Carol Berg - THE SOUL WEAVER

Bareil didn’t pause by the empty bier, but led me to a side door, a very plain door. “This is the preparation room, my lady.”

Where they took their dead princes to enchant their wounds away, I thought, to bathe them and array them in whatever attire was deemed suitable for burial - to hide the terrible truths of death. Oh, gods, why had he brought me here?

The room was small and businesslike, with a marble table at its center, clearly the resting place for the honored dead, though it, too, remained vacant. Waiting. At one side of the room was a rack with silk robes of various colors, and on the other, rows of glass shelves containing vials of oils and perfumes, boxes of candles, scrolls, small velvet-lined boxes of leather and wood that contained jewelry and gemstones. Across the room were several cushioned mourners’ benches, flanking an open doorway. The room had no windows, but opened onto a small garden, a gentle reminder of life in a room devoted to the service of death. A very Dar’Nethi arrangement.

Gerick sat on the mourner’s bench, his head resting in his hands.

I crossed the room and laid a hand on his hair. “Are you all right, dear one?”

“I couldn’t sleep,” he said, without looking up. “I’ll be all right.”

Ven’Dar appeared in the arched doorway from the garden. “Good morning, my lady,” he said, somberly. “My apologies for waking you so early, but a matter of some urgency has arisen with regard to the Prince’s funeral rites. Your son and I believe that only you can resolve it.”

“But I know very little of your customs… ” I began.

“The one who is concerned will explain the difficulty. It is very complicated, but I believe your knowledge will be sufficient. If you would step into the garden… ”

Exasperated with the Dar’Nethi and their incessant ritual, I hurried through the door into the garden. In a corner that the early sun had not yet touched, someone in silk robes of dark blue was bending over a bed of miniature roses.

“Excuse me, sir,” I said. “I understand you’ve discovered a problem with the Prince’s funeral arrangements. Please explain what is so urgent that it must be settled before the birds leave their nests. Funeral rites rarely require such haste.”

The man’s back was toward me, and the sun was in my eyes, and even when he straightened up, I thought, for a long moment, that he wasn’t going to say anything. The dawn breeze wafted a hundred scents about my head until I felt almost giddy. Was that what made the hairs on my arms prickle - or was it the breadth of his shoulders or the color of his hair bound with a clip that glinted silver in the sunbeams…

“The problem, my lady, is with the subject of these rites. He just doesn’t seem to be dead.”

And so in the gentle dawn did my love turn and greet me in such fashion as to leave no mistake as to his condition of life or death. In his unshadowed blue eyes was reflected the soul of my Karon, and in his smile was all the joy of the universe.

I had given up too soon in my waiting, back in the prison block at the palace. Karon had so much farther to come back than Gerick, and it was so much more difficult, for he believed himself properly dead. Yet Gerick’s plea had held him at the Verges, and he could not dismiss our son’s belief that only one life need be forfeit - that of the incapable D’Natheil.

Gerick claims to have felt a “stirring” in his mind as he fell asleep. Perhaps. For whatever reason, he went back to sit with his father through the night and found Bareil bathing Karon in preparation for his funeral. Gerick has never told me what he did as Bareil went about his work. The Dulcé says Gerick sat in the shadows and went to sleep. But I’ve surmised that Gerick entered the dark, cold shell of his father’s body and kept it living, allowing Karon time to use our lifeline and find his way back. Perhaps the bathing water was a bit cool, the Dulcé confessed sheepishly, but he never thought it cold enough to wake the dead.

Together Karon and Ven’Dar decided that the Dar’Nethi would not be told that the man they knew as Prince D’Natheil had survived his last battle with the Lords. Though his body yet housed Karon’s soul, in truth, the sad and angry D’Natheil was dead. His passions no longer influenced Karon, and Karon no longer held any of the Heir’s power. Likewise, D’Natheil’s corrupted son would remain dead, executed by his father’s hand. Gerick had no interest in helping Ven’Dar explain how the Fourth Lord of Zhev’Na had been willing to give his life to defeat his corruptors and protect the poorest of worlds. The people of Gondai had been confused for too long. They needed to move forward and to heal.

And so later that day, as soon as the newly anointed Ven’Dar could shake off his aides and well-wishers to take us across D’Arnath’s Bridge, we slipped quietly out of Gondai with only Aimee and Bareil to bid us farewell. The Prince deposited us in a place I selected - a quiet lane in Montevial - with a promise to visit us at Verdillion as soon as he could find the time.

We returned Roxanne to her home that same evening, using the opal brooch her mother had given me to gain unnoted access to the palace. As we suspected, Radele had silenced Evard with the same enchantment used on me. We could only speculate as to reasons. Karon maintained that Radele had merely thought to scare us back to Verdillon where he could control Gerick more easily. Ever more cynical than my husband, I believed that Radele wanted to provoke chaos in the mundane world to further justify his family’s contention that we were unworthy of Dar’Nethi concern. When we pressed Gerick for his opinion, he surmised that Radele was beginning to enjoy the power the Lords had given him with the oculus, toying with the most powerful of mundane rulers as a child torments ants and beetles.

On that night Karon and Gerick together released the King of Leire from his months of silence, and we saw our old enemy embraced with love and relief by his clear-eyed wife and daughter. We did not linger to answer his befuddled questions or hear his thanks. Even for Karon, there were limits to compassion.

Roxanne sent us on our way with money, horses, promises, and every gift we would accept. She kissed an astonished Paulo on the forehead with an offer of her friendship if ever he required it, and then she clasped Gerick’s hands, studying him as if to press his image into her memory. “You’re going back, aren’t you?”

Gerick nodded, flicking his eyes our way. “I’ll see them to our friend’s house in Valleor first.”

Roxanne nodded, as if she expected nothing else. “You’ll miss my help.”

Gerick laughed a bit. “Indeed I will.”

Roxanne didn’t laugh, but squeezed his hands until her knuckles went white. “You’ll find many people willing to help you. But sometimes you need to ask. Don’t forget that.” Then she released him and shoved him toward his horse. As Gerick mounted up, she strode back under the torchlit gate tower, and the portcullis clanged shut behind her.

Mere days after reestablishing the reign so tenaciously and skillfully perserved by his queen, King Evard promulgated two decrees that would have been unheard of a few years earlier. Sorcery, in and of itself, was no longer a crime, for sorcerers had worked closely with the king to end the strange disturbances of the previous year. The second decree, that women could own property and inherit the titles of their fathers, needed no explanation.

Of less interest to the people of Leire, but of some significance to Karon and me, was an envelope that followed us to Verdillon, where Karon and I planned to stay with Tennice awhile. In it were the deeds to Windham and the Gault titles that had been vacant for sixteen years. Though sorely tempted by the opportunity to care for Martin’s home, we were inclined to refuse anything from Evard’s hand. What decided the question was the simple note that accompanied the documents. It said only, From a grateful father and mother. In that spirit we accepted.