David Farland - Beyond the Gate

“The Inhuman’s Word can be defeated, as Tallea said-” Ceravanne intoned hopefully, “by those who are strong of purpose, by those who are wise. I can help you defeat it.”

Gallen glanced at her, and there was a gleam of anger in his eye, and Orick’s heart froze at the sight-anger at the peaceful Tharrin, a folk who’d never done Gallen any harm.

“Thank you,” Gallen said coldly. “But I do not want your help.”

“Why?” Ceravanne asked, unable to hide how his tone had hurt her.

Gallen’s face took on a closed look. “I’m not sure I trust you-or any Tharrin.”

Two of the Im giants got up, throwing the remains of their corn cake to the ground, confused and hurt by Gallen’s words. They brought their hands to their short swords, as if ready to do battle over such talk. And Gallen half pulled his own sword.

“Wait!” Orick said. “Gallen here has always been a trusty lad. I’ve never seen him back away from any bandit or outlaw! So if you’re going to draw swords on him, you’d best be sure of your cause. And you’d better be ready to die.”

“Orick is right,” Ceravanne said. “Put your weapons away. We are all friends here. I’ll not force Gallen or anyone else to serve me.” Ceravanne stared deep into Gallen’s face, and the giants rested, seeing no immediate danger. But Gallen held his own sword halfway drawn, as if ready to sweep the blade free. The sunlight shone on Ceravanne’s platinum hair, and her pale green eyes reflected the light like cut gems. The sunlight caught her blue-white dress, and it gleamed like a bolt of lightning here under the dark pines. In spite of her strength and wisdom, she looked like little more than a frail child who could be easily swept away, and Gallen’s sword was nearly out. If Gallen had wanted to cut her down, he could have put a swift end to her.

“If you are willing to go to Moree to risk your life, then I will walk beside you,” Ceravanne said. “I know that the Inhuman teaches that I am its enemy, that the people of this world are but pawns in our hand. But you can trust me, Gallen. I desire harm for no one. I’ve come to bring peace to this land, not war. I have long been a friend to the people of Babel.”

The Im giants stirred restlessly at these words, studying her, and Fenorah said hopefully, “Unless I miss my guess, you are an Immortal? But I am not sure that I have heard of a Tharrin who was a friend to Babel.”

“For three hundred years I have been studying with the Bock,” Ceravanne whispered. “And for over two hundred years before that, I exiled myself. But I lived here before your grandfather was young-for two thousand years. In Chingat they called me the White Lady. On the island of Bin I was Frost Before the Sun, and in Indallian they called me the Swallow-she who returns. If you have memories from the Inhuman, Gallen, then you have heard these names, and you know why I have come here!”

“By the gods!” Fenorah swore. “The Swallow has returned from the dead! The Immortal is with us!” And the giants of Im all fell to their knees. Some lowered their eyes in respect, while others stared at her in amazement. One man drew his sword, as if pledging it to her service, while the others set their weapons on the ground before them, as if swearing to put them, away forever. It was obvious that all of them knew her name and her reputation, but none of the giants was certain how to react.

For one moment, as the giants sat with their heads lowered, it looked as if Ceravanne stood among a field of huge boulders.

And to Orick’s utter amazement, Gallen himself, who seemed but a moment before ready to draw his sword on her, suddenly opened his mouth in surprise and fell to one knee at Ceravanne’s feet, as if she had slapped him for some insult and he were begging her forgiveness. He watched her steadily. “I know of the Swallow, and how her gentle people fell in ancient days at the hands of the Rodim,” he said, “but I have not heard that she was a Tharrin. Truly, you are a friend of the people.” Gallen’s voice became husky. “I would be more than honored, if you would accompany me to Moree.”

“My Lady,” Fenorah said, “will you again build the Accord?”

“For long I’ve tried to bring peace between all peoples,” Ceravanne said. “And the Accord was my best effort. When the Rodim slew whole villages, I could hardly bear it. In anger I turned my back on them, and let my disciples ruin them. The slaughter was horrible, and I could not live with what I’d done. I had sought peace by giving in to war. For centuries I have been in the North, studying the ways of peace at the hands of the Bock, purifying myself. But now I must return to my people. The Tekkar and the Inhuman are forming a deadly alliance, one that could shake the stars.”

“I would fight them with you,” Fenorah said, and all of his men shouted, “Aye.”

“Then draw your weapons upon no man, except in self-defense,” Ceravanne said.

“But-how can we fight the servants of the Inhuman without drawing upon them?” one giant asked.

“Your people are tied to the sea, and I forbid you to shed blood. But that does not mean that you cannot fight. There are ships in the harbors of Babel preparing for war,” Ceravanne said. “Set them afire. See that the Inhuman does not cross the ocean. And in every ear, with everyone you meet, tell them that the Swallow has returned to build the Accord, and that she begs human and Inhuman alike to lay aside their weapons.”

“But the Tekkar will not listen to you,” Fenorah said. “They are as deadly and vile a race as ever the Rodim were. We cannot let them live.”

“How do we know that we cannot reason with them, if we have not tried?” Ceravanne said. “They are violent and cunning and bloodthirsty. But their men love their women as passionately as you love your own wives. And their mothers love their children.”

The Im giants shook their huge heads in disbelief, doubting that the horrid Tekkar could share any brotherhood with them.

But Fenorah looked to his men. “Anabim, Dodeo, the Swallow has spoken her wishes. I charge you to return to Battic and raise some men. Go east along the coast, and set fire to any ships that are preparing for war. And tell people what you have learned here today-that the Swallow has returned to rebuild the Accord. It will set fire to their hearts.”

The two giants turned and ran from the grove, heading toward the bridge east.

“You know, Great Lady,” Fenorah said, “that news of your presence will put you in greater peril. It now becomes imperative for the Inhuman’s agents to kill you, lest some among their numbers give you aid. Legends of the golden days of the Accord abound, and long have we hoped for your return. Still, some people may be slow to believe that you have returned. In past years, there have been rumors.…”

“What kinds of rumors?” Ceravanne asked.

“It was said that you had died and that the Lords of the City of Life would not let you be reborn. It was said that they feared a new Accord. It has even been said that the Inhuman has sought to rebuild you, so that you will come and lead it to victory.”

“Those were lies spread by the dronon and their Inhuman,” Ceravanne said. “The dronon tried to kill me when they learned that they could not turn me to their violent ways, when I would not champion the cause of the Inhuman. Four times the Rebellion brought me the rebirth, and each time I tried to return south to my people, but the Inhuman stopped me.”

“Of course,” Fenorah said. “Some had guessed as much, and all will be glad of your return.” He lowered his head in thought. “Look, when I heard the Servants of the Inhuman talking yesterday, making plans in their cave, I knew only that they sought to turn you because you are a Tharrin, and because you brought a Lord Protector to fight them. I am sure that they did not know your real name, or the full scale of your mission.”