“Me?” He was plainly startled. “Why? I have never encountered the denizens of Garth Howell, never harmed them. I was half the world away! Why me?”
“They fear you…” she whispered. “You are one of the Seven.” She stared then at Eydryth, and Hyana. “As are they. The Seven…”
“The Seven what?” Eydryth wondered.
“Defenders… defenders of this land… defenders of Arvon,” Yachne replied. She was laboring now for breath, and it was pain to hear her. “There will be… Seven. Last has not yet… been born.” Her gaze turned again to Eydryth. “Your brother,” she muttered. “Will be the last. If he is ever born.”
Eydryth grabbed the old woman’s hand in both of hers. “What know you of my brother?” she demanded fiercely.
“Promise… promise you will ease my passing…” the sorceress said.
“I swear by Gunnora’s amulet,” she vowed. “Where is my brother, Yachne?”
“Here… and not-here. Within the stone that is not-stone. Beyond the cage, beneath the flesh… uhhhh…” With a rattling moan, she trailed off.
To Eydryth, the words had no meaning. She began to demand further explanation, but Joisan nudged her. “She is beyond speech, Daughter,” she whispered. “Shall we fulfill our promise?”
Together, Joisan and Eydryth sang softly, and all of the group watched the lines of pain smooth away from the aged features. When Yachne died, minutes later, her countenance was almost peaceful.
They covered her face with a fold from her ragged mantle, then withdrew to the other side of the massive stone to speak together for the first time. Joisan looked up at the eastern side of the Shadow Place. “Dawn is breaking,” she said softly. “We have lived through this night… something that I doubted, a few hours ago.”
Alon stared around him at his rescuers. “I thank you for coming to my aid. Without your”—he nodded at Hyana— “mind-sending, I would never have remembered that sword.”
“Alon, this is Hyana, my foster-sister,” Eydryth said, remembering her manners. “And this is Lord Kerovan and Lady Joisan, my foster parents.” Pride tinged her voice as she hooked her arm through Jervon’s. “And this is my father, Jervon.”
Alon had bowed in turn as each introduction was made, but when he heard this last, he blinked in surprise. “Dahaun’s mud worked!” he cried. “This is… this is wonderful hearing! Sir,” he added hastily.
Jervon smiled. “I owe you much, young sorcerer,” he said. “And I gather from everything that my daughter has not said, that we have a great deal to discuss, you and I.” He held out his hand. “Well-met, Alon!”
This time it was the Adept’s turn to color, but he grasped the older man’s hand with a strong grip, and met his eyes steadily. “You have the right of it… sir,” he said. “Well-met, indeed, Jervon. You are a most fortunate man. We had no idea whether Dahaun’s red mud would restore an injured mind.”
“I am fortunate indeed,” Jervon said. “To have a daughter such as mine. Although”—he gave Alon an equally level stare—“I have gained the impression that I must now resign myself to sharing her.”
Alon’s mouth quirked slightly. “Perceptive, as well as fortunate,” he said.
Kerovan chuckled, then reached into his saddlebag and brought out hunks of journeybread and another water flask. “Here, Alon, you must be hungry.”
The little group sat in a circle, sharing food and water, while dawn slowly brightened the eldritch woods around them. The events of the night weighed heavy upon the songsmith now, and she felt at once so tired that she could have lain down and slept next to Yachne’s stiffening corpse, and so keyed up with frustration that she felt as though she must needs scream aloud.
Catching her father’s eye upon her, she gave him a wan smile. “To come so close to finding her… and fail. Yachne knew where my mother is.”
He nodded. “It is hard,” he said. “But we will not give up.”
“Here and not-here,” Alon repeated, puzzling aloud. “Stone that is not-stone.” He shook his head. “What can it mean?”
None of them could think of an answer. But Alon refused to give up, worrying at the riddle as though it were a bone and he a hound. “Here…” He glanced around the clearing. “What could be here, and yet not-here? Stone and not-stone? Stone… stone is rock, it is granite, it is limestone, and quartz…” He trailed off, staring down at the crystal he wore. “Crystal!” he exclaimed. “It is stone, yet not-stone. Could that be what Yachne meant?”
All of them turned to survey their surroundings in the growing light. “There is no stone except that one,” Jervon said, finally, pointing to the monstrous boulder. “And that appears grey, not crystal.”
The Adept rose and walked over to the stone. Eydryth walked beside him, and together they gazed upon it. “Here and not-here,” Alon said. “Stone and not-stone. It sounds rather like those mirror Gates we used, does it not?”
It was obvious that he was having some insight that Eydryth could not follow. “But that stone is nothing like this one,” she said, touching the crystal talisman he wore with her fingers, tapping it with a nail. It rang, ever so faintly, and Alon, who had been staring at the huge rock, gasped.
“Do that again!” he commanded, holding the crystal out to her. “And match the note with your voice, as you did once before!”
Puzzled, she obeyed him, making the crystal ting, then attempting to match the note.
“I see it!” Alon exclaimed, wide-eyed. “Eydryth, look at the stone as you do so!”
Again she sounded the crystal, echoed it with a sung note. And, before her eyes, the great stone grew translucent!
She could see within it… and, in the crystalline depths, there was a pallet, and upon the pallet, a human shape!
“It is a Gate!” she exclaimed in astonishment. By that time the others, arrested by their excited voices, had come over to discover what chanced.
Once more Alon performed his demonstration, and this time it was Jervon’s turn to grow wide-eyed. “That is Elys!” he gasped. “That is what I saw in the Seeing Stone! I knew I would recognize it if I ever saw it again!”
“We must break the illusion that this is a solid boulder,” Joisan said. “We must link and attempt to open the Gate.”
“How?” Kerovan asked. “You and Alon seem to be the ones who have done so in the past.”
“I believe we should link hands and Power,” Joisan said. “Then pour our Power into Eydryth. The crystal responds to sound, and she is our singer. Her voice is the key that will unlock this Gate.” The Wise Woman glanced at Alon, and he nodded agreement.
So it was that they linked hands, concentrated. Within moments Eydryth began to feel light-headed, as though she were some kind of rod that was being used to conduct a thunderbolt. Opening her mouth, she sang—and her voice rang out with greater volume and clarity than she had ever possessed before.
Slowly, the boulder cleared again… became crystal… then became mist. With Jervon close behind them, the group took a step forward, straight into that mist.
They were in a place, and it was filled with light—but it was a Dark light, as though Shadow had been turned to flame, and given substance. The place had no horizons, no boundaries. There was no sky… nothing. Their feet rested on something, but it was difficult to tell what. Eydryth swallowed as she was assailed by sudden vertigo. It was extremely disconcerting to have no reference points.
Except one. Before her was the pallet, and on it, Elys lay sleeping. Eydryth saw the gentle mound of her belly beneath her robe. “She has been here the entire time,” Joisan whispered.
“But why?” Kerovan asked. “Why take her and confine her? If these Adepts at Garth Howell are so powerful, and yet evil enough to do this, then why not simply do away with her?”