The Soul Weaver

CHAPTER 2

Seri

Enough! I threw the wilted seedlings into my basket, stood up, and stretched my aching back, brushing away a long-legged spider tickling my grimy hand. The remaining bean plants stood nicely separated in the row of dark earth. My old friend Jonah would have been pleased that I remembered his lesson: Removing healthy seedlings to leave the others room to grow was necessary for a successful crop.

The sun was almost down. The evening damp creeping out from under the heavy leaves bore the rich scents of early summer: thyme and mint, greenness and good soil. I carried my basket to the waste heap at the edge of the garden, dumped the contents onto the pile of damp leaves, weeds, and dirt, and tossed the basket into the wooden barrow. As I rinsed my hands with a scoop of water from the rain barrel, running footsteps crunched the gravel path leading from the stableyard. I spun in the direction of the rosy afterglow just in time to see two long, blue-clad arms reaching for me, just in time to flush with pleasure and call his name. “Karon!”

I couldn’t understand his answered greeting, as his head was buried in my neck and my hair, and no more words were forthcoming for a while as he kissed every finger’s breadth of my grimy face. “I’ve only an hour,” he said at last, spinning me dizzy in a fierce embrace. “Tomorrow comes quickly, and I’ve a thousand things pressing. Jayereth just brought us the most marvelous news, and I ought to be with her. But I’ve decreed this time ours. Duty shall have no share of it. Only the two of us… ”

The two of us: I, a woman of middle years, living on the charity of an old friend, and my husband, the Prince of Avonar, ruler of a kingdom that was not of my own world. To anyone who heard it, our story would sound absurd. The body my husband wore was not the one I had embraced in the brief years of our marriage. The Prince D’Natheil bore little physical resemblance to the slender, dark-haired Healer with the scarred arm who had been burned to death sixteen years ago at the behest of Leiran law. For ten years I had believed myself a widow.

Yet this tall, fair sorcerer prince with arms like oak trees and a back like a fortress wall was truly Karon. I could hear it in his voice as he told me of how he’d been unable to shake the image of my face while sitting in a meeting of his counselors that day. I could sense it in his manner as he paused to catch his breath, backing away a step and holding my hand, half embarrassed at his own display of passion. I could see it in his clear blue eyes that shone with love and good humor and a sheer, stubborn goodness that insisted on seeing its own reflection even when gazing on the deepest horrors of two worlds. Before I’d heard the story of how his salvation had come about, before he had regained his own memory of his life, death, and return, I had known him.

As his gaze enfolded me like a sheepskin cloak in winter, his skin thrummed with restless energy. His fingers, warm and wide, twined with my own, asking… hoping… needing… “Ah, Seri, I miss you so.”

I understood. I was not stone. But I held him at arm’s length, pulling him onto the path that led through the gardens and walking briskly into the surrounding parkland. “First, tell me what thousand things prevent your staying more than one pitiful hour. It’s been three months this time.” Three months, two weeks, and three days, in fact, since his last visit.

Four years ago Karon had brought our son Gerick, our young friend Paulo, and me out of the grim fortress of Zhev’Na, through the horrors of the Breach between the worlds, and back to the world I once believed was the only one in the universe. Gerick had repudiated the Lords of Zhev’Na and cast his lot with us, giving up immortality and sorcerous power beyond our comprehension because he refused to have our blood on his hands. At that time, we had decided that Gerick could not risk another crossing of the Breach, even using D’Arnath’s Bridge, until we had built a barrier of time and love and ordinary life between him and the Lords, and so Karon had taken up his duties in Avonar without us. Gerick and I had come to stay with our friend Tennice in this genteel country house, surrounded by cherry orchards and parkland and the rolling green countryside of Valleor.

“Nothing different. Work. Traveling everywhere. Trying to get my own people to trust me. Trying to end this damnable war. Trying to heal what I can. I’ve given up thinking life will get simpler or easier. But I swore not to talk about business. This time is for you. Anything else - ”

He tried to drag me to a stop, but I wrenched my hand away and kept walking. “No. You must and will talk about business. I need to know what you do every day, Karon, what you think about, whom you talk to and what they’re like, the good and the bad of it. Tell me about the weather, about your palace, and your horse, and the healings you work. Imagining such things is the only way I’m allowed to share your life. At least tell me of reality, so I’ll know I’m imagining something close to it.” So I wouldn’t keep thinking of him as a stranger when he was too far away for me to seek the truth in his eyes or his manner or his voice.

In our first year at Verdillon, Karon had come to us every few weeks, staying for days at a time. But necessity ended that luxury. Karon was the Heir of the ancient sorcerer king, D’Arnath, sovereign of all that remained of Gondai, the magical world beyond the Breach, the sole protector and defender of D’Arnath’s Bridge, this singular enchantment designed to counter the Lords and their evils. Yet he knew almost none of his subjects and had only a limited understanding of their world. The Dar’Nethi needed the reassurance of their sovereign’s presence. I could accept that. I was a warrior’s daughter, raised to understand the obligations of a noble. If Karon was to lead his people, then he and his people had to learn to know and trust each other. Traveling the length and breadth of his realm, visiting every town and village to speak with his subjects, listen to their stories, and heal their ills, and developing his plans for ending the war left him little opportunity to make the time-consuming and difficult passage across D’Arnath’s Bridge to this world. And so, as the months passed, his visits had become increasingly rare and far too brief. I felt as if we were going backward.

“All right. If that’s what you want… ” And so we walked in the spring-scented evening, and he gave me what I’d asked for, reining in one passion only to unleash another. He told me of the Preceptors and his plans and the increasing dangers of his war. “… The Zhid raiders grow bolder every day. Two farms burned last week, another village destroyed the week before, half its people taken as slaves, half left in madness, and its children… Oh, Seri” - his voice shook and his fingers almost crushed my own - “I came very close to heeding Men’Thor and Ustele and their constant harangues.”

“They still call your strategy treason - the Circle, everything else?”

“Men’Thor is convinced that the only way to destroy the Zhid is to kill them all. The self-righteous bastard never changes his tone of voice and never changes his mind, no matter how you argue it. Ustele rails that we’ve lost our nerve, that I violate D’Arnath’s oath every day I permit such horrors to continue. And truly, last week when I saw those slaughtered children, I wanted nothing more than to ride for Zhev’Na myself, my sword in hand. But today we had such news. Jayereth has found an answer… ”

Our pace increased until I almost had to double-step to keep up with him. His face shone as he explained how, after so long a preparation, months of travel, long, grueling hours of intricate enchantment, meetings and argument, talking and convincing his hesitant subjects, his plan was ready to go forward. One might have thought his magnificent venture engaged already for the vigor with which he propelled me about the cherry orchard.

But as the last light faded in the west, his steps slowed again. He pulled me into his arms, pressing my head to his shoulder. The fine cambric of his shirt felt soft against my cheek and warm with the muscled flesh underneath, and I cursed duty and politics and everything else that conspired to keep us apart. “Ah, love,” he said, “you’ve let me babble far too long. The time runs… and we’ve not even spoken of Gerick yet.”

I closed my eyes, smothered my unhappiness, and yielded pleasurably to the hand that stroked my hair. “It wouldn’t break my heart if we had more time with you.”

“I’ve thought so much of him lately, wondering if the time was any closer… What do you think? Does it go any better with him? The nightmares? Earth and sky, how I want to be here with you. I scarcely know the boy. I don’t even know what he studies.” His arms threatened to squeeze the breath out of me.

“He still has nightmares, and he still won’t talk about them. But they seem less frequent of late, and less… disruptive… and in every other sense he grows easier,” I said, pulling away enough to keep breathing, as well as to keep my mind on our son. “He maintains a more even temper. He and Tennice get on famously, and the more intense their work, the better. You’ll be proud of all he’s accomplished. He can discuss history and philosophy, mathematics, astronomy, and politics at a level worthy of Martin’s drawing rooms. In only one area does he lag a bit… ”

“Surely it could not be the discipline Leirans call natural science?” Karon stooped until his face was on a level with mine, his blue eyes wide and teasing. “All those ‘nasty plant names and vile animal parts when one should only care about beauty and usefulness’?”

I slapped him - not hard - and shoved his face away. “All right. So natural science was never my strength. And, the bright muses bless him, Tennice knows even less than I, so we’ve eased up on Gerick for now. But in everything else Gerick excels. More important” - I dropped my voice a bit and pulled him farther along the path, letting foolery carry us into more serious realms - “he speaks freely of his childhood at Comigor and so many things we thought he might never acknowledge. And a few times - not many yet - he’s made a passing reference to his life in Zhev’Na. Just as you hoped he would.”

“But as to sorcery… ”

“He still won’t discuss it, and I’ve seen no evidence he’s tried to work any enchantment.”

Karon stopped again, leaning his back against the brick wall of the kitchen garden, shaking his head in puzzled disbelief. “He seems to think he can give it up. Does he have any idea…? He’s sixteen; he’ll be coming into his primary talent any time now, which will make abstaining infinitely more difficult… ”

“… just like all the other tricks nature plays between twelve and eighteen,” I said.

He smiled ruefully. “Life can seem quite a jumble in the middle of it.”

“You won’t believe how he’s grown. He’s almost as tall as Ka - you… were. Before.” I almost bit my tongue. Everlasting curses, you stupid woman…

“You mean the real me.”

There it was… the false note that would sneak its way into the harmonies of our time together. Why could I not reconcile myself to his change? In everything of importance, this was the man I had married. I couldn’t blame him for the traces of sadness and bitterness that lingered long after his words had been spoken. Yet this very response embodied the subtle differences that still bothered me. The sadness was Karon. The bitterness, never.

I tried to shake it off. How could I regret anything? He was with me. “The first you,” I said, unable to look him in the eye.

Gently, he took my hand, kissed it, and pressed it to his brow, a gesture of affection that had its origin, not in the magical world of the Dar’Nethi, but here in courtly Valleor, the country of his youth in the human world. We turned and walked back toward the house, letting comfortable familiarity soothe the awkwardness. The disturbance was not gone, though. How could we ever explore these things when we never had time? Each visit was the same. No sooner had we reintroduced ourselves to each other and laid bare the questions that needed to be answered than it came time for him to go.

“Forgive me, Seri. Soon… I promise… ” Karon had never used his power to read my thoughts uninvited. But then, he had rarely needed to. I seemed to be incapable of hiding what I felt.

Despite my unhappiness, I could not send Karon back to Avonar burdened with my resentments. I took his hand, kissed it, and pressed it to my own brow, trying to absorb the feel of him… the smell of him… the truth of him. Then I nodded toward the kitchen door. “You’ll see Gerick before you go?” Concern for our son was one matter on which our opinions did not diverge.

“If he’s willing. I suppose he’ll be no easier with me.”

“It’s true you’re not his first topic of conversation, and yet, just yesterday he asked when it was you’d studied here at Verdillon.”

“He says so little when we’re together. I can’t tell what he’s feeling. I don’t want to push, but with the Circle complete, Marcus and the others in place in Zhev’Na, and now, Jayereth’s news… I’m giving her a fortnight to refine her working, and then I’ll send out scouts for the last reports from the borders. It’s one reason I wanted to come tonight. Once we close the Circle, I won’t be able to leave until we see how the Lords respond. If anything should happen to me… I’ve so much to tell him, things I’ve learned about this strange world he’s destined to govern. We need to move forward. If only he’d talk to me, give me a sign that he’s ready to listen.”

“Don’t fret. He’s reserved with all of us, not only you. He just needs more time with you - to learn how different you are from what the Lords taught him. Trust comes only with time and experience.”

Karon had given Gerick back his human eyes and restored to our son his mortal life, doing his best to heal the wounds of a childhood lived in fear, loneliness, cruelty, and murder. But even Karon’s blessed magic could not undo Gerick’s greatest injury. As a child, living in my brother’s house, Gerick had isolated himself because he could do things our world called “vile sorcery.” And when the Lords had stolen him away to Zhev’Na, they had fostered and nurtured his belief in his own evil, linking it with destiny and power and inevitability. By the time Gerick understood how they had deceived him, he had become so steeped in their hatred and suspicion he scarcely knew how to live in any other way. And the Lords’ first, last, and most enduring lesson had been mistrust of his father.

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.