Chapter 3 #2
Suddenly uncomfortable holding his gaze, I look down at my hands, the grin slipping from my lips.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I was . . . carried away. I’m still new to this after all.
To all of it! You and Diira, this world.
It’s like . . .” I hesitate, worrying my lower lip as I try to put words to a feeling, to a song thrilling in my veins.
“It’s like I’ve lived all my life not even knowing how to breathe, only to suddenly find my lungs filled with air.
” I tilt my head back, closing my eyes, and let a long exhale out through my nostrils as I hold my arms out wide.
“It’s so wonderful! And terrible and beautiful. ”
Taar is silent. When I make myself look at him again, the fury is gone from his face, replaced by a softer expression. He looks as though he doesn’t know what to say, as though every word he tries out in his mind is not the right one. “Ilsevel,” he says at last, leaning toward me.
Before another word can leave his lips, the sky overhead cracks open suddenly into a thousand dark crevices. A sense of breaking, of the world coming apart at the seams, there and gone in the blink of an eye.
My heart jolts. All breathtaking independence forgotten, I drop my arms and grab hold of Diira’s mane. A jolt of terror passes through me, even as Diira’s voice appears in my head: Fear not, Vellara. I am here.
The two unicorns draw near to each other, nose to haunch. Uplifting their noble heads, they begin to sing. A white glow spreads from their souls, directed out through the sharp points of their horns. It arches over us, a sphere of protective light, just as the blackness of vardimnar falls.
How many times have I experienced this proximity to Ashtari, the seventh hell?
Soon after my initial arrival in Cruor I encountered it for the first time and thought I knew then the depths of true dread.
Never could I have imagined enduring it again and again, sheltered only by the thin barrier of song which the licorneir provide.
Part of me had hoped that, now I’ve bonded with Diira, I would not find the advent of vardimnar so overwhelming anymore.
How na?ve! Mortal souls are not meant to adapt to the presence of hell.
I huddle in the saddle, small and weak, my shoulders bowed, my spirit turned in on itself.
Even with Diira’s song flowing through me, I feel the darkness just on the other side of her light, sending tendrils creeping through every defense.
They catch hold of my mind, pull me back into those moments of pain when I lay trapped within my own burned husk, caged in an agony of life, unable to escape.
I begin to wonder if I never did truly escape.
If all that has happened since then—the return of Diira, our miraculous connection, rescuing Taar, even the wonderous night spent in my husband’s arms—if it was all nothing more than a dream, an illusion sent by Ashtari itself to torture me with a belief of safety, only to rip it away at last. And what is there to discover on the other side of the dream?
Only the realization that I never can escape.
That the pain will never be gone, and my scorched lungs will forever struggle to breathe, only to inhale greater darkness into my very being.
A hand touches mine.
It’s a simple gesture: a brush of fingers, a warm enclosing of callouses. But it’s enough to jolt me back into the present moment. I catch a breath, open my eyes, turn to Taar. His voice calls to me—how long has he been calling? The words blend together with Diira’s ongoing song, a rough harmony.
“Come back to me, zylnala,” he says. “Stay with me now.”
I gaze into his eyes, and see there a look of such entreaty, it could break my heart.
For a moment, I seem to see myself through his eyes—the juxtaposition of me as I am now, my skin firm and smooth, overlayed with a second image.
An image of scorched, raw, fire-blackened horror.
I feel in him the desperation he experienced when he sought to heal me, to draw me back from the brink of death.
He was willing to give up everything, even his own soul, for the mere chance of my salvation.
Suddenly my bold declarations of independence seem so foolish. I wish I could climb from my saddle and sit once more cradled in his arms, my head resting on his shoulder.
“How do you do it?” I ask, the words tremulous on my lips. “How do you endure this evil? How can you be so brave?”
“Brave?” Taar shakes his head. For the briefest instant, his eyes dare to look out into the dark of the vardimnar, beyond the glow of lightsong, then hastily return to mine. “I am not brave. I am more afraid now than I was as a child, when this evil first fell across my world.”
“More afraid?” I scoff. “I don’t believe you’re frightened at all.”
“Then you do not know me very well yet, zylnala.” His voice is sad and faintly rueful. “You have not yet understood my heart.”
Once again I am struck by his expression, struggle to comprehend it.
Willing to be distracted, I push aside my own terror and reach out along the shining golden thread which unites us.
In that place where it flows from his chest, I feel the love he bears for me.
Still so new, so tender and fresh, and yet shockingly deep-rooted.
With every breath he takes, those roots deepen; given time, it will grow into a great expanse of love that continues to branch and spread throughout his life and beyond.
The truth of it frightens me. How can I bear being loved by such a man, knowing how unworthy I am of his devotion?
But one thing I begin to recognize: the fear moving through him. For to know real love is to know real fear. If given room to grow at equal pace with the love, it will take root as well, and become a darkly poisonous thing, as hellish in its menace as the vardimnar itself.
I blink hard, pulling back from him, back from our connection.
Breath catches in my throat, and it’s only with an effort of will that I release it.
For some time I can do nothing but sit in my saddle, easing air in and out from my lungs as I listen to Diira’s song.
At last I look up at Taar again, only to find him still watching me sadly.
“Now you see, little songbird,” he says in a low voice.
“So long as you are mine, I shall fear the loss of you. Your joy means more to me than life, yet I find I am incapable of sustaining it. Though I give my all, my all will never be enough to protect you. Not in the end. I can only walk alongside you through this darkness, this hell which surrounds us, and learn to trust you more.”
I squeeze his hand, knuckles whitening. Until this moment, I’d not realized what a dangerous thing we’ve entered into.
I was so infatuated with the thrills of body and soul experienced with him through the secret hours of the night.
I thought then that I understood love. But this .
. . this is where our bond truly matters.
This dance of love and fear and trust, all balanced together on the edge of a knife.
What a beautiful dance it will be as the years go by, if only we can maintain that balance.
On a sudden impulse, I lift his hand to my mouth, kissing it reverently. Then I press his palm to my cheek, let him feel the warmth of my tears, even as we allow our souls to join in the song of the licorneir. And the light pulsing around us shines all the brighter.
When the vardimnar lifts at last, I cannot tell if it has been hours or minutes.
It felt like an age, but judging by the position of the sun, I don’t think we’ve lost much of our day.
I shake my head, blinking away the shadows on the edge of my vision, and lean forward to rub Diira’s shoulder, gratefully.
Then I turn to Taar. “We’re not making it back to the Hidden City by nightfall, are we? ”
He shakes his head and casts me a wry half-smile. “We made too late a start this morning, my love. But no matter. We will ride into the night and, when you are weary, we will sleep under the stars.”
“When I am weary?” I snort. “I seem to remember you are the one who did not sleep at all last night.”
He sighs and runs a hand down his face, pulling at the skin under his eyes. “Don’t remind me,” he says, then shoots me a quick smile. “But you were worth it.”
I flush. His words don’t dispel my concern; he looks haggard after the ordeal he suffered yesterday at Shanaera’s hands. And we have another ordeal to face when we reach our destination, one neither of us is prepared to meet.
“Why don’t we stop now?” I say. “Here is as good a place as any. Or we could find water . . .” My voice trails off as I watch the sudden tightening of Taar’s features. All traces of exhaustion vanish in a sudden intensity of focus. “What is it?” I ask, uncertain I want to know the answer.
He stands in his stirrups, eyes narrowing, his gaze fixed on the western horizon toward which we have been riding.
Elydark tosses his head, and they exchange trills of song between them, which my gods-gift detects, though I do not understand them.
I look in the same direction as they, and Diira pricks up her ears, nickering softly.
What is it? I ask her.
Licorneir, she replies, singing into my mind. Fast approaching.
Mahra?
Diira shakes her head, horn flashing in the late afternoon sun. Heartbound licorneir, she replies.
My skin prickles. This can only mean Licornyn riders. They do not venture into Cruor unless necessity drives them, for even a bonded licorneir is never wholly safe from the ravages of the vardimnar. I turn to Taar. “Are they riders from the Hidden City?”
Taar’s nostrils flare. “I cannot tell from here. It may be Licornyn from another tribe. But I think not. Kildorath will be on our trail.”