At least Eilin had his son—and she would not make the same mistake with Currain as she had made with Aurian.
This child would not have a bitter and neglectful mother. And it was not as though Yazour was dead and unreachable, like Geraint. Who knows, the Magewoman thought—maybe he’ll come back one day. . . . Angrily she berated herself for clutching at such dreams. Of course he wouldn’t! He would be going home, to his own lands, his own people. . . . With a sigh, the Magewoman turned and went back to the tower, composing herself to bid Yazour farewell.
It was still raining when everyone left the tower and crossed the bridge, ready to depart. Yazour lingered behind the others, wanting to be the last to leave. He wanted to store in his memory every detail of the home that he and Eilin had built together, using his strength and her magic. This is ridiculous, he told himself. It’s only for a little while—when all this is over you’ll come back to Eilin and Currain, and everything will be as it was before. If you don’t get killed, said a little voice in his mind. If you don’t fall in love with the South again, and abandon these harsh, damp northern dimes. If a hundred and one things don’t conspire to keep you away.—The worst part of it was that Eilin had done nothing to keep him with her. If she had wept, or pleaded, he might have had an excuse to resent her. Had she given him a sign that she even cared . .. No, that wasn’t fair. The two of them had been together long enough now for him to be aware that she was deeply unhappy at the thought of his leaving—and absolutely determined that he should never know it. He admired her courage—no wonder she had spawned such a warrior of a daughter.
“Yazour, are you coming?” Parric hailed him impatiently from the far side of the bridge, and the warrior went with a sigh. Currain was watching him—he knew, with the instinct of a child, that something was amiss. Wolf sat staring, the hackles on his neck raised and bristling. Though Yazour could not talk with the wolf in mind-speech as Eilin could, he was left in no doubt that Aurian’s son disapproved of his decision.
The three Xandim stood to one side. After spending so long as horses, they were waiting until the very last moment to undergo the transition once more.—Eilin was filling the ears of D’arvan and Iscalda with messages and advice to be passed on to Aurian. She scarcely glanced in Yazour’s direction, but Chiamh sidled up to him. “Yazour, you’re making a big mistake,” he hissed in the warrior’s ear. “There are enough of us to help Aurian—one more won’t make much difference. Your place is here. Your heart is here.”
It was time to go. Chiamh, Schiannath, and Iscalda moved aside from the others and made their transformation. Yazour noticed Currain, hanging on to his mother’s hand and watching openmouthed. Feeling as though his heart was being torn into pieces, he went to embrace his family one last time. “I’ll be back,” he told Eilin. “I’ll come back as soon as I can—I swear it.”
“Of course you will.” He could hear the lie in her voice. Take care,” she told him. “And give my love to Aurian.” Her mouth twisted in a crooked grin. “Tell her about her brother—it’ll get me out of the task.”
“I will,” Yazour assured her. “And you take care too—you and Currain.” When he left her, it felt as though he was tearing part of himself away. The boy was too young to understand—he waved at his father solemnly, as he always did when Yazour went hunting or was leaving the tower to perform some small task.—The others were waiting. D’arvan had hoisted Wolf up in front of him, holding the animal as he lay across the horse’s withers. It was clear that neither Wolf nor Chiamh was entirely happy with the situation. There was no helping it, however. Though Wolf and his grandmother were reluctant to part from one another, Eilin had decided, the previous night, that he should go to his mother, especially if there was a chance that she might be able to release him from his curse. All the same, it had taken a great deal of persuasion, and finally insistence, on her part to sway her grandson, who, when he had a mind, could be every bit as stubborn as his mother.
Parric was mounted on Schiannath as before, the two former Herdlords together.—He held the limp form of Vannor in front of him on the saddle. Eilin, like D’arvan, had been unable to help the merchant, though they were hoping that Aurian, more advanced in the skills of healing, might be able to free him from his self-imposed prison.
Yazour strode across the grass to where Iscalda stood, patiently waiting. He looked at Eilin one last time, then leapt astride the white mare’s back—and bit his tongue as Iscalda -exploded beneath him into a whirling, bucking frenzy. Good horseman though Yazour was, there was not the faintest chance that he could stay on her. Iscalda was determined. In far less than a minute, the warrior was lying on his back on the turf, cursing profusely.
“I think she’s trying to tell you something,” Parric said dryly.
“Something you know already,” D’arvan put in helpfully.
Yazour scrambled to his feet. He turned back to Iscalda, but she flattened back her ears and bared her teeth at him. Gradually, a grin compounded of relief and joy spread across his face.
“If I thought for one minute that Aurian couldn’t manage without you, I’d tell you,” Parric said. “Chathak’s britches, man—go and be happy! Do it for all of us.”
The warrior nodded. “All the time, my heart has been telling me to stay. I didn’t want to go—but I thought it was my duty.” He laughed, for sheer lightness of heart. It was as though a heavy burden had vanished from his shoulders. “For once, I will take your advice. Go well, my friends—and kiss Aurian for me.”
Yazour held out his hands to Eilin, and the Magewoman, her face glowing, stepped forward to take them. Though the valley was still beset by the moody wind and sulky drizzle, it seemed to the warrior as though the day was growing brighter.
Aurian opened her eyes. For a moment, she was still Between the Worlds, with Death—and Anvar. Then she recognized her surroundings, and realized that she was back in the Night-runner haven, though not in the room she had originally been given. Furthermore, she ached from head to toe, and every part of her that had not been protected by her clothes was stinging from small lacerations made by flying particles of rock. There was a solid weight upon her feet—Shia lay across the bottom of the bed, and she knew that Khanu would not be far away. As she turned her head, she saw Forral occupying the bed to the left of her, while on the other side was Grince. Some kind of infirmary, then, she thought hazily. Very well. The Mage glanced above her head, and saw the hawk she had risked her life to rescue perched on the rail at the head of the bed.—All at once, a tension she had not realized that she’d been feeling left the Mage. Drifting comfortably, she fell back into sleep.
The Mage woke again to find Zanna sitting by her bed. “At last!” she said, smiling. “I was beginning to think you were going to sleep for a century or two. Even your faithful cats have gone out to hunt for something to eat.”
Zanna settled herself more comfortably in her chair. Though she was a grown woman—older, now, in relative terms, than Aurian herself, the Mage saw a do-or-die expression on her face that reminded her of the young girl who had hero-worshipped her so long ago. “Now,” the Nightrunner said firmly, “I want to know what it is that you’re not telling me. What with everything that happened when you arrived, I know there was never a chance for explanations, but you weren’t exactly forthcoming even then. The next thing we all knew, you had dashed off to the stone. I took your word for it when you said you must go, but now you’re back, I want to know more. Why is Finbarr so silent? What’s the matter with Anvar—he’s not himself at all. And something’s wrong between the two of you, that’s for sure.” Her forehead creased in a frown. “What the bloody blazes happened up there on the mound, Aurian? As far as we know, that stone has stood there since before the Cataclysm—then you come along and in a matter of hours, there’s not only no more stone, there’s no longer any mound, even.” She fell silent and waited, an expectant look on her face.