The Wandering Fire Part 23

But the winter was over now and, looking north with eyes whose color shifted swiftly through to violet, Ra-Tenniel, Lord of the lios alfar, saw a dark horde moving through the ruin of Andarien. Not toward them, though. Even as Leyse turned to watch with him, the army of Rakoth swung eastward. Eastward, around Celyn, to come down through Gwynir.

And to the Plain.

Had he waited until dark, Rakoth might have sent them forth quite unseen for a full night's riding. He had not waited, and Ra-Tenniel offered a quick prayer. Swiftly he and Leyse returned to Atronel. They did not send their light on high that night, not with an army of the Dark abroad in the land. Instead they gathered together all the high ones of the Marks on the mound at Atronel. As the King had expected, it was fierce Galen who said at once that she would ride to Celidon. Again, as expected, Lydan, however cautious he might be, would not let his twin ride alone. They rose to go when Ra-Tenniel gave leave. He raised a hand to stop them, though.

"You will have to make speed," he said. "Very great speed. Take the raithen. It is time the golden and silver horses of Daniloth were seen again in Fionavar." Galen's eyes went blue, and a moment later so did those of her brother. Then they left to ride.

With the aid of those who remained, Ra-Tenniel made the summongla.s.s come to urgent warning so that the gla.s.s in the High King's chambers in Paras Derval might leap to life as well.

It was not their fault that the High King was in Taerlindel that night and would not return to word of the summongla.s.s afire until the afternoon of the following day.

He couldn't sleep. Very late at night Paul rose up and walked from Coll's mother's house down to the harbor. The moon, falling from full, was high. It laid a silver track along the sea. The tide was going out and the sand ran a long way toward the promontory. The wind had shifted around to the north. It was cool, he knew, but he still seemed to be immune to the cold, natural or unnatural. It was one of the few things that marked what he was. That, and the ravens, and the tacit, waiting presence in his pulse.

Prydwen rode easily at anchor. They had loaded her up in the last light of evening and Coll's grandfather had p.r.o.nounced her ready to sail. In the moonlight the gold paint on her hull looked silver and the furled white sails gleamed.

It was very quiet. He walked back along the wooden dock and, other than the soft slap of the sea against the boats, his boots made the only sound. There were no lights shining in Taerlindel. Overhead the stars seemed very bright, even in the moonlight.

Leaving the harbor, he walked along the stone jetty until it ended. He pa.s.sed the last house of the town. There was a track that curved up and east for a way, following the indentation of the bay. It was bright enough to follow and he did. After two hundred paces or so the track crested and then started down and north, and in a little while he came to sand again and a long beach open to the sea.

The surge and sigh of the waves was louder here. Almost, he heard something in them, but almost wouldn't be enough. He took off his boots and stockings and, leaving them on the sand, went forward. The sand was wet where the tide had washed back. The waves glowed a phosph.o.r.escent silver. He felt the ocean wash over his feet. It would be cold, he knew, but he didn't feel it. He went a little farther out and then stopped, ankle deep only, to be present but not to presume. He stood very still, trying, though not knowing how, even now, to marshal whatever he was. He listened. Heard nothing but the low sound of the sea.

And then, within himself, he felt a surging in his blood. He wet his lips. He waited; it came again. The third time he thought he had the rhythm, which was not that of the sea because it did not come from the sea. He looked up at the stars but not back at the land. Mornir, he prayed.

"Liranan!" he cried as the fourth surge came and he heard the crash of thunder in his own voice.

With the fifth surge, he cried the name again, and a last time when the sixth pulse roared within him. At the seventh surging of his blood, though, Paul was silent and he waited.

Far out at sea he saw a white wave cresting higher than any of the others that were running in to meet the tide. When it met the long retreating surf, when it crashed, high and glittering, he heard a voice cry, "Catch me if you can!" and in his mind he dove after the G.o.d of the sea.

It was not dark or cold. Lights seemed everywhere, palely hued-it was as if he moved amid constellations of sunken stars.

Something flashed: a silver fish. He followed and it doubled back to lose him. He cut back as well, between the water stars. There was coral below, green and blue, pink, orange, shades of gold. The silver fish slipped under an arch of it, and when Paul came through, it was gone.

He waited. Felt another pulse.

"Liranan!" he called and felt thunder rock the deep. When the echoes rolled away he saw the fish again, larger now, with rainbow colors of the coral stippling its sides. It fled and he followed.

Down it went and he with it. They plunged past ma.s.sive, lurking menaces in the lower depths where the sea stars were dim and colors lost.

Up it shot as if hurtling back to light. Past the sunken stars it went and broke water in a moonlit leap; from the beach, ankle deep in the tide, Paul saw it flash and fall.

And then it ran. No twisting now. On a straight course out to sea, the sea G.o.d fled the thunder voice. And was followed. They went so far beyond the memory of land that Paul thought he heard a thread of singing in the waves. He was afraid, for he guessed what he was hearing. He did not call again. He saw the silver fish ahead of him. He thought of all the dead and the living in their need, and he caught Liranan far out at sea and touched him with a finger of his mind.

"Caught you!" he said aloud, breathless on the beach where he had not moved at all. "Come," he gasped, "and let me speak with you, brother mine."

And then the G.o.d took his true form, and he rose up in the silvered sea and strode, shimmering with falling water, to the beach. As he came near, Paul saw that the falling water was as a robe to Liranan, to clothe his majesty, and the colors of the sea stars and the coral fell through it ceaselessly.

"You have named me as a brother," said the G.o.d in a voice that hissed like waves through and over rocks. His beard was long and white. His eyes were the same color as the moon. He said, "How do you so presume? Name yourself!"

"You know my name," said Paul. The inner surge had died away. He spoke in his own voice. "You know my name, Sealord, else you would not have come to my call."

"Not so. I heard my father's voice. Now I do not. Who are you who can speak with the thunder of Mornir?"

And Paul stepped forward with the retreating tide, and he looked full into the face of the sea G.o.d, and he said, "I am Pwyll Twiceborn, Lord of the Summer Tree," and Liranan made the sea waves to crash around them both.

"I had heard tell of this," the sea G.o.d said. "Now I understand." He was very tall. It was hard to discern if the sliding waters of his robe were falling into the sea about his feet, or rising from the sea, or the both at once. He was beautiful, and terrible, and stern. "What would you, then?" he said.

And Paul replied, "We sail for Cader Sedat in the morning."

A sound came from the G.o.d like a wave striking a high rock. Then he was silent, looking down at Paul in the bright moonlight. After a long time he said, "It is a guarded place, brother." There was a thread of sorrow in his voice. Paul had heard it in the sea before.

He said, "Can the guarding prevail over you?"

"I do not know," said Liranan. "But I am barred from acting on the Tapestry. All the G.o.ds are. Twiceborn, you must know that this is so."

"Not if you are summoned."

There was silence again, save for the endless murmur of the tide washing out and the waves.

"You are in Brennin now," said the G.o.d, "and near to the wood of your power. You will be far out at sea then, mortal brother. How will you compel me?"

Paul said, "We have no choice but to sail. The Cauldron of Khath Meigol is at Cader Sedat."

"You cannot bind a G.o.d in his own element, Twiceborn." The voice was proud but not cold. Almost sorrowful.

Paul moved his hands in a gesture Kevin Laine would have known. "I will have to try," he said.

A moment longer Liranan regarded him, then he said something very low. It mingled with the sigh of the waves and Paul could not hear what the G.o.d had said. Before he could ask, Liranan had raised an arm, the colors weaving in his water robe. He spread his fingers out over Paul's head and then was gone.

Paul felt a sprinkling of sea spray in his face and hair; then, looking down, he saw that he was barefoot on the sand, no longer in the sea. Time had pa.s.sed. The moon was low now, over in the west. Along its silver track he saw a silver fish break water once and go down to swim between the sea stars and the colors of the coral.

When he turned to go back he stumbled, and only then did he realize how tired he was. The sand seemed to go on for a long way. Twice he almost fell. After the second time he stopped and stood breathing deeply for a time without moving. He felt lightheaded, as if he had been breathing air too rich. He had a distant recollection of the song he had heard far out at sea.

He shook his head and walked back to where he'd left his boots. He knelt down to put them on but then sat on the sand, his arms resting on his knees, his head lowered between them. The song was slowly fading and he could feel his breathing gradually coming back to normal, though not his strength.

He saw a shadow fall alongside his own on the sand. Without looking up, he said acidly, "You must enjoy seeing me like this. You seem to cultivate the opportunities."

"You are shivering," Jaelle said matter-of-factly. He felt her cloak settle over his shoulders. It bore the scent of her.

"I'm not cold," he said. But, looking at his hands, he saw that they were trembling.

She moved from beside him and he looked up at her. There was a circlet on her brow, holding her hair back in the wind. The moon touched her cheekbones, but the green eyes were shadowed. She said, "I saw the two of you in a light that did not come from the moon. Pwyll, whatever else you are, you are mortal, and that was not a shining wherein we can live."

He said nothing.

After a moment she went on. "You told me long ago, when I took you from the Tree, that we were human before we were anything else."

He roused himself and looked up again. "You said I was wrong."

"You were, then."

In the stillness the waves seemed very far away, but they did not cease. He said, "I was going to apologize to you on the way here. You seem to always catch me at a hard time."

"Oh, Pwyll. How could there be an easy time?" She sounded older, suddenly. He listened for mockery and heard none.

"I don't know," he admitted. And then, "Jaelle, if we don't come back from this voyage, you had better tell Aileron and Teyrnon about Darien. Jennifer won't want to, but I don't see that you'll have any choice. They'll have to be prepared for him."

She moved a little, and now he could see her eyes. She had given him her cloak and so was clad only in a long sleeping gown. The wind blew from off the sea. He rose and placed the cloak over her shoulders and did up the clasp at her throat.

Looking at her, at her fierce beauty rendered so grave by what she had seen, he remembered something and, aware that she had access to knowledge of her own, he asked, "Jaelle, when do the lios hear their song?"

"When they are ready to sail," she replied. "Usually it is weariness that leads them away."

Behind him he could still hear the slow withdrawing of the tide. "What do they do?"

"Build a ship in Daniloth and set sail west at night."

"Where? An island?"

She shook her head. "It is not in Fionavar. When one of the lios alfar sails far enough to the west, he crosses to another world. One shaped by the Weaver for them alone. For what purpose, I know not, nor, I believe, do they."

Paul was silent.

"Why do you ask?" she said.

He hesitated. The old mistrust, from the first time ever they spoke together, when she had taken him down from the Tree. After a moment, though, meeting her gaze, he said, "I heard a song just now, far out at sea where I chased the G.o.d."

She closed her eyes. Moonlight made a marble statue of her, pale and austere. She said, "Dana has no sway at sea. I know not what this might mean." She opened her eyes again.

"Nor I," he said.

"Pwyll," she asked, "can this be done? Can you get to Cader Sedat?"

"I'm not sure," he said truthfully. "Or even if we can do anything if we do get there. I know Loren is right, though. We have to try."

"You know I would come if I could-"

"I do know," Paul said. "You will have enough, and more, to deal with here. Pity the ones like Jennifer and Sharra, who can only wait and love, and hope that that counts for something beyond pain."

She opened her mouth as if to speak, but changed her mind and was silent. Unbidden, the words of a ballad came to him and, almost under his breath, he offered them to the night breeze and the sea: "What is a woman that you forsake her, And the hearth-fire and the home-acre, To go with the old grey Widow-maker?"

"Weaver forfend," Jaelle said, and turned away.

He followed her along the narrow track to Taerlindel. On their right, as they went, the moon sank into the sea and they came back into a town lit only by the stars.

When the sun rose, the company made ready to set sail in Prydwen. Aileron the High King went aboard and bade farewell to his First Mage, to Paul Schafer and Arthur Pendragon, to the men of South Keep who would man that ship, and to Coll of Taerlindel who would sail her.

Last of all he faced his brother. With grave eyes they looked at each other: Aileron's so brown they were almost black, Diarmuid's bluer than the sky overhead.

Watching from the dock, unmindful of her tears, Sharra saw Diarmuid speak and then nod his head. Then she saw him move forward and kiss his brother on the cheek. A moment later Aileron spun about and came down the ramp. There was no expression at all in his face. She hated him a little.

Prydwen's sails were unfurled and they filled. The ramp was drawn up. The wind blew from the south and east: they could run with it.

Na-Brendel of Daniloth stood beside the High King and his guard. There were three women there as well, watching as the ship cast loose and began to slip away. One woman was a Princess, one a High Priestess; beside them, though, stood one who had been a Queen, and Brendel could not look away from her.

Jennifer's eyes were clear and bright as she gazed after the ship and at the man who stood in its stern gazing back at her. Strength and pride she was sending out to him, Brendel knew, and he watched her stand thus until Prydwen was a white dot only at the place where sea and sky came together.

Only then did she turn to the High King, only then did sorrow come back into her face. And something more than that.

"Can you spare a guard for me?" she said. "I would go to Lisen's Tower."

There was compa.s.sion in Aileron's eyes as if he, too, had heard what Brendel heard: the circles of time coming around again, a pattern shaping on the Loom.

"Oh, my dear," said Jaelle in a strange voice.

"The Anor Lisen has stood empty a thousand years," Aileron said gently. "Pendaran is not a place where we may safely go."

"They will not harm me there," Jennifer said with calm cert.i.tude. "Someone should watch for them from that place."

He had been meaning to go home to Daniloth. It had been too long since he had trod the mound of Atronel.

"I will take you there and stay with you," Brendel said, shouldering a different destiny.

CHAPTER 15.

Before and above everything else, Ivor thought, there were Tabor and Gereint.

The Aven was riding a wide circle about the gathered camps. He had returned from Gwen Ystrat the evening before. Two slow days' riding it had been, but Gereint had not been able to sustain a faster pace.

Today was his first chance to inspect the camps, and he was guardedly pleased with this one thing at least. Pending a report from Levon-expected back that night-as to the Council's decision in Paras Derval, Ivor's own plan was to leave the women and children with a guard in the sheltered curve of land east of the Latham. The eltor were already starting north, but enough would linger to ensure sufficient hunting.

The rest of the Dalrei he proposed to lead north very soon, to take up a position by the Adein River. When the High King and Shalha.s.san of Cathal joined them, the combined forces might venture farther north. The Dalrei alone could not. But neither could they wait here, for Maugrim might well come down very soon and Ivor had no intention of yielding Celidon while he lived. Unless there was a ma.s.sive attack, he thought, they could hold the line of the Adein alone.

He reached the northernmost of the camps and waved a greeting to Tulger of the eighth tribe, his friend. He didn't slow to talk, though; he had things to think about.

Tabor and Gereint.

He had looked closely at his younger son yesterday on their return. Tabor had smiled and hugged him and said everything he ought to say. Even allowing for the long winter he was unnaturally pale, his skin so white it was almost translucent. The Aven had tried to tell himself that it was his usual oversensitivity to his children that was misleading him, but then, at night in bed, Leith had told him she was worried and Ivor's heart had skipped a beat.

His wife would have sooner bitten off her tongue than trouble him in such a way, without cause.

So this morning, early, he'd gone walking along the river with his younger son in the freshness of the spring, over the green gra.s.s of their Plain. The Latham ice had melted in a night. The river ran, sparkling and cold, out of the mountains; it was a bright blue in the sunlight. Ivor had felt his spirits lift, in spite of all his cares, just to see and be a part of this returning life.