“From Paxaua, on foot. I dared not use my magic,” said the woman.
“No, I suppose not. No one gave you any trouble, hindered you?”
“The only place we were stopped was in the mountains. The guards at the pass questioned us, but did not detain us long, once we reminded them that we are under your protection.”
The Door was pleased to hear this. The troops, at least, have respect for us, haven’t turned against us. The emperor is a different matter. Agah’ran is up to something. He would never have allowed our prohibition to stand if he were not. After all, we let him know that we know he’s a murderer. He must realize we won’t tolerate his rule for long.
And for what do we wait? For a sign. Other worlds. A gate of death that leads to life. A man who is dead and who is not dead. Blessed Krenka-Anris! When would it all be explained?
The Keeper of the Book and the Keeper of the Soul were waiting for them in the chapel. The humans were led inside. The Door’s chief assistant, who had brought the human male, bowed and left them. He shut the door. At the sound, the human male turned, frowned.
“Iridal?”
“I’m here, Hugh,” she said softly.
“Have no fear,” said the Keeper of the Soul. “You are in the chapel of the Aviary. I am here, the one with whom you asked to speak. With me also are the Keepers of the Book and of the Door. I regret that I must leave the blindness upon you, but it is forbidden by law that the eyes of our enemies should look upon the miracle.”
“We understand,” said Iridal. “Perhaps the day will come when there will be no need for such laws.”
“We pray for that day, Magicka,” said the Keeper. “What is it you are called?”
“I am Iridal, formerly of the High Realms, now of Volkaran.”
“And your companion?” the Keeper prompted, after waiting a moment for the man to answer.
“He is Hugh the Hand,” said Iridal, when it became clear Hugh wasn’t going to speak. She appeared worried, turned her sightless eyes in what she sensed was his direction, reached out a groping hand.
“A man raised by Kir monks. A man with a most remarkable face,” said the Keeper, studying Hugh intently. “I’ve seen many humans, and there is something different about you, Hugh the Hand. Something awful, something fey. I do not understand. You came to speak to me. Why? What is you want of the Kenkari?” Hugh opened his lips, seemed about to respond, then said nothing. Iridal, her hand finding his arm, was alarmed to feel the muscles rigid, shivering.
“Hugh, is everything all right? What’s wrong?”
He drew away from her touch. His mouth opened, closed again. The cords in his neck stood out, his throat constricted. At last, apparently angered with himself, he brought the words out with an effort, as if he’d dragged them up from dark depths.
“I came to sell you my soul.”
31
“He’s insane,” said the Book, the first to recover her power of speech.
“I don’t believe so,” said the Keeper of the Soul, regarding Hugh with intense, if perplexed, interest. “You are not insane, are you, Hugh.” The human word came awkwardly to elven lips.
“No,” Hugh answered shortly. Now that the worst was over—and he had not imagined it would be so difficult—he was relaxed, could even view the elves’ astonishment with sardonic amusement. The only person he could not face yet was Iridal and, because of this, he was grateful for his blindness. She said nothing, confused, not understanding, thinking, perhaps, that this was another of his tricks.
No trick. He was in earnest—deadly earnest. “You were raised by Kir monks. You know something, then, of our ways.”
“I know a lot, Keeper. I make it my business to know things,” Hugh said.
“Yes,” the Soul murmured. “I do not doubt it. You know, then, that we do not accept human souls, that we never buy souls at all. The souls we take in are given to us freely...”
The Keeper’s voice faltered somewhat on the last statement.
Hugh smiled grimly, shook his head.
The Keeper was silent long moments, then said, “You are well informed, sir.” Silent again, then, “You have made a long journey, fraught with danger, to offer that which you knew we must reject—”
“You won’t reject it,” said Hugh. “I’m different.”
“I can sense that,” said the Keeper softly. “But I don’t understand. Why are you different, Hugh? What is there about your soul that would make it valuable to us? That would even permit us to take it?”
“Because my soul, such as it is”—Hugh’s mouth twisted—“has passed beyond... and has returned.”
“Hugh,” Iridal gasped, suddenly realizing that this was no trick, “you can’t be serious. Hugh, don’t do this!”
Hugh paid no attention to her.
“Do you mean,” said the Keeper in a stifled tone that sounded as if he were suffocating, “that you have died and been... and been...”
“Resurrected,” Hugh said.
He had expected astonishment, disbelief. But it seemed he had cast a lightning bolt into the elves. He could feel the electricity arc in the air, almost hear it crackle around him.
“That is what I see in your face,” said Soul.
“ ‘The man who is dead and is not dead,’” said Door.
“The sign,” said Book.
A moment ago, Hugh had been in control of the situation. Now, somehow, he’d lost it, felt helpless, as when his dragon-ship had been sucked into the Maelstrom.
“What is it? Tell me!” he demanded harshly, reaching out. He stumbled over a chair.
“Hugh, don’t! What do you mean?” Iridal cried, blindly clutching at him. She turned frantically to the elves. “Explain to me. I don’t understand.”
“I think we may restore their sight,” said the Keeper of the Soul.
“Such a thing is unprecedented!” Book protested.
“All is unprecedented,” replied Soul gravely.
He took hold of Hugh’s hands, held them fast, with a strength startling in one so thin, and laid his other hand on the man’s eyes.
Hugh blinked, looked swiftly around him. The Keeper of the Door lifted Iridal’s blindness in the same fashion. Neither had ever seen Kenkari elves before, and were amazed by their appearance.
The Kenkari, all three, stood head and shoulders taller than Hugh the Hand, who was considered a tall man among humans. But the elves were so excessively thin that the three of them might have stood side by side and barely equaled Hugh’s breadth. The Kenkari’s hair was long, for it is never cut, and is white from birth.
Male and female Kenkari are similar in appearance, particularly when wearing the shapeless butterfly robes that easily hide the female’s curves. The most noticeable difference between the sexes is in the way the hair is worn. Males plait it in one long braid, down the back. Females wrap the braid around the head in a crown. Their eyes are large, overlarge in their small, delicate faces; the pupils are extraordinarily dark. Some elves remark disparagingly (but never publicly) that the Kenkari have come to resemble the winged insect they worship and emulate.
Iridal sank weakly into a chair one of the Kenkari provided for her. Once her initial shock at the sight of the strange-looking elves had worn off, she turned her gaze to Hugh.
“What are you doing? Tell me. I don’t understand.”
“Trust me, Iridal,” Hugh said quietly. “You promised you would trust me.” Iridal shook her head, and, as she did so, her eyes were drawn to the Aviary. They softened at the sight of the lush, green beauty, but then she seemed to realize what it was she looked upon. Her gaze shifted back to Hugh with a kind of horror.
“Now, please explain yourself, sir,” said the Keeper of the Soul.