Voice of the Lost

CHAPTER SIX

Morning light scoured the cave of all its secrets. The pad of bedrolls and blankets had flattened wafer-thin, doing little to shield Medair from the uneven floor, and the scratches, bruises and scrapes of the previous night all gave tongue in a minor chorus of pain.

Kierash Islantar lay on his stomach next to her, chin resting on crossed arms as he kept watch, gazing along the base of the hill. He glanced back as she sat up, and she tried not to groan at the creaking and popping of her spine.

"How long ago was dawn?" she asked, excavating sand from her eyes. She felt blasted, battered, but somehow cleaner, better able to deal with what she had done, and might have to face. The air smelled of pine, not blood.

"The time limit is almost up. I have not seen anyone going to the cave."

Medair took refuge in practicality, ferreting through her satchel for breakfast. After quickly finishing her share, she warned him not to turn around, so she could change into fresh clothing. Islantar obligingly kept his eyes fixed on the shadow beneath the spur of rock as he munched on the dry biscuits she had offered.

"When I was nine," he said, after she had stopped moving about, "I decided that Cor-Ibis should be my father." He glanced back, and smiled at her expression. "He is not, of course. He would only have been fourteen when I was conceived. But he is what I wanted my father to be.

"That was the year when Athere heard of nothing but Cor-Ibis, awarded the honours of Keridahl Avec, whose acuity was so profound many believed he could read minds, whose manner was so perfect not the slightest fault could be recorded against him. He is our most powerful adept, perhaps the most capable, certainly one of best respected of the Keridahl.

"That was also the year following the death of his mother and Keris Amaret. Those who did not want to be him spent their time courting him. Potential allies, lovers, those of his family who competed to be named his heir. Even his enemies vied for his attention, each moment of his time, wanting what I wanted: to be special to him, to win him."

Medair received this entirely un-Ibisian speech in silence, and searched for some hint of expression in the youth’s profile. "Did you succeed?"

"I have no idea. He is, as I said, perfectly correct, and he has never behaved toward me with anything but the courtesy due the future Kier. He has ever held himself aloof from those who pursue. Immensely frustrating, perhaps even more so for my mother, who disliked my too-apparent quest to capture Cor-Ibis' affection almost as much as his failure to gratify me. It is not how I should behave."

Islantar looked over his shoulder at her again, then turned resolutely away. Medair thought of how Cor-Ibis had reacted when he had seen Islantar exposed in the midst of the battle on Ahrenrhen Wall. Concern for the heir, or an instinctive desire to protect a bond he would not acknowledge?

"I ceased pursuit after a while, behaved more appropriately, though I still find myself trying to prove myself to him. If he will not love me as a son, he will as Kier."

"Show," Medair murmured. Islantar turned again, then drew himself up into a sitting position.

"Show?"

"You don’t know how he feels, merely what he shows you. And you are talking about this to me because–?"

"Because I cannot be certain you will not attempt to take your life again," Islantar replied, with a note of sorrow. "I think if you ran from him, he would be quite capable of finding you wherever you went. If you were killed, he would bear the wound always, but go on. I do not believe he would survive your suicide. And I do not wish to lose him."

For once, Islantar sounded his age. He looked down, but had recovered his equilibrium by the time Medair could summon a reply.

"I’m not going to kill myself, Kierash," she said, surprised at her own certainty. "I don’t know what precisely I will do, but that moment has passed at least." She grimaced. "You remember everything, then? You were very disoriented before."

"For a short time I was the Niadril Kier," he said. He lifted a hand, but stopped short of touching his face. "I thought his thoughts, felt what he felt. I…do not remember a great deal of his life, only snatches, things which occurred to him while he was…within me. You are very different now, to how he first saw you. He could not decide if you look more or less vulnerable."

Medair winced. "Please. I would prefer it if you didn’t tell me things like that."

"The need to demonise the enemy. He understood it." Islantar nodded, then caught himself. "I’m sorry. It was one of the most profound experiences of my life. What could impact me more than being someone else, let alone such a man? I cannot talk about it to anyone else, not in the same way, but I won’t keep reviving the past for you."

He turned, looking back towards the spur once again. "There has been some movement down the road from the castle," he told her. "A patrol went past, circling the hill, but did no more than glance cursorily into the caves. The one behind the spur is deep enough to hide a thousand."

Medair, her tentative equilibrium shredded by thoughts of Ieskar, decided that packing would be the most sensible thing to do while they waited. To focus on moving forward, instead of wallowing in the past. She had barely finished when Islantar leaned forward, briefly exposing himself to make some signal.

"He has someone with him, two people," the Kierash said. "We should go down now, carefully."

Following the Kierash out of the cave, Medair craned to see Cor-Ibis' two companions. They were immediately recognisable: the red-haired Velvet Hand, Liak ar Haedrin, and the male kaschen, an Serentel. Her heart was heavy as she eased down among the rocks, keeping behind what little shelter the uneven hillside offered. Avahn and Ileaha had been her companions for weeks, were friends, despite their Ibisian blood. Just as Cor-Ibis, no matter how white his skin, was the man she loved.

Acknowledging that fact didn’t diminish the difficulty of her future, but it did allow her to meet his eyes directly, and not flinch away from what had happened between them in the dark. Whatever else, she would not run.

He waited until she was close, then touched the back of her hand. It was the only gesture he allowed himself as they headed into the cave behind the spur, but it was apparently enough for Liak ar Haedrin and an Serentel, who were not nearly correct enough to hide their comprehension. They seemed startled, oddly pleased. Medair again felt that wash of shame, and tried to fight it. They were not enemies, and there was no dishonour in caring for this man.

"We cannot move on until the patrol has passed again," Cor-Ibis said. He was amazingly neat after a night in a cave. Other than some minor stains on his clothing and the livid purple-red scratch from the corner of one eye down to the edge of his jaw, he was as immaculate as ever. Medair was not altogether sure how he had managed it.

The cave entrance curved, so they weren’t immediately exposed to outside view, and he stopped as soon as they had travelled far enough for his glow to become noticeable, turning to Medair. "There is not time to fully investigate the various arcana you have brought from Bleak’s Hoard, but we should be able to sort out items for immediate use. Kaschen, if you would watch the entrance?"

The young soldier nodded briefly and moved back toward the sunlight. Those left settled themselves on a tumble of flat rocks.

"The most powerful items are best left to another time," Cor-Ibis said. "Such formidable arcana might prove unsafe for us, even if they did not reveal our presence."

Medair wordlessly opened her satchel and brought out a handful of rings. She separated those where she knew the function, and lined them on the rock beside her.

"Animal control, teleport, strength." She poured the rest into his hand. "I don’t have the sensitivity for divination, so I was trying to discover their function simply by putting them on."

"Have you tried them all?" he asked, picking out one particularly simple circle of bluish metal and bringing it close to his eyes.

"No, only six. These two gave me no clue to their function. The sixth I tried was the teleport, and after that I decided not to risk any more."

He nodded, handing the bluish ring to Islantar. "You will wear this," he instructed as he put the rest of the rings on the rock beside him, then selected one of silver. Islantar immediately mimicked him, holding the ring close to his face, half-closing his eyes as he concentrated on Cor-Ibis' unspoken test.

"A luck-ring," the boy said, eyes widening. "I thought they were no more than legend."

"But those emanations could be nothing else," Cor-Ibis said. He turned over the silver ring. "This allows the wearer to breathe under water." He handed another ring to Islantar, then started a pile of those they had identified. Medair watched with unconcealed amazement. She had seen adepts puzzle over unidentified arcana for days.

After the luck-ring and the water-breather, there was a poison ward and a thin jewelled band which would summon a mageglow when twisted. Cor-Ibis lingered over two identical rings, then handed one to Islantar and told him to exchange it for the luck-ring, slipping the one he retained onto a finger.

"A wend-whisper?" Islantar asked, after a moment.

"No. Direct communication. So there is a way, after all." Cor-Ibis looked at Medair and smiled, that straightforward expression she still found strange from someone so very Ibisian. "The contents of your satchel make us seem unadept indeed. Luck-rings I had at least heard of, though this is the first hint I’ve ever discovered of a mage who had succeeded in such a crafting."

"The Hoard was legendary for more than its volume," Medair said.

He nodded, eyes grave, then returned to the rings. There was another invisibility ring and the last, much to Medair’s chagrin, was a ward proof against traces.

"If only I’d known that before Vorclase tracked me all the way from Bariback to Finrathlar."

"Hind-sight." Cor-Ibis pocketed the trace-ward, then handed her one of the communicators, not noticing that the word had made her blink.

Kel ar Haedrin was given the strength enhancer, with appropriate warning against its side-effects, and Islantar the invisibility ring to carry. "You must avoid capture above all else," Cor-Ibis said, an unequivocal order.

"I will make that one of my priorities," Islantar replied, equally quiet. They seemed very like father and son at that moment, mirrors of solemn determination and certainty. Then a hurried step from the cave entrance broke the lock of their eyes.

"Keridahl," said Kaschen an Serentel. "One comes. Ibis-lar, but not one I know."

A single commanding gesture saw them all fading into the shadows, behind the rocky outcroppings of the walls. Cor-Ibis' glow was so obvious that, after a moment’s hesitation, he walked back out into the centre of the cave. Medair bit her lower lip while the man she didn’t want to love stood exposed, unmoving as any statue. The footsteps came closer, paused, moved forward in a determined rush, then paused again.

All eyes were on the bright triangle of sunlight marking the curving cave entrance. First there was a hint of movement, then a shadow which preceded a woman holding a sword at ready. Her braid of pure white hair caught the light as it swung about her ankles. She was as Ibisian as Cor-Ibis, had even a family resemblance, and moved with the grace of the best swordswomen. The clothing she wore was very similar to Liak ar Haedrin’s uniform, that of a warrior in Cor-Ibis' private guard. Cool eyes swept the cave, stopping at Cor-Ibis' face.

"'Lukar!" Relieved and pleased, the woman lowered her sword, and hurried forward at a less cautious pace. "I was afraid I had missed you."

"Ileaha." Cor-Ibis said the name slowly. Medair stared.

"Avahn and Heleise and one of the kaschen have been taken," the woman said, her voice admittedly very like Ileaha’s. "A patrol of ten from the castle caught them just as they came out of a cave." She shook her head, the ankle-length braid swinging. "They were no more than fifty feet from me the entire night, if only I had known it. Who would have thought a tree would prove the safer?"

"This just happened?" Cor-Ibis asked, ignoring any surprise he might be feeling in favour of more pressing concerns.

"No. Shortly after dawn. I followed them in case there was any chance of breaking them free before they were taken into the castle, but the patrol was alert." The woman took a step forward. "But, 'Lukar, the most important thing: they took them into one of the caves, not the castle. I followed them in and was nearly captured myself when the patrol split, with two remaining with Avahn and the others. Once the rest had resumed circling the castle, I went back into the cave, and found a gate, quite far in. The lock was not one which could be forced, so I came here as quickly as I could."

"The AlKier favours us," Cor-Ibis said. "When the patrol goes past again, we will make our way to this cave, rather than attempt a frontal assault." He gestured to the hidden kaschen, who emerged and returned to the cave entrance to watch, his curiosity and disappointment poorly disguised.

"Ileaha." Medair gave up hiding as well. She searched a stranger’s face as she approached. Leaner than the Ileaha she had travelled with to Athere, and the colouring was dramatically different, as perfectly pale as the purest Ibisian. Her thick, silken rope of hair swayed with her every movement. But it was Ileaha.

"Medair!" The woman embraced her, much to Medair’s discomposure. "I feared we had lost you as well."

"Not quite." Medair glanced at Cor-Ibis, who was watching expressionlessly. "Ileaha, do you remember the Conflagration?"

A frown touched pale blue eyes. "Conflagration?"

"Do you remember the fire surrounding Athere?"

"Estarion’s army?" Ileaha was grave, puzzled by the question but answering obediently. "I have never before seen such a display of bale-fire. Tens of thousands of weapons raised against us."

"Do you remember when you met me?"

Ileaha paused, eyes narrowing. "Do you think me an imposter, Medair? Yes, of course I remember when I met you. It was at the Caraway Seed Inn on Thrence Island. Do you have any other questions?"

"Do you recall our departure from Thrence, when we rode north toward Farash?"

The woman who had once been Ileaha stared. "You can’t ride off an island," she pointed out. "The Alshem took us to the north shore of the Shimmerlan."

Medair touched the warrior woman’s arm, more tentatively than she would have the original Ileaha’s. "You don’t recall the night we stayed in the Whistling Hills? When Avahn recited Faron’s Lament? The Lady of the Hills?"

"Avahn is forever repeating some fragment of Telsen," Ileaha said, with a shrug which went awry half-way through. She stared at nothing for a long moment, eyes wide and frightened, raised a hand to her head, and then collapsed. Medair went to her knees as the rest of their small company came out of hiding.

"The transformations of the Conflagration haven’t ceased?" Islantar murmured, looking down at the tangle of limbs and braid and Medair attempting to cradle Ileaha’s head. "If it has done this, what other unpredictable changes might we face?" Catching Medair’s eye, he raised a hand apologetically even as he continued. "And yet, she has not forgotten as completely as N’Taive, who has yet to be brought to recall anything of the person she was before she became the Herald of Tir’arlea."

"Between two worlds." Cor-Ibis helped Medair straighten Ileaha’s crumpled form. The woman began to revive as he touched her, but was obviously no longer the warrior who had entered the cave, confident in her past. Her face was slack with horror, and she turned it from Cor-Ibis as if she did not want to look at him.

"Here," Medair said, unsealing her satchel and handing it to him. "Leave me alone with her a while. To locate the objects I described, think of them and reach into the satchel."

"Of course." Cor-Ibis paused, then added gently: "I give you use of my name, Ileaha." He rose smoothly and drew Kel ar Haedrin and Islantar further into the cave.

"Do you want to sit up?" Medair asked. She applied slight pressure to Ileaha’s shoulder and started when the woman jerked forward, then struggled quickly to her feet. Taking a few short steps, she clutched at the rough stone wall, eyes pressed tightly shut.

Medair did not immediately disturb her. Then, when it seemed Ileaha would not move, she said, "You remember who you were?"

"I remember who I am," Ileaha replied harshly, glaring down at herself. The tip of her braid, clasped by an ornate band of silver, swung mockingly through the shadows. "Who I am, not what has been made of me."

"Is it–?" Medair hesitated. "Maybe you should sit down."

"And that will make it better?" But she did as Medair suggested, staring back into the cave, where Cor-Ibis had summoned a mageglow, since his internal illumination was not enough to offset the gloom.

"Do you remember two lives now?"

"I remember my life. And that of a person who doesn’t exist." Ileaha squeezed her eyes shut, then opened them, taking a deep breath. The lines of despair on her face eased as she fought for some measure of self-control.

Medair searched for something useful to say, and tried: "You are probably the only person in all Farakkan who knows and understands the world left by the Conflagration, as well as the one it replaced. That is not…unenviable."

"Hardly."

"Are your two lives so very different?" Medair asked. "You seem to have become what you planned to be, a little sooner perhaps."

Ileaha shook her head. "Don’t you see? Medair, if you thought the war which broke the Palladian Empire had been prevented, that the Ibis-lar had accepted the rule of Corminevar, but one day you were among your friends and they said to you something which made you realise that your memories were false, that all you knew were dead, that you were – wrong?"

"An extreme example," Medair said, wishing very much that someone would reveal to her that the past year and five hundred were a figment of her imagination. But – that would mean Cor-Ibis would never have touched her. She backed away from the thought. "Your two lives can’t be so unlike as that, Ileaha."

"No." Ileaha reached out and clasped Medair’s shoulder briefly. "That was thoughtless, Medair. Forgive me."

"There was no offence," Medair said, wondering how close a friendship this new Ileaha remembered them sharing.

"Twenty-three years of being alone, Medair. That is what I have. Of being unworthy, of being one of Cor-Ibis' wards, half-breed in a pure family, unwanted, without value. And this is what I am in the Conflagration’s version of Farakkan, where the cold blood does not readily dilute when it mixes with Farakkian heat, and children born of Ibis-lar and Farak-lar show nothing at all of the blood of this land."

She looked down at her hands, long and slim, roughened by the calluses of a sword-fighter. "The worst of it is, I look back at my two pasts and the difference is in how I behaved, not how others did. Oh, I was spared some of it, looking as I now do, but it was my reaction to those around me which altered the whole complexion of my life. One Ileaha believed herself a burden, the other was too busy to care what the smirking maid and the bored governess thought of her. Those two were there in both lives. Everything is remarkably similar, in fact, and the fault was in me. I drew condemnation, practically courted it."

"By lacking confidence? I was a quiet child, Ileaha. I wanted to please my mother, wanted to be the perfect daughter my sister was not. I…like approval, I suppose. I don’t like anyone to consider me in the wrong, which makes some–" Medair grimaced. "Trying to be that faultless child just meant I was ignored. So I decided to be the perfect Herald and, though I would be very glad to have found a way to avoid war, to unmake all those deaths, I would not like to do my life over as a bolder, better me, who truly could shine in all her endeavours. That wonderful person I could have been doesn’t mean that the person I am is less valuable. You have taken different paths to the same person, and have no reason to despise either course."

"Not the same person, Medair. I am not a Velvet Hand. I have only ever wanted to be on name terms with my guardian, I have never called him Lukar to his face. I did not earn the congratulations of the Kier herself, or spend a year in Mylar las Cor-Ibis bed. I have not–" She broke off, and passed a hand across her face. "All these people, whose memories of their past is different from my own. The worst is Avahn, who I remember as pursuing me relentlessly since he was named heir, and yet has never even thought to do so. The new Ileaha could never take him seriously, and the old? I have loved him since I was a child and never dared to speak, could do nothing but hide behind a pretence of disdain. Now I remember months of courtship. But at least I know the truth, which is better than acting on these false memories."

"Ileaha…"

"No." The hand the young woman held up was as commanding as the Kier’s, part of the new Ileaha. "That is enough. I know the truth and I will deal with it. There are far more important matters to think of." She stood, looking at their clustered companions. "What are they doing?"

"Trying to identify some of the invested magic I brought out of Bleak’s Hoard," Medair replied, reluctantly. "Before we attempt the castle." Ileaha’s skin had an unhealthy waxen sheen and there was something about her which reminded Medair of a dropped vase, reassembled into its former shape but with no glue to hold it together. The cracks showed.

Silently, Ileaha moved to join the others, stationing herself Cor-Ibis' shoulder, firmly relegating herself to somewhere other than the centre of attention. Medair followed helplessly, unable even to comfort the younger woman. Cor-Ibis made no comment, which was probably the best approach. Instead, he handed Ileaha a sheathed sword: long, slim and unadorned.

"This will cut through almost any armor," he told her. "The sheathe seems to be part of the enchantment."

"Thank you, Keridahl," Ileaha replied. No more 'Lukar, it seemed. He asked her about the cave the patrol had used and she plainly found some comfort in reporting matter-of-factly.

"No detectable traps or trips. The gate is in an off-branch of the main cave. There are signs of frequent passage inside, but it is necessary to cross stone to reach the entrance, so there is no trail worn to make that particular cave stand out from its many fellows. It’s in the southern face of the hill, more west than east."

"Did you travel at all through the forest on your way here this morning?"

"Only the very periphery. Either the mist is not triggered during the day or I did not venture in far enough."

"Or Estarion has the means to set and unset the enchantment." He handed Medair back her satchel, having provided himself with a sword and Islantar a long knife before replacing the other items. "After such a devastating loss, Estarion’s forces cannot be many. The patrol suggests that they are not as disordered as I had hoped, but we are still more likely to encounter servants than soldiers. These can be overpowered, put out of the way. A general alarm should be avoided for as long as possible. Ideally, though it is unlikely, I wish to find and stop Estarion without alerting the castle at all." He paused. "It will be necessary to kill him, not merely rescue our fellows and take whatever means he has to summon gates. It is unlikely Farakkan can survive another wave of wild magic if he is driven to summon it again."

"And after we have killed this man?" Islantar asked. "What then?"

"If we have found a location which can be usefully fortified, Avahn and I will attempt to create a gate boosted by the rahlstones – provided he still has his. Staying together–"

He broke off as an Serentel signalled from the entrance, and they once again took shelter. Booted feet tramped past the cave entrance without pause, and the kaschen signalled again.

"We will go through the forest edge," Cor-Ibis said, leading the way to the entrance of the cave, but not venturing out immediately. "Once in the castle, we must keep together, though it increases our risk of detection. If we cannot finish Estarion, then our goal is Taedrin City. We will leave the castle as we entered it and, if we are separated, return to this cave for shelter. If it is not possible to regroup, then each is to attempt to make Taedrin City alone, and you especially Kierash. Did you prepare the wend-whisper?"

Islantar nodded.

"Tell Avahn that we are coming for him, and what he should do if he frees himself before we reach him."

Triggering a wend-whisper he had obviously prepared while Medair had been sleeping, Islantar murmured to himself for a short period, then nodded.

"Ready," he said.

Medair hoped they were.