Carol Berg - Son of Avonar

“That’s why you said the answer was in him.”

“That had to be it. How else could he have opened the Gates as he did? We needed a Healer to restore the Bridge, one who would give everything. Look at what he’s done…” He waved at the three Zhid sleeping quietly on the floor beside the curtain of white fire. “These three have souls again.”

“Why didn’t you tell us what you’d done and why? If I’d known it was Karon—”

“What would you have done differently? I know you better than anyone in the two worlds, better even than Karon who is blinded by his affection for you. Though I trusted you to do all you could do, you had parted from him in bitterness—yes, I recognized it in his story. And Karon’s tasks were difficult enough without knowing he had two missing lives instead of only one and an angry wife he couldn’t remember.”

“Will he ever remember all of it?”

Dassine stood, picked up his stool, and, with a twist of his wrist, transformed it into his walking stick again. “It’s why he must come back with me now. I will take him back to the beginning again and help him open the doors to his missing lives. He must understand that D’Natheil will always be a part of him and what that might mean. He must know that he was dead and that the longing he feels for L’Tiere is natural and not some morbid perversion. And, too, he is truly the Heir of D’Arnath, as well as the man you know. He must learn his place in both worlds. Zhid have crossed D’Arnath’s Bridge for the first time in a thousand years. Our battles are not over, and whatever life he chooses, he must be a part of our struggle. We have no one else to walk the Bridge.”

Dassine brushed the fair hair from Karon’s forehead and unbuckled the sword belt from his waist.

“How long?”

“A few months, a year… I cannot say. But he will come back to you, my lady, and he will know everything of the life you shared. I promised him.”

“I don’t know whether to bless you or curse you, Dassine.”

“He lives. You will bless me.” He handed me Rowan’s sword belt.

“Can I come with you?”

Dassine shook his head. “Impossible. Even in the presence of the Heir, the passage of the Bridge is fraught with peril. To protect Karon as he is now will take everything I can muster, and once we are in Avonar, I’ll not dare leave him.” The old man paused for a moment, looking at Karon with sympathy. “And too… these coming days will be difficult. I must lay him open like a gutted fish as I give him back himself. He will have no defenses, and I’ll not expose him so completely to anyone, not even you. But from time to time when I think he’s able, I’ll bring him to you. If you follow my instructions, I think you could be of some assistance in his recovery.”

“I suppose I must entrust him to you, then.”

“As I entrusted him—and everything—to you.” Dassine took my hand in his, and when he let it go again, I held a polished bit of rose quartz about the size and shape of a robin’s egg. The stone was unnaturally cold. “Keep this with you. When it grows warm and glows of its own light, we will come with the next day’s sunrise to whatever place you are. You will make sure the place is secure. If it’s not, throw the stone into a fire, and I’ll be warned.”

“I’ll be waiting.”

“I have no doubt of it.” He gestured toward my lap and held out his hand, and I relinquished the Heir’s dagger that still lay in the folds of my skirt. Sticking the weapon in his own belt, he turned back to Karon who still knelt on the cold stone paving, unmoving and unseeing. “Come, my friend. It’s time we took you home.” Dassine placed his hand under Karon’s arm, lifting him easily. Karon towered over the sorcerer, but any observer could see which one supported the other. “Farewell, Lady Seriana. You’ve done well.”

“Take care of him.”

Dassine nodded and led Karon through the veil of fire.

“J’den encour, my love,” I whispered as the dark outlines faded into the white flame. I fingered the cold, pale stone. I would wait and be ready.

As Karon and Dassine disappeared beyond the curtain of fire, I felt as if I had fallen into a well of solitude. The wall of flame still rumbled, but no other sound intruded. It was a time suspended, a time between worlds, between lives. For that moment, I had no past and no future, no place to go, no puzzle to decipher, no question to ask, no thought, no memory, no joy, no pain, nothing to hear but the quiet pulse of life that remains when the world’s tide has fallen beyond its lowest ebb.

“Madam, if you please,” whispered a man’s voice. The tide roared back again with the hesitant pluck of my sleeve.

My heart shriveled when I turned to see the narrow face, thin lips, and gray eyes so close behind me. Though Giano’s face now displayed confusion, fear, and unending curiosity instead of inhuman malice, I stepped backward. My hand slipped through my pocket and fumbled at my empty knife sheath. Dassine would not have left me in danger. He’d said these people were no longer Zhid. But that was very difficult to comprehend.

“I profoundly apologize for your discomforting, madam.” His voice was soft and tentative. “These other two and I— What place is this? And what season? I cannot remember past seedling time, and the others say they lost their way in high summer, but our skin tells us that winter rules here.”

“The story is very complicated”—revulsion left my tones frosty—“and I don’t know how long is your part of it. It’s unlikely the seasons are quite the same in our countries. You’re a long way from home.”

The man’s long face drooped mournfully. “We guessed as much.”

Had Karon truly returned this man’s soul? “What is your true name?”

“Marcus. Swordmaster and Thane of Sillimar.” My skin crawled as the long fingers that had murdered so deftly twisted themselves together in agitation. “Can you tell us then, madam… what has happened to us?”

I could summon no delicacy of feeling. “Marcus, do you know of the Zhid?”

“Aye. Of course, we all know of the Lords’ demon warriors. They slaughtered my cousin and my wife’s brother and left my own dear mother a madwoman, she who guarded all of Sillimar with her weavings.”

“You were taken by the Zhid, Marcus. You and the others. Only in this hour has the Heir of D’Arnath freed you from your enslavement.”

“Taken… freed… You mean I have been Zhid? Soulless?” I thought the man was going to be sick. I tried not to feel pleasure at his shock and horror. Pale as ivory, he reached to his right ear and felt the gold earring and then stretched his thin hands in front of him as if to judge for himself the evidence of their works. “By the stars, can it be true? No one ever returns to themselves after being Zhid, yet truly I feel myself, though strangely confused. To be freed, restored by our Prince… such unimportant ones as we: a swordwoman, a blacksmith, and a thane of such a small hold as Sillimar. Such a blessing and a marvel. Surely it means we’ve done no lasting evil.” His gray eyes looked up at me, asking… begging…

His poignant hope pried open a corner of my heart. Nothing could witness more clearly to his Dar’Nethi heritage. “It is indeed a blessing and a wonder, Marcus. Unfortunately, I don’t know what we’re to do with you now. The Prince cannot help you for a while, and I’ve no idea how to get you home.” Why hadn’t I asked Dassine what to do with them?

“Aye. That would be a boon. To go home, that is. My wife must be a pot fearful, left for who knows how long. If she thinks me Zhid… ah, Vasrin, guide me on this path…” The man closed his eyes and buried his face in his hands for one moment. When he had composed himself, he dropped his hands to his sides and bowed respectfully. “If it please, madam, I must tell my companions of your words.”