by Katy Winter
"Yes, child, it was."
"By my greatsire Bene?"
"Ah!" sighed Autoc with comprehension. "You do begin to understand, don't you, little one?" Chlorien shook her head.
"Not entirely, Father," she whispered. "But now I know the action he took allowed another mage to use that breach in an attempt to alter what would be." She felt the hand automatically stroke her curls. Autoc's eyes were deeply appreciative.
"Well done, child. Can you take that any further yet?"
"From what you taught me, Father, interspecies matings are usually sterile."
"Yes, child, that's so."
"But Bene and Cynthas' wasn't sterile."
"No."
"Their child upset the established balance by being born at all."
"Yes."
"And it was that child, my mother, that offered him the opportunity to use the breach for his own purposes."
"It offered that chance to Malekim, little one, yes. He only had to wait." Chlorien's voice became very quiet.
"All this, through one act of love, Father?"
"Yes, little one."
"Is the balance so fragile?"
"It's not so simple an answer, child." Chlorien pulled the mage closer to her again.
"I'll be a mage, won't I, Father?"
"Yes, my child, it's very likely, but only if you choose to be. There's no doubt about that at all."
"And like you, will I have my choices limited?"
"If you choose to become fully a mage, I guess that'll be so."
"Are there joys in being a mage, Father?" Autoc began to laugh.
"Little one, little one, of course there are joys, boundless joys you can't yet appreciate. You see us struggle to maintain the balance. It isn't always so. Think of the joy you've brought me, Chlorien, lad." Chlorien didn't answer. Autoc settled himself more comfortably in the grass, then pulled the girl between his long legs, so that, characteristically she could rest her head on his chest. Long arms encased her again. "Chlorien lad," the mage went on in his deep, calm voice. "I've made you a solemn promise. I'll always be there for you. Try to remember that, child. And you must have faith and belief in yourself. You have great and tenacious strength, little one." He paused briefly. "You can remember us, as we are now and have been for seven and a half cycles, can't you?" Chlorien nodded. "Then that should always give you comfort."
"You're part of me, Father."
"As you're also part of me."
Autoc reached with one hand inside his tunic. He withdrew his hand and carefully held it down in front of Chlorien, who gasped at the beauty and fragility that lay between the slender fingers.
"Take it, little one, but very, very carefully."
Autoc moved his fingers so the essence slipped into the palm of his hand and lay there. Chlorien's hands trembled when the mage very gently upended his hand, so that the essence slithered into her cupped ones.
"Oh, Father," she breathed. "It's so beautiful. What is it?"
"Don't you recall?" Chlorien tilted her head. "When you were with the Ice dragons, child?"
"No, Father, I don't."
"One gave it to you, child. That, lad, is Lian's essence." Chlorien's hands still shook.
"It's so weak," she murmured, staring down at the faintly pulsing light. "Is our essence so easy to destroy, Father?" Autoc's expression was gentle.
"No, Chlorien," he replied quietly. "No, it's not. Care for that, lad. You must, in time, give it back to Lian. He never meant to hurt you and his has been a tragically abused life. He deserves to be whole again."
"When will I give it to him, Father?" A shadow Chlorien didn't see, crossed the mage's face and his lips twisted a little.
"You'll know what you have to do with it, my child. Meanwhile, let the essence be absorbed into you." Chlorien looked up at him concerned.
"Father?"
"It won't hurt you, little one. Place the essence on your birthmark."
Puzzled, Chlorien did. Immediately the essence was absorbed, the mark pulsed and stretched in a way that made Chlorien tense, her big eyes holding the mage's in alarm. Autoc entered her mind to explain calmly what was happening. She listened.
"Watch," sent the mage again. "Watch the mark become a dragon, just as it did when you were with the Ice dragons. You're dragon-linked, little one – that's rare and I suspect occurred before you were born. Now keep watching, lad, as the mark changes. Can you tell me what it is now?" Chlorien unpinned the brooch Autoc gave her long cycles ago and looked at it, her eyes huge and dark, almost black.
"The shape's a Rox, Father," she sent, her voice awed.
"Aye, little one, it is. You're Rox-marked – that, too, is rare. You're twice-blessed, aren't you?" Chlorien was silent, before an incredulous thought entered the mage's mind.
"Is my companion to be a Rox, Father?"
"Good lad," sent Autoc, an approving note in his voice.
Pinning the brooch back on her tunic, Chlorien wriggled around to stare up at the mage. As she did, Autoc brushed a hand carelessly backwards and forwards across her forehead.
"Father?" she asked surprised. "What did you just do?" Autoc's charming smile lit his eyes, his grin infectious. Chlorien's smile was equally engaging. She was, thought Autoc, with a deep pang, a captivating child.
"I blocked your ability to teleth long ago, child," he explained. She blinked at him. "You broadcast all over the place, don't you remember?" Chlorien shook her head. "You had voices in your mind." Chlorien gave a start of recognition.
"Yes, Father, now I do remember. What were they?"
"You received broadcasts, lad, which gave you a headache. In your younger days, you telethed to everything. Few Ambrosians can teleth as powerfully as you can, believe me." Chlorien took a deep breath.
"How do I control it now, Father?" Autoc ruffled her curls before he answered.
"You won't have any problems with that, little one."
"Father?" The voice was wistful.
"Aye, little one, what is it?"
"Hold me, Father, please. I'm so afraid of losing you."
Autoc again wrapped his long arms round her and that was how they stayed for a long time, until Chlorien became aware of a rushing noise like an oncoming desert windstorm. The horses became restless and whinnied. Autoc mindspoke Chlorien, his voice calm and reassuring.
"Amril's come, little one. It's time."
Chlorien lifted her head. Her violet eyes desperately absorbed the electric blue ones in a meld that was part of her being, so much so she doubted she could live without it, or, if she could, that she'd ever feel the same affinity with another, certainly not in the same way. Scholar would always be there, within her. She heard the detached dragon voice.
"You're called, mage. I'm descending."
"Aye, Amril. I'm ready, but I still need a little time."
There was a prolonged silence because the dragon concentrated on his landing. Chlorien barely heard anything, she was so wrapped in the mage's mind. The voice spoke again.
"This is the child?"
"Aye," repeated the mage. "This is Chlorien."
"She's very like her greatdame."
"Won't you speak to me?" came a very small voice.
"Yes, girl, I speak to you. Abylon awaits your call. He told me to send you his greetings."
"Why," asked the same small confused voice, "aren't you an Ice dragon?"
"I am," came the response.
"But you're not white - you're amber and cream." The amusement in Amril's voice silenced her.
"We're what we choose to be. Isn't that so, mage?"
"That's so," agreed Autoc, his voice full of laughter. Chlorien's next words made his smile fade.
"He's taking you from me, Father."
"Aye, little one, so it seems."
"It's time, mage," came the rumbling voice.
Just as Autoc broke eye contact with Chlorien, he flung her round against him, to hold her as if he couldn't bear to let her go.
; "Father," she whispered. "Father."
Autoc spoke as gently as he usually did, his voice now oddly composed.
"Think of the Rox, little one. Think very deeply. Do this for me, lad." Chlorien obeyed him instantly. She'd never done anything else. She heard the deep calm voice again. "Good lad. Now Chlorien, now! Think of yourself as a female Rox. Translate, my little one, translate."
As he spoke, his voice completely breaking, Autoc let Chlorien go. He watched as she began to shimmer. Her form rapidly altered. Once she assumed the shape of a Rox, so another bigger Rox materialised beside her and walked calmly to be in front of her.
The Rox's eyes met Autoc's, in a long look of profoundly sad comprehension, affectionate respect and deepest understanding, fully reciprocated, a flare of unutterable anguish touching both pairs of eyes at the same instant of oneness and profound love. Then the Rox padded right up to Chlorien and put up a paw. Chlorien made the same gesture. When their paws touched, both stretched furry membranes and were gone.
Autoc brushed an unsteady hand across his eyes. He crossed to the horses. He unwound their reins, knotted them, then, murmuring a few words, he patted each rump. He stood watching until he saw they headed for the forests of the Shadowlands, then he stooped, picked up Chlorien's pack, then his own, and stood tall and alone for some time. He turned, his eyes meeting the wise dragon orbs. Amril saw desolation, loss and despair, before the mage broke contact.
"You grieve for her, mage."
"Aye," answered the mage quietly. His eyes stared into the distance.
"She'll return, mage, of that I'm certain, but I feel your other grief so very deeply, mage. It hurts you so much." Amril stared at his mage. The mage's words were almost inaudible. Autoc sighed.
"Let's go," he suggested.
The dragon eyes swirled thoughtfully as Autoc moved to him, mounting to the pouch with nimble grace and settling himself comfortably.
"As you wish, mage," he sent.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Amril left the mage on Yarilo. The mage gently touched the dragon snout as Amril lowered his head to the ground. Amril made no effort to speak. It was clear Autoc didn't wish to communicate. Quietly the mage turned and walked away, the dragon's perturbed eyes following him.
Autoc didn't seek out company. Instead, he went to the gardens, where, still in his desert clothes, he sat motionless, head in hands and mind in complete disharmony. He was on the grass, cross-legged, barely aware of the beauty and tranquillity that surrounded him. He remained unmoving and solitary for a very long time.
Light was beginning to fail by the time he lifted his head. His eyes were now clear, but there was no lightness in them and no touch of the usual smile lurking in their depths. He rose. His gaze went beyond the ordered flower beds and lawns to the distant groves of laken trees. Purposefully, he began to stride in that direction.
Still striding quickly, he entered the stands of trees, but came to a halt at one particular grove. It was where all initiate mages passed their final test, but why Autoc was drawn here now, in the gathering dark, he didn't know. He just acknowledged he was compelled for a reason.
He stood, head thrown back so he could stare up through the boughs and leaves to the darkening sky. A voice instantly entered his mind. It was dry and cold.
"You've succeeded beyond what could've been expected, mage." Autoc didn't respond. He just opened his mind automatically to a power vastly superior to his. A faint tinge of amusement crept into the voice. "You're all creatures of passion and emotions, aren't you?" it asked.
"It's what makes us what we are," the mage replied calmly.
"It must be most fatiguing," came the voice again. "You're more in balance than you were upon arrival."
"Yes," answered Autoc quietly.
"You've worried Amril. Won't you reassure him?" came another voice - Marl, thought Autoc briefly. There was surprise in the mage's response.
"Does he need that?" The amusement in the first voice deepened.
"Since their linkage with your kind, mage, they, too, have developed sensibility. We find this astonishing and strange. Your kind exert a fascination, don't you?" The mage stayed silent. "So it is – he'd like to see you in balance, mage."
"I'll speak with him."
"It would relieve our minds," said the voice. Autoc didn't miss the trace of irony. He prudently ignored it. "You'll remain on Yarilo for a time, mage, but expect to be called again. More awaits. You'll know it as a trial of strength. We think you already know what comes. Prepare yourself, mage."
"I will," responded Autoc. A note of interrogative curiosity came into the voice.
"You've developed what you call affection for the young apprentice mage, haven't you?" Autoc's reply was quiet and dignified.
"Yes, I have."
"Learn from the mistakes of others, mage. Learn from the Archmage." A ghost of a laugh crossed the mage's mind. It made him shiver. "Time gives us answers to all things, mage. You've served the balance very well. It'll be remembered."
~~~
The voice gone, Autoc let himself slip to the ground. He relied on his disciplines to help control trembling that made him feel weak, but, in minutes he was on his feet and moving steadily back to the hall. He did a rapid run up the steps to the hall, entered, and passed through the huge vestibule to the first of the many galleries, becoming invisible as he went. His step quickened with a desire to be totally alone. He finally reached his quarters that were in darkness, didn't bother to make light, but just sought out a chair and threw himself into it, to let his mind wander freely back and forth without order. It brought some comfort but didn't entirely ease the ache of poignant loss. His eyes closed. He let repressed emotions and memories of his Ortokian family free. Then his thoughts veered to the Rox who came for Chlorien and that simply overwhelmed him.
He awoke to a slight movement in the room. His eyes opened immediately.
"Bene?" he asked quietly. An irritated growl came in answer.
"Why must you sit in darkness?"
Autoc laughed, and, flicking his fingers for light and looking round, he saw Bene stand by the door looking mildly aggrieved. The Archmage blinked. Autoc got to his feet, his hand out in greeting. Bene placed his hand, palm down, on Autoc's.
"You arrived sometime ago, youngster," he observed. "Where were you?" His look at Autoc was hard. The older man read the younger very clearly.
"Sitting, thinking. In the grove as well."
"Were you bespoken again, so soon?" Autoc sighed and rubbed his eyes.
"Aye, Bene."
"Amril's upset. He told Dramas he's worried for you."
Bene walked from Autoc. In his free hand he held a large and full carafe, plus two ornately chased goblets of quite beautiful design that he placed on a small table. Quietly, the Archmage poured wine.
"I'll send to Amril shortly," Autoc promised on a deep yawn. He took a goblet from Bene with a word of murmured thanks. Bene noticed how Autoc's hand shook.
"Drink deeply, my young friend, you need it," said Bene with concern, his eyes briefly on the trembling fingers.
Autoc shook his head, but, as he drank, his eyes filled and he looked down into the goblet. When a hand touched his shoulder he glanced up, saw complete understanding in the wise violet eyes and rapidly blinked his own.
"Gods," he whispered throatily. "What's wrong with me?"
"I know how you feel, young one." Bene paused, then added with a slight constriction in his voice. "Is she so like Cynthas?" He sat opposite the younger mage, goblet to his lips.
"Yes," answered Autoc, his voice steadying. "Very. Apart from the violet eyes and the height, she's in Cynthas' image."
"And in manner?" Autoc found himself smiling.
"Entirely herself, Venerable One, though with a strong touch of you."
"And her father?" The Archmage noticed Autoc gave an odd little smile, but he let it pass without comment.
"Malekim's not in her that I can see."
"Ligh
t and shade is present in us all, young one," reminded Bene, sipping meditatively.
"True, but in Chlorien it's hard to find the latter. Your work with her bore the desired fruit, Master."
"Perhaps," said Bene, with a wistful smile. "Why Chlorien and not Myme Chlo?"
"Jaim asked that too."
"So he came after all. Disah wasn't sure he would."
"Aye, he came. I called her Chlorien, because it was a boyish name and near enough to her own name not to upset her too badly."
"Who is she, Autoc? Myme Chlo or Chlorien?"
"Chlorien." Bene looked across at the pensive mage sitting so still.
"Drink, my young friend. We have much to discuss."
"Aye," agreed Autoc absently on an even deeper yawn, though he tipped the goblet at his mouth. Bene continued to study the stretched out mage.
"Does she know who she is?" he asked gently.
"She does now."
"And?"
"She accepts it, though it profoundly hurt her. Jaim and I had to work hard to make her come to terms with much."
"And Cynthas and me?"
"She knows about that too."
"I see." Bene fell silent again, his hands twisting about the goblet unconsciously. Autoc looked up.
"She accepts it was an act of love, Venerable One," he said gently. Bene nodded with an effort.
"Where's she gone?"
"With Nikos Rox, to the Shadowlands."
"Ah," responded Bene, with total comprehension. "I knew she would in time. I didn't know, though, that it would be Nikos. Did you, Autoc?" He saw utter anguish briefly flare in the blue eyes, so deep, Bene immediately understood it.
"He warned me sometime before so I was prepared, if I ever could be. I asked them to let it be me, not him."
"It must be very hard for you, Autoc, that it's he."
"Ah," mumbled the mage, drinking deeply. He stayed non-committal but Bene wasn't fooled.
"She'll be welcome in the Shadowlands. They welcome their own." It was Autoc's turn to be astonished.
"What do you mean, Master?" Bene twinkled at him in sudden amusement.
"I may be Archmage, young one, but very few know my origins. There's been no need until now that they should. You just knew me as one welcome in the Shadowlands, who was contented there and returned as often as he could, because he was so welcome and also respected." Autoc leaned forward in his chair, his eyes so alive with curiosity Bene broke into laughter as he stretched his long legs as comfortably as he could. His head rested against the cushions. "Aren't you going to ask me about it?" he teased. Autoc grinned and shook his head.
