King of Sword and Sky by C. L. Wilson
Her eyes narrowed. He found that amusing, did he? «And when he wasn’t annoying his brother Fey, he was following me around like a lovesick puppy.»
The chuffing laughter changed instantly to a low, rumbling growl. Licks of flame seared the air before Rain’s muzzle. «Oh, was he?» The fur on the back of his neck rose up, and his rounded ears lay back. Tairen were territorial creatures, and they definitely did not appreciate encroaching males trespassing too near their mates.
«Ha! You see? It’s not so funny anymore, is it?» She ran a frustrated hand through the wind-tangled spirals of her hair.
«I’m like a rultshart in a spider-silk shop. If Marissya asks me to summon a puff of Air, I call a gale so strong it knocks her off her feet. If she asks me to summon Water, I nearly flood the encampment.»
«Your power is vast,» Rain soothed, «and no longer restrained by the weaves set upon you in childhood. You simply need time and practice to learn how to wield it in moderation.»
She sighed. «Even assuming I can learn to control my power enough to spin the right weaves, what if healing doesn’t stop whatever’s killing the kits?»
His right wing dipped, and he banked, wheeling back around towards the south. «Then we go to Dharsa and start from the beginning. Perhaps you can help us discover something we have overlooked all these years.»
«Rain, be realistic.»
«I am. I asked for the key to saving the tairen and the Fey, and the Eye sent me to you. To me, it seems quite clear that whatever is killing the kitlings, you are integral to making it stop. I do not doubt this, even though you do.»
Rain’s wings spread wide, and he sank through the sky in a circling glide, alighting on a stretch of empty field. A cradling ribbon of Air magic deposited Ellysetta on her feet while the Change swirled around Rain’s tairen from in a sparkling mist.
His hands rose, long fingers threading into the wild spirals of her flame red hair, the pad of his thumb brushing across her lips and leaving tingles of awareness behind. “We’re here, shei’tani.”
Ellysetta glanced at their surroundings. Nothing looked familiar.
“Where is ‘here’?”
His eyes went dark. “This is Eadmond’s Field.”
The Lake of Glass stretched out for miles, its dark, glossy surface glittering beneath the dim light of the moons overhead. Mist swirled in ghostly eddies along the silent, lifeless shores of the lake, and in the scant moonlight the shifting vapors looked like spectral maidens dancing forlorn pirouettes.
Ellysetta could hardly breathe as she regarded the wide expanse of what once had been the most infamous battlefield in the history of Celieria. Here, a thousand years ago, Rain’s first mate, Sariel, had been slain by Elden Mages, and in grief-stricken madness over her death, Rain had given himself to the Wilding Rage and scorched the world with tairen flame.
As they approached the southern shore of the glass lake, they passed a bronze statue set in a circle of carved stones. Her throat grew tight as she realized the bronze was a life-size replica of the doomed couple immortalized by Fabrizio Chelan’s famous painting, Death of the Beloved: Rain Tairen Soul clutching his dead mate, Sariel, and crying out his despair to the heavens. The stones circling the statue retold the fateful battle through scenes carved into diamondine granite. Millennia would pass, she realized, before weathering finally laid to rest the story of Rain and Sariel.
Ellysetta traced the last of the etched slabs, reading the tragic conclusion of the tale she knew so well. “‘Some say if you walk to the center of the lake, you can still see the Lady Sariel, beautiful as a sunrise, appearing merely to sleep beneath the surface.’” Rain’s sudden stab of sorrow slapped her senses, and she gave a gasp of dismay. “Oh, Rain, I’m sorry.” She’d told the tale so often to her sisters, the words had spilled out automatically. “I shouldn’t have read that aloud.”
“Nei, it’s all right,” he said. “I like that story much better than the truth.”
She bit her lip, hating her thoughtlessness. She knew the fanciful Fey tale couldn’t possibly be true. The Mages had severed Sariel’s head and burned her with Fire.
“I killed millions that week,” Rain added. His voice was a low scrape of sound. “Thousands of them here. Eld and their allies mostly, but even Fey and mortals and Elves and Danae who were not quick enough to flee my wrath.”
Ellie knew that too. Celieria had erected smaller memorials at various points around the site in memory of all the allies of Celieria who had perished in a sea of tairen flame. The flame had rained down without cease, turning the very earth into a lake of molten obsidian glass that swallowed every trace of the armies on the battlefield.
Ellysetta left the circle of stones and went to his side. “You must stop blaming yourself, Rain. You didn’t know what you were doing.”
“I knew,” he corrected her. “I was simply beyond caring.”
The Wilding Rage had taken him: the terrible fury of the Fey, a sweeping, conscienceless wrath that knew no mercy, no remorse, just the pitiless, relentless drive to destroy whichever enemy had spawned it.
From here, Ellie knew, Rain had flown northward, searching out the armies of the Eld and their allies, raining fire and death upon all in his path. He’d blanketed the entire nation of Eld in scorching clouds of tairen fire, leaving naught but smoldering ashlands in his wake. Even then, his Rage still shrieked for more blood, more death. He’d skimmed along Eld’s eastern coast, boiling the seas with tairen flame and sinking fleets of enemy naval vessels. By the time the Fey and the tairen had finally forced him from the sky, half the continent lay in ruin and millions had perished.
“You ended the Wars,” Ellysetta reminded him.
“I almost ended the world.”
“But you did not. Even in your Rage, you focused the bulk of your fury on the Eld.”
He would not let her cling to her illusions. “I was coming south to scorch Celieria off the map when Marissya and the others stopped me.”
“Do you think you would truly have done that?”
“Aiyah. Gods help me, but I would have.”
Ellysetta clasped both of Rain’s hands in hers, feeling his self-loathing for the horrors he had wreaked upon the world. Countless innocents had died here that day, as well as the hated enemy.
“I know their names,” he said. “Each and every one of them slain by my Rage—and there are so many. For centuries, I lived with the sound of them shrieking in my mind. Over time, I learned how to quiet them, but they’re still there, still screaming. Anytime I let my barriers fall, I see their faces and relive their memories of the lives and dreams I shattered.”
“Rain, you spent a thousand years in torment for one terrible act of madness. Haven’t you suffered enough? Let them go.”
He met her gaze, his Fey skin shining with a faint, silver luminescence, his eyes with their slightly elongated pupils glowing. “Ellysetta, I cannot. The torment of their lost lives is mine to bear. Only death or the completion of our bond can release me.”
A misty breeze blew across the lake, cool from the night air sweeping down off the Rhakis mountains and rich with the scent of magic from the Mists. Rain looked up at the bright glow of rainbow lights that danced in undulating flows along the mountaintops. “So many lives lost on my account. Here at Eadmond’s Field and there as well.” He gestured to the Faering Mists. “Twelve thousand of the oldest, strongest Fey and all the tairen prides but one gave their lives to build the Mists.”
“You cannot blame yourself for their deaths too.”
A look came over his face that made her heart ache. “Can I not?” he said softly. “All the Tairen Souls but me were dead. I was the last, and I was wild with madness. But as the last, I was also the Tairen Soul, Defender of the Fey. Had I perceived a threat to the Fey, I would have flown again. So they built the Mists. I’m sure, in part, they meant to save the world from me, but mostly, they died to save me from the world. To give me peace for as long as they could in the hope that I w
She felt his guilt, his silent horror. “Oh, Rain.”
“How does a Fey repay such sacrifice? How can he ever be worthy? How does he atone for all the lives lost because of him?”
She captured his face between her hands. “By doing exactly what you’re doing now,” she assured him. “By living the best you can. By trying to save the people and the land those Fey loved. By honoring them, as you’ve done every day since I first met you.”
“I think you look upon this Fey more favorably than he deserves, kem’san.”
“Nei, I see him plainly enough.” She laid her palm against his chest. “And I love the Fey I see.”
When she gazed at Rain with such unwavering surety, he always saw a different reflection of himself shining from her eyes. A stronger Rain Tairen Soul, so much better and brighter than he truly was. As if, when she looked at him, she saw only the Rain he might have been if he’d never scorched the world, a good and worthy king. He longed to be that noble Fey, if only because he could not bear to diminish himself in her eyes.
“I cannot restore the lives I took or repair the dreams I shattered, but I can at least ensure that the brave friends and allies who fell here will never be forgotten. Will you walk with me while I do that, shei’tani?”
“Of course I will.”
He led her to the shore of the lake and lit a globe of bright Fire over their heads to light the way, but when he stepped onto the dark glass, she hesitated to follow. In the Fire-light, the glass was smooth and glossy, untouched by dirt, animal tracks, or even a speck of dust. It was as if nothing of the living dared invade this sacred site of the dead.
“Perhaps we shouldn’t walk on it,” she suggested. “It seems a little like walking across a grave.”
“Nothing of those who died here yet remains,” Rain assured her. “My tairen flame saw to that. But I will spin a weave of Air beneath our feet as we walk so that we do not touch the glass.”
Silvery white tendrils spun out from his fingertips, and when Ellysetta stepped out onto the glass, she slid several handspans, as if the lake were a frozen pond and her shoes were ice skimmers instead of embroidered silk ankle boots.
Barely half a manlength from the shore, Rain stopped. “An Elvish bowmaster fell beneath my flame on this spot. His name was Pallas Sparhawk, of the Deep Woods clan. He had a mate named Celia and a son who’d seen only three winters.” His head bowed. “I did not meet him in life, but I will never forget his death.”
Lavender Spirit gathered in Rain’s hand, spinning into a three-dimensional image of a handsome, stern-eyed Elf with nut brown hair hanging in plaits around his pointed ears. Red-orange Fire spun out in a searing weave, etching the Elf’s name into the glass on the spot where he died, and below that the fallen man’s clan name and country. He held his hand over the etching of the name and said, “Las, Pallas Sparhawk. May the world be a kinder place when next you return.” The Elf’s name flashed, and the Spirit weave of the Elf’s image sank into the glass lake.
“I have tied the weave to the etching of Sparhawk’s name,” he said. “Those who draw near will see his name and his face and share a few of his memories. Perhaps they will find it in their hearts to mourn him a little.”
“It is a fine tribute to him, Rain,” Ellysetta said.
“Is it? There is another reason I brought you here. When you complete our bond, my memories of these folk will become yours as well. You should know, before that happens, some small portion of what that entails. You should know—” He broke off. His jaw worked for a moment, and when he spoke again, his voice was gravelly with tightly checked emotion. “You should know what really happened here that day. It wasn’t the romantic Fey tale Celierians have made of it. These were good people, with lives and loves of their own. If I could spin time, I would take this day back.”
She could feel the weight of his sorrow and his guilt. He knew, better than any creature alive, exactly what he’d done, the lives he’d destroyed. Until their bond was complete, she could not erase that pain. All she could do was stand beside him and try to help him shoulder the burden.
“Then let me meet Pallas Sparhawk, so I may mourn him as you do.” She stepped forward, close to the name etched deep into the glass. The moment she drew near, Rain’s Spirit weave swirled in a cloud of lavender mist. The Elf’s face formed in her mind, and with it came a rush of memories: the face of his wife, the love he had felt for her, the moment of his son’s birth, the day he’d presented his child with his first, tiny bow, the march to battle, the friends he’d fought beside, and the final gasp of fear and acceptance as an orange wall of tairen flame raced towards him. His final thought, as the flame enveloped him, had been for his wife, Celia, and their son, Fanor.
Tears filled her eyes for the brave man lost, for the sorrow of the beloved wife and child to whom he’d never returned. “His wife and son, if they still live, should know that his last thought was of them.” She took a ragged breath and wiped away her tears. “When you send the envoy to the Elves, you should tell them what you’ve done here and let them know their dead have not been forgotten. You should let all the allies know.”
“You think they would want that?”
“I do. Even the mortals may have family members who will want to come here one day, to learn and remember as well as to mourn.”
Throughout the night, they walked the lake, covering every inch of glossy black glass, creating the memorials, celebrating and mourning the lives lost, until finally, just before dawn, only the place where Sariel had died remained unmarked. It was not, as legend claimed, at the center of the glass lake, but closer to the southern end, where the Fey healing tents had been.
When Rain started to weave the same marker into the lake’s surface for Sariel, Ellysetta stopped him. “For the last thousand years, her name has been linked to tragedy and death,” she said. “Celierians say she sleeps beneath the glass. Why not let them have their legend, and give her a memorial that will let the world remember her as she truly was? Why not give her something like this?” Calling upon Spirit, the one branch of magic Ellysetta could usually weave with some measure of success, she spun an image of the memorial she had in mind.
Rain regarded the Spirit weave in surprise. “Are you certain this is what you want?”
“It’s what she deserves.” She covered his hand with hers, and her sincerity flowed through the touch. “I do not begrudge her the love you bore for her, Rain. She brought you joy in a world of war and death, and I will always be grateful to her for that.”
He drew a breath, his heart swelling with emotion so great, it nearly brought tears to his eyes. “You would have loved her too, you know.”
She smiled, her eyes filled with warmth and understanding. “I know. I’ve loved her from the first time I read about her. Now, I think I loved her so much because some part of me knew how much you did.”
He raised her hands to his lips and pressed a kiss upon the backs of her fingers. “Then let it be as you wish. Step back a little. I will need to call Fire.”
He waited for her to move a safe distance away before lifting his hands and summoning his magic. Earth and Fire gathered in his body, pulsing with energy. When he had the strength he needed, the bright, swirling threads of green and red spun from his fingers, coiling and plaiting into the necessary weaves. He directed the weaves at the surface of the lake, heating the obsidian glass until it began to glow a molten, fiery red. Slowly, the glass began to rise, drawn upwards by Earth. He wove until the memorial took shape, then added Air and Spirit to finish it before slowly cooling the steaming glass with swirling gusts of warm Air.
When he was finished, the eastern sky was lighting with the first approach of dawn and the obsidian lake was no longer a solid sheet of flat glass. Instead, in the center of the southern end, on the spot where Sariel had died, a sarcophagus rose from the surrounding glass as if offered up from the depths of the lake itself. Glossy black glass set with a ri
Beneath her sleeping figure—written in the four languages of the ancient allies: Celierian, Feyan, Elvish, and Danae—he had inscribed the words Ellysetta had suggested: Sariel the Beloved. May she awaken with joy to truemate’s call.
As Rain and Ellysetta stood together regarding the results of his weave, the Great Sun peeked above the horizon. Dawn bathed the Lake of Glass in warm light, setting the names etched in the dark surface afire like diamonds sparkling in the sun. As the sun rose higher, beams of soft, golden light fell upon the shining glass of Sariel’s tomb, and the Spirit weave within shimmered and glowed, sending bright rainbows of multicolored light spilling out in a radiant aura around the tomb. Within the rainbows whirled Spirit weaves of Sariel, laughing, dancing, healing, each image filled with life and joy.
Rain’s heart rose up in his throat, and the arms he had wrapped around Ellysetta’s waist tightened to pull her close against him. He bent his head to press a kiss against the thick, fragrant, silken spirals of her flame red hair. “Beylah vo, shei’tani. Thank you for this.”
No longer was the Lake of Glass a place of loss and death and hopeless darkness, but rather a memorial of peace and beauty, glistening with the golden promise of a new day.
Ellysetta turned in his arms, her leaf green eyes shining, her lips curved in a smile that filled his heart with long-forgotten joy. “Sha vel’mei, kem’san.” She cupped a hand to his jaw. “Take me back to Teleon so I can make a few good-byes of my own, and then let’s go home…to the Fading Lands.”
CHAPTER THREE
Celieria ~ Teleon
“Well, well, look what the tairen dragged in.” Kieran vel Solande slipped a polished meicha scimitar into his hip sheath and turned to greet the warrior who had just passed through the Spirit weave protecting Teleon from outside eyes.