Barb Hendee - Through Stone and Sea

To be called here, after so long since his plea, was a good sign. Though others had come here over the years, some called and some not, only he had ever returned… .

Except for the Children.

Finally he reached a chasm, guessing the distance of its near edge by the changing sound of his footfalls' echoes. Uncertain whether he should raise a light, defiling this sacred place, he could not see how else to go on.

Sau'ilahk raised his hand and filled his mind's eye with scintillating glyphs and sigils. A spark ignited in the air, and he quickly dulled its sharp white to amber, hoping this would be less offensive.

He stood upon the chasm's lip, but its depth was beyond the reach of his conjured light. It did not go straight down but twisted with broken sides, as if torn open ages ago by something immense that ripped wide the bowels of the earth. Above was the same, a great gash that rose into the peak somewhere high above. Across the chasm on the other side, he saw another wound in the mountain's stone.

It was so large a dozen pachyderms could have fit through it.

But there was no bridge to that other side, and that far hollow was so deep his sparse light could not penetrate its pitch-black. Then he heard the grating sound.

Soft at first, it grew, until he feared the great gash beyond his boot's toe might widen.

Something moved in the far cavern, shifting on broken stone. He thought he saw the darkness within it glitter, perhaps conjured light catching upon something smooth and writhing.

Sau'ilahk dropped to his knees, bowing until his forehead touched the chasm's edge.

"My Beloved," he whispered. "I come as you bade me."

A grating hiss rolled from the far gash, echoing off raw stone.

Are you worthy?

He heard the words only within his thoughts, but they were as breathy as the noise surrounding him. He lifted his head but kept his eyes down.

Worthy of what? Of his hope, his desire?

"Yes, my divine sovereign," he whispered, but doubt made him tremble. "Always, I serve. Do you have … Have I given … cause to doubt it?"

He could not help but raise his eyes a little more. He saw only a still and silent darkness across the chasm.

Not as yet.

Sau'ilahk quickly lowered his gaze. It fell upon his own slender, tan fingers, so perfectly shaped like his face, but vanity meant nothing to his patron. Such a small deviance could not be judged a transgression. At times, he could not help reveling in his own beauty. Along with the fear he inspired, all looked upon him with awe. But he quaked, knowing that beauty would fade—unlike the Children, eternal and undying.

I am pleased … perhaps enough to answer your prayers.

Sau'ilahk wanted one thing—to never end, to forever see awe in the eyes of all who looked upon him.

"Eternal life, my Beloved?" he dared ask again.

Are you so certain of your heart's desire?

Sau'ilahk faltered.

The Children were mere tools of bloodshed, powerful, useful, but only because Beloved had made them so. They had not labored as Sau'ilahk had in service and devotion, given with no expectation, until now. Yet they were treasured and favored—gifted by his god. Was it so much to ask that he be allowed to continue, devoted as he was?

Then just as you have wished … so it is.

Sau'ilahk grew anxious, and barely lifted his head, waiting … for something.

Perhaps he expected to feel … anything … different. But he felt the same as he had an instant before. Yet his god had spoken, granting him the one and only boon he had ever asked for.

Was it that simple now, after waiting so long, suffocating in want?

Joy crept in like a hesitant child wondering if its parent were truly pleased. Just a little, and then it filled him fully. To think he would be alive and beautiful forever, and he dared to raise his head ever higher. He straightened fully upon his knees as he whispered.

"My love is eternal as well … my Beloved."

He meant those words, even as utter relief made him suddenly weary—even as he stiffened when he saw the eyes.

On the chasm's far side, two pinpricks of light appeared. From a distance, they were no larger than latent sparks in a dying fire. The pair drifted downward like eyes lodged in the head of some figure walking toward the far cavern's edge.

Sau'ilahk was awestruck.

He looked upon the barest hint of his god's presence. Such blessing had never been given to any that he knew. He began weeping, not realizing it until the salt of tears seeped between his lips.

Sau'ilahk had been granted eternal life.

His beauty would never fade.

Sau'ilahk recoiled from the memory as he sank toward true dormancy. On the edge of his fading awareness, the familiar hiss rose again in his mind.

I watch … as you draw nearer … the answer almost within your grasp.

Despite centuries that had melded love to hate within his devotion, whenever Beloved called, Sau'ilahk could not help but answer. As he vanished into dormancy, to a place between life and death in the dreamland of his god, he whispered …

"Yes … my Beloved."

Wynn followed Chane into the temple's entryway, planning to drag him away into privacy as soon as it seemed polite. She knew she'd better force him to promise not to go back to the amphitheater tonight—or he'd just get himself caught. But she made it only a few steps inside when a young shirvêsh trundled up the hallway.

"Journeyor Hygeorht," he said quickly, "a visitor is asking for you."

Wynn stalled in confusion. She couldn't guess who'd come looking for her here.

"Who is it?" she asked.

The young one shook his head. "She will speak only to you."

"She?" Chane asked, but the acolyte just shrugged.

"How long has she been waiting?" Wynn added.

"Not long," he answered. "She is in the meal hall, when you are ready."

With a curt bow, he left. Wynn exchanged puzzled glances with Chane and then turned to Mallet.

"Thank you for letting us join you this evening. Please excuse us, so I can see who has come."

"Yes, of course," he said. "Off with you."

The old dwarf looked exhausted, the wrinkles of his face deepening. In part, that was best. Wynn didn't want to counter any more questions about how she and Chane had overheard him in the amphitheater.

Wynn hurried on with Shade and Chane. Had someone come from the guild, perhaps Premin Sykion or another as equally opposed to her pursuits? She couldn't imagine the duchess had tracked her down. But when she reached the meal hall's entrance, she stopped, hand still on the framing stones. The woman waiting was the last she whom Wynn could've expected.

Sliver sat at one long table.

Grim and dark as the last time, she had her arms folded tightly. She barely turned her head at Wynn's appearance and glared in silence. Wynn wasn't even sure what to say, though Shade growled softly as she inched into the hall.

Wynn grabbed the dog's tail, halting her, though Chane stepped in as well and stood there, tense and watchful. Wynn brushed him back as she approached her visitor.

"My apology for the other night," she blurted out. "To learn your home's location, I had to trade stories in a cheag'anâkst. And … with all the ale, I wasn't myself."

"Save your excuses," Sliver growled, and looked away, staring at the tabletop. "I am here at my mother's insistence. I will have words with you … alone!"

"Your mother sent you?"

Sliver said nothing more, but she cast a challenging glare at Chane.

"I have some fine mint tea in my room," Wynn told him. "Would you please get it for us? And send for hot water."

Chane's jaw twitched. "No."

"Please," she whispered. "I'll be all right."