Authors: Vera Nazarian
And the great
aquamarine
waves crashed around him then, spilling like foam, like snowflakes of
blue
light against his eyelids, and with a shuddering breath, Elasirr was falling, drowning, emerging from the dream into truth and with it, at last, into oblivion.
S
he had taken the first watch, and stared for a long silent time into the dimming fire that crackled soothingly in the night silence, and burned low.
A few feet away, Elasand had fallen motionless before the fire, lying on his side with his face turned to the night. She knew when at last he had slept from the rhythm of his breathing.
And in the distant shadows below the tree she saw the equally still form of the blond man. He lay on his back, his long pale hair swept all around him like a crown of dim light, and his breathing was stiller than silence.
From where she sat, Ranhé could not tell if the one who was the assassin slept or simply chose to maintain silence.
She was growing tired, because this day had seemed to last twice as long as normal, and because of her strange surge of memories. It always wearied her, this resurfacing of the past.
The night deepened, and somewhere up ahead, a faint crescent arose in the silver silence.
Soon, she should waken one of them. Or maybe, there was no need. Why bother taking a watch when there was no hope now for any of them? If any assassins lurked, they would do Elasand a kindness by cutting his life short.
Depression set in like a stone within her lungs. She continued looking up, watching the half-moon, and for a moment it seemed to her that the quality of the moonglow began to change. . . .
Very gradually.
Barely noticeable. . . .
The crescent shone, drawing forth a deeper richness than yesterday’s moon, despite the fact that it was waning.
The richness coagulated, and blinking, she saw something different, unique in the quality of the luminescence, something vaguely alien and yet familiar.
She could’ve sworn there was a faint human profile in the crescent moon. She blinked, rubbed her eyes, but it refused to dissipate from her stubborn tired vision. And the quality of the light had grown to an abnormal intensity, burning at her, blazing forth in a sudden explosion of glow, deep, intense—
Yellow
.
The
face
in the crescent moon turned to her, and the sky all around transformed into an incredible field of
yellow
dots of brightness. Then, even more incredibly, sky and moon and stars seemed to rush with a dizzying speed down upon her head, so that Ranhé cringed involuntarily, and felt herself slipping backwards, sinking weightlessly, swooning against the cold grass floor of the forest.
The wave of dizziness refused to go away. She lay, holding on to the earth below her. And suddenly, the
face
of the moon took on a distinct form, and was attached to a human body.
He
was limber and graceful, the
man-in-the-moon
, and
he
bounded down from the sky like a trickster, to stand before her.
He
had a radiant exuberant face crowned by a flowing mane of
golden
hair that stood up on its ends and extended into the sky of
saffron
, blending. . . .
She thought there was a chorus of
topaz
wind that sounded like reed pipes, and it had grown so bright that this could not possibly be true night any longer, but a dream.
Who are you?
she whispered, lying on her back, watching the smiling glorious
man
who stood up above her, with hair wilder than sunlight. The vaporous
dandelion
filaments of
his
hair stirred like winds in all directions and swept the night away from the heaven.
Must you ask?
said the
yellow
god, the radiant Tilirreh who was indeed
Dersenne
. Sun and marigolds danced in
his
eyes, and
he
leaned forward then, obscuring her vision of all else.
Oh . . . I know you now!
uttered Ranhé, breath catching in her throat, and the sense of vertigo having grown stronger. For
he
was now right above her,
his
face floating above her head like a disembodied sun,
his
miraculous eyes inches and yet universes away—deep, soft, gentle.
She wanted to drown beneath that face, sink so low into the earth that stalks of flax would grow forth and rise through her no longer human body upward, toward
him
, toward the
ocher
radiant cupola of sky.
I am here, for you brought me here
, sounded the voice of the Tilirreh, sweet as honey flowing in the sun, like drops of ancient amber.
I called you?
whispered Ranhé.
But—I only called upon the lady of violet. Not for myself. For my Lord Elasand
.
For him and not for yourself?
The face above her smiled, and she could almost feel
his
breath upon her cheek, like the summer wind flowing over a field of ripe wheat.
I wanted him—fulfilled at last
, she replied with wonder, half-conscious of her own words, for his sweet
gilded
lips were so nearby, distracting her, taking her away from all meaning.
You!
said the
yellow being
of Sacrament.
It is you who has the need. Your fulfillment is merely on the other side of the sacramental candle, and you need only reach out to receive it!
But what of my lord, who hungers for his immortal love?
uttered Ranhé.
What of the City that awaits our return without even being aware of our leaving, and whose hope we seek to bear with us home?
But the
golden
one looked at her with utter softness, and again she heard
his
words, this time louder than the wind, and grand like the sky.
Be fulfilled! Come to me, come closer, and touch the Rainbow! Only you!
And with that, the face obscured all her vision, and she felt a soft and then infinite pressure upon her lips, a kiss that drew forth her breath, as she rose up to receive it and drown at the same time.
And as she sank into pure liquid
gold
of the dream enveloping her, she saw the two eyes gaze deep within her own, fathoming her soul, and quickening her spirit with inspiration.
Thus,
Dersenne
gave of himself the tiniest invisible splinter, and she would have it with her now, to take with her, to bear.
Its name was hope.
CHAPTER 15
T
hey left the Shrine of Light just as the dawning sun lit up the treetops, riding back to the City.
There had been the strangest rich silence between them since the moment of awakening. And then, as they moved through the thicket of branches, retracing their steps, Elasand said, “Our quest has not been in vain. I dreamt of
Laelith
and she showed me what it is that lies before us.”
“
I, too, dreamt of Tilirr,” responded Elasirr, looking straight ahead as he rode. “And I was shown the face of the Enemy.”
Ranhé remained silent for some moments after that. Ever since her eyes had opened this morning, there was a new brilliance she saw in all things, an edge to the light. The sun made her squint from a more than customary intensity, as though she could see something in it, a reflection of a
face
.
And then she dared to say it.
“
I dreamt,” she began, “also.”
And then, again, there was only silence between them.
No need for words.
All around, the forest seethed with noisy fierce life.
A
t the end of the second day of self-absorbed perfect silence, they had come out of the forest and upon the outskirts of Tronaelend-Lis.
It was late evening, and the shadows were lengthening upon the wide gravel road. The City would be just ahead, another half hour through the flatlands, and soon they would view its familiar grouping of spires and structural forms from beyond the great walls.
Something was amiss.
Ranhé saw it immediately, and she pointed it out to the other two—the strange beaten-in patterns on the road, ever since they’d come upon the main City road that merged with another one from the east.
There were tracks in the gravel, at times so heavy that it had pressed into the underlying muddy earth, and clumps of hard mud were turned up often, destroying the clean surface.
Tracks of hundreds of beasts, great and heavy beyond belief, judging by their diameter. Tracks of wheels wider than two put together of the greatest load-cart this City had known. Imprints of numerous feet made by heavy metallic soles.
An army had passed here.
Elasirr stared thoughtfully at the ground as they rode, slowing down their pace. At times, he dismounted, and walked alongside, leading his great stallion, and at times he crouched before something particular he wanted to see up close. Once, he paused to compare a track made by his own mount’s hoofprint to a greater one in the road. It turned out that most of the beasts’ hoofprints were at least one half greater than the black stallion’s own. Ranhé did not want to imagine what manner of animal could make such tracks, for Elasirr’s stallion was one of the biggest she had ever seen.
“
How many?” asked Elasand grimly.
“
I’d say, seven thousand cavalry, two or three thousand on foot, the rest made up of army gear, and possibly a number of war machines manned by several hundred. Altogether, about ten thousand.” Elasirr’s expression was ice, and his dark brows drawn. He mounted and once again they rode.
“
Gods help us,” whispered Elasand. “It’s beginning, then.”
“
It has long since begun, Elasand-re. Open your eyes!” hissed Elasirr, and urged his mount into a faster pace.
They galloped then, hooves barely touching the ground, and the wind sang a wild litany, while the sunset gathered.
Ranhé, lying forward, close against her horse’s neck, saw the flying shapes of lonely trees go past them along the road, while the flatland blurred all around.
They saw it all at once, the blackness.
The pale City walls of stone stood out in sharp contrast against the ebony formations, like a ring of black, a dark serpent coiled about the City in a siege.
And yet, it was not a siege, for the Southern Gates, closest to them, stood gaping, wide open.
Apparently, the City had long since fallen to the enemy.
“
Damn Hestiam to the skies!” exclaimed the Guildmaster of Bilhaar, reigning in his mount sharply. “He could not resist even one day, but immediately opened wide like a whore to them!”
“
Hold your judgment,” said Elasand through his teeth. “We don’t know what came to pass here.”
“
We don’t need to know. We’ve been absent for five days only. If memory serves me, the Grelias fool was willing to wait for your return, Vaeste. He trusted you.”
“
Look!” said Ranhé meanwhile. “Quickly, now, what should we do? This is impossible, but they have spotted us!”
Indeed, although they had paused hundreds of feet away from the gates, and should have been quite beyond the enemy’s sight, a detachment of black-clad soldiers came to separate from the seething dark mass of war that was before them, and headed toward them. The dark warriors were mounted on quadruped beasts that were not horse but some other thing, elephantine and yet reptilian in some form, for the beasts were scaled. Sunset shone dimly against the planes of their backs, but shone not at all from the armor of those who rode them.
And then the reason for the impossibility was revealed. On both sides of the road, dark vaguely human shapes were rising. They emerged from burrowed ditches cleverly hidden by the tall field grass, and by their stirring they were a signal to those at the gates.
“
Halt!” whispered Elasirr, glancing quickly at his companions. “Make no move. Remember what happened to our soldiers at the Inner Gates of the Palace, when Vorn came to us? It’s said they tried to resist him, but were somehow
struck down
with a power of the mind. We cannot risk that now. We know nothing of them as yet, nothing of what they can really do.”
“
We can turn back and ride like hell?” offered Ranhé, her blood quickening, the rational mercenary in her coming awake.
“
No, too late. For they will pursue, and those great-legged beasts would catch us,” said the Lord Vaeste. “We must go only forward, or wait. There is no choice.”
And they sat the horses in a semblance of calm, waiting for the detachment of black to arrive, while the dark road sentries remained motionless in their places, with weapons drawn menacingly but making no move toward them.
In moments the enemy detachment arrived.
There was one that must have been their captain, for he rode before his men, and his helmet was distinguished by a taller horned crest. His beast trod softly and yet with surprising speed, like a scaled lion. And up close, it towered over the horses, having an added height of about two feet. From this height the captain looked down, disguised by his visor, and his voice came hollow and deep, with an alien tone and accent.