“I will tell you this,” continued the poppy-maned mare, addressing her son once more. “Though I spoke no pledge to my wild love of the Plain so many years ago, his memory has haunted me. Korr’s death pains me deep. I loved him well. Had he renounced his madness and deceit, willingly would I have returned to him.”
Her gaze lifted, skimming the assembled unicorns toward the unseen Mare’s Back beyond.
“But Korr did not. Now he is dead, and I am free. The Hallow Hills are won, and my daughter grown beyond colthood—faster than I could have dreamed. I find my thoughts straying to the Plain, ever and always, night and noon. There, the one I once loved awaits me still.”
Her voice grew quiet. I had to prick my ears to hear.
“I long for him I so lately found again, who guided us across the Plain, shared battle with us, and begged me to depart with him, as I nearly did so many summers past when instead I chose otherwise, returning to the herd to swear my pledge to Korr.”
Watching her red mane furl and toss, I could only approve the coolness with which she spoke, shirking none of the blame, but neither shouldering any not hers to bear. My daughter leaned against her mate, still staring at Ses. Beside her, the pale mare’s son stood dumbstruck, as did all the herd before them. I thought the jaws of some might brush the ground.
“Korr not my sire?” he whispered, stammering as one struggling against a gale. “If not Korr…, then who?”
“Calydor,” his dam replied, “whose name means Summer Stars.”
Aftermath
Such, then, were the things that befell that day, so soon after the dawning of an age, the re-beginning of the world. Ses bade her young daughter and her son brief farewell, departing for the Plain in search of Calydor. She swore to return often, and she has kept that vow. Jan, too, vowed to venture forth upon the Mare’s Back before next summer’s end to find them both and learn more of the stallion that had sired him. This the dark prince did, sojourning time and again in the company of Summer Stars, who taught him more of the lay-chanter’s art, so that Aljan Moonbrow is renowned among you—O dwellers of the Plain—as a singer of tales. But I thought you should know him as his own folk do, a warrior prince and a peacemaker.
For accords with the gryphons and the pans were but the start of his alliances. He traveled far across the Plain as Tek’s envoy, forging pacts with many tribes. The unicorns are done with war. My daughter’s reign has been a long, lazing dream of peace. Truly a new world her Dark Moon has made, and is making still. For though I am ancient, very near to Alma now, the world is young. Aljan and his mate are but elders. Many seasons lie ahead before they ascend the starpath to merge with the summer stars.
Thus the Battle of Endingfire initiated the passing of the old and set in motion the new dance that is still becoming, even as we speak. No more than a moon after, Jan stood upon the moonpool cliffs, gazing up into dusky heaven thick with distant suns. The infinite expanse of the void encompassing those myriad stars seemed to enter him, pervading his senses and filling him with a deep, lulling wonder. He became aware of a presence, vast as the starry sky. Only a moment passed before he knew her.
“Alma,” he whispered.
The presence answered, “Aye.”
“Where have you been?” he asked her.
She laughed gently, silently, within his mind. “With you,” she answered. “Always. Even when you do not know it.”
Inwardly, he felt his ears prick with surprise. “Your voice sounds like the dragon queen’s.”
“I am many voices,” the goddess told him, “that never cease to speak.”
He turned to her within himself. “Why did you not tell me?” he asked. “Why did you let me believe myself prince?”
Again, amused laughter. “But you are prince,” the presence replied.
“By acclamation,” he retorted, “not by right. Prince at my mate the queen’s behest.”
The goddess answered nothing, only smiled.
“Why did you never give me any inkling Korr was not my sire?” Jan demanded, stung.
The other’s air of tolerant amusement never faded. “Why should I concern myself with that?” she asked indifferently. “Have I not said before I do not make kings or rings of Law? Those things are yours to make or to unmake, exactly as you choose.”
Jan held his silence.
The deity asked, “Is being my Firebringer not honor enough?” The dark prince flushed, chagrined—then let it go, unable to muster true affront.
“Aye: born out of a wyrmqueen’s belly,” he murmured, recounting the old prophecy, “foaled at moondark, and sired by the summer stars.” He paused, considering. Alma’s eyes burned very bright all around. Finally, he said, “I did not lead the battle against the wyverns.”
The goddess whispered, “Did you not?”
Jan shook his head. “Tek did. Nor did I carry the brand against Lynex. That deed was Lell’s.”
The goddess nodded. “But you wakened the dragon that bore him away and danced fire through all the stinging wyverns’ dens, expelling them from my Hallows forevermore.”
Still troubled, Jan felt his brow furrow. “What sets me apart?” he breathed. “All the fire I ever found, I gave away: now my people’s heels can all strike sparks. Their fire-tempered horns have grown as keen and hard as mine, their blood as venomproof.”
Again the other nodded, laughing. “Of course. Did you think I had intended otherwise? Flame is not the only fire.” Her tone turned almost stern. “You have brought your folk another spark far greater than any flame. You have opened their eyes to the world, Aljan, shown them lands and peoples formerly beyond their ken. You have whistled them out of their cramped, closed, inward-facing ring and led them into my Dance, the Great Circle and Cycle encompassing all.”
She seemed to sigh, not with sadness but with joy.
“Such has always been my plan for the unicorns, that they dwell in harmony among my other favored children. You drove the followers of Lynex out because they would have none of that peace. Nay, flame has not been the greatest of my gifts to you. Knowledge, Aljan, that even now remakes the world. Knowledge is the fire.”
Dusk had wholly faded now. Sky above had darkened to true night. The full moon, barely hidden by horizon’s edge, was just beginning to rise. He knew he must return to his folk for the dance, and yet he did not stir. Gazing heavenward, he felt the goddess recede, not departing, merely withdrawing from his uppermost awareness. She was everywhere, he knew, in the heavens, in the stars, in dragons and unicorns. In him. He could not lose her. The knowledge warmed him to the heart.
See how I have whiled the night away! My friends, I never meant to keep you all so long. I thought my telling of Jan’s tale would fill but two short nights. Instead I have talked each of three long evenings into dawn. Forgive me. I am an old mare, much given to prattle. In this age of peace, with no foes to conquer, no battles to plan, each day unfolds free of war and woe. What is there to do but talk, dream, love and dance in celebration of this new age I midwived in by birth of the Firebringer at moondark under Alma’s thousand thousand eyes?
Hail, dwellers of the Plain! I will let you go. Your kindness goes beyond counting to have harkened to me so long. Close cousins to my adopted herd, you know so little of us still. Hostilities between our two tribes have long since ceased, yet we see you too seldom, though your kind may pass as freely into the Hallow Hills as members of my herd now cross the Plain. Ere Jan, such amity could never have been. Yet he was not always the great peacemaker and singer you esteem. In his youth he was a battleprince, by Alma blessed: a warrior, a dancer, a bringer of fire.