Then I began to cry in earnest.
xviii
The Winds and the Lady
Lanen
When Kédra and I left the chamber, Akor was already deep in the Weh sleep. Kédra was pleased that his breathing was regular; it was a good sign, he said, and promised well for the healing. He had brought a large quantity of khaadish outside with him, and applied it to the gouge in Shikrar’s shoulder. The process appeared to pain Shikrar, but after it was done he seemed better able to bear the wound.
Shikrar and Idai had thoughtfully lit a fire for me in the clearing, for the day though bright was sharp with winter’s approach. I thanked them and stood as near the flames as I could, wondering why I was so weary. Dear Goddess, was the Weh sleep affecting me? No, it couldn’t, surely. Then why was I so weak? I was even starting to tremble—
And the voice that lives always at the back of my mind spoke up, its tone lightly mocking. Well, my girl, aside from nearly dying two days ago, having no more than an hour’s sleep last night, fighting for your life with the Council and watching as the one you love best is butchered before your eyes, you haven’t eaten since that stew in Marik’s cabin a day and a half ago. Remember?
I swayed as I stood and said, “Please, is there anything to eat here? Goddess, I don’t even know what you eat. I’m starving.”
Shikrar brought his head down to my level and spoke quietly. “We eat meat and fish, littling. Can you eat of the beasts your people brought with you?”
“Everything but bones, hide and hair,” I answered. “But I don’t think I could catch one now, or butcher it either.”
Shikrar hissed softly. “Sit you down and rest, lady. You have the soul of my people, and I can almost forget that you have not the body. How often do your people require food?”
“At least once a day—two or three times is best,” I said, sinking down beside the fire, and despite my hunger and fatigue had the satisfaction of seeing a Dragon stand in what was obviously Astonishment.
“Rest now,” Shikrar repeated, recovering. “Kédra will keep watch over Akor, Idai shall watch over you, and I will bring food.” He bowed, that graceful sinuous Dragon bow, and took off at once. I managed to watch Kédra going into the Weh chamber, and muttered a kind of thanks to Idai (despite her obvious annoyance at being made my guardian) before sleep took me.
I had hoped to find rest in sleep, but it was not to be. From the instant my eyes closed I was assailed by dreams. The first was lovely, to begin with. I am almost sure that Shikrar’s words caused it, but I saw myself as a Dragon, with a hide of gleaming gold and a soulgem of adamant. I felt even more truly the wings I had been gifted with in spirit during the Flight of the Devoted. I flexed them, I learned to fly, and in great joy lived out my days as one of the Greater Kindred. Akor and I lived a long and wondrous life together, we had four younglings and flourished with them—but for such a sweet dream it had a most dreary ending. It showed our deaths as a gentle passing in sleep and the burning of the body from within, as Akor had described it to me. But here, through the soft ashes where our two soulgems lay gleaming, I saw that which I had seen only for a few moments on the battlefield: the endless flicker of the soulgems of the Lost, unredeemed, unrestored, as though Akor and I had never lived.
I woke then, crying out, but Idai was there and her real (and grudging) presence consoled me. I slipped again into sleep. I walked again in the same dream, but this time it was the other side of the coin—Akor appeared to me again as the tall, silver-haired, green-eyed man of my imagination. Our lives were hard, full of wandering and adventure, danger and darkness set against our joy in each other and in our children—but when this dream ended and we were laid to rest I saw a great number of the Kindred flying above our graves, more than could possibly be born in so short a time as I would live, and I knew that somehow the Lost had been restored.
I came slowly awake, knowing in the depths of my soul that I was being given a choice—but I forgot about it as soon as I was fully conscious, for Kédra was standing above me speaking my name softly, and there was a glorious smell on the breeze of roasting meat nearby. It was late afternoon. Idai and Shikrar were speaking together in low voices by the pool.
As I ate, Kédra would tell me no more than that Akor was now deep in the Weh sleep, and that he himself was about to leave. There was much to be done now, not least of which was the restoration of the soulgems of the Lost to their rightful place in the Chamber of Souls, and he alone would Shikrar trust with such a task.
“Should not Shikrar be going into the Weh sleep himself? That wound looked terrible,” I said as softly as I could.
“It will happen soon enough, but for now he has chosen to remain. Neither he nor Idai seems affected by the Weh as yet.”
“Oh, Kédra,” I said, longing to reach out to him, wishing for an instant that he were human enough to hug. “I wish you could stay longer, though I would not interfere with your duty.”
He bowed. “I would if it were possible. My heart is heavy with this sorrow, lady, and I ache for your own.”
I bowed and held out my hands to him, futile and senseless gesture though it was. “Kédra, dear friend, I do not know the words to thank you deeply enough for all you have done. I—without you—”
“I have but begun to return that which you have given me. Farewell, Lady Lanen. Go with the love of me and mine,” he said, and slowly, gently, leaned down and brushed the end of his snout against my hands.
I could not speak. I held my hands palms together, hallowed by his touch, and watched as he climbed into the darkening sky.
When he was gone I went to the pool for water, to drink and to wash. Idai and Shikrar, standing at the water’s edge, fell silent as I drank.
“Very well,” I said, when I had drunk my fill. I looked up at the two of them and sighed. “Now, what exactly is it that you aren’t telling me?”
Shikrar sighed and bowed to me. “Truly, there is no good reason for our silence, save that we would not burden you beyond your strength. Lady, I fear—it is most likely that—” and I, who thought myself beyond astonishment, was amazed to hear Shikrar’s voice break on his words. I did not know then that Shikrar had lost his beloved soon after Kédra was born, that he knew well the pain that he spoke of.
Idai finished it for him. “May I bespeak you, Lanen?” Her mindvoice was harsh but at least for the moment not angry. “I know we have spoken already in truespeech, but I would begin again. I am called Idai. I have not much of your language.”
“Do and welcome. Please, Lady Idai, what is it that so grieves Shikrar that he cannot speak?” I felt my throat tighten and was glad that we used the Language of Truth, for I was suddenly aware of an endless river of tears waiting to break forth. “Please, I beg you, lady. I would know the truth.”
“It is Akor. He has told you of the Weh sleep?”
“A little. He said that when you are wounded it comes upon you.” Just tell me, Idai, quickly, I thought to myself, forgetting that she would hear.
“Very well, Lanen. Akor may live or he may not. If he does not, death will claim him soon. If he survives”—and for an instant I heard her mindvoice break as mine had—“child, his wounds will take long and long to heal. Some half century, at the least. I do not know how many years you have nor how long you may expect to live, but I know that at the best you will be in your age when he awakes.”
So—my heart was numb—so either my beloved would die soon, or he would live, but not awaken whole and strong until I was in my seventies, most of my life already spent. Some half century at the least. If I even lived that long.
“Forgive us, lady, that we pierce so brutally to the heart of the matter, but you needed to know, and we have little time,” said Shikrar sadly. “The Weh has taken Akor, it will take us all if we do not leave swiftly.” He paused to lick at the edges of his own wound, which had begun to bleed again around the patch of gold after his exertions in bringing me meat. “It may be that I shall be taken b
y the Weh in any case, but not here.”
I was surprised at my own calmness. Too much reality will do that. There is a strange state beyond mourning in which life is as it is, and we do what we must.
“Can you stay long enough for me to say farewell?” I asked, my voice calm.
“Certes, lady,” replied Shikrar, bowing formally. I was briefly surprised at his words, but reminded myself that he was Eldest of a people that lived twice a thousand years. The surprise should rather be that, speaking my language at all, he should most often use words known to me instead of those used by my distant ancestors.
Beyond hurt, beyond thought, beyond mourning, I went into oAkor’s Weh chamber to bid him farewell. Evening was closing in rapidly, so I took with me a brand from the fire for light. I would see him clearly before I left, that when I returned somehow in fifty years I would remember.
Akor slept still, but as I approached I was shocked at the heat. He was hotter than a baker’s oven, I could barely come nigh him. He did not lie still, but twisted and turned in his sleep—for he slept still—and as I watched he went rigid. It was terrifying, and all so strange. I went as close to him as I dared, for the heat, and spoke to him gently. I did not use his true name for fear he might rouse to pain, but spoke the soothing words one uses to a child. Eventually he relaxed. I was greatly relieved, but not for long. It soon happened again, and then again.
I had never seen Weh sleep, but Akor had said nothing of this. I had assumed it was like a human sleep. I might have been wrong, but he had seen me sleeping the other night. If sleep itself was so different for our separate Kindreds he would have mentioned it, I was certain.
No. This was wrong. For healing it was wrong.
Then he began to moan. It was a terrible sound, deep and rich even in pain but cracked as mud in the sun. For all my love I could not stay. I ran outside, calling I know not what.
Shikrar waited in the firelight and I fled to his side. “Shikrar!” I cried. “Oh, Shikrar, something is wrong. He’s so hot, he was sleeping but now he cries out, it can’t be right, I’ve never seen Weh sleep but this can’t be right.”
Shikrar was moving at a flat run by the time I finished speaking, with Idai on his heels. I followed after and found that even a Dragon of Shikrar’s size could manage that small opening at need.
Inside the cave the brand I had brought in (and dropped) gave off light enough to see; but I could not feel its warmth, a tiny drop in the ocean of heat that ran in waves from Akor. He fairly glowed with it.
Idai called to him, aloud and in truespeech. But there was no answer, no response at all. She would not give up, calling again and again in the hope of some reaction. As we all watched, Akor’s body was gripped by another spasm. He went rigid for what seemed like forever. Finally, slowly, he relaxed.
Shikrar stood beside me, watching, looking very old indeed. I would know now without being told that he was the Eldest of them. His eyes in that cave were ancient and completely unreadable.
He turned to me and spoke gently. “What has happened here, Lanen? Did you call upon him in truespeech to rouse, or use his true name?”
“No,” I said, managing to keep my voice more or less level. “I didn’t use truespeech at all, and aloud I only spoke the words humans use to comfort their children in illness.” I drew breath with difficulty; my chest was tight and I was so caught in deep sorrow I hardly cared about breathing. “Shikrar, this is wrong, isn’t it? Akor never told me what the Weh sleep was like, but this must be wrong.” I felt new tears run down to join the ashes of the old on my salt-crusted cheeks.
He bowed his head down to my level and spoke softly. “Yes, child. It is wrong. In the healing of the Weh sleep we grow cold. He should be chill to the touch by now, and still as a stone.”
Shikrar
I closed my eyes and bowed to Lanen as I saw the pain in her eyes, the echo of my own sorrow and Idai’s despite her youth. Perhaps, I thought, our races are not so very different.
“Hadreshikrar, on your soul, I beg you, tell me the truth. Is he dying?”
I looked long on the sleeping, painracked body of the friend of my heart. I could hardly bear to hear Idai; she still called to Akhor, but quietly now, as though she could not stop herself. Her voice was a mourning lover’s.
Without turning back to Lanen I answered her honestly. “I do not know, lady. I have never seen this before.”
Idai eventually fell silent. She turned from Akhor with bowed head and left the cave without glancing at either of us. After a time I nodded to Lanen that she, too, should take the chance for air untainted by Akhor’s pain. I saw that she had begun to flinch every time Akhor groaned, saw her muscles twitch in sympathy with his, and fresh before my eyes rose a clear vision of my own watch on my beloved Yrais as she had neared death.
Without speaking her eyes commanded me to call out to her if there was any change; without words I swore I would. She tore her glance away from Akhor, put on her cloak against the cold, and went out wrapping her arms around herself to keep out a cold far sharper and a thousand times more bitter.
Lanen
I found I was thirsty again after the heat of the cave. I walked over to the pool at the edge of the forest, my way lit by the bright moonlight. It was only so helpful. I could see no further than my own pain, I sought only a moment’s relief from cool water.
Idai was there before me, on the far side of the pool, drinking in the manner of beasts. Her long tongue flickered in and out of her mouth, hissing in the cool water. I knelt and drank double handfuls; I was parched after that long time in such heat. The cool water felt good on the new skin of my poor hands.
When I looked up she was staring at me through the tree-shadowed darkness. I could not tell anything about her thoughts, she was just staring, her eyes gleaming in the filtered moonlight.
“You are so vulnerable when you drink, like all beasts,” she said. The tone of her truespeech was flat; like me, she had gone beyond caring. “Lanen, do you know what is happening to Akhor?”
“No, Lady Idai. I would give my life, I swear, would it help him, but I don’t know what is wrong or what I could do.” My own mindvoice shocked me, it was low and as flat as Idai’s. “Why? Do you know?”
“I am not certain,” she said, “but I have an idea.”
“For love of the Lady, tell me! Is there aught we may do to save him? I beg you, tell me your thoughts, even an idea is more than I have now.”
“How well do you love him?” she asked me.
“As I love my life, Idai, I swear it on my soul,” I said. “In that cave lies my dearest dream of love and all my life to come, suffering torments. If I can help him I will, nor ever count the cost.”
“Then renounce him,” she said coldly.
“What!”
“Renounce him. Go into the clearing and call upon the gods, ours and yours, and swear on your soul to the Winds that you do not love him. Perhaps then he may live.”
I did not move. I was beyond surprise, I had no more capacity for it, but I did not understand.
“How should that help? It would be a lie. I do love him, as much as you do.”
“How could you so?” she hissed at me, and her coldness was turned in an instant to raging fire. “I have known him all his life long, full a thousand winters! He is blood of my blood, soul given wings and fire. How dare you say your love is like to mine! A few paltry days you have known him, hardly a breath of time between you! How dare you!”
I knelt on one knee to her on the cold ground, partly out of respect, partly out of weariness. “Lady, I honour you. I see that the very depth of your love is pain to you now—but still I dare to say I love him as you do.” She looked as if she were going to spring at me. To be honest, I didn’t much care. “Lady Idai, a life is a life. I have spent mine longing for your people and dreaming hopeless dreams in the dark to keep myself alive. Akor is those dreams made flesh, the summit of all my life—but more, infinitely more, he is himself. And I love h
im with all my power. If you want to kill me for it, then do so and welcome.”
My words shocked her. I could see her force herself to relax. “I do not wish your death, only to prevent Akhor’s,” she said.
“Do you truly think it possible?” I asked.
“It may be.”
I waited.
“I believe I know what is happening, Lhanen of the Gedri,” she said, her mindvoice gentle now. She stared into my eyes, as though seeking truth there, and said, “This love that you and Akhor share, it is wrong, and not only because you are so different. I believe that in the sight of the Winds it is too great a sorrow for both Kindreds to bear for so many years as Akhor will live. I fear the balance is being restored by the great leveler of all life.”
Death.
“And if I renounce him?”
“Perhaps the balance will be restored, and Akhor’s life spared.”
It was the only ray of hope I had and I clung to it. I did not, could not stop to think. The vision ever before my eyes was of Akor in agony, in torment even beyond his wounds, and if this would save him I would do it.
If I can help him I will, nor ever count the cost.
I ran into the clearing, found Shikrar waiting there. Above us the moon, just beginning to wane from the full, was riding above the trees and shone down into the glade bright and clear. I planted my feet and raised my arms to the heavens. I did not know what I was doing, but the words came to me as naturally as if I had known them all my life.
“I call upon the Lady of my people. Lady Shia, Goddess thrice holy. Mother of Kolmar beneath our feet, Ancient Lady of the Moon, Laughing Girl of All the Waters, I call upon thee to witness my words.” I drew a deep breath, sought the memory, found it. “And to stand beside thee, Blessed Lady, I call upon the Winds of the Greater Kindred of the Kantrishakrim.
“First is the Wind of Change
Second is Shaping