[Lanen Kaelar 03] - Redeeming the Lost Page 4

  For the moment I did what I could to answer his questions.

  “Whoever ‘they’ are, they’re right. I don’t remember her. She left when I was no more than a year old and never came back.”

  Then why such a spirited defence?” he asked.

  “Good question,” I replied. I stood up again and started to pace, rubbing my sore knuckles, trying not to let Marik see that I was shaking with anger, lest he take it for trembling in fear. “I’m not certain myself. Perhaps I cannot imagine that anything she did twenty-four years ago could be as dark an evil as that which you plan for me. Perhaps I’d defend the Lord of the Seventh Hell himself if you cried out against him.” Then, without thinking, I added, “Perhaps it’s because I’m—Hells take it—” I forced myself to stare him straight in the eye. “You can’t wed me to Berys, I’m married already. I was bloody well going to have children one day, you bastard, and of their two grandparents I know which one I would have let them meet.”

  Goddess help me, I’d almost let slip the one piece of information I didn’t want Marik and Berys to know. I always say too much when I’m really angry.

  “Oh, that’s a small problem. Whoever your husband is, he surely won’t be that hard to kill. Take heart, Daughter,” he mocked, falsely cheerful. “You might yet bear children, though to be honest I’ve never thought of Berys as one to indulge in so—normal an activity.” He smirked. “In any case, whatever of you is left is unlikely to enjoy it much.”

  “Curse you to all the Hells,” I snarled, “and take Berys with you for good measure.”

  ‘Too late, in his case,” he said lightly, and called for the guard to come get the tray. When the guard opened the door, the instant he stepped in, I cried out in truespeech as loudly as I could. “Varien beloved Berys holds me captive, I’m here I’m here to me my love swiftly, they steal my soul this night come succour your childer swiftly to me to me!”

  Marik slammed the door behind the guard and whirled to face me, his eyes blazing. “You tricksy bitch! ‘What might have been/ indeed—you are with child even now!” His grin had a certain mad edge to it. “And Berys and I are neither of us such fools as to let you yell for help. The guard and I are the only ones will have heard your shout, and the spell against Farspeech encloses the room no matter if the door is open or shut.” He laughed. “Berys will be delighted. Hells, I’ve never heard you before!”

  I strode the two paces across the room to strike him down, but he danced away from me and called out for the guard. Nothing happened.

  I felt a terrible grin distort my face, the match of Marik’s. “He can’t hear you. You shut the door, idiot. And you can’t get to the door save through me.”

  He swore and tried to get around me, but I never moved. “My soul to the Lady, you’re a dead man, Marik,” I said. My voice surprised me. It was quite a lot higher than my normal speaking voice, very strange indeed. But very clear. “Shrive yourself, for by all I hold sacred I swear, I am going to kill you with my bare hands.”

  At least he didn’t waste time saying something stupid like “You wouldn’t dare.” I suspect it was quite clear that I bloody well would dare, and then some. “The guard will be back any moment now, I was right behind him,” he squeaked, dancing away from me as best he could in that small space.

  “Then I don’t have very long,” I said, and lunged. I caught an edge of his tunic and hauled him towards me with all my strength. He was no weakling himself, but somehow all the helplessness, the fury of being a prisoner, and now my desperate fears for my unborn babes, combined to give me a strength I had never known. I tripped him up so that he measured his length on the floor and fell heavily on top of him, kneeling on his chest with my hands about his throat. I squeezed with all my strength. He turned red, then purple, awfully quickly. I never let up, not for an instant.

  Not much longer now, surely. My arms were starring to shake. I thought of my children sacrificed on Berys’s obscene altar and squeezed harder.

  To my astonishment, he stopped fighting to get my hands away—he was reaching for something—

  With a snap as of breaking crockery and a hiss like an angry snake, the room was suddenly full of Rikti and they were attacking me.

  I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t keep my hands around Marik’s throat. The instinct to survive is too strong. I struck out at them as best I could, but they were all around me, biting and clawing at my back, my arms, my face. I got up off of Marik and ran to put my back against a corner. I was bleeding in a dozen places. One dove directly at my eyes, its claws extended. I turned my head away and threw up my arm to protect myself, and though it clawed my arm, it didn’t get any further. I dared to look again.

  Marik was gone, the door just closing behind him. There didn’t seem to be nearly as many demons as there had been, and the half dozen that remained didn’t seem to be in a hurry to attack me. What in the world?

  I waited. The nearest seemed to make up its mind and flew at me swiftly with extended claws. I grabbed for its leg, meaning to smash it against the wall, but I missed. It didn’t. I felt the claws bite deep, cried out with the pain, saw the stream of red as my blood flowed from the slash—

  And then the damned thing burst into flame and disappeared.

  The others cried, “Kantrishakrim!” and winked out of existence as swiftly as they had arrived.

  I tried, with teeth and shaking hands, to tear bits off the bottom edge of my tunic to use as bandages. It was the only time I cursed at the quality of my clothing, because I couldn’t do it, the cloth was too strong. At least it kept my mind off of things for the time it took to make the attempt. The bleeding eventually stopped on its own, but my wounds burned and stung as though I’d scrubbed them with nettles.

  And I was left alone with my thoughts, tumbling one after another like a torrent down a fall. It was to be tonight. It was already past noon. Marik knew I was pregnant. I was exhausted, shaking from the effort, and badly wounded by the demons. I crouched in a corner, full of fury unspent, angry at myself for not finishing the job—and deep inside there was a terrible quivering in my belly as I began truly to despair for the life of my babes. I feared I had only hours left to five.

  It wasn’t until much later that I realised what the Rikti had said. Kantrishakrim. It was Old Speech for “the Wise People,” the Greater Kindred.

  Seems I had changed rather more thoroughly than I had thought.

  Idai

  As Kedra left, Varien and Bella begged my pardon and re-turned to the other two Gedri who waited still at the field’s edge, near a small wood not far away. I took the chance to look about me. Shikrar was well enough, despite a few injuries that plagued Mm yet. When all had been resolved, he would surely fall into the Weh sleep for a few years and all would be well when he woke. It would be difficult, for being new-come to this place we had as yet no knowledge of where we might establish our Weh chambers. We are desperately vulnerable during the Weh sleep: it comes upon us whether we will or no when we are badly injured, and every fifty years or so in any case, for we continue to grow throughout our lives. While in its thrall we sleep and cannot be wakened, and our armour bums off to allow the new armour, yet soft, to grow. We cannot even guard one another during the Weh, for the guard will be taken by the Weh as well. Now that we were back among the Gedri, it was vital that we find a safe haven.

  Shikrar had explained it to me, but I still could not comprehend the bizarre Gedri liking for khaadish, which was the root of the trouble. Where we sleep, we turn the ground to khaadish after some years—it is simply what happens. Khaadish is pretty to look at, shiny and yellow and very soft for a metal, but there are only so many uses for it. The Gedri covet it insanely. We of the Kantri do not forget, and the story is yet told among us of one evil night long ages since, when a helpless child of the Kantri was murdered by marauding Gedri during the Weh sleep for no more than the khaadish she slept upon. From that time, we have sought out hidden Weh chambers, both for our safety and that the Gedri mi
ght not be tempted.

  I breathed deep in the clear morning. It would not be a hardship to fly over these lands seeking hidden chambers. Kolmar was lush and inviting, what little I had yet seen of it. I would enjoy that particular task.

  Kedra bespoke us then—they had already found Will’s friend, and had sent Will on ahead. Will, seemingly, had talked him out of simply appearing at the farmer’s door. I snorted. Kedra was impulsive as ever, and the flight across the sea had not improved his sense of humour.

  Akhor, though—Varien—alas, he was changed yet again. I gazed after him. The joy that had filled him when he left our old home with his beloved was gone. That joy that had sustained me, knowing that he had found his soulmate at last, though all my years of hopeless love fell like dead leaves around my heart. He could barely speak for his anger and he was wild with helplessness.

  I could look at Varien no longer and wandered about, trying to distract myself. Rella was rummaging in her pack for something. Beside her stood two other humans, solemn and unmoving, but some creature was joining them from the shelter of the trees. It stood beside them—what—

  “Shikrar!” I cried. “Whatever is that bright creature that waits with the Gedri children? It—is it—by the first Wind that ever blew, it looks like—”

  “Come, Idai,” he said, amusement in his eyes. “Come, I would introduce you to my friend, the Lady Salera.”

  Shy as a bird the bright one stood as I came near, raw courage holding her unmoving in the face of awe. I lowered my head slowly to look closer—oh, she was of our Kindred, that was certain. She appeared to be no more than the merest youngling. And gleaming in her shining copper faceplate were eyes blue as a summer sky, and a soulgem the same—colour—a soulgem. A soulgem.

  “Hadreshikmr, I will beat you for keeping this from me,” I swore in truespeech. “Name of all the Winds that ever were. A soulgem. The creature has a soulgem. How has this come to be?”

  I could not stop staring, but to my relief it was mutual. Shikrar took refuge in speech.

  “Idai, this is Salera, the first of the Lesser Kindred to come into her own,” he said, and his own wry amusement was transmuted now to a kind of awe. “She and her—Kindred—are younger than the moon. They were brought into the light of reason but three days since.” His voice danced with it. “New-come to the world, new-come to speech and reason. It is a great wonder.”

  I could barely speak myself. “How, Shikrar?” I asked, never taking my eyes off the litding.

  “I was not there, Idai,” he replied gendy. “Why do you not ask Salera?”

  I shook myself and bowed to her. “Your pardon, Salera. I am the Lady Idai. Little one, you are a wonder and a mystery. Of your kindness, will you tell me how you come to be here, as you now are?”

  “It was the Silver King Varien and his Lady Lanen who opened our minds,” said Salera calmly. “We all were called by some deep song in our hearts, we met all together in the High Field, and—the Lord and the Lady wakened us.” She bowed her head briefly, that we might see her faceplate more clearly. It touched my heart, for it was the same gesture every youngling of the Kantri makes for a time after their soulgem is finally revealed. “Where before was darkness, now our soulgems gleam as bright as yours. The Silver King opened our minds to speech that day, and the Lady Lanen guarded the narrow way, that we might pass over in safety.”

  Even Shikrar looked surprised. “I have not heard this version, Idai,” he told me in truespeech. “What did she guard you from, Salera? What threatened you?”

  “Fear,” replied Salera. She gazed at the two of us steadily. “We could barely understand what Lord Varien offered us, but we knew deep within that it was change beyond measure, and that it could not be undone once it was done. It was… frightening.” She fluttered her wings in remembered agitation. “Frightening is too easy a word. Fear, and fear, and fear beyond that. Even I resisted, and I knew that my father was on the other side of that change. But Lanen—she showed us her heart, we saw that she too was Changed and become more than she had been, and the great joy she had in her new life. Her gift was to awaken our courage. It was a great gift indeed.”

  She bowed slighdy then, as if it were a strange movement to her, and said, “If you are answered, Lady, can you now tell me where is my father gone?’

  I blinked. “Your father, littling?” I asked, confused, but Shikrar interrupted, “He is gone with my son Kedra to find food for the Kantri. He will return swifdy, I have no doubt.”

  She relaxed visibly—

  “Name of the Winds, Shikrar, they use Attitudes but a talon’s breadth removed from our ownl” I cried in truespeech.

  —and continued, “It is well.” She saw that I stood in Astonishment and laughed. “Lady, forgive, you cannot know—Will raised me from a kitling, he is the only family I have ever known.” Her speech was a little slow, a little stumbling, and she sometimes managed the more difficult human sounds and sometimes did not. Without thinking I addressed her in truespeech.

  “Solera, might I bespeak you? Human speech is difficult, and I know not if you have yet learned our own language.”

  She sat bolt upright, in the absolute image of Astonishment, and stared wide-eyed at me. Her speech instantly became all but incomprehensible. “How iss thiss done? Hwat iss this hyou ssay? I hear hyourr voice yet you haff not spoken!”

  “Hadreshikrar, do you mean to say you have not bespoken this child?” I said, turning to Shikrar in amazement. “You, who are the first always to introduce younglings to truespeech!”

  To my delight, he could not answer at first. It is not easy to surprise Shikrar, the Eldest of our Kindred, and it always pleased me when I was able to do so. “I—before she, before they were—oh, ldai, I have not even tried to bespeak her since she and her people awakened!” He turned to her, tenderly, and spoke quietly using the broadest kind of truespeech. “Lady Solera, I beg your pardon. My friend Akhor—Varien—told me that you could not hear him, but that was before you came into your own.”

  “Hwat iss thiss bespppeakking?” she asked him, her wings fluttering in her agitation.

  “Calm yourself, little one,” I said, trying to be as gentle as I could. “It is natural for our people. This is the Language of Truth, the language of the mind. With it, we may speak to one another when we are far apart, or when we are aloft and the wind will not carry sound between us.”

  “How isss it done?”

  “It is done with thought, littling,” said Shikrar calmly, and aloud. “Where most thought is scattered abroad, like clouds in the sky, traespeech is more like to a single star—focussed.” He continued in traespeech. “This kind of speech, which we start with, may be heard by all who care to listen. It is the first kind we learn and the easiest to master. There is another kind, whereby we may speak only to one particular soul at a time.” He paused a moment. “That usually takes some years to master, but you are not as young as you appear, I would guess. You might achieve that level of concentration much faster than is usual.”

  “How shall I do thiss?” she demanded.

  “Let us begin slowly, and with a warning,” said Shikrar, still speaking broadly. I managed not to laugh. I recognised the very words. It was the same speech he had given to every youngling he had ever taught. Teacher-Shikrar indeed!

  “Thoughts are truth, and traespeech will reveal your inner thoughts, whether you want it to or no, until you have become accustomed to it. It is impossible to lie in this speech, for the lie will burn like a beacon, and in any case your underthought will give you away.”

  “Hwat iss to lie?” Salera asked, in all innocence.

  Shikrar bowed. “It is to say that which is not so, little one,” he said aloud. “Forgive me. I suspect it is not within you.”

  She glanced at him shrewdly, for all her youth. “I suspect it is within me if it is within you, Master Shikrar. Though perhaps not yet.” She gazed back at me. “I hwill try this traespeech. I cannot sshape my tongue around words sso weD ass
you.” She bowed her head and closed her eyes in concentration.

  I heard nothing.

  Shikrar, however, had taught younglings for many, many years. “Littling, I cannot hear you.” He stood in Patience. “Will you try again?”

  “Can you not hear me call my father? He does not answer. Said you not that distance is no bar to this speech?”

  “Ah, littling, forgive me!” replied Shikrar. “I never thought to tell you. The Gedri do not have truespeech, as a rule. Only the Lady Lanen in all of history is so blessed. I fear you will not be able to bespeak Willem.”

  “The Silver One, Hfarian, he cannot speak so?”

  “Varien is a separate case, littling,” said Shikrar. “He is—different.”

  “And so my father is different,” answered Salera. “I have learned his tongue, can he not learn this one?”

  “Alas, I fear he cannot,” said Shikrar, sadly. “Lord Varien is of our own blood, and has the soulgem he has borne for a thousand winters. The Lady Lanen has been blessed by the Winds and the Lady. You must not hope for this, Salera. It will not come to be.”

  Salera hissed her frustration, her tail whipping round her. “That is—that is darkness in daylight! Why should this be? It is not hwell!”

  “Mas, you are right, littling, it is not well; but in all the lives of our peoples we have found nothing that may be done to change it.”

  And she surprised us again. Still, perhaps I was the more taken off guard; Shikrar at least maintained the appearance of calm.

  Clearly and angrily she bespoke us both, as she gave a great leap into the clear morning sky. “What use then is this speech, when I cannot use it with the one I love best? I go to find him.”