“I know,” she replies. A single blink, and two tears escape, racing down her cheeks. “I know, my love. But I will sing the balance. I will sing the life into death.”
Even as she speaks, she has already begun to sing—not with her mouth, but with her spirit, with that fire burning inside her which has always been so bright. It is brighter now, joined with the fire of Mahra’s soul and countless others. I feel the greatness of them, the joint majesty of all the licorneir, drawn together ina great chorus. Those joined invelarinbonds and those burning invelrhoar, all find a place in this song of hers, a conflagration of brilliant soulfire such as I could never before have imagined.
The wrongness in my flesh responds almost at once. The virulium which pulsed through my veins and made me susceptible to the manipulation ofnecroliphonmagic begins to boil painfully, reacting to that fire. I feel the un-song of Ashtari fighting to keep its hold on me. But Ilsevel reaches out with her voice, takes hold of that un-song. It struggles, resists, but cannot fight her. Slowly but surely, her voice renders the silence, the rage, the ravening, the nothing . . . into song.
Song which bursts like pure, multi-hued light in my veins.
Song which pulses through every part of my body, surging in my brain, my lungs, my heart.
All that is decayed shivers with renewal. My rotten flesh restores, as a symphony of creative power overwhelms me. I feel my heart thud with life, feel my lungs inhale breath—not the stinking air of hell, but the pure, clear air which my wife has brought with her into this evil place.
I place a hand against my chest, staring down wonderingly. And I see it. Thevelracord—shining and golden, once more connecting me to her.
I lift my head, meet her gaze. “Ilsevel!” I cry, and my voice is that of a living man once more. But my joy turns to horror as my dazzled eyes realize what it is they see, as my ears understandwhat it is they hear.
My wife’s song pours out from her in a steady, powerful stream. She isemptyingherself. The power of her gods-gift flows from her to me, a lifegiving stream. But the act of life, of resurrection will, I realize, require the entirety of her gods-gift.
“No!” I cry, gripping her by the shoulders. “No, don’t do this! Your gift is too precious to waste on me. You must keep it, and you and Mahra must close the Rift together. You must—”
She puts up her hand, places her fingers over my mouth. Shaking her head, she murmurs with a mortal voice, even as her spirit continues to sing: “Vel-sa almar. E luralma idor-hath.”
With those words, the last of her light pours out into me.
A strangled gasp, and she collapses into my arms, no longer the bright and shining, angelic form. Just a woman. A small, strong, stubborn, infuriating woman. I gaze down at her through eyes no longer filmed-over with death. She breathes—Oh, thank the Goddess, she breathes still!
Pressing her to my chest—to that place where my heart beats and thevelraglows brilliant gold—I look up at Mahra.Mahra.My mother’s licorneir, whom I have not seen so near since I was a child. She continues to glow, her soulfire driving back the dark around us in a circle of protection. And she is, I realize, bonded to my wife.
“Her gods-gift,” I say, gasping out the words with a tongue that works correctly once more. “Is it . . . is it gone?”
The Mother licorneir looks at me, her eyes brimming withmeaning. I cannot hear her voice, but I feel the truth she would communicate:Make her gift worth the giving,luinar.
In that same moment, the pit utters a ghastly bellow. A renewed gout of virulium-putrid air bursts forth.
Ashtarath. She is coming.
I can feel her nearing presence as she climbs up from the abyss.
If the Rift is not closed, she will penetrate into this world, and it will be lost forever.
I know what I must do. I amluinarof Licorna, of Cruor, of whatever it has become. It is in my power to open and close the gates to other worlds. But . . . not on my own.
Reluctantly, I lay Ilsevel down at Mahra’s feet, trusting the great licorneir to watch over her. Then, turning, I kneel beside Onoril once more, place my hands on his suffering body. Bowing low, I press my forehead to his, my browbone resting just below his horn.Onoril,I sing in my soul, and feel the brightness of Ilsevel’s gods-gift still lingering in my veins.Onoril, remember.
An image appears in my mind—the three of us: me, my father, his licorneir. We ride across the open country beyond Evisar City, the wind in our hair, the sun on our heads, the whole wide world our home.
“One day,”my father spoke close to my ear,“you and Onoril will bond. It is your destiny, as it was mine before you.”
Do you remember, Onoril?I sing.Do you remember that promise?
It seems to me that, even in the depths ofvelrhoar, the greatlicorneir hears me, that his soul turns toward mine.
I am not the man my father was,I sing on, the truth weighty in my heart.But I promise, for however long our bond may last, I will be a trueVellarto you.
With an effort, Onoril raises up his head. His eyes, both ancient and ageless, turn to me. I feel the depths of the starry heavens in that gaze.
His voice appears in my head for the first time.Son of myVellar,he sings in tones so deep, they seem to plunge through eternity itself.My song is not what it was. The darkness has eaten it away. But whatever remains, I give to you.
I feel it—the opening of both my spirit and his, the fire of his soul extending toward me, dangerous and consuming. I face it without fear. My own soul reaches back, our different fires joining together in a complex harmony of being. I feel his brokenness, but I feel his strength as well, and it is far greater, far wilder, far more dangerous than anything I ever knew from Elydark. This is a being of pure fire, only just contained within physical form, and none but theluinarhimself could dare bond with him.
