But sometimes, it went deeper, much deeper, than that.
She had always known, intellectually, that she was not the only human to have her peculiar gift_or curse_of feeling the needs and the emotions of others. She had never met anyone else with the gift to the extent that she had it, though. She had never encountered another human who found him- or herself pulled into another's soul by his pain or his joy; never found one who was in danger of losing himself when bombarded by the emotions of others.
But it seemed that there were many more of the humans who lived among the Haspur with that curse_or gift. Their gifts were_at least from what she gleaned from T'fyrr_as formidable as her own. And for those who bore that burden, a relationship with a Haspur could never be "simple" anything.
They felt, and felt deeply, but had no outlet for their extreme emotions. At the ragged edge of pain, or sorrow, or that dreadful agony of the soul, the Haspur could only try to endure, dumbly, as their emotions tore them up from within, a raging beast that could not break free from the cage of their spirits.
But humans did have that outlet_at least, the humans he called "Spirit-Brothers" could provide it, by becoming unhesitatingly one, without reservations, with their friends, and sharing the pain.
Becoming one, without reservations. Giving all, and taking all, halving the pain by enduring it themselves.
She had one lover in all her life_one real lover, as opposed to friends who shared their bodies with her. She had not known; she was so young, she had not known that when she gave all of herself, the one she gave to might not be able to give in return_that he might not even realize what she had done. She had not thought she was the only one with this curse_or gift_and had supposed that her lover would surely feel all that she felt.
He didn't, of course. He hadn't a clue; he'd thought she was the same as all the other ladies he'd dallied with, and she lacked the words, the skill, the heart to tell him.
When Raven had left her the first time, it had felt as if something that was a part of her had been ripped away from her soul. She smiled and bled, and he smiled and sauntered off with a song on his lips.
And he had never understood. He still didn't; not to this day.
She had learned to accept that, and had forgiven him for not knowing and herself for her own ignorance. But she had vowed it would not happen again and had never opened herself to another creature that deeply, never under any other circumstances, until this moment. But nothing less would do now, but to give everything of herself, for nothing less would begin the healing T'fyrr needed so desperately.
She did not know, could not know, what would come of this. Perhaps an ending like the end of her love affair with Raven, and pain that would live in her forever, a place inside her spirit wounded and scarred and never the same again.
But she could bear the pain, and she could heal herself again, over time. She had done it once, and she could again. T'fyrr could not, not without her help, for he did not truly understand the emotions festering inside his soul.
Great power demands that the user consider the repercussions of actions. She had the power; she had long ago accepted the responsibility, or so she had thought.
I was fooling myself. I should have known that the Lady would put this on me.
But this was no time to have second thoughts; really, she had made all her choices long before she met T'fyrr, and this was only the ultimate test of those choices. What was it that Peregrine had said to her a few months ago? She had known at the time that he was trying to warn her of an ordeal to come_
You cannot speak truly of the path without walking it.
And she could not. Not without repudiating everything that she said, that she thought, that she was.
So she opened the last of her heart to him, opened her souls arms to him and gathered him up inside the place where her own deepest secrets and darkest fears lay_she brought him inside, and she gave him all that she was, and all the comfort that she had.
T'fyrr did not know how he had gotten to Nightingale's room; he did not even realize that he was talking to her until he heard his own voice, hoarse and cracking, telling her things he had never intended to share with anyone.
Especially not with her.
She was too fragile, too gentle_how could she hear these horrible things and not hate him? He knew she was one of the kind who felt things; he had sensed that the first time he met her.
The same as the Spirit-Brothers, perhaps.
But not the same, not with the training or the knowledge, surely. The idea of murder_it would surely send her fleeing him in utter revulsion.
Only Harperus knew he had killed. Harperus had told him that it was an accident, something he could not have helped.
Harperus had not even begun to understand.
The Spirit-Brothers of the Haspur would have been able to help him bear the guilt, although it would have meant that he and the Brother who chose to help him would have been in debt to one another for all their lives, bonded in soul and perhaps in body as well. The latter happened, sometimes, though not often. But the Spirit-Brothers, male and female, were far away and out of reach, and he had no hope of reaching them for years, even decades....
At some point in his babbling, it began to dawn on him that Nightingale not only understood, she felt as he felt. She wept for him as a Spirit-Brother would have wept, gave him her tears in an outpouring of release for both of them.
Something in him turned to her as a flower turns toward the sun, as a drowning creature seizes upon a floating branch. Something in her answered that need, granted him light, kept him afloat. He was beyond thinking at that point, or he would never have let her do what she did. It wasn't fair, it wasn't right, not for her! She was a Gypsy, a Free Bard, who should be as free as the bird that was her namesake, and not bound as a Spirit-Brother!
But it was already done, before thoughts even began to form in the back of his terror-clouded mind.
She stayed awake with him until his internal sense told him that the sun was rising, comforting and holding him, and even preening his feathers as another Haspur would_
_a Haspur, or a Spirit-Brother.
He did not understand how she knew to do this; he did not understand why he accepted it. He was beyond understanding now, beyond anything except feeling. It was feeling that held him here, weak as a newborn eyas, simply accepting the comfort and the understanding as an unthinking eyas would accept them.
Finally, he slept, exhausted.
When he woke again, she was there beside him, stroking his wings with a hand so gentle it had not even disturbed his sleep, although he had felt it and it had soothed him out of the nightmares he had suffered for so long. He blinked up at her, astonished that she was still there.