I breathe out slowly and place my hands atop his. My anchor to this world. And I close my eyes, listen as Mahra’s song fades, knowing even then that sometime, soon, I will have to join her.
It is my doom.
22
TAAR
Revived by the air of his own world, despite the corruption of thevardimnarwhich seethes in the atmosphere, Elydark makes tremendous speed across the landscape. He bypasses the Agandaur Fields, taking a longer route to avoid even a chance glimpse of Evisar, and I appreciate this unspoken decision. I don’t think I can bear the sight of my second great loss and ultimate ruination. Not yet. Possibly not ever. Even the joy of reclaiming my bride cannot assuage that pain.
We meet no one on our way. It is now long since the tribes of Licorna fled back across Cruor and split off to their own territories on the fringes of our world. The only thing which hinders our progress is the occasional fall of thevardimnar.It is still less frequent than usual, sometimes not falling for several days at a time, and I don’t know if this is a good sign or an indication that the Miphates are building up to something truly terrible withintheir stolen tower. Every time another bolt of darkness falls, I sit astride my licorneir, holding Ilsevel as she buries her face against my heart. And I close my eyes against the temptation to peer more deeply into hell.
But the temptation is there, whispering along with the virulium in my blood. Urging me to cast myself into the darkness, to become one with it.
“Give me to drink, Taarthalor,”it hisses and seethes.“I will give you vengeance against your enemies.”
You’ve promised me vengeance many times before,I respond, even knowing as I do how dangerous it is to interact with that voice.Your promises are nothing.
“This time will be different. This time, my strength in your soul will carry you through the ranks of your foes and give you the victory you crave.”
I know how hollowly that promise rings. And yet I want to believe it—I want to believe the way before me is so simple, so clear. A little sacrifice on my end, the damnation of my soul, seems a worthy price to pay for the salvation of my entire world.
So I bow my head, bury my nose in Ilsevel’s hair, and hold on to the remnants of my sanity. She and Elydark together create a powerful anchor. The song of my licorneir shimmers around us as a shield, and the love I bear for this woman envelops us in endless goldenvelra. I will not let myself be deceived. Not again, never again.
Thevardimnaralways lifts eventually, and wecontinue, day after day, moving at Elydark’s blistering pace across the desolate landscape.
Each night, when we stop for rest, Ilsevel and I cling to each other with increasingly frantic desire and need. One might think I would become sated on her . . . but no. The nearer we draw to my home, the nearer we draw to what I suspect will be the end of everything for both of us, the more desperately I crave her and her song of pleasure. I could listen to that song again and again, every night of my life, and never once cease to marvel at the sweetness of it. I hope the gods will grant me that grace, though I know even now it cannot be a long life before me.
At long last, we come within sight of the Morrona once more, and I bid Elydark halt. We stand still for a time, gazing out upon that river across to the land beyond thevardimnar’sreach. I can imagine from here that I see the rise on which Elanlein stands, just about convince myself that I perceive the glow of the ilsevel blossoms. But for the first time, that sight does not fill me with renewed hope and the joy of coming home. Dread squeezes my heart in a vicelike grip.
“I wish I could spare you whatever is coming,” I murmur close to my wife’s ear.
She nods, silent.
“If you will give me permission,” I continue, voicing an idea which has grown over the last several days, “I would like to take you to Tarhyn Tribe first. Sylcatha, as chieftain, will welcome you there, I know. You will have friends, a powerful ally,and—”
“Why are we wasting time with this discussion?”
I bite back my words with a rueful smile. It’s not as though I expected anything less from her. Slowly I ease out a breath from my lungs. “Ilsevel, you know the elders may call for my death.”
“Yes.” She nods once, her gaze fixed firmly ahead. “Then I will die with you.”
“They may call for my exile only. But they will surely demand your death.”
“Then you will fight them all and go down valiantly,” she replies. “And I will still be killed.”
I slip my arm around her waist, holding her close, breathing her in. My body trembles with the desire to protect her and the agonized knowledge that I cannot.
She wraps her hands around herself to grasp my arms. Her fingers tremble, but her grip is firm. “Is there no scenario you foresee that doesn’t end with our deaths?”
I shake my head. “But if you were to go to Sylcatha—”
“What if we both went to Sylcatha? What if you did not return to the Hidden City without friends at your back? What if, instead, you had the might of Tarhyn Tribe behind you?”
It’s an idea which has occurred to me more than once during this long trek. While I doubt Sylcatha holds me in high regard, she feels an intense loyalty to Ilsevel, hermaelar. She might be convinced . . . particularly at the prospect of laying claim to Elanlein and the ilsevel blossoms.
“I cannot return to the Hidden City with an invasion force,” I answer firmly. “They are my own people. My family. My home.”
“Damn,” Ilsevel whispers, as though releasing a last hope. But she doesn’t try to argue.
