She let the last notes die away and said quietly, “If the bards could hear you they would fall at your feet and die happy. I have never heard anything so beautiful, if you take my voice out of it. Akor, please, would you sing for me?” she asked. Her voice was very soft, as if she feared to ask such a thing.
There is nothing she could have asked of me that would have touched me more deeply, nor that I would more readily give. Perhaps it was chance.
Perhaps chance had nothing to do with what Lanen and I did together.
I was full of her now, of small things and large, I could hold nothing else. “Lanen, dear one, I am honoured. I shall sing you a new song that my heart taught me this night past.”
I closed my eyes. I had not meant to sing that to her; but no matter. I believe that whatever I had set out to sing would have come to that song in the end. I thought I was still safe, for it is only a true bonding if both create the song, if their voices can find a meeting place in the singing.
I drew in breath, lifted my head and sang the song I had heard the night before as I dreamed of a Kantri-Lanen flying the Flight of the Devoted with me.
Lanen
He began softly and sweetly to sing, a lilting melody like a child’s voice that made me want to dance or laugh or both together. Then the song changed, became more melancholy; it reminded me of the dark days in Hadronsstead. I understood then a little of what he was doing. I heard my journey through Ilsa, the music of the rivers and the stronger theme of the sea.
Then he let his voice deepen, taking on the beauty of the skies and of the winter’s night we had just flown through. I could hear his rejoicing as he bore in hands made for destruction the fragile body of the one he loved.
Me.
And then he made me grow.
He turned me in his song into a Dragon, with wings of air and breath of fire, free and strong and brave. Together we flew on the night winds, made music, became in truth all things to one another as we would have done were the Winds or the Lady kinder. I wept, for joy, for wonder, as I felt my song-self ride the wind, become one with this fellow creature who held my name in his heart.
And I joined him.
I let go my fears; whatever it was that kept me earthbound I left behind. I let my voice join his, let it go where he went, then apart, then he would bring us back together. I had never imagined such music, it thrilled in my blood and pulsed along my every vein. Any part of my heart he did not have I gave him then. I felt my soul melt out of me and join with his as we flew. I could feel the very air on my wings, smell the approach of dawn and the nearness of my beloved; and we were one.
He sang us down. I sang no more, content to hear him, to revel in the glory of his voice and of what we had made between us.
And then there was silence.
Akhor
I was loath to speak. When I came to myself again Lanen was standing beside me, her hand on my side. I leaned down a little farther and she reached up and put an arm around my neck as far as it would go and leaned her head against mine.
It was the closest we could come to one another.
I would not have moved for worlds.
The night poured in upon us from high above, the light of the stars shining in on two lost souls.
She broke the silence at last.
“Kordeshkistriakor,” she whispered.
None had ever spoken my true name aloud. The power of it sparked through me, thrilling, terrifying, yet warm with the love of her who spoke it.
“Lanen Kaelar,” I whispered back, and felt her tremble.
“Akor, what have we done?” she asked softly. “What was that?”
“Dearling, I wish I were certain,” I said. “The closest I can come is the Flight of the Devoted.” She shivered against me.
“And what is that?”
“It is the way of my people when—Lanen, dear one, this may be as hard for you to hear as it is for me to say. It is the way of my people when we choose a mate. The two Devoted ones take to the sky and—”
“And sing together and make patterns with their flight and their song, I know, we just did that. I don’t know how, but we just did that.” I could hear the smile in her voice. “It was wonderful to have wings, and to fly with you like that.”
I found myself ashamed, as though in my need I had taken a youngling for mate before it was full grown. “Lanen, please believe me, I did not mean for that to happen. I could not stop myself. I meant only to sing you the song that came to me in the night, but when you joined me I…”
“Akor, dear one, enough,” she said, stopping me. “Do you think I am a fool or a child? No one could mistake the meaning of that song we gave one another. I asked only because I wanted to hear you say what my heart knew already.” She paused. “I would guess your people take a mate only once, is that so?”
“Yes.”
“My people mate quite cheerfully without pledging themselves to one another, though that is done, too. I have never mated, though some have offered; and I have never loved, or been loved, before.”
Lanen
I could hardly believe that it was my voice that spoke. I meant every word, but I had not known that I would say them until they were spoken.
“Tell me, do you take this as seriously as if it had happened in truth, with a lady of your Kindred?”
“Lanen,” that wondrous voice said to me, “it has happened in truth. Simply because we do not choose to leave the ground, it does not make the rest of our song untrue.”
“Bless you for that, dear heart!” I sang. “I could not bear it if only I felt that way. For good or ill, Akor, for all the insanity of it, we are pledged to one another soul to soul.”
“For good or ill, Lanen my heart. And we may be fools—I would not be surprised—but what extravagant fools we are!”
I laughed for heart’s ease, with my one beloved, who would remain always apart from me yet closer than any.
“Come, let us go outside, the night is fine,” he said.
I wrapped my cloak about me and followed him out, he on four legs folding his wings close about him, I walking upright. The passageway didn’t bother me at all.
I missed my wings of song.
Akhor
It was a fine clear night, frosty and crisp. The moon was finally rising, a blessing on the night. Lanen blew out a sharp breath as we came out of the passageway.
“What was that?” I asked.
“That was me starting to freeze to death. It’s cold out here!”
I laughed at her. “Dearling, I am fire incarnate. Gather wood and I shall…”
“Hold that thought!” she cried and hurried off to collect branches. In moments there was a small fire blazing, Lanen leaning as near to it as she could without catching alight herself. Carefully I wrapped myself round her to keep her warm, to keep her near me. Every moment seemed precious now. I stared with her into the fire, my head beside her as near as I could come. We seemed almost shy with one another.
She spoke first, rubbing her hands together, staring into the fire, thoughtful.
“Akor, what is happening, and why? Do you know?”
“What mean you, dearling?”
“I’m not sure. But I can’t believe that our meeting, our—our love for each other, is just part of the normal way of things.” She looked into my eyes. “Akor, we first spoke to each other only two nights past. This night was the first time we had to speak freely of our Kindred to each other, and almost the first thing we said was ‘I love you.’ Doesn’t that strike you as strange?”
I smiled. “No. ‘Strange’ was when I first saw you step foot on this island. I was serving as Guardian then, did you know? From that moment I was drawn to you, to your laughter and to your feeling of coming home. Since then, I fear, ‘strange’ has given way to unbelievable.”
She laughed and reached out to stroke my face, light as a breath on my armour. “That’s what I mean. But here we are, pledged to one another no less!” We both laughed, bu
t I was relieved to hear her add, “Not that I would have it any other way, dear heart. Still, it passes belief. Human and Dragon. Kantri and Gedri. Surely this has never happened in the history of the world.” She furrowed her face and stared into the fire. “I don’t know about you, my dear, but I feel decidedly peculiar.”
Perhaps it was cowardly, but I decided to take refuge for a moment in simpler things. “Then you won’t mind my asking you about the way you furrow your face and turn your mouth down. It seems to reflect thought, but has it a name?”
She laughed. “Trust you. It’s called a frown. The opposite of a smile, more or less. I frown when I’m thinking, or when I’m angry or upset. Usually angry.” She laughed again, wryly. “I have a terrible temper.”
“Temper?”
“I get angry easily.”
“Perhaps we are related after all. The Kantri are creatures of fire, and I fear it occasionally shows in ways other than flame.”
“Like when you are amused, for instance,” she said. “I’m getting used to your grins, complete with steam, but I’d hate to see a belly laugh.”
“A what?”
“When you find something really funny. Just warn me beforehand, will you?”
“Assuredly I shall.”
“And before I forget, I’ve been meaning to ask you something. I am quite happy to call you the Kantri or the Kindred, but is there something wrong with ‘Dragon’?”
I was slightly taken aback. “I thought you knew, dearling, since you have never used that word to me.”
“No. I was going on instinct. I was right though, wasn’t I?”
“Absolutely. It is—I am afraid it is considered an insult among us. It is the word your people use for the Lesser Kindred; to use that word for one of us is as much as to say that we are no more than soulless beasts.”
She grinned up at me. “Thank goodness for instinct.”
We both fell silent, and I let the night come in on us. It was a relief to speak of such trivia, to take refuge in minor concerns for a moment. However, her question echoed in my mind: What is happening, and why? If another had told me of so strange a thing, I would have said Meditation of the Winds would—of course!
“Lanen, dearling, I have just realised—if I am to have any hope of learning what is afoot, I must set my soul in Meditation of the Winds. To you it will appear that I am doing nothing, but it requires great concentration, and I must have quiet.”
“May I watch?” she asked.
“Certainly, but there is little to see. If you will need more wood for the fire, please gather it now before I am well into the Discipline.” I was surprised to feel a tinge of hurt from her, though she said nothing. Then I understood. “Ah, Lanen,” I said, moving swiftly to where she was collecting branches. She looked up at me. “Dearling, forgive me,” I said, bowing, then in the Language of Truth told her, “I could never send you away, dearling, not even so far—I am trying desperately to be practical. You must know that you are distraction enough, my heart, without moving about.”
She laughed then, and all was right again. So delicate these emotions at such a time—so similar our peoples, that I knew without words how my words had stung.
Lanen
He was right, there wasn’t much to see. By the time I got back with more firewood he was sitting bolt upright, his wings close-furled and his tail wrapped around his feet (like a cat, I thought, stifling a laugh). His eyes were closed, his forelegs resting on his knees.
I sat by the fire and, just for a moment, let the wonder of it all wash over me. I had loved stories of Dragons since I was a child, but what Akor and I had done was not for children. It was real as wind and water, as earth and fire. I had wondered since the night before what was happening, and had no more idea now than when I first asked myself the question.
There was one more thing I could try, at least until Akor was finished.
I am not much given to calling on the Lady, but I have always felt close to Her. I even wear a Ladystar of silver around my neck, though the set rituals that many take part in mean little to me. So, as Akor and I sat in the frosty night before that little fire, I simply opened my heart to Lady Shia, the Goddess, the Mother of Us All, who ruled in the heavens and in the earth. She was the Mother in the ground beneath me, the Old One in the moon that rode overhead, the Laughing Girl in the rains that fell and nourished the land. I called on all three and asked the question that was in my heart.
Perhaps it was my imagination, fired from my “flight” with Akor; perhaps it was being out in the night sitting on the Mother and seeing the Old One high above, with the Girl chuckling in her little stream-fed pool off in the trees. Perhaps the night was simply full of magic, and I had touched part of it.
I felt lines of light go through me: the first a white staff straight up my back from the earth; the second a wide, wavery beam of moonlight down from on high; the third a scattering like drops of rain from the direction of the pool. And caught in this web, this net of light, I heard Her speak.
Daughter, have no fear. All is well. Let not its strangeness concern you. All will be well. All will be well. Follow your heart and all will be well.
Akhor
The words of the Discipline were old friends to me. I had always prided myself on clear thought. But then, I had never known emotions like those of the past few days.
In the words of the invocation I called on the Winds to blow clear the cobwebs of emotion, let clear thought remain. I breathed in the sequence I had practiced for a thousand years, felt the whirling passions in me subside.
“I am Khordeshkhistriakhor, Silver King of the Greater Kindred of the Kantri, living on the Dragon Isle in the Great Sea of Kolmar.”
That was truth.
“I have spoken with a child of the Gedri, broken the Great Ban set on our two Kindreds.”
That was truth.
“I have flown the Flight of the Devoted with Lanen Kaelar, child of the Gedrishakrim, with whom there can be no joining beyond mind, heart and soul.”
That was truth.
For all my Discipline, my heart ached at those words. Our people are few, they always have been. I had longed for younglings of my own, I envied that bond in others. Idai had offered herself many times, as mate and mother, but I had refused, for I judged our souls too far apart to meet in the making of younglings.
That was truth.
“I must present Lanen to the Council of the Kindred. We must determine what is to be done. Shall she be allowed to remain here, or must I go with her to some distant shore?”
You will go with her.
“What? Who speaks?”
You will go with her.
“Whither shall we go?”
All will be made clear to you.
“What is happening?”
Your people are dying, Khordeshkhistriakhor. So few younglings, so many elders. You and your dear one may save them, if you will.
My heart leapt. “How?”
You will know in good time. It will be hard. There will be great pain. But you will live to know joy again.
“Who speaks? In the name of all my fathers, who speaks?”
There was no answer, only the wind through the trees freshening upon my face.
Only the Wind.
Lanen
He opened his eyes with a jolt. I knew how he felt.
“Akor? Are you well?”
“I am not certain,” he said, coming back down on all fours. “I am—surprised, to say the least. It is a night of new beginnings, Lanen, in all truth. Never in all my long life has that happened.”
Don’t tell me, I thought, your gods spoke to you, too. Please don’t tell me that.
“I heard the voice of another in my thoughts. It was not truespeech, I am certain. I do not know who it could have been.”
I stood up, threw more wood on the fire. “Akor, this night I have flown with you above the earth, then under the earth. I have with you defied the rest of your Kindred and all of min
e, I have pledged my troth to you on wings I never had and now miss, and I am tired of being surprised. The only thing that amazes me any more is that I am still alive and more or less sane.” I found that I was growing angry. “As you sat in your Discipline I called out to the Lady, the goddess of my people, for comfort, or perhaps for inspiration. And do you know what, my impossible beloved? She answered me! Not with a vague sense of comfort, but with words.”
He did not say anything, only stared. I went on. “What would you be willing to wager on that voice you heard being the voice of the Winds you call on?
“Akor, what are they doing? What do they want of us?”
Akhor
I tried to keep my voice calm, for her sake. I must tell her. “Hlanen, therre iss much I sstill musst tell hyu,” I began. Damn! “It is too important for Gedri speech, will you hear me thus?”
“Yes, if you wish. I’ll try not to answer the same way. I’m so tired I suspect they would hear me at the Boundary.”
“Littling, that I heard a voice while deep in the Discipline was no trifle. I have never heard of such a thing among all my Kindred. But at least as surprising was what it said to me. I was told that I must go through great pain for my people, but that if I was willing I might save them. No—that we might save them.”
“Save them? From what?”
How to tell her that which I had taken so many years to understand, and still bore so ill? “The son of Shikrar, who is called Kédra, has gone with his lady Mirazhe to the Birthing cove. Many of the females of my race are there, the Elders who remember what must be done, and Idai who stands birthing sister to Mirazhe, and Kerijan. She is the only other female who has borne a youngling in the last three hundred years.”
“Three hundred years?” said Lanen, shocked. “Dear Lady, that must be a long time even as you measure it.”
“It is as you say. My people are dying, Lanen Kaelar, and I have wondered these three hundred years and more what to do about it. Now I have heard the voice of the night Wind tell me that I will suffer great pain, that I will come to know joy again, and that you and I may save my people. And that I shall go with you, wherever you fare.”