“Rella, I misspoke. This is Varien,” I said, flustered. I hadn’t noticed my slip. “How could he be Akor?”
“How could a man I’ve never seen suddenly appear from the dragonlands?” she asked sharply, then lapsed back into frantic muttering. “Can’t happen, they kill the ones who cross, save you and me—oh Blessed Shia. You didn’t come on the ship, so either you’ve arrived from thin air or you’ve been with the Dragons all these years. There isn’t anywhere else.”
“We asked you here because we thought you deserved an explanation, after all your assistance,” said Varien, his voice gentle. I marvelled at his patience. “Do not worry, Lanen, I know what we agreed, but I think only truth will satisfy the Lady Rella.” He knelt down to her and said gently, “It is true, I am he who was Akhor. Do not ask me how this transformation came about, for I do not know, but accept that it has. I shall be coming with you.”
Rella nodded, her eyes wide. He turned to me again. “I think you have hit on the way, Lanen. If you are all willing, my friends?” he asked the Kantri, and all three accepted.
There was not much more to be done, though I did insist on one thing. Kédra obliged by scraping a large quantity of khaadish from the walls of Akor’s chamber. I laid it close by for morning, when I meant to wrap it in my tunic until we were private on the ship. I’d be cold in just my shirt, but it would not be for long. At my request, Varien allowed a quantity the size of my fist to be taken for Rella. By that time she was so overcome that she simply thanked him and put it in her scrip.
It was well into the night, and though Rella seemed fine (despite her shock), Varien and I were still exhausted. Shikrar agreed to wake us at dawn. We stoked the fire and lay close to each other. The last thing I saw was Rella wrapped in her cloak, sitting by the fire and talking in a low voice with Kédra and Shikrar. As if the Peace had been restored, I thought, and slept.
I woke to Shikrar’s soft voice in my mind. “Lady, the sky lightens. It is time.”
Varien was stirring. I went to Rella and touched her shoulder. She was instantly awake. “Time to go,” I said. She grunted and rose to her feet.
I had been dreading this moment. I had warned Varien that he must not wear the circlet with his soulgem openly on the ship. Men have killed for far less. What that really meant, of course, was that he must say farewell here, before we left.
He bespoke them, of course, the green soulgem of Akor bright against his pale hair and skin. I was deeply thankful that I could not hear what was said, for my own heart was full enough, and I had only known these people for a few days. How should I bear hearing my beloved’s farewells after a thousand years? Varien’s cheeks were wet when at last he took off his circlet and wrapped it in my tunic with the rest of the khaadish.
“Seawater?” I whispered to him, drying his face with my sleeve.
“Tears,” he replied, and smiled.
As for my own farewells, I found that after a few stumbling words all I could do was to open my heart to them in the Language of Truth. Wordless, my thoughts flew to them all with love and deep gratitude. From them in return came clear images: from Kédra, a vision of Mirazhe and Sherók playing on the beach at the Birthing Cove, and behind all gratitude mixed with love deep and strong. Idai sent an image of Akor in his youth, and the barely heard thought “Even then he never turned to me. It is the Word of the Winds that you belong to each other.” From Shikrar, images I could barely understand, they were so complex and many-layered—but they spoke of a friend closer than a brother, of years beyond counting spent in one another’s company, of wonder and thanksgiving and hope for the future. And the last image I had from Shikrar was of the soulgems of the Lost, combined with his regard. I caught his eye and he whispered in truespeech, “Do not forget the Lost, lady, for it is in my heart that your destiny and theirs are intertwined. Seek ever their restoration.”
“I will,” I replied softly.
There was no more time. We all went out into the breaking dawn.
Rella
At least this time I could see where we were going. I will never forget being borne through the air by a Dragon. It is astounding beyond words, but twice is enough.
Kédra carried me across first. The ship lay still in its place in the harbour, but the decks this morning were black with scurrying forms as they prepared to weigh anchor and be off.
Until they saw us.
I couldn’t hear anything, of course, but it took only moments for there to be a clear space on the deck for Kédra to land. He dropped me a little space, then landed and bowed. “Fare you well, Lady Rella, and know that you have the regard of the Kantri,” he said loudly. “Should you need our assistance, you have only to call upon us.” It was what we had agreed, but he leaned down to me and added a quiet “Though I have no doubt you’ll manage well enough. Be well, lady. It has been an honour to know you.”
I bowed and bade him farewell. The whole ship rocked when he took off.
Lanen
Idai bore me gently and in silence. She flew low and back-winged, as Akor had done, though not so smoothly. “I can see this will take some practice,” she said as she landed, amused. “Shall I then practice? Will you return one day to the Dragon Isle, Lanen Maransdatter? Will you and Varien come here again, where you are most welcome?”
“If it lies in my power, Lady Idai, I shall,” I replied.
“Fare you well then, Lanen, and know that you have the regard of all the Kantri. You have only to call upon us,” she said aloud. She bowed to me one last time, crouched on the deck, and leapt into the sky. The ship pitched violently from her leaving.
Varien
“Shikrar, my friend, you are wounded. You have done enough. Let another bear me thence,” I said as he prepared to take me in his hands.
“If you think, Varien Kantriakor rash-Gedri, that I am going to let anyone else deliver you to the Gedrishakrim, you are deeply mistaken.” He gathered me in and took off. “After all my years of suffering with you through the ferrinshadik, should I let another have the honour? My wound will keep. In any case, the others are all aloft already.”
“What?” I tried to look up, but of course there was only the bulk of Shikrar to see.
And then I heard them.
It happens occasionally on the first warm spring day after a long winter, or when autumn breaks summer’s heat, or when there is a reason for rejoicing, that many of my people will take to the skies and sing the Hymn to the Winds. I have done so myself many a time. The pleasure we have in riding the Wind is made manifest in song, both aloud and in the Language of Truth. It is a celebration, and a reverence, and an expression of joy.
And, in this case, of farewell.
Lanen
Never in all my dreams of Dragons had I imagined such a thing. The sky was full of wings and voices, singing to the morning, and their music echoed in my mind as I heard the language of the Kantri in truespeech. It was lovely almost beyond bearing. Voice rang with voice in harmonies that lifted the heart and gave it wings, with new voices ever swelling the chorus and tuning to a new melody, words and serried ranks of souls touching memories older than life. Dragonsong on the dawn wind—if I close my eyes, I stand there yet and marvel.
Most of the others on the ship cowered in the stern, crying out occasionally in fear, but a few I noticed were looking up in awe, and I remember thinking that perhaps we were not all lost.
When Shikrar approached, it was swiftly obvious that he would not fit on the deck. Rella and I rushed forward as he came as low and as close as he dared and let Varien fall from a little height, more or less onto us. “Farewell, Varien,” he cried, circling the ship. “We are ever at your service. Call and we shall come.” And in truespeech he added as he joined the others high above, “Be well my brother, my dear ones. Remember the Lost.”
So it was that the ship Sailfar weighed anchor and left the Dragon Isle under the benison of music more lovely than men had known for thousands of years, and (for a time) in the company o
f the Kantrishakrim.
When the crew had recovered from the sights and sounds, and realised that no more Dragons were going to try to land on the deck, the Master began bellowing orders, fast and furious. Varien chose to go with Rella to watch over Marik (she had told me no other was willing to tend him), and I set to work with the rest of the crew. True, we were all three avoided at first, but once we were under way there was more than enough work for all of us.
Marik’s second-in-command had been Caderan, so that now a man named Edril was left in charge who had never dreamed of such prominence. Once we were well under way he sent for the three of us. I believe that, at first, he meant to confine us belowdecks, but a small nugget of purest gold in his hand and the promise of twice as much more on landing ensured our safe passage. (Of course, I might have told him that this was enchanted dragon gold, and that it would turn to base lead if we did not come alive to Corlí. Varien might have gestured to the Dragons, who followed us at a distance for some time, to emphasize a point. It was a long time ago, and I am too old to remember such details.)
Rella was not best pleased to find herself in Marik’s company every day, having to tend him like an infant, but she took great delight in providing Varien with more suitable clothes from Marik’s overflowing chests. I had to explain a few things about human clothing, but he learned quickly.
I suppose Marik was a pitiful sight—I glanced in on him once, the day we left—but I at least had no pity to spare for him. It was long and long before I could stop seeing the torn and bleeding body of Akor being borne on the wings of his dear ones from the battle with Marik and Caderan. Shame to say it, perhaps, but I hoped fervently that Marik would die on the voyage. We were not so blessed.
I was amazed (as, I think, were the Master and crew) that all the rumours about the Storms were true. I had feared a journey back twice as long as the one that took us to the Dragon Isle, beating against the wind all the way—but the winds blew now from the west, and the sea, while not smooth as glass, was not a third the strength of the raging tempest that had greeted us on the way out. The work was as hard and the hours as long, but not having always to cling to the rail for very life made it seem no hardship at all.
Do not wonder that I say little of my beloved. The men and women were berthed in different parts of the ship, and though I spent as much time with him as I could, I like the rest of the crew had a great deal to do. To my surprise, I learned that he spent much of his time with Maikel and Rella, in Marik’s quarters. He was yet too unstable to walk well, and his soft hands still reacted to every breeze. He tried to help setting the sails at first, but after the very first haul away his hands bled. We put it about that he was unwell, and though the story was received in stony silence, he was allowed to perform the more delicate task of assisting the cook, as well as apprenticing to the ship’s sailmaker. He was really very good with a knife, though none were ever sharp enough to suit him.
Varien
I would not have chosen such an entrance to my new life, but there were some advantages. My balance, hardly established on land before I went to sea, ended by being superb out of necessity. I worked a little each day—on such a small ship no one could sit idle, nor did I wish to—and by the end of the short voyage I began to have some strength in my hands. I had learned a little about Gedri food as well, its great variety and savour—though most of this was by way of report from the crew, who told me what they would prefer to be eating.
As time went on I learned more and more about my new body. Fortunately I seemed to have the instincts I needed for this new form, but I also had a few very curious conversations with Lanen before I understood some things. Truly the Gedri are astounding creatures, but I could not help thinking that they were put together rather oddly. The Kantri are of a more sensible shape altogether.
On one of the few occasions when Lanen and I had a moment to speak to one another in private, she asked me how I could bear to spend so much of my time in the same room with Marik. When I told her that I was looking in the face of my actions, she said she did not understand. For answer I took her with me to see him.
Lanen
He lay on the small, hard ship’s bed, his hands lying motionless outside the heavy blankets. His eyes, when finally he turned to look at us, were open and clear as a newborn babe’s, and as free of thought. By the end of the voyage he no longer had to be turned—he had begun to do at least so much for himself—but that was all the improvement there was. Strange to say, he looked healthier than I had ever seen him, but I could hardly grudge him that. At first, Maikel attended him daily, putting forth all his strength. He also fed Marik with another of the precious lan fruit.
Maikel told Varien once that he was certain that without it Marik would have perished on the voyage. On hearing that, I wished the fruit had never been found in the first place—but then I remembered it was that same fruit that had saved my own life. I could hardly object, as I looked down at my arms. The vision of them in the sea was with me yet, but they appeared surprisingly unmarked. There were a few scars and puckers, but for the most part they were whole. My hands were soft and weak, no better protected than Varien’s, and at first I had to wrap them in cloth to work the lines, but by the end of the voyage I had begun to regain some of my calluses.
I never did know what the crew or my fellow Harvesters thought of Varien. Our entrance had done all we could wish for, and no one asked any questions. I suspect that the seamen, a superstitious lot, decided among themselves that they did not want to know.
After some eight days at sea, Maikel approached me late one afternoon. We could not have been far out from Corlí. I was hauling in sail as the Master’s orders snapped across the decks.
“Lady, I am concerned,” said Maikel quietly to me. “Marik is a little better in body, but he tosses in his bed like one who dreams nightmares and cannot wake.”
“Why do you tell me this?” I asked harshly, tying off the line. “I bear no love for Marik.”
“I know it, lady, but Master Varien sent to ask that you come to Marik’s quarters. He believes you might be able to assist.”
I left my place instantly and followed him. He led me to Marik’s quarters and left me in the company of my friends.
He had not exaggerated. Marik was tossing and moaning like one haunted. Even Rella looked concerned. Varien took me by the hands when I entered. “Lanen,” he said softly, and his voice was balm to my heart. “We believe he is trying to speak.”
“So Maikel said. What do you want me for?” I asked, trying to keep the disgust out of my voice. I could not look at Marik without seeing Akor bloodied near to death, or a vision of the Raksha reaching out for me.
“Littling, listen to me,” said Varien, putting one hand to my cheek and turning me gently to face him. “What has been done, on both sides, is in the past. For the moment we are responsible for him, and he suffers. Maikel has tended him as best he may, but says that he cannot yet make himself understood aloud.”
“You want me to bespeak him, don’t you, to see if I can hear what he is trying to say? Despite the fact that he is Gedri and most likely deaf and mute?” I said in truespeech. I was feeling a little dazed.
“Yes,” he replied, smiling. “It is good to hear your voice, dearling, would that I could respond in kind. But I cannot, and I believe that you are his only hope. I cannot be certain, but I believe that I have heard a scattered voice, and I believe it to be his.”
“So, I must help him, who would give me to demons.” Varien only looked at me, waiting, his green eyes old and patient, and behind him sat Rella, saying nothing. I had expected to find myself fighting my own temper, but to my surprise I began to understand a little of pity. Marik’s plight, however richly deserved, was making me grow despite myself.
“Very well,” I said, with no good grace. I loosed Varien’s hands and went to sit beside the bed. “Marik, it is Lanen,” I said. “Your daughter. I am going to speak to you without words. Try to hear me, and say
what it is that troubles you.” Taking a deep breath, I said in truespeech, “Marik of Gundar, it is Lanen Maransdatter—your daughter—who speaks to you. Can you tell me what troubles you?”
To my amazement, I heard a kind of response. Scattered it was indeed, but it could only be coming from him.
I broke the connection, shuddering. Marik lived now in a vast darkness, but something in that broken mind sought light and life, after a fashion. “It’s hard to tell, but he seems to be thinking about something called ‘the swift destroyer.’ I think he wants it stopped, but he wants Caderan to do it.” Varien frowned. I turned to Rella. “Have you ever heard of such a thing?”
“Yes,” she said grimly, looking daggers at the troubled form of Marik. “We should have strangled the bastard long since. It’s a disease. The Swift Destroyer. Fever, chills, vomiting, and one of every two who get it, dies within the day. It’s a demon-spawned illness. Takes a strong demon caller to bring it on, too. Damn Caderan and all like him.”
“But surely if Caderan is gone he cannot bring this down upon us,” I said.
“Don’t count on it. The damned stuff is almost always left behind by a sorcerer as a final piece of viciousness, while they get clean away. There’s some physical component to the spell, some fetish that sets it off. If we could find that, we might be able to stop it.”
I looked at Rella in amazement. “How do you know so much about this?” I asked, shocked.
“I told you,” she said with a grin. “I’m in the Silent Service. All that we do is learn things and remember them. You can believe me.”
“What would this fetish look like?” asked Varien, taking all this in his stride. I was surprised at his calmness, until I remembered that, in a sense, it must be his usual state. You can’t live more than a thousand years without gaining a certain composure about most things.