Wilderness
Lhakani Land
Life stirred around her, in the thrumming of cicadas, the chirping of newly hatched songbirds, the parents caring for their young. Even the grasses grew longer in the hot months, when the winds blew air laden with moisture from the east. It was sweeter, knowing the impermanence was finally more than an illusion. She had seen hundreds of summers, lived for the passing of thousands, and this would be her last.
Thinking it was a release unto itself. She was dying, finally surrendered to the cycle that consumed all life. There was fear in her; she recognized it as an old companion, long forgotten in all the years of her Godhood. But without the fear of death, the brush of the grass against her legs, the smell of the pollen in the air, the whirring of insects and birds and smaller creatures all amounted to no more than the dust that made them. There was beauty in being a part of the decay.
“You missed our last meeting.”
Paendurion’s agent approached, climbing the small rise upon which she’d sat to wait for him. Ad-Shi opened her eyes to see him, the sort of pale-skinned, blue-eyed man Paendurion had always favored for his vessels. This one wore the military uniform of one of the Imperial powers of this cycle, his yellow-trimmed jacket an absurdity in the southern heat. The golden eyes marked him for what he was, light spilling out as though miniature suns had been implanted in his sockets.
“Apologies, honored brother,” she replied. “I was in recovery.”
The gesture with her right arm toward where her left should have been soured Paendurion’s vessel’s expression. Ad-Shi’s arm had been torn off, a clean slice only mareh’et’s claws could manage, leaving a severed stump where her shoulder ended. It would regrow in a few weeks’ time, but not before the rest of her body had healed its lesser wounds in preparation.
“How close did you get to dying this time?” Paendurion asked. His voice was laden with bitterness he made no attempt to hide. Once, the rebuke nestled there would have stung; now, she felt it as no more than the summer breeze.
“Close,” she said. “Closer than I had in many, many years.”
“Ad-Shi …”
“What news from your would-be ascendant?” The interruption was rude; they had long ago learned to respect one another in conversation, as the least part of learning to live eternity together. But there were limits to her appetite for scolding, when so few moments remained to her before the end.
Paendurion’s vessel remained standing, towering over her as she sat among the grass.
“My enemy waits,” Paendurion said, “dithering with politics. Axerian’s plan to pin the Sarresant forces in the north has succeeded, and I have consolidated enough reserve to snare them here in Vordu lands for the remainder of the time before ascension. If all continues as it has, I will again champion Order when the moment arrives.”
“A fine turn, for you,” Ad-Shi said.
“And with you? Your injuries were at least fruitful, I hope?”
“It remains to be seen.”
No point raising his hopes before she was sure. But he seemed to detect the note of confidence she knew would be there. The Sinari guardian had slain another spirit-touched man or woman, and drawn on more than enough gifts to secure ascension. All that remained was to nurse him back to health and find in him the drive to defend the world. An easier thing, if he were a younger man. But not beyond her ability.
“You’ll never find someone to match you,” Paendurion said. She might have taken it for praise, had that been Paendurion’s way.
“Nonetheless, it is decided.”
Suddenly his anger turned hot. “What am I to do with that? With your decision? You’ve chosen to abdicate your duty. You doom me to face the enemy with a half-mad fool and a half-trained pup at my side.”
“There is some time, to train him.”
“How much time? A season at best? Two? You’ve doomed the world with your cowardice. You must think beyond your emotions. See reason. See your folly for what it is, and return to me, or you are no better than all the false ascendants we have slain together, or all the failures who came before us. Do this, or you are a coward, and a fool.”
His words rolled off her like morning dew from a falcon’s wings.
“This is the last time we will speak,” she said. “Do not send another of your vessels into Vordu lands, and do not expect me to tell you where to find me.”
“Wretch,” he said. “Craven. After all this time, you run when I need you most. Do you imagine the shadow will ignore you, or your people? The Veil is dead, Ad-Shi. If we lose now, there may not be another cycle.”
“You were a true brother to me, Paendurion. Do not soil it in our last moments together.”
“You can go to your spirits. Beg forgiveness; plead their understanding. They will let you re-ascend. It’s always the apex predator with your kind, is it not? None can stand against you. Act, and see reason for once in your bloody life.”
He glared at her, as though he waited for her to speak, and she met him with silence.
“You truly were the weakest of us,” he said. “I always knew you would break, though I’d hoped you were stronger than this.”
Valak’ar gave his blessing, and she moved with the wraith-snake’s speed before she’d had time to process the thought.
Paendurion’s vessel gagged, valak’ar’s venom spreading in black spiderwebs from where she struck him in the stomach, reaching his face above the rise of his collar. His skin bruised and bubbled into open sores, and he fell forward on his knees before he collapsed into the grass.
Quiet returned, in the birds’ songs and the low hum of insects on the wind.
She closed her eyes, letting the rage coursing through her dissipate. All of this was hers: the sunlight and the warmth on her skin, the smells of the grass and trees and swampland. She’d fought to make it so, to change the world from ash and poison to lush beauty. But she’d never been fool enough to believe it would last forever. She’d paid every price that had been asked, until now. If it made her weak, so be it. But even the mightiest fire guttered out in time. Even the strongest beasts had to lie down and die.
She left Paendurion’s vessel there to seep into the ground, and rose to return to where she’d left Arak’Jur’s body. He would wake soon, after his limbs had regrown and repaired themselves. And she had not truly abdicated her duty. Always, with the Vordu there was a master and apprentice. Life was finished with her, but she could pass on what she knew before the end.