I suspected my father had done something extraordinary when I looked down to see our bodies draped across the palace guardroom… or perhaps I was traveling with the Lords again, on my way to call down lightning over the Wastes. But I’d never felt sorrow when I traveled with the Lords, not like that which overwhelmed me when I saw my mother kneel weeping at our sides just before the darkness fell. And the Lords and I had never reached out to comfort one who wept at our passing as my father reached out for my mother with his body’s last breath.
With the darkness came the fire… fire that drove me to the edge of reason… that set my blood boiling in my veins. Choking, acrid smoke scorched my lungs, all the more horror because it smelled of my own seared flesh. My vision failed as my eyes charred in their sockets.
The fire set the Three howling. They had felt no pain since they were transformed, but had only consumed it, lusted after it, for it fed their power. But this fire was their pain, as it was mine, as it was my father’s. Neither true flesh, nor blood, nor eyes were necessary, for all of the horror was in the memory of my father, at last made real for the ones who had caused it, and for me, because I had to be there to bring the Lords.
Hold, my son. I will not pass it over… Whatever conies, the Three must have a taste of what they’ve wrought in the world.
Ten years my father had lived with his death fire fixed in his conscious mind. I’d never really understood.
It had been the most difficult thing I’d ever done to take my father’s hand, more difficult than leaving Zhev’Na, more difficult than enduring the firestorms in the Bounded or D’Arnath’s fire in my prison cell, more difficult even than allowing Notole, Parven, and Ziddari to enter my body and mind again. Once they were inside me, choking off every sensation of life, devouring every shred of humanity I’d regained, my craving for power was magnified a thousand fold. To touch my father’s hand would be to give it up all over again. And who knew what else I might be letting myself in for. His sword was out of the way, but his enchantments had come near killing me fifty times already. Though I’d spent a great deal of effort trying to convince myself that my father’s silence had been intended to prevent the Lords’ learning of his plans from me, it was almost impossible to relinquish the Lords’ cold comfort for something I couldn’t imagine. I had to trust him, and I wasn’t even sure who he was.
He had made his decision on the night at the Lion’s Grotto, when he linked our minds together with his healing magic. His voice had been gentle at first, just as I remembered him, my true father. He told me of Ven’Dar’s belief that I was a Soul Weaver, so that what I’d done to Paulo and Ven’Dar had been no more a sign of my corruption than Ven’Dar’s word windings or his own healings. Though I was glad to hear him say such things, instead of how vile I was or how much he wanted me dead, I didn’t believe their theories. I knew what I was.
As he explored what I knew and believed of the Bounded, and the story of my dreams and all my confusions, he was appalled at what he considered his failure with me. Unforgivable that I couldn’t see, he said. That I let it come to this pass. I should have been at Verdillon more often, and perhaps I could have come to understand what happened - and what was happening - to you.
Whenever he grew angry, I had to distract him, for his touch became less sure, and his presence less substantial, and I very much wanted his help. But he came very quickly to the conclusion that there was no way to detach me from the Bounded. His first slight attempt at separation seemed to leave a gaping hole in my memory where someone named Ob was concerned, and my father said there would be nothing left of me if he proceeded, with no accompanying assurance that the Lords couldn’t use me anyway.
Then Paulo must go back to the Bounded, and lead the Singlars through the portal to Valleor, I said. I prepared them before I left. They just await my word.
It would give King Evard a greater mystery than he’s ever known, but unfortunately, I doubt these Singlars will fare better in the Four Realms than to chance their fate with you. That was my father speaking, so I knew he was still with me.
Roxanne will see to them, I said.
You care for these people a great deal.
I just… I would not have them die because of me. They’re not evil.
Neither are you, Gerick. You never were. If this new world is a reflection of you, then you must see that it is not just the oculus that defines what you are, but the goodness and strength and resilience of the Bounded, as well. This ocean of light… what a wonder… that, too, is a part of you.
It was then he told me he needed to learn more of how the Lords controlled me. Perhaps something other than my death could disrupt their attachment. He asked me to open the door in my mind.
I didn’t want him to see. If he could be D’Natheil while he looked, instead of my father, perhaps I wouldn’t care. There’s nothing you can do, I said. Just give Paulo a day, then do what you have to do. It’ll be too dangerous if you start poking around in my head. They’ll know.
But he told me how important it was to him and to my mother that we look for every possible solution. And if we were to find another answer, he needed to know everything - what I was and what I had been. What I had always been.
If I allow it… you won’t tell her? I don’t want her to know.
I promise. She knows your true heart, Gerick. She’s always known, and nothing will ever change her mind. No one in any world can match your mother for stubbornness. But there’s no need for her to know everything that’s been done to you. Whatever is between us here, will stay between us.
All the words were very nice. He seemed to mean them. But I had no illusions about what would happen when I opened the door and introduced him to Dieste.
Indeed, it was all he could do to stay with me. Rage and revulsion threatened to destroy my father and leave only D’Natheil, who very much wanted to stick a knife in my gut. Instead, he withdrew from my thoughts for what seemed like a very long time. When he spoke again, his inner voice was cold and hard, and I could hear only words, nothing of his intent or his true feelings any longer. You were right all along. You have to die. There is no other course. Nothing more about me not being evil. He had seen the truth - why I would rather die than go back.
There’s always satisfaction in having your judgment confirmed by those deemed wiser than yourself, and to have the decision made was a relief. But I had thought he might tell me how he would go about it… or that he’d make it fast… perhaps even what it was like… after. As it was, he did not speak again before withdrawing from me completely.
I opened my eyes to see him wrapping a rag around his bleeding arm. Paulo stood in the doorway of the ruin looking worried, and Roxanne was nowhere in sight.
Events moved very quickly after that. I told Paulo he had to go back to the Bounded. He knew what that meant, and he promised to “see to things back there.” The Prince had taken his place by the door and stood looking out, as if we weren’t even there.
Paulo squatted beside me, tracing a finger in the dirt. “It don’t seem fair,” he said, quietly. “I never thought he’d do it. Never.”
I glanced at my father’s motionless back. “He tried to find another way. Honestly, he did. Take care of yourself, Paulo.”
I appreciated that Paulo didn’t try to convince me to run away. We had already discussed this back in the Bounded. Though he didn’t want me to die, he had no alternatives to offer. But he shook his head. “It’s not over yet. Don’t you think it. The Lady’ll have a say about this.”