[Lanen Kaelar 01] - Song in the Silence (56 page)

”My soul to
the Winds, Lanen Kaelar, I am lost as you are lost.”

No, it couldn’t be. He was in the Weh sleep, I heard
but an echo in my mind of what had gone
before, he couldn’t be—

”Lanen
Kaelar, dearest one, it is I, Khordeshkhistriakhor. Do not cast me from you. I
love
you
as my life. Lanen, Lanen, do not deny me a third time, it is worse pain than
the wounds or
the
fire. Let me die still in your love.”

And I had no strength to deny him. I had thought
never to hear his voice again this side of
death. I fell to my knees and bespoke
him without words, let my love stream upon him in a
clear light that surrounded us both,
I in the dark clearing, he in this impossible wakefulness
from the Weh
sleep in his cavern. Even for the saving of him, I could not let the lie be
spoken a
third time.

Aloud and in truespeech I bespoke him.
“Akor, my heart, you are in my love
beyond life’s
ending.
Before the Winds and the Lady, Kordeshkistriakor, I say that I love you, I love
you, I
love
you.”
I rose on shaking legs, brushed the leaves from my
leggings.
“I come, dear heart. I
will come to
you, I will wait with you. I cannot save you, but I will not leave you to die
alone.”

I walked slowly into the cave, leaving Idai and
Shikrar standing wordless in the clearing, in
the wind and the moonlight. I
believed I went to my death, or at best to watch his.

I do not know how he had roused from the darkness
of his pain and the Weh sleep to speak to
me, but he was no longer awake when I
came nigh him. He lay curled up on his floor of gold,
quiet now, a silver statue splashed
with gold. He seemed to be more at peace than he had been
since this Weh
sleep began.

But the heat was worse. The whole of that great
chamber was as warm as high noon on
midsummer’s day, and Akor himself was the sun. The
very air shimmered.

I went as near to him as I could bear. I wanted
to bid him farewell, to touch him one last time,
but the heat drove me back. I had no
words. In the end I could only speak his name, give it
back to him and to the darkness that
waited for him.

“Kordeshkistriakor,” I whispered. So
beautiful, the name, the form of my beloved. I even
managed a tiny smile when I said it,
knowing that I could never say it as the Kindred
pronounced it.

I sat as close to him as I could. I would watch
by him, as I would watch by any I loved at their
deathbed.

I prayed the Winds and the Lady to deliver him
from this terrible fate, but if they answered I
never heard it.

I cannot say how long I was there, through that
endless night. It felt like forever. The brand I
had carried in died out quickly, and
I discovered that Akor was indeed glowing, a silver
beacon, like the moon come to rest in
that small place. Sun’s heat and moon’s light, my dear
one.

My birth was
an omen, though none knew what it might portend.

It was near dawn, I guessed, when I gradually
realised that something else was happening.

The heat was growing rapidly worse, the light
brighter. Then suddenly Akor cried out, one
final deep cry of pain that tore my
heart and brought me to my feet. The heat doubled, driving
me back from
him with a blast of wind straight from the deepest circle of Hell. He writhed,
his eyes
still tightly closed, his soulgem blazing green fire, his tail whipping from
side to side,
his
wings vainly trying to fan in that enclosed space.

In the glow I could see it. I felt my heart in my
throat, I could not breathe.

Akor had begun to smoke.

All my resolve dragged at me, trying to make
myself stay, forcing me to see what I had
brought upon my dear one—but I found
that the urge to life was stronger than I knew, too
strong for my mind to overcome. It
would have been death for me to stay one instant longer. I
felt my
traitor feet turn me away from him and I fled for the entryway.

I emerged just ahead of a great gout of flame. By
the grace of the Lady I tripped over one of
the tangled tree roots and fell flat.
I felt the fireball come searing past me, over my head, and
heard it
strike a tree on the far side of the clearing.

I lay where I had fallen and wept, my body shaken
by racking sobs. I knew I would never
see Akor again. Even a Dragon could not have survived
that. I could not hear him or feel his
presence in my heart.

I had come to the dragonlands so full of dreams.
I had finally found the one soul in all the
world that was the match of mine, and
the body that housed it was now ash in the place where
we had joined our hearts and minds.

I longed for oblivion.

It was not granted me.

For a long time I lay as I had fallen. Cold and
sharp against my face pressed the dead leaves
of autumn, wet with dew and smelling
of decay. The sky was lightening, dawn but a thought
away, the birth of a terrible morning.

I lay unmoving, my eyes wide and staring at the
earth as I tried to understand what had
happened.

Akor was dead.

I could not grasp it. It seemed a tale told by a
stranger of a distant land. How could it be? Not
a day past I sat on that living silver
neck and rode high as my spirit and strong with my love
into the Council of the Kindred. How
could he so quickly be gone?

And I heard a sound like tearing glass, joined by
a cry of
pain
deeper than any sound I had ever heard, it shook me where I lay.

Idai and Hadreshikrar mourned.

Akor was dead.

I sought him despite that truth, called out with
all my heart and mind, cried out aloud, met
only silence. His voice in my heart
was stilled, the last words he gave me lost to the echoes of
memory. I
would not forget his words, but I would never hear them again.

Dead.

He should have wept over my grave for a thousand
years.

I curled against the pain as though around a
dagger in my gut. This was no life, I was but half
a person. My other half lay in
smoking ruin there in the cave, gone forever, beyond all hope.

I rocked as I knelt on the wet leaf-fall, my arms
wrapped tightly around me, holding on for
dear life. I was holding back
screams; they found their way out as whimpers, as a highpitched
moan dreadful
even for me to hear. Death echoed in my mind, in my body, and I
could not
bear its presence.

I had lived my dream and found it perilous beyond
imagining. I cursed the day I left
Hadronsstead. If I had let my dreams alone at least I
would still have them, and he would still
have life. Now were we both bereft.

I was alone in a dry place. The pain of this
grief was more than I could bear. I longed to die,
for my heart to break, for death to
cease its wanderings and come for me.

And in the still air, above the sound of my
grieving, a wondrous voice rose to greet the
dawn. The song was deep and rich, and
through the cracks of grief shone the love of the
singer. It grew like a tree, putting
down roots in the past and rising straight into the morning,
true and full
of life and laughter, and it named the life it sang.

Kordeshkistriakor.

A high voice like crystal bells joined it,
twining round the melody like a vine, soft buds of
harmony bursting into flower as it
climbed. The two would echo one another, join in a clear
harmony,
separate into their own ways.

The song lifted me to my feet, when I would have
sworn no power on earth could do so. I
stood in mute thanksgiving for his life, in honour of
his song, but in time it seemed to me that
there was something missing. I stood
in the bright morning, my face wet and dirty with tears
and dew and
leaf mould, and joined in the song of passing for my beloved. I was no more
than
a
creaking murmur that came and went added to the glorious voices above and
around me, but
somehow
it was fitting, and three were complete where two were not.

With a strength I had never known, with all my
soul grown old in the night with grief, I sang
my dearest love into the morning.

Rella

I did as Lanen asked and returned the gems to the
Dragons, along with one of a different kind
I found in the ashes of the Dragon
that died. It seemed the right thing to do; at least, the
Dragon that
met me at the Boundary accepted it along with the others. It wavered its head
at
me—I
suppose it was a kind of bow—and left.

I returned to the clearing and looked down at
Marik’s body. It lay without movement, save
that his wide staring eyes blinked
occasionally. I left him as he lay—I remember hoping that
the son of a
bitch would die while I was fetching help— but no such luck. I trudged down to
the shore
and, waving and shouting, called out the boat. It took some time, but I managed
to
have
his body taken aboard. He was not dead, though I thought death might be
preferable. His
mind
was gone. I watched it happen.

He had something from Caderan that protected him
against the Dragons, against flame and
claw, but they destroyed his mind. He lies like an
infant now, with as much life and as little
thought. Maikel was with him for
hours, and he says that it might be possible to recover some
of what has
been lost, but it will take years. It is frightful.

I find that, despite their leaving Marik alive
(it would have been kinder to kill him), I quite
like the Dragons. I am surprised.
Shikrar, the Keeper of Souls, seems to be a kindred spirit.

He reminds me of my grandfather. His son Kédra is
a
good
soul and looked after me well through mat cold night—I think I even made him
laugh
once
or twice. Certainly I will never forget his “Lady Rella.”

They seem too old and too deep to be casual companions,
but in such an adventure as this
one—ah, the Silent Service can go whistle. I will
think on my report on the voyage back,
surely in all that time I will find a way to tell them
as little as possible about the creatures.

On a more practical note, I do not know how long
I can make them hold the ship for Lanen.

As long as their fear of the Dragons lasts, I
suspect. If all else fails I will go back to the island
myself tomorrow morning—the Master of
the ship was willing to wait that long—but I hope
she will somehow come to us. Despite
all, I have seen enough of that island for one lifetime,
and if I
never step again on its shores I will die happy.

Shikrar

I bespoke Kédra, telling him of my soulfriend’s
death as gently as I could. The calm after the
song held me still, my mindvoice was
steady enough. He replied soon afterwards, saying that
Rella had come to him again,
wondering if Lanen was coming to take ship, and that the
Master was
anxious to be gone.

I decided such a thing could wait until all was
done that must be done.

Lanen

The song was finished. I was not at peace—I did
not believe that I would ever be at peace
again—but at least I could move and
act.

I knelt to Idai and Shikrar, in thanks, in
friendship. They stood silent until I rose, then bowed
to me as one. We stood together
unmoving, unspeaking, in shared grief that went beyond
tears, beyond words to the silence of
souls.

Until, finally, there came a moment when we
stirred, when life made its demands heard once
again. I looked about me.

“Is there anything yet to be done?” I
asked. “What are the customs of your people?”

“We have sung him to rest, there is only his
soulgem to bring forth, that it may join his
ancestors’ in the Chamber of the
Souls,” said Hadreshikrar. He was beginning to show signs
of weariness,
and it seemed to me that his wound pained him deeply. “I will do that
service
for
you, if you so desire.”