Realm Of Light Part 16

He shivered, rubbing his arms beneath his cloak, and drew up his hood. His dagger was gone, and he could not find a recognizable landmark in any direction.

Fear traveled up his spine, but he squelched it quickly. His anger was returning. Was this an exile, a punishment? If so, he did not care. He would rather die out here of exposure than grovel to anyone.

Absently he rubbed his chest where the pain had been, and pivoted again. Wind off the glacier usually blew southward. Grimly, Caelan put his back to the wind, then he set out with long strides. In moments, his breath was rasping in his throat. The high alt.i.tude began to sap his strength.

No one had ever tried to cross the entire glacier and lived to tell how large it was. Caelan's own knowledge was confined to the southernmost tip of the ice, where it spilled into the mountain pa.s.ses. He might have to walk for days, and he did not think that was possible. Already his toes were numb inside his boots. His cloak did not seem to break the wind that drilled into his back. He lacked even a tinderstrike to start a fire, not that there was any wood or peat up here to fuel it. When darkness fell, he would have no shelter.

But he refused to fear. It was his own death he faced, on his terms. When the time came, and his legs could carry him no farther, he would lie on his back for a last glimpse of the breathtaking aurora before he fell into eternal sleep.

With a start, he jerked up his head and blinked hard, finding himself kneeling on the ice in a shivering knot. He realized he must have pa.s.sed out. Alarmed, he struggled back to his feet and nearly fell in the process. His feet were entirely numb, and he couldn't feel them when he stood. When he touched his face, he couldn't feel his own fingers. La.s.situde crept over his limbs, and he knew very soon he would start to feel warm as he froze to death.

Staggering forward, he stumbled and fell to his knees. The wind howled over him, whipping his cloak about his shoulders. He tried to get up, but couldn't. He sank down onto the hard, frozen surface of the ice. How old it was, as ancient as time.

Caelan's senses swirled. He felt dizzy and lost. Severance Severance was gone as though he had never had it. Perhaps this was the ultimate end of reaching into the void. Perhaps he was already completely was gone as though he had never had it. Perhaps this was the ultimate end of reaching into the void. Perhaps he was already completely severed severed and did not realize it. He felt as though his own threads of life had been cut. Now he drifted here between the physical and spirit worlds, part of neither. And he heard the grumble of the ice below him, heard the ponderous shift and grind of its infinitely slow progress. More than that, he heard its song-a low keening like the sound from the rim of a crystal goblet when rubbed. and did not realize it. He felt as though his own threads of life had been cut. Now he drifted here between the physical and spirit worlds, part of neither. And he heard the grumble of the ice below him, heard the ponderous shift and grind of its infinitely slow progress. More than that, he heard its song-a low keening like the sound from the rim of a crystal goblet when rubbed.

Sevaisin pulled him to it. For a moment longer-perhaps the s.p.a.ce of a heartbeat-Caelan resisted. Then with a sigh, he stopped fighting and allowed himself to join with the ice, to become one with the glacier. pulled him to it. For a moment longer-perhaps the s.p.a.ce of a heartbeat-Caelan resisted. Then with a sigh, he stopped fighting and allowed himself to join with the ice, to become one with the glacier.

There was a brief jolt of incredible cold, as though he had been frozen solid in an instant, and then light flashed through him. It was like physically exploding, except he felt no pain. And he found himself in a roofless temple, a place of peace and calm harmony. He stood on a slab of pale marble surrounded by twelve marble columns reaching high above him. Another row of columns, too many to count, stretched into the distance without end. There was no sky, no horizon. It was neither day nor night. Yet he saw everything with complete clarity. The air was the perfect temperature, neither hot nor cold. He heard the gentle sound of running water in the distance. It was a soothing noise. Mentally he felt renewed, restored. His naked body stood strong and whole. For once, perhaps the first time in his life, he felt centered and complete, as though he had found balance.

The quiet sound of footsteps made him turn around.

Robed in white and wearing a soft, brimless cap of silver cloth, Moah approached him with the peculiar gliding stride of the Choven. Although Caelan could feel no wind here, Moah's silk robes billowed around his squat frame in constant motion.

Seeing Moah, some of Caelan's peace faded. He sighed, but made no move to evade this meeting.

Moah stopped a short distance from him and stood regarding him in silence.

Meeting Moah's liquid gaze directly, Caelan squared his shoulders and said, "Am I dead?"

Something unreadable glimmered in Moah's rough-textured face. "Do you believe you are in death?"

"Didn't I freeze to death on the glacier?"

"Did you?"

Caelan frowned. He had no patience for such puzzles. "Why else would I be here?"

"Where are you?"

"I don't know," Caelan said, holding onto his temper with difficulty. Already he was finding it difficult to keep his resolution. "This looks like a temple of some kind. Am I at the edge of the spirit world?"

"No."

It was the first solid answer Moah had given him, but it wasn't very informative.

Caelan's frown deepened. "Then where am I?"

"Where do you think you are?"

"I don't know. I've already given you my best guess."

Moah raised one long, dark finger. It looked like a twig. "Guess is unnecessary. Think."

Caelan didn't appreciate being treated like a schoolboy. "I'm in no mood for lessons," he said sharply. "Why have I been brought here? What do you want from me?"

"I want nothing," Moah replied, unruffled. "You are seeking to learn. Will you take learning from us?"

The fear that Caelan had known earlier among the tents came back. "No," he said. "Why should I?"

"You fear me."

Caelan's mouth was dry, but he answered with the truth. "Yes. I fear you."

"Why?"

"Because-" Caelan stopped, his thoughts and emotions a chaotic tangle in his mind.

"Because you were taught to be afraid?" Moah suggested quietly.

"You are not part of our world," Caelan said, defiant and angry. "You have powers from-from the G.o.ds that men may not have. You follow the ancient ways, ways that are forbidden. How do I know what you will do to me? You can probably turn me into smoke at will."

"Not smoke," Moah said. "Ice."

Caelan swallowed hard and held his tongue. He'd said too much already.

"On the glacier," Moah said, "you were dying. Did you feel fear?"

"Some," Caelan admitted reluctantly.

"But you accepted death."

It seemed to be a question. Not understanding where the Choven was going, Caelan nodded his head with impatience.

"Yes."

"Why did you accept it?"

Caelan shrugged. "I had no choice. I had done my best to save myself. But it was inevitable. I had to accept it."

"So when no other choice is possible, you will accept what is before you?"

"Maybe."

Moah laughed. "Such stubborn caution."

"I am not Choven," Caelan insisted, goaded by the Choven's amus.e.m.e.nt. "I am human, son of Beva E'non-"

"A man you do not love, a man you do not respect," Moah interrupted.

"That's between me and him," Caelan snapped. "No one else. He's still my father."

"And you would defend him?" Moah asked. "How curious. You have resented and criticized him as long as you can remember, yet-"

"You don't understand," Caelan broke in. "That's just part of it. If he had only accepted me:-"

"And who are you, Caelan E'non?"

Caelan stopped, feeling confused again.

Moah took a step closer, his gaze penetrating. "Who are you?"

"But I don't look like you!" Caelan burst out, feeling cornered. "My skin, my hair and eyes, my stature. I'm not Choven. I'm human. Why do you insist otherwise?"

"I have said nothing," Moah said in a reasonable voice.

Caelan glared at him. "Lea told me."

"Ah, your sister is light incarnate. She is radiance itself."

Caelan refused to be distracted by this compliment. "Yes, but she's wrong."

"Is she?"

"Yes!"

Moah turned away as though he were going to leave, then paused. "I will relate a tale," he announced, and began before Caelan could protest. "In the long days you call summer, a man of Trau climbed the mountains in search of us. We would not be found, but this man persisted. He wandered the mountains and even ventured onto the glacier. His will was iron in his body; he would not give up.

"At last, after a span of many days, the seeker sat on a rock and fasted. Rains fell on him. Winds blew at him. He fasted, sustained by his limited skills of severance severance and his will. and his will.

"We were in the time of feasting and did not wish death to cast poor omens across our shadows. We brought the seeker to us and restored his health. He told us he was a student of healing, but a poor one. He could not master the skills of his training, and he feared he would fail. With all his heart he wished to bring succor to the sick and needy.

"The Choven had pity on this seeker, and the ability to heal was given to him."

Caelan gasped, his mind reeling. All this time he'd thought his father had been born with his gift. The masters at Rieschelhold had all praised Beva's abilities while he was in training. Why had they lied?

"The seeker went down the mountain and treated his gift well," Moah said. "He used his new powers only to heal, never forgetting his bargain with us."

"What bargain?" Caelan asked.

"That is in the past-"

"What bargain?" Caelan insisted, yearning to know. "What promise?"

Moah regarded him a moment, then answered. "If we would make it possible for him to heal the sick, then he would live his life as a peaceful man, committed only to the practice of his arts and training."

Caelan frowned, finding it suddenly hard to breathe. Understanding filled him, but it did not lessen the resentment in his heart.

"Weren't we worth his commitment, too?" Caelan asked. "Why did he bother to sire us if he didn't want us?"

"But you were were wanted," Moah said. wanted," Moah said.

Caelan remembered his father's many lectures, remembered his father's plans for them to be healers together.

"Years pa.s.sed," Moah said, "and once again during the long days the man came in search of us. Remembering him, we let ourselves be found and listened to his request. He had taken a woman to wife, but there were no children of this union. It was important to this man that he have a son to walk in his footsteps, to train as he had trained, to become as him."

Caelan opened his mouth, but he could not speak. His heart felt like a stone in his chest, too heavy to beat.

"These traditions are not Choven ways. But the man spoke long and persuasively. His heart held much longing and anguish. He had shame among his people because he could not sire a child."

"No," Caelan breathed.

Moah appeared not to hear. "Again, the Choven granted the bargain, and a spell was cast. But the man was not true as before. His pride had grown great. The Choven did not care, but because falsehood was found in him, auspices were studied and the spirits consulted. The Choven told the man that children of his request would not be as humans, that they would be fashioned of fire, earth, air, and water. Because of those elements, they would have to follow their own destinies as shown in the auspices.

"The man was living in shame because of his lack of manhood. He could not heal himself. He agreed to the bargain, saying his wife would turn her eyes to another if she had no children to bind her heart to him. The man agreed to let the children walk their own path of life."

Caelan was stunned. His father was sterile? He had entered a spell-casting of his own free will? Beva, the most outspoken critic of the ancient ways, a man intolerant of the rare sight of Choven at fairs, a man who barely allowed warding keys to hang on his gates? If the Choven spoke the truth, then stern, austere, upright, moral Beva E'non had been the most duplicitous hypocrite in the land.

"But this promise the man did not keep," Moah said. "In his children, he saw the beauty of his wife and the strength of his own will. His children shone among others, and their bright radiance of spirit made the man more praised by his people. In time, the man forgot his second agreement, and when his wife died he set himself to mold his children as he wished, denying them all knowledge of their true heritage. He trained them only in the ways of his people, limiting them all he could, and would not let them walk their own paths of life to their destinies.

"This was a man of strong will and determination, a man who would die for his own purposes, a man who still reaches out from the spirit world to force his way on his son."

Moah turned his head and looked straight into Caelan's eyes. "Always you have fought to keep a sense of yourself, fought to walk your own path of life, fought to return to your true people again and again despite all that has kept you from the glacier."

Caelan swallowed hard. He was reeling from all that Moah had said. Yet he did not doubt the truth of what he'd just heard.

"The Choven," Moah said, "do not wish to be known by the people of men. But among themselves, they know the traditions of the G.o.ds and the foretelling that one day the earth will be broken."

A chill struck Caelan. He stared at Moah in rising dread. "That's what Master Mygar said when he cursed me. That one day I would break the world. But-"

Moah extended his hand, palm up. "How else can light shine into the darkness below? Unless the earth is cracked open to expose all that honors Beloth, what hope has the world?"

Caelan stared at the Choven, feeling his throat constrict too tight for speech. He did not want to believe his curse might actually come true.

Moah met his gaze. "The G.o.ds have said that one day the earth must be broken in order to keep the cycle of life. That is the prophecy cast, and the auspices still point to it."

"I will not destroy the world," Caelan said in horror. "Whatever kind of monster I am, I will not not help Beloth smash-" help Beloth smash-"

"Prophecy has no single interpretation," Moah said. "Let not fear cloud your mind. Instead, consider the plowman and his work."

Caelan frowned at the sudden shift of subject. "I don't understand."

"Have you ever planted a seed? The earth must be opened so that it can receive the seed. Then the soil is pressed smooth in warm protection until the seed can grow. And when the seed is ready to sprout into the sunlight, again the earth must be broken to allow it to come forth."

Caelan's impatient bewilderment grew. "We're talking about war, not farming."

"So we are," Moah agreed mildly. "Was not the imprisonment of Beloth a planting of sorts? Does he not sprout forth now? Should he not be chopped down, and his roots dug up? After destruction comes rebirth. With Beloth defeated, life can be renewed. The cycle will continue."

"I can't defeat Beloth," Caelan said.