You must realise that I have had no experience with what some call the finer things of life. I grew up on a farm. Our lives tended to be strong rather than beautiful, and fairly simple (to the point of boredom, I often felt).
Someone had crumbled a few leaves of lansip into the chélan, which had been transformed from a warm spicy drink that got sluggish blood moving in the morning into a draught straight from the Lady's cup. Surely the gods did not have finer drink than this. I instantly shook off my weariness, fell the warm glow of lansip spread like friendly fire through my body. I felt more alert, more alive; and where my memories of the night just past had begun to blur with the need for sleep, they now sprang sharp before me.
I realised that I would have to find some time to sleep that I might be awake and aware this evening, for it might be the last chance I had to speak with Akor. If his people decided he should not speak with me, I believed that he would obey their wishes in future. This night could well be the last.
I also lost my reluctance to join the crowd, and hurried off to where the fruit had been found, carrying my sacks. It would all be gone by the time I got there, I suspected, but the long walk would give me time to think.
I found, not surprisingly, that I felt physical pain at the thought of never seeing Akor again. For all our differences, I saw behind that silver mask a mind much like my own, thoughts that mirrored mine in a way no other's ever had. Even Jamie had not had my dream of seeing the Two Peoples living in peace—and now that I knew it had once been true, it might be done again. I found myself daydreaming about that time as I walked, wondering, wishing that I could somehow bring its spirit back into the world.
The first step must be to undo the wrong that had separated us—to restore the Lesser Kindred. But how, after so many centuries of failure by their own people? I could see no answer, nor could I stop looking for one. I could all but see the soulgems of the Lost lying in some dark cavern, flickering unheeded through their long night; and imagination filled my heart with the agony of the two hundred souls trapped there, living every moment a weariness, waiting in patience, fear, finally in desperation for their kin to release them once more into life.
And even if that were somehow done, how to unite two peoples with such a history behind them?
It seemed impossible. It must be impossible.
I spent every waking moment that morning, as I gathered leaves (the fruits were indeed all taken before I arrived), filled my sacks, carried them the long walk back to camp, wondering how Akor and I might make it happen.
Time was against me, against us. After our meeting at sunset I would have no way of knowing if I would ever see him again. I would have to speak to him of this, of restoring the Lesser Kindred, that very night, hoping he would listen rather than grow angry. I was not sure I was yet ready to risk a Dragon's anger, but I could not stop thinking of it. Of course I had grave doubts as to the wisdom of what I was considering, but that could not be helped, and in any case was not a new sensation. My head was dancing with what I had learned (and with lansip), my heart was full of Dragons, and I did not want even to think of having to leave them so soon.
No. Truth, Lanen. Say what you really mean.
I did not want to think of leaving Kordeshkistriakor.
"Berys, we have found lan fruit!"
"Excellent. It shall be as my prophet foretold, we shall be wealthy beyond the reach of imagination. It is good. And what of the girl?"
"She will be taken this evening, and blood drawn. Caderan and I have prepared the rite."
"May we both prosper in all things. Farewell."
I had just deceived my oldest friend. I had no intention of telling him or anyone else about meeting with her at dusk. I meant it to be a gift to Lanen, and to myself; a few moments of communion between we who for thousands of years had been apart.
I desired to have only the two of us there, as on the night of our first meeting. There was also some obscure part of me that wanted, no, needed to see her in the light of day, and for her to see me.
I could not understand why I felt so pleased. Deception should have lain heavy on me, should have interfered with my very movements. I walked back to my chambers with great difficulty, it is true, but that was only because I did not dare to take to the air so close to the camp of the Gedri. The Kindred had long ago decided to remain largely a veiled mystery to the Gedri who came to gather dead leaves and in their stead provide live cattle, in case their foolishness ever extended beyond those few suicides who stepped over the Boundary. If they did not know our strength, they could not know what they would need to counter it.
I longed to fly, to sing my joy to the Winds, to take her name above the earth and give it to the sky. As I walked, I indulged my fancy and let my mind take flight. I watched myself fly straight up until my wings grew weary and the air too thin, then dive down with wings close folded and the wind screaming past, pulling up just before I met the ground, into a great loop, into flight for the sheer joy of it.
And in this vision I looked into the sunrise and saw another, a lady of my Kindred but with Lanen's heart and voice. We flew together in delight, without thought, making pattern as we flew, singing to the dawn, singing to each other a new song that only we two…
I opened my eyes with a start. My blood pounded in my veins, with fear and with other things.
I had finally realised what I was doing.
When two of the Kindred decide to mate, they announce their bond with the Flight of the Devoted. It is long, intricate and unashamedly sensual. They create their own patterns of flight; some are based on their families' pattern, some on their own individual style, and something new is added, something that has not been before. Flying separately they fly as one, and at the end of the flight leave all those who have gathered to watch and wish them well. There are places far away from any chambers where they may join in privacy, with only the sounds of sea or forest to keep them company.
I had never chosen a mate, as Shikrar often reminded me. The Lady Idai had long made it known that she would welcome my interest—and by rights I should have welcomed her, she was wise beyond common knowing and devoted to me—but I had told her on several occasions that I had no desire for any lady of the Kindred yet alive. I had reconciled myself to mating late in life or not at all. I began to tremble, standing there on the path to my chambers, as I realised that I had well begun the Flight of the Devoted in my mind, ready to consecrate myself to one lady and to join with her for life.
And the lady was Lanen Kaelar of the Gedrishakrim. Somehow I made my way back to my chambers. I was horrified and elated at the same time. I had sometimes feared I had no capacity for the love of a mate, yet here it was in all its wonder—but oh, my soul to the Winds, for a child of the Gedri!
Or had I allowed myself that licence in fantasy because there was no possibility of such a joining ever taking place? Of all the unattainable females, Akhorishaan, I said to myself, laughing aloud. Yet the vision of her as one of my Kindred would not leave me, and gave me a pleasure and a lifting of the soul I had never known. I felt like a youngling myself, despite my many years of life, and decided there and then to simply enjoy the sensation. It was wonderful. And since there was no possibility of such a thing ever coming to pass, I might as well enjoy the feeling while it lasted. Soon she would be gone, my life would return to its quiet ways and I would have but the memory of these times to hold close all my days.