“None of us will return to Battic, I wager,” Maggie said. “None of us are cowards.”
“Yet there is good reason to consider the offer,” Gallen said loudly, and he stood, resting his hand on the hilt of his sword. “For one among us has already been infected by the Inhuman’s Word, and all who travel are imperiled by it!”
Orick looked around the camp. One of the Im giants leapt to his feet as if ready to attack the traitor, and Ceravanne looked from Gallen to Maggie, her face a mask of fear.
“Who?” Orick cried.
“I am infected, my friend,” Gallen said, and there was a sadness in his eyes. “Forgive me. The Word burrowed into my skull while we were aboard ship, and the Inhuman has been sending messages to me for the past two nights.”
“And what kind of messages does it send?” Fenorah asked, scratching his thick beard.
“It sends memories of lives spent and wasted. It tells me that the world is unfair, and that the peoples of Babel have been treated shabbily. The Inhuman cries out for justice, and reparation, and equality. But the humans of Northland will hear none of it.” Gallen paused and closed his eyes, looking inward. “The Inhuman teaches me to be ashamed of my own species, and to mistrust them and the Tharrin who lead them.” There was a long moment of silence.
Tallea, who had been leaning weakly against a tree, pulled herself forward, fixed her eyes on Gallen with desperation. Until now, she had always spoken crisply, breaking off her words and her sentences. But now, as if to emphasize their import, she spoke as others on Tremonthin did, in her harsh voice. “You can fight those voices, Gallen,” she said. “I know those who fought and won. At first, when you hear those voices, see their memories, it is like falling into a great darkness, and your own small voice is a tiny light-”
“No,” Gallen growled. “It is like falling into a vast and yawning light, and my voice is the small darkness!”
“Why did you keep this infection hidden from me?” Ceravanne demanded.
“Because I hoped that my mantle could defeat it. Because I believed that it could jam the frequencies that the Inhuman sent its signal on.”
“And your mantle fails you?” Ceravanne asked.
Gallen looked away to the north. “The Inhuman is switching frequencies, sending messages in short bursts. I have … memories flowing into me, like water gushing through a swollen dike. In the past few hours, I have recalled five lifetimes.”
“No, Gallen!” Maggie cried. “It can’t have!”
“But it has,” Gallen said.
“I don’t understand,” Maggie said. “The Word shouldn’t be sophisticated enough to do what you’re saying.”
Gallen shook his head, and there were tears glistening in his eyes. “Apparently we have underestimated the Inhuman once again. The Word is sending signals in coded bursts. My mantle tries to block them, but when it does, the Inhuman then begins sending on a different frequency. My mantle doesn’t have enough power to block both signals.”
Maggie frowned in concentration. “This is worse than anything I feared.” She took his hand and looked up into his face steadily, searching his features. “We can stop this! We can stop it! We could-take you underground.”
“Aw, and what use would it be, my love?” Gallen shook his head. “You can’t just hide me away from it. I’m fighting. My mantle is fighting, but it cannot stave off the attack. I must warn you: you go to battle the Inhuman, but by the time we get to Moree I may be Inhuman.”
“The Inhuman’s Word can be defeated, as Tallea said-” Ceravanne intoned hopefully, “by those who are strong of purpose, by those who are wise. I can help you defeat it.”
Gallen glanced at her, and there was a gleam of anger in his eye, and Orick’s heart froze at the sight-anger at the peaceful Tharrin, a folk who’d never done Gallen any harm.
“Thank you,” Gallen said coldly. “But I do not want your help.”
“Why?” Ceravanne asked, unable to hide how his tone had hurt her.
Gallen’s face took on a closed look. “I’m not sure I trust you-or any Tharrin.”
Two of the Im giants got up, throwing the remains of their corn cake to the ground, confused and hurt by Gallen’s words. They brought their hands to their short swords, as if ready to do battle over such talk. And Gallen half pulled his own sword.
“Wait!” Orick said. “Gallen here has always been a trusty lad. I’ve never seen him back away from any bandit or outlaw! So if you’re going to draw swords on him, you’d best be sure of your cause. And you’d better be ready to die.”
“Orick is right,” Ceravanne said. “Put your weapons away. We are all friends here. I’ll not force Gallen or anyone else to serve me.” Ceravanne stared deep into Gallen’s face, and the giants rested, seeing no immediate danger. But Gallen held his own sword halfway drawn, as if ready to sweep the blade free. The sunlight shone on Ceravanne’s platinum hair, and her pale green eyes reflected the light like cut gems. The sunlight caught her blue-white dress, and it gleamed like a bolt of lightning here under the dark pines. In spite of her strength and wisdom, she looked like little more than a frail child who could be easily swept away, and Gallen’s sword was nearly out. If Gallen had wanted to cut her down, he could have put a swift end to her.
“If you are willing to go to Moree to risk your life, then I will walk beside you,” Ceravanne said. “I know that the Inhuman teaches that I am its enemy, that the people of this world are but pawns in our hand. But you can trust me, Gallen. I desire harm for no one. I’ve come to bring peace to this land, not war. I have long been a friend to the people of Babel.”
The Im giants stirred restlessly at these words, studying her, and Fenorah said hopefully, “Unless I miss my guess, you are an Immortal? But I am not sure that I have heard of a Tharrin who was a friend to Babel.”
“For three hundred years I have been studying with the Bock,” Ceravanne whispered. “And for over two hundred years before that, I exiled myself. But I lived here before your grandfather was young-for two thousand years. In Chingat they called me the White Lady. On the island of Bin I was Frost Before the Sun, and in Indallian they called me the Swallow-she who returns. If you have memories from the Inhuman, Gallen, then you have heard these names, and you know why I have come here!”
“By the gods!” Fenorah swore. “The Swallow has returned from the dead! The Immortal is with us!” And the giants of Im all fell to their knees. Some lowered their eyes in respect, while others stared at her in amazement. One man drew his sword, as if pledging it to her service, while the others set their weapons on the ground before them, as if swearing to put them, away forever. It was obvious that all of them knew her name and her reputation, but none of the giants was certain how to react.
For one moment, as the giants sat with their heads lowered, it looked as if Ceravanne stood among a field of huge boulders.
And to Orick’s utter amazement, Gallen himself, who seemed but a moment before ready to draw his sword on her, suddenly opened his mouth in surprise and fell to one knee at Ceravanne’s feet, as if she had slapped him for some insult and he were begging her forgiveness. He watched her steadily. “I know of the Swallow, and how her gentle people fell in ancient days at the hands of the Rodim,” he said, “but I have not heard that she was a Tharrin. Truly, you are a friend of the people.” Gallen’s voice became husky. “I would be more than honored, if you would accompany me to Moree.”
“My Lady,” Fenorah said, “will you again build the Accord?”
“For long I’ve tried to bring peace between all peoples,” Ceravanne said. “And the Accord was my best effort. When the Rodim slew whole villages, I could hardly bear it. In anger I turned my back on them, and let my disciples ruin them. The slaughter was horrible, and I could not live with what I’d done. I had sought peace by giving in to war. For centuries I have been in the North, studying the ways of peace at the hands of the Bock, purifying myself. But now I must return to my people. The Tekkar and the Inhuman are forming a deadly alliance, one that could shake the stars.”