend the rest of my life with, and that I would do so happily with complete contentment. And though I would wish such a dream for every child, I do not think it can come to pass. It's true that in a way I did find J'role and spent the rest of my life with him, in my thoughts at least, for no one ever possessed my imagination as he did. I have been with many men since the end of the Theran War, for I tried to forget your father in the strong arms and gentle kisses of others. But none served well enough. They were all, by definition, not J'role.
Was your father worth such odd devotion? Certainly, when I think back on what I have written thus far, no. Yet how can we measure worth when it has to do with an intimate relation between two people? For whatever reason, I have always longed to be with him.
But now I realize something. All this time I have resented your father for his senseless wandering. Yet, did I not appreciate his absence as well? Was there not something perverse in my own behavior? Not just the fact that I always waited for him, but in the relief I found when he was gone. Your father was difficult to take—his passion and pain drove strange energy into my thoughts—like the embrace of a corrupted elf of Blood Wood.
Perhaps I enjoyed the spaces between our meetings as much as he did. Or at least needed them in a way I did not appreciate until just now.
Is it possible that the marriage we had was exactly the marriage we wanted? Or rather—
for I doubt either of us wanted such a marriage—the only one either of us could have? I think now of Krattack's statements about passions and our lack of control over our actions. I have been bitter toward your father for so long, for I always believed him responsible for taking away our happiness. Yet, in my heart I stayed with him. Whatever happened belongs to me as well. How can I place sole blame on him for what happened in a relationship where my own behavior was so complicit?
15
The drakkar floated into the air, drifting out from the mouth of the cave, rocking gently against the splash of water not present. The two trolls who had been pushing the ship along with me jumped in just as it left the cave. They paid me no further attention, and I was left standing alone at the edge of the steep slope, watching the trolls lift the mast and slot it to its home. Other ships now floated around the mountain face. It seemed a wonderful way to live—floating along the insubstantial streams of the sky, with nothing to sustain you but the desire to get someplace new. My heart ached for the glory of it.
As some of the trolls worked on the sails, other sailors took hold of the tiller and brought the ships down to the village below. I still do not fully understand how the air sailor adept controlled the altitude of the vessels. But then, I never will unless I become an adept at the discipline of air sailing. To understand a discipline, you must live that discipline, moment to moment. The trolls, heavy and bulky though they might be, understood the odd magic of controlling ships of the air.
One at a time each ship moved in a wide spiral, like a bird languidly coming to roost on the large ledge below. Dozens and dozens of troll warriors waited. Some wore thick layers of fur and hide that would serve as armor. Others had stitched together scraps of leather armor taken from victims of their raids. And a few had breastplates and bracers made of metal. Most spectacular of all, though, were the furs and leathers and metals with crystals incorporated into them. Over the last few weeks I'd seen the clan work on enchanting crystals of all sizes and colors with spells I did not understand.
The crystals were red and blue and green and violet and orange. Some the size of pebbles, others as large as several fists. Many of the stones stood in clusters, while others stood alone. More still were sprinkled across the armor like glistening seeds in a field. Many of the crystals were long and seemed to have grown from the armor over years and years.
In their belts the trolls held swords and maces, also made of crystals, reinforced by magic and enchanted to stroke terrible blows against their opponents. These were more spectacular than the crystals scattered across the armor; thick and jagged, they retained their crystalline features, but could kill if used properly. Each was large and obviously heavier than a metal weapon of the same type. Only a people as strong as trolls could successfully use the weapons.
As the trolls moved about and finished the preparations for their ships, the crystals refracted the sun's light and turned the area below me ablaze with colors; like a broken rainbow in motion, but glittering with more colors than I'd ever seen at once in a single sky.
I sat down at the edge of the cave, for I feared that I would actually try to sneak on board if I got close enough. Against the rough splendor of the clan existence, my life seemed tawdry and dull. I'd had adventures, but not for some time. My latest quest had been trying to raise the two of you safely to adulthood.
Krattack appeared beside me. "I'm not here," he said. "So don't try to figure out how I sneaked up on you." He pointed down toward the village, and I saw him sitting beside a large fire set some distance from the ships. He looked up at me. I waved, amused by the deception, and he returned my wave.
"Do you want me to come down to speak with you?" I asked the illusion.
"No need. Anyway, I need the practice," the illusion said. The image was a bit younger than Krattack, and moved with more energy. It was either a mistaken ideal Krattack had about himself, or a well thought out ideal. "I noticed you looking with longing down at the preparations."
"It's beautiful."
"Yes. Astounding people."
"You speak as if you really don't belong here."
"Part of me does. But part of me doesn't. You never forget where you're from. You rarely forgive the murderers of someone you love."
"I don't think I could do that—forgive someone for killing my parents. Have you forgiven them?"
"To tell you the truth, I really don't know."
The illusion and I sat in silence for a while. I looked out over the trolls. Looked once more at the real Krattack, who was sipping broth from a stone bowl.
"You want to go with them?" the illusion said.
I nodded, embarrassed.
"You will. Soon. But not now. This expedition is headed for death. Not all. But enough that it would be prudent for you to wait."
His calmly spoken words so startled me that I turned quickly to look the illusion in the face.
It was gone.
I looked down at the real Krattack.
Then he vanished.
My chest tightened. I scanned the clan village for the real Krattack, suddenly afraid that the troll did not exist at all. I looked at the busy scene below for some minutes. When I finally found him again he was walking casually through the village to speak to Vrograth.
He did not look up at me, and I had the impression he was not even aware I was there. I realized there was no way to know if this impression was correct, for he obviously could mask many of his features—physical and emotional.
I realized, too, that he wanted me to know this.
16
The fleet departed in glory. The trolls, wearing their glittering, glowing armor, took hold of the ship's oars and swept them back in wide arcs as the fifteen ships rose up into the sky. The sails all rested on the yardarms, for they would only be unfurled when conditions demanded using the wind for extra speed. The trolls, I learned, preferred using the oars, for the long, narrow craft could capsize when heavy winds slammed into the sails.
They left in late afternoon and headed west, their ships drifting lazily toward the sun, turning quickly into silhouettes of wonder. The commands of "Stroke! Stroke! Stroke!" in their troll tongue soon turned thin and soft. When the ships were no more than dark dashes in the sky, I made my way back down to the village. With most of the clan away on the raid, there would be more work for th
e rest of us until they returned days or weeks later.
I did not watch J'role's stories that night, but hid myself down the path where I had spoken to Krattack the night before. Though I told myself with loud thoughts that I wanted nothing to do with anyone, I secretly harbored the wish that Krattack would come along and have another discussion with me. Hearing the "oohs" and "aahs" of J'role's audience coming over the night air, I spoke bitter thoughts to myself about how stupid all of J'role's stories were and how he wasted everybody's time.
Below me the jungles of Barsaive lay as dark as diseased waters. They had grown thick and fast in the mere thirty years since the Scourge had ended. Before that, the world had become almost barren, devastated by the Horrors swarming over our world. When I was still a child and my people had just left the shelter that had hidden us from the Horrors of the Scourge, it was all we could do to create fields for our crops tog grow in. But with help from the Passion of Jaspree we managed to grow food, finding in ourselves that strength and impulse to cultivate and protect the world around us. The earth itself seemed to demand life, and soon jungles sprang up everywhere. I had come to love the abundance of life that flowed over the world. But as I stood high above the jungles that night, they seemed nightmarish. Things were just too complicated, and the thick jungles of that complication were dark, impenetrable, and dangerous.
"Releana?" J'role said. The stories had ended, but wrapped in my cold thoughts, I hadn't noticed. J'role now stood above me, looking down from a path almost directly above my head "I've been looking for you." Ridiculously, he stepped off the ledge and slid down the nearly sheer drop that separated us, drawing on his thief magic to keep his balance.
He slammed into the path where I stood, and I reflexively reached out to stop him from falling off the path. Such a dramatic slide would have carried almost anyone else over the ledge and into the arms of death. But J'role's abilities as a thief adept rescued him from the fate.
He smiled at me, amused at my outstretched hands meant to save him, as if saying, "So, you care about me after all, and I caught you at it." I jerked my hands away. I hated myself for once again underestimating his sense of balance, and for once again revealing my concern.
"You've been ignoring me," he said.
"Yes. I've been enjoying it." I turned and started further down the ledge.
A panic came into his voice now, rare for him, as he called "Wait! What ...?" He ran up behind me, following closely. "I don't understand. I upset you last night. I did something wrong. I'm sure I did. I do things wrong with you all the time. But this time I really don't know what."
He touched my shoulder, hoping to get me to stop. I shook his hand off. Kept walking.
How I enjoyed him coming after me, rather than me constantly longing for him.
"Releana, I really want to know. Please."
Still walking I said, "I'm upset because I could tell you were happy that Vrograth decided we wouldn't be freed to go after the children."
Behind me his footsteps faltered, then rushed to catch up. "I was ..." Then, with actual confusion, he asked, "I was happy?"
"You skipped."
"I skipped?"
"In your step. A skip in your step as we left the cave."
We came to a small clearing—a cul-de-sac bound by massive boulders and a sheer drop.
The dim light of the moon cast a blue pallor over our flesh. I turned to face him, as if he might try to strike me from the back.
"I don't think I skipped."
"You skipped, but I'm sure you weren't aware of it. You're strange that way. You're so used to controlling your face, presenting only what you want the world to see. But the truth of you leaks out in strange ways. I know you too well not to notice. A skip in your step. A subtle wave of the hand at waist height. The beginning of a spin on the ball of your foot, stopped at the last moment. You have too much energy, J'role. The stuff oozes out of you like smoke from fire. Try as you might, you can't control it all ..."
"I think you're seeing too much ...
I held my hand up, silencing him immediately. "Don't you ever do that. Don't you ever try to tell me I'm missing the truth. I've known too many men in the village who did that all the time—dismiss the perceptions of their wives. If you knew who you were, I might discuss the matter with you. But you don't. You don't know who you are, do you?"
"I ...," he began, and faltered. He turned away from me, swinging his arms right and left.
"I don't think I know in the way you mean. In a way that's really worth anything." He smiled at me, the tears in his eyes catching the night's slim light. "You expect more from me than everyone else. I love you for that. But I can't keep up, you see. I'm going to keep disappointing you. There's something wrong ..." His voice trailed off.
My first impulse was to leave, for he had slipped into that pitiable pose again, designed to draw my fury to his despair. It occurred to me, though, that I did expect more from him than from other people. All they wanted from him was to be moved by a story—to lean forward in excitement, to lean back with laughter, to shed a tear during a sad moment. I wanted him to be a human being who could be a father and husband. Maybe he simply couldn't do it.
"Why don't you want to rush after Torran and Samael the way I do?"
"They're safe. You said so yourself. The Overgovernor wants them safe. I'm sure he has the power to do it."
"That's not the point. They're not with me—us!"
"But they're going to be all right."
"Would you stop doing that."
"Doing what?"
"Changing the subject."
"I'm not."
"You are. I'm talking about why I want to get them back. You're telling me it's not a problem. Stop it!"
"It is a problem, but it's not the problem you think. We'll get them back. That's the problem. Worrying about it ..."
"Well, I am worried about it. They're little children, torn from their mother."
"And father."
"You ripped yourself away."
"Now who's changing the subject?"
"It's the same subject."
He threw his hands in the air. "What?"
"The subject is whether or not you care about them."
"I do care."
"Then why don't you act like it?"
"Releana, horrible things happen all the time. The twins are having a horrible thing happen to them. It happens. They'll go on. It's just part of life." I stared at him. "It's true.
We all suffer. That's just part of what it means to be alive. It's to be expected. That's the point. That's my point. They're suffering. But what are we going to do? Keep them safe from all suffering. For what? So that they'll think the world is safe, when it's really not?"
His voice began to strain, and his fists began to clench. "So they can think life is good and whole and that you can be happy when there's just so much so much, so much ... I mean, better they learn it from us than from the world later on. Better now, than later, because the world isn't this place you think it is, Releana. It'll cut you and scar you. And it hurts ..."
"J'role ...?"
"But it's all right. You see? Because the scars are who we are. The scars of life define us.
Without the pain and the scars, we wouldn't know who we are."
"No ..."
"That's the amazing thing. Life just hurts so much, but that's where we get our strength from. It's from the pain ..."
"No ..."
He stared off at the stars, his words tumbling out quickly, trying to convince himself of something. His eyes became wet and glistened, though he did not cry.
"They're all right, you see, not because everything is right. But because that's just part of what it is. Their being alive."
"J'role, please..."
"The Therans, you saw them. The beauty of their castles. Their physical beauty.
Overgovernor Povelis, flawless to the point of being repulsive. That's wrong. That's their distortion. They try to build so muc
h perfection into their lives that they become unnatural. And the charm you told me about—needing to keep Torran and Samael perfect. That's perverse. They should be scarred. We all should be scarred. That's natural.
That's the way of it."
"J'role! Please! You're frightening me!"
He stopped, looked at me, confused. "You really don't know this?"
His eyes. I thought of Wia's comments about his eyes. There was something wrong about them. He seemed to be staring at me from a different place, a different world. As if he stood on a vantage point of another plane, large enough only for him, viewing the world in a way none of us could ever understand.
"J'role, you've never said—you've never said anything like this ..."
