Redeeming the Lost by Elizabeth Kerner
Then the green soulgem, resting in the hollow where a soulgem should be, began to glow. From a tiny gleam in the depths, as a light rising through deep water, it brightened and flowed until it filled all the space in Shikrar’s faceplate. The light grew brighter yet, green as clear emerald, green as leaves in deep summer, bathing all that vast body in its radiance. The dark bronze of Shikrar’s face did not look so dark as it had. Under the green light, just around the blazing soulgem, it seemed much lighter—almost—
Silver.
I laboured to breathe as I watched, for miracles, good or ill, are not easy to bear. Starting from the slight silver stain around his soulgem, the dark bronze of Shikrar’s hide was washed in a coating of silver, sweeping ever more swiftly from nose to tail. Where the green and silver touched the great wounds Shikrar had borne, light flared as flesh and blood and bone were healed. The terrible broken wings blazed green and silver and were made whole. The neck bone came to its right place with a snap very little less terrible than that which had broken it.
It all took little more than the blink of an eye, and when all was done—Akor lay before us, but not Akor. He was the size of Shikrar, and all his body glowed yet fire-bright with emerald radiance.
Then he opened his eyes.
Varien/Khordeshkhistriakhor
I woke as from a long sleep, instantly aware, myself again after some dream of another life. I stood and stumbled, as one who has not moved for some time. I flexed my wings, glad to find that they were not as stiff as I had feared. Only then did I look about me.
My beloved Lanen stood staring up at me, her eyes huge, her mouth slack. She—she looked terrified. Astounded.
Desolate.
“Akhor?” said a voice, quietly, behind me. I turned to see Idai gazing up at me, her eyes like Lanen’s full of fear and wonder.
Wait—Idai gazing up?
I reared onto my back legs and stared down at Idai, and far, far down at my own Lanen. Her lips moved, but it was not the voice of the body I heard. It was the voice of her mind, soft and dry as death, in motionless agony, and so terribly alone.
“Akor. You are Kordeshkistriakor once more. Sweet Shia, no!”
And then she cried out in her desolation, a scream of pain torn from her as though her heart had been wrenched from her breast. She fell to her knees and hid her face from me.
We were parted once more, as I had never thought to be parted from her again in life. Parted forever.
Sorrow fell before fury.
I never wanted this.
Wrath rose in me then, fire unquenchable, and I looked up to where the battle raged. I did not try to understand. There was no time to mourn Shikrar, to mourn anything. With a heart blazing with death and fury, I leapt into the sky and trumpeted a challenge to the Black Dragon, not nearly so huge now as it had seemed. I flew twice as fast as ever I had flown before, I flew as one gone mad, and I felt light as a bird’s feather. I swear the Winds blew solely to bear me up.
Marik/The Black Dragon
I dragged myself out of that damned lake once more to find that Ur-kathon was no more. The sun had turned blue, it seemed, and come to rest on that hilltop. For the moment, the girl was beyond my reach. Still, I-Demonlord had faced any number of Mages in my day. Eventually they grew weary, as I would not in the body of this golem of fire and ash. The largest of the Kantri, the big bronze one, lay dead on that hilltop as well, which gave me joy. I rose with a great leap into the sky and began pursuing the others, one by one. The big one had been a lesson in flight; the smaller ones were good, but they were not the match of their dead leader. I danced on the air and destroyed some thirty or forty, one after the other, glancing back to that hilltop after each one died, waiting for that Mage’s glow to die down, or at least to withdraw from the figure of the girl.
There! He was busy with something else—of course! Berys! Excellent! I wished that Mage all success, as I dove straight as an arrow for the key to my death/my daughter/Lanen, who stood now unprotected and unaware. I drew breath and sent a lance of flame to scorch her to bare earth—and a wind blew up from nowhere. The molten stone of my fire was blown back at me, I was thrown nearly onto my back by the fierce wind. Recovering, I stared in amazement.
Their leader was dead, the big bronze one. I’d seen it lying still as stone with a broken neck—but here it was rising before me, glowing green and shining silver.
I-Marik remember. It’s that damned great dragon that came through the wall, I thought it was dead what is it doing here alive again no it’s coming for me!
I-Demonlord fight to retain control of this body. I-Marik is taken with soul-deep panic, for a moment I-Marik am in control and I fly as fast as I can away from the creature.
But I-Demonlord look deeper into my other half and find the hatred below the fear. I fan it, I encourage him to remember what has been done to him and what this body can do to the beast. I-Marik slow, thinking, and when I-Demonlord show him an image of the silver one dead I-Marik peel away right and return the way I came. I-Marik gladly let my other self take control.
The silver one sees us coming and takes fright, turns to escape.
We pursue with a light heart.
xiv
The Word of the Winds
Lanen
Jamie, Rella, Maran, and I took advantage of a brief pause in the fighting to catch our breath. Most of the Raksha that had been harrying us had been dashed on the rock of Vilkas’s power and destroyed. Others would no doubt replace them soon. Aral was kneeling by Will, her power bright around her. Even as I glanced at them, he sat up, his hand to his head. “Hold still, you idiot, I’m still working,” she told him.
He let himself be told. It was as well Aral was looking at his wounds and not his eyes. Even now, I thought, the greater wound is there. He gazed at her the way Varien—Akor—no, I can’t bear it …
“You’ll keep now,” she said briskly, rising, and she returned to us, swiftly cleansing and sealing the worst of our wounds.
I longed for more Raksha to fight. Anything that would not let me stop and think.
Kédra stayed for only a brief moment after—after—“Lady Lanen, I pray you, assist me here.”
I hurried over. He reverently lifted his father’s soulgem and placed it in my hand. “Keep it safe, Lady. I cannot stay.”
“As my own life, Kédra,” I replied.
He leapt into the bright morning to join the others in the aerial battle. I put Shikrar’s soulgem in my scrip and turned back to find the others watching me. Behind them more demons approached—I cried out and pointed. We all prepared, and I drew my dagger across my arm yet again, letting the blood fall onto my blade. I welcomed the pain. Anything that kept me from thinking.
Vilkas
I had never been so happy, or so free, or so completely myself in all my life. There I stood, fighting for my life against the powers of darkness, and I was filled with a joy so vast I could barely contain it. Only the smallest part of me remembered that in my dreams I laughed as I destroyed the world.
Berys was more powerful than I would ever have believed, certainly far stronger than he had ever revealed himself to be. He screamed and cursed and sent dark flame like daggers to pierce me to the bone. Most I deflected, but those that got through and injured me I healed at once.
At first I let him do all the work, restricting myself to defence while I tested the extent of my own powers. Before I welcomed them, a few minutes and an age of the world before, I would have been terrified. Now—ah, now I felt the Lady’s power flowing into me through my feet, through the top of my head, through my very skin. I formed it into a shield that soon deflected everything he flung at me.
Berys turned from smug to angry very quickly. “You foolish boy, you cannot hope to equal my power!” he cried. “Bow before your master!”
“I have already made my devotions to the Lady this morning,” I replied, turning away the forest of knives he had conjured to throw at me.
“This is som
If he’d had two hands I might have been done for, but even Berys could not make a claw from a stump.
I laughed and poured the healing light of the Lady into the very substance of his extended arms. He cried out in pain and released the spell before it could travel up his arms. In panic, to buy himself time, he sent a cloud of choking blackness to cover me. I summoned a wind to blow from behind me, returning the cloud to its maker, who had to disperse it as swiftly as he had called it into being.
I seemed to have the defensive part worked out.
Berys glared at me, wild-eyed, desperately summoning yet more strength for some new attack.
“My turn, I think,” I said, and grinned. I relaxed and breathed deep, feeling as if I were sustained by a brilliant beam of light shooting through me from the very heart of the world. I drew power from the very air as a lamp draws oil through a wick, ignited it at the raging bonfire in my soul, and sent it forth to batter down the thick defensive walls around Berys’s soul. He fought me, beating away my initial foray. I leaned into him, sending my power deeper. He did not laugh anymore, he was focussed absolutely, but he turned aside my attack.
How could this be?
I sent again, concentrating harder, thinking to tear his shields from him.
He remained unharmed.
Stop we cannot win we must not lose control hold back do not attack do not let go
Old voices chattered their old song in my mind, insistent.
Strange. I had thought they were answered.
I concentrated, astounded that there was yet some vestige of that in me—and yes, there, for all my new freedom, I was still holding back. Thick walls yet surrounded my very core, where lay the deep roiling center of the flame.
But that is our secret heart! cried my soul in terror. That is the fire, that is the searing flame that protects and that we protect. It rages ever in control. That is our power. That is our truth. We cannot let that be touched or known, we cannot let down the barriers, once that is loose we may never call it back.
Berys was fighting with all his strength as I threw at him everything I could think of, but he did not seem to be more than—inconvenienced. If I did nothing more he could surely fight me off forever.
No this is terrifying we cannot show who we truly are it will hurt we will be overcome we will be derided it will fail we will fail we will do something terrible we will kill again and again and again!
I had never paid any attention to that poor frightened part of my soul. The voice was my voice, yes, but as a small scared child, the one who had so horribly killed the first demon-victim he had treated, the one who had been having nightmares about it ever since and been terrified of the power that could boil blood in living veins.
Who was this who said “we”?
Berys, sensing that my attention was turned from him, gathered himself to attack once more. With a thought I held him motionless. It was hard work, he cursed and fought back, but I could sustain it for a short time while I investigated this last barrier.
I turned my Healer’s vision on myself, moving into the realm of the mind where all is metaphor and outside time stands nearly still—and there he stood. A skinny ten-year-old boy who had made a horrific mistake and had been running from himself ever since.
Me. Ten years old, though I looked younger, shaking, white-faced with terror and self-loathing.
I stopped before him and looked down, and found myself moved by deep pity.
“Vil, lad,” I told him gently, “it wasn’t your fault.”
“I killed her!” he shrieked, beating at me. “We killed her, remember!”
I knelt down, that I might not loom over him. “I remember, Vilkas. But it was a terrible accident. Our mentor Sandrish should have realised that we could not control a power we barely understood. He should never have let a child, however powerful, take over so difficult a case.”
“He didn’t kill her, we did!” shouted the boy.
I held out my hand to him. He hesitated, but took it, and finally looked into my eyes. I think we both took comfort from that.
In the back of my mind, Berys began to work free from my binding. I didn’t have long.
“Yes, Vilkas,” I admitted heavily, his hand clasped gently in mine, that he might withdraw it at any time. “We killed that poor woman. You are right.”
He burst out weeping and grasped my hand in a painful grip. “I’m sorry I’m sorry I didn’t mean to it must have hurt her horribly I can still hear her screaming oh please let me not have killed her …”
“Vilkas, we made a mistake,” I said, putting my free hand on the boy’s shoulder. “The one we trusted allowed us a freedom he never should have allowed. We made a mistake and we have been devastated for ten years and more because of it—but, Vil, it is done. She is dead. We cannot bring her back, no matter how sorry we are for causing her death. But we can honour her by putting that wild power to its proper use. I am older—we are older now. I understand control, I have worked hard to learn it ever since that day. And now we need the wildfire within us.” I showed young Vilkas the great legions of demons harrying the Kantri; I showed him the Demonlord; and lastly, I pointed to Berys in the realm of the spirit, a demon struggling out of a net and beginning to break free.
“I know him, he tried to kill us he killed so many of our friends Magistra Erthik he is bad!” my younger self cried.
“Yes, Vil,” I said quietly. “And we are fighting him now. This is our chance to right the balance, to honour the woman we killed. Let us release that power to its proper use.”
“I’m scared I’m scared we can’t make it do what we want …”
I was profoundly moved by the lad’s fear. “It’s alright, Vilkas,” I said, and putting my long arms around his skinny body, I held him close. The first instant it was like hugging a plank of wood, but after that first shock the lad relented and clung to me. “I can control it. Truly.”
He drew back, staring frightened into my eyes. “But what if we kill someone else?” he whispered.
“I promise I will not ever use our power to kill anything except demons,” I swore to him. “Ever.”
I felt his gaze sear along my mind, down into my deepest heart, as he searched out the truth of what I said. It was there. Something began to dawn in his eyes, so brilliant blue, so large in that young face. He reached out, and tentatively he put his light little arms around my neck. “You promise?” he whispered.
“I promise,” I whispered back.
“Then what are you waiting for?” he demanded, shoving me away with vigour. “Look, he’s getting loose!”
I stood and grinned down at my young soul. “Shall we stop him, Vil?”
The lad grew to meet my height, changing swiftly into the self I knew from the mirror. His identical grin began to meld with mine.
“Oh, yes,” he said, his voice no longer its boyish treble but my own.
And we were one.
A sharp pain ripped me back to the real world. Berys was free, shooting black power like swords into me as fast as he could. His eyes were bloodshot with fury but he was laughing.
“Poor little lad, killed someone did he? And you impotent because of it ever since. How wonderful!”
I felt young Vilkas grow to fill my skin, and the cage around the core of my true power grew thinner, thinner, like reeds, like gossamer—gone.
I averted Berys’s attack with a contemptuous flicker of thought. He drew back his hand and started to chant something hideous, his face a mirror for the words.
“Oh, do shut up,” I said, suddenly tired of the sound of his voice. I sent silence around him, as he had kept Lanen silent. He strugg
I gazed into his soul with my Healer’s sight. It was revolting. In among the swirls of bloodred and poisonous bile green and pus yellow there was a centre of solid black—no, a silvery black—oh! That wasn’t him, it was something he carried. I ignored it and forced myself to look deeper. There! There were the shields, like overlapping armour wrapped around him. Like the layers of an onion gone soft and stinking.
I began to remove them. I worked slowly and carefully, for I did not know how closely these touched him and I was determined not to harm him with my power.
I had promised.
Khordeshkhistriakhor
Sacred Fire rose within me as I flew from the Black Dragon, drawing it after me. I went to breathe my Fire onto the Winds, that this act might be consecrated—but when I opened my mouth no flame came forth. I felt the air currents change, a sudden headwind—no, my head was forced back. I tried turning my head to the left and breathed flame—a sudden gust forced me to the right.
My thoughts reeled. I lived in a body that could not be. Shikrar, turned to Akhor all in a moment—no flame, though I am a creature of fire, but the power of the Winds at my command.
I never wanted this.
There again, I didn’t recall anyone asking what I wanted. The Wind of the Unknown blows hardest of all, it is said.
I turned to face the thing behind me, breathed the Winds at it, and flew faster. I felt its contempt, heard its unnatural laughter as it pursued me in my terrified attempt to escape. I heard it start to roar and swerved left. The edge of its solid flame caught my tail-tip and I screamed in agony.
Well, perhaps it didn’t hurt quite that much, but it pleased the Black Dragon and stopped it thinking.
I veered right, it followed me close. It was flying much better than before, but it was still clumsy in the air, and so huge. So huge, so intimidating, so very … heavy.