'Lorn,' Herewiss said.
Freelorn held him, just held him hard for a few moments, and then reached up a trembling hand to Herewiss's face, brushing away the tears and sweat.
Herewiss caught at that hand, bowed his head over it, pressed his lips to it. 'Lorn,' he said again, his heart clenching like a fist in a last spasm of fear. 'Are you all right, did it hurt you at all—'
'No, no, it just touched me.' Fre chuckle. 'You know how I am about
'You were justified, I think ... " against him, and swayed slightly; with fatigue. 'Lorn, it's awfully is Segnbora—'
'Ohh-oh, Herewiss—'
lorn laughed, a weak, shaky gooey things—'
he held Freelorn's hand tightly his voice was soft and slurred bright in here for Moonset ...There was such a strange tone to Freelorn's voice that Herewiss glanced down to see what he was looking at. It took a while before it registered, before he really saw the bright blue Flame that licked around him like an aura, curling down his arm and flowing through and about the blade of the half-finished sword in runnels the color of summer sky. And even then, all he could find the strength to do was to slip his free arm around his friend, as much from the need for support as from love.
10
After even the fieriest sunset comes the Twilight; and in the Twilight, anything is rather more than less likely to happen.
Herewiss woke up all at once, as if his mind had opened a door and stepped through. He sat up, and glanced at the shadows outside to tell the tune. It was nearly noon. Beside him Freelorn lay curled up, having stolen all the blankets as usual, and snored like a whole pride of lions.
He leaned against the wall for a few minutes and just felt the Fire within him. It was freed now, it was him now, no longer bound into a tight controlled package at the bottom of his self. It ran all through him, warm as blood, no longer urgent, but calm and glad. There was time to do the things that had to be done. All the time in the world.
The sword lay beside him, among the cushions, and he looked at it and smiled. If he had shed blood on it — and he checked his hands, finding only Flame-healed scars there — then the blood had burnt off, for the metal was bright and unstained. The steel had acquired an odd blue sheen, as if even now it reflected the fire it was forged in.
He reached down, picked it up. At his touch it flared up brilliantly, a bar of blue-white light like the core of a star, hammered and forged. Thin bright tongues of the Flame strained away from it and curled back again. Herewiss's smile dimmed as the sight recalled to him another image, that of a bright torn veil of fire arching away from some star, daring the darkness — and then fallen, consumed, gone forever into the greater brilliance.
Spark, he thought, oh my dear loved. He leaned his head back against the wall and began to weep. The sword's light blazed up with his pain. My sweet firechild, my hungry piece of the Sun. You always were good at doing the impossible, but this time you outdid yourself. You went and got killed. The sobbing began to rack him. And for my sake. The only man in history to have a fire elemental fall in love with him, and it loves me so well that it dies for me. Oh, damn, damn, damn—!
He cried and cried for what seemed forever, the sword clutched in his hands, its Flame trembling and wavering with his sobs. So now what? There's nothing left to bury — and what kind of a tree do you plant for a fire elemental, anyhow? Maybe it would be more appropriate to start a brushfire — oh, dammit straight to Darkness! I make my peace with a guilt, and not an hour later I have a grief just as bad to replace it! One more empty place inside me — and I'll never be able to so much as light a campfire again without being reminded of just how empty it is! I always knew that you have to accept the pain at the end of love to make the loving complete — but this, this is harder than I thought — Oh, Mother of Everything, why her — why him — why my sweet little Sunspark? Why, why? . . .
Eventually he ran dry of tears, and even the great heaving sobs that shook him grew less — his chest ached too much to sustain them. He scrubbed at his face with one hand — he still could not bring himself to let go of the sword — and fell to running his fingertips up and down the water-cool metal of the blade, the rhythm of his stroking being occasionally broken by a leftover sob or choke. This whole thing hasn't gone the way it should, and now is no exception. I thought it would be all joy, that it would feel good at the end — and look at me. And I never dreamed that there would be such a price to pay. Or even that I wouldn't be the only one paying it. Herewiss shook his head slowly. She asked me what I would be willing to pay. If I'd known then what I know now, I wonder if I'd have been so sure of myself.
'Goddess, Herewiss,' came a grumble from within the pile of blankets, 'how come you have this crazy preference for rooms with eastern exposures? Anyone who gets up this early has to have something wrong with his—' Freelorn's head and shoulders and arms emerged from under the covers; he stretched and turned over, and saw. 'Oh,' he said. 'Ohh—' and sat up, shedding blankets in all directions, reached over and took Herewiss in his arms, hugged him tightly enough to bruise ribs, kissed him hard, hugged him again. Herewiss hugged back, one-armed. His underhearing was alive as it had never been before, and the blaze of triumph and joy that his loved was radiating made him smile. It was a strange feeling; after all the crying, he felt as if his face might crack.
'You've got it,' Freelorn was saying. 'You've got it—'
'It looks that way.'
'But, Goddess, it's so long,' Freelorn said, propping himself up against the wall beside Herewiss. 'You're going to — hey, my face is — you've been crying—?!'
'I've been — I've — oh, Dark, I thought I was, was done -oh, Lorn—'
'No, no, it's all right. Come here, then. Come on. There — let it out.' Freelorn took Herewiss in his arms, holding him tight, and Herewiss buried his face against Freelorn's shoulder and wept anew. 'You've had a hell of a night, go ahead and let it out—'
'It's muh, muh, m—' (More than that. And why am I trying to talk? I can make anyone hear me now. Whether they have the talent or not.)
'Sweet Goddess above us,' Freelorn said in amazement. 'So that's how it feels.' (Yes. But, Lorn, poor Sunspark—!)
Freelorn was shocked into silence as Herewiss gave him the image of Sunspark's Name without words.
(And it's gone, it died, it wasn't supposed to be able to die and it died—)
Herewiss said nothing more for a long time, but only sobbed, and Freelorn held him close and wondered. When after a while Herewiss's sobs started to die down, and gulped and choked and started to control himself again, Freelorn sighed and made himself smile.
'I was saying,' he said conversationally, 'that you're going to have to put a bastard broadsword's hilt on that thing if you expect to be able to handle it. It's four feet long easily.'
'I — uh — no.' Herewiss sat up straight again, wiped at his eyes and got his breath back. 'Not at all. See, look—' He stood up, and taking the sword one-handed, Herewiss cut and parried and thrust till the air whistled and the sword left trails of blue Fire behind it. 'It's like an arm, it's almost weightless. Not quite; the balance is a little heavy toward the point.' He held the sword out at arm's length, point up, eyeing it with a critical smile. 'Possibly my error at the forge — or possibly the sword itself is impatient. But whatever, it's no problem to handle.'