—Imperial Advisor Kaynall
If you ever touch me again, I will tell Najdan to kill you.
So much for those fine, proud words, Mirabar thought as she left the cave and emerged into Sileria's brassy sunshine.
She couldn't ask Najdan to avenge a touch which she couldn't claim to have found insulting, let alone unpleasant. On the other hand, if Tansen's touch was the one she wanted, it was also the one that hurt her.
He had looked at her that way once before, had touched her with longing one other time... and had promptly forgotten her the moment Elelar appeared. Mirabar would not tolerate such dismissal again.
When he kills Elelar, when he does as he promised...
Then she would welcome him. Not before.
But he would never kill Elelar. Mirabar had seen that in his eyes as they argued. She had heard it in his words. Had felt it in his shame.
"She betrayed Josarian, and I..."
Oh, the torena was clever. How many more ways would she find to punish and torment Tansen for that night, so long ago, when a lone boy had stopped the Society from taking over Sileria?
Mirabar's feelings caused a storm in her which evidently showed on her face, since Cheylan crossed the clearing and said quietly, "He's upset you."
The last thing she wanted was to go straight from facing one man to dealing with the other. How had her personal life become so complicated? She could almost feel a twinge of sympathy for Elelar, whose every waking moment seemed to involve juggling the men who claimed—or wanted to claim—a right to her company. Mirabar, by nature and experience, was far less prepared than Elelar to cope with such pressures. The greatest difference, of course, was that Mirabar cared about both of the men who troubled her peace, whereas she doubted Elelar had ever cared about anyone.
"If you're not needed right now," Cheylan said, "then perhaps we c—"
"I am," she blurted, wanting to avoid a tryst with Cheylan on the heels of her confrontation with Tansen. Seeing his questioning expression, she added, "It's something to do with Zarien."
"Did he heal the shir wound?" Cheylan asked, his gaze going to where the tattooed boy sat glumly at the edge of the clearing, ignoring the activity all around him as rebels prepared to depart Dalishar in pursuit of their newly-assigned duties.
Mirabar had confided her interest in the boy to Cheylan while he and Najdan helped her investigate the cave where Tansen had lain dying.
"He says he didn't," she replied. "I'm inclined to believe him, but I want to know more." She called to Zarien. He rose to his feet and, bringing his stahra, came to join her and Cheylan. His expression was a little sulky.
"Come with us," Mirabar said.
She turned and led the way to the sixth sacred cave of Dalishar, which she entered. She passed through the successive chambers of the cave until they reached the fourth chamber. A huge Guardian fire, as old as the sect itself, burned in here, its flames rising up from the stone floor. A gateway to the Otherworld, perpetually open, its pull was so strong that Mirabar could hear souls streaming into its flames even now, their silent song reverberating through her head, disrupting her thoughts and making ordinary conversation difficult. She knew by the increased tension in Cheylan's face that it was the same for him.
Zarien's stahra remained immobile in his hand, with no sign of the life Tansen had described. If it was enchanted, at least it didn't hate fire magic the way all shir did, and that made Mirabar feel easier about it. There was no inherent enmity between her kind and whatever sorcery protected this boy.
Mirabar met Zarien's gaze and asked, "What have you brought to Dalishar from the sea, from your old life?" Seeing his puzzled expression, she clarified, "Personal possessions."
"Only my stahra."
"It's probably all that matters, anyhow," Mirabar said.
"What do you m—Hey!" Zarien protested when Cheylan took the stahra from him.
"We're going to try to do a Calling with it," Mirabar explained.
The boy looked suspicious. "What exactly does that involve?"
She replied, "We communicate with the Otherworld, to try to understand this world better."
Zarien looked even more suspicious. "Do I have to do anything? Or let you do anything to me?"
"No. We use a physical object, something which belonged to someone who's dead."
"I don't have anything—"
"In most cases, we can only Call shades from the Otherworld near the anniversary of their deaths."
"Why?" Interest was slowly replacing suspicion.
"The Otherworld revolves in relation to this one, time rolling over into time."
Zarien glanced at the stahra, now in Cheylan's hands, and reminded Mirabar, "That didn't belong to a dead person."
She pointed to the huge fire before them. "This is believed to be the oldest Guardian fire in Sileria. Ancient, sacred, very powerful." Mirabar gestured to the stahra. "Your weapon's origin is unusual, to say the least." She looked at Cheylan, whose eyes glowed hotly as he studied the oar. "Perhaps we can use it to learn more."
"I've told you everything I know," Zarien said.
Cheylan asked, "And don't you want to know more?"
Zarien looked at them both for a moment longer before saying, "All right, let's do this... this Calling."
He seemed changed his mind abruptly when Cheylan tossed the oar into the fire. "Wait! What are you doing?"
Cheylan held him back. "It won't burn."
"Won't burn?" the boy repeated in outrage, struggling out of Cheylan's grasp. "That's a fire, you—Ow!" He snatched his hand away from the flames.
"See?" Mirabar pointed out the way the stahra danced unharmed in the fire. "It doesn't burn."
Zarien stared open-mouthed. "How is that possible?"
The two Guardians ignored the question and started chanting, their voices blending together as if they'd done this often. In fact, Mirabar realized, this was the first time she and Cheylan had ever worked together. They did it well, as if they had been Calling the Otherworld in tandem for years.
It wasn't long before she felt a new presence among them, a powerful energy emanating from the fire. She could tell by the alertness in Cheylan's body that he felt it, too. Although they both remained immobile, the spirit was strong enough to pull their souls closer to the ensorcelled flames, dragging them towards the fragile boundary between this world and the Other one, toward that void where Guardians were sometimes lost forever.
"She is coming," Cheylan murmured.
He was right, it was a female presence. Mirabar added, "And her name is..."
Cheylan concluded, "Sharifar."
"Sharifar!" Zarien's excited voice barely penetrated Mirabar's senses, so absorbed was she in the fire, in the struggle not to go too far into the flames, and in the powerful voice which she felt echoing through her blood now.
Shimmering veils rose through the fire, finer than gossamer leaves, translucent and glowing. They undulated as if underwater, swaying in a gentle, unseen current. The golden glow of the fire faded and was replaced by dancing flames of pale blue, like the azure waters of the Middle Sea, tipped with frothy white foam.
Even Mirabar, who had seen many strange things in Guardian fires, gasped when Sharifar's body took shape, an incandescent sea creature merged with a woman of inhumanly opalescent beauty.
"Sharifar!" Zarien came as close to the fire as its heat would permit. "Am I right? Have I found the sea king?"
Stay in the current you have found. Let it carry you.
Mirabar heard the reply in her head and was about to repeat it aloud; but when Zarien responded, she realized he'd heard it, too. A shade of the Otherworld normally needed to answer the living with a Guardian's tongue; but in this, too, a goddess was different. Or perhaps it was Zarien who was different?
"Stay with Tansen, you mean?" he asked.
He will lead you home.
"To the sea?"
Follow him until you cannot.
"When will that be?"
Y
ou will know.
Mirabar risked intruding. "How can we help Zarien?"
You cannot help him. You must not shield him.
"I must not shield him?" Mirabar said in surprise.
You were born to shield another.
"Then you know?" she breathed.
Zarien interrupted, "When you say I will know..."
Yes, I know.
"How exactly will I know?" Zarien persisted.
"Can you tell us about Zarien's gifts?" Mirabar asked.
His gifts will lead him home.
Zarien said, "I thought Tansen would—"
Cheylan interrupted, "Do you know whom Mirabar must shield?"
Dar knows.
"Does Dar also know," Zarien asked, "how I'm supposed to convince Tansen to... to... " His eyes widened as a low, angry rumbling invaded the cave. "Is that... Is that another..."
Mirabar's senses, wholly immersed in the sacred fire, were slow to respond to the ferocious growling that began in the mountain's belly and soon surrounded them.
Equally torn between this world and the Other one, Cheylan was sluggish, too.
When she felt the ground trembling beneath her, Mirabar tried to pull away from the fire, but her distraction weakened her, letting her soul tumble farther from her body and closer to the void. She felt a current tugging at her, drawing her deeper into the foaming blue flames, deeper into the Otherworldly embrace of the goddess she had brought forth to answer their questions.
Sharifar, let me go!
The goddess answered, He is coming!
And then Mirabar was tumbling backward onto the heaving ground, her head hitting the floor of the cave as the roaring in her blood changed to a roaring in her ears. She opened her eyes, and the world spun wildly as Cheylan took her arms in a firm grip and dragged her to her feet.
Earthquake!
"Come on!" Cheylan shouted to Zarien.
"My stahra!"
Mirabar winced as the boy reached into the fire and grabbed the oar. Fear might shield him from the pain right now, but he'd suffer for days to come—if they escaped the cave alive. They could easily be trapped if a ceiling gave way in any of the chambers they must pass through.
Dizzy and disoriented, Mirabar just concentrated on moving her feet; she let Cheylan, who led her by the hand, determine their direction. Zarien's urgent hand on her back ensured that her pace didn't lag, and her two companions yanked her to her feet whenever she stumbled.
She could see the light of day at the same moment she became aware of someone shouting her name. Tansen's voice. Tansen's face. He was there in the cave now, pushing her ahead of him, then dragging Zarien with him as rocks tumbled around them. One hit her on the shoulder, but she was in the sunlight before the pain became sharp. Then she was lying on the ground in a panting heap with Cheylan, Tansen, and Zarien.
A terrible thundering crash filled the air, different from the rumbling roar of the earthquake. She lifted her head and saw a thick cloud of smoke rising from the distant volcano of Darshon, billowing upward with the speed of water pouring downward.
Were there any zanareen living on the snowy wind-swept volcano rim now? There had been hundreds in residence the day Josarian had jumped, but Mirabar knew that most had scattered afterwards, either to follow Josarian or to spread across Sileria and announce the long-awaited arrival of the Firebringer.
If there were any of them left at Darshon, she wondered if they had just died up there.
Still shaken from the earthquake which had assaulted Shaljir today, Elelar made sure the servants were all right, then assessed the damage to her household. Apart from some oil jars that had fallen, creating a slick mess of shattered shards, there was relatively little to concern her.
Next, she went deep into the cellars, through a concealed door, and down into the dank tunnels which ran underneath her house. Even further down into the belly of the world, behind a secret entrance, was a low-ceilinged maze of ancient tunnels carved eons ago by the now-extinct volcano of Mount Shaljir. It was here that the Beyah-Olvari lived.
The original inhabitants of Sileria, they were a fragile, peaceful, diminutive people driven to near-extinction by the New Race, Elelar's kind, who had invaded Sileria thousands of years ago. While some people thought that Elelar's race may have come from the Kintish Kingdoms before they were the Kintish Kingdoms, the Beyah-Olvari said the New Race had come from the south, pouring out of the mouth of the north-flowing Sirinakara River in search of an island nation promised to them in prophecy.
A land-hungry people of conquest, the New Race brought violence and warfare with them. Not even the Beyah-Olvari knew whether they had brought fire magic with them or discovered it for the first time here in Sileria; but they soon developed a powerful communion with the volcano goddess and had little interest in the gentle water magic of the Beyah-Olvari.
Time and the hardships of competition with a stronger race took their toll on the Beyah-Olvari. Most of them died. Some may have set sail for the mainland, though no one knew for sure. Others moved to higher and higher ground, fading into memory, into legend and song, and leaving behind only their mysterious cave paintings to show that they had ever existed. And a few hundred had come here, to underground tunnels ancient beyond memory, hiding for eons and assiduously avoiding the New Race as they built the great city of Shaljir overhead.
Elelar had learned about the Beyah-Olvari from her grandfather. Gaborian had envisioned a free nation for all Silerians, and so he had brought the Beyah-Olvari into the Alliance. Their existence was still largely a secret, though, known only to a few inhabitants of Shaljir, several trusted members of Elelar's household, and certain members of the Alliance. As Gaborian had once warned Elelar, the more people who knew about the Beyah-Olvari, the more chance there was of the Society learning about them. And the Society were unlikely to tolerate the existence of another water magic cult in Sileria.
Elelar had not sent a message to warn the Beyah-Olvari—the Followers of the Olvar—of her imminent arrival. This was an unplanned visit, inspired by the earthquake. It had been a violent one, even worse than the other night's, and she wanted to know if there'd been any injuries among "our old friends," as they were discreetly referred to in the Alliance, from falling rocks or collapsing tunnels.
However, though unexpected, she was soon greeted by a small welcoming party sent in search of her. She didn't bother asking, since the Olvar was the only one among them who made a habit of speaking directly to members of the New Race, but she supposed that the aged Olvar had foreseen her arrival in the Sacred Pool—a small, deep spring imbued with all his considerable power. Among the Olvar's gifts was one which the waterlords had never developed: divination. Unfortunately, it was a gift of limited use, since the Olvar usually only foresaw things of interest to the Beyah-Olvari. Not only were they different from the New Race in virtually every way, but they led a very circumscribed life down here in the tunnels. Consequently, Elelar seldom found much practical use for the Olvar's gifts of foresight.
The half dozen blue-skinned beings who now welcomed Elelar with much chanting and blessing were tiny, coming up only to her waist, with fragile bones and innocent faces. Whereas the New Race, even the toreni, were a modest people who covered most of their bodies, the Beyah-Olvari, male and female, covered only their loins. Although the Olvar could speak archaic High Silerian, which was how he and Elelar communicated, she seldom heard any of the others speak anything but their own language—a chattering, musical sound well-suited to chants, blessings, banishing prayers, and mourning songs.
They guided her now to the Chamber of the Sacred Pool, where the Olvar could always be found. All around her, the tunnels glowed with phosphorescent plant and animal life; most of it comprised the diet of the Beyah-Olvari. When Elelar came face to face with the Olvar, and his praise singer announced her arrival, there was a great deal more chanting and blessing, both before and after the lengthy greeting ceremony that was always required.
"I came
to see if your people are well after the earthquake, siran," Elelar finally said.
The dozens of Beyah-Olvari around her, only a portion of the hundreds which she estimated lived in the tunnels under the city, chanted a banishing prayer.
The Olvar's aged face was shadowed as he dipped and stirred his hands in the water of the Sacred Pool, which glowed with his sorcery. "We have not suffered from it, torena," he replied in his thick accent.
Shame and sorrow washed over Elelar as she said, "There have been many changes since last we met, siran."
"Yes, I know. The Firebringer is dead."
The Beyah-Olvari began a mourning chant.
She said, "Now there will be a struggle for ultimate rule of Sileria."
He looked up from the Sacred Pool, his watery eyes full of pity. "It is always so with your kind, isn't it?"
The mourning chant grew louder, making her head spin.
"Can you see who will win?" she asked suddenly.
The Olvar gave what might have been a sigh and returned his gaze to the Sacred Pool. "A child is coming."
"A child?"
"To rule us all."
"How can a child unite Sileria?" she asked.
"A woman of fire awaits him."
"Mirabar?"
"But her heart is so set on vengeance that she may not shield the child," he said. "She may fail her duty."
Of course it was Mirabar. Elelar could readily guess how much Mirabar wanted vengeance, wanted both her and Kiloran dead.
"What happens if she fails her duty?" Elelar asked.
"The waterlords will destroy her."
A banishing prayer replaced the mourning song. The Beyah-Olvari always uttered banishing prayers when the waterlords were mentioned.
"And," the Olvar added, "they will destroy us, too."
Some of the Beyah-Olvari wailed in panic. The noise rattled Elelar's nerves and made her eager to escape the tunnels. But she had to know, had to ask: "How can I help, siran?"
The Olvar's wrinkled blue face and sad eyes gazed deep into the Sacred Pool as his frail hands stirred the eerily glowing water. "Yes," he said at last, his head bobbing lightly on his thin neck, almost as if it floated. "What you do will change everything."
The White Dragon Page 24
