Chapter Thirty-Four

 

 

A scream—a terrible screech—pierced Tansen's senses. His eyes rolled wildly, sending the world spinning as he jerked into awareness.

Pain. He clenched his teeth and squeezed his eyes shut against it. Then, taking short, heavy breaths—desperately gulping at the thin air—he glanced down at his right arm. A few charred wisps were all that was left of his sleeve. The flesh was reddened and sore but only the crease of his elbow was burned badly enough to have started blistering. There was blood in his eyes again; the cut on his forehead was bleeding copiously as a result of his passing out so that he lay with his head downhill.

He sat up and started coughing, his abused lungs trying to expel the deadly fumes he had inhaled.

Slowly gathering strength, Tansen rose to his feet. He looked around, dazed and bewildered. At first, he could find no sign of the cataclysm that had nearly killed him. Shivering with cold beneath his cloak, he scrambled back up the hillside until he found the crack in the earth. It had been as wide as the Idalar River when he fell unconscious. Now it was no wider than his hand, and it was slowly oozing together, closing completely as he watched. After a few moments, only a glowing, gooey trace of red was left to mark the fissure, like the clotting blood of a minor cut.

"Dar," he whispered.

Why didn't You kill me?

The answer was obvious. She wanted him alive. She had a purpose for him. Whatever it was, She would make it known to him in Her own time. Meanwhile... he had a feeling he knew whose scream had awoken him, as well as what had made her scream.

Josarian has jumped.

Tansen started hauling his aching body up the side of the mountain, shivering with cold, feeling light-headed and thirsty. His sense of urgency was gone.

Josarian has jumped.

His lungs were heaving hard by the time he reached the crowd of spectators. Hundreds of shallaheen huddled together against the cold, carrying hearty provisions of food and water. They saw his swords. They saw the brand on his chest, which was exposed by the singed and tattered rags of his tunic. They murmured his name, knowing his legend. And they told him what he already knew.

Josarian has jumped. My brother is dead.

The rebellion... No, he couldn't even think about that now.

My brother is dead.

They offered him food, water, and wine. He accepted only the water, then asked for Mirabar.

"Where is she?" His lungs ached so, he could hardly force the words out. "Where's Mirabar?"

They directed him past hundreds of resolutely chanting zanareen, glassy-eyed fanatics who ignored him, never taking their gazes off the Fires of Dar.

Tansen spotted her at last. She stood at the rim of the volcano, poised as if she, too, intended to jump.

Over my dead body.

His feet felt as if someone had weighted them down. Every step took concentration. The freezing air burned his lungs. He was shaking hard with cold by the time he reached Mirabar's side.

"Mira..." He sounded as if someone had just tried to strangle him.

She turned to him slowly. Her eyes were glassy, too. Unfocused. Dazed. There was dark circles under them. Her cheeks were hollow, and her neck was shadowed. Her skin was almost as pale as the snow, but two spots of hot, red color stained her cheeks. She was shivering as hard as he was and panting as if she'd just plunged through the waters of Kandahar again.

Mirabar didn't look surprised to see him, nor did she seem to notice his bloodied, ragged condition. She looked as if she barely recognized him and had to struggle to recall his name.

"Tansen..." she whispered at last. "He jumped."

My brother is dead.

The next words out of his mouth were not the ones he'd intended to say. They shocked him, but she seemed to expect them: "Why didn't you stop him? Why?"

She didn't answer. Didn't look away. Just returned his gaze, breathing hard.

He snapped. He seized her shoulders and shook her. A woman. A tiny little thing. He shook her with every ounce of strength he had left and snarled, "How could you have let him do it?"

Her head tilted back. She squeezed her eyes shut and gritted her teeth. A terrible sound started deep in her chest, rose up through her throat, and burst from her mouth in a horrible, grief-stricken howl. Fine-boned hands came up to clutch her demon-red hair.

"Nooooo!" she screamed.

She yanked away from him. Afraid that she would stumble into the volcano, he reached for her. She tore herself out of his grasp, then fell to her knees, keening with misery.

It would have been a lot easier if she had just set him on fire. The sound of her grief, unleashed by his own cruelty, was worse than the cut of a shir. He sank to his knees, too, and tried to put his arms around her.

"Mirabar..."

"No, no, no!"

"I'm sorry."

"The visions... the dreams..." she gasped, sobbing and gulping air. "The Calling... Calidar..."

"Shhh... I'm sorry. I didn't mea—"

"Calidar told him... She sent him here. He would not listen... I thought it was the will of the Otherworld!"

"Shhh."

Her whole body convulsed, then she heaved violently, again and again. Dry choking sounds wracked her throat. Nothing came up, though, not even spittle.

Through the fog of his pain, exhaustion, and grief, he finally realized that in addition to being upset, she was very, very sick. Her skin was burning up, and those violent shivers were from fever as much as from the cold. He'd seen this once before. Some bodies, no matter how strong, couldn't adjust to being this high up. She would die if she stayed here much longer.

"We have to leave," he said.

"Nooooo..." She wept harder.

He didn't try to soothe her this time. He knew she'd be irrational until he could get some water into her body and find a warm place for her to lie down. It needed to be further down the mountain, though, because her main problem was the lack of air. She wouldn't improve until she could breathe again.

His exhausted, aching muscles screamed in protest as he stood up and lifted her into his arms. His burned arm felt like the flesh was being torn from it. Mirabar was petite and she'd lost weight up here, but she was still a solid shallah girl—woman—and his own weakness would make this downhill trip a gruesome expedition. They wouldn't go far. Just until they got below the snow line. He knew he could go no further than that today.

She struggled weakly in his arms, hurting him. His trembling legs betrayed him and he stumbled. They fell to the ground together.

A fierce roar, the birthing screams of a goddess, suddenly filled the air. Mirabar lifted her head, trying to peer into the caldera. His pain forgotten in the terror of the moment, Tansen tangled his fingers in her red curls and dragged her head beneath his shoulder as the sky howled and the earth trembled. He flung his leg out and rolled on top of Mirabar, shielding her—though he didn't know from what direction the threat came.

Heaven and earth seemed to collide. The sky all around them turned orange. The clouds themselves seemed to catch fire. The ground heaved like the waves of the ocean.

"Dar!" Mirabar cried. Senses drowning in the roar of the goddess, Tansen could barely hear Mirabar's voice, so close to his ear, as she shouted, "Let me go! It's Dar!"

He wouldn't let go of her, though. Dar already had Josarian. He wouldn't let Her have Mirabar, too. She'd have to take him first, and She had already proved that She didn't want him yet.

Lava shot straight up from the volcano, spinning high into the air, then falling back into the caldera. Tansen lifted his head and stared in wonder. He had seen Dar's explosions before, during his boyhood, but he had never seen anything like this. This was no series of violent eruptions spewing destruction over the mountain and across the land. Lava gushed sky-high as smoothly, regularly, and gracefully as the water in Shaljir's finest fountains. At its peak, the thick, red-hot flow blossomed into a thousand slender, glowing strands that fell gracefully back to their source. A billion tiny drops of molten lava flew in all directions, but they threatened no one, not even those cowering nearby.

Mirabar's eyes glowed yellow with religious fervor as she stared at the spectacle.

"Is that..." Tansen cleared his throat. "Is that Dar?"

"I don't... know..."

A ball of fire erupted from the top of the lava fountain. It flew straight at Tansen and Mirabar. If this was Dar, then She had evidently just changed Her mind and wanted Her revenge now. Tansen folded Mirabar back beneath him, practically smothering her, and flung an arm over his head, suddenly a little less ready to die than he had supposed.

The ball of flame landed so close to them it nearly set Mirabar's cloak on fire. Tansen rolled away from it, clutching the woman protectively, ready to defend her from the goddess she was struggling to see as he pressed her face into his shoulder.

"It's him," she cried. "Don't you see? It's—"

Someone started screaming in exultation, jumping up and down and pointing into the flames. Heart quickening with hope, Tansen rose to his knees and stared into the heat of the fire.

"Josarian?"

A shape slowly solidified in the leaping flames. It might be a man's body, crouched down on one knee, poised as if about to rise. It wasn't Josarian, though. It glowed as if made of the hottest coals.

"It's him," Mirabar breathed, gasping for air, tugging on Tansen as she tried to rise to her feet.

The flames started sizzling and smoking, gradually fading the way ordinary fire did when there was no wood left to fuel it. As the fire died, the glowing shape within it became more distinct. Tansen's heart nearly stopped when the thing moved, but he didn't back away. Mirabar said that creature was Josarian, and Tansen would not flee from his brother, no matter what he had become. Moving as slowly and painfully as a very old man, the shape in the fire pushed itself off the ground and rose to its full height. It stood there glowing, radiating heat and power, as the flames all around it withered and died.

Then the figure, too, started changing. The fiery glow, so similar to Mirabar's eyes, was fading, cooling, and sliding away to reveal the body of an ordinary man. Moment by moment, familiar parts of him appeared beneath the glowing sheathe which had covered him: the gleaming dark hair; the sun-browned flesh; the two scars left by Valdani swords; the marks on his palms.

He was breathing hard, and his naked body was drenched in sweat. His eyes were closed, his expression unapproachable. He seemed to be focused on some inner vision. Tansen stepped forward, but Mirabar clutched at him, stopping him. The tightness of her grip warned him not to speak or disturb Josarian.

The zanareen went wild, screaming, cheering, flinging themselves against each other. The shallaheen were shouting Josarian's name, crying out their triumph at the coming of the Firebringer.

The Firebringer.

It was true. It was Josarian. He had done it!

The volcano's furious activity subsided, until nothing was left of the fire and fury which had consumed both earth and sky only moments ago. Dar's voice was once again only an unsteady murmur in the caldera. Everything at Darshon again looked as it had always looked.

Except that the Firebringer is among us now.

"He is come!" Jalan cried, leading a swarm of wild-eyed men toward Josarian.

"Don't let them disturb him," Mirabar said quickly.

Obeying her, for these events were far more of her realm than his, Tansen unsheathed both his swords and jumped between Jalan's people and Josarian.

"He is the Awaited One!" Jalan cried. "We are his servants! You cannot keep us from him!"

"I know. Just give him a few moments," Tansen said, secretly fearing that Josarian might need a whole lot longer than that.

"Tan..."

Tansen whirled instantly, recognizing the voice. Only minutes ago, he had believed he would never hear it again. "I'm here."

Josarian's eyes opened at last. Tansen had feared what he would see there, but this was the same familiar gaze he knew, the same ingenuous brown eyes he had looked into more than a thousand times. Josarian's expression was exhausted and dazed, but... this was unquestionably still the face of his brother. Relief coursed through him.

After a long, amazed moment of silence, Tansen asked, "How... How do you feel?" 

The wind whipped across Darshon. Josarian shivered, frowned, and said, "I'm cold."

Mirabar struggled to her feet. "Here. Take this." She tried to remove one of her cloaks, a voluminous garment which Tansen recognized as Josarian's, but her arms were as weak as a baby's.

Tansen sheathed his swords, went to her, removed the cloak, and helped her back down to the ground before she fell down. The zanareen and shallaheen watched the three of them, whispering, murmuring, but wary of interfering.

"I guess the scriptures are a little vague about what happens next," Tansen surmised. His burned arm was smarting again, howling against all the recent abuse it had endured. 

Josarian blinked and looked at him more alertly now, focusing his gaze. "Tansen." A slow, tired grin stole across his features. Astonishingly, he started to laugh. "Tan!"

Josarian stumbled forward and flung his arms around him, giving him the sort of openly affectionate bear hug that Tansen usually found embarrassing in front of the men. Now he blinked back tears and returned the fierce embrace.

Thank You, Dar. Thank You. Thank You for giving him back.

After a long moment, Josarian pushed him away to seize his shoulders in a hard grip. Tansen winced against the pain, but Josarian didn't notice.

"Tan, you'll never believe it!" Josarian shook his head, his expression vivid with amazement. "It wasn't Armian! I'm the Firebringer!"

 

 

Najdan was waiting for them when they entered the Sanctuary at the base of Darshon. He had some idea of what had happened up there, since witnesses to the miracle had descended the mountain to start spreading the word even before Josarian was recovered from his ordeal.

The Firebringer.

It made Najdan's chest tight with wonder. He had never believed in the Firebringer, and he had certainly never imagined that he would know and serve him.

His next thought was that Kiloran would not be pleased. No man in Sileria was more feared than Kiloran; but now one would exceed him in fame and glory, and in the awe that he inspired. The Firebringer would command even greater power and respect than the mightiest waterlord in the world, and Kiloran would hate that.

Najdan had stayed here, obeying Mirabar's instructions and awaiting her return. The day after word of Josarian's triumph came down the mountain, a runner had arrived with news from Tansen, who was up there, too, now: The sirana was very sick and would need care and attention when she arrived that evening. Najdan would have ignored her previous orders and climbed to the very peak of Darshon to retrieve her, except that he didn't want to upset her if she was already unwell. She believed it would be a sacrilege to bring him with her to the volcano wherein dwelled the goddess she worshipped. Respecting this without resentment, for the Honored Society did not concern itself with Dar, Najdan remained where he was, supervising preparations for the sirana's arrival and watching the mountain path for her.

When Josarian, Mirabar, and Tansen finally arrived, they were accompanied by a veritable herd of zanareen. Loyal and obedient to the point of idiocy, Josarian's followers camped outside the Sanctuary as he ordered. They had brought Mirabar down the mountain on a pallet. Josarian lifted her limp body and carried her inside the Sanctuary, accompanied only by Tansen.

Najdan could see at once that everything had changed. Josarian, who had always been strong, now looked invincible, positively radiating power, energy, and confidence. It was Tansen, however, who looked as if he had faced death and barely survived. His entire right arm was swathed in dirty makeshift bandages. His humble clothes hung in tatters on his lean frame, torn, singed, and smeared with blood. An angry gash stood out boldly on his forehead. Josarian had made haste to Darshon, knowing that if Tansen survived his adventure in Shaljir, then he would try to stop his bloodbrother from embracing Dar in the volcano. Looking at the shatai now, Najdan could see that he had indeed tried. He had challenged the goddess, fighting Her honorably. He had failed, and Josarian had stunned them all with his divine triumph. But Tansen had survived his own ordeal, and a man who had lived through a battle with a goddess would never again be the same.

Unconscious in Josarian's arms, Mirabar seemed the most changed of all. She looked pale, weak, and half-dead. Forgetting the respect that a man owed to the Firebringer, Najdan snatched the sirana out of Josarian's arms and snapped, "What's happened to her? What did you let those madmen up there do to her?"

"It was the altitude," Tansen said wearily, ignoring Najdan's accusatory tone. "The lack of air. Some people can't adjust to it."

"But she's a shallah!"

Tansen shook his head. "It doesn't matter."

"How could you let this happen to her?" Najdan demanded. "How could you let her get like this?"

"I wasn't there." Tansen eased himself onto one of the wooden benches in the Sanctuary, nodding to the Sisters hovering around them. "Let the Sisters take her, Najdan. She'll be all right now that she's here. She just needs rest, warmth, and plenty of broth."

Najdan glared briefly at Josarian, then swung around and carried Mirabar off to a chamber where the Sisters could give her whatever she needed.

 

 

Later that evening, wearing fresh bandages and someone else's clothes, Tansen enjoyed a quiet meal with Josarian. He kept reminding himself that Josarian was the Firebringer now. But every time he looked at him, he just saw... Josarian. Changed, yes, undeniably changed somehow; but still the brother he had grown to love.

"You might as well ask," Josarian said at last. "I know you're dying to ask."

Tansen smiled wryly. "All right. How?"

"It was like my dreams."

"Pain and ecstasy?"

"Pain that should have killed me, driven me mad, melted my flesh and pulverized my bones. Pain worse than I imagine death by torture to be."

"And ecstasy..."

Josarian nodded. "I have no words for it." He smiled. "My father taught me no words for what a goddess can do to a man, only a woman."

"But you and She... Dar, I mean..." Tansen wasn't quite sure how to phrase it.

"Yes." Josarian looked out the window into the black night, his expression distorted by a sudden, intense longing. "Yes."

It was a look that spoke of Otherworldly things, the kind of look that Mirabar sometimes wore. It made Tansen uneasy. 

"And then?" he prodded after a long silence.

With obvious effort, Josarian pulled himself back to the present moment. "I didn't want to come back. I tried to stay. But, uh..."

"She sent you back to us."

"Yes, to finish the war. To get rid of the Valdani."

"And if you succeed?" Tansen asked.

"Then perhaps I will go back to Her."

"What about Calidar?"

"Or perhaps I will go to her." Josarian met Tansen's gaze. "I may not mourn her any longer, though. Not in this life. That was part of the price. I may not love another... woman."

Tansen felt a stab of sharp surprise. "So you think... So Jalan was right about Calidar's death?" 

He saw the grief and confusion in Josarian's expression before it was slowly washed away by resolution and obedience to Dar's will. She truly was a ruthless goddess.

"I think so," Josarian said at last. He shrugged and lightened his tone. "Mirabar says that in the Otherworld, I can be with them both."

Tansen hated his brother's pain and so tried to help him lighten the mood. "Ah, like some Kintish potentate whose palace is full of his jealous wives."

Josarian smiled. "Somehow, I don't think that's quite what Mira meant."

"Why, by all the gods above and below, did you let her go up there with you?"

"How was I supposed to stop her?" said Josarian. "Have you ever tried to talk her out of doing something she was determined to do?"

Tansen laughed. "I withdraw the question."

"I didn't know she was growing ill." Josarian's eyes were soft with regret. "The moment we arrived, they separated us. I was stripped, isolated, put through rituals and ceremonies I would be too embarrassed to describe even to you, and fed nothing but potions that made my head spin. After the first day, I don't think I even remembered Mirabar existed."

"Then your memory is kinder than mine. I felt the sting of her tongue long after I left for Shaljir. Even in the tunnels beneath the prison, my ears felt hot."

Josarian grinned. "Ah, and you didn't even hear what she said after you left her at Idalar."

"I'm glad I didn't," Tansen said with feeling.

Josarian confided, "I think even Kiloran was shocked."

They both laughed.

Then Josarian said, "The torena should be safe on Mount Niran by now."

"As long as they didn't encounter any Outlookers on the way." Now that he could spare the energy to worry about Elelar, the thought troubled him. "We were pretty high up when I left her."

"And Zimran would do everything in his power to protect her the rest of the way."

"I know." He tried to keep the sour note out of his voice.

Apparently he failed, since Josarian said, "I'm flattered that you left the torena alone with my cousin to come after me."

"The lady can fend him off without my help."

"Are you certain she'll try?" Josarian asked gently.

He wasn't, and it bothered him. "Who can be certain what a woman will do?"

"True enough," Josarian agreed. "I've been lucky. I've never cared for a woman who... whose affections were uncertain. It would be a hard thing for a man to bear."

Tansen changed the subject. Josarian respected his feelings and followed his lead, discussing new plans for the war, now that they were certain the sea-born folk and the lowlanders would join them. With the age of the Firebringer at hand, even the toreni and city-dwellers were bound to come round before long. Mirabar's visions, Armian's words, the ancient prophecies of the zanareen...

"It will really happen," Josarian said, his face filled with wonder. "We will make it happen."

"And we will see a new Yahrdan take his rightful place in Shaljir."

Josarian's eyes glowed. "For the first time in a thousand years."

"I never thought I would live to see that."

"Neither did I," said Josarian.

"Perhaps it will be you," Tansen pointed out.

"Me?"

"Who better?"

Josarian shook his head. "Not me."

"Why not? You're the Firebringer, after all."

Josarian made a vague gesture. "I'm supposed to make the Valdani leave. What happens after that..." He shrugged. "There's no prophecy about that. Once the Valdani leave Sileria forever, my destiny is as uncertain as everyone else's."

And, Tansen realized with surprise, Josarian didn't care. His epiphany had not changed that. Josarian dreamed only of freeing Sileria from the roshaheen, nothing else. The events at Darshon had given him the means by which to do it, and he had willingly paid the price. Now he returned to the war, more focused and committed than ever.

Najdan joined them as they were discussing strategy and debating tactics. He informed them that the sirana was much improved. She had kept down a bowl of broth and was now sleeping peacefully, free of fever and nausea. Relieved to hear it, Josarian drew Najdan into the conversation.

The long rains would soon be upon them, the traditional season for the Society's most frequent and most profitable abductions.

"But not this year," Josarian warned Najdan. "We will abduct only Valdani. No Silerians, whether wealthy merchants or toreni. The rebellion needs them, and they won't join us if the Society is busy abducting them."

Tansen saw Najdan shift uneasily, his loyalties divided. Though Najdan lacked imagination, he was no fool. He knew that Josarian was right, but the habits of twenty years were hard to break.

Najdan said, "The Society needs money—"

"They got plenty out of Alizar," said Josarian.

"Ah, but the war is expensive, siran."

"Everyone is making sacrifices," Josarian pointed out. "The Society can, too. Tell Kiloran—and tell him to tell the other waterlords: There are to be no abductions except those which I authorize."

"Kiloran won't like it," Tansen warned.

"The waterlords won't like it," Najdan added.

Josarian stood up. "I'm the Firebringer. From now on, Kiloran and the waterlords will do what I tell them to do."

"But, siran—"

"Things have changed. The Society will just have to get accustomed to it." Josarian's expression ruled out further protest from the assassin. "Driving out the Valdani is all that matters now."

Tansen watched him leave. He wasn't sure he agreed with Josarian's decision, but his expression warned Najdan not to try to win him over to a more moderate position. His loyalty to Josarian was as unassailable as Najdan's was to Kiloran—or to Mirabar, these days. But Najdan was right; the waterlords wouldn't like this. Fortunately, though, the rest of Sileria would be behind Josarian. Tansen didn't think the waterlords could afford to defy Josarian's orders if everyone realized that the Society was all that stood in the way of a unified and free Sileria.

"We're leaving first thing the morning," he told Najdan.

"I'll stay here until the sirana is well enough to travel."

"I know." He could leave her here with Najdan. No one would protect her more fiercely. "Then you must find Kiloran. She'll help you convince him." Kiloran didn't like Mirabar, but he did listen to her—albeit reluctantly.

"Yes." Najdan poured himself a cup of wine, then said, "Cheylan is with him."

"Oh?"

Najdan nodded. "Since Idalar. Josarian sent him with Kiloran in the sirana's place after deciding to come to Darshon."

Tansen waited. It was obvious Najdan wanted to say more.

The comment, slow in coming, couldn't have surprised him more. "I found him... courting the sirana at Idalar."

"Cheylan?"

Najdan nodded. Then, as if relieved to have someone to share this with, he said in a rush, "Embracing her. Alone in the dark. Very... passionately."

Tansen felt as if someone had just slapped him. He didn't know why. Mirabar and Cheylan... It shouldn't be that surprising. Each of them had worn out Tansen's voice by insisting he answer questions about the other, after all. Mirabar and Cheylan were alike in ways that ordinary people couldn't understand. They had undoubtedly shared similar hardships, despite the vast differences in their birthrights. In fact, it was hard to picture a man and woman more likely to seek comfort in each other's arms. Tansen himself had once supposed that Cheylan might well be the man for the demon girl.

Yet the thought of Mirabar locked in a "very passionate" embrace with Cheylan now made Tansen feel physically sick. It made him want to burst into her bedchamber right now and demand what in the Fires she thought she was doing that night at Idalar. It made him want to change Josarian's orders and send her anywhere in Sileria except back to Kiloran and back into Cheylan's arms.

Finding his voice at last, he asked, "And the sirana. Did she seem to..."

"She... returned the embrace." Najdan folded his arms. "I know that you were in the east with Cheylan for some time. Perhaps you know what kind of man he is and can tell me if he is worthy of the sirana?"

If I say he's not, you're going to slip your shir between his ribs the next time he touches her, aren't you?

"I, uh..." Tansen knew he'd better tread carefully. He wasn't entirely in control of his own thoughts, and assassins weren't known for mastering their violent impulses. "You, uh, believe that Cheylan will... persist in his courtship?"

"I do."

"And that the sirana will receive his attentions favorably?" Darfire, I sound like my mother.

"Yes."

"Well..." He was aware of an overriding desire to encourage Najdan to drown Cheylan in Lake Kandahar the first chance he got. He faltered, wondering what to say next.

"To be honest, Tansen..." The assassin fingered his shir. "I do not like him."

Aware that Mirabar wouldn't thank him for this, Tansen sighed and admitted, "To tell the truth, Najdan, neither do I."

 

 

Mirabar had fully recovered from her ordeal atop Mount Darshon by the time she arrived at Kandahar, accompanied by Najdan. She had no doubt that Kiloran already knew what had occurred at Darshon, since he knew everything that happened in Sileria. Her duty now, explained to her by Josarian before they had parted company, was to convince Kiloran to obey the Firebringer's orders.

From the rim of the volcano to the depths of Kiloran's underwater palace... Such a life was enough to make even a Guardian feel a little faint-hearted. She almost wished the Beckoner had chosen someone else to bring the will of the Otherworld to the people of Sileria.

Actually, she was starting to fear that he had chosen someone else, or had at least decided to abandon her. He had not come to her since long before Darshon, and she was increasingly worried that he might never come again. Was the Beckoner's work done? Had she failed him? Had he chosen another Guardian? Why was he silent? Such questions plagued Mirabar night and day by now.

When she and Najdan reached Lake Kandahar, they found Cheylan awaiting them along its shores, beneath a sky filled with storm clouds; the long rains were finally coming. Mirabar had known Cheylan was here and had looked forward to seeing him again. Perhaps she could even discuss these fears about the Beckoner with him. She thought he would understand in a way that ordinary people could not. So she was disappointed to learn he was leaving Kandahar.

"I was only delaying my departure until I could greet you," he said, taking her hands in his.

Mirabar ignored the way Najdan glowered at them both. "Where are you going?"

"A runner came from Josarian two days ago, ordering me to go east again."

"Oh." She looked away, feeling awkward and unsure of herself.

"I'm sorry," he added. "I had hoped we could talk more."

"Me, too."

"Sirana, perhaps we should go pay our respects to my master now." Najdan's tone could have frozen water.

"You go ahead," she replied. "I'll join you in a moment."

The assassin considered this course of action, clearly reluctant to leave her alone with Cheylan. Mirabar was about to speak sharply to him when Cheylan intervened by saying, "I believe Searlon is taking his leave of your master even as we speak. Perhaps you would like to join them?"

"Yes," Najdan said. "Sirana, we should—"

"I doubt they'd want a Guardian to intrude," Cheylan said innocently. "I'll keep the sirana company here until Searlon leaves and Kiloran is ready to receive her. Agreed?"

Najdan scowled but evidently decided not to make a scene. As he curtly excused himself from their presence, a crystal-hard path started magically forming in the water, leading out to the center of the lake. Najdan followed it, then disappeared into the water's depths, going to join his own kind in Kiloran's lair.

Mirabar's chest felt tight as she turned back to Cheylan. "I wish you could stay, at least for a little while."

"So do I." He brushed a strand of hair off her cheek. "But I have been ordered to return to Verlon's side immediately."

"But didn't he... I've heard that he once swore a bloodvow against you."

"Yes, that's true."

"Then why does Josarian keep sending you to him?"

Cheylan shrugged. "Because I am useful there. I know Verlon better than anyone except his most trusted assassins."

She frowned. "But how? You're a Guardian, and he's a waterlord."

Cheylan hesitated for a moment, then said, "Verlon is my grandfather."