Andrea Höst: The Silence of Medair

It felt just as impossible to picture Illukar las Cor-Ibis dead, that soft voice silenced and those mirror eyes dimmed. "That means Avahn would be Cor-Ibis, now," she said, slowly. Surely it was impossible.

"I heard tell he was one of those who cast the great shield. That’s scarcely believable in itself. When did Avahn last study? But he has always been one who surprises. I don’t think he’ll be happy to come so soon to the title."

"You know him?" Medair asked, blinking.

"He comes here often," the bartender told her, with the pleased air of one who knows the benefits of illustrious patronage. "Or came. Who knows how being Cor-Ibis will change him?"

"Jaith!"

An urgent summons from the doorway. Medair’s companion turned, frowning in confusion. Then he froze, jaw dropping.

"Esta?" he gasped, sounding not altogether certain.

"You know me, don’t you Jaith?" the woman asked, a note of pleading in her voice. She was pure Ibisian, a few years Medair’s senior, and in much disarray. White hair fell loosely over her face and there was dust on her clothes.

"Esta?" Jaith repeated, more loudly. He rose falteringly to his feet. "It is you, isn’t it?"

"Who else would it be?" the woman replied, caught between exasperation and desperation. "Has everyone gone mad?"

"What happened to you?"

"To me?! Nothing’s happened to me! It’s all of you who’ve run mad! And worse. Jaith, I was just at mother’s – I don’t understand what–" The woman shook her head, lifting hands to press against her temples while the occupants of the tavern shifted uneasily about her.

"Tell me what happened, Esta," Jaith commanded, walking forward and, after a slight hesitation, taking the woman’s hand.

The woman wrapped her arms around Jaith’s waist, holding on to him like an anchor in a storm, not seeing the discomfort on his face.

"Mother’s different, Jaith. I don’t understand. I’m just back from Callamere – delivering the kabli-man’s order, you know. There are all these people roaming about outside the city walls, looking as stunned as pole-axed cows. I avoided them, as best I could. And something has killed all the grass around the walls – at least a hundred feet out. Inside the walls, it was just the same – people roaming about aimlessly and talking all the while about something called the Conflagration and fires and who knows what? I thought Mother would explain, but she… she…"

"Is part Farak-lar," Jaith finished. He stared deep into the woman’s eyes. "You were outside the walls," he said.

"Well, I could hardly travel to Callamere inside the walls, Jaith!" Esta snapped. "What does that matter? What’s happened here?!"

"You – Esta, you are Farak-lar," Jaith told her, sounding miserable.

The woman frowned, looking faintly hurt. "My mother has some hot blood, it’s true. You’ve always told me that it didn’t matter, Jaith."

"It doesn’t! Esta, Esta. Ah, AlKier, I don’t understand this. Esta, you are not…as you were."

There was a stricken little silence.

"It’s not me who has changed," she said, eventually, voice small. "Mother is different, and Tehan. And…" She trailed off, gazing at his face. "I’m not Farak-lar. Mother is not Farak-lar. We have that blood, yes, but so does half Athere. The cold blood is dominant, Jaith. You know that!"

Seeing only incomprehension in his face, the woman’s self-control broke and she tore herself from his arms.

"It’s you who have changed!" she cried, stumbling backwards. " You! "

Then she was gone, the bartender running after her. Medair left amidst a buzz of horrified speculation.

The cold blood was dominant. The girl had only been quarter or half Ibisian, but there had been no sign of Farakkian blood. She obviously remembered the bartender and her family and everyone within the walls, but all as slightly different people. What would Athere be like if the flames of the Conflagration had been allowed to sweep over it? Who would Medair be now?

Lassitude had claimed her by the time she found an inn with a spare room, the same deadly apathy which had followed her visit to Athere the previous year. She went to bed, and lay thinking of the Conflagration and black denans and the threat of war. And a soft, eternally courteous voice.

Another pale and beautiful dawn. The dew-studded hills were stained with jewels of colour beneath a sky of streaked pastel. It slowly brightened to reveal what had been moving in the shadows for a full-measure or more. Black specks, like a flock of crows which had settled on a meadow. But no flock of birds was so orderly, or endlessly numerous. Or so formidably armed. The hills south of Athere were blanketed with an enemy army, come to lay siege in the night. Their black and white pennants fluttered in the wind.

Magic had again woken Medair and she had travelled back to the watchtower, joining the same kaschen and Das-kend in a silent vigil in the pre-dawn dark. They could all sense the distant throb of power, and could only wait to see what daylight would bring them.

"It isn’t possible," the kaschen suddenly said, speaking for the first time since Medair had entered the watchtower.

"Of course it is possible, Mira. We have done it ourselves, in a time of great need."

"Not without aid. Not to make war."

Yes, to make war, Medair thought, viciously. But no, the Ibis-lar had fled to Farakkan. It was only once there that Ieskar had decided to make the land his own.

"We would do it in war if it did not mean exhausting our adepts buildings gates." The Das-kend turned a brass-bound spyglass over and over in her hands. "To take the enemy unprepared, that is a great advantage. To overextend yourself in doing so, that is a great foolishness. Estarion – the Estarion we knew – could not build such gates. He had adepts, true, and could gate a sizeable force, just as we can. But we could not do this. At the fall of Sar-Ibis, we drew on the very magic which was destroying the island, but the Conflagration is already fading. He should not have the strength to gate an entire army. We certainly do not."

"Then how?"

"The Herald spoke of a weapon. It may be what builds them the gates, or it may be that he has adepts which now surpass us. What can one say to this new world? Decia was by no means ready to make such a move, before the events of yestermorn. What I see here…" The Das-kend shook her head. "We may be outmatched."

"Almost I wish the Conflagration had left the world a charred ruin, rather than this."

The Das-kend looked at her daughter. "Do you really?"

"No. I wish it wasn’t happening, though. We don’t even know our home territory. Probably those who come against us have a better idea of these hills and that forest."

"Possibly. They at least know enough not to make their gates within reach of our adepts. Even if we had anticipated this move, used the warning brought to us, we could not have hoped to disrupt all of them. Not without covering the land with patrols able to bring down a gate as it formed. And they have protected themselves immediately against attacks from a distance. With what, I cannot say precisely, but likely the winds and mirrors, unless they have things we do not even know of. We will not be throwing sleep at them."

"The Cloaked South." The kaschen made an angry, exasperated noise. "It’s as if all the rules have changed! What are we to do against so many, when we’ve lost the advantage of our blood? When they have equal power?"

"If not more." The Das-kend stroked her daughter’s arm lightly. "We will fight. Have faith in our Kier, and those who serve her. The Ibis-lar have triumphed in the face of great odds before this."