Storm Warning (34 page)

He turned back to An’desha. “It is a man’s deeds that define him,” he said earnestly. “As I believe Karal has told you—Vkandis Himself has passed that stricture to us, that a good deed done in the name of the Dark is still done for the Light, but an evil one done in the name of the Light is still quite evil, and a soul could be condemned to Darkness for it.”

An‘desha nodded, as much relieved by those words as by anything else Ulrich could have said or done. The tradition-bound shaman of An’desha’s Clan would never have said anything like
that.

“I have always felt,” Ulrich continued thoughtfully, “that before I passed judgment on any man because of the god he swore by, I would see how he comported himself with his fellows—what he did, and how he treated them. If he acted with honor and compassion, the Name he called upon was irrelevant.”

All very well,
An’desha thought, after a moment of silence,
and I am glad he feels this way—but what about me? What about the dreams, and—

“However, that has nothing to do with your predicament, An’desha,” Ulrich said, startling him. Could Ulrich read his mind? “You have some very real fears that need to be addressed. Let me start with the one closest to your heart—the fear that you are still possessed by that evil creature that called himself Bane-of-Falcons.”

An’desha leaned forward eagerly, misgivings forgotten. Point by point, with careful detail, Ulrich proved to him that he knew what he was talking about—and that, as Firesong and everyone else had said, Falconsbane was gone.

What convinced him was that Ulrich had a reason—a sound, believable reason, for some of the things he’d been experiencing. “There really is a simple explanation. You are only now able. to feel the physical effects of your emotions, after so many years existing only as a disembodied spirit, so to speak,” Ulrich told him patiently. “For you, such things are as fresh and startling as regained sight for one who was blinded, or hearing restored to the deaf! Think of how such a former deaf man would react to a sudden noise—and then think how you are reacting to a sudden surge of emotion. Not only that, you are feeling the sweat of your palms, flushing of the skin or paleness that come with emotions, for the first time in a very long time. They must feel overwhelming to you, easy to interpret as signs of possession. Yet you now feel them with your own body, and not one taken over by an evil spirit.”

An’desha nodded, very slowly. This made such good sense, he hardly knew what to think.

“I’m not—I cannot seem to deal with all this,” he began hesitantly.

Ulrich smiled. “If you were handling all this well,
then
I would suspect another possessing spirit, for no sane human could be taking your situation
well
at this moment!”

Weakly, An’desha returned his smile. “I suppose you are right, when you put it that way—”

“An’desha, not every soul is suited to being a Priest, or a conquering hero, or a serene Healer. You blame yourself for being a coward, when in fact you show more bravery than anyone should expect of you. Judge yourself, not what others would think of you, and be content with what you can do. This does not excuse you from learning how to control your emotions,” Ulrich warned. “The shadow of your demon still lurks there. His taint is that it is much, much easier for you to feel anger than joy, hatred than compassion. These are old, worn paths through your body, which will react according to long habit—and old, worn paths through your mind, which experienced what Falconsbane experienced. It is always easier to take the well-worn path than the new one. You must overcome that taint. The scars upon your soul can be smoothed away, but it will take not only time, but your own will, that you will prove to be nothing like him.”

That, too, made sense, and An’desha nodded, more comforted now than he could express. Granted, others—including Firesong—had said exactly the same things to him, though in different words, and with no explanations; but this time he felt he could believe them, since they came from an impartial source.

Perhaps Ulrich was a kind of Mind-Healer—or perhaps, a Spirit-Healer, if there was such a thing.

“But this other—this great fear you have that there is danger for all of us that we cannot foresee—this troubles me,” Ulrich continued. “This may be something you are sensitive to because of those ancient memories you carry; that would be my guess, at least.” He chewed his bottom lip thoughtfully. “If you would like it put another way, part of you, the part of you that holds those ancient memories, knows what they contain, and knows that there is something going on at this moment that relates to those memories, or even matches them. But most of you does not want to face those terrible memories. So, that part of you that is aware and knowledgeable is trying to force the rest of you to become aware and knowledgeable.” He cocked an eyebrow at An’desha. “Am I making sense to you, or is all this gibberish?”

“It is making sense,” he replied dazedly. In fact, like the other explanation, it was making a little too much sense. He’d had a sense of being divided internally for some time now, but he had thought it was a sign of Falconsbane’s continued presence. Now he had another explanation for the feeling, and it was one that did not cater to his fears and left him no excuse for inaction—

“It is what the shaman called ‘The Warrior Within.’ The voice inside us that tells us what we must know.” An’desha said slowly. “The source of all honor, faith, and prosperity under the Goddess is that voice, if we listen with wisdom, they say.”

Ulrich studied his face as he sat there with all those powerful thoughts passing through his mind; at last the priest nodded, as if he was satisfied with what he read there. He raised an eyebrow at Karal.

“I have laid the foundation,” he said to his protégé. “I think you can complete the work. Simply keep your mind as open as it has become, and I do not think you will misstep.”

He turned back to An’desha. “The bulk of your solutions lie within you, I do think,” Ulrich told him. “Karal will help you, but on the whole, you will be doing the real work to find them. I will do what I can, but there is nothing that I see in you now that requires my further help.”

Which meant—what? That he
had
needed Ulrich’s help until this moment?

“I would be the last person to assert that things cannot change, however,” Ulrich continued. “If they do, I would be distressed if you did not come to me. Meanwhile, you may trust Karal. He is sensible, he has learned good judgment, he is not afraid of the strange or the powerful, and he has, most of all, a good heart.”

Then, while Karal was still blushing a brilliant sunset-crimson, Ulrich got up and left the two of them alone again.

 

With Ulrich’s encouragement, Karal spent as much of his free time as possible with An‘desha. As the days passed, Karal became more and more convinced that Ulrich was right; the key to everything An’desha feared lay in those buried memories. Not only was there something in those recollections that was triggering An‘desha’s prescient episodes
and
his nightmares, but there were also things about An’desha himself that needed to be dealt with.

So Karal continued to work on the “foundation” that Ulrich had established; building An’desha’s confidence, convincing him that he
had
passions and would make purely human mistakes, but that as long as he remembered to keep his
powers
under a tight rein, the mistakes he made would teach him how
not
to make other mistakes.

“Compassion and honor,” he said, over and over again. “Those are what is important. So long as you have both, and act with both, you cannot make any mistake that will bring lasting harm.”

“No?” An’desha replied with skepticism—a healthy sign, that he should respond with anything other than blind agreement. That meant he was thinking for himself. “But—”

“But good intentions count for something, else I’d have been condemned to Vkandis’ coldest Hell long ago!” He grinned and hugged An’desha’s shoulders. “If you have compassion and honor, and you made a mistake that harmed someone, must you not, out of compassion and honor, see that the mistake is
being
made and try to stop it?”

“Well, yes, I suppose,” An’desha replied slowly.

“And having seen the effects of such a mistake, must you not also try to reverse them?” he continued, with purest logic. “Don’t you see? Compassion and honor require that you not make excuses, nor allow yourself to say, ‘nothing can be done.’ So even if you make a mistake, you must fix it. You’ll
want
to.”

Perhaps because Karal had no great powers of his own, and yet was (relatively) fearless in the face of great powers, An‘desha came to trust him, even as Ulrich claimed he would. And although An’desha was not told, Ulrich’s interest went far beyond the one meeting. The priest questioned his protégé carefully every night, and asked Karal what his continuing plans were. He very seldom suggested any other course—Karal had the feeling that Ulrich was letting
him
make his own mistakes and rectify them as well—but it gave Karal a feeling of increased confidence to know that his mentor was keeping track of all this, though the progress came by infinitesimal increments.

But there was some measurable progress. An’desha
did
start looking at some of the older memories. He was already past the life of a strange creature that had called himself simply “Leareth” (which meant “Darkness” in the Hawkbrother tongue), a time that seemed to be several centuries ago.

And Firesong was a great deal happier with him, at least according to An‘desha. An’desha carried some of his confidence back into his lessons with the Adept, and was making more and steadier progress toward using those powers he carried, instead of wishing them gone.

Success gave An’desha further courage to look farther and deeper into those dark memories, and to face what lay there.

And, just as important, An’desha was able to look at the terrible things in those memories and acknowledge, without flinching, that the hateful or jealous things
he
felt (and did not act on) could be considered a faint, far shadow of the dreadful things that the one who had been Falconsbane had done.

And Ulrich pointed out something that Karal had wondered about. The farther back those memories went, the more human, rather than less, that entity became. And the more “reasons” and excuses he made up to justify the unjustifiable.

Ulrich made no conclusions in Karal’s hearing about the pattern, but it certainly left
him
wondering what it meant, and trying to come to a few conclusions of his own. He continued to read those ancient notebooks that Ulrich had given him, and found more than one place in the text that sounded familiar. Then he realized that Ulrich had been quoting extensively from these very texts when he had given An’desha that little speech about doing deeds in the name of the Light.

He was reading in his room, puzzling through another Valdemaran history that Alberich had recommended, when Ulrich cleared his throat from just outside his open door. He looked up, quickly, and sat straight up on his bed. His master wore an unusually serious expression, and his robes were not only immaculate, he was wearing one of his formal outfits, robes of heavy ebony silk that shone with full magnificence.

“I dislike ordering you out of your own room, Karal,” his mentor said apologetically, “But I have only just arranged a meeting with someone very important, who wishes to discuss matters of a sensitive and theoretical nature. And if—”

“If I’m here, your important person won’t talk, because I might overhear something. Yes, sir.” Karal put a marker in his book and quickly got to his feet. “Since these discussions are theoretical, you won’t need a record of them. I’m certain I can find something to occupy my time between now and—say—dinner? I’m already dressed for it, so I won’t need to return.”

“Excellent, and thank you.” Ulrich stood aside to let him leave, with no further comment. Karal had been expecting something like this for the past few days; negotiations between his mentor and not only the Valdemaran government, but the Rethwellan government as well, had gotten to the point where some significant gains could be made. That meant private, one-to-one meetings, where both parties could discuss possibilities in total confidence and privacy.

As he walked down the wood-paneled hallway with a friendly nod to the guard patrolling there, he realized that he was, for once, completely at loose ends. An’desha would be with Firesong, in his magic-practices. There was no use going into the garden to be snubbed by the young nobles there—and it was snubbing, now; they had learned he was no noble, and saw no reason to treat him better than any other servant. The library, ordinarily enticing, was usually as full of young Heralds at this time of the afternoon as the gardens were full of young courtiers.
They
weren’t snubbing him, but he wasn’t in the mood for fending off questions and curious glances, either.

I’d ride, but I’m not exactly dressed for it,
he thought wryly. Dressing for dinner early might not have been such a good idea. A pity; another workout wouldn’t have hurt Trenor in the least. One simply did not go in to dinner with the Court smelling of horse, however.

That did give him an idea, though. He’d been passing through Companion’s Field on a daily basis without gawking at the inhabitants, but he could spend whole marks watching real horses, so why not spend some time watching these not-horses? It might give him some insight into what they were.

With that in mind, he took himself down to the first door to the outside, and headed for the path that would take him to the Field.

While there were plenty of people about, none of them paid any attention to him. He leaned up against the fence and simply watched the graceful creatures, taking a completely aesthetic pleasure in the way they moved rather than consciously analyzing what they were doing. Within a very little time, though, he was aware that they did not act like horses at all. There was no sense of a “herd” at all; the closest to “herds” were small groups of foals playing together, with the mares standing or grazing nearby, very much like mothers keeping a careful eye on their toddlers while gossiping. There was no dominance-shoving or scuffling among the young stallions as there would have been in any other situation where there were mares present; rather, the young stallions were as calm as the mares, and the only way of telling one from the other was by the physical attributes. There
was
one stallion that every Companion there deferred to, but there was nothing of the submission to the dominant herd beast; they acted more like loyal courtiers with a genial and approachable monarch. It was rather fascinating, actually. Any person with a bit of knowledge of real horses would be well aware that this was not “normal” behavior. In fact, he had a disconcerting impression of a large group of people taking their ease in a park....