Andrea Höst - Voice of the Lost

Out of sheer, numb-minded stupidity she tightened her hands in his and that was sufficient encouragement for him to lean forward, to touch her lips with his. His skin was cool and he kissed her with exquisite care, all Ibisian delicacy, but the quiver which ran through his hands matched her own.

Her throat tightened with panic, and she broke away. "I can’t do this," she said, but she had to force the words, to not shout her need for him. He remained very still for a moment, then drew back as well, though not nearly far enough for her peace of mind.

"Hardly the place, I know," he said, and his voice was fully mastered once again. There was a time she had thought Ibisians a wholly passionless race, but their extreme control was no indication of their hearts.

"I’m sorry," she said, and felt foolish.

"Now tell me why," he said, as merciless as Ieskar. And not nearly so dead.

She choked on arguments which ran in every direction.

"If I had spoken, the night of the Conflagration, I would not have been able to sway you," he went on, thoughtfully. His calm had returned, perhaps bolstered by her obvious confusion. She should not have leaned into his embrace, should not have pressed against him as if she’d been waiting an eternity to do so.

She should be able to not hate the idea of loving him.

"You still had the Horn then, and all your secrets," he continued. "Your oath to the throne, your office as Herald, and the legend built up about your name. But now everything has changed. You proclaimed yourself before Kier Inelkar. You left your badge of office on the floor of the throne room. You used the Horn to defend Athere and fulfilled the legend in doing so. There is no bar left, no true reason. Not the sheer simple fact of my race."

Battered by all she had done that day, Medair shuddered. She did not feel freed by her use of the Horn, but further trapped in a succession of wrongs which could not be righted.

"No legend involved slaughtering people who thought themselves loyal to Palladium," she said harshly, and realised with a plummeting disgust that she was hoping that he would convince her, that he would reason a way out of the endless loop of rhetoric in her head. That she could allow herself to believe that she had done only what was necessary, and that it was right to stop hating.

"You heard the words of your Emperor," he said. "There was no thread of blame. You heard his words to the Kierash. Your oath is to Palladium, Islantar is its future. There is no conflict, no–" He stopped, perhaps sensing that part of her was stubbornly attempting to close her mind to any hope of a future. That part of her calling him White Snake still, even blaming him for what she had needed to do.

Then those cool, slim fingers touched her cheek and he spoke in a whisper which did not hide how very afraid he was. "Please, Medair."

He took a breath to continue, but did not, turning his head attentively. Medair, so close, caught a faint shred of sound but could not make it out.

"A wend-whisper?" she asked, unspeakably relieved by the interruption.

"The Kierash." Cor-Ibis had straightened, and was surveying the forest below. "He has found a large cave, in the shadow of that spur of rock. I will bring him back here. Better to have him high, if any of those animals are released."

"No." Medair held out a belaying hand, but stopped short of touching him. "I’ll go. Unless you can dim that glow, it’s too great a risk for you to cross those shadows twice more."

She didn’t give him a chance to argue, slipping her satchel from her shoulder and plunging down the slope, by some fortune managing it without more than a knocked elbow. She crossed the passage into the mist without hesitation, and then stopped dead, folding over.

What had she been doing? What did Cor-Ibis think they could do? Impossible. To touch, to talk of love, after she had stood on the walls of Athere and summoned death.

He had known she might run from him, from her response to him. That was why he had taken her trace ward. Part of Medair wanted to do exactly that, to keep walking into the mist, to get as much distance between them as possible, so she could never again hear him say please . But, if she ran at all, it could not be now. There would be time enough later for cowardice.

Taking a deep breath, Medair turned, walking along the border of the mist, near enough to stir the edge’s tendrils for a few steps before sinking back. Her link to her satchel made it easy to keep track of the cave where Cor-Ibis waited, so her only difficulty in reaching the spur of rock was the uneven ground and the occasional bush or branch.

A single step took her into the spur’s shadow, and she followed its shape with her hand as she moved out of moonglow into pitch.

"Keris."

Kierash Islantar, nowhere near as drained as Cor-Ibis, had obviously cast a night-sight enchantment. A step in the dark and he was with her, this boy the Emperor had commanded to heal Palladium. While it might not be possible for Medair to find a right way forward, she could at least support those words. Ibisian blood or not, this was Palladium’s heir, and the only thing she could see to do was get him safely out of Decia.

"I am glad to discover you safe, Keris," he said, formal as ever.

"Can any of us be safe here?" she asked. "The Keridahl has at least found a more sheltered cave."

She turned, less than willing to talk, and he followed her obediently across to the mist. Without the rope, she thought it best to take his hand, and led him with only a few stumbles to the point below the cave. From that angle, Cor-Ibis' glow could be mistaken for a reflection of moonlight, and was not the beacon she had feared. So long as he stayed still, it was unlikely to lead any Decians to them.

"Follow close," she murmured to Islantar, and led him quickly up to join that still, gleaming figure.

"Kierash."

"Keridahl." For a moment Islantar’s youth showed in a tone of simple relief, then he moved forward, kneeling as he discovered the low ceiling. "Where did you find these blankets?" he asked. "Ah, of course. Your satchel, Keris, is a wonder beyond compare."

"I–" Hearing the quaver in her voice, Medair made an effort to pull herself together. She would go mad while this habit of hatred struggled against its opposite. "I can offer you a meal of sorts, Kierash," she said, almost steadily. "Dried fruit, nuts, even brandy."

She also produced a spare jacket, and more blankets. They were manoeuvring around the problem of three people sitting in a cave barely able to accommodate them when a cry rose above the muffled silence of the fog. A scream, eldritch and unnatural, rattled against the hillside and stole any semblance of safety from the tiny cave.

"Is that–?" Medair began, but couldn’t finish.

Islantar half-rose, but settled back. "Not human."

"No," Cor-Ibis agreed. "A hunting cry."

"Hunting one of us." Medair had received no replies to her wend-whispers, and was particularly concerned about Ileaha, whose sensitivity to magic might not be enough to lead her to the hill.

"Very likely." Cor-Ibis was sitting closest to the entrance, and she could see his dimly luminescent form leaning forward as he gazed down at the forest. "The mist is lifting."

"They’ve released whatever it was in those caged caves. The thing which snatches. Or the other." The killer.

"Can we do anything?" Islantar eased alongside Medair so he could look over Cor-Ibis' shoulder.

Cor-Ibis shook his head. "Expose ourselves to the hunter and the guards, though we have little chance of even locating our companions? No." He turned back into the darkness of the cave, getting down to business. "Your reserves are still high, Kierash?"

"Yes. I have done little today but watch the valour of others."