“I thought the Between Gate you used to pass this way before was compromised?” I say as we make our way along a dirt rode toward a strand of trees.
“It was,” Taar replies. “It broke down long ago, probably after the last time we used it. But there will still be a thin place where it once stood. I hope Elydark and I may summon enough strength to open the way to Wanfriel.” I feel his shoulders move in a rueful shrug. “It won’t be particularly safe. Elydark and I are too depleted to offer our best work. With luck it will remain open for a minute. Maybe less.” He breathes out a short huff of air. “We’ll have to be quick.”
I shudder.
In short order, Taar discerns the thin place in the air where the gate once stood. Now that my gods-gift is so much more awake than it was, I can just about sense it myself, might have even been able to find it without Taar and Elydark’s assistance.
“You’ll need to dismount,” Taar tells me. “Elydark will have to enflame, and I don’t want you singed. If we can get the way opened, I will give you a signal. Then you need to act fast—no hesitation, do you understand? Once I give the word, you go through first. We will follow directly behind.”
My experience with world-traveling has not inspired any eagerness to experience it again. But I nod and let Taar help me down to the ground, then back away several paces, enough spaceto stay beyond the radius of Elydark’s soulfire. Taar begins to sing. Immediately I recognize how weak the song is, but almost as quickly hear the power and support Elydark’s song offers in response. The licorneir ignites, just as Taar warned, fire spreading over his red haunches in rippling sheets of heat and power. Has he been holding this in reserve, just for this moment?
I brace myself on the balls of my feet, watching the empty space in the air, that slight shimmer of reality, which my husband’s song seems to manipulate. I try not to wonder what will happen if they cannot open it now, try not to worry whether or not Elydark will survive to make another attempt. I can feel how the mortal air sucks away his magic, lapping it up like water on desert soil while offering nothing in return. Taar is strained as well, though the human blood in his body is better adapted to this atmosphere. He might be able to survive in the mortal world, at least a normal span of human years. But he will suffer greatly without Elydark; I would not wish the hearttorn state on my worst enemy.
Their song is strange—something about it doesn’t feel right. But I know I cannot join in. This isn’t like when they sang for my healing; in that instance, I could hear where my harmony belonged and would bring wholeness. Now, if a third voice were to be added, it would throw off the delicate balance which exists between Taar and his licorneir. Their bond is so unlike anything else in all the worlds. A bond I once knew, for however brief a time.
Something in my chest tightens, a firm resolve. I’ve never feltit before, this certainty of purpose. I’ve always wondered what it would be like to move through lifeknowingwhat one was called to do and accomplish. My existence has always been prey to the whims of others and their plans for me. But now . . .
Now I know. I know suddenly, as though the gods themselves reached down and smacked me up the back of the head with the understanding. I am meant to protect the people of Licorna. I am meant to prevent the vanishing of this unique Licornyn culture, this harmony of souls. That is what I will do, though they hate and despise my very existence, I will plant myself between them and utter extinction if I must. I don’t know how—but I know the gods gave me my gift for a reason. Forthisreason.
Whether or not I’m up to the task remains to be seen.
A channel of fire moves from Taar’s soul into Elydark. I cannot see it with my mortal eyes, but my gods-gifted perception is clearer than sight. Elydark receives what Taar gives, bows his head, and that fire pours out from his horn, striking that thin place in the air. I watch as reality parts, strand upon strand, slowly at first, as though reluctant, then more swiftly. I feel the enormity of many worlds and many ways, but Elydark’s fire cuts through them all, carving a path to his desired destination. It is treacherous—even I can feel the instability. But the gate is open.
“Ilsevel!” Taar shouts. “Now!”
No hesitation.
Gods spare me.
I throw myself forward, all the pent-up energy in my legs propelling me straight at that narrow gap. The next instant I’m plunging through, my being pulled apart into a million-billion particles of dust, strung together by the thinnest threads of selfhood, spread across a thousand galaxies. It's over before my consciousness is fully aware it’s begun, however, and I tumble, embodied once more, out into the green-shaded stillness of Wanfriel.
For a moment, I am alone. Lying on my back, staring up at interlacing leaves, like a delicate veil overhead. With a gasp and a stab of pain, my lungs remember to breathe, and I sit upright, choking on the magic-dense air. It takes a few breaths for my lungs to adapt. Then I vomit, emptying my poor, stupid, mortal stomach of all its contents.
Shuddering and wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, I turn at last to the shimmering gate of fire behind me. Still no sign of my husband or his beast. “Come on,” I whisper. “Come on . . .” The last thing I need is to be left alone in this terrifying Wood Between Worlds.
Just as the edges of the gate begin to break down, Elydark prances through, as shining and confident as though world-traveling were an everyday occurrence for him. Taar, clinging to his back, looks a little worse for wear, though he does not disgrace himself with heaving like his sorry excuse for a wife. The instant they step into the wood, the gate snaps shut behind them, so violently, I can’t help but wonder if it would have severed them inhalf were they even an instant slower.
Taar looks wildly about for me. When his eyes land on my shuddering frame, he springs from the saddle and hastens over to drop to the ground at my side. “Are you all right, Ilsevel?”
“Watch where you put your knees,” I answer glumly. “Don’t want you kneeling in my sick.”
He grimaces, but helps me to my unsteady feet. I am, as it turns out, all in one functional piece. Winded, empty, and frightfully embarrassed at the disgusting evidence of my mortality. But whole. Taar already looks much better for breathing magic-infused air once more, and Elydark positively shines with renewed inner light. The influence is not wholly lost on me either. Perhaps due to the strengthening of my gods-gift, I find the atmosphere unexpectedly reviving.
Taar leaves me to wrap an arm affectionately around Elydark’s neck. “Thank you, my friend,” he says, leaning his forehead into the beast’s cheek. “That was well done!”
I try to suppress the dart of pain I feel, witnessing their bond. That hollow ache for Diira threatens to open wide and pull me down into it. Instead I focus on that sense of purpose I’d experienced on the other side of the Between Gate, that belief that I am meant to protect what Taar and Elydark have, what all the Licornyn riders share with their mounts. Even if I myself no longer possess such a bond.
Turning away from the two of them, I look out into Wanfriel.The forest extends around me on all sides, leading into reaches unimaginable, gateways to other worlds. Aurae is out there. Somewhere. Beyond my reach. But alive. Gods be praised, she’salive.
“Forgive me,” I whisper, sending my voice out like a prayer into that vastness. “Forgive whatever impulse that made me write that letter. Forgive my stubbornness and stupidity. And forgive me for not being the one who can make it right for you, sweet sister.”
Is it possible to atone for sins such as these? Can any small action on my part make a difference against the evil I myself brought about? Not just Aurae’s capture, but the deaths of all those priests. I feel weighted down by the enormity of it all.
“It is dangerous for mortals to stare too long into the deeps of Wanfriel.” Taar’s voice speaks close to my ear, starling me. I turn to him, blinking hard to drive back tears. He sees them, however, and his brow knots with concern. “Ilsevel?”
I shake my head quickly, unable to grapple with guilt just now. Not when there is so much that needs doing. I won’t let others suffer while I wallow in what I cannot change. I will take action: purposeful, considered action, with an eye to the consequences for once.
Perhaps I am growing up at last.
