I shivered again as a pain cramped across my gut. Oh dear Goddess, sweet Lady Shia—ahhh!
Oh Hells' teeth. The pain hit me worse every time I prayed, or even thought sincerely of Shia—a spasm clenched me even as I realised.
I drew in my power again, ignoring the weakness that demanded I stop at the appearance of the merest nimbus. I am a Healer of the third rank, I can heal broken bones in minutes, knit torn flesh, relieve fevers—I. had saved Lanen's life when she was very near to death indeed.
It was a struggle, but finally at least a useful portion of my corona surrounded me. I gathered my courage as I had gathered my power and looked with the healing sight into my own body.
I spewed forth my meagre meal and kept heaving long after there was nothing more to come. No one should have to see that in themselves. Oh Mother, oh kind and blessed Lady of the ground below and the water around and the moon in her gentleness above, keep me man alive long enough to fight back.
Wrapped around my gut, with claws in my spine and a spiked tail flicking back and forth, was a demon. I had not called it, I had not allowed it into my soul much less my body, it had been put there against my will. By Berys, of course.
I had heard of such things, but I had never believed that it could—it never happens to you, does it? It was a Sending. A major demonwork that cost the summoner dear one way or another, but not nearly as much as it cost the chosen host.
There was no way to be rid of the thing. It was the cause and the force behind the compulsion that had made no sense. I didn't know why Berys wanted me to track Lanen, to be near her when she stopped, but I "knew" it was something I had to do. No, I corrected myself. It was something that Berys, through the demon, wanted me to do.
The only way to be rid of a Sending is to kill it where it sits, but the victim cannot do it for himself, for the demon will sense the threat and stop the muscles from completing it. If I could not find anyone to kill it for me, I would simply have to wait for it to become active and kill me when it emerged. A Sending is death one way or another. For me, it would have to be the worse of the two.
It was a terrible moment, that realisation, alone in the cold on that barren hillside, without even the comfort of a fire. But I resolved the very next instant, with every fibre of my being, with all the strength of my soul, that I would fight its every move and deny it to the limit of my strength. That might not last very long, but every delay was a gain, a victory over that which would destroy me in the end no matter what I tried to do. At the least I would go down fighting.
I had just made that decision when a wave of unbearable pain swept through me and I fell senseless to the ground.
I dreamt of fire and darkness.
When the sky darkened I left them. Every moment with Him was a joy, but I was called also to be with my brothers and sisters. I ran for a little time when I left them until I found a good jumping-off place, and then I flew high in the dying light until I crossed the sharp teeth of stone and came again to the high field where we had gathered.
I knew joy at seeing them again, so many of us in one place. More had come even in the last few days. I had never dreamed there were so many of us. I remember looking to see if any of the Hollow Ones had come, but I saw none. I greeted those I had flown with, those I knew best of these my newfound kinfolk.
We did not know why we were there, it was joy to be together, but we did not wonder at the "why." I tried to shape sound at some of them. I spoke the sound that was me, and the impossible sound that was Him, and tried again the noise of the Silver One who wore the wrong body. I think some tried to speak after me, but we were not used to such things and it was so hard then.
I looked up at the moon, older now and moving towards the full, and smiled at the smiling face that gazed down at me. They would come, the next day they would come, and all would be well. I drank, and slept, and missed Him even while I dreamed in the midst of my own people.
Salera left us at twilight on the second day, but I watched her hurrying upwards and guessed we'd meet her at the pass. We had made good time—the shelter of the high field was no more than a long morning's walk from here. It would be a good place to stop, and from there it was an easy day's journey to Rowanbeck.
Jamie, Rella and I were in the lead, mounted when the road was not too steep, leading the horses when it was. The two of them divided their time between bouts of scouting ahead and around, and bouts of old-fashioned chattering. They had both done a great deal with their lives and I was happy enough simply to listen much of the time.
I hadn't forgotten the two in my care. Aral quite happily spent the journey walking with me, walking with Vilkas, and pestering Varien and Lanen. Their story amazed her and she spoke to them about it as long as they could bear. Lanen eventually had enough and sent her away, kindly but firmly. Aral didn't seem to mind.
The one I worried about was Vilkas. He had kept to himself even more than usual, and even Aral had trouble getting through to him at first. Aral had told me what had happened, that Vil had managed to tap into some of the great store of power that he hid even from himself. It seemed to me a cause for rejoicing, but Vilkas seemed to spend an awful long time thinking about it.
By the time we lit a fire that night I found myself shivering, deep inside. I was pleased to be going home but there was more to it than that. I couldn't tell if it was fear or anticipation or just plain cold, but as the night went on every part of me took up the shaking. I felt like a bee sounds in a clover field. It wasn't anything you could see, but it kept me awake most of the night. I wasn't the only one.
I walked along in silence for most of the journey. I was aware of a growing wrongness in the air and almost mentioned it, but I have learned over the years to conceal my feelings. I could have been mistaken. It might simply have been the altitude. Besides, I was in the midst of trying to understand so much all at once that I might only have been sensing my own roiling emotions. Aral spent a little time with me, enough to realise that I was restraining myself. She occasionally dropped back to walk with me in companionable silence, for which I was grateful, and once she muttered something along the lines of "You're doing well, Vil. I know it's hard, but best to wait until we can stop for a while." It did not make things any easier, but it was gratifying that she was aware of my self-control.
In fact she had no idea how controlled I really was. It had been simple enough for her to tell me to let loose my power that night, but I was the one who had actually done it. The thought still made me shake inside.
I had dared to harness the sky god, or forced me Death of the World to do something useful if you looked at it that way. I had undone the work of a decade to meet Lanen's desperate need, and not only had both the world and I survived, it had worked.
I was still in a kind of shock. It was not possible to do what I had done. I had changed that woman's blood to some unheard-of mixture of human and dragon and she was still alive. That wasn't possible. I felt that I was walking simultaneously in two worlds, the one that surrounded me at the moment, and the other in which reason had its way and she lost the children or died or both. Those were the only possible outcomes of her condition. At best I might have helped her to live, but the babes would die and life would go on.
That hadn't happened. I had let loose more of my power that night man I had dared to use for many years and the woman lived and would bear her children. What they might become I could not imagine, but that they would live was my responsibility.
Deep within me, where I could just bear to listen to it now, arose the thought that I might just be able to accept my power and use it, all of it—