David Drake - The Mirror of Worlds

Rasile wasn't much to look at, that was sure: her fur was worn thin on the joints, and the flesh sucked in between the bones of her forearms.

You didn't often see an animal that old in Barca's Hamlet; they aren't good for much, and peasants are too close to the edge even in a good year to feed useless mouths. Of course Rasile wasn't an animal, exactly. "You could make yourself young again," Tenoctris said. "Why haven't you?" Rasile growled with disgust. "Why would I want to extend my life in this misery of a world?" she said. "I'll live the years the fates have given me, but I don't like pain so much that I'll willingly extend them." Tenoctris laughed. "It's not such a bad world when you look at it in the right way," she said, "but I'm not here to argue with you." She picked up the wand and handed it to the catman. "You'll be needing this," she said. Turning, she went on, "Sharina, allow me to present your new wizard and advisor, Rasile of the True People. I think you'll find her very satisfactory. And now, Cashel, you and I must go back immediately to the tomb where we spent last night."

Tenoctris smiled in a funny way and said, "I have nothing further to do with the one who was interred there, but it's a concentration of the power that will be useful for the next stage of our business." *** "You've come, Ilna, you've come at last!" cried Merota.

"Chalcus, look, Ilna's here!" Ilna opened her eyes. Her mind was blank. Merota threw herself into Ilna's arms. "Oh, Ilna!" she said.

"We're all together again and I'm so happy!" Merota was a warm, solid weight who squirmed against Ilna as she always did when they'd been apart for a longer time than usual. And though Ilna might've been imagining something she wanted as much as to be with her family again, she felt the holly oak's coarse bark against her shoulders felt completely real. My family… Ilna stood, holding the girl close.

Chalcus was striding toward her, coming from the round temple that faced them across a pool. "I never doubted you'd come, dear heart," he called. "Though I don't mind saying that the wait was the hardest thing I've known in a life that's-" Chalcus grinned with the hint of wolfishness under the pleasure that Ilna remembered so well. "-had its share of hard things, and not all of them things that I did to others." Ilna ran to him, holding Merota's hands, and they embraced.

Chalcus' hard muscles were as rippling and tender as they always had been. "It's been a long time," he whispered, but perhaps Ilna was hearing her own whisper instead. When she blinked the tears out of her eyes, she stepped back slightly and looked around. She didn't see any building save the temple, but smoke rose from hearths hidden in the trees beyond. There was a handful-more than a handful-of other people in sight. One was a shepherd on the nearby hilltop, watching the sheep on the slope below him. The curb and the temple were well made but very simple. Both were built of yellowish-gray limestone, and the temple's pillars weren't fluted. A halved log lay as a bridge across the brook in the near distance. On it knelt a small boy drawing with a stick of charcoal, while a woman in white robes kept her eye on him.

She felt Ilna's stare and looked up, then waved. Ilna looked at Chalcus again, this time taking in the details instead of letting herself be swept away by a fierce tide of love. He wore a loose shirt of crimson silk, the sleeves pinned back by gold armlets; a brocade sash, silk again but dyed a fierce blue that made Ilna squint when her eye tried to follow the line where it met the shirt; and black leather breeches decorated with suede appliques of dancing girls. Ilna'd never seen any of the garments, but they added up to Chalcus in his dress finest. He'd been a sailor, after all, not a delicate aesthete from Valles-and most certainly not a prim girl from Barca's Hamlet with a loathing for self-advertisement. In that respect and many, Chalcus was the other half of Ilna os-Kenset; far more than half of her soul had died when the cat beasts killed him. And here he and Merota were, complete to every stitch and placket except- "Chalcus, where's your sword?" Ilna said, speaking quietly. There was nothing in her expression that might suggest to anyone watching that she was concerned. "And the dagger?" "Oh, you dear silly heart!" the sailor said. He raised her hand and made as if to twirl her, but she stayed where she was and met his eyes with fixed determination. "Dearest Ilna," he said, "nobody's taken them away from me, but the sword isn't needed here. Come, I'll show you. I hung them in the temple as an offering to the Youth. I wear them if you'd like. Come!" "You don't need to prove to me that you're telling the truth!" Ilna said. "Of course I believe you." "Oh, do come," Merota said, tugging Ilna's sleeve. "The statue's lovely, you'll see. And it's real gold!" Chalcus laughed and tousled the girl's hair. "When you've had as much gold drip through your fingers as I have, child," he said, "in taverns and mayhap less suitable places, then you'll better understand how slight a thing it is. But yes, dear heart, let's look at the statue, for it's very beautiful." Ilna walked widdershins between them around the pool, Merota holding her left hand and Chalcus' fingers lying warm on her waist. He said, "The Youth-the man himself, I mean-is buried in the mound where you came back. I shouldn't wonder if that's how you were able to join us without…" He smiled apologetically and made a quick circle in the air with his right hand, spinning the rest of the thought away. "You shouldn't say 'buried,' Chalcus," Merota said in a tone like a schoolmasters'. "She'll think the Youth is dead." She looked solemnly at Ilna and explained, "He isn't, you see. He's sleeping in the mound in a crystal case. He'll arise when the time is ripe to lead all mankind into Paradise." "Aye, so you say, child," said Chalcus. His tone wasn't quite as dismissive as the words-but almost. "And you're learned and I'm no more than a sailor, so I have no doubt you're right. But-" He paused and embraced Ilna again. "-I can't imagine another Paradise than being together again with the heart of my heart. As I am now." Ilna detached her hand from Merota's to put both arms around Chalcus. She hugged him; she'd never thought she'd feel those rippling muscles again. Yes, Paradise indeed. She stepped back. "Chalcus?" she said. "Howdid you come here?" The sailor shrugged. "I'm not a priest, beloved," he said. "There aren't any priests here, though I don't put any special meaning on that. We're here because the Youth willed it, I suppose. Me and Merota and you, all three." They'd reached the entrance to the temple. The columns supported a thatched roof. The solid-walled enclosure behind the columns had a door of pale beechwood planks joined by a walnut Tree of Life overlay. Like the rest of the building, the carpentry was simple but of excellent craftsmanship. Ilna smiled faintly. Much like one of her own fabrics, in fact. Chalcus opened the door. The walls were a hand's-breadth short of meeting the conical roof but still higher than the eaves, so the only light was what came through the doorway. The statue in the middle of the small room nonetheless blazed, smooth and warm and comforting. It was of a nude young man, holding his hands out as though offering bounty to those who approached. Hanging on twists of twine from a peg beside the door were Chalcus' sword and dagger, as he'd never worn a sword belt that Ilna recalled. He took down the sword and slid the sharkskin scabbard through his sash; his fingers caressed the eared horn hilt. "You shouldn't draw it here, Chalcus," said Merota in a tone of disapproval. "Of course not, child," he said reprovingly. He stepped out of the enclosure, then walked beyond the porch as well. Ilna stood in the doorway, watching. "Looking back, I'd agree that I've drawn it many places that I ought not to've," Chalcus said. "But I was never so ill-bred as to distress the Youth in His temple." As he spoke, the slim, incurved sword came out in his hand and danced a complex figure in the sunlight. He tossed it in the air, turned to face Ilna, and caught the hilt in his left hand. Smiling, he made another complex gesture and sheathed the sword before pulling it, scabbard and all, from under his sash. "You see, love," Chalcus said gently with the sword in the flat of his hand. "Nothing but courtesy prevents me from wearing this. Or from using it to slit the throats of any number of people, hundreds I expect. I doubt there's anyone in this place who could so much as give me a fight, eh?" "You wouldn't do that!" Merota said. Chalcus hugged her close. "I've done it, child," he said. "I've done that and worse. But no, I wouldn't do it again.