“Liar! You are the telepath among us!”
“True, but I could not read Ryana’s mind when you were out, and when I spoke to her myself, you always cautioned me to be properly respectful, to treat her as our friend. One does not read a friend’s thoughts unless one is invited.”
“You always have some ready answer,” Sorak said, sourly. “But then, should I be surprised, when you know my thoughts as well as I know them myself?”
“Sometimes I know them better.”
“Sometimes I wish I could drag you out and throttle you!”
“If an apology will help, then I shall apologize.”
“I do not need your apologies!”
“I meant to the girl, not to you,” the Guardian said. “As usual, you think only of yourself.”
Sorak winced. “And, as usual, you strike right to the bone.”
“We are what we are, Sorak,” the Guardian said. “I could no more lie with the girl than you could lie with a man. Kivara... well, Kivara has no shame.”
“I heard that,” said another voice. Had it spoken aloud, it would have spoken with Sorak’s lips and throat, and sounded male. But it had spoken within Sorak’s mind, and therefore sounded very female. It was a young voice, and a saucy one.
“Stay out of this, Kivara,” Sorak said.
“Why should I? Does this not concern us all?”
“It should concern you least of all, since you apparently have no decisive inclinations, one way or the other,” the Guardian said wryly.
“How can I, when I have had no experience in such things?” Kivara countered. “I’ll leave it all to you and the Watcher, we shall always remain ignorant in this regard. The girl is comely, and has always treated us well. Could it have been so bad?”
The Watcher, as usual, said nothing, but Sorak felt her apprehension. The Watcher hardly ever spoke, but she was always there, alert, taking everything in. Unlike the others, who slumbered from time to time, the Watcher never slept. Sorak always felt her quiet presence.
“Enough!” he said. “I can see no way to resolve this problem except to remain celibate. It seems a small enough price to pay to avoid this noisome discord.”
“It may be a greater price to pay than you think,” Kivara said.
“Sorak has decided,” said a new voice, cutting through the discussion like an icy wind. Kivara instantly “ducked under,” submerging herself deep within the recesses of Sorak’s mind. Even the Guardian fell silent. They all did when the Shade spoke. Sorak took a deep breath, trembling as if with a chill as he felt the Shade’s grim presence, but the dark persona spoke no more and slithered back into Sorak’s subconscious.
Sorak suddenly found himself alone again, or as alone as it was ever possible for him to be. He was no longer sitting on the flat rock in the pool, but standing on the pathway leading back to the convent He did not remember how he got there. The Ranger must have set his feet back upon the path while he was arguing with the others. It was typical of the way the Ranger did things. He did not have the time or the patience for arguments or social intercourse. The Ranger was nothing if not entirely pragmatic. “Yes,” said Sorak to himself, as he realized that he had once again, in the intensity of his dispute with the others, managed to forget his body. It happened occasionally, though with considerably less frequency than it once did. “It was past time I started moving.”
He heard the high mistress say, “Enter,” and he opened the door of her private chambers. She looked up from her loom as he came in and smiled. “Sorak. Come in. I was watching you train with Tamura this morning. She tells me that you are going to be taking over the training of the novices. You should feel honored. It appears that she has chosen her successor.”
“I fear that I shall not be lightening Sister Tamura’s burden, Mistress,” Sorak said. “That is why I came to see you.”
Varanna raised her eyebrows. “Oh?”
“Mistress...” Sorak hesitated. “I feel the time has come for me to leave the convent.”
Varanna nodded. “Ah. I see.”
“Do not misunderstand. It is not that I am unhappy here, nor that I am ungrateful—”
Varanna raised her hand. “You need not explain,” she said. “I have been expecting this. Come, sit beside me.”
Sorak sat down on a bench next to the loom. “I have been very happy here, Mistress,” he began, “and you have done more for me than words alone can say. Yet I feel the time has come for me to go.”
“Does Ryana have anything to do with your decision?”
He looked down at the floor. “She has spoken with you?”
“Only to request a period of solitary meditation in the temple tower,” said Varanna. “She seemed very distraught. I did not ask her why, but I think I can guess.”
“It is all my fault. I was aware of how she felt—how I felt—and I should have done something to discourage her long before this. I should have tried to make her understand, but a part of me still nursed the hope that...” He shook his head and sighed. “I suppose it makes no difference now. I have caused her pain without intending to, and she would be better off if I were to leave.
“Besides, Ryana is not the only reason I must go. I have grown up thinking of you all as my family, but the fact remains that I know nothing of my real family. I know nothing of my parents or where I came from. I do not even know my real name. The desire to know these things has grown over the years until I can think of little else. I long to know who I truly am, Mistress. Or, perhaps I should say who I was before I became what I am now. I can remember nothing of my past beyond the point where the pyreen elder found me in the desert. Sometimes, in dreams, I seem to hear my mother’s voice singing to me, but I can never see her face. And I have not even the slightest memory of my father. Had I ever even seen him? Had he ever even known about me? I go to sleep each night wondering who my parents were. Do they still live? Are they together? Were they cast out, as I was? So many questions, and not a single answer.”
“Have you considered that the answers, if you should find them, may be painful ones?” Varanna asked him.
“I am no stranger to pain, Mistress,” Sorak replied. “And better the pain of an answer that settles things than the torment of an unrelenting question.”
Varanna nodded. “I cannot dispute that. Nor, as I said, does this come as a surprise. You are free to go, of course. You took no vows to hold you here.”
“I owe you much, Mistress. It is a debt that I shall never be able to repay.”
“You owe me nothing, Sorak.”
“Nevertheless, you shall always have my eternal gratitude and my deepest affection.”
“I could ask for no greater reward. Have you thought where you will go from here?”
Sorak shook his head. “Not really. I had hoped, perhaps, you could tell me how to find Elder Al’Kali. Perhaps she could tell me where it was she found me, and I could begin my search from there. Still, the trail is old by ten long years, and I have not seen her in all that time. Perhaps she is no longer alive.”
“Perhaps. She is one of the oldest of her race,” Varanna said, “but the pyreen are long-lived. Finding her will not be easy, however. The druid peace-bringers are wanderers, and they do not often reveal themselves in their true form. Still, I think I know something that may help you. Each year, she makes a pilgrimage to the summit of the Dragon’s Tooth. It was there she heard your call, ten years ago.”
“But I do not remember where it was,” said Sorak. “Or how I called to her.”