The Silent Tempest (Book 2) (15 page)

“But…” she began.

“I trust you will not force me to have you
chained as well,” warned Listrius.

Lyralliantha closed her mouth, bowing her
head before answering, “No, lore-warden.”

***

Dalleth entered the small hut, glancing
down at the cold form of Gwaeri. To his experienced eyes the body had probably
been dead for less than five or six hours.
She must have killed him not
long after he brought her back,
thought the She’Har trainer.

Haley stared at him from across the room,
fear and something else showing in her features.

Is that defiance?
wondered Dalleth. The thought almost made him smile.

“Did you do this?” he asked flatly.

Haley turned her chin up at his question,
“Yes.” There was no use in denying it.

“It appears you have learned your lesson
then,” said the trainer. “Remember it when you enter the arena again—tomorrow.”
He stepped back outside, and then two wardens entered, moving to take Gwaeri’s
body away. They gave Haley several curious glances before leaving, but said
nothing.

Tyrion floated in an empty abyss. The
world was gone, along with his body. He was alone in the darkness, naked and
vulnerable in a way that only an empty soul, bereft of flesh, could understand.

It isn’t possible for this one
to have done what was observed.

The voice was purely mental, but it wasn’t
his own. It was alien. The pattern and cadence of the thought was utterly
foreign.
It must have been one of the elders,
thought Tyrion. He was
surprised at himself for thinking. His own mind had been silent for an
unknowable period. He had begun to wonder, in a nonverbal way, whether he
still had thoughts, if that were possible.

This was a place replete with
contradictions.

He is stronger than any of the
children, or any one of us
. That voice belonged to
a different elder, but somehow Tyrion knew it was a Prathion.

Tyrion was aware of a great number of them
now, numbers beyond counting. They had stripped him bare and were examining
him—dissecting and discussing him in some metaphysical realm where their minds
met. What might have happened to his body he could only wonder, in this place
it wasn’t important. This was a realm beyond bodies, or places, or perhaps
even time.

But he is not ‘that’ strong. No
individual agent could have created such a storm, nor was any movement of
aythar observed.
That observation was from a
Mordan elder.

The fact still remains that it
has occurred twice now,
said an elder of Gaelyn.

The Prathion elder spoke again,
Three
times if we include the volcanic disruptions that occurred in the Grove of
Mordan.

He was nowhere near that
event.
The latest voice was from a Centyr
elder.

But he dreamed of it,
insisted another.

The first voice spoke again.
That only
indicates the possibility of precognition. Such gifts have been seen before,
responded the Centyr elder.

In a technical sense all of
the events could be explained with precognition.
This came from a new voice, but Tyrion knew it was one of the
Illeniels. How he could recognize them amongst the vast array of others, he
was unsure.

You do not seriously propose that
the events were purely natural and he was merely timing his actions to match
them?
argued the Mordan elder.

The Illeniel voice responded,
We have
no better explanation.

His memory of the latest
windstorm indicates deliberation. The human made a decision to enter a
different state of mind before the storm occurred,
said the Gaelyn elder.

It is likely that the mental
change occurred as a result of information passing from the present into the
past. His mind may have folded, meeting itself at other points in his
continuum as is consistent with our current theories regarding precognition,
responded the Illeniel elder.

The Prathion elder scoffed,
Passing
information to the past, such that he could time his arrival. The very idea is
a paradox.

Everything known about
precognition is paradoxical,
noted one of
the Centyr.

None of this negates the
danger the baratt presents, whether these events were merely his taking
advantage of future knowledge, or whether he is able to manipulate the
environment via some unknown mechanism. We must decide how to proceed.
The Gaelyn elder gave the impression of extreme practicality.

The Illeniel elder spoke,
He should be
studied further. There is much we do not understand, which is in itself a rare
occurrence. We might gain knowledge that could allow for a better defense
against the great enemy.

Our current defense is
sufficient,
said the Mordan elder.
The
risk he presents is too great.

No defense is perfect,
replied the Gaelyn elder.
The Kionthara might become
corrupted. We cannot know how they will endure, and we have not found a new
refuge to harbor us if they fail.

The gate-guardians are
flawless, there is no weakness in our creations,
said the Centyr elder with a sense of indignation.

He must be destroyed,
reiterated the Mordan elder.

Tyrion could feel a wave of assent coming
from many of the elders. Their decision seemed inevitable.

No!

He recognized that mind immediately. It
was Lyralliantha and now that he had heard her, he could almost feel her
presence beside him.

Silence, daughter, it is not
your place to comment here,
remonstrated the most
senior of the Illeniel elders.

One of the Centyr spoke,
The
examination has shown her to be suspect as well. Her memories reveal
complicity. She has hidden things that should have been reported.

She is one of the people,
said the Gaelyn elder.

You just suggested the gate
guardians could be corrupted, yet you would ignore the possibility in our
children?
questioned the Centyr.

We alone will decide the
disposition of our children,
said the
Illeniel elder with authority.

But you cannot extend such a
provision to the animal,
insisted the Mordan
elder.
He presents a threat to all of us. He will be destroyed.

A feeling of agreement came from the
others, including the Illeniel elders.

No, if he dies, then I die as
well,
came Lyralliantha’s thought.
Your
decision to kill him will end my life also.

Tyrion could feel the weight of the
collected minds of the elder She’Har shifting, bearing down on her.

The child is defective.

She should be terminated as
well.

She was chosen to become a
lore-warden.

Dispose of the child.

The chorus of voices came from different
groves, but the Illeniel elders raised a mutual feeling of opposition. The
most senior of them gave it voice,
Stop. Let us analyze this. The child is
valuable to us.
The next message was directed purely at her,
Why have
you said this, child?

Because it is the truth,
she answered.

There is no logic in your
words,
said the Illeniel elder.
We have
honored your eccentricities in the past in order to grow from whatever
knowledge you may have gained. The human will be terminated, and you will remain.
Do not embarrass us further by arguing against your own survival.

He is my kianthi.

A shocked silence ensued.
That is not
possible, daughter.

It is the truth,
Lyralliantha replied firmly.

He is not one of the She’Har,
not one of the people—he is a baratt. You have become deranged,
said the Illeniel elder.

Kianthi are chosen,
said another of the Illeniels,
and we have not chosen him.
Kianthi are no longer useful or necessary.

Tyrion could feel the power of her
determination as she responded,
I chose him.

Ridiculous, children do not
choose. Kianthi are chosen by the elders.

I chose him,
she said again.

He is not She’Har. He cannot
produce children. Baratti cannot be kianthi,
insisted another of the Illeniel elders.

She must be terminated,
said one of the others.

Kill me if you must, but do
not harm her or my children,
said Tyrion,
raising his inner voice for the first time, shouting at the void.

Chaos was the result.

It was listening? Impossible!

How could he be aware? His
mind was fully suppressed.

A deluge of similar thoughts flew around
Tyrion, giving him the sense of being battered mentally. Eventually they
slowed and resolved into a single question.

Why would a baratt give itself
for our child?
said one of the Illeniels.

He is the one!
said another.
Her words and his actions have proven it.

He is my kianthi,
said Lyralliantha once more.
Neither of us can exist without
the other.

The voices of the Illeniel elders rose in
a tumult as they argued over her words, battering at Tyrion’s mind. He fought
to maintain his balance, but it was no use. The weight of their thoughts fell
on him, and he found oblivion creeping over him, smothering his awareness.

Silence it…

***

Tyrion awoke to bird song. Sunlight
filtered through the canopy in patterns that were already familiar to him. He
lay in Lyralliantha’s bed, high up in the tree that served as her home. He had
slept there many times, though not as often in recent months. He had begun
sleeping in the more traditional bed in his stone house once the bedroom had
been finished.

He turned his head, but he already knew he
was alone. Lyralliantha wasn’t there.

“What happened?” he said aloud.

A quick assessment told him that his body
was whole and sound. Better than he remembered, even his scars were gone; the
only marks remaining on his body were the tattoos he had placed there
deliberately. It was a relief to see those still there. He would have felt
naked without them. Clothes he could live without, but the enchantments he had
engraved on his skin were both armor and weapon to him.

A She’Har male was approaching, walking up
the trunk of the great tree in the languid casual fashion that was normal for
them.

Byovar,
he noted, recognizing the Illeniel lore-warden almost immediately.

Sitting up, he greeted the lore-warden
with a nod while reaching for his trousers. His clothes had been removed at
some point while he was unconscious. “Good afternoon, Byovar.”

“Tyrion,” said the silver-haired She’Har.

“I seem to be missing some time,” noted
Tyrion. “It was turning dark when I arrived.”

“That is why I have come,” said Byovar.
“The elders felt you would need a guide when you awoke.”

The word “elders” brought flashes of
memory back to Tyrion, and with them uncomfortable thoughts. “Where is
Lyralliantha?” he asked with some concern.

“She is still conversing with the elders,”
informed Byovar. “You should not expect to see her for some time.”

“But she is unharmed?”

Byovar nodded.

“Where are my children, and the woman I
returned with?”

“Thillmarius is caring for them in
Ellentrea,” said the She’Har.

Tyrion finished with his trousers and
hurriedly pulled on his boots before grabbing his shirt and leather jerkin. “I
don’t think the term “caring” should be applied to anyone kept in the slave
camps.” He stood and made his way to the trunk, preparing to descend.

Byovar looked amused at his statement but
didn’t bother to argue the point. He contented himself with following the
human. “Perhaps you should let me fill you in on the present before you
leave,” he said wryly.

“I would prefer to move while we talk,”
said Tyrion.

“Are you not hungry?”

In fact, now that he was on his feet again,
Tyrion had noticed a terrible void in his belly. He doubted he had ever been
so famished in his entire life. There was also another pressing urgency. He
gave Byovar an uncomfortable glance, “If you’ll pardon me for a few minutes…”

The male She’Har nodded politely and
waited while Tyrion moved back out along the platform to the special area set
aside for such needs. The limbs and leaves moved around to provide a modicum
of privacy as soon as he was within, a change that Lyralliantha had made years
ago to accommodate his odd need for seclusion while managing his bodily needs.

Tyrion’s urine was the color of dark
cider.
That doesn’t seem warranted,
he thought. Some injuries had done
similar things to him in the past, but normally only when his kidneys had been
bruised, or he had been unconscious for long periods.

“I need some water,” he admitted to Byovar
when he returned.

The She’Har had already poured a cup from
the pitcher Lyralliantha kept on a small table near the bed. He handed it to
Tyrion. “Come with me, I have food waiting at my platform.”

Tyrion drank the water in gulps, surprised
at his thirst once his lips had tasted it. Pausing, he replied, “I really need
to check on the others…”