I stagger, nearly lose my grip on Ilsevel. Halamar glides in closer, his movements careful, measured. “There,luinar,that’s right,” he murmurs as though to a wild dog. “Give her to me. That’s right.”
Slowly he takes my burden into his arms. The moment she is gone I feel as though a ton of bricks falls on my shoulders. I collapse to my knees, breathing hard, scarcely able to lift my head. Kildorath and his licorneir draw near, silently observing, but Halamar does not acknowledge them. He stands before me, his gaze downturned to Ilsevel’s face. His own expression, so stoic and stern until this moment, breaks with sudden emotion.
“Velrhoar,” he says, whispering the word like a pronouncement of doom. “Hearttorn.”
25
ILSEVEL
The song all around me is broken.
I’d never realized how much I depended on the ever-presence of harmonies in my life, in my very existence. Yes, there were always discords and dissonance to cause discomfort, even pain. But at the foundation of everything was the goodness, the rightness of pure song, which might, if understood correctly, draw all other threads together in beautiful congruence, making meaning out of madness, order out of chaos.
That harmony is gone. Severed.
I fall and fall into a space of hellish brokenness, where the clamor of loss reverberates to the depths of my being. This is worse by far than when I had burned. That was a torment of the body, and at the end of it there would be death. There is no hope for death here. I believe this broken song will follow me, pursue mefrom world to world, from realm to realm, rendering heaven itself a new and terrible hell.
I curl my soul tighter, desperately clinging to a last little thread of connection.Diira,I cry, attempting to sing my licorneir’s name. Over and over again I try, but it seems to fray and melt away.Diira! Diira, please . . . please . . .
There is no guilt. There is no anger. There is no bargaining or brutal rage. There is only loss, loss, loss without end. Stretching from here to eternity.
Somewhere far away—so far as to feel like a different world—I hear another broken song calling out to mine. A song I’ve heard before, great and powerful and all-consuming. Drawing other broken songs to it in a united chorus of madness. I’ve heard it before and trembled, but never with understanding.
My tightly-wound spirit uncoils. I lift up my awareness, casting the eyes of my spirit out beyond this physical realm, out over the wilds of Cruor. Out to where that other soul stands in the fiery torments of its own ever-present loss.
Mahra,I sing in broken, repulsive chords.Mahra . . . I hear you.
A voice of volcanic sorrow sings back:And I hear you, broken one. At last we hear one another clearly.
I don’t know what to make of that song. Part of me wonders if I should rise up even now, take some control over my weak, mortal body, and go out after it. I try to open my eyes. A vague impression of adakathinterior surrounds me, and a body hovering close overmine, whispering prayers in a rough, anguished voice. But I have no patience for that anguish, which seems to me far too small, too lacking in real depth.
I close my eyes, slip deeper into the dissonance of my mind.
Diira,I sing.Mahra.
But there is no answer.
I am alone. Utterly alone.
26
TAAR
They keep me in isolation as I continue to come down from the virulium.
Every now and then the violence surges up within me once more, and I’m not safe. My people take it in shifts to sit with me, but I am only vaguely aware of their presence. Lathaira is there sometimes. Kildorath. Alluirnath, Keizana, Thuridar. Never Halamar or Sylcatha; they are Ilsevel’s guardians, trading watches at her bedside. I bless Nornala for them each time I remember.
I hold tight to thevelracord. It is still alive, but it no longer glows. That brightness and beauty we have shared all this while, even when we sought to resist it . . . something has compromised it now. It’s trembling, volatile, no longer sure. And the shining golden quality is gone.
I hold on even so, a lifeline to pull me back from the darkness which still seeks to swallow me. I know the virulium will notfully claim my soul this time. It hits me hard after such a long abstinence, but it’s not built-up in my veins like it was back in the day. Still I don’t come back as clearly and cleanly as I did when Ilsevel sang me out of the darkness. How I long for her voice! For her touch, for a mere glimpse of her face. But she is suffering, and I must find a way to make myself stronger, better, and whole, so that I can be what she needs right now.
At long, long last, I open my eyes—and there is no dark film covering my vision. I’m shrouded in the familiar, gloomy half-light of adakathinterior. The familiar scent of cured hides andkhiirwool fills my nostrils. Judging by the glow making its way through gaps in the wall stitching, it is late in the day. How long have I been unconscious?
Ilsevel.
A bolt of lightning seems to streak through thevelraand enter my heart. I gasp at the pain and sit upright on my low pallet bed. A broad figure moves in my peripheral vision, and I turn sharply, prepared for battle.
It’s Lathaira.
