A bird called off in the distance somewhere. It sounded like a wood thrush. There weren't any wood thrushes around k' Sheyna, at least not that she had ever heard. She had always thought they were a northern bird...were there other birds that sounded like wood thrushes? Scarlet jays mimicked other birds, so perhaps it was a jay. But would a jay mimic a bird that didn't live in the same region?
"We are definitely far north. I think we can calm down, though - if we were meant to be killed, it would have been done as we exited the Gate. Still," Firesong continued, "this seriously annoys me."
Something about the light shining down into the center of the clearing was unusual. Its color - and the angle at which it fell.
Light in the center of the clearing? But the sun isn't high enough - it's early morning - there can't be a shaft of light in the middle of the clearing!
But there was - only it wasn't a shaft of light coming down through the treetops, but a column of light, taller than a man. Silver-gold light, the kind of light that shines over snow on a winter morning. Everything developed odd double shadows as the light became brighter still.
A ripple in the energies of the place made her redouble her shields quickly, and join them with Darkwind's, in a move that was near-instinctive now. Gods only knew what this thing was, but it surely had something to do with whatever snatched them away from k'Treva.
A vague shape developed, a sculpture of fog - except that it was glowing, and the energies of this place were definitely centered around it. Now that she knew what to look for, the lines of force were as clear as ripples in a pond. This - thing - was a part of the forest - of the energies that lay under the forest.
But it was still changing; it blurred, or perhaps her eyes blurred for a moment. And then, the figure solidified. It was not at all what she had expected.
It was a handsome man, silver-haired, silver-eyed, handsome enough even to cast Firesong into the shade, of no determinate age.
And he was dressed in an antique version of Herald's Whites. He looked like a glowing statue of milky glass, or like -
Oh, gods. Like a ghost, a spirit....
The hair on the back of her neck rose with atavistic fear, and she backed up another pace, holding out one hand as if to ward the thing off.
As if she could! This was not the first spirit she had encountered, but how could she know what this spirit could do? How could she hope to hold it off if it chose to attack her?
A crisp, clean breeze rose and fell. It sounded like the forest was sighing.
:Bright Havens!: said a cheerful, gentle voice in her head :You all look as if you'd seen a ghost!:
A quick glance showed her that everyone else had heard that mind-voice as well. Darkwind looked startled; the gryphons were mantling and the little ones hid under their wings. Skif was white - and round-eyed with astonishment, for he was not a strong Mindspeaker, and it would take a powerful Mindspeaker indeed to make him Hear. Nyara simply looked frightened and puzzled. The Companions - there was no reading them. They stood as stock still as if they had been carved of snow.
Firesong was as pale as his hair - or the apparition. This was the first time that Elspeth had ever seen the Hawkbrother truly frightened. She'd seen him worried, yes. Anxious and even apprehensive. But never frightened.
Still, it was Firesong who recovered first. He regained a little more color, drew himself erect, and approached the - man.
The apparition simply smiled. For a revenant, this one was remarkably good-natured. Weren't ghosts supposed to rattle chains and moan curses or warnings? But she had never heard of a Herald coming back to haunt anyone before.
"And have we not?" Firesong asked, stopping within touching distance of the spirit and looking challengingly into its "face." "Have we not seen a ghost, Forefather?"
Forefather? "Firesong, what are you talking about?" Elspeth asked in a whisper, as if she really thought the thing wouldn't hear her if she kept her voice down.
Firesong's voice shook, and he was clearly having a hard time keeping it steady. "Don't you recognize him, Elspeth?" he asked tremulously. "Have you never seen those features before? Are there no portraits in your home in Valdemar of your ancestor and mine?"
The spirit folded his arms over his chest. It looked, perversely, as if he was enjoying this. It was hard to feel frightened of someone who had that kind of mischievous twinkle in his eyes - or whatever passed for eyes.
"My ancestor?" she repeated, feeling remarkably stupid. "I mean, it looks like he's wearing old Herald's Whites, but I don't - I mean, there isn't anyone in the royal family who looks like - there's no one in the Royal Gallery who - "
Firesong regained a little more color. "Elspeth, have you no eyes in your head?" he asked, in a much steadier - and rather impatient - tone. "Look at him. Look at me! This is Vanyel. Your great-great-many-times-great grandfather, and mine. Herald Vanyel. The last Herald-Mage, Elspeth. Ally of the Clans."
Her mouth dropped open. The apparition winked broadly :Very good, Firesong,: he said.
:Close your mouth, granddaughter,: said a voice she knew was only in her mind this time :You look very pretty, but not overly bright that way. There is no Veil to hold insects out; something might fly right down your throat.:
She snapped her mouth shut and blushed in confusion.
She was not the only one with a reaction to the identification. "If that is Vanyel," Skif said, and gulped, "then this must be - the Forest of Sorrows!"
She knew even as he said it that Skif was right. But how? How had they gotten here? Skif might well gulp, for she had thought there was a reasonable limit on how far one could Gate - and this was well beyond that limit. As nearly as she could reckon, they were more than the length of Valdemar off-course, and none of them had ever been up here before, not even Skif.
This was insane. Or else, she had gone insane. Or it was a dream -
:It's not a dream,: Gwena said, lipping her to prove it.
:No, it's not a dream,: the spirit said, still smiling :And you haven't all gone mad. This is Sorrows and I am Vanyel Ashkevron. I am still in the service of the Goddess and Valdemar. I brought you here.:
She could only blink. If this was Vanyel - no, who else could it be? It must be. If her mage-senses weren't supporting his claims, she would have thought he was just someone playing a trick on all of them. "Ah, I'm sorry, but - I've never seen a ghost before - I - " she stammered in confusion.
Firesong continued to stare at the spirit, but there was a certain expression of growing accusation on his face. And well there might be, since this ghostly Vanyel had just run roughshod over their plans with this little excursion.
Elspeth tried to shake her thoughts loose. If this was Vanyel, then this was the spirit of one of the most pivotal Heralds of all time. His death had ended the age of Herald-Mages. And if her researches in the Archives were correct, he was also personally responsible for the fact that it was impossible for magic to be performed or even thought of inside the borders of Valdemar. She had a million questions in her mind, and was afraid to ask any of them.