LIGHT AND DARK
It wasn’t long before the healer arrived. Karigan had just finished the last honey cake, Duncan watching her take every bite as if he wished he could eat it, too, or maybe he just wanted to hear about the Blackveil expedition but was courteously waiting for her to nourish herself.
“I am Gweflin,” the healer said. She’d waves of long blue-black hair and emerald eyes. She carried a basket over her wrist. “I am told you have an injury.”
“Wrenched my back.”
“I can help.”
Karigan hesitated. It was not easy to reveal her back, even to those who would mend it, but when she stood and a ripple of pain made her cry out, she admitted to herself it would be best to accept Gweflin’s help. Also, the wraith “sting” on her shoulder had grown itchy and it would be a relief to have it treated.
Gweflin sent Duncan away. He chose to vanish into his tempes stone. Karigan was directed to bare her back and lie on her stomach on a soft sofa-like piece of furniture before the fire. For many moments, Gweflin said nothing and did nothing aside from survey Karigan’s back. Karigan could only imagine what was going through her mind. It had been the same with the others who had seen the damage wrought by Nyssa’s whip, the shock, sometimes outright anger. Maybe pity. She did not expect Gweflin’s reaction to be any different.
“What cruelty was this?” the healer finally asked.
“I was . . . tortured.”
Silence, then simply, “I am grieved for you.”
She hummed softly as she worked a lotion into Karigan’s muscles that smelled of evaleoren salve.
“Hmm,” Gweflin said after a time. “The first mending was well done. Your back would be in far worse condition otherwise. You might not have survived. I sense Enver, Somial’s son, in the work.”
“Yes.” Karigan was surprised that one healer could identify another’s mending, but then, these were Eletians. “I was traveling with Enver. Do you know him?”
“I know of him and his mending,” Gweflin replied. “We have not met.”
“I wonder if I could see him while I’m here,” Karigan said. She then groaned in relief as Gweflin loosened a knotted muscle beneath her shoulder blade with little more than a touch. Did she use some form of true healing magic? Karigan couldn’t see to confirm it.
“I do not believe Somial or his son are present in the Vane-ealdar.”
That was disappointing. She would have liked to see him, try to mend what had been a difficult parting between them.
The lotion tingled and warmed the pain away, and eliminated the itchiness of the wraith sting, as she’d hoped. Gweflin’s sweet voice singing and humming brought Karigan tranquility that was far more genuine than the whispers of the wraiths, and the sensation of her back muscles being turned to putty and gently remolded by Gweflin’s healing hands left her limp.
When Gweflin finished, Karigan sighed. “Must it end?”
Gweflin quietly laughed. “For tonight. You would not wish me to overwork your muscles. Doing such can cause the opposite of the desired effect. You must be mindful of how you use your back. Your muscles are deeply scarred and not the same as before. They were not accustomed to your recent activity, and so were aggravated and strained.”
Heaving a heavy sword to slay wraiths would do that, Karigan thought.
“You must work on stretching and strengthening your back.”
“I was taught some stretches,” Karigan said, and memory of Renn and his ministrations brought her some sadness. “I just have been too busy lately to keep up with them.”
Gweflin clucked her tongue. “You must make time. There is a pool behind the cottage in which you should soak. You will feel much better.” She collected her basket and bade her farewell.
Karigan decided to take Gweflin up on her suggestion and found the pool just outside naturally screened by plantings. The water bubbled and steam rose up from the surface, and yet, she didn’t think it was a hot spring, and there was no visible heat source to warm it. She shrugged guessing it was just more Eletian magic.
She sank into the pool with an enormous sigh, and relaxed. The heat further diminished her aches, pains, and exhaustion from all she’d been through. She stirred up the sand on the bottom and realized it had a soapy texture. She reached down and scooped up a handful and rubbed some of the grains between her fingers. It was the scouring soap she remembered Enver had carried with him on their journey north. The whole bottom of the pool was filled with it, and she gave herself a good scrubbing.
Afterward she continued her soak, gazing at stars that shone between the boughs of trees overhead. To think she’d started the day with a game of Intrigue. She tried not to worry about Zachary and her friends. She hoped Duncan was right that with their diminished numbers, the remaining wraiths had posed no challenge for the Sacoridians to defeat.
Her thoughts then moved to the child, Lala. The wraiths had been drawn to her magic, too. Would she become a force as great as Grandmother? Stuck here in Eletia, Karigan would have no answers, and it was futile to worry about something she could not help. She let go her cares to enjoy the soak.
Karigan awoke the next morning after a deep, dreamless slumber. Food, including large, ripe strawberries, was left in a basket on the doorstep. The cottage and its surroundings were peaceful in a way she had not experienced in a long time, and it was easy to forget the Eletians were debating whether or not to execute her for trespass. Nyssa continued to be absent from her mind. Birds sang and piped in the woods, and she could hear the rush of the stream when she sat by the window. The only annoyance was Duncan questioning her about the Blackveil expedition. She finally relented and told him what she remembered just to silence him.
“You shattered the looking mask the Mirare offered you to keep it out of Mornhavon the Black’s hands?” he asked in incredulity.
She nodded.
“Remarkable. Is that when you got the shard in your eye?”
“Not exactly.” The destruction of the looking mask had ruptured time and propelled her into Sacoridia’s dark future. It was only upon her return to the present that the shard had caught up with her and lodged itself in her eye.
“Well, then,” he demanded, “what happened next?”
She regarded a strawberry as she reclined on the sofa, one of several that had come in the basket, and popped it into her mouth. It was amazingly sweet and juicy.
“Well?” Duncan persisted.
“I joined the circus.”
His blank expression made her laugh.
“You what?”
She smiled, but it hadn’t been amusing at the time. Fortunately, Gweflin arrived just then to check on her back and massage it again. Duncan greeted the healer in her own language, which delighted her.
“Just how do you know Eltish?” Karigan asked. “You spoke it last night, too.”
“I know a great many things,” he replied. “Great mages are scholars first and foremost, and are blessed with long lives to devote to their studies, such as learning various languages. I could recite over a hundred eagle ballads by heart, if you desired.”
“No, thank you.”
“Not surprised,” he muttered.
Gweflin once again banished him from the room to tend Karigan’s back, and once more Karigan was turned into putty.
“Have you seen Ealdaen? Heard any word?” Karigan asked.
“I have not,” the healer replied. “They debate in the council chamber of the Alluvium, and that is all I know. You must have patience for Eletians are accustomed to taking time in all things. You must use this interlude for rest and healing.”
Gweflin’s work made Karigan’s back feel better, but now that she had been fed and had rested, she could think more thoroughly about her circumstances, and it set her to pacing. She found herself annoyed that Ealdaen had not returned to bring her updates on the proceedings. It was her life in the balance, after all. The Eletians seemed to like toying with her, but this time, instead of just interfering, they might actually decide to kill her.
“You are going to wear out the floor,” Duncan said from where he sat in a chair of his own making, an illusion that matched the rest of the furnishings, leafy twigs, moss, and all. “Gweflin is right, you should take the time to relax and heal.”
She paused. “Easy for you to say. I have no idea if they are going to execute me because I brought those wraiths into Eletia, and who knows what’s happening at the mountains? I have no idea who survived when the Lions attacked, or if everyone was all right after the wraiths invaded.”
“I am afraid I couldn’t tell you,” Duncan replied. “There was much confusion, and then everyone fell asleep and the wraiths carried my pouch away to where you found me.”
Karigan paced around the room once more. How could she rest when she didn’t know how her people fared? How Zachary fared? And what about the colonel? Where was she? Was she well? The peaceful spell of the cottage had dissipated and it began to feel like a cage. “I am going out for some fresh air.”
“Remember what Lord Ealdaen said about not wandering far,” Duncan called after her.
She let the door slam behind her. The open air soothed her, the wind stirring the trees and her hair. A squirrel scurried alongside the path blanketed by rusty pine needles. Walking along the path seemed to slough the edge on her anxiety, and the farther away she got, the better she felt.
Before she knew it, she had reached the stream. She crossed to one of the stepping stones, then the next, and the next, until she stood in the middle of the stream. On the opposite bank, an Eletian in his white armor appeared, his arrow nocked but not aimed. A warning.
She had not crossed all the way as Ealdaen had warned—she was not suicidal, after all. But she was stubborn and she sat down on the stepping stone, so close to the line between life and death. While the Eletian watched, she removed her boots and dangled her feet in the icy water. She shivered. It briefly reminded her of a dream. No, not a dream, but a vision she had had, she thought, while under the influence of the wraiths, but like a dream, it had faded leaving only an impression. Something to do with a stream, cold water.
When she looked up, the Eletian had returned to hiding. She pulled her feet back onto the rock to warm them after their immersion and sat gazing at the rushing water, how it whorled around rocks. The bottom was full of colorful stones. Water bugs and leaves rode along the current, their shadows trailing behind them on the bottom. It was mesmerizing, and the tension and concerns that plagued her flowed away. Her gaze became unfocused and she imagined entering a starry meadow, a starry meadow she had not seen since she traveled in the north, guided there by Enver’s gentle voice. This time there was nothing to block her way, no Nyssa, nothing.
She walked through the meadow, trailing her hands along the tops of the lush grasses that shone silver-green in the starlight. She heard the pounding of hooves. In the distance, she saw two horses galloping, white and black, two horses not of the mortal realm. The white one was so white she radiated light in the dark. She was Seastaria, what Enver had called the “day horse” and her aithen. The light to Karigan’s dark. But the dark was there, as well, in the form of Salvistar, the steed of the god of death and the harbinger of battle, his hide the black of the heavens, a glimpse of the infinite beyond mortal ken.
At first they took no notice of her as they galloped and frolicked. She had seen beautiful horse flesh through the course of her life, but these were more. More than perfect, more than horse flesh, they were divine beings. White and black, light and dark, life and death.
The stallion nipped the mare’s rump and she bucked, then turned on her haunches, he turning with her, and they ran matching stride for stride, muscles rippling, nostrils flared. After a time, they slowed to a jog. Salvistar kept close to Seastaria, protective and possessive. But when Seastaria finally chose to take note of Karigan, she walked toward her. The stallion lingered behind, and kept watch from a distance.
Seastaria radiated love, and Karigan hugged her neck, caressed her velvety nose. Her eyes were the azure of a summer sky with the occasional passing of a fair-weather cloud. As Karigan gazed into one of those eyes, she felt absorbed, absorbed into light, absorbed by love until she was completely drawn into the mare and became one with her. She sprang into a gallop, a joyous gallop across the starry meadow, the grasses whipping at her legs, the wind caught in her mane and tail. To stretch and run was freedom itself.
The stallion ran alongside her, nipping her, taking of her scent, shouldering her. She made him work for what he wanted, made him prove his mettle, his devotion, his strength. He threw his head up and bugled his desire. He ran before her, showing her his powerful neck and flank, how fast he was. Her heart thumped rapidly and she whinnied in reply.
The running and games soon quieted and they nuzzled one another and exchanged breaths. Salvistar nibbled at the base of her tail. He curled his lip to take in her scent again. A thrill of excitement passed through her, her hide quivering. Her mind and body became consumed by instinct, and she squared up her stance and raised her tail. She wanted only one thing, she—
Karigan forcibly extracted herself from Seastaria, her heart beating hard. She trembled with arousal, watched as Salvistar mounted Seastaria and thrust into her. In a sense, she was still there with her aithen, unable to not be present and share the experience.
And then it was done. Seastaria glanced across the meadow at her. Despite having been one with Seastaria, Karigan could not say what was in that look.
Mare and stallion then stood together, Salvistar’s chin resting across Seastaria’s wither. They both switched their tails in contentment.
“Galadheon?”
Karigan was so startled she almost fell off her rock into the stream. Ealdaen stood on a stepping stone before her. He gazed at her with great interest.
“Uh . . .” Perspiration dripped down her face and she wiped her brow with the back of her hand.
“You seemed most distant,” Ealdaen said. “I apologize for disturbing you.”
She wanted to stand, but it took a moment to remember she had only two legs, not four. Ealdaen watched her curiously as she clambered to her feet.
“Were you listening to the voice of the world?” he asked.
“That is what Enver called it.” She could tell he wanted to ask more, but whatever restrained him, whether it be politeness or a taboo against speaking aloud about such things, she did not know. She chose not to enlighten him. It was none of his business.
The vision left her unbalanced and she stepped with great care to the stream bank.
Ealdaen followed her. “You seem to court your own mortality,” he commented. “You were very close to the forbidden side of the stream where the watchers would have slain you.”
She shrugged. “I suppose it would have solved Eletia’s problem.”
“You are a curiosity, Galadheon,” he said as he walked beside her.
“Am I allowed to leave yet?”
“No. I have come for the mage so he may speak on your behalf before the council.”
“What about me? Can’t I speak for myself?”
“It may be that they will ask this of you, but for now, they want to hear what the mage has to say.”
“This is ridiculous,” she replied. “I am sorry I brought the wraiths to Eletia, but it was the only way I knew to destroy them. I need to get back to my people. There is so much going on, and just because your people despise non-Eletians and have ridiculous laws, I am stuck here.”
Ealdaen paused. “Most mortals would feel fortunate spending time in the Elt Wood.” Then he shook his head. “Our laws are ancient, Galadheon, ancient beyond your grasp, and far from ridiculous. You must accept this process, for it is a trial, and it is your life at stake.”