Storm Warning (30 page)

“Ah!” Karal nodded with complete understanding, the very first time he had seen that statement met with anything other than blank incomprehension. “Possession. That’s what we call it. That was one of the powers the demons had, to be able to put on the body of a person as if it was a garment. The Black-robes used that power for ill. But Vkandis also has that power, and can use it with the Priests and sometimes with very holy lay people for good. It is called ‘the Voice of Flame,’ and Vkandis can use the voice of the person to deliver prophecy. But this Fal-cons-bane must have been a very strong demon to displace you; only the strongest and most evil of the demons had that power.” Karal’s voice and expression were quite sober. “You are a very lucky person, An’desha. Most people do not survive the touch of a demon upon their souls.
You
must be very strong as well.”

“You
do
understand! Though I think it was luck that let me survive.” For
once
he was talking to someone who didn’t look at him as if he was half an idiot and all mad. “Strong,” “evil,” and “demonic” were certainly all words that could have been used to describe Mornelithe. “He had lived in many other bodies, and I still am not certain how I remained alive after he took mine. Perhaps it was because I was a coward and tried to flee instead of fighting him.”

“Perhaps he had grown careless,” Karal suggested shrewdly. “Demons are known for their pride, and great pride makes for carelessness. So he stole your body. Then what occurred?”

“He did great evil with my body, and I could not stop him,” An‘desha continued, the words tumbling out of him now. “Then he sought to bring harm to my people, and to the Hawkbrothers, and these Valdemarans, all at once. But he was damaged by some of what he had done, and my Goddess sent to me two of her—” Now what Valdemaran word could he use to describe the Avatars? “—two of her spirit-beings. They helped me, a mage called ‘Need’ helped me, and Elspeth and Darkwind and Firesong helped me, and Falconsbane was cast out after much battle. When it was all over, the Goddess made me look the age I had been when he first stole my body, or nearly, returning to me the years he had stolen from me.”

Well, it was oversimplified but fundamentally correct. Karal was looking at him with a sober expression on his face, and biting his lip as if he had something he wanted to say but was not certain how it would be accepted.

“Possession is a great evil, if it is not the Voice of Flame,” he said finally. “I think it is a greater evil than even you know, and you were possessed in truth.”

“How do you mean?” An’desha asked, hoping that perhaps, just perhaps, this Karal might have some real answers for him. He might be the only person in this whole country who truly
did
understand, completely, what had been done to him.

“Possession can hurt the one possessed,” Karal told him earnestly, leaning, forward with the intensity of a greyhound about to be loosed for the chase. “It can make deep wounds, unseen wounds to the spirit. It is wounds like these, though they are invisible, that are harder to heal than
any
physical wounding. Evil corrupts, like the touch of any foul thing; it corrodes, like acid. It can etch the shape of itself into a spirit.”

That was exactly what the Avatars had said! An’desha nodded, not bothering to hide his astonishment. But Karal was still not through.

“I do not know you well, An‘desha,” he said, diffidently. “You are not of my faith, you do not swear by the Sunlord, and yet when the Voice of Flame possessed Solaris, Vkandis Himself laid the duty upon all of us to bring the breath of healing to any who needed it.
‘He who does good in the name of another god, does it for Vkandis,’
He said,
‘and he who does ill in the name of Vkandis does it for the darkest demons in hell. Let those of good will bring succor to one another, and dispense with the naming of Names.”’
Karal took a deep breath, and An’desha held his, every muscle tight, every nerve singing with tension. “Healing hurts to the spirit is something of what my training is about,” he continued. “My master Ulrich knows far, far more than I. There are many who were hurt in this way by the Black-robes that my master and others have later helped.”

He paused, and An’desha nodded, unable to speak. Karal took that as license to continue.

“I think that you are still in pain and fear, An‘desha,” he said, as somber as any shaman. “I cannot see you in pain and not offer to help. If it is your will, my master or I can try to help you.” He smiled shyly when An’desha did not immediately reject the offer or turn away. “I do not know
if
we can help you, but I know that we would try. This—healing does not require that you swear by Vkandis; it only requires that you be willing to have it done. Even if we can do nothing, perhaps we can give you the direction to help you heal yourself.”

For a moment, hardly more than the blink of an eye, young Karal was surrounded by a soft, golden glow—as if he sat in the midst of warm summer sunshine. But the waterfall was in shadow—

An‘desha blinked, as he realized that there was something more about this young stranger that he had sensed but had not understood. After his own brush with the Avatars, he had become far more sensitive to those the shaman would call “god-touched.” It did not even matter that the god in question was not his own Star-Eyed Lady. There was something about this Karal—a color, or a sense of Light about him—that was a great deal like the feeling he had when the Avatars were near, though it was much weaker. And now—this glow about him was clearly a confirmation of what he had felt. He had sensed similar Light about the Shin’a’in envoy, although he had been far too shy to approach her; she was sworn to the Goddess, marked so by her dark apparel, and he had not had the courage to speak with her after the way he had run off from his own Clan, so long ago. And this feeling Karal called up in him was also identical to the kind of feeling he had when he was around a Companion....

He flushed with embarrassment and ducked his head a little. “Yes,” he said softly. “Please. I don’t know why you have offered, but—”

Karal patted his hand, that he had unconsciously clenched into a fist on his knee. “I have offered because it is my—my job? I suppose that is right. It is something I must do, as flying is something that a bird must do. I think I know now why Herald Talia brought me to meet you; if it was not of her will, it might well have been of the will of Vkandis. She is a Priest, and He can work through her, if He chooses.”

“That may well be,” An’desha began.
After everything I have seen, I am not about to say that there is anything a god may or may not do!
“And—”

Bells from the Collegium marked the hour, chiming clearly over the sound of the waterfall, and the young man started as he counted them. He said a word that An’desha did not recognize, though he
did
recognize the tone of annoyance easily enough. “Of all the times—” He shrugged helplessly. “I must go to attend my master at a Council session. Pah! I would gladly have it be some other day, but I have no choice.”

“I understand,” An’desha said quickly, and then he grinned. “Council sessions do not wait on the needs of such as you and I!”

“No, we are only poor underlings to dance to the bells.” But Karal’s answering smile took any hint of sourness out of those words. “I will return, I pledge you, and I will see what I can do for you then. I will send word when I may come, if that is well with you?”

“Very well, and I cannot begin to thank you,” An‘desha replied, rising to escort him to the door. Karat ran off with a backward wave, soon vanishing among the trees and bushes screening the trail; An’desha watched him go with a much lighter heart than he had ever expected to have.

I have a friend.
And there was one other thing, small in the light of all that Karal had offered, but in its way just as comforting.
I did not
—
desire him, except as a friend.
He had been afraid that his desire for Firesong was yet another example of how Falconsbane had warped his spirit. In fact, now that he thought about it, he had found Talia rather comely ... and Elspeth as well, though she was as intimidating as she was attractive.

Yes, in a way, that was the most comforting of all.

Karal ran down the trail that led back to the Palace; his feet and heart felt as strong and light as the hero Gregori’s on his way back from the Ice Mountain. He had not known what to expect from the silver-haired, gray-eyed young man that Talia had brought him to meet, and at first he had mostly been grateful that this An’desha was dressed
far
more conservatively than his friend Firesong. But then, as they talked, something unexpected had happened.

He found himself really liking the quiet man, so unlike anyone he had ever met before. This was very much akin to the liking he had felt for Rubrik, and yet it was different from that. His feeling for Rubrik had been in part because he had admired the man; they were too different in age and personality to be true friends. But for An’-desha—there was the interest of kindred personalities. As they spoke, he realized they had much in common, from a love of learning, to a liking for the same kinds of music. But there was something more to it than that, as well, and although he did not understand it, he waited for the moment when the feeling would be explained.

Then
An’desha had revealed that he had been possessed—and there was the explanation.

Ulrich had told him, all of his teachers had told him, that when he came upon a spirit that needed his help, he would feel that need and would respond to it. He was of the Kin of Vkandis, and Vkandis would guide him to those in need.
Now
he knew what they had meant.

If I cannot help him, surely Ulrich can,
he thought as he ran.
Now I understand how Healer Priests feel, when someone nearby is wounded or ill, though they cannot see the person. There is a hunger to help, a hunger as strong as the hunger for nourishment. Yes, we can and will help him.

He broke through the trees and began the sprint to the Palace buildings in the distance. Fortunately, he had heard the bells that gave him a half-mark of warning
before
the meeting. It would take him a quarter-mark to reach the Palace and get his note-taking supplies; that should give him enough time to catch his breath so that he didn’t make an unseemly entrance.

There was a stile that went over the fence around the Field, and he headed for that instead of the gate, since it was nearer the Palace. He leapt from the top of the stile as if he was trying to fly and hit the ground running; a few of the gray-clad youngsters stared at him as he ran past them, but that was probably because they didn’t recognize him. He only stopped at the outer door to wait for the guard there to acknowledge him and open it for him, then he was off again, running down the hall to the staircase. A few moments later, he burst into the suite, half expecting to see Ulrich there.

He was faintly disappointed to find the rooms empty. Still, nothing could be discussed until after that meeting anyway, and he put his impatience and his news aside.

Given that he had a few more moments than he had anticipated, he took just long enough to peel off his tunic and pull on another, more presentable one. Then he snatched up his pouch of paper and pens and headed for the Council chamber, walking slowly and taking deep breaths to ease his panting, so he would not look as if he had been running a quarter-mark ago.
Appearances. Always appearances. Something no foreign envoy can ever forget.

He had been to this great Council Chamber several times before, but this was the first meeting he had been permitted to attend that would include all the envoys of all the allies. That meant, among other things, that one or both of the gryphons would be there.

He had not seen a gryphon since the formal presentation, although he suspected that Ulrich had spoken more than once with the male, Treyvan. The idea of seeing them again, closely, made him shiver with excitement. There were no magical creatures in Karse—unless one counted the Firecats. of course—and calling them simply “magical” seemed rather blasphemous. Gregori had rid the land of the last of the ice-drakes, and although there was a skull of a basilisk in the Temple, there had not been a living one in even the most inaccessible swamps since long before the first battle with Valdemar.

Daydreaming aside, there were other good reasons to be here that had nothing to do with his duty to his master.
I will see a bit more of Firesong here, which will be a good thing. If I am to help An’desha, I must know something of the one he is “with. ”