King of Sword and Sky (5 page)

"Do you think you would truly have done that?"

"Aiyah.
Gods help me, but I would have."

Ellysetta clasped both of Rain's hands in hers, feeling his self-loathing for the horrors he had wreaked upon the world. Countless innocents had died here that day, as well as the hated enemy.

"I know their names," he said. "Each and every one of them slain by my Rage—and there are so many. For centuries, I lived with the sound of them shrieking in my mind. Over time, I learned how to quiet them, but they're still there, still screaming. Anytime I let my barriers fall, I see their faces and relive their memories of the lives and dreams I shattered."

"Rain, you spent a thousand years in torment for one terrible act of madness. Haven't you suffered enough? Let them go."

He met her gaze, his Fey skin shining with a faint, silver luminescence, his eyes with their slightly elongated pupils glowing. "Ellysetta, I cannot. The torment of their lost lives is mine to bear. Only death or the completion of our bond can release me."

A misty breeze blew across the lake, cool from the night air sweeping down off the Rhakis mountains and rich with the scent of magic from the Mists. Rain looked up at the bright glow of rainbow lights that danced in undulating flows along the mountaintops. "So many lives lost on my account. Here at Eadmond's Field and there as well." He gestured to the Faering Mists. "Twelve thousand of the oldest, strongest Fey and all the tairen prides but one gave their lives to build the Mists."

"You cannot blame yourself for their deaths too."

A look came over his face that made her heart ache. "Can I not?" he said softly. "All the Tairen Souls but me were dead. I was the last, and I was wild with madness. But as the last, I was also the Tairen Soul, Defender of the Fey. Had I perceived a threat to the Fey, I would have flown again. So they built the Mists. I'm sure, in part, they meant to save the world from me, but mostly, they died to save me from the world. To give me peace for as long as they could in the hope that I would live and regain my sanity."

She felt his guilt, his silent horror. "Oh, Rain."

"How does a Fey repay such sacrifice? How can he ever be worthy? How does he atone for all the lives lost because of him?"

She captured his face between her hands. "By doing exactly what you're doing now," she assured him. "By living the best you can. By trying to save the people and the land those Fey loved. By honoring them, as you've done every day since I first met you."

"I think you look upon this Fey more favorably than he deserves,
kem'san."

"Nei,
I see him plainly enough." She laid her palm against his chest. "And I love the Fey I see."

When she gazed at Rain with such unwavering surety, he always saw a different reflection of himself shining from her eyes. A stronger Rain Tairen Soul, so much better and brighter than he truly was. As if, when she looked at him, she saw only the Rain he might have been if he'd never scorched the world, a good and worthy king. He longed to be that noble Fey, if only because he could not bear to diminish himself in her eyes.

"I cannot restore the lives I took or repair the dreams I shattered, but I can at least ensure that the brave friends and allies who fell here will never be forgotten. Will you walk with me while I do that,
shei'tani?"

"Of course I will."

He led her to the shore of the lake and lit a globe of bright Fire over their heads to light the way, but when he stepped onto the dark glass, she hesitated to follow. In the Fire-light, the glass was smooth and glossy, untouched by dirt, animal tracks, or even a speck of dust. It was as if nothing of the living dared invade this sacred site of the dead.

"Perhaps we shouldn't walk on it," she suggested. "It seems a little like walking across a grave."

"Nothing of those who died here yet remains," Rain assured her. "My tairen flame saw to that. But I will spin a weave of Air beneath our feet as we walk so that we do not touch the glass."

Silvery white tendrils spun out from his fingertips, and when Ellysetta stepped out onto the glass, she slid several handspans, as if the lake were a frozen pond and her shoes were ice skimmers instead of embroidered silk ankle boots.

Barely half a manlength from the shore, Rain stopped. "An Elvish bowmaster fell beneath my flame on this spot. His name was Pallas Sparhawk, of the Deep Woods clan. He had a mate named Celia and a son who'd seen only three winters." His head bowed. "I did not meet him in life, but I will never forget his death."

Lavender Spirit gathered in Rain's hand, spinning into a three-dimensional image of a handsome, stern-eyed Elf with nut brown hair hanging in plaits around his pointed ears. Red-orange Fire spun out in a searing weave, etching the Elf's name into the glass on the spot where he died, and below that the fallen man's clan name and country. He held his hand over the etching of the name and said,
"Las,
Pallas Sparhawk. May the world be a kinder place when next you return." The Elf's name flashed, and the Spirit weave of the Elf's image sank into the glass lake.

"I have tied the weave to the etching of Sparhawk's name," he said. "Those who draw near will see his name and his face and share a few of his memories. Perhaps they will find it in their hearts to mourn him a little."

"It is a fine tribute to him, Rain," Ellysetta said.

"Is it? There is another reason I brought you here. When you complete our bond, my memories of these folk will become yours as well. You should know, before that happens, some small portion of what that entails. You should know—" He broke off. His jaw worked for a moment, and when he spoke again, his voice was gravelly with tightly checked emotion. "You should know what really happened here that day. It wasn't the romantic Fey tale Celierians have made of it. These were good people, with lives and loves of their own. If I could spin time, I would take this day back."

She could feel the weight of his sorrow and his guilt. He knew, better than any creature alive, exactly what he'd done, the lives he'd destroyed. Until their bond was complete, she could not erase that pain. All she could do was stand beside him and try to help him shoulder the burden.

"Then let me meet Pallas Sparhawk, so I may mourn him as you do." She stepped forward, close to the name etched deep into the glass. The moment she drew near, Rain's Spirit weave swirled in a cloud of lavender mist. The Elf's face formed in her mind, and with it came a rush of memories: the face of his wife, the love he had felt for her, the moment of his son's birth, the day he'd presented his child with his first, tiny bow, the march to battle, the friends he'd fought beside, and the final gasp of fear and acceptance as an orange wall of tairen flame raced towards him. His final thought, as the flame enveloped him, had been for his wife, Celia, and their son, Fanor.

Tears filled her eyes for the brave man lost, for the sorrow of the beloved wife and child to whom he'd never returned. "His wife and son, if they still live, should know that his last thought was of them." She took a ragged breath and wiped away her tears. "When you send the envoy to the Elves, you should tell them what you've done here and let them know their dead have not been forgotten. You should let all the allies know."

"You think they would want that?"

"I do. Even the mortals may have family members who will want to come here one day, to learn and remember as well as to mourn."

Throughout the night, they walked the lake, covering every inch of glossy black glass, creating the memorials, celebrating and mourning the lives lost, until finally, just before dawn, only the place where Sariel had died remained unmarked. It was not, as legend claimed, at the center of the glass lake, but closer to the southern end, where the Fey healing tents had been.

When Rain started to weave the same marker into the lake's surface for Sariel, Ellysetta stopped him. "For the last thousand years, her name has been linked to tragedy and death," she said. "Celierians say she sleeps beneath the glass. Why not let them have their legend, and give her a memorial that will let the world remember her as she truly was? Why not give her something like this?" Calling upon Spirit, the one branch of magic Ellysetta could usually weave with some measure of success, she spun an image of the memorial she had in mind.

Rain regarded the Spirit weave in surprise. "Are you certain this is what you want?"

"It's what she deserves." She covered his hand with hers, and her sincerity flowed through the touch. "I do not begrudge her the love you bore for her, Rain. She brought you joy in a world of war and death, and I will always be grateful to her for that."

He drew a breath, his heart swelling with emotion so great, it nearly brought tears to his eyes. "You would have loved her too, you know."

She smiled, her eyes filled with warmth and understanding. "I know. I've loved her from the first time I read about her. Now, I think I loved her so much because some part of me knew how much you did."

He raised her hands to his lips and pressed a kiss upon the backs of her fingers. "Then let it be as you wish. Step back a little. I will need to call Fire."

He waited for her to move a safe distance away before lifting his hands and summoning his magic. Earth and Fire gathered in his body, pulsing with energy. When he had the strength he needed, the bright, swirling threads of green and red spun from his fingers, coiling and plaiting into the necessary weaves. He directed the weaves at the surface of the lake, heating the obsidian glass until it began to glow a molten, fiery red. Slowly, the glass began to rise, drawn upwards by Earth. He wove until the memorial took shape, then added Air and Spirit to finish it before slowly cooling the steaming glass with swirling gusts of warm Air.

When he was finished, the eastern sky was lighting with the first approach of dawn and the obsidian lake was no longer a solid sheet of flat glass. Instead, in the center of the southern end, on the spot where Sariel had died, a sarcophagus rose from the surrounding glass as if offered up from the depths of the lake itself. Glossy black glass set with a rich abundance of gold and gemstones formed the rounded rectangular base. Atop that base, beneath a thick layer of clear crystalline glass, a Spirit weave of Sariel lay in peaceful repose. Rain had spun the weave to show Sariel as he remembered her, a young Fey maiden as beautiful and gentle as the dawn, with snowy white Fey-pale skin, hair of blackest ebony, and lips like rose petals.

Beneath her sleeping figure—written in the four languages of the ancient allies: Celierian, Feyan, Elvish, and Danae—he had inscribed the words Ellysetta had suggested:
Sariel the Beloved. May she awaken with joy to truemate's call.

As Rain and Ellysetta stood together regarding the results of his weave, the Great Sun peeked above the horizon. Dawn bathed the Lake of Glass in warm light, setting the names etched in the dark surface afire like diamonds sparkling in the sun. As the sun rose higher, beams of soft, golden light fell upon the shining glass of Sariel's tomb, and the Spirit weave within shimmered and glowed, sending bright rainbows of multicolored light spilling out in a radiant aura around the tomb. Within the rainbows whirled Spirit weaves of Sariel, laughing, dancing, healing, each image filled with life and joy.

Rain's heart rose up in his throat, and the arms he had wrapped around Ellysetta's waist tightened to pull her close against him. He bent his head to press a kiss against the thick, fragrant, silken spirals of her flame red hair.
"Beylah vo, shei'tani.
Thank you for this."

No longer was the Lake of Glass a place of loss and death and hopeless darkness, but rather a memorial of peace and beauty, glistening with the golden promise of a new day.

Ellysetta turned in his arms, her leaf green eyes shining, her lips curved in a smile that filled his heart with long-forgotten joy.
"Sha vel'mei, kem'san."
She cupped a hand to his jaw. "Take me back to Teleon so I can make a few good-byes of my own, and then let's go home … to the Fading Lands."

Celieria ~ Teleon

"Well, well, look what the tairen dragged in." Kieran vel Solande slipped a polished
meicha
scimitar into his hip sheath and turned to greet the warrior who had just passed through the Spirit weave protecting Teleon from outside eyes.

Gaelen vel Serranis paused just inside the lower bailey and let his gaze sweep across the restored estate. "Impressive."

The sounds of industry filled the air as on every level of the city-fortress Fey toiled in the midmorning sun. All Fey with enough command of Earth to make themselves useful were once again busy replacing the remaining Spirit weave buildings with real mortar and stone, while Air masters assisted in shuttling loads of blocks and wood, and Fire masters forged metal for gates, door braces, and weaponry to aid in the defense of the city.

"Greetings, Uncle. You've been gone so long, I was beginning to think a lyrant made a meal of you." Kieran made a
tsk
ing sound and shook his head. "Ah, well, hope springs eternal."

Gaelen narrowed ice blue eyes at his sister Marissya's son. "Still full of sass, puppy? Clearly, vel Jelani isn't working you hard enough if you still have breath to jabber."

"Ha. Where've you been?"

Gaelen reached out to ruffle the younger Fey's head, a deliberately patronizing gesture that made Kieran scowl and jerk away. "Not your business, youngling." It was Gaelen's turn to grin, and he took pleasure in it. "Where is the Tairen Soul?"

When Kieran just glared and pressed his lips closed, Kiel rolled his eyes and answered in his stead. "On the third level with Lord Teleos, finishing what he can before he and the Feyreisa depart."

"And the Feyreisa?"

"On the upper level, planting a memory garden for her mother with Marissya and the twins."

Gaelen nodded, then glanced at Kieran and furrowed his brows. "What's this mess?" He reached out to straighten the leather Fey'cha belts crisscrossing Kieran's chest. "You call yourself a warrior? Sloppy, vel Solande. Very sloppy."

Scowling, Kieran looked down to see what his uncle was talking about. The next thing he knew, he was flat on his back with his own Fey'cha pressed against his neck, and death was glaring down at him from the eyes of the man who'd little more than a week ago been the most dreaded and feared
dahl'reisen
who ever lived.

"Very sloppy indeed," Gaelen repeated softly, his tone a cold wind, his eyes lethal shards of purest ice. "Are you so eager to die?"

Kieran froze. Part of him was sure this was yet another of Gaelen's humiliatingly effective demonstrations of how little the current generation of Fey knew of true sword mastery. Vel Serranis had pulled one of the black-handled blades from Kieran's chest straps rather than a lethal, poisoned red Fey'cha.

Another part of Kieran feared that maybe this wasn't a lesson after all.

"Answer me, puppy," Gaelen snapped. "Are you so eager to die?"

"Are you?" Kiel growled with low menace.

That was when Kieran noticed the Water master leaning over Gaelen, two red Fey'cha pressed against Gaelen's neck and belly.

Gaelen spat out an oath, and the knife pressing against Kieran's windpipe eased back. When Kiel's blades withdrew as well, Gaelen rolled left, sprang to his feet, and glared at them both. "The Mages are at work in the north. A warrior has disappeared for days on end, and you do not know where he's been. Yet you welcome him without suspicion? You stand there like a dull-witted fool while he strips you of your own blade and threatens you with it? I ask you again, are you so eager to die?"

He expanded his disparaging gaze to include Kiel and the dozen glowering Fey standing outside the blocking weave he'd woven when he'd lunged for Kieran. "And that goes for all of you as well. Not one of you even cleared steel from scabbard before I had a blade at your brother's throat. Vel Tomar, at least, has tolerably swift reflexes…and good instincts." The last he added with grudging approval. He nodded at the deadly red-hilted Fey'cha still gripped in each of Kiel's hands. "Red is the right choice when you suspect the threat may be real."

Gaelen dispersed his final shield, and the surrounding Fey muttered angrily and sheathed their weapons.

"That's a good way to get yourself killed, vel Serranis," someone called out.

"By you lot?" Gaelen scoffed. "Not flaming likely. I'd have to be
sel'dor
pierced, bound, and blinded before you had the advantage. Are you the best the Fading Lands can produce? Gods save us all." Gaelen shook his head in disgust. "What is the Tairen Soul thinking to let his mate stay so long outside the Faering Mists with naught to keep her safe but a pack of untrained infants scarce weaned from the breast?"

Kieran slapped the dust off his leathers and, scowling, caught the black Fey'cha Gaelen tossed back to him. "He was thinking to protect her family on their journey to their new home—and to give the Feyreisa as much time with them as he could before she passes through the Mists. Our scouts have been securing our path five miles in every direction. And, for your information, there have been no attacks—nor any sign of danger."

"Have there not? How lucky for you."

The sarcasm rubbed Kieran the wrong way. "Is this how you honor your oath to the Feyreisa?" he snapped. " 'Learn to get along,' she said, yet here you are again, taunting and attacking us. After she told you to stop."

Gaelen's mouth opened…then shut. His eyes narrowed, and he bowed his head to acknowledge the point scored.
"Sieks'ta, kem'jita'nos.
You are right. She would not be pleased." His gaze became pointed. "That you started it is no excuse."

Kieran's face froze in midsmirk.

Kiel coughed into his hand. "He's got you there, Kieran," he muttered, which earned him a frigid glare from his friend. "Well, you did," he said, then turned to Gaelen. "Since you find our warrior skills so lacking, perhaps you could help us improve them?"

Several of the other Fey stiffened in outrage.

"Are you asking me to be your
chatok?" A
mocking lift of one black brow accompanied the question.

Kieran snorted, thinking Kiel was making a joke. Only warriors of the greatest skill and most unbesmirched honor became
chatok,
highly regarded mentors of warriors. Gaelen vel Serranis, the rebel warrior who'd willingly thrown himself down the Dark Path to avenge his twin sister Marikah's murder, was the last Fey who would ever qualify for such an esteemed position.

Kiel wasn't joking. "We lost too many masters in the Wars, and of those who survived, the greatest and most experienced gave their lives to build the Mists. War will soon be upon us again, and we cannot afford to be ill-prepared. You have skills we all need." The Water master shrugged, the gesture a graceful ripple. "So,
aiyah,
Gaelen, I
am
asking you to be my
chatok
for whatever levels of the Car Baruk you think I have not truly mastered. Will you grant me this honor?"

Gaelen was openly taken aback. "That was sarcasm, vel Tomar, not a serious offer. I have been
dahl'reisen.
I chose the Shadowed Path. I walked its bitter trails for a thousand years rather than ending my life in honor, as a worthy Fey would have done."

"That doesn't change the fact that you have skills we all need. Even the Feyreisa advised us to learn from you."

"So she did." Gaelen's lips pressed tight together. "And as I promised her, I will teach you what I know, but only as a brother Fey. I will not dishonor the
chatok
who mentored me by pretending I have the right to stand among their honored company."

"Then I will accept your instruction, and I thank you for your willingness to share your knowledge and warrior's skills with me." Kiel bowed smoothly, his waist-length, blond hair spilling forward like gleaming falls of sunlight.

Gaelen was silent for a moment, his black brows drawn slightly together as he regarded the other man. "You are surprising, vel Tomar. And I thought the world held no more surprises for me."

Kiel smiled, his eyes as blue and guileless as a calm sea. "I am a Water master, Gaelen. There is always much more to us than shows on the surface."

Gaelen laughed. "That I will grant you." He glanced at Kieran. "And you, puppy, are clearly an Earth master. Head hard as a rock. Will stubborn as stone. And so resistant to change, it will take an earthquake to move you once you've settled into place. Just like your father." When Kieran scowled, Gaelen grinned. "Ah, the Feyreisa will have to forgive me. Pricking that pride of yours is too much fun to give up altogether."

Kieran snarled.

Gaelen just laughed again and glanced at Kiel. "Where's vel Jelani?"

Kiel pointed towards a small copse of white-trunked, golden-leafed Shimmering Lady trees on the uppermost level. "Up there, with the Feyreisa and her sisters."

"Beylah vo,
vel Tomar."

"Sha vel'mei,"
Kiel replied as the infamous older warrior raced off towards the shimmering trees.

Kieran punched Kiel in the arm. Hard.

"Ow!" Kiel rubbed his biceps. "What was that for?"

"'Be my
chatok'?"
Kieran exclaimed. "'Teach me what you know'? Tairen's scorching fire! What the Seven jaffing Hells are you thinking? You're my blade brother, and you're taking sides with the enemy?"

Kiel glanced at Gaelen's retreating form, then back at Kieran. "He's your uncle, not the enemy. Besides, the Feyreisa told us to learn from him."

"He's a
dahl'reisen."

"Former
dahl'reisen,"
Kiel corrected.

"Where do you think he's been this past week? Praying in the Bright Lord's church? He's been with
them,
the ones who walk the Shadowed Path."

Kiel's brows rose over eyes as deep and blue as the Lysande Ocean. "What difference does it make if he has? He is
lu'tan
to the Feyreisa. In life and in death, he is bloodsworn to protect her."

"You're too trusting, Kiel."

Kiel's blond brows shot up. "Me? I wasn't the one who stood there while he stripped my blade and used it against me."

Kieran's back teeth ground together. "He's insufferable."

"Admit it," Kiel said, "insufferable may be exactly what some of the masters at the Academy need to shake them up and challenge their methods, to get them thinking about new ways to train our warriors. And," he added with a smirk and a sidelong glance, "exactly what some rock-headed Earth masters I know might need as well."

"Get scorched."

Near the copse of Shimmering Lady trees that overlooked the Garreval, Marissya, Ellysetta, and the twins planted a freshly tilled flower bed with the rosebushes and flowers Lauriana Baristani had loved most. Rain's task at the Lake of Glass had given Ellysetta the idea of creating a small memorial garden: a little something of Mama to leave behind for Papa and the twins, here where Papa could sit and look out over Celieria while the twins played Stones on the lawn nearby.

Ellysetta hummed under her breath as she dug her spade into rich, dark soil and made a hole to receive the last of the fragrant pink Heartsease Lorelle was waiting to deposit. Beside her, Marissya patted into place the last of Love's Promise, the exquisitely perfumed red rose that had been Mama's favorite.

Ellie sat back on her heels to survey the work. "I think we're ready for the statue," she told Bel as the twins picked up two full watering pots and enthusiastically irrigated the new plantings. "Gently, kitlings," she advised as mud splattered on their dresses. The two looked up innocently, and she bit her lip to keep from laughing at the thick layers of dirt smeared across their small faces. Lillis and Lorelle had yet to discover the gardener's art of brushing back wayward strands of hair with a forearm rather than soil-begrimed hands. "All right, that's water enough. Come away, girls, and let Bel set the statue."

The twins stepped back from the flower bed, and Bel hefted the heavy white marble statue of a winged Lightmaiden and set it down with a grunt and a thunk at the center of the semicircular garden. Though Ellysetta had allowed Kieran to carve the marble statue using Earth weaves, she had insisted that all other preparations for the garden be done entirely by hand, as her mother would have wanted.

"What do you think, girls?" Ellysetta asked as they all stood back to regard their accomplishment. A brilliant semicircle of pink and red roses hugged the slender white trunks of the Shimmering Lady trees, and a colorful selection of fragrant blossoms and herbs filled the ground around the statue. The base of the statue was inscribed with Lauriana's name and her favorite verse from the Book of Light:
"May the Light always shine on your path and shelter you from harm."

"It's beautiful, Ellie." Lillis and Lorelle sighed. "Papa will love it."

"I think so, too."

"I think vel Jelani set the statue crooked," a male voice declared. "You should make him redo it."

"Gaelen!" Marissya turned with a happy smile and rushed to fling her arms around her brother. "You're back." When she released him, she turned to the garden with a frown. "Do you really think the statue is crooked?"

He smiled with a tenderness reserved exclusively for his only living sister.
"Nei, ajiana.
I was teasing. I thought it might be fun to see vel Jelani heave the thing about some more."