"Little sister, forgive me, but I must ask you something of great importance," I said. "When you called to me, you spoke of dreams, of a life spent longing for my Kindred. You called me brother," I said quietly. "That is not a word used often or lightly among my Kindred."
"Or mine," she said. None of the awe was gone from her, but even these few moments spent to my company had made her bolder. "I called you that because that is how I thought of you," she said. "Even more now than before." Her voice wavered and she trembled, but not with fear. "Ever since I was a young girl I have wanted to speak with a—with your people." .
Her words pleased me. She did not call us "Dragons"; deep in her heart she must know if was their word for us, not our own. I longed to tell her even then how we name ourselves, but I did not. Habit and old mistrust. The knowledge that this kind of meeting was forbidden sharpened suddenly into an urgent need. I had not known how strong the desire to teach was, how deeply she would infect me, how I would long to tell her of our Kindred and of myself—in truth, to teach her whatever she wanted to know. We had learned to our sorrow that the Gedri could use knowledge to evil ends. Our numbers were halved and the Lesser Kindred trapped in darkness because of misplaced trust between our peoples. Il must learn why she had come.
"Why?" I asked her. "Why have you wanted to know us? What brought you here, so far from your lands and your Kindred? Speak truly, and tell me why you are here."
I asked her this aloud, and without thought repeated it in the Language of Truth. "Why do you seek me/us out in the night? What brings you? Do you mean us harm, do you seek for gain? Why are you here?"
To this day I do not know why first I used the Language of Truth with her. Every scholar of our Kindred had told me that the Gedrishakrim were deaf to it.
To my great delight she proved them wrong.
Her thoughts were faint and not well ordered; they spilled out all together and sparkled with emotion like stars streaking , across a dark night. It was much like speaking with a youngling—but it was the Language of Truth, undeniably.
"I come because I love you I want to know you, let us speak together and grow to know one another. You are so beautiful/ wondrous/not what I expected but real at last. I have dreamed of you so long, so long in the lonely darkness, it is glory and wonder to hear speech and reason from another creature A REAL DRAGON!" And below that, her underthought whispered, "Is this real oh please let it be real if it is not let me never wake from the dream, oh my heart aches you are so beautiful!"
She stood silent for a moment. "What did I—did you hear that?" she asked very quietly.
"Yes," I said, standing in the Attitude of Surprised Pleasure. "I did not know you had the Language of Truth, little sister!"
"I didn't either," she said.
"You have never done this before?"
She shook her head. "Never. I think it's—we call it Farspeech, but I've only ever heard of it in tales from the bards." She stared up at me. "I never thought it was real!"
"It is the Language of Truth," I told her. I had not lost all restraint, but how could such knowledge bring harm? "It is the true speech of mind to mind, and minds cannot hide a lie from one another. This Farspeech—you are certain you have never used it before?"
"No. I told you, I didn't even believe in it until now," she replied. She looked up and smiled. "I'm not sure I do yet." She seemed a little dazed. It was a common reaction among younglings, and I found myself wanting to cross the Boundary to comfort her, as though she were indeed one of the Kindred. I resisted with great effort. The least I could do would be to explain.
"With us it may only be used between two who consent," I told her gently. "It is very revealing, and younglings find it leaves them unsettled."
"Unsettled; yes, that at least. I wasn't expecting it at all." Her mouth drew up again, and I knew a small wash of pleasure as I realised that I was the only one of all the Kindred who could recognise the smile of the Gedrishakrim.
"You should warn a lady," she said.
I bowed to her. "I will."
And I realised only in the second after I had spoken that my words hung in the air like a winged promise. With those two words "I had changed my life and hers. There would be another meeting, I would again use the Language of Truth with her. I knew not until I spoke that I meant to continue this frightening, forbidden, wondrous communion.
I stared at her, startled by my own words, and saw to my wonder that some postures are universal. She stood in Anticipation of Joy as best she could. It seemed we merely acknowledged a fate already decreed.
"There will be another time?" she asked. "May I come back tomorrow night?"
I waited, wondering, seeking a reason to deny her and not finding one. "Yes, little sister," I said at last, and the saying was a joy. "Come to me tomorrow at the same hour, alone as you are. We will speak again."
"Thank you, my brother," she said, and bent in the middle at me. It seemed to be a bow of some kind. I must ask her about that sometime, I thought, when she said in a different voice, "That man; the one who came just before me did you kill him?"
"Yes," I replied,
"Why?"
"He had broken the treaty our laws and yours. There was greed in him, and death in his heart for my Kindred. He reeked of the Rakshasa, he must have had dealings with them. He knew the prive." I peered at her. "Does my killing of him frighten you?"
She paused, looking down, then answered, "No. It probably should, but no, it doesn't." She looked up at me again, and I longed to know what the glow in her eyes meant. "I trust you. I will obey your laws."
"That is well, little sister," I said. "You have nothing—" I caught myself. The temptation to trust was overpowering. I was amazed. I must have time, time to think about this strange impulse, ponder what it might mean. "Go now. We will speak again tomorrow, at the middle night."
"Must we part so soon?" she asked.
"Do not your Kindred require sleep?" l asked.
"Yes, but…"
"In our laws, and I suspect in yours, our two Kindreds are warned never to meet." I looked down on her and said kindly, "I think this first lawbreaking should not be overlong. There will be time enough, and we both have much to think on."
"That's true," she said. "You won't forget?"
I nodded. "We do not forget, little sister."
She smiled at that. "Then goodnight, large brother," she said. She bent in half again and turned to go, then turned back. She stood silent a moment, determined, hesitant.
"What is it, little one?" I asked.
And without hesitation she said, "I am called Lanen Maransdatter—but my true name is Lanen Kaelar."
And she waited.
The giving of a name is with us the greatest act of trust. Only father, mother and mate know the true name, or perhaps one true friend of the heart; but the name gives power to whoever calls it.
It would be stupid, it would be blind senseless, it would be madness to give her my name and thus power over me and my Kindred. How could I so break the ban and do so foolish a thing?