Something about the performance touched the very edge of Orim's memory. Dimly she recalled similar events: a mighty conflict between rival magicians, a conflict that ended in tragedy and death. She had heard the story back at the Argivian University, sitting in the library on a gloomy winter day, glancing through an obscure, age-old poem…
Recognition came in a sudden shock. "It's the Brothers' War!"
"What?" Is-Shada had been lying on her stomach, intent on the play.
"The Brothers' War!" Orim slapped her hand against IsShada's foot in excitement. "I learned this legend at the university. Two brothers, Urza and Mishra, fought a war against one another on the continent of Terisiare. During the latter part of the war, they invaded the island of Argoth and fought until it was devastated. We were taught that the spirit of nature in Argoth died when the brothers had completed their battle. Then there was a huge explosion that killed both brothers and ended the war."
Is-Shada was plainly uninterested in her friend's story. "That's not what this is about," she said, turning back to the figures by the fire. "Watch."
The battle was reaching a climax. The gestures had become more violent. The red-haired woman slowly crossed the space between the two principal figures, her arms outstretched. Her former ally, whose mask was painted in dark, handsome features, lifted his hands and clapped. The red-haired woman dropped to the ground. The dark man lifted his arms in a gesture of triumph. He hefted three great stones waiting beside the fire, set them on his back, and began a whirling dance around the flames. At the height of one turn, he seemed struck by something, and the three stones flew outward, dropping among the fallen folk. Then, the man himself collapsed.
All the separi lay still on the ground now, save one, wearing a golden mask, who stepped over their bodies. She reached down and touched each of the fallen, and at her touch each one rose. Finally, when all were standing, they wove back and forth in an intricate dance until at last they joined in a single entity.
This episode brought the play to an end. The separi discarded their masks and stood grinning amid the plaudits of the watching Cho-Arrim.
Orim clapped with the rest of the crowd and then turned to Is-Shada. "All right. What is it about?"
Is-Shada shrugged. "It is the Peliam, the origin story," she said. "It tells us where everything came from and to where we'll return when we die."
"All right," said Orim after a pause. "Tell me."
Is-Shada spoke as if talking to a child. "The fight was between two gods, Ramos and Orhop. Each had pulled down a piece of the heavens, and each sought to use it to best the other. In the end, Ramos triumphed, and Orhop, the evil god, was vanquished. Ramos grieved for the ruin he had brought to his world. And so, he gathered the people of forest and plain and mountain and set them on his back and carried them to a new world, a better world. But when he arrived, he was struck from the sky and fell in three great pieces-soul, mind, and body. Borne atop his soul, the tribes of the Cho-Arrim landed in the forests. Those atop his mind-the Saprazzans-fell into the oceans. And those atop his body-some fell from the fiery corpse and struck the coastal lands, and they became the Rishadans. Those who held on to the blazing body were slain and lie now guarding the bones of Ramos. That is why when we die, we return to the heavens, the place from which we came. Once there, we are joined in the Great River that runs among the stars until at last it falls off the edge of the world into the great, everlasting dark."
Orim nodded thoughtfully. "And who in the play was the red-haired woman?"
"A demon who pretended to support Ramos in the conflict. In the end, she betrayed him, but he defeated her and so won the war. Her name was Hassno the Unrighteous."
"And the last part of the play?"
"Though the children of Ramos-Cho-Arrim, Rishadan, Saprazzan-were scattered through forest, plain, and sea, someday will come the Uniter. He will be a great metal serpent. When he returns, all the children of Ramos will be joined as one and will triumph over our enemies," Is-Shada said with conviction.
"And you believe Weatherlight is the soul of this Uniter?"
Is-Shada pushed back the dark hair that framed her heartshaped face. "You would have to ask Cho-Manno."
"You know, there were other folk who thought the owner of Weatherlight was a uniter-the Korvecdal."
The woman only shrugged. "Truth is truth, wherever it is found."
Orim startled awake from a nightmare. Her heart pounded in her chest.
She had dreamed of monsters-inhuman beasts with four arms, boar-heads, scorpion tails. They scaled the vast forest wall, where tree trunks formed a barrier a hundred feet high. The monsters leaped upward, as nimble and bloodthirsty as fleas. They loped into the nighttime wood. Whenever they encountered a creature-whether coney-fox or wumpus or red wolf-the monsters fell upon it, tore it to pieces, ate their victim's innards, and flung away bone and muscle to rot. Their claws girdled ancient trees. Their talons tore up undergrowth. Worst of all, they arrowed straight through the forest toward the Cho-Arrim village.
"Just a nightmare," Orim said to herself, panting and clutching a hand to her chest. Her bed of leaves and moss lay, warm and familiar, beneath her. Solid walls of wood enclosed her. Is-Shada's room was just down the corridor, and ChoManno's beyond. She was safe. "Just a nightmare."
Feet came along the passage-probably Is-Shada, checking on her.
"You are awake," came a man's voice, basso in the darkness.
"Cho-Manno!" Orim gasped, grabbing a robe from a hook on the wall and holding it over herself. "What are you doing-?"
"You dreamed it too," he interrupted. His eyes glinted in the dark. "That's good. The Rushwood is getting its roots in you."
"You had the same nightmare?"
"Yes. Mercenaries. Monsters. They must be caterans," ChoManno answered. "But it was not our dream. It was Rushwood's. And it was not just a dream. The monsters are coming."
Orim stood. "Where can we flee? They can run, and climb-"
"We do not flee. We fight. The forest awoke us to mount a defense. Even now, it awakes other defenders-ancient things that have not walked the land in centuries-but they rouse slowly. We must go. We are the first line of defense."
"We?" Orim asked, astonished. "I'm not a fighter."
"You are a healer, like Ta-Karnst. The forest dreams in you, as in him-chavala. Where there are fighters, there must be healers."
Dropping her robe, Orim donned her healer's cloak, slipped on her leggings and boots, and wrapped the turban about sleeptousled hair. "I'm ready."
"Good," Cho-Manno said, holding his hand out in the darksome room. She saw then that he himself wore only a loincloth. "My armor and sword wait by the door. Already, the skyscouts and wizards are on their way." Orim took his hand. It was strong and warm. A salty scent enveloped him. "Let us fight for the Rushwood."