Two Awakenings
Allystaire awoke in a place that was bright, and yet had no source of light that he could see. He felt that he was lying on a bier of some kind, but then the stone beneath him became a bed so soft he wanted to weep at the feel of it. The weight of his armor was replaced with the thinnest, lightest linen he’d ever felt. Or was it silk?
No amount of softness could mitigate the pain of his limbs. Her Strength had fled and the days of using it were now telling. And there were the wounds. He felt as though no part of him was not bleeding. His side, both of his arms, his calf, his back, had all been punched by the bladed hands of Battle-Wights.
The pain of his broken nose was an old friend compared to the rest of him. Comforting, almost.
He could manage only a thin, airless moan. He tried to turn his head but his muscles protested and he flopped weakly against the down cushion.
“Oh, My Knight,” he heard a voice breathe. Despite the overwhelming pain, the voice sent a thrill, a surge of love through him, and he managed to lift his head.
She stood at the foot of the bed he lay upon, a tear sliding down Her cheek.
“Goddess,” he croaked, his voice barely audible even in his own ears. “Why do you…”
Then She was standing at the side of the bed, instead of the foot, bending over him. “I do not weep out of sorrow, my Allystaire,” she said. “Though the hurts you have taken, and those of My People who were lost, are enough to drive me to it. No, My Knight, I weep for pride. Pride in my choices.”
Her hand stroked his cheek, and instantly the pain of his body began to recede beneath the touch of her fingertips and the surge of longing it brought. “I am sorry I failed you,” he murmured, letting his eyes close. “Is this death? Is this the next world?”
For the first and only time, Allystaire saw the face of the Goddess he served twist in uncertainty.
“You did not fail me,” She replied, leaning closer to him. “The Longest Night has ended and My Will ushers in the dawn.”
Suddenly in his mind’s eye Allystaire could see the image of Gideon standing upon the field over his broken body. The boy had one hand upraised, the unnatural darkness rolled back from the skies, and the sun pulled itself over the horizon.
“Am I dead, then?” Allystaire wondered aloud again. “If I died in your service, saving your people, My Lady, I would ask nothing more.”
She leaned closer to him. He feared to open his eyes for the dazzling radiance that loomed so close; even behind his eyelids he could feel the power of Her Light. “Your labors are not yet done. Yet as I told you at your vigil, there is but one gift I have left to give you.”
The sheet that lay atop him was twitched aside, and then the Goddess’s mouth was upon his and Her hands moving upon his body. Under Her kiss, Her touch, the pain, his muddled thoughts, and the question he had asked that had not been answered all fled before desire.
* * *
Allystaire woke up again in darkness. He sat straight up in a bed, gasping for air. His entire body was aflame. Not with pain, but with the insane, burning desire the Goddess’s love had brought forth in him.
The bed beneath him creaked, and he saw a shadow in the room with him.
This bed, this room, was real.
His heart sank.
“How long?” he croaked.
“Nine days.” Idgen Marte answered. She came forward to his bedside and sat down upon it, easing him onto his back with one finger pressed into his chest. He was too weak to resist.
“The first of the days that you lay here…” Idgen Marte’s voice trailed off, low and husky in the dark. “Allystaire. I’ve seen a lot of dead men in my time. I would swear you were one of them. We were ready to carry you into the Temple and lay your body out. Gideon wouldn’t let us.”
Allystaire sat silently in the dark and let her words wash over him. “For a day?”
“I couldn’t find your breath, the beat of your heart. Your wounds didn’t bleed. But the boy insisted, and after what he’d done, there was no arguing. Two days later he let us into this room and you were breathing again, but, Cold take me, you weren’t here. I couldn’t feel you, with my mind, though I sat next to you.”
“I think I—”
“Don’t explain,” Idgen Marte said. “The past day, as I’ve sat here…sounded like an eventful one. You talk in your sleep.”
With Idgen Marte, Allystaire was beyond embarrassment. He swung his legs off the bed and stood.
Then Idgen Marte was at his side, helping ease him back into the bed as he fell. “We did the best we could with my sewing, and Torvul’s potions once you’d breath back in your body. But you’re still in a bad way.”
Allystaire grunted, placed the palm of his left hand on his chest, and poured Her Gift into himself. “Am I?”
Then he stood. “How? What happened? What have I missed?”
“A moment.” Idgen Marte struck flame on the end of one of Torvul’s sticks, brought it to the wick of a lamp, and the room instantly brightened. She turned to face him, her left arm bound to her chest in a sling. “While I’m answering, could you?”
He nodded and laid his hand on her arm, winced as it snapped back together. She nearly fell to a knee, and he saw her bite the inside of her cheek to keep from crying out. She sank back into a chair as she started unwinding the sling that had bound her arm up.
“How? The answer, I s’spose, is Gideon. He came back. Killed the sorcerers. Says you brought him back. I expect you’ll want to talk to him about that.”
“I will,” Allystaire agreed, thinking on his final words before slipping from consciousness. Perhaps from life. “As soon as I might.”
“As to what you’ve missed.” Idgen Marte’s tone was a bit evasive. “Well, Chaddin and Landen seem set to get right back to figuring out whether Delondeur gets a Baron or a Baroness now that their father is dead.”
Allystaire sighed. “How have you kept them off each other?”
“For a day or two, thinking you dead, nobody really had the stomach for a fight. And then, well, perhaps get dressed, come downstairs with me, eh?”
Allystaire nodded and reached for the lamp. He found the finery that had been made for him upon the arrival of Fortune’s delegation, many weeks ago, and slipped into it, following with his boots.
He saw neither his hammer nor his sword. Because they are both broken, he reminded himself. He realized, finally, that he was in one of the smaller rooms in Timmar’s Inn.
He descended the stairs to find the taproom was more full than he’d expected, and brightly lit with a roaring fire, lamps, and several fat candles burning upon the bar. When he saw who sat scattered around it, it was all he could do not to drop the lamp he’d carried down.
Torvul, Mol, and Gideon he had expected.
But not Ivar, Rede, or Cerisia.
And certainly not the two people, man and woman, who rose to greet him. The man was fair, with pale skin and fine blond hair that reached his shoulders. The woman was a bit shorter than Allystaire, and a good deal more slender, but there was kinship in their features. Where his were blunted or scarred, hers were refined and unblemished. Her eyes were darker even than his, and her skin lacked most of the wind and weather-burn his had sustained. Allystaire fumbled for words, and finally settled on his sister’s name.
“Audreyn?”