“Seers,” Lara whispered.
Jeren sensed her fear. Magic users, serpent-born, ostracised by the other Feyna, just as the Shistra-Phail were. She had imagined it might make them more understanding of each other, but all she saw now was naked hostility on both sides.
“Hold, Jeren of River Holt,” said the foremost Seer, his voice flowing like molten silver. “A word, if you will.”
“She has been summoned to Ariah, Fethan,” Lara cut in sharply.
If the interruption upset or angered him there was no sign on Fethan’s impenetrable expression. His silvery eyes flicked briefly over Lara and then, dismissing her, returned to Jeren.
“The Seers have read in the ether how great a font of magic lies within you, Lady Jeren, and with what ease you tap into it. Your actions with it have been to the greater good. I want, on behalf of your brethren, to offer you an alternative path. Come with us, be one of us, and those things you fear need never come to pass.”
All too clearly she heard her heart beating while he spoke. It echoed through her head as Fethan’s silky voice wrapped itself around her. Words fell through her mind—Shan’s words of love and trust, Gilliad’s words of hate and possession—but Fethan’s words threatened to drown them all out. She gazed into his eyes, his handsome, placid face, and caught a brief glimpse of another future, filled with calm restraint and the wonders of magic.
A future life entirely loveless. A life without any prospect of Shan. Her life if she failed to sway Ariah. No matter what path she chose.
She flinched back. “I am Shistra-Phail.”
“Not yet.” He smiled, unruffled.
“I am Shan’s wife.”
“And yet he is not here. I am told he has been bound to Ylandra by the duty of Service.”
“That’s what we’re here to discern,” said another voice. It was young and ancient at the same time. It floated on the breeze like the first glimmer of dawn, and when Jeren heard it, her heart filled to overflowing with almost forgotten hope.
From the fireside rose a figure no bigger than her, small and slight, dressed in a gown of white. Silver-blonde hair tumbled down her back, past her waist, glimmering like moonlight on water. Ariah seemed to glide or dance on the air as she walked. When she smiled, her features were childlike, yet she radiated power and experience. More than that, she radiated love.
“Fethan feels you should not be here.” Ariah reached out for Jeren’s trembling hands. “Many of the Seers do. And yet Indarin says you have the capacity to be not just a Shistra-Phail, but a Shaman too—a rare mix of warrior and mage. Your own people have travelled unbidden into our lands to win you back, and Shanith Al-Fallion allowed Ylandra to bind him in order that you might stay here.”
Ariah closed her eyes, her hands still gently enfolding Jeren’s. She breathed in once, twice, and Jeren sensed the air around them shimmer with energy. She reached for it with her mind, and her own innate magic responded, trying to categorise it.
Ariah laughed softly. “Not the reaction of a warrior, Jeren. And yet…perhaps, the right one. For you at least. What do you want?”
“I only want Shan back.”
“And if that is denied?”
Jeren shook inside. This was her chance, her one chance. The idea that she might truly lose him was impossible to take. It made her want to scream, to howl, to attack. But she locked the panic inside, deep inside, and took control.
“I want nothing,” she replied at last, though her voice shook. “There would be nothing left for me.”
Life without Shan would be no life at all. She knew that now, recognised and accepted it. She would endure, survive because he would not wish her dead, and one day—one day in the far distant, bleak future—she might even find it in her to smile again, but it would not be a life.
Ariah said nothing, just opened her eyes, gazed into her face and held her hands. It seemed like an eternity before she smiled thinly and turned to Indarin. He had risen from the fireside, watching the two of them intently.
“I see what you mean, my friend. Your brother’s heart was probably lost from the moment he first laid eyes on her.”
Jeren’s numb hands slipped from Ariah’s and she stood helpless, her prayers jumbling together in her mind. She stood there, like one of the statues surrounding the Burgeoning Well at home, coldly beautiful façades of stone without a heart or breath. Her future, if she lost him. Gods help her, she couldn’t lose him. She couldn’t!
Lara’s hand on her arm jarred her back into reality.
“Then you’ll release him?” Indarin asked.
“I must also speak to Ylandra. I cannot release him unless he is here. Have they been located?”
Indarin shook his head and Jeren’s heart fell like a stone.
Lara spoke. “Ylandra is…” For a moment Jeren expected another outburst, but this time, faced with Ariah herself, she reigned in her personal feelings. “She is blinded in this matter.” Nonetheless, Ariah’s gaze silenced her.
“You hate her very much, Lara. Why is that?”
“It was because of her my father was lost.” Lara lifted her chin to take the brunt of the question.
“And because of that, you came here? What other path would you have taken, child? A craftswoman, perhaps?” Ariah smiled. “Blame plays tricks, Lara, and revenge requires two graves.”
Undaunted, Lara did not back down. “With all due respect, Ariah, this is not about me. Ylandra has no place being Sect Mother. She’s proven it through her jealousy and self-centred actions.”
“Hush, Lara,” said Indarin. “I have already made this case.”
“Yes,” Ariah replied, her voice still calm. “And with less wild passion. I must hear her side of things too, Lara. Desire aside, if she felt the need for a bound guardian, there is no warrior to match Shan. In the cold light of logic, she picked the prime candidate.” Then Ariah met Jeren’s eyes again and her voice softened. “But I will grant you that cold logic is not always the best way to make decisions. Jeren, I must meditate and pray on all this. Ylandra and Shan must be found and must speak. And you and I…”
Fethan coughed impatiently and Ariah’s lips hardened, almost imperceptibly. Only Jeren stood close enough to see that.
“All the world wants to make a claim on you, Lady Jeren. Or so it seems. We will have to divine the path for which you are fittest. This evening you will accompany me. You will stand before the Vision Rock and then we’ll see. It’s the only way. Go now, you may want to prepare yourself. Indarin and Lara will help you.”
Jeren nodded and Ariah returned the gesture, her nod perhaps an attempt at encouragement. She turned away and Jeren bowed her head, dismayed, shaken, and yet somehow still hopeful. Ariah’s voice jerked her alert once more. Jeren looked up to find the pale woman’s eyes gazing intently at her once again.
“The Vision Rock has a way of changing people, no matter who they are. Worse, if they do not respect it. Coming here by himself, without due care and preparation, drove your brother so deeply into insanity that he could no longer function among us and I was forced to send him away. When I did, his retaliation was…”
They knew he was mad? Of course they did. He slaughtered Falinar. And they still sent him back. Gods, they still sent him back to his home without a word of warning.
Jeren sucked in a breath and Ariah’s voice fell still for a moment. Tears welled in her eyes, glittering with the first light of the growing dawn, and the outrage that had been welling inside Jeren bled away. Ariah still grieved.
“I am sorry, Jeren. You should prepare yourself. The Vision Rock reaches deep inside each of us and sometimes pulls out those things which are better left hidden. You should think over what you are, and what you want, your needs and desires. The things that make you human. You should prepare.”