So, despite the uncertainty of all that awaits at the end of this ride, despite the constant peril of thevardimnarwhich lurks on the edge of awareness, I laugh into the wind, my hair blowing behind me, my soul triumphing in the song and the connection and the joy of a heart which has found its place in the worlds. Surely no darkness can reach me here.
No sooner does that thought pass through my head when, as though conjured in response, a long, low note of song ripples along the wind and wraps around my awareness. Even with Diira’s song in my heart and wind rushing in my ears, I hear it. Acute as a knife to the heart, it stabs through my mind—a song of black fire, burning too hot for this world.
Diira hears it too. I feel the shock shoot through her soul. She pulls up abruptly. It is as though the furnace inside her is suddenly doused, and she turns her head, gazing off to the north where mountains cut a jagged line across the hazy edge of the world. My eyes follow the trajectory of her gaze, even as my soul reaches out after the echoes of that singular note.
It comes again. A song of such aching loss and loneliness. Pure in its way, without other emotions to complicate or diminish the intensity of what is felt. Other voices simmer beneath that one,singular tone—a whole chorus of souls joined in unity with this greater spirit—but I am only vaguely aware of them. Her voice is the only one that matters.
Her.
Mahra . . .
I cannot see her from this distance. But something tells me Diira can. There’s an intensity of focus in my unicorn’s eye. The cold wind blows harshly against her, tossing her mane in a wild snarl, but she does not blink or budge. With an effort, I pull my awareness away from that distant song and focus on my own song instead, the one shared with Diira. Her inner voice, twined with mine, continues to sing, but she is drawn to that sorrowful longing, to that lost and distant chorus. To her hearttorn brothers, sisters, and mother, whose pain she shared but a short while ago.
Leaning forward, I place my hand on Diira’s neck, bury my face in her mane. “No, my love,” I murmur, a trace of music in my voice. “Don’t listen to her. Not now. Hear my song instead.”
Closing my eyes, I lean into the song we share, the bond we formed over my burnt and suffering body. The two of us—lost souls who came home to one another just when the darkness seemed ready to swallow us whole. We saved each other then; we can do so again.
I am here,I sing to her, channeling the force of my gods-gift through my spirit.I am here. You are no longer alone. We are no longer alone.
Diira startles as though pulled abruptly from a trance. Her voiceshivers in my mind, wordless but full of gratitude and warmth. She turns her head away from that distant place, and a sense of calm radiates through her, through me. I’ve drawn her back from the brink, and somehow I know she will not be so easily tempted away from me next time. Our bond will deepen. Perhaps one day neither of us will hear Mahra’s siren call anymore.
I’m breathing hard, whether from the exertion of the ride or hearing that lonely song I cannot say. Turning in my saddle, I look back to see Taar and Elydark bearing down upon us. Thevelrashining between me and my husband flares brilliantly, and I smile at the sight of it. Then I notice the fury masking Taar’s face.
Elydark pulls up sharply alongside Diira, half-rearing. “What were you thinking?” Taar barks as his unicorn’s forehooves hit the ground hard beneath him. “What were you thinking, riding away from me like that? Have you no idea even now how much danger you put yourself in?”
I quirk an eyebrow, unimpressed. “You forget, warlord. I rode this way alone with Diira only yesterday. Chasing downyoursorry hide to rescue you from certain doom.” I lean in my saddle, looking him straight in the eye. “I’m not some helpless damsel in distress anymore. Can you accept that?”
A series of expressions pass behind his eyes, one after the other. I can’t tell what he wants more: to kiss or to throttle me. Possibly a little of both. With a muttered curse, he tears his gaze from me and gazes out in the same direction from which Mahra’s voice hadsung. His nostrils flare, and his jaw hardens. Finally he looks at me again. “Cruor is too treacherous for anyone to navigate alone. Especially someone who knows its ways so little as you do.”
“I know.” I roll my eyes and toss him a saucy grin. “That’s why I pulled up to wait for you.”
He studies me grimly, his breath uneven through his flared nostrils. He knows I’m not telling him the whole truth. Our connection may be new, but it is true. And I begin to realize how difficult it will be to keep things from him.
Suddenly uncomfortable holding his gaze, I look down at my hands, the grin slipping from my lips. “I’m sorry,” I say. “I was . . . carried away. I’m still new to this after all. To all of it! You and Diira, this world. It’s like . . .” I hesitate, worrying my lower lip as I try to put words to a feeling, to a song thrilling in my veins. “It’s like I’ve lived all my life not even knowing how to breathe, only to suddenly find my lungs filled with air.” I tilt my head back, closing my eyes, and let a long exhale out through my nostrils as I hold my arms out wide. “It’s so wonderful! And terrible and beautiful.”
Taar is silent. When I make myself look at him again, the fury is gone from his face, replaced by a softer expression. He looks as though he doesn’t know what to say, as though every word he tries out in his mind is not the right one. “Ilsevel,” he says at last, leaning toward me.
Before another word can leave his lips, the sky overhead cracks open suddenly into a thousand dark crevices. A sense of breaking,of the world coming apart at the seams, there and gone in the blink of an eye.
My heart jolts. All breathtaking independence forgotten, I drop my arms and grab hold of Diira’s mane. A jolt of terror passes through me, even as Diira’s voice appears in my head:Fear not, Vellara. I am here.
The two unicorns draw near to each other, nose to haunch. Uplifting their noble heads, they begin to sing. A white glow spreads from their souls, directed out through the sharp points of their horns. It arches over us, a sphere of protective light, just as the blackness ofvardimnarfalls.
How many times have I experienced this proximity to Ashtari, the seventh hell? Soon after my initial arrival in Cruor I encountered it for the first time and thought I knew then the depths of true dread. Never could I have imagined enduring it again and again, sheltered only by the thin barrier of song which the licorneir provide. Part of me had hoped that, now I’ve bonded with Diira, I would not find the advent ofvardimnarso overwhelming anymore. How naïve! Mortal souls are not meant to adapt to the presence of hell.
I huddle in the saddle, small and weak, my shoulders bowed, my spirit turned in on itself. Even with Diira’s song flowing through me, I feel the darkness just on the other side of her light, sending tendrils creeping through every defense. They catch hold of my mind, pull me back into those moments of pain when I lay trapped within my own burned husk, caged in an agony of life,unable to escape. I begin to wonder if I never did truly escape. If all that has happened since then—the return of Diira, our miraculous connection, rescuing Taar, even the wonderous night spent in my husband’s arms—if it was all nothing more than a dream, an illusion sent by Ashtari itself to torture me with a belief of safety, only to rip it away at last. And what is there to discover on the other side of the dream? Only the realization that I never can escape. That the pain will never be gone, and my scorched lungs will forever struggle to breathe, only to inhale greater darkness into my very being.
A hand touches mine.
It’s a simple gesture: a brush of fingers, a warm enclosing of callouses. But it’s enough to jolt me back into the present moment. I catch a breath, open my eyes, turn to Taar. His voice calls to me—how long has he been calling? The words blend together with Diira’s ongoing song, a rough harmony.
“Come back to me,zylnala,” he says.“Stay with me now.”
I gaze into his eyes, and see there a look of such entreaty, it could break my heart. For a moment, I seem to see myself through his eyes—the juxtaposition of me as I am now, my skin firm and smooth, overlayed with a second image. An image of scorched, raw, fire-blackened horror. I feel in him the desperation he experienced when he sought to heal me, to draw me back from the brink of death. He was willing to give up everything, even his own soul, for the mere chance of my salvation.
Suddenly my bold declarations of independence seem so foolish. I wish I could climb from my saddle and sit once more cradled in his arms, my head resting on his shoulder.
“How do you do it?” I ask, the words tremulous on my lips. “How do you endure this evil? How can you be so brave?”
