Storm rising

by Mercedes Lackey

  Not unlike myself, in some ways. He ignored the mutters and went back to the room that had once been "his," which had been Karal's temporary refuge once before.

  Karal was still awake, but even to An'desha's inexperienced eyes he was fighting a losing battle against the potions the Healer had given him. "You should sleep," An'desha said, sitting down beside the Shin'a'in-style pallet that lay on the floor. Natoli knelt next to him.

  "I 'spose I should." Karal yawned hugely, and blinked. "Funny. I wanted to get sick, 'cause then I could just—stay in bed—and—"

  "Well, you are sick and you will stay in bed and do what you're told," Natoli said severely. "There is no point in trying to fight it."

  He smiled, a smile of unexpected, childlike sweetness. "I won't," he replied. "Just wanted to say—thank you."

  "You're welcome," An'desha told him, as Natoli patted his hand. "Now sleep."

  To prevent any more attempts at conversation, he extinguished the lamp with a thought, and got up, leaving Karal and Natoli alone in the faint light coming from the lamp in the hall.

  He went down to the garden again, leaving her to find her own way out. She and Karal had not had much privacy to be together for the past several weeks, and he thought it was about time that they had a chance for a word or two before Karal couldn't fight the drugs anymore.

  I'll give them a better chance later, he promised himself.

  As for him—he had some ideas that might be helpful, but he also needed some privacy to put them to the test. The primary one was that he should try something he had not attempted since Falconsbane leaped from his body as it lay dying.

  He waited, watching the fountain, until Natoli descended the staircase again, wrapped in her cloak. She didn't notice him, and he didn't interrupt her introspection as she let herself out quietly. Then he let the falling water lull him until he was in that half-aware state in which it was easy to slip into a trance.

  Then he sought the Moonpaths.

  He was not certain he would be permitted to find them; after all, the Moonpaths were to be walked by shaman, Sword-Sworn and Goddess-Sworn, not for just anyone. The Avatars had taught him how to reach them so that he would have a safe place to meet them where he could talk with them while Falconsbane slept. But now he sent his spirit out, and up, in that familiar twisting of reality—

  And he was there, standing on a path of silver sand, surrounded by a gray mist that glowed with its own pearly light.

  I did it! He savored his elation; he was never certain when the Avatars would show themselves anymore, and it seemed best that if he could go to them, he should, rather than waiting for them to come to him. Their relationship with him had changed since he had come to Valdemar; when they answered his questions at all, it was obliquely. Rather than giving him answers or teaching him directly now, they gave him the briefest of guidance, leading him to find his own answers to his questions.

  Then again, his questions were more difficult to answer, and the answers were of necessity more subjective than objective. In many ways, he was now determining what he wanted to make of himself and his life by the answers he uncovered.

  I am learning what I am by determining what Falconsbane was in all of his lives, and determining why he did what he did and why he thought what he thought, then deliberately taking the opposite direction.

  Well, that was grand philosophy, but at the moment he had need of some of those other answers, the simple ones. He hoped that the Avatars, particularly Tre'valen, could help him. After all, the real problem lay with Jarim, a Shin'a'in—and weren't they both the Avatars of the Star-Eyed? If Jarim got a visit from Tre'valen in all his glory, and was told in no uncertain terms that he was mistaken entirely about Karal, wouldn't that solve the entire problem right then and there?

  That was his hope, anyway.

  He sent his thoughts questing out into the mist, hunting for his teachers and guides; it was not possible to reckon the exact passage of time in that timeless place, but it was not too long before he was answered.

  The mist above the path shimmered in a double column of light; then, with a shiver, solidified into two figures. One was male, the other female; the male of the two was clearly Shin'a'in, but the female was not. Her clothing and her hair, a long waterfall of silver, marked her as a Hawkbrother, Tayledras—or in Shin'a'in, Tale'edras—as were Firesong and Darkwind. Although they looked wholly human, there was a suggestion of great wings, wings of flame, in the air behind them. They, too, glowed with their own inner light, and their eyes, as they gazed smiling upon An'desha, had neither whites nor pupils. Instead, they were the dark of a night full of stars, and in the black depths shone tiny sparks of light.

  When Shin'a'in called their Goddess of Four Aspects the Star-Eyed, this was what they meant, for She and all of Her spirit-servants and Avatars had eyes like this. It was a sure way to know them, and was impossible to counterfeit—so An'desha had been told.

  "Well, little brother." Tre'valen crossed his arms in a curiously human gesture and looked upon his pupil with approval. "You have not forgotten your lessons."

  "I would not have dared to come here, if I had not the need," An'desha said hastily. "I beg that you will indulge me—

  "Oh, we know, we know; you are altogether too diffident," said Dawnfire with a laugh. "So come, what is it that brings you here, seeking us?"

  "It is my friend Karal," An'desha said. "The envoy of the Shin'a'in who replaced Querna is—is causing him great despair."

  Quickly, for he had carefully rehearsed all that he wanted to say if he got the chance, he related troubles that Jarim had wrought since his arrival. Tre'valen and Dawnfire listened sympathetically, but when he had finished, their words were a disappointment.

  "I am sorry, little brother, but there is nothing that we can do to help," Tre'valen said with finality. "I wish for your sake and for his that there was—but there is not. You and all the others involved in this sad situation will have to work your own way through this."

  "Only if it is clear—clear to Her, that is—that we must act or the consequences will be catastrophic, will we be permitted to intrude," Dawnfire added, although her expression was sympathetic. "I am sorry."

  An'desha sighed, but he did not bother to make any further pleas although their words disappointed him greatly. I was brought up on all of the tales of the Star-Eyed and how She sends aid only when all other courses have been exhausted. I should not be upset at this.

  In fact, sometimes She did not aid at all—unless a price was paid in lives. That, too, was something he had known.

  He should not have been so disappointed, but he was, and they saw it in his eyes. He thought of poor Karal, lying on that pallet, pale and too thin with trying and failing to do a job that was beyond his strength. He thought of smug Jarim, sneering at the halfbreed An'desha, radiating an unreasoning hatred whenever he looked at Karal. There was an awkward silence for a moment, then words burst from him. "She tries Karal past his endurance, and so does his own God!" he cried. "Is that fair?"

  But Tre'valen only gazed at him steadily. "Fair?" the Avatar repeated. "You ask me if this is fair? And—you think that She and He are responsible for this?"

  An'desha spread his hands mutely.

  "Do you think that She is some sort of trainer of men, as one trains horses, heaping trial upon trial on a man to see if he shall fail, and how he bears up beneath the load?" Tre'valen asked. "Do you think that the Sunlord is a great clerk, with His ledger, noting what is fair and unfair and making a sheet of debts and credits?"

  "It has been implied—" An'desha began.

  "By men," Tre'valen said sternly. "By men, An'desha, who would take their own narrow views of the world and squeeze the gods into those views; who would put their words in the mouths of their gods. No. They are constrained, by Their own wills, to give us the freedom to make our own choices and live or die by them. We are Their fledglings, but when the time comes to leave the nest, They cannot fly for us. The world is wh
at we make of it, for it was given to us—as your tent is what you make of it, for it was given to you. You may keep it neat and in repair, or you may let the poles break, the hides rot. That is the truth. It is a hard truth, but truth is often hard to bear."

  An'desha flushed, feeling obscurely ashamed of his outburst.

  "It is only when we have passed the bonds of this world that They may act—or when events have passed into realms where nothing men can do will mend them. Your events have come nowhere near that point." Tre'valen finally smiled at him warmly, and An'desha flushed again, feeling as if he had been taken gently to task for something that should have been obvious.

  "There are many courses that you may yet take," Dawnfire suggested. "Think of all the friends that you and Karal have, those who will not be swayed by a hateful man's willful blindness. I can tell you that the Healer already spreads her tale of a poor young man tried past endurance, and there are as many sympathetic ears as unsympathetic. You might think on what ears you may find."

  Well, that was true enough, and while Karal was recovering, Jarim would not have a target for his abuses.

  Unless he takes me for a target—and then, I think, it is likely since he will not only have to contend with me, but with Firesong, and Firesong is a past master at making fools look as foolish as they truly are. The thought made him smile a little.

  Still—it would not be easy for him to move among the people of the Valdemaran Court, defending Karal's honor and honesty. He still often felt gawky and out of place except during a crisis, when he was too busy to think or feel self-conscious.

  But I am Shin'a'in. Jarim cannot deny my heritage. And I, beyond anyone here, can vouch for Karal. Did I not see him with his master, and the way the two acted with one another? Did he not bring me through my own darkness? Did he not place his life in jeopardy to protect not only his land, but those of all the Alliance? I can speak to all of this, these things that others seem to have conveniently forgotten.

  "You have all the resources that you need to solve this trial without our intervention, little brother," Dawnfire said as he thought through all of this. "You need only to reason out where to look, where to reach, what to grasp, and how."

  Tre'valen laughed. "And know who to ask, and guess what will result, and know how to cope with the results, and after that, the universe is easy to live with, hey?"

  To his own surprise, An'desha laughed along with the Avatar, his earlier shame forgotten. He realized at that moment that he felt much more comfortable with the Avatars now than he ever had dreamed he would.

  "We are your friends, An'desha," Dawnfire said, as if she was following his thoughts.

  He nodded, feeling the same warmth he knew in Karal's company. They were his friends, as well as his guides and teachers—and could it be that the distance between them, that gulf between student and mentor, was narrowing more with every moment?

  "Soon enough," Tre'valen said enigmatically.

  Well, that might be. What was certain was that things were by no means desperate, though Karal had reached his own limit. Karal's own reticence and determination not to reveal his difficulties had actually worked against him. Most of his friends had probably not been aware of his plight; now they knew, and now was the time to organize them to do something about it.

  The gryphons! They like Karal—and it would take a braver man than Jarim to cross them! I need to talk to them, let them know what's been going on—

  "Now you are beginning to see your options," Tre'valen encouraged. "And now, I think, you should go where you can do something about them."

  "But return again, little brother," Dawnfire added, as he prepared to return to his body and the world he knew. "The Moonpaths are always open to your walking."

  He gathered himself; flung himself down, and then in.

  And only then, as he opened his eyes in the quiet of the garden, did he pause to think about the significance of that last remark.

  The Moonpaths are always open to your walking. The Moonpaths—all Shin'a'in could walk them on the nights of the full moon, but for Dawnfire to say that they were always open to his walking meant that he now possessed a status, a power reserved for Sword-Sworn, Goddess-Sworn—

  —and shaman.

  An'desha looked in on Karal the next morning after Firesong had gone, to find him barely awake, drugged and sleepy and not really able to think well. He spoke in monosyllables, yawning between each phrase. That made him tractable, which so far as An'desha was concerned, was all to the good.

  "Can't get up," Karal complained, and yawned. "Too tired."

  "Then stay there; I'll get your breakfast," An'desha told his friend and left before Karal could object. He made certain that Karal ate—soft, mild foods that the Healer had prescribed—then saw to it that he drank all the potions the Healer had left. He left Karal alone with a book to make his own meal, and by the time he returned, Karal was asleep again, the book fallen from his hands onto his chest. An'desha smiled down at him and walked softly out.

  Good. He should stay that way until this afternoon, and that leaves me free to prowl.

  Rather than don his more colorful Shin'a'in garb, he ransacked his wardrobe to find a plain brown tunic and black trews, which he thought would blend nicely into the background. There wasn't a great deal he could do about his hair, but he thought that if he tied it back and kept to the sidelines, he should be, if not ignored, certainly less conspicuous.

  He took an unaccustomed place at Morning Court, staying carefully on the edges of the crowd, near the curtains. He said nothing, but kept his ears open.

  Karal was the major topic of the conversations he overheard; he had positioned himself as near to the Guild Masters as possible, mostly to see what people who could reasonably be thought to be uncommitted would say.

  He strained his ears, eavesdropping shamelessly, the moment he heard Karal's name. "... the Karsite is not in his room," said the Master of the Goldsmith's Guild grimly. "The servants say he was not there last night. I fear that the Shin'a'in's accusations are too true."

  "Your news is late and incomplete," replied a woman in the tabard of the Weaver's Guild crisply. "The Karsite is not in his room because he collapsed last night. The Healers have seen to him, and they say that he is ill with strain and grief." She looked at the Master Goldsmith in a way that made An'desha think there was a long history of rivalry between them.

  "And this means that Envoy Jarim's accusations must then be false?" the Master Goldsmith retorted, with a broad gesture that nearly knocked the cap off of a young page next to him. "I think not! If I were an Imperial spy, I do not doubt I would be under great strain, and as for grief, we have only the Healer's word for that."

  "And you doubt the Queen's Own, who says the same?" the woman snapped, crossing her arms over her thin chest. "One might well ask where your loyalties lie, if you choose not to believe what Herald Talia says!"

  The Master Goldsmith smiled at her in a superior fashion. "I say only that it is strange that the boy survived when the master did not. I say it is strange that the boy was made envoy. It is strange that the mage-storms first appeared after his arrival, and it is strange that the boy preaches peace with the devils who are responsible for the death of his master." The Master Goldsmith was clearly not deterred by the vehemence of his fellow Master, and it seemed that Karal's plight represented a way for him to voice some agenda of his own.

  There were plenty of people gathered around these two, courtiers and high-ranking tradesmen alike, all dressed in the fine costumes An'desha had come to expect for a Court ceremony of any kind. An'desha examined the faces of those within earshot of this conversation. All of them mirrored the same emotion; grim concern.

  They think Karal's illness is nothing more than a corroboration of Jarim's accusations. An'desha knew that his face mirrored concern, too, but it was for a far different cause. He hoped there were enough people here who knew Karal too well to even suspect him of something so outrageous.

&
nbsp; The two Guild Masters turned their verbal sparring match to another topic. He moved on, wondering what he should do about the situation, and circulated among the onlookers at Morning Court, still silent, still listening. Karal had his friends at Morning Court, and they were out in force—even Treyvan the gryphon made a rare appearance, and he was brief but adamant in his support.

  But Jarim's adherents were far more vocal—and it was difficult to prove a negative. Karal's supporters had only their feelings and a few facts to support them; Jarim's had all the wild speculations they cared to concoct.

  An'desha debated attending the Grand Council meeting, knowing that Jarim would do his best to turn it into an indictment of Karal. There had to be a way to keep him from having that official channel!

  He debated it all through the Court, and finally decided to take full and unfair advantage of his position and approach Prince Daren himself.

  He waited until Morning Court was over, extracted himself from the milling crowd, and presented himself at the door of the Queen's Chambers, requesting a private audience with the Prince-Consort.

  He waited in the wood-paneled antechamber, watched carefully by both door guards, who clearly did not recognize him out of his normal costume. He found himself wondering if the Prince would even hear his request, or if some official, unfamiliar with his name and position and deceived by his modest costume, would simply intercept the message. They'll probably ask me to come back later, or wait until the Grand Council meeting, he told himself. If it was Firesong who was asking—

  "Sir?" a page popped his head out of the door, startling not only him but the two guards. "You're to come in immediately, An'desha, sir!"

  As the guards stared at one another and at him, obviously wondering who he was that he rated this kind of reception, An'desha didn't wait for a second invitation. The page opened the door, and he slipped in past the boy and into the reception room of the Queen's Chamber.