Realm Of Light Part 17

"Choven and the people of men are separate, yet they fit together to create a balance of harmony," Moah said as though he had not heard. "We lack the aggression, the ambition, the insurmountable will of men. Men lack reverence for all sides of the life force. Men refuse to see the truth, and they walk in fear."

Moah turned his head and stared deeply into Caelan's eyes. "You, Caelan, are of the Choven yet not of us. You are a man, yet more than a man."

Caelan did not want to hear more. He shook his head. "No."

Moah smiled, and his dark eyes gleamed. "Yes. You have come to the truth, Caelan. Gaze into it, and know. You were born of woman and man, yet of spell-force also. At your birth, the auspices were thrown and your name was given. You are Caelan M'an i Luciel. It means Man of Sky Who Brings Light."

Frowning, Caelan mouthed the unfamiliar words to himself. "Is this why you gave me the sword?"

Moah spread his dark hands wide in the equivalent of a shrug. "Tell me a truth that you have known all your days."

The sudden change of subject again threw Caelan. "I don't understand."

"Think. What is a truth in yourself that you have always known? What have you always been?"

"Rebellious," Caelan said flippantly without thinking.

Then, at Moah's sober look, he sighed and took the question more seriously.

"I kill," he said, and met Moah's gaze. "That is my essence. That is my truth."

"This shames you?"

"Of course! You've been talking about the many forces of life and reverence and truth. I destroy that. I take lives, whether in light or in shadow."

As he spoke he glared at the Choven, standing there in white purity and total wisdom. How did the blood taint on his hands measure up against Moah's standards?

Yet Moah did not seem shocked or offended by him. "Exoner was made for you as a gift. Our most skilled smith forged it while the spells of strength and valor were chanted into it."

"It is a wonderful sword," Caelan said impatiently.

"Does it not sing to you?"

"Yes, but I-"

"To hear metal sing is a precious gift to the soul, given to few. Exoner will serve you well in that which is to come."

Caelan shook his head. "You don't understand," he said. "I cannot accept it."

"It is not a bribe," Moah replied. "The Choven do not buy men."

Caelan's suspicions returned. "No?" he countered. "Then what do you want from me?"

"For you to be true to yourself."

"You want me to kill? Is that showing reverence for life?"

Moah lifted his hands. "Calmly. Remember that you are in a place of safety. Do not fear."

"I'm not afraid," Caelan snapped. "I'm angry."

"You are a king," Moah said. "Act like one."

This rebuke surprised Caelan enough to silence him momentarily. Then he said, "I'm no king. I'm an ex-slave, arena trained for combat. I-"

"You have shared with Kostimon, the greatest king in the history of the people of men," Moah said. "You were linked to him in Choven fire. You know his heart. You have swallowed his spirit. You wish to rule."

Caelan opened his mouth, but he could deny nothing. "Yes," he said simply.

Moah nodded approvingly. "The truth sounds well on your tongue. You bring ambition to the Choven. You bring ruthless will and the strength of a warrior to the Choven. Yet you have a kind heart and a gentle soul."

Caelan wanted to laugh in derision, but he found himself yearning for Moah's a.s.sessment to be true. "Once, perhaps, but that was beaten from me."

"The soul cannot be beaten," Moah replied, "unless it chooses to be. We are metalworkers. We know how to temper and refine steel. You have been tempered in order to meet your destiny. Had you not been a slave, you would never have learned the lessons of survival. Had you not been a gladiator, you would never have learned how to be a valiant warrior. Had you not been brother to Lea, you would never have learned to love another. Had you not been protector to the Empress Elandra-"

"I wasn't her protector," Caelan protested.

Moah sent him a glance of rebuke.

Caelan sighed and surrendered. "Very well. Unofficially."

"Had you not performed such a task," Moah said sternly, "you would never have learned to restrain aggression in favor of your gentle side. Had you not fallen in love with the empress, you would never have learned what is forbidden and what is not. Nor would you have seen your own destiny."

"My destiny," Caelan repeated. He shook his head, unwilling to accept the burden Moah wanted to give him. "All my life, others have been telling me what I must do, what I must be. I want to make my own choices."

"You are capable of understanding much," Moah said. "When you are ready to hear my words, you will hear them."

"But-"

"Are you ready to return?" Moah asked him. "Are you ready to carry Exoner?"

"I have enough blood on my hands," Caelan said. "I don't want to continue."

"That is good," Moah said. "When the time comes, you will know how to stop."

"But-"

"Caelan, your spirit is like a strong vine, wrapped and entwined among your threads of life in a protective binding. When you learn to be what you are, when you learn to trust what you are, then you will truly be the Light Bringer."

"You aren't listening to me," Caelan said in frustration. "I came to your camp to ask for help in freeing the empress from the poison in her, not to call myself a king and free the earth from oppression."

"Turn around and look," Moah commanded.

As he spoke, he spun Caelan around by the shoulders and held him in place, giving him a little shake for emphasis. "Look! Do you see it?"

Caelan looked at the tall marble columns standing beyond the temple. A black mist flowed around their bases.

Horrified, he whispered, "What is it?"

But he knew. In his heart, he already knew the answer.

Moah replied anyway. "It is the breath of Beloth, escaping imprisonment within the realm of shadow. It is the cloud you have seen coming closer to Imperia with every pa.s.sing year. It is the darkness that can eventually engulf the light."

Caelan closed his eyes. It was the end of the world.

"No," Moah said. "There is a chance."

"Not me!" Caelan said, spinning around to glare at Moah. "What fool can go against that? How can a man fight the mist? The wars of G.o.ds are not for men."

"Had a man not opened the door of Beloth's prison," Moah replied, "there would be much truth in what you say."

Caelan snorted. "Kostimon opened the door, but how am I to shut it?"

"That is your choice."

Caelan's temper grew shorter. "Is it?" he said mildly. "And are you going to put a-a Choven spell on me to make me as strong as a G.o.d? Gault forgive me! I know I am blaspheming, but what is a man to say to this?"

"The strength of men and the strength of Choven are woven together in you," Moah replied. "If there is a way to stop the return of Beloth, you will find it. That is foretold."

"But-"

"There is no one else, Caelan," Moah said. His gaze did not waver. "You are the only one."

Caelan stared at him and tried again to find a way out. "But I am only a-"

"What are you, Caelan? What are your strengths? What gifts do you have? How strong is your faith, your belief in the realm of light? You have feared many things, but if there is anything which should be feared and vilified, it is that which comes."

Moah pointed at the black mist. "Kostimon's destiny intersects with yours. That is the key which you must remember. Kostimon is the means by which you can reach Beloth."

Caelan's mouth was dry. He tried to swallow without much success. How simple Moah made it sound. Didn't he realize what he was asking? Just that one journey through the realm of shadow had been horrifying enough.

Cowardice filled his throat like bile. "I am hurt," he said. "I am not whole. The emerald has damaged me in some way."

Moah released his arm, but his gaze went on holding Caelan's. "How many excuses will you find?"

His scorn turned Caelan's face hot. "I will find all the excuses I can. But I have told you the truth."

"Has not the emerald always been a help to you, a support to your spirit during times of difficulty?"

"And if the emerald causes another attack?" Caelan asked him. "Each one is worse."

"Do not blame the emerald," Moah said. "Such stones as yours are rare. The earth spirits create them. The ice spirits guard them. We Choven cut and set them according to their best purpose. As you grow, so does the emerald. Sometimes growth brings pain."

"But what is it for?" Caelan asked, ready to veer onto any topic as long as it was not confronting Beloth. "What does it do?"

"It has given you hope," Moah said, tilting his head to one side. "Is that not enough?"

"But-"

"It is time for us to take the stone and work with it on your behalf. Will you allow that?"

"Yes," Caelan said, not sure what the Choven was talking about.

"Then there is no more to say. You have taken learning from me. This time is finished, and we must return."

Caelan looked at him in alarm. He had more questions, specifically regarding Elandra. "Wait! There is the empress and-"

Again he felt the sensation of exploding into glittering bits of light, spiraling down from that lofty center of calm tranquility, returning unwillingly back to the chaos of problems, doubts, and trouble.

With a jolt, he opened his eyes. He expected to find himself back in the Choven camp with Lea bending over him. There would be another chance to talk to Moah and ask him for help.

Instead, he found himself in the forest, standing in the gully near the ice cave where he had left Elandra. He was clothed again. Exoner hung heavy in its scabbard at his hip. His dagger was tucked in its belt sheath. But for the sword, he might never have believed any of it had happened. Even now, he couldn't be sure.

The conversation with Moah seemed a long time ago and very far away. But his destiny was drawing closer with every pa.s.sing moment.

Chapter Twelve.

Elandra awakened in a strange place. Not certain whether she was dreaming or having a vision, she sat up and found herself in a tiny cave. A circle of black ashes showed her where a fire had once been lit, but had long lain cold. Sunlight shone in from the cave's narrow mouth, providing faint illumination.

Following it outside, she stood in the bottom of a narrow gully next to a frozen stream. Drifts of snow spilled down the banks, looking white and soft. The air smelled of clean, pungent scents unknown to her. She thought of Gialta with its steamy jungles and heavy fragrances of rot, damp, and exotic flowers. Trau was so different, so cold and austere.

She walked out farther from the cave, her feet unsteady and slow. The clearing beyond the gully lay empty. She heard no sound other than the soft swaying of the trees. Loneliness filled her, and she wondered where Caelan had gone.

Uneasy, Elandra gazed about a moment, then picked up her long skirts to jump the stream. As she leaped, the world seemed to fold itself in half, taking her with it.

Crying out, she fell sprawling and expected to land in the water. Instead, the stream had vanished entirely.

With it were gone the gully, the cave, the trees, and the snow. In their stead stretched a desolate plain of barren soil and rocky outcroppings. A rough wind blew steadily, whistling in her ears and whipping her long hair into her face. Elandra climbed again to her feet and looked around in wonder and rising fear.

In every direction she saw only bleak emptiness. No plants, no insects, no life. She was swept by a feeling of terrible loneliness, as though she were the last person in the world who remained alive.

"Welcome to the future," said a voice from behind her.

Startled, Elandra whirled around and found herself face to face with Hecati, the malevolent woman who had raised her in her father's household and made her early life such a misery.

At first Elandra could only stare, stunned by the sight of an enemy she'd never expected to see again. Hecati's face had grown more sour and wrinkled than ever. She wore a black wimple that blew in the wind. Her eyes burned into Elandra's with contempt and hatred.

Elandra felt as though all her courage had been knocked from her in one sharp blow. She felt twelve years old again, skinny and unprotected, about to be punished by Hecati and her willow switches.

Dry-mouthed, she blinked hard, but Hecati did not vanish. "Hecati," she said at last, managing to stammer out the woman's name.

"Elandra," Hecati replied, her voice thick with sugary sweetness. "My, how changed you are from when I saw you last. You overcame my parting gift. How clever of you."