Carol Berg - THE SOUL WEAVER

We found Gerick waiting in the library, perched on the back of a chair reading a book. He showed no surprise. He must have spotted Karon and me from a window.

“My lord.” Gerick, at sixteen only slightly beyond middle height, tossed his book aside, sprang to his feet, and bowed formally to Karon.

Karon returned the bow and then stepped close, touching Gerick’s shoulder and smiling. “You’ve grown fairly these months, Gerick. How do Tennice and your mother keep you in clothes and boots?”

“I don’t need much,” said Gerick. Serious. Neutral. Karon’s hand might have been a stray leaf fallen on his shirt. “How long can you stay?”

Karon’s hand fell back to his side. “Not long, unfortunately. Not long at all. I’d like to tell you - Would you walk with me a bit?”

“Of course.”

I watched them as they strolled through the garden in the dusky light, one tall and broad in the shoulder, one slender and wiry, each with his hands clasped carefully behind his back. In their brief times together, Karon tried to explain both the history and the current politics of his realm. Gerick listened, but, as with so many things, offered no opinions of his own and refused to be drawn into conversation. All too soon they were coming back through the library door.

“Seri, love, I’ve got to go” - an extraordinary brightness filled Karons eyes - “but my plans have changed a little. I’m taking Gerick with me.”

Astonishment almost stole my breath. “Across the Bridge. Are you sure? Is he - ?”

I looked from one to the other. Gerick’s demeanor reflected none of Karon’s unspoken joy and excitement, only the same sober reserve he displayed on each of Karon’s visits.

“Gerick, are you ready to do this? Has it been long enough? To cross… to go to Avonar… such a big step… ” So near Zhev’Na.

“With all that’s going on in Avonar this seems like an important time,” he said. “I’ll be all right.”

Such vague reassurance did not soothe my unease in the least. “Karon, shouldn’t you prepare him… for those he’ll meet?”

The Lords had taught Gerick to despise his father’s people, and, indeed, almost every Dar’Nethi our son had encountered had tried to deceive, corrupt, or murder him. And the Dar’Nethi knew almost nothing of Gerick - only that he had been stolen by the Lords, brought up in Zhev’Na, and rescued by his father. Introducing them to each other was going to be a task requiring the utmost delicacy.

“It’s the middle of the night. No one will even know he’s there. I need to show him the Bridge and the Gate. Where I live. Where I work. I’ll have him back here safely before morning.” Karon’s eyes begged me to understand why I could not come with them.

Of course I understood; they had to learn to talk, to deal with each other without my serving as intermediary. If this venture was successful, perhaps we could all go next time. Be together… Before I could think what other questions to ask or what cautions to give them, they had walked out of the house and vanished into the light of the rising moon.

For an hour I paced the library and drawing rooms, desire and anxiety and long-unspoken hopes and possibilities wrestling in my imagination. I imagined the two of them treading the luminous path through the chaotic nightmare visions of the Breach between the worlds, and emerging in the chamber of cold white fire that was the Heir’s Gate, deep in the heart of Avonar. From there they would follow winding passages, where the lamps sprang to life to light the way in front of you and faded as you passed, until they came to the graceful, sprawling rooms of the Heir’s rose-colored palace, the quiet fortress heart of the most beautiful city one could imagine. The safest place in a world inhabited by the Lords of Zhev’Na.

Hours it would take them to make the passage across the Bridge, hours to make the return journey. If they were to be back before dawn, they would have very little time in Avonar. No time for the Lords to know Gerick was there. For four years Karon had been traveling between Verdillon and the palace, and the Lords had not found us here. Karon knew the risks; he would watch, listen, and be wary.

A tap on the library door brought our housemaid with a supper tray. “Will you be needing anything else, ma’am?”

“No. Thank you, Teriza.”

“I’ll be off then to Mistress Phyllia’s and be back in the morning early. She’s got her a grumpy little mite this time, wails half the night, wakes half the village. You must call Kat to do for you till I’m back.”

“You’re kind to help the woman. Stay as long as you need. We’ll manage.”

The house was quiet. Tennice was away in Yurevan, visiting friends at the University. From a distance came the echo of a child’s laughter - Teriza’s niece Kat, most likely enjoying a tease with Paulo while taking him a late supper in the stables. He was sitting with Tennice’s bay mare and her two-day-old foal, the first to be born under Paulo’s sole care.

I threw a log on the library fire and poked at the smoldering coals until it caught. Then I turned up the lamp beside my chair and pulled needle, thread, and a skirt with a ripped hem from a neglected basket on the floor. Though I detested sewing, stitching helped impose some order on my thoughts…

A soft kiss on my forehead woke me. Moonlight streamed through the garden door, outlining the shadowed form with silver.

“Karon… ” I smiled through my lingering dreams, knowing he could sense my pleasure even in the dark.

“He’s home safely and on his way to bed.” His wide hand brushed away the hair stuck to my cheek. “An uneventful journey. He can tell you. But a first step. Soon, love… soon.”

He lifted me in his arms, carried me up the stairs, and laid me in my bed, pulling the coverlet over my shoulders. The scents of Verdillon’s emerald grasses and the rustle of ash leaves brushed by soft air drifted through the open window of my room. The leaves were rimmed with silver, and their fluttering created dancing patterns of moonlight on the walls. Another lingering kiss and he was gone. I smiled and slipped into peaceful slumber…

“No more! I will not!” The agonized cry shattered the night.

I threw off the coverlet, my sluggish mind struggling to recall why I was in bed fully dressed. But my feet knew what was needed and hurried down the softly lit passage. Gerick huddled in his bed asleep. Fear, revulsion, and denial rolled through the bedchamber like dark waves, pushing me away even as I pulled his quivering shoulders into my embrace. “Gerick. Wake up. You’re safe at Verdillon. Nothing can harm you here.”

His eyes flew open, but whatever horror they looked upon was not in the realm of waking. He clung to me as if he were in the grip of a whirlwind. “No! Stop!”

“Gerick, it’s only dreams, just vile, wicked dreams.” I held him tight, stroking his shining hair and rocking him slowly until his fevered trembling eased and his cries died away. As had happened on so many other nights, he blinked and was awake. I knew to let go then. He would accept no comfort once he was awake.

“What is it, Gerick?” I asked, as he rose from the bed and stood at the open window, a blanket pulled tightly about his shoulders despite the warmth of the night. “What frightens you so?”

“It’s only dreams. They’re nothing. I’m sorry I wake you.”

“If only you’d let your father help you.” I knew it was wrong as soon as I said it.

“I don’t need his help. Please, Mother, I’ll be all right.”

And so, as always, I kissed his forehead and returned to my room. From my window, I watched him stride across the moonlit courtyard toward the stables, ready to drag Paulo from his bed to join him for a predawn gallop through the neighboring fields and forests. Once again I blessed Paulo, who seemed to be the only person Gerick could turn to in his need. When I returned to my bed, I lay puzzling again at what triggered Gerick’s nightmares, the bright hopes of the evening tarnished.