“He said when you were whole again, and the boy was safe. He robbed you of your choice when you died, and again when he deceived you about D’Natheil’s death. And he swore by all he valued to return the choice to you. It was Master Dassine’s belief that if you did not choose this new life freely, then doubts would grow and, eventually, consume you. You would never be able to enter into your life fully, and if you could not do so, then you would fail in all you would attempt. You must be one place or the other-live or die-by your own choice.”
“A patronizing pronouncement from the old devil…” And not at all fair to give me such a choice when Seri and Gerick were out of reach. What if I could not resist the call of the Verges? I was supposed to be dead.
“I’ll watch over you, my lord, and do whatever is needed… after.” Bareil smiled, but tears welled up in his almond-shaped eyes. He didn’t expect me to return.
So it was with trepidation that I stroked the smooth face of the dark crystal and left D’Natheil’s body that had become my own. For a moment I saw that body lying on the green velvet hillside with the kindly Dulcé standing guard, the snowy peak of mighty Karylis looming over his shoulder. Far down the track that led to my ruined home and southward toward Yurevan, I saw the ones I loved most in the world riding into the dew-kissed peace of the morning. And then was I plunged into darkness, the ethereal pulse of the Verges beckoning me to the place of my belonging.
The long echo of my agony in the fire began to reverberate in my mind once more, but because I expected it this time, I could push it aside and concentrate on the distant light that called me into peace. I was very tired.
Where did I belong? I had lived my allotted span of years, and the Way had led me to the fire. I had accepted my fate as I had been taught-as I believed was necessary. But in doing so, I had abandoned Seri and my son and my friends to despair and death. To drown in such guilt would be easy. To run from it was tempting; beyond the Verges, perhaps, I could forget. But if I had followed any other course, made other choices, been someone other than myself, the Gate-fire might never have burned white, and the boy D’Natheil might not have been sent onto the Bridge and been destroyed by it.
I knew D’Natheil now, not everything, but enough, and D’Natheil could never have defeated the Lords of Zhev’Na. I had met the Lords in physical combat, in the slave pens of Zhev’Na, and in the battleground of my son’s mind, and Dassine had been right. Exeget had been right. The Lords were the enemies of all life, a darkness more profound than the emptiness between worlds or the universe before its creation. They were a disease that gnawed on the healthy body of humankind, and what was needed to eradicate them was a Healer. Somewhere in me was the way to defeat them.
An aurora of blue and rose and violet burst into a shimmering fountain that rained fragments of light upon me like rose petals showered on a bridegroom. Such glory… such music from beyond the range of my vision as the luminous fragments floated through my transparent self. I reached for one of them and heard faint, echoing laughter, and the whole mass of them embraced me in a whirling nebula of joy that would transport me beyond the Verges to where unknown wonders lay waiting. My soul was filled with their beauty and with such overarching desire that I cried out. But with a soft breath I blew on them, and they drifted away regretfully like dry snowflakes, leaving me in the cold and the darkness. “Not yet,” I said, and I turned my back on the Verges and set my feet upon the path that awaited me.
My eyes opened to the green and silent world. “Come, Bareil,” I said. “Let’s go home.”
Seri
I stand upon the graceful balcony of Verdillon watching Gerick and Paulo wrestling on the grassy lawn. They’ve been going at it for an hour. As they separate and sprawl on the green, panting and sweating and laughing, I smile and finger the rose-colored stone that hangs about my neck, wishing, as always, that it could send my thoughts to Avonar.
“Would that you could see these moments, my love,” I would say. “They are rare, but so precious, and they give me such hope. The black moods plague him as much as ever, and nights are still the worst. His cries are terrible when he dreams. One of us is always close by to comfort him, though he’ll not allow it once he’s awake again. But he’s begun to study history with Tennice and show interest in Kellea’s herb lore, and he appreciates that neither one coddles him. With Paulo he jests and teases and allows himself to be a boy again.
“Yesterday he asked me about this house, and why your name appears in the old journal that lies open in Ferrante’s study. I told him, then, about his father who was a student here, and how he immersed himself in beauty, art, and history long before he became a warrior or a prince. Perhaps it will encourage him to be less shy of you.
“Peace has settled into all of us for the moment. Sometimes, though, when I hear news of the human war that rages in Iskeran, or I think of the horrors you face beyond the walls of Avonar, or I see a trace of darkness in Gerick’s eyes, I believe we are like the Guardians of Comigor-you, Kellea, Paulo, and I-standing at the four corners of the keep and waiting for the enemy to ride over the horizon. We three will stay awake, my love. No harm will come to him while we watch. Keep yourself safe, and come to us soon.”
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THE SOUL WEAVER
THE BRIDGE OF D’ARNATH
Available February 2005
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Karon
My senses were deafened by Jayereth’s pain. Desperately I fought to maintain my control, to prevent her agony from confusing my purpose. We were bound by an enchantment of Healing, our mingled blood linking our minds in the realm of flesh and spirit. If I shut out the experience of her senses, then I was powerless to heal her, but if I could not quiet her enough to see what I was doing, she was lost just as surely. Dark waves already lapped on the shores of her life.
Jayereth, hear me… Hold fast… for your daughter, newly born to grace your house… for T’Vero who cherishes you… for your Prince who is in such need of your service… With everything I knew of Jayereth I commanded her to hold quiet-just for the moment it would take me to see what I needed to see.
She understood me, I think, for there came the briefest ebb in the death tide, an instant’s clearing in the red mist of her pain and madness that let me perceive a host of things too terrible to know: ribs smashed, lungs torn, blood… everywhere hot, pooling blood and fragments of bone, her belly in shreds… Earth and sky, how had they done this? It was as if they knew every possible remedy a Healer could provide and had arranged it so I could do nothing but make things worse.
Another instant and I was awash once more in Jayereth’s torment, feeling her struggle to breathe with a chest on fire and a mind blasted with fear. I could not give her strength or endurance, only my healing skill and few pitiful words of comfort. But even as I fought to knit together the ragged edges of her heart, her last remnants of thought and reason flicked out. Her screams sagged into a low, flat wail… and then silence. I had lost her.
Let her go, I told myself, you can’t help her by traveling the only road she has yet to travel. That road is not for you… not yet. Forcing aside the wave of enveloping darkness, I gritted my teeth and spoke the command, “Cut it now.”