Andre Norton - The Key of the Keplian

She reached out with her mind as she had learned to do with the Keplians. The calling seemed to strengthen, but she could not be sure. She allowed his face to rise in her memory. Then, walking slowly, she brought up the image of her dagger. This she touched to the face. The power flowed in with a rush.

She caught a warning. There was danger ahead, but here in the tower time was not as it was outside. If they moved forward steadily, did not falter, there was yet a chance they would be in time. Romar’s strength was draining; that which dwelled here drew hard on him in its efforts to halt the battle far to the north. It would take much to turn its attention back now. Many of the tower’s defenses were automatic. If they could pass them, they might come to its core unnoticed.

The sending faded, but not before Eleeri had read the weary disgust at his being so used. She clenched her hands. Better dead than enslaved to the greater Dark. If all else failed, she would pray to Ka-dih she could give a clean death as her only gift.

She turned to speak to her friends. Behind her the mist curled and shifted. There was no sign of them. She cursed savagely.

She’d allowed herself to be distracted. Could she have taken a turning they had not? Or had something crawled out of the walls and dragged them in? In a place like this, you couldn’t be sure. She would have walked back, but something told her then it would be a mistake. Maybe that was the idea, get her tearing back along the way they’d come so she would forget why they were here. She set her teeth. She’d made a promise. She’d go on, alone if need be, and pray her friends found her again. She gripped her dagger and marched on, face toward the faint thread that called her.

The mist deepened, darkened, as out of it figures came. For a moment her steps faltered, then sturdy common sense came to her aid. These were dead or in another world. They could not be here. They were scarecrows raised to turn her back. She would not be so turned. Ahead of her Cynan bent a bitter smile upon her face.

“I loved you as a daughter. I trusted you and you left me to die alone.” The accusation stung. She had thought long and hard before she had left the Karsten hold. Had she gone to be free of him? Her head came up. No! Her reasons had held then as they held now. Cynan himself had agreed, sent her on her way with goodwill.

She faced the figure now. “I grieve that I left you. I grieve that you died alone. But I bear no burden for my choosing. It was yours also.”

“Because I saw I could not turn you aside.”

She shook her head. “Because you loved me. Love shuts no doors, holds not the loved one captive. I have not called you here. Go now with my love and good-wishing.” She walked resolutely forward as tears ran down her cheeks. The figure faded back into the mist and was gone. Another formed ahead. She flinched as the mean eyes fixed on her: her uncle. Mist formed a second figure to stand by him: her aunt. Cynan she had loved, therefore she had spoken gently to his image. These she had hated.

She walked forward, giving no way to them. They must let her pass or halt her as they could. She met them breast to breast as chill crept through her. Their hands gripped her wrists. Long-remembered insults hissed into unwilling ears. They despised her.

But she was no longer a child. This was a trick, an evil that sought to turn her from the proper path. She would not be driven back by these tatters of an outworn pain. She willed their fingers to loosen. Her dagger lifted to lie as a bar between them.

“I owe you nothing,” she said quietly. “As you gave nothing, so I owe nothing. I did not call you; I do not hold you here now. Be free of me as I am free of you.”

She knew then that it was true. They had feared her strength, hated her for the spirit that did not break. She had been the stronger all along. An unwilling pity rose as she met their gaze. They thinned and were gone as her emotion made itself known. Against fear or hatred they could stand; against pity they had no shield.

Then came the figure she had expected. Far Traveler with the eagle feathers in his braids. Before her he twisted into horror. Rotting flesh on brown bone. Breath stank from exposed teeth as his voice slid into her ears. Behind him came another: the pinched face of the social services woman. It was her voice that overrode.

“Now I’ve found you, you’ll have to come with me, girl. The law says you can’t live alone so young.”

Eleeri hit back with an angry retort. The power below had given warning. Emotions could be both a weapon and a danger. She reached for calmness.

“I’ve lived here for years now. I am not a child anymore. The law has no claim on me and you have no power here.” She felt the old fear as the figure seized her arm. “The law is against you,” she repeated. “You have no law to back you in this. You stand alone.”

The figure hunched its shoulders nervously. It looked at her in disbelief. Eleeri gathered herself and flung her words at it.

“You walk in the paths of legality. Would you act against it now?”

The figure shrank back. With a look of puzzled anger, it shook its head. She was a social worker; the law was her work.

“Then leave, or you shall face the law itself that you break.” It seemed to shiver, falling in until there was no more than another coil of mist.

Eleeri faced her last challenge as her hands went out to take those of her kinsman. Tears flooded down her face as she embraced him. She ignored the stench, the appearance; this was her protector, her teacher, her blood. She listened as he began to speak.

“Eleeri, Eleeri I named you, and strange are the paths you have chosen to walk. But there is no need for further struggle. Come with me and rest. Be my daughter’s daughter once more.”

“I follow a word given.”

“Given to one who had no right to bind you. Come with me.” The voice was full of tenderness.

“I gave the word. Shall I break my warrior oath? Is that of your teaching?”

With his arm laid about her shoulders, she looked up into the beloved face restored. Longing was in his tone then. “I miss you, child of my heart. Would you leave me to walk the spirit world forever without you? Leave these who are no true kin to you and come.”

Almost might the spell have worked, so greatly had she loved him. But for that final sentence. Gently she freed herself, drew away from those loving arms.

“Kin of mine they are, and it is for me to aid. I gave warrior oath to one who trusted me. My friends are here. Am I to leave them to fight alone? Nor will I leave one of my blood to die.”

“You stand alone. Your friends have fled.” His face moved in anger. “You were always a stubborn fool.” Now he showed fear for her. “Do not walk this road. Come with me and be safe.”

She eased her shoulders as if resuming a great load. She wept, but walked steadily forward. “I cannot. You yourself taught me that an oath may not be broken, that blood stands by blood, that even if friends betray you, yet shall you hold by the word given.”

“I may not come to you again if you do this.”

She dashed away the tears. “You have not done so now. You are the memory I have, but not the man I loved.” She stood facing him and from her mind she banished his figure, letting him go as he had once released her. Mist billowed and was gone. Before her the passage stretched out wide and long with marble walls that showed no signs of the power. Under her moccasins the floor was stone paving.

She heard steps behind her and she spun to see her friends approaching. Both were pale, but their eyes were determined. As they came up each reached out to take a hand. For long seconds they stood there savoring friendship. They had been tested and not failed.