[Lanen Kaelar 01] - Song in the Silence (19 page)

I was come to the end of my fine words. I knew
nothing else to say, and could only add in a desperate whisper, “Oh
please, please—come to me.”

A shaft of moonlight escaped its cloudy cage and
glinted off something very large moving beyond the trees.

“Oh my brother,” I breathed softly.

Kantri

I could resist no longer—or perhaps it is truer
to say I did not wish to. I had felt her call, as though she were one of the
Kindred, and when that voice in the dark called me brother I knew I must
answer.

I left my hiding place, left the broken body of
the thief. She was so different from the small-souled dead one, though of the
same Kindred. There was so much we did not know of one another, so much to
fear—but the faith and the longing in her voice shone like a beacon.

I moved slowly that I might not frighten her. I
had long imagined how I would appear to one of them; they are so small and
naked, and I with my silver hide was strange even among my own people. I felt
my soulgem glow brightly in a shaft of moonlight and heard her gasp, but it was
neither fear nor greed. I did not know what she was feeling, not perfectly, but
if appeared to be a mixture of
ferrinshadik
and adoration. I had always
been told that we could not feel the Gedri, but I had sensed her even before
our meeting.

I found that without thinking I had assumed the
Attitude of Protection of a Youngling, and my soul grew in that moment. I
discovered it was possible for one of the Greater Kindred to care for one of
the Gedrishakrim.

We stared at each other through the darkness, not
speaking; but even the dim seeing was enough. I leant down a little to see her
better. She did not cry out despite the fear I felt from her, though she did
draw back a little.

She was a brave dreamer.

“There is no need to fear, little
sister,” I said quietly.

Her eyes grew wide with wonder, and her breath
came short as if preparing to fly. “I’m not afraid,” she said; then,
“Well, not very afraid.” For a long while we simply stared at each
other, as though words would break the fragile spell and we would vanish
disastrously from each other’s sight.

Then she spoke again, very softly, almost to
herself. “You are so different from what I dreamt. The songs don’t
even…you are terrifying.”

She tried to go on but could not. Her mouth moved
as if to speak, but awe still held her. She breathed as one tried with great
exertion, but she stood in what looked like the Attitudes of Joy and Wonder and
her eyes never moved from mine.

“You are the most beautiful creature I have
ever seen,” she said at last.

I bowed my head in thanks and moved closer still
to see her better in the dim light, and to be seen. We were silent again, drinking
in each other at close range. Her eyes gleamed in the moonlight, and I smelled
saltwater.

“Is it the way of your people to drop
seawater from their eyes?” I asked, keeping my voice as soft as I could.

She bared her teeth but I sensed neither fear nor
threat. “No,” she said. “It’s—the seawater, it’s called tears.
We do it when we’re very sad, or very happy.”

I was fascinated. “So even do we with Fife,
the same, expression for great joy or great sorrow. We are not perhaps so
different as is thought, little sister.”

“We can speak and understand each other.
Where is the great difference there?”

I hissed my amusement softly. “Little
sister, I have taught myself your speech over many long years. If I spoke in my
own tongue, the difference would be clear.”

I stopped. She had started and drawn away when I
laughed, und stood now uncertainly, ready to flee. “What frightens
you?” I asked.

“Why did you do that?” she asked
hesitantly.

“What did I do, little one?”

“You—you dropped your jaw and—hissed at
me.”

I just managed to stop myself from doing so
again. “I did not mean it to distress you. It is a sign of friendship or
mild pleasure. Did you not just now bare your teeth at me, when I spoke of
seawater?”

She thought for a moment, then bared her teeth
again, more broadly, and the flesh at the corners of her eyes crinkled.
“It’s called a smile. Do you mean the same thing when you drop your jaw
and hiss?”

“I believe so, though I do not know the
words you use.” She simply stared up at me, obviously standing in the
Gedri way of Joy—she had changed from fear to gladness in the blink of an
eye—and it struck me that we had changed the world as we knew it. For the first
time in centuries, Kantri and Gedri had taught each other something.

My first reaction was great joy.

My second was the stirring of fear.

This, of course, was the reason why contact
between the races was forbidden. The Gedrishakrim are always curious, and the
Kantri seek to teach despite themselves. Without thinking we had exchanged
knowledge, to our mutual delight; but old habit and long years of mistrust
reminded me that, trivial as this exchange was, it was friendship between our
peoples that had ultimately doomed the Lesser Kindred to live as beasts. For
the first time the
ferrinshadik
dimmed and I began truly to understand
the Great Ban.

“Little sister, forgive me, but I must ask
you something of great importance,” I said. “When you called to me,
you spoke of dreams, of a life spent longing for my Kindred. You called me
brother,” I said quietly. “That is not a word used often or lightly
among my Kindred.”

“Or mine,” she said. None of the awe
was gone from her, but even these few moments spent to my company had made her
bolder. “I called you that because that is how I thought of you,” she
said. “Even more now than before.” Her voice wavered and she
trembled, but not with fear. “Ever since I was a young girl I have wanted
to speak with a—with your
people.”        .

Her words pleased me. She did not call us
“Dragons”; deep in her heart she must know if was their word for us,
not our own. I longed to tell her even then how we name ourselves, but I did
not. Habit and old mistrust. The knowledge that this kind of meeting was
forbidden sharpened suddenly into an urgent need. I had not known how strong the
desire to teach was, how deeply she would infect me, how I would long to tell
her of our Kindred and of myself—in truth, to teach her whatever she wanted to
know. We had learned to our sorrow that the Gedri could use knowledge to evil
ends. Our numbers were halved and the Lesser Kindred trapped in darkness
because of misplaced trust between our peoples. Il must learn why she had come.

“Why?” I asked her. “Why have you
wanted to know us? What brought you here, so far from your lands and your
Kindred? Speak truly, and tell me why you are here.”

I asked her this aloud, and without thought
repeated it in the Language of Truth.
“Why do you seek me/us out in the
night? What brings you? Do you mean us harm, do you seek for gain? Why are you
here?”

To this day I do not know why first I used the
Language of Truth with her. Every scholar of our Kindred had told me that the
Gedrishakrim were deaf to it.

To my great delight she proved them wrong.

Her thoughts were faint and not well ordered;
they spilled out all together and sparkled with emotion like stars streaking ,
across a dark night. It was much like speaking with a youngling—but it was the
Language of Truth, undeniably.

“I come because I love you I want to know
you, let us speak together and grow to know one another. You are so beautiful/
wondrous/not what I expected but real at last. I have dreamed of you so long,
so long in the lonely darkness, it is glory and wonder to hear speech and
reason from another creature A REAL DRAGON!”
And below
that, her underthought whispered,
“Is this real oh please let it be
real if it is not let me never wake from the dream, oh my heart aches you are
so beautiful!”

She stood silent for a moment. “What did
I—did you hear that?” she asked very quietly.

“Yes,” I said, standing in the Attitude
of Surprised Pleasure. “I did not know you had the Language of Truth,
little sister!”

“I didn’t either,” she said.

“You have never done this before?”

She shook her head. “Never. I think it’s—we
call it Farspeech, but I’ve only ever heard of it in tales from the
bards.” She stared up at me. “I never thought it was real!”

“It is the Language of Truth,” I told
her. I had not lost all restraint, but how could such knowledge bring harm?
“It is the true speech of mind to mind, and minds cannot hide a lie from
one another. This Farspeech—you are certain you have never used it
before?”

“No. I told you, I didn’t even believe in it
until now,” she replied. She looked up and smiled. “I’m not sure I do
yet.” She seemed a little dazed. It was a common reaction among
younglings, and I found myself wanting to cross the Boundary to comfort her, as
though she were indeed one of the Kindred. I resisted with great effort. The
least I could do would be to explain.

“With us it may only be used between two who
consent,” I told her gently. “It is very revealing, and younglings
find it leaves them unsettled.”

“Unsettled; yes, that at least. I wasn’t
expecting it at all.” Her mouth drew up again, and I knew a small wash of
pleasure as I realised that I was the only one of all the Kindred who could
recognise the smile of the Gedrishakrim.

“You should warn a lady,” she said.

I bowed to her. “I will.”

And I realised only in the second after I had
spoken that my words hung in the air like a winged promise. With those two
words “I had changed my life and hers. There would be another meeting, I
would again use the Language of Truth with her. I knew not until I spoke that I
meant to continue this frightening, forbidden, wondrous communion.

I stared at her, startled by my own words, and
saw to my wonder that some postures are universal. She stood in Anticipation of
Joy as best she could. It seemed we merely acknowledged a fate already decreed.

“There will be another time?” she
asked. “May I come back tomorrow night?”

I waited, wondering, seeking a reason to deny her
and not finding one. “Yes, little sister,” I said at last, and the
saying was a joy. “Come to me tomorrow at the same hour, alone as you are.
We will speak again.”

“Thank you, my brother,” she said, and
bent in the middle at me. It seemed to be a bow of some kind.
I must ask her
about that sometime,
I thought, when she said in a different voice,
“That man; the one who came just before me did you kill him?”

“Yes,” I replied,

“Why?”

“He had broken the treaty our laws and
yours. There was greed in him, and death in his heart for my Kindred. He reeked
of the Rakshasa, he must have had dealings with them. He knew the prive.”
I peered at her. “Does my killing of him frighten you?”

She paused, looking down, then answered,
“No. It probably should, but no, it doesn’t.” She looked up at me
again, and I longed to know what the glow in her eyes meant. “I trust you.
I will obey your laws.”

“That is well, little sister,” I said.
“You have nothing—” I caught myself. The temptation to trust was
overpowering. I was amazed. I must have time, time to think about this strange
impulse, ponder what it might mean. “Go now. We will speak again tomorrow,
at the middle night.”

“Must we part so soon?” she asked.

“Do not your Kindred require sleep?” l
asked.

“Yes, but…”

“In our laws, and I suspect in yours, our
two Kindreds are warned never to meet.” I looked down on her and said
kindly, “I think this first lawbreaking should not be overlong. There will
be time enough, and we both have much to think on.”

“That’s true,” she said. “You
won’t forget?”

I nodded. “We do not forget, little
sister.”

She smiled at that. “Then goodnight, large
brother,” she said. She bent in half again and turned to go, then turned
back. She stood silent a moment, determined, hesitant.

“What is it, little one?” I asked.

And without hesitation she said, “I am
called Lanen Maransdatter—but my true name is Lanen Kaelar.”

And she waited.

The giving of a name is with us the greatest act
of trust. Only father, mother and mate know the true name, or perhaps one true
friend of the heart; but the name gives power to whoever calls it.

It would be stupid, it would be blind senseless,
it would be madness to give her my name and thus power over me and my Kindred.
How could I so break the ban and do so foolish a thing?

How could I not?

For trust calls out trust, and this powerless
child of the Gedri had given me that which could cost her soul.

I moved to the very Boundary itself, stretching
my neck so that our faces nearly touched.

“Lanen Kaelar, I am
Khordeshkhistriakhor,” I whispered, and closed my eyes .