That's when I realise I'm not dead.
I don't try to stir myself. I just stare at the ceiling, where arched beams support a curved wooden roof, and think of nothing. I don't feel relieved, or happy, or thankful. Just peaceful. So I lie there for a long time, listening to the music. The air is cool on my face. Tears creep from the outside corners of my eyes, trickling down towards my ears. I don't know where they're coming from, but they come anyway.
After a while, I try to work out where I am. It's some kind of room, and big; I can tell that by the acoustics. But the sensation of movement puzzles me, a gentle and irregular up-and-down swaying and the occasional bump from below. It doesn't feel like water, so we're not on a ship. It feels like we're travelling over land, but the room sounds far too big to be any kind of wagon or cart.
My fingers brush against my thigh and I feel an unfamiliar fabric there. Stirred by curiosity, I raise the blankets and look down at myself. I'm shocked by how much effort it takes to hold them up. My body smells of scented oils, delicate and bitter.
I'm wearing a pale green slip, dyed with angular patterns along its length. It's the patterns, more than anything else, that put the whole picture together for me. I remember seeing similar patterns at a bazaar in Veya, on artefacts that were being sold as genuine SunChild merchandise. I had been sceptical, and doubly so when I saw the outrageous price. But now I wondered.
I'm with the SunChildren. Feyn has brought me to his people.
I lie back. The insidious tingle on my skin has gone. The agonising pain and delirium seems like a nightmare, fading in the face of wakefulness. I've passed through the Shadow Death.
Eventually thoughts begin to intrude, and the fragile tranquillity I felt begins to come apart. Thoughts of Jai, of Rynn, of our escape from Farakza. So I raise myself on one trembling elbow, and I part the hide curtain a little.
I'm in a small hall, made of varnished rootwood or something similar. My bed is one of four, occupying the corners of the room. The other three have their curtains drawn back and are empty. Patterned hangings decorate the walls, low tables beneath them. One side of the room is evidently a food preparation area of sorts, with a small metal stove, a chopping surface and knives and plates gently rattling in their racks. Glass globes set on heavy stone bases glow from within, and several large areas of wall are covered by flaps of thick brown hide. I guess that they work as windows when they're open, but it's a little chilly and they've been fixed shut.
There are six SunChildren here, sitting in a circle on a large mat in the centre of the room. Three men are playing instruments, the other three – an old woman and two small girls – are watching. I'm surprised to see that one of the wind instruments – a kind of flute fashioned from a reed – is being played by Feyn.
Their skin is uniformly black, and both men and women wear their hair in oiled ringlets. They're small and willowy in stature, wearing robes of unfamiliar weave, something like silk. Each robe is stitched with the most marvellous designs. Some show sun-rays and landscapes and animals and people, evidently depicting a story. Others are more abstract but no less beautiful, with bold, jagged shapes and curling embroidery. The craftsmanship is dazzling.
I watch Feyn play for a short while, before one of the children notices me and points, exclaiming excitedly in their percussive tongue. Feyn breaks off from the melody immediately, puts down his flute and hurries over. The others dissolve into chatter, and the old woman has to physically restrain the children from running towards me.
Feyn pushes back the curtain, his dark eyes sparkling. 'Welcome back,' he grins, and that makes me smile too.
'So that was the Shadow Death, hmm?' I say. 'Don't know what all the fuss is about.'
He laughs, almost hugs me, hesitates, then does it anyway as best he can with me lying down. The others in the room make celebratory cries, a high yi-yi-yi!
'You have been spared by the suns,' he says.
'No,' I reply. 'I beat them.'
Feyn turns back to the others and chatters off a rapid string of syllables, punched with the back-of-the-throat click that characterises their language. Relaying what I just said. The others break up laughing, and one of them slaps his upper arm repeatedly in what I take to be appreciation of my comment.
'Is this your-' I begin, then realise I've forgotten the word he used.
'My coterie? Now it is.'
'How did you get me here?'
'I made a signal,' he replied. 'I will show you how, when you are strong again. They followed my signal, and they found me.' He strokes my hair tenderly. 'I had to leave you several times, to climb out of the basin and tend to my signal. Each time I was afraid something would find you before I returned. It is not good to be helpless in that place.'
'You did fine,' I say, and I lie back on the pillows. 'You did fine.'
Suddenly I feel light-headed, and I have an overpowering urge to sleep. I'm weaker than I thought. Feyn understands, of course. He runs his fingers along the line of my jaw, touching me like a lover, and then retreats and closes the curtain behind him. I can hear the children's frantic questions and Feyn's patient answers, fading away as I fall into the plush folds of oblivion. I wake and it's bright. That gives me a shock. I know that light. It's daytime.
Feyn is lying in bed next to me, his thin shoulders rising and falling in slumber. I'm mildly surprised by that, too, but it pales in comparison to the proximity of the suns' light. And yet we're still moving. These people travel during the day?
At first I don't dare move. Instinct tells me I should burrow under the blankets and hide. But whereas before I would have panicked, after passing through the Shadow Death it seems ridiculous. Gradually I calm myself. The brightness is coming from outside the curtains, but it's not strong enough to be direct sunlight. Before I can think myself out of it, I part the curtain and look.
The room beyond is deserted, and the other three beds have their furred curtains drawn. The hide flaps on the walls burn with white light: the sun is beating on them from the outside. There are two on each flank of the hall.
I look for a while longer. The light in the room doesn't seem to be threatening. I couldn't say why, but the hide flaps have robbed it of its danger. Still, I don't trust it enough to leave my haven, so I let the curtain fall closed again. It's only then I notice what's on the inside of my wrist.
I stare at the symbol, bewildered. Two chevrons pointing toward my hand, shot through with three vertical lines. I rub at it with my thumb. It's been skinmarked: painted in with dye and then chthonomantically bonded so that it will never fade. Back in Veya, we have dweomings who do this kind of thing, or chthonomancers for the rich. The Gurta have Elders, that could do it if body modification wasn't forbidden by one of their many fucking stupid Laws. It seems that the Far People have their own way of tapping rock-magic, then. Interesting. I wonder what the symbol means. Given what I've seen of these people, I doubt it's anything but benevolent.
Just being awake tires me out. The warmth of the suns has raised the temperature in the hall to a drowsy heat. I nestle back into the covers and slide close to Feyn. His back is to me, so I fit myself against him, my arm across his ribs. His fingers sleepily entwine with mine, but I know by the depth of his breathing that he hasn't woken.
I lie against him, his thin body unfamiliar. Rynn was bulky and hairy; Feyn is slender and smooth. I think back on that kiss and I still don't know why I did it. I can't even bring myself to be hurt or embarrassed by his rejection. I was exhausted and frightened and right then I wanted something to take away the pain. Someone to touch me kindly, someone to need me. Because my husband was gone, and my son was so far away.