A hush falls over the city green. Even the warring licorneir dull their flames, turn their heads, gaze out into the darkness beyond thedakaths.
Something is coming.
Something huge.
Something dreadful and yet . . .
I feel the hopeful tension of the sun itself just about to burst from beyond the horizon.
29
ILSEVEL
I feel every one of the wild licorneir, each individual, pulsing song. Linked through Mahra, then through me, this symphony of shining souls. And I find my own capacity for love growing with every beat of my heart, as I learn their singular voices, their unique patterns and harmonies.
It is an . . . enormous feeling, this sudden expansion of self while still contained within these mortal trappings. I could not have survived it without having first lived through the experience of beingunformed, of learning that my capacity for existence is far greater than what I have hitherto known in the confines of time and space and matter.
Even so it is difficult. I find my reason and awareness twisting here and there in an effort to comprehend what cannot be comprehensible. In the end I simply give in, let the vastness ofMahra’s heart, enlarged over epochs, to bear me in its swells. Teaching me to love her children and their children and their children’s children, as I would love my own. There is such lifegiving force in this song. Pure power, divinely channeled.
How foolish I was, to believe my gift was nothing more than the ability to carry a tune or play an instrument! Instead, I find I am a vessel—a means of communicating ideas and energies too vast for mortal understanding into the mortal plain. But I had to grow into the knowledge, the realization, otherwise, it would have killed me.
And it almost did.
I frown as I cling to Mahra’s back, flying with her across the Cruor landscape. Memory prickles on the edge of my mind: memory of the day my gods-gift first descended upon me in a sudden rush of glory that nearly wiped me out. I fell into a deep coma, or so I am told . . . I don’t remember anything other than that first rush of brilliance, like light and yet utterly unlight at once.
When I woke, that flood of power was past, and I gazed upon the handsome face of Artoris. Very mortal concerns claimed my heart then, and I scarcely thought about my gift over the following years. Yes, I sang, I played music. I entertained my father’s guests. But it did not occur to me to question why such a simple power would have struck me down in the first rush of manifestation . . . or why my father had been obliged to summon his oldest, most powerful mage all the way from Evisar, simply to restore my mind to some measure of equilibrium.
Morthiel—yes, Mage Morthiel was the mage who saved my life. I don’t remember much of him, only that something in his presence repulsed me, though I could not articulate what. At the time, I assumed it was the ugliness brought on by extreme age. Now I’m not so certain. Age, after all, is not ugly; but there was something in him, something that caused my soul to shiver in his presence, caused me to turn instead to his handsome young apprentice for comfort in the trying period of my recovery.
He did something to me, I’m sure of it. Suppressed my gift so that I could survive it, so that I could grow to a point of capacity where the sheer power of the divine would not destroy me. And he never forgot what he saw of that power. Though Artoris claimed he left Evisar to meet me at the Temple of Lamruil of his own volition, I do not doubt that it was part of some conspiracy between him and his master.
“Morthiel has need of her.”I remember my erstwhile husband’s voice, heard through layers of excruciating pain.“And I am bound to honor my master’s commands, no matter how unsavory.”
I set my jaw hard. Whatever Morthiel’s plans may be, I have no intention of submitting quietly. Now that Mahra and I are joined, now that I feel the power of all these licorneir coursing through me, I know without a doubt that I can and will stop the Miphates. I was divinely gifted for this forging of souls. As an instrument of the gods, I will fulfill their purpose for me, and the knowledge makes me feel simultaneously unstoppable and more than a littlefrightened. It’s like I’m riding the crest of a tidal wave, carried by a force far greater than anything else in this world, over which I wield no control.
But I’m here now. I will ride the wave to the end.
The chorus of the licorneir is like thunder. I gallop with them across the stricken land, and their song echoes through me, resounding to heaven itself, where it is echoed back by their star brothers and star sisters. We reach the Morrona at last. Mahra crosses it in a few great leaps without so much as dampening the hem of my skirt. We leave Cruor behind and enter the wild country on the outskirts of this world. I lift my head, searching for Elanlein and the distant songs of the ilsevel blossoms, which have always been clear to my ear. But there is only silence up ahead. No hint of the beautiful song which sustains the licorneir in this world.
For a moment, my heart clenches with dread. Then it occurs to me that the wild licorneir have survived without ilsevel blossoms in Cruor all these years. Their mother’s song is enough to sustain them; now that we are bonded, Mahra can and will make things right.
We cover ground so swiftly, I scarcely have time to ready myself before we draw near to the Hidden City. Night has fallen, but I see flashes of soulfire up ahead. A terrible disharmony disquiets the atmosphere.
My children have lost their way,Mahra sings with great sorrow, her voice rumbling through my bones.
I bow over her neck and reply,Let us sing for them the true song once more.
Her agreement is both joyous and solemn, a profound flood of emotion without words. Though I would not have thought it possible, she redoubles her pace, and her children sing out loudly as they follow at her heels. We pass over the open plains where Diira and I once practiced riding war forms, then continue on by Elanlein’s promontory. I look up to see the last Holy House, very dark and songless overhead.
Before I am ready for it, we pass through the forest surrounding the Hidden City and make our way through thedakaths. I can scarcely discern the people gathered in the streets as they cry out and fling themselves out of the way of the licorneir and their thundering hooves. The brilliance of the soulfire conflict up ahead completely overwhelms my perspective, but as Mahra draws nearer, the frenetic songs of the Hidden City’s licorneir cease. They are aware of their mother’s presence, her song a profound canopy which covers their world with radiant, sonorous energy.
We draw closer to the green where two licorneir were so recently engaged in battle. They have parted from each other and stand panting, riders still clinging to their backs. Their songs, stilled abruptly by Mahra’s arrival, continue to vibrate in their souls. One of them I recognize at once—Miramenor, Kildorath’s mount.
Miramenor,I sing, sending my own voice directly into his mind, channeled through Mahra’s song.Leave behind warringwith your brethren and join our chorus.
Miramenor shivers, red flame leaping across his golden flanks.I must sing with myVellar,he says, though there is a note of question in his voice.
YourVellarhas led you down dark paths,I respond, vividly reminded of the night of Diira’s death.
