“She is so like Yarrel,” I whispered. “So like that she can be no one other than his sister, his lost sister, the one he thought dead, gone in the Game, lost to a Shifter. He hated me for that. But she is not dead. No.”
“Are you certain?” Mavin asked. Her words were nonsense. I had just said I was certain.
I stroked the hot forehead, pushed the dark hair back from her face. Yarrel had worn his so, brushed back from his face.
“She must go back to him,” I said. “To her family. As soon as possible.”
“So long ago. Will she remember her family at all?”
“No matter. What she cannot remember, she will relearn. But she must go back, at once.”
“You can take her,” said Mavin. “When she wakes.”
“No. Swolwys may take her, or Dolwys, or both. In fact, they must, for she must be kept utterly safe, beyond all possibility of harm. I cannot take her myself. I must go after Windlow.”
For if anything was certain, it was sure that I could not fail Windlow and Himaggery again. I had failed them once in the Bright Demesne, once in the Blot. But not again.
The Magicians
I WAS SURPRISED when Mavin said she would go with me. I had always thought of her, when I thought of her, as elsewhere, not with me. When I had met her on the pinnacle, it had been with no thought that she would accompany me anywhere. If I had had any expectations of that meeting, it would have been to spend some time with her, in her own place, and learn what I could from her to make my Shifterish soul more comfortable. So, when she said very calmly that the twins would escort Izia to her childhood home and she would come with me, I was speechless for a time. Remnants of courtly training suggested I should protect her by refusing her company. Good sense told me how silly that was. Of the two of us, she was probably better able to take care of herself. Certainly she had had far more experience than I. At the end, I said nothing, not even thanks.
“I would have gone eventually anyhow,” she said, over Izia’s sleeping form. “The time has come to find out what happens beyond the Blot. Many of us have known for a long time that strangeness and disturbance comes from there. If you saw Windlow’s body, then it is certain Himaggery is there as well. Do you think they are alive?” She did not wait for my nod, we had been over this before. “Himaggery, yes, and probably Throsset of Dornes, that great Sorcerer, and Mind-Healer Talley, one of the few Healers ever to have great skill in healing sick minds, and who knows—a thousand more who have disappeared. Pawns as well, I suppose. I have seen them go by the dozens into that place like dazed sheep. Into the mumble mouths, riding the little cars. Many of us know, have known, but we have not been organized … No. We have simply been too fearful to go into that place.”
“You? Fearful?” I doubted this.
“Do not mistake my arrogance for courage, my son. It is true that I am renowned for what I can do. But I am afraid of the unknown, as are most men, Gamesmen or pawns alike. My sisters and I were told as children that monsters dwelt in the West, that night creatures would come from there to take us if we were naughty, that all darkdreams came from the West. When I grew older, I learned that there was truth in that. Of course I fear it. We should both fear it, but there is at least one place worse than this!”
“And we will go?”
“Of course.
Swolwys and Dolwys were not so sure. They gave her arguments which extended into the night, all the while that Izia slept. I went now and then to see that she was covered and to look at her legs. The grayness was fading. There were patches of smooth skin behind her knees and along the ankles. I gave thanks to Dealpas in my heart, but did not summon her. I remembered the skipping chant which the children of Schooltown used to sing beneath the windows of Mertyn’s House, as they sang in every village of the world. “Pain’s maid, broken leaf, Dealpas, heart’s grief.” There was a verse for each of the eleven, so familiar to all children that we did not even think of it as anything religious or special. I thought of others. “Mind’s mistress, moon’s wheel, cobweb Didir, shadow-steel.” That one was right enough, a web of adamant woven from moonlight and shadow. “Only-free and sent-far, trickiest is Thandbar.” I hoped that one was right, too, for we two of Thandbar’s kindred. From what Mavin had said about the Blot, we would need to be tricky. I was frightened, too, but I did not hesitate except to stroke Izia’s hair and touch her cheek. I knew then that I loved her, but I was not sure whether I loved her because she was Yarrel’s sister or because she was herself. It did not matter. I might never see her again after the morrow.
When she woke, I sat at her side and held her hands in mine, though she cowered and tried to jerk them away. I made her look at her legs, at the places which were healing, made her listen as I told her that she was healing, healing, that all of the years with Laggy Nap were past, gone, done with, forever dissolved in time. She shivered and sobbed, at last letting her hands lie in mine. Only then I asked, “Do you remember a time before Laggy Nap? Do you remember when you were a child?”
“I remember horses,” she said.
I laughed to myself. Oh, assuredly this was Yarrel’s sister.
“Do you remember a boy, your own age? A brother?” I wanted her to name him. Oh, I held my breath wanting her to name him.
“I remember Dorbie,” she said. “Dorbie was my fusty.”
“No, Izia. Not a fustigar. A boy. A brother. What was his name?”
Her eyes became unfocused, concentrating. “It was … was Yarry,” she said at last. “Yarry was my brother. Twin. Twins we were.” Years welled to spill down her cheeks. “I lost him. I lost everything.”
“No.” I squeezed her hands, kept myself from hugging her, for I knew it would only frighten her and remind her of Laggy Nap. “No, Izia. They aren’t lost. Tomorrow you will travel with my cousins to find Yarry, and your parents.” Later I cursed myself for mentioning her parents. I had not heard of Yarrel’s family in a year. One or both might be dead. Well, it was too late to change the words. “Your family are still there, Izia, and they have never ceased thinking of you.
“Oh, fool, fool,” she said, singsong. “They sold me to the Shifter. They did not care for me.” The sobbing commenced again.
“Shhh. Izia, that was Laggy Nap’s lies, all lies. You were not sold to the Shifter. He took you, by guile, by trickery. Try to remember how he took you! It was the Shifter who did it, Izia, no one else.”
She subsided onto the pallet, and I gave way to Mavin who brought yet another cup of hot broth from the fire, her cure for all ills, to be spooned down the girl’s throat a few drops at a time. She shook her head, made a bitter face as though she tasted gall when she saw Izia crying. Later she said much to me about Gamesmen who prey upon children. She needed have said none of it. I already had my opinions, and she could not have made them worse.
By noon Izia was enough recovered to finger the healing places on her legs with trembling hands, to seem to understand when we told her she was to return to Yarrel, even to be eager to depart. Mavin took some time, more than I thought necessary, to tell her that Dolwys and Swolwys were “good Shifters” who would see that she was kept safe. She also spent some time with my cousins, instructing them how they should behave toward her to avoid hurting her further. Swolwys went into the plains to fetch horses. When he returned, Izia became herself once more, walking about the animals, picking up a foot to examine a hoof, all the actions I had seen her perform in Nap’s camp. So, they went away, and Mavin and I were left alone.