I longed for oblivion.
It was not granted me.
For a long time I lay as I had fallen. Cold and sharp against my face pressed the dead leaves of autumn, wet with dew and smelling of decay. The sky was lightening, dawn but a thought away, the birth of a terrible morning.
I lay unmoving, my eyes wide and staring at the earth as I tried to understand what had happened.
Akor was dead.
I could not grasp it. It seemed a tale told by a stranger of a distant land. How could it be? Not a day past I sat on that living silver neck and rode high as my spirit and strong with my love into the Council of the Kindred. How could he so quickly be gone?
And I heard a sound like tearing glass, joined by a cry of pain deeper than any sound I had ever heard, it shook me where I lay.
Idai and Hadreshikrar mourned.
Akor was dead.
I sought him despite that truth, called out with all my heart and mind, cried out aloud, met only silence. His voice in my heart was stilled, the last words he gave me lost to the echoes of memory. I would not forget his words, but I would never hear them again.
Dead.
He should have wept over my grave for a thousand years.
I curled against the pain as though around a dagger in my gut. This was no life, I was but half a person. My other half lay in smoking ruin there in the cave, gone forever, beyond all hope.
I rocked as I knelt on the wet leaf-fall, my arms wrapped tightly around me, holding on for dear life. I was holding back screams; they found their way out as whimpers, as a highpitched moan dreadful even for me to hear. Death echoed in my mind, in my body, and I could not bear its presence.
I had lived my dream and found it perilous beyond imagining. I cursed the day I left Hadronsstead. If I had let my dreams alone at least I would still have them, and he would still have life. Now were we both bereft.
I was alone in a dry place. The pain of this grief was more than I could bear. I longed to die, for my heart to break, for death to cease its wanderings and come for me.
And in the still air, above the sound of my grieving, a wondrous voice rose to greet the dawn. The song was deep and rich, and through the cracks of grief shone the love of the singer. It grew like a tree, putting down roots in the past and rising straight into the morning, true and full of life and laughter, and it named the life it sang.
Kordeshkistriakor.
A high voice like crystal bells joined it, twining round the melody like a vine, soft buds of harmony bursting into flower as it climbed. The two would echo one another, join in a clear harmony, separate into their own ways.
The song lifted me to my feet, when I would have sworn no power on earth could do so. I stood in mute thanksgiving for his life, in honour of his song, but in time it seemed to me that there was something missing. I stood in the bright morning, my face wet and dirty with tears and dew and leaf mould, and joined in the song of passing for my beloved. I was no more than a creaking murmur that came and went added to the glorious voices above and around me, but somehow it was fitting, and three were complete where two were not.
With a strength I had never known, with all my soul grown old in the night with grief, I sang my dearest love into the morning.
I did as Lanen asked and returned the gems to the Dragons, along with one of a different kind I found in the ashes of the Dragon that died. It seemed the right thing to do; at least, the Dragon that met me at the Boundary accepted it along with the others. It wavered its head at me—I suppose it was a kind of bow—and left.
I returned to the clearing and looked down at Marik's body. It lay without movement, save that his wide staring eyes blinked occasionally. I left him as he lay—I remember hoping that the son of a bitch would die while I was fetching help— but no such luck. I trudged down to the shore and, waving and shouting, called out the boat. It took some time, but I managed to have his body taken aboard. He was not dead, though I thought death might be preferable. His mind was gone. I watched it happen.
He had something from Caderan that protected him against the Dragons, against flame and claw, but they destroyed his mind. He lies like an infant now, with as much life and as little thought. Maikel was with him for hours, and he says that it might be possible to recover some of what has been lost, but it will take years. It is frightful.
I find that, despite their leaving Marik alive (it would have been kinder to kill him), I quite like the Dragons. I am surprised. Shikrar, the Keeper of Souls, seems to be a kindred spirit.
He reminds me of my grandfather. His son Kédra is a good soul and looked after me well through mat cold night—I think I even made him laugh once or twice. Certainly I will never forget his "Lady Rella."
They seem too old and too deep to be casual companions, but in such an adventure as this one—ah, the Silent Service can go whistle. I will think on my report on the voyage back, surely in all that time I will find a way to tell them as little as possible about the creatures.
On a more practical note, I do not know how long I can make them hold the ship for Lanen.
As long as their fear of the Dragons lasts, I suspect. If all else fails I will go back to the island myself tomorrow morning—the Master of the ship was willing to wait that long—but I hope she will somehow come to us. Despite all, I have seen enough of that island for one lifetime, and if I never step again on its shores I will die happy.
I bespoke Kédra, telling him of my soulfriend's death as gently as I could. The calm after the song held me still, my mindvoice was steady enough. He replied soon afterwards, saying that Rella had come to him again, wondering if Lanen was coming to take ship, and that the Master was anxious to be gone.
I decided such a thing could wait until all was done that must be done.
The song was finished. I was not at peace—I did not believe that I would ever be at peace again—but at least I could move and act.
I knelt to Idai and Shikrar, in thanks, in friendship. They stood silent until I rose, then bowed to me as one. We stood together unmoving, unspeaking, in shared grief that went beyond tears, beyond words to the silence of souls.
Until, finally, there came a moment when we stirred, when life made its demands heard once again. I looked about me.
"Is there anything yet to be done?" I asked. "What are the customs of your people?''
"We have sung him to rest, there is only his soulgem to bring forth, that it may join his ancestors' in the Chamber of the Souls," said Hadreshikrar. He was beginning to show signs of weariness, and it seemed to me that his wound pained him deeply. "I will do that service for you, if you so desire."
"It is my place as his mate to do so, then?" I asked.
"Yes."
''Then I will. I thank you for your offer, Shikrar, but I think I must do this. I can understand the meaning. I must see his ashes and bid him farewell. I was his mate."
I turned towards the cave. The body that had insisted I live was reluctant now to carry me there.
This time I won.
It was dark in the chamber, dark and very warm. The walls had taken up the heat Akor had given off; it would be warm in there for days.
It was fairly dark, but I could see my way. The sun was no more than an hour risen, but even that much light coming through the smoke-hole above allowed me to see, if not very clearly. I looked slowly towards the place where Akor had lain. Having seen I had to look away, horrified, sickened. That vision haunts my dreams yet. Fool, fool, he tried to spare you.
Akor had told me but I had forgotten. At death the fire that sustains the Greater Kindred is let loose and, unchecked, destroys the body from within. All that lay on the floor of khaadish were a few charred remains of his ash-covered bones.