Simon Hawke - The Seeker

“And so you created even more emotional distress by leaving,” she said lightly. “I understand. It must be elfling logic.”

He gave her a sidelong glance. “Am I to suffer your barbs throughout this entire journey?”

“Perhaps only a part of it,” she replied. She held up her hand, thumb, and forefinger about an inch apart.

“A small part.”

“You are almost as bad as Lyric.”

“Well, if you are going to be insulting, then you can just duck under and let Eyron or the Guardian come out. Either one could certainly provide more stimulating conversation.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” Sorak replied, suddenly speaking in an entirely different tone of voice, one that was more clipped, insouciant, and a touch wry. It was no longer Sorak, Ryana realized, but Eyron. Sorak had taken her literally.

He had apparently decided that she was annoyed with him, so he had ducked under and allowed Eyron to come forth.

His bearing had undergone a subtle change, as well. His posture went from erect and square-shouldered to slightly slumped and round-shouldered. He altered his pace slightly, taking shorter steps and coming down a bit harder on his heels, the way an older, middle-aged person might walk. A casual observer might not have noticed any difference, but Ryana was villichi, and she had long since become alert to the slightest change in Sorak’s bearing and demeanor. She would have recognized Eyron even if he hadn’t spoken.

“I was only teasing Sorak a little,” she explained. “I was not really insulted.”

“I know that,” Eyron replied.

“I know you know that,” said Ryana. “I meant for you to let Sorak know it. I did not mean for him to go away. I just wish he wouldn’t be so somber and serious all the time.”

“He will always be somber and serious,” said Eyron. “He is somber and serious to the point of pain. You are not going to change him, Ryana. Leave him alone.”

“You’d like for me to do that, wouldn’t you?” she said irately. “It would make the rest of you feel more secure.”

“Secure?” Eyron repeated. “You think you present any sort of threat to us?”

“I did not mean it quite that way,” said Ryana.

“Oh? How did you mean it, then?”

“Why must you always be so disputatious?” she countered.

“Because I enjoy a good argument occasionally, just as you enjoy teasing Sorak from time to time. However, the difference between us is that I enjoy the stimulation of a lively debate, while you tease Sorak because you know that he is hopelessly ill equipped to deal with it.”

“That is not true!” she protested.

“Isn’t it? I notice that you never try it with me. Why is that, I wonder?”

“Because teasing is a playful pastime, and your humor is all caustic and bitter.”

“Ah, so you want playful humor? In that case, I will summon Lyric forth.”

“No, wait—”

“Why? I thought that was what you wanted.”

“Stop trying to twist my words!”

“I am merely trying to make you see their import,” Eyron replied dryly. “You never try to bait me with your wit, not because you fear I am your match, but because you bear me no resentment, as you do Sorak.”

She stopped in her tracks suddenly, absolutely astonished at his words. “What?”

Eyron glanced back at her. “You are surprised? Truly, it seems you know yourself even less well than Sorak does.”

“What are you talking about? I love Sorak! I bear no resentment toward him! He knows that! You all know that!”

“Do we, indeed?” Eyron replied, with a wry grimace. “In point of fact, Lyric knows you love Sorak merely because he has heard you say so. But he comprehends nothing of the emotion himself. The Ranger may or may not know it. Either way, it would make no difference to him. Screech? Screech could comprehend the act of mating, certainly, but not the more complex state of love. The Watcher knows and understands, but she is uneasy with the concept of a woman’s love. Kivara is rather titillated by the notion, but for reasons having to do with the senses, not the heart. And the Shade is as far removed from love as the night is from the day. Now the Guardian knows you love Sorak, but I doubt she would disagree with me that you also feel resentment toward him. As for Kether... well, I would not presume to speak for Kether, as Kether does not condescend to speak with me. Nevertheless, the fact remains that beneath your love for Sorak smolders a resentment that you lack the courage or honesty to acknowledge to yourself.”

“That is absurd!” Ryana said, angrily. “If I were to resent anyone, it would be you, for being so contentious all the time!”

“On the contrary, that is precisely why you do not resent me,” Eyron said. “I allow you an outlet for your anger. Deep down, you are angry at Sorak, but you cannot express it. You cannot even admit it to yourself, but it is there, nevertheless.”

“I thought the Guardian was the telepath among you,” said Ryana sourly. “Or have you developed the gift as well?”

“It does not require a telepath to see where your feelings lie,” said Eyron. “The Guardian once called you selfish. Well, you are. I am not saying that is a bad thing, you understand, but by not admitting to yourself that your feelings of anger and resentment stem from your own selfish desires, you are only making matters worse. Perhaps you would prefer to discuss this with the Guardian. You might take it better if you heard it from another female.”

“No, you started this, you finish it,” Ryana said. “Go on. Explain to me how my own selfish desires led me to break my vows and abandon everything I knew and cherished for Sorak’s sake.”

“Oh, please,” said Eyron. “You did absolutely nothing for Sorak’s sake. What you did you did for your own sake, because you wanted to do it. You may have been born villichi, Ryana, but you always chafed at the restrictive life in the convent. You were always dreaming of adventures in the outside world.”

“I left the convent because I wanted to be with Sorak!”

“Precisely,” Eyron said, “because you wanted to be with Sorak. And because with Sorak gone, there was no compelling reason for you to remain. You sacrificed nothing for his sake that you would not have gladly given up, in any case.”

“Well... if that is true, and I have only done what I wanted to do, then what reason would I possibly have for being angry with him?”

“Because you want him, and yet you cannot have him,” Eyron said simply.

Even after knowing him for all those years, and having seen how his personas shifted, it was difficult for her to hear those words coming from his lips. It was Eyron speaking, and not Sorak, but it was Sorak’s face she saw and Sorak’s voice she heard, even though the tone was different.

“That has already been settled,” she said, looking away. It was difficult to meet his gaze. Eyron’s gaze, she reminded herself, but still Sorak’s eyes.

“Has it?”

“You were there when we discussed it, were you not?”

“Simply because a matter was discussed does not mean it has been settled,” Eyron replied. “You grew up with Sorak, and you came to love him, even knowing that he was a tribe of one. You thought you could accept that, but it was not until you forced the issue that Sorak told you it could never be, because three of us are female. It came as quite a shock to you, and Sorak bears the blame for that because he should have told you. There lies the root of your resentment, Ryana. He should have told you. All those years, and you never even suspected, because he kept it from you.”