Tajik remained still for a long moment, absorbing Marissya’s words. Then, with a final dark look for Gaelen, he sheathed his blade and stepped back. Around him, his men followed suit.
“Gaelen vel Serranis,” he said, “the gods have shown you more mercy than you deserve. No matter how it grieves me to grant you passage into the Fading Lands, I will not stand in your way.” His face hardened to a cold, stony mask. “But be warned: You chose the Shadowed Path before. You won’t have that choice again. If you break our laws this time, I will personally escort you into your next life.” His thumb caressed the scarlet hilt of his sheathed Fey’cha.
Gaelen rose to his feet. For once, there was no hint of his habitual, cocky assurance, only sober acknowledgment. “Accepted, Fey.”
Tajik’s cold eyes swept over Gaelen from head to toe, taking his measure. When he was finished, he grunted and turned to Bel. “Who is this Feyreisa that she should restore adahl’reisen’s soul?”
Bel smiled. “Don’t be so suspicious. She is bright and shining like nothing you’ve ever seen before. And she is a Tairen Soul.”
“I don’t like it,” Tajik muttered.
“You don’t like any change, my old friend.”
Tajik grunted again. “Not all change is good. No matter how appealing it may seem at first glance.” On a private Spirit weave, he added,«And I’m not the only one who feels that way. Rumors have been flying since we received word that vel Serraniswas returning with you. The Massan gathered in Dharsa this morning.»
Bel’s brows shot up.«Without Marissya or Rain?»The Massan, the council of five powerful Fey statesmen who oversaw the domestic governance of the Fading Lands, did not convene without theShei’dalinand the Feyreisen except in times of extreme need. For them to convene now—knowing Rain was on his way—was akin to declaring a lack of confidence in the Tairen Soul’s leadership.
«Aiyah, without them. So you see, I am not the only one to fear this change.»The faintest hint of warmth softened Tajik’s stern face. “Bel, you and I are cradle friends. I trust you as I trust no other. Tell me you have no concerns—tell me there is nothing to fear—and I will believe you.”
Bel had been anticipating such questions. He knew his old friend Tajik too well. The problem was that Ellysetta bore two Mage Marks. To claim no concern would be a lie, and no Fey worthy of his steel would ever lie—but neither was Bel willing to cement Tajik’s doubts and fears by refusing to answer.
“Tajik, my brother, I will not give you a truth you will be able to judge for yourself when you meet her,” he replied. The evasion was smooth and perfectly reasonable. “One look upon her face and you will know as I do—without a single doubt—that she is everything all Fey warriors have sworn to protect. You cannot help but love her.”
The general of the eastern Fey army drew in a breath, then let it out with a nod of acceptance. “Bas’ka, Belliard. As you say, so shall it be. Where is this paragon of all things bright and good?”
Bel clapped his friend on the shoulder. “Rain brought up the rear, and she is with him.”
Tajik grunted. “So we wait.”
“Aiyah.”Bel saw Marissya break from Dax’s side and hurry towards the Mists as one of the Fey emerging took three steps and fell to his knees. Now the hard part began: the waiting. For each,the journey through the Mists was different, and the passage could last anywhere from several chimes to several bells. Those on the Fading Lands side of the Garreval could only sit and wait as their brethren navigated whatever tests the shifting clouds held in store for them.
Marissya healed those whom the Mists had treated unkindly, while Bel and Gaelen walked the wall, waiting with mounting concern for Rain and Ellysetta to appear. Chimes turned to bells. The Great Sun began its descent towards the western horizon. When the last of the Fey warriors finally cleared the Mists and staggered towards the gates, Gaelen and Bel exchanged openly worried glances. The skies above the pass were clear.
Rain and Ellysetta were nowhere in sight.
Within the Mists, surrounded by a thick cloud of whiteness, Ellysetta had lost all sense of direction, all vision, all touch. She could not see even a finger’s span into the dense, suffocating whiteness. She could not feel the saddle beneath her or the tufts of tairen fur clutched in her hands. Fear exploded in her belly, robbing her lungs of breath.«Rain!»
«I am here, Ellysetta. I am with you.»
«I can’t see you! I can’t feel you!»
«Peace, Ellysetta. The Mists were made to confuse and isolate those who dare enter. You cannot detect me with your senses, but you can feel me through our bond. Talk to me. It makes the passing less frightening.»
She couldn’t imagine talking would make this better. A coldness had begun to creep over her. The white mist seemed to be growing darker, and she began to hear voices: whispers at first, a soft rumble of disquiet that grew louder as they flew. She couldn’t make out what the voices were saying, but the sounds carried an undercurrent of tension, like the muffled tones of an argument heard through thick walls.
«Rain, do you hear that?»
«Hear what, Ellysetta?»
«The voices. People talking.»
He was silent for a moment.«The Fey are with us in the Mists. Could they be the ones you hear?»
She strained her ears, trying to discern where the voices were coming from. They sounded so near, yet she couldn’t pinpoint a source. The sound seemed to come from every direction, all at once.«I don’t think so,»she said. Her heart beat a little faster.«Whoever it is sounds angry.»
The mists grew darker still, deepening to a thick morass of shadow in which the agitated murmur of voices became a sharp exchange. She could make out a smattering of words, all spoken in Feyan.
Shei’dalin...Mage claimed...Nei!...tainted... bright... unwelcome... truemate... murderer... enemy!
