25

S he turned at the sound, rising from her chair. “Oh, it’s you.”

“You knew I would come, Zafira.”

“Can I offer you something?”

“Information only this visit. I can’t be away long.”

“Then sit, Pez. You’re making me nervous.”

“Have you reason to be?”

He noticed how she rubbed her hands against her robe. “Why would you ask such a thing?”

“Because you’re uncomfortable and I’ve never known you to be anything but entirely relaxed in my presence.”

“Sit, Pez.” The priestess sighed. “This has been a difficult few days.”

“I know,” he replied, seating himself on the only comfortable chair in the room.

Zafira lowered herself into one of the harder, upright chairs at her table. “You want to know where Ellyana is,” she said, reading him accurately.

“I gave my word to Jumo.”

“Please, Pez, I can’t answer any more questions.”

“Why, Zafira? What are you scared of?”

“You would be scared too,” she groaned, turning to face him now.

“If I knew what?” he demanded.

“Why I have been told to give you this,” she replied quietly, reaching into her robe and bringing out a small gold sculpture. Her hand trembled as she held it out to him.

Pez frowned. “An owl? It doesn’t belong to me.”

“It does. It always has. It just has to find you each time.”

Pez shook his head. “I don’t understand you, Zafira.”

“This statue was given to Ana in the bazaar before she was formally taken into the palace. She asked Lazar to look after it for her because she knew she would not be permitted to keep it in the harem. Ana told Lazar that it was to remind him of her. She did not expect to see him again.”

“She was wrong.” He didn’t mean to sound so petulant but he was feeling frustrated and scared.

Zafira nodded. “Lazar kept the owl. He planned to keep it close as Ana had begged, but at the island—” she faltered slightly, suddenly pausing.

“Yes?” Pez prompted.

“He tried to give it to Ellyana.”

“Because he knew he was dying?”

Zafira shrugged.

Pez tried not to show his frustration at her evasiveness. “You’re going to tell me she refused,” he guessed.

“She did. Ellyana said the owl makes its own journey to whomever it seeks. She told Lazar that Ana had made her choice who to pass it to and Lazar must now make his choice. She cautioned that it must pass forward, never backward.”

“I see. How was Lazar to know who was the next recipient?”

“Ellyana said his heart would tell him—he must follow his instincts.”

“Lazar chose me,” he said flatly.

She nodded slowly, her eyes locking now with his.

“I have no idea why,” Pez said airily. “I’ve never seen it before and I’d prefer not to keep something so obviously valuable about me.”

“Pez,” she urged, her voice hard. “Do you know in whose image this statue has been crafted?”

He knew he didn’t want to hear what she was going to say. He heard the warning bells in his mind, felt the beat of his heart warning him to flee, but he was trapped in the chair as if the weight of the world was pressing him down into its cushions. He also knew who the owl was.

“This is Iridor. And he belongs to you.”

As if mesmerized, or under some sort of hypnotic spell he’d witnessed Yozem practice against gullible folk, Pez reached out his hand. Everything inside him screamed at him to refuse it but he watched in dread awe as the red jewels of the eyes sparkled with what seemed to be their own fire.

Accept me, Pez, it urged in his mind, and whether he thought he was imagining that voice or not, he answered its call, taking the owl into his palm and closing his fingers around its searing warmth.

Then he vanished.

HE WAS IN THE DESERT, could hear his own panicked breathing, but he could not see anything. It was night, dark and starless, and it felt as though the Samazen was whipping up about him. He didn’t feel frightened, though; strangely enough, he felt comforted by the warmth burning within him.

What just happened? Feeling stupid, Pez called out Zafira’s name but his voice was fractured and carried away on the shifting sands that seemed to swirl about him.

He wasn’t sure whether he was still sitting or whether he stood. He couldn’t move but somehow he felt oddly safe here. Slowly the noise of the sand and wind died away. The moon appeared, a great silver orb hung low and beautiful in the night sky, while millions of stars winked at him. Pez sighed out a long breath of pleasure. Wherever he was, he wished he could remain here.

Pez.

He replied instinctively. Iridor?

Thank you for knowing me.

Why am I here?

To fight her battle once again.

The Goddess’s?

He imagined whoever owned that voice nodding. Lyana must prepare for her war but the Messenger must rise first.

And I am the Messenger?

Yes.

I don’t understand.

You have been chosen, Pez, as others have been chosen before you.

What is my role as Messenger?

You are wise counsel to those who protect and nurture Lyana. You are their friend. You are eyes and ears for them, for her. You tell her what she needs to know.

But that is you, Iridor, not me.

We are one.

How can that be?

Because you are chosen. Release me from the statue. Let our spirits combine.

How?

You have already opened your mind to me. Now open your heart. I am friend, not foe. I will never hurt you or those you love, but we together are warriors for the battle.

Against Maliz?

Yes.

Has he begun remaking himself? Pez asked, astounded, remembering the old story.

Yes. It is done.

How will we know who he is?

You will discover him, as he will discover you.

Pez felt suddenly overwhelmed. Are you sure you want me? You can see me, can’t you? An ugly dwarf, a supposed imbecile? What can I possibly do, how can I—

Hush, Pez, the voice soothed. You were born this way in order to be Iridor. You learned early how to hide your true self. You have known your abilities since you were very young…and you have hidden them well. Accept me fully, Pez.

Is that even my name?

Your earthly name, yes. Your heavenly name has always been Iridor and all of us who worship the Mother see nothing but your beauty.

At this Pez thought he might have wept, though he couldn’t be sure. The voice talking to him was gentle. It demanded nothing. It simply asked him to join the fight, make use of the powers he had been gifted.

Do I belong to Lyana?

Of course. You always have.

The calming words, the gentle voice, the warmth throughout his being, all told him to accept this special task.

I won’t let her down.

You never have. When you awake, we shall be one but you cannot come into your full power yet, though you will have to soon. Until then you will still have questions. Listen closely to those who can help you.

And the desert night blazed into a silvery fire.

HE SUCKED IN a huge breath and realized that Zafira was standing over him, her face a mask of worry.

“Pez!”

“What was that?” he asked, shocked by her nearness and concern.

“You tell me. One minute we were talking and the next you became silent and rigid in the chair. I couldn’t reach you. I was talking to you and pulling at you but you were like the statue you grasped so hard in your fist.”

He relaxed the white-knuckled grip, his hand opening slowly to reveal a silver owl with jeweled eyes that were no longer red. They glittered yellow now, as if all the gold from the body had been absorbed into its eyes. He realized they were exactly the color of his own eyes, his strange yellowish eyes that had always fascinated and repulsed people.

Zafira gave a sound of exclamation. “What’s happened to you, to it?”

“I don’t know how this happened,” he claimed truthfully. “I…I felt like I was traveling.”

“When? Just now, when you were like stone?”

He nodded. “I can’t remember what occurred,” he added, deciding to lie now. He was not ready to share his secrets with Zafira and his mind was suddenly aware that an ancient knowledge lay within him. He couldn’t touch it yet, for it sat dormant as the spirit had promised. He wondered when he would be called to rise.

Zafira was still talking anxiously. “You called my name but then I felt as though I’d lost you.”

Pez was silent. He knew he was shaking. “I can’t remember anything,” he reiterated, wondering why Zafira looked as shocked as he was feeling. “I do remember what you told me, though. I have some questions.”

“Ask them,” she said, no sign of her concern dissipating.

“The old woman in the bazaar who gave the owl to Ana—”

She anticipated his question. “Yes, it was Ellyana.”

“She was also my Bundle Woman.”

“I know.”

“So she deliberately sought me out and then with the same intent went after Ana and Lazar. Why not just give me the owl when we first met?”

“Pez, I don’t know as much as you think I do but I gather that Ellyana was drawn to all of you as she was to me. She was compelled, you could say. The owl finds its own, as I have explained. And when Ana approached her, Ellyana realized she was the young woman she was seeking. Lazar I’m not sure about. He could have simply been a bystander.”

“Then why would she try and save his life?” he persisted. “It doesn’t make sense.”

“Compassion?”

He snorted. “Don’t play me for a fool, Zafira. I’m not suggesting that Ellyana’s cruel but her mind is set on one thing—whatever it is—and it involves me and Ana and I’d suggest Lazar as well as yourself. There was nothing coincidental about her arrival at the temple and there was nothing casual about her decision to aid Lazar. She wanted to save his life, needed to save his life. He is as involved as the rest of us. But now she’s lost him—that’s where it all falls apart. How did she react to his death? It must have been a shock.”

Zafira shrugged, looked uncharacteristically awkward. “I was too upset to take much notice.”

“Yes, but you recall she was so calm at the temple. She even mentioned that she should have guessed something like this would happen. She was perturbed but not terrified for his life as the rest of us were. It was as though she knew something we didn’t. And still he died.” He shook his head. “It just doesn’t make sense. Didn’t you talk to her? Hasn’t it struck you as odd that she’s turned up now?”

“Yes, of course. But, more importantly, since she arrived at the temple my feeling of being unsettled has disappeared. She is a fellow priestess and her quiet presence has calmed me.”

“What did she say to ease your anxiety?”

Zafira hesitated. “She said that we are sisters and that I have already contributed to the Mother.”

“That’s it?” Pez pushed.

She hesitated again.

“You must tell me,” he urged.

“She said that Lyana was coming again. She knew because Iridor was rising. Ellyana assured me that my work was just beginning and I would be instrumental in aiding Lyana for the battle ahead.”

Pez fell silent. It was as disturbing to him to hear Zafira’s words as it was for her to repeat them. Awed and overwhelmed, they stared at each other, helpless.

“And I’m Iridor,” he said finally. He still didn’t want to believe it. Still couldn’t, in truth.

“Yes, that’s what I think Ellyana must have wanted you to understand, why she gave the statue to Ana, hoping it would find its way to you in the harem. But Ana gave it to Lazar…” Her voice trailed off.

“And still it found its way to me.” He finished her thought for them both. Sitting forward, Pez took Zafira’s hand, a plea in his voice. “But how do we know this is truth? What do we know about Iridor? How can we possibly accept that I am this…this—” He couldn’t bring himself to say it.

“Demigod?”

He nodded.

“Tell me what you do know of Iridor.”

He sat back, despondent. “Very little. He’s an owl.”

She looked suddenly intrigued. “Iridor is known for hiding himself from others, listening, gathering information. He is able to take the form of a silvery-white owl at will.”

Pez forced a smile. “Well, I fit the bill on the first three but that last item surely counts me out. I ask you, Zafira, do I look like a bird?” His voice was filled with amusement.

“As a matter of fact, you do,” she surprised him.

He snorted his derision. “A silvery-white bird?”

“Come with me, Pez,” she said softly.

“Where?”

“Over here,” she said, standing and walking toward a small bureau that held her comb and brush, her chain with the Cross of Life pendant, and a few other possessions, including a pretty ornamental hand mirror worked in silver. She picked up the mirror and offered it to Pez. “Look at yourself.”

And Pez did, taking the mirror from her hand and staring into it, aghast. He had never cared much for his reflection at the best of times but now he was stunned.

Staring back at him, he saw his face, pale with shock, surrounded by hair of the purest white.