I accept this with some lingering doubt. I saw the valley of blood-drained licorneir, after all, left behind by Shanaera and her people. While I would be surprised to learn the Licornyn folk harvested their beloved beasts’ blood, what do I really know about these people and their practices?
“Come now, get up,” Tassa orders brusquely and pulls several cushions out from under me until I all but topple to the floor. “You don’t want to face the Unformed Lands wearing that smelly old gown. For better or for worse, you are theluinar’sbride; you should look the part.”
At mention of the day’s coming trial, the heaviness of sleep vanishes from my limbs, replaced with a gnawing dread. I submit meekly to Tassa’s ministrations. She dresses me in a fresh garment, similar to the gown I’ve been wearing, the fabric pale lavender rather than blue, with various leather buckles and straps, and a split skirt to allow for easier riding.
Having dressed me to her satisfaction and pulled my hair back in a series of tight braids, Tassa proceeds to feed me a simple but filling breakfast. I force down each mouthful, my stomach knotted tight. It doesn’t seem to have fully struck home, what is meant to happen to me today. Taar’s story seemed part of some mythic world entirely unrelated to my own existence. I cannot picture these Unformed Lands of his, cannot conjure the first idea of what I am expected to do or be. So I concentrate on simple matters at hand. Chewing. Swallowing. Washing my hands and splashing my face in water provided.
It is only when this last task is accomplished that I realize what has been missing since I woke. Reaching out with my soul, I search for my connection to Diira, search for her song. But though I can feel it faintly, I cannot seem to reach her.
“Where is Diira?” I ask, turning to Tassa.
She doesn’t answer, merely presses a cup into my hands. “Drinkthis,” she says, and I mutely obey, raising the cup to my lips. I’m met with the sweet taste of ilsevel-purified water. The blessed goodness of it flows down my throat, comforting, warming, and invigorating by turns.
“Where is Diira?” I ask again as I hand the cup back to Tassa.
She looks pained, and I fear she will deflect me. At last, with a quick grimace, she admits, “Diira has been secured with chaeora ropes to keep her at bay. They will effectively suppress your . . . whatever bond the two of you share.”
I suddenly wish I had not let her talk me into eating, so sharply does my stomach revolt. “Why?” I demand through gritted teeth. My hands knot into fists.
“She will be released,” Tassa says in lieu of an answer. “As soon as—”
“As soon as I am well and truly lost in the Unformed Lands?”
Her gaze sharpens. “That is how the test works, human.”
I want to fight. Her, Kildorath, the elders. Anyone I can get my hands on. Even Taar, if I must. I want to fight and scream and protest and somehowmakethem let Diira go. Why should she be punished for bonding with me?
I let out a tight breath, meeting Tassa’s stubborn eye. “Do you truly believe I ensorcelled Diira and . . . and Taar?”
She looks uncertain. It might be the first time I’ve seen this woman appear anything other than completely confident and sure of herself. She considers my words, reluctant, perhaps, to offer any answer. “I did think so,” she admits at last. “Yes. But . . .” Her voice trails off, andshe shakes her head. “Now that I’ve seen Nyathri—Diira, that is—I don’t know what to think.” To my great surprise, her hard expression softens. “For Taar’s sake, I hope you are true. My brother has suffered a great deal. We all have, but he more than most. I want to see him happy . . . and, for whatever gods-forsaken reason, he’s taken it into his head to seek happiness with you.” She shrugs, rolling her eyes heavenward in subtle supplication. “I may never understand it. But I love my brother enough to hope for his best.”
She means it. At least I think she does. It doesn’t make her my friend or even my ally. But perhaps she isn’t my enemy. And perhaps that’s the most either of us can hope for under the circumstances
We have finished our preparations and are approaching thedakathdoor flap, when Tassa reminds me of the gag I am under orders to wear. I recoil in distaste, remembering that particular indignity too vividly. It was mostly useless as well, for I’d still been able to feel, not only Diira’s song, but also the songs of the other licorneir. With Diira now linked to my gods-gifted power, I suspect I could reach farther and accomplish a lot more than I ever dreamed in the days before coming to this world.
Nevertheless, I submit to the gag. Once it’s secure, Tassa leads the way from thedakathinto the curling mists of predawn. Halamar stands just outside. He nods in mute greeting, neither friendly nor hostile. Tassa ignores him completely—rather too completely to escape my notice—and sweeps out into the green space between thisdakathand the great Meeting House.
My human eyes cannot see much in the dim gloom of almost-sunrise, but I feel the songs of licorneir with clarity enough to pick out Elydark from their midst. Taar sits astride him, the pull of ourvelraas powerful as ever between us. Kildorath is present on his golden licorneir, along with a host of riders. I’m taken aback at the numbers; I’d been under the impression licorneir bonds were rare these days. But as I peer around me, reaching out with my gods-gift, I realize how many of these riders are mounted on ordinary horses. Strange to see the proud Licornyn astride anything other than their beloved licorneir.
A hunched, owlish little figure, seated on a jug-headed mount with wild blue eyes, urges her mount forward and looks down at me from under heavily wrinkled folds of skin. Elder Halaema. We have met before, under similarly unpleasant circumstances. I like her no better now than I did then and make no attempt to disguise the dislike in my face.
She studies me for some moments, wordlessly. Does she expect me to genuflect? I won’t—I’ve had enough humiliation as it is, wearing a muzzle like a rabid dog. Standing my ground, I meet her hard gaze, unwilling even to blink.
Halaema sniffs at last and jerks her head in silent command. Two figures appear from the gloom. They take me by the elbows, and I cannot help a little squeak of surprise, muffled against the rag in my mouth. I am brought to a horse—not a licorneir, just a regular flea-bitten gray—and made to mount. Once in the saddle,I cast about for Taar and manage to catch a glimpse of him on the far side of this large company. He doesn’t look as rested as I hoped, and the song singing along ourvelrais weary. I try to sing some encouragement to him—but my heart’s song is abruptly cut off by Kildorath’s sharp voice, crying out orders in Licornyn tongue.
The next moment, the whole company surges into motion. A broad Licornyn man stands at the head of my mount, firmly leading it by the bridle. It lurches into a dispirited amble, keeping pace with the licorneir on either side. Though I twist in the saddle, trying to catch another glimpse of Taar, he is lost in the crowd.
6
TAAR
I am no better than a prisoner, riding at the back of the long procession under close watch by Keizana and Thuridar, two longtime battle companions. They will not meet my eye, but keep their heads high and their gazes fixed straight ahead. Both look grim and strained, and in Keizana’s face, I glimpse real fear.
What we are doing is no small thing. No one ventures into the Unformed Lands willingly. It takes many years of concentrated soulfire and song from the licorneir for new stretches of habitable world to reveal itself.Such a song and such a fire which has not been seen in Licorna since the time of the Rift and the devastation of our population.
I’ve often wondered what would have happened to the remnants of Licorna had our world been larger. The scattered tribes of the hinterlands, all on the outermost edges of this reality, are afraid toleave, to venture deeper into the Unformed Lands in search of a new life. That fear, coupled with their dependence on Elanlein—the last known source of the ilsevel blossoms necessary to sustain the licorneir in this world—keeps them bound to one another, despite the isolation of the individual tribes. Would the proud chieftains have submitted to my rule otherwise? Sworn allegiance to the callow youth that I was? I have labored over time to earn their respect, proving myself a worthy warlord and adversary to our mutual enemy, the Miphates. How swiftly will that respect disintegrate to dust should Ilsevel succeed in this trial? I struggle to imagine the chieftains accepting her, no matter what the ordeal proves. Will they foreswear their oaths of loyalty to me, deeming me the first oath-breaker for having dared bring a human into sacred land?
There’s also the lingering fear in the back of my mind: the fear that Ilsevel will not succeed. I know what will happen. If Diira refuses to enter the Unformed Lands, I myself will venture in after her. Surely thevelrawill lead me to her eventually. Whatever is left of her. And perhaps my bond to Elydark will prove strong enough, and he will carry us both back into Licorna. But what then?
