THE POUNDING IN Haemas’s head crested, ebbed, then resurged again until even the effort to breathe was torment. She was freezing, as if she’d been left on an exposed ledge high up on the mountains that overlooked Tal’ayn. Her body felt like an ice-riddled lump, and every inch of it ached.
She’s nearly conscious!
That transmitted thought, although not aimed at her, thundered in her head and rattled around as if she were trapped inside one of the great festival drums she’d seen once in the Lowlands, bringing so much pain that she almost tumbled back into the beguiling darkness again. She groaned and her teeth chattered from the cold.
“She looks half dead,” a voice said.
“That’s because she fought it.” The second voice paused. “We need to get some of this down her.” An arm propped up her aching head and something hard was thrust against her lips. She tried to turn away. “Drink or I’ll drown you in it.” Although the words were hard, surprisingly the tone was not. Haemas swallowed a little of the warm tea, then choked while the rest ran down her chin.
Sometime after that, the pounding in her head receded a little, though the cold settled into a knot in her middle. Opening her eyes a crack, she gazed at a small, dingy room with only one dim, half-melted candle burning in a sconce high up on the wall. The air smelled dank and stale, as if the room hadn’t been opened in years. Her fingernails dug into patched bedclothes. Something was wrong. These weren’t her chambers.
Several shadowed figures stood looking down on her. “Welcome, Lady,” one of them said softly, then touched his fingertips to his lips in a salute.
She felt she ought to know that mocking voice, but his identity was locked up somewhere in her head behind all the pain. The walls began to swirl. Her stomach lurched and she had to close her eyes. Who were these people? Where was Enissa? If she was ill, then Enissa should be called. She didn’t want some healer employed by one of the High Houses. They were always so grim and disapproving.
Fabric rustled, then voices murmured as footsteps walked away. After a while, she found that, if she lay very still, hardly breathing, the pounding lessened even more. She opened her eyes again, staring into the unsteady half-darkness, trying to understand what had happened.
Shaking, she hitched herself up on her elbows. Again, the room spun crazily. She broke into a cold sweat and thought she would lose what little was in her stomach. Clutching at the mattress, she made herself get up anyway, and staggered a few steps before sprawling face down on the floor. The icy darkness came in waves, rolling over her until she couldn’t see or hear, receding a little, then sweeping back again.
Between waves, she struggled to her knees and hung there, the pounding in her head now a blinding torment. She wanted to call Enissa or one of the girls, but the pain was a universe unto itself and there was no way out.
Slowly she pushed herself back onto her feet, then with her hands out, felt her way through the room, unable to see clearly for the agony behind her eyes. She took one step, then another, and fumbled around a corner where the light seemed to be brighter. She heard voices again, but far away, as if she were at the bottom of a deep hole.
“She’s gone!” one said.
“Dammit, she can’t be far! Get out there and find her.” Her legs buckled and her back slid down the wall that she had been leaning against for support.
“Lady Haemas!” a male voice suddenly cried. “You’re going to hurt yourself!”
“Please ...” Haemas tried to focus through the shimmering waves of pain on the indistinct form before her. “You must send for Enissa!”
“Of course.”
A strong arm slipped around her shoulders and braced her to stand. “Just lean on me.”
She wavered back onto her feet. Darkness hovered above her in a giant wave, ready to break and carry her far out into an empty black sea.
“Diren, you’ve found her!”
“Of course I have,” the male voice said calmly. “I told you she wouldn’t get far in this shape. Now lock her up the way you should have done to begin with, and see that she isn’t left alone this time.”
Just as the darkness crashed down on her, she finally understood she was not in the House of Moons anymore.
* * *
An icy, penetrating rain soaked the procession of mourners as the priest, Father Orcado, flung open the double doors of the Lenhe chapel and led the way through the burned fields to the towering pyre of wood that had been stacked for young Lat Lenhe and his mother, Lady Myriel.
Kevisson walked behind the two biers, watching the healer, Enissa Saxbury, steady the two remaining Lenhe daughters with a hand on each child’s shoulder. Their hair, a deep shade of copper-gold, had been left undressed to flow down their backs, and quickly became soaked, as did their clothes and everything else under the freezing downpour.
He drew his sodden cloak more tightly about him, wondering again how he could have been so stupid as to leave Myriel alone last night. Whether she had somehow managed to take her own life or not, the responsibility for her death had to be laid at his feet.
One by one, the entire staff of chierra workers preceded the two biers into the ruined fields, lining up before the pyre of wood cut by field hands who had labored all night. Father Orcado pushed back the hood of his ebari-wool mantle and stood with his bald head bared to the pouring rain, his hands folded, as the chierra workers struggled to climb the pyre and position the two biers side by side at the top. The air smelled of wet wood and burnt grain.
Kevisson moved into place behind the little girls. The younger one of the two, who seemed about seven or eight, turned to stare at him with puzzled greenish-gold eyes.
“Are you our father?” she asked as the rain dripped down her young forehead.
“Be still, Adrina!” The other girl, who looked to be ten or so, reached across the healer’s tunic and jerked the younger child’s arm. “Mother said we would never know our father.”
Adrina looked from her sister to Kevisson, then sniffled, the tears welling up in her eyes. “But—” She stopped, her chest heaving, plainly trying to control herself. “I thought that now—maybe—”
Kevisson dropped to one knee, careless of the mud mixed with charred grain underfoot, and used his thumbs to wipe the rain and tears from her face. “I wish you were mine, little one. And whoever your father is, I’m sure he would be very proud to know you.”
“You mustn’t say that to her.” The other girl narrowed her eyes, then turned back to the pyre. Her shoulders were stiff, and she held her dripping head high. “Mother said it was wrong to want things you can never have.” She studied the chierra servants picking their way back down the mountain of wood. “She said it weakens you.”
Enissa pressed her lips together, then drew the younger girl to her side and held her close. Let them be for now, Kevisson, she said silently. We’ll have to decide what can be done for them later, after we get through this.
Nodding, he stood up and brushed ineffectually at the chill mud soaking through his pants. Perhaps since the girls could not inherit Lenhe’ayn, he would take them back to the House of Moons, where they would at least be with other children while the Council bickered over what should become of their shattered lives. He could count on Haemas to take good care of them.
Slowly the priest circled the towering pyre, his expression solemn. Kevisson glanced through the crowd for faces he knew, but the assemblage of mourners seemed to be mostly chierra servants. One of the younger Castillans had come as a representative, since Myriel’s mother had been a Castillan daughter, but there were only a few other Kashi sprinkled about, none of whom he recognized. Lenhe’ayn had been a solitary House these last few years since the old Lord’s death.
Together, chierra and Kashi waited in heavy silence as the priest paced the perimeter the traditional five times, one for each appearance of the Light that had changed the people of this world, transforming them from mere humans into Kashi and chierra, rulers and ruled. His slow, measured steps through the mud were the only sound, except for the muffled sobs of the household staff and the occasional distant roll of thunder.
After the fifth and final time, he stopped before the two girls and stared down at them from under thick eyebrows. “Adrina Castillan Lenhe and Kisa Castillan Lenhe, are you the only remaining kin of this woman and this boy?”
The younger child, Adrina, only clutched at Enissa’s skirts, staring back at the tall, imposing priest with tearful eyes, but the older girl dipped her chin in a faint nod.
“Then it falls to you to light their way into the next world.” Father Orcado picked up a wet, unlit torch from the bottom of the pyre and thrust it toward her. “You must kindle the flame in the ancient Kashi fashion so they may be sent on.”
Kevisson raised an eyebrow as young Kisa took the torch, obliged to use both hands to support its weight. Orcado couldn’t mean that! He glanced around at the crowd of onlookers in surprise. Even an adult would have to use an inordinate amount of energy to light that thing in such heavy rain, and there was no way to know how much training this child had been given.
Kisa lifted her pale face to the cold rain and closed her eyes. Her fair brows furrowed and he felt her concentrating on the old ritual used to call forth the spark sacred to the Kashi’an, the People of the Light. Holding his breath, he monitored the buildup of energy in her mind, felt her tense to focus and pour it forth, and knew at the last second that it would not be enough.
The end of the torch sizzled, then smoked as the soaking rain smothered her spark. The priest shook his head, his broad face impassive. “You must try again. They can be sent on in no other way.”
Kisa’s mouth tightened, then she closed her eyes again. Kevisson felt the heat of Enissa’s anger and found it almost matched his own. Before the priest could forbid it, he laid his hand on the back of Kisa’s neck. Concentrate, he said into her mind. This time you will get it.
The young girl trembled underneath his hand, but she went through the litany again, the familiar words from The Book of Light taught to all Kashi children as one of the first lessons learned in the mindarts.
Fire is the first aspect of the Light. I will respect and tend it just as I would the Lord of Light himself.
Her small body tensed with the effort of her concentration. Kevisson found himself reciting the words in his mind along with her. Feel the heat ... see its brightness ... hear the crackle ... smell the smoke.
The image of fire formed in his mind just as he, and indeed all Kashi, had been taught since time beyond knowing. He felt the warmth of flames bathing his rain-chilled face, saw the crackling yellow-orange fire in his inner vision, smelled the acridness of smoke curling through the damp air.
Take the spark—Kisa’s slender young body tensed—and Light the Fire.
Kevisson poised, prepared to boost her spark, but this time the child’s flame was bright and true, leaping into life at the end of the sodden torch. The priest took the burning brand from her small hands and walked to the edge of the pyre. “So do we all return to the Light.” Then he leaned down and fired the wet wood, holding the torch in place until it reluctantly burned with a heavy, roiling black smoke.
Slowly the priest circled the five-cornered pyre, setting the soggy timber alight every few steps, until the flames crept toward the two biers and their untimely occupants.
Exhausted by her effort, young Kisa wavered on unsteady legs as the flames slowly ate their way upward. Kevisson sensed the child had worked beyond her strength and was about to pass out where she stood. He swept her into his arms and turned back to the main house, even though traditionally family members were supposed to remain until the pyre was fully consumed.
He heard Enissa murmur to the other girl, then follow him, slogging wearily through the muddy fields. No doubt Orcado would be angry at this flaunting of tradition, but Kevisson didn’t care. Tradition was going to be very cold comfort to this young pair of sisters in the foreseeable future.
* * *
Summerstone stepped out of the shimmering blue perfection of the nexus into sluggish, bitterly cold air in the deep forest. Behind her, the immense waterfall roared over the rocks, pouring down into the green river below, spilling kinetic energy into the ground and air and water with a recklessness that usually delighted her as much as the ilserin. But something was wrong. The anxious males had scattered, hiding in the surrounding trees, too upset even to play or swim.
Why have you called me? She assumed her most solid form to reassure them.
They crept down the scaly gray trunks, a host of slim young males, heads bowed, shoulders hunched, black eyes dull with misery. One finely grown son, with a long, narrow chin and round eyes, ventured nearer than any of the rest. Gone, gone! It is gone!
What is gone—she plucked his name from his conscious thoughts, Leafcurl?
He made a picture for her in his mind: a clear pool rimmed with ice, broad white steps leading down into the water, a scattering of dull-green shapes nestled in the half-frozen mud at the bottom, and one empty depression where another had rested. Not us, he said dejectedly. We did not take it. Not us. Not us!
No, not you. Summerstone examined the image, shuddering. The tendrils on her head went limp with dismay. So it had started again. After so many Interims, the ilseri had thought the pools safe, but it was as the current oldest, Frostvine, had often remarked, even back in the days when Summerstone herself had been but a callow ilserin: All Whens hinged on Now, and Now was a precarious balance that could be lost at any time.
Summerstone would have to summon the others and see what, if anything, they could do.
* * *
Although the air was warm in the room where she lay, Haemas shivered as consciousness seeped back through her. Opening her eyes slightly, she tried to remember how she had come to this unfamiliar round room, built of dark-grained stone and hung with shredding tapestries thick with webs and dust. A shaft of midmorning sunlight slanted in from a high, narrow window, and a meager fire had been built in the huge fireplace. Next to her cot, a woman with hair the color of Old wheat dozed, her hands curved around an open book.
Haemas moved her head tentatively, but there was only a dull ache in her temples instead of the pounding misery of the night before.
The woman stirred, then blinked down at her with eyes that were medium gold but flecked with odd dark specks. “Well, you certainly look like you’ve been to Darkness and back again. Diren’s little toy was much more effective than I’d ever dreamed.” Smoothing a threadbare fold of her out-of-style velvet gown, she shook her head. “The more you fight the blasted thing, the harder it hits you. My advice is to cooperate with him from now on.”
“Diren?” Haemas closed her eyes again, realizing she had heard that name mentioned last night, too. “Diren—Chee?” She heard the muffled sound of boots striding down the hall.
“So, Axia,” a masculine voice said, “how is our guest today?”
“See for yourself, if you really want to know,” the woman replied curtly as she scraped her chair back. “You will anyway.”
Haemas tried to reach out with her mind, but her brain felt as if it had been smothered in thick layers of ebari wool. She got only the haziest of impressions while her head began to throb again with a peculiar buzzing. Opening her eyes, she saw the trim frame of the Lord of Chee’ayn, dressed in unrelieved black from head to toe. “It is you!” she whispered. “But why?”
“Now, if I were lying there in your place, I would be more interested in how.” He hefted a dull-green crystal in his hand. “Don’t tell me that you’ve never heard of a latteh.”
A latteh. Somewhere in the back of her mind it seemed she had heard of something by that name ... something ancient and forbidden.
Chee settled in the chair beside the cot, leaning back and stretching his arms above his head as if he were a hungry silsha limbering up for the hunt. “Interesting, is it not, for you and I to be here together after all those Council Meetings when you sat in the gallery across from me, tilting that proud Tal profile into the air.” The cot groaned as he put his weight on the edge. Then his finger traced a line of frozen fire down her cheekbone. She flinched from his touch and he smiled. “Well, that’s behind us now. Not only are you going to grace my House, you’re going to put my plans into action.”
“Plans?” Haemas struggled to sit up, fighting the waves of dizziness that swept over her until the whole room seemed slanted. “What in the name of Darkness are you talking about? Whatever—possessed you to bring me here?”
“The timelines, of course.” His pale face floated above his starkly black collar as if it were not connected to the rest of him at all. “Of course, you’ll probably understand much better after our matrimonial.”
* * *
Clouds had drifted across the two rising moons, obscuring the bright crescents as Enissa emerged from the simple Shael’donn portal, holding the younger Lenhe girl’s hand. She shivered in the frost-laden air, still soaked to the skin from the Lowlands downpour. She glanced up into the dark, restless sky for a moment, then turned as Kevisson emerged from the blue mist after them, cradling the exhausted, wet form of Kisa Lenhe against his chest. Enissa shook her head, still furious. If she’d had any idea what that idiot Orcado had been up to, she would not have allowed either child to attend the service, no matter what anyone said.
The Highlands wind had a raw, bitter edge that hinted at snow before the night’s end. She rubbed her arms as she peered at the wan face pillowed on Kevisson’s shoulder. How is the poor thing?
Sleeping. He shifted her slight weight in his arms. You have room for them at the House of Moons, don’t you? I could take them over to Shael’donn, but I don’t know how our new Lord High Master Senn is going to rule on the subject of females. He hardly seems the liberal type.
Enissa sniffed. As if I’d ever let the likes of him get his hands on this pair. They’ve problems enough as it is. Of course we have room, but we would keep them even if it meant we all had to sleep on the floor!
A fleeting smile passed across Kevisson’s face, only to be replaced by the brooding expression he’d worn ever since the two of them had discovered Myriel’s dead body. Enissa glanced down at young Adrina’s copper-gold head. “Come, child. A few more steps and then we’ll get a nice room ready just for you and your sister.”
Adrina glanced at the still form in Kevisson’s arms. “Is she—is—” A tear welled up, then trickled down the curve of her cheek.
“Bless me, child, she’s fine.” Enissa placed one hand on the silken hair. “She’s just worn out from lighting the torch. That was a very big job for such a small girl, you know.”
Adrina pressed her lips together and looked doubtful. Enissa bent over and folded her into a damp hug. “Just you wait and see,” she murmured into wet hair that smelled so much like that of her own three children, now long grown. “Now, let’s go get out of these wet clothes!”
Kevisson stepped out of the portal onto the crushed gravel path and headed for the gray stone building. Taking Adrina’s hand again, Enissa followed, then was startled by a low rumbling snarl.
The little girl looked around fearfully, then pressed closer to her side. “What was that?”
“That’s just a silsha,” Enissa said with more assurance than she really felt. Try as she might, she had never been able to work up the sort of link with the lithe, black-furred beasts for which Haemas Tal was justly famous. They never seemed anything to her except the savage killers of the forest she’d always heard about.
“A silsha?” Adrina’s voice was very low. “Like the ones that go after the horses and the ebari?”
“Not exactly.” Kevisson glanced back over his shoulder and winked. “These are a little larger, and they love little girls.”
Enissa grimaced at him. That’s exaggerating a bit, isn’t it?
Well, not the size part, anyway.
Ahead of them, the massive double doors opened and a slender figure dressed in gray dashed down the path toward them. About fifty feet away, a muscular black beast leaped to the top of the low garden wall, then threw back its tuft-eared head and roared with a full-throated rage that rattled Enissa’s bones.
“Mercy!” She quickened her pace to draw even with Kevisson. “I’ve never known them to make such a racket before.”
“I have.” His lean face was grim.
“Lady Enissa!” The running figure waved at them, then slowed. “Lady Enissa, I’m so glad you’re back!”
Enissa recognized young Meryet Alimn. “Goodness, Meryet, no wonder the silshas are upset. What could possibly be worth all this dashing about in the dark?”
“She’s gone! We can’t find her anywhere, not even a trace, and the silshas have been furious ever since last night and—” Meryet broke off to gasp a breath. “And—”
“Who, child?” Enissa shook her head. “Who’s gone?”
“Oh.” Meryet glanced from her face to Kevisson’s, then back. “The Lady Haemas. We looked for her last night when the silshas became so loud, to calm them, but she was gone and she hasn’t come back and no one has seen her! We thought maybe she went—with—” The girl faltered as she read the message written on Enissa’s face.
Closing her eyes, Enissa cast her mind through the House of Moons, then the area close by, seeking some trace of the young woman she had come to look upon as a daughter, some hint of what had become of her, but there was only a disturbing blankness.
“We’re afraid—” Meryet stopped and put a hand on the bodice of her overtunic, forcing herself to take a deep breath. “I mean—she wouldn’t just go off like that, not without telling someone.”
Kevisson clutched the sleeping child more closely in his arms. “No, she wouldn’t.”
“And the silshas are so angry.” Meryet glanced at the one crouching on the wall, then winced as its snarl rumbled ominously through the darkness. “It’s as if they know something we don’t, something terrible.”
Kevisson walked toward the front doors, his long strides crunching the ice-coated gravel in the crisp stillness. “They do.”