Chapter 5 #3
At mention of the day’s coming trial, the heaviness of sleep vanishes from my limbs, replaced with a gnawing dread.
I submit meekly to Tassa’s ministrations.
She dresses me in a fresh garment, similar to the gown I’ve been wearing, the fabric pale lavender rather than blue, with various leather buckles and straps, and a split skirt to allow for easier riding.
Having dressed me to her satisfaction and pulled my hair back in a series of tight braids, Tassa proceeds to feed me a simple but filling breakfast. I force down each mouthful, my stomach knotted tight.
It doesn’t seem to have fully struck home, what is meant to happen to me today.
Taar’s story seemed part of some mythic world entirely unrelated to my own existence.
I cannot picture these Unformed Lands of his, cannot conjure the first idea of what I am expected to do or be.
So I concentrate on simple matters at hand.
Chewing. Swallowing. Washing my hands and splashing my face in water provided.
It is only when this last task is accomplished that I realize what has been missing since I woke. Reaching out with my soul, I search for my connection to Diira, search for her song. But though I can feel it faintly, I cannot seem to reach her.
“Where is Diira?” I ask, turning to Tassa.
She doesn’t answer, merely presses a cup into my hands. “Drink this,” she says, and I mutely obey, raising the cup to my lips. I’m met with the sweet taste of ilsevel-purified water. The blessed goodness of it flows down my throat, comforting, warming, and invigorating by turns.
“Where is Diira?” I ask again as I hand the cup back to Tassa.
She looks pained, and I fear she will deflect me. At last, with a quick grimace, she admits, “Diira has been secured with chaeora ropes to keep her at bay. They will effectively suppress your . . . whatever bond the two of you share.”
I suddenly wish I had not let her talk me into eating, so sharply does my stomach revolt. “Why?” I demand through gritted teeth. My hands knot into fists.
“She will be released,” Tassa says in lieu of an answer. “As soon as—”
“As soon as I am well and truly lost in the Unformed Lands?”
Her gaze sharpens. “That is how the test works, human.”
I want to fight. Her, Kildorath, the elders. Anyone I can get my hands on. Even Taar, if I must. I want to fight and scream and protest and somehow make them let Diira go. Why should she be punished for bonding with me?
I let out a tight breath, meeting Tassa’s stubborn eye. “Do you truly believe I ensorcelled Diira and . . . and Taar?”
She looks uncertain. It might be the first time I’ve seen this woman appear anything other than completely confident and sure of herself.
She considers my words, reluctant, perhaps, to offer any answer.
“I did think so,” she admits at last. “Yes. But . . .” Her voice trails off, and she shakes her head.
“Now that I’ve seen Nyathri—Diira, that is—I don’t know what to think.
” To my great surprise, her hard expression softens.
“For Taar’s sake, I hope you are true. My brother has suffered a great deal.
We all have, but he more than most. I want to see him happy .
. . and, for whatever gods-forsaken reason, he’s taken it into his head to seek happiness with you.
” She shrugs, rolling her eyes heavenward in subtle supplication.
“I may never understand it. But I love my brother enough to hope for his best.”
She means it. At least I think she does. It doesn’t make her my friend or even my ally. But perhaps she isn’t my enemy. And perhaps that’s the most either of us can hope for under the circumstances
We have finished our preparations and are approaching the dakath door flap, when Tassa reminds me of the gag I am under orders to wear.
I recoil in distaste, remembering that particular indignity too vividly.
It was mostly useless as well, for I’d still been able to feel, not only Diira’s song, but also the songs of the other licorneir.
With Diira now linked to my gods-gifted power, I suspect I could reach farther and accomplish a lot more than I ever dreamed in the days before coming to this world.
Nevertheless, I submit to the gag. Once it’s secure, Tassa leads the way from the dakath into the curling mists of predawn.
Halamar stands just outside. He nods in mute greeting, neither friendly nor hostile.
Tassa ignores him completely—rather too completely to escape my notice—and sweeps out into the green space between this dakath and the great Meeting House.
My human eyes cannot see much in the dim gloom of almost-sunrise, but I feel the songs of licorneir with clarity enough to pick out Elydark from their midst. Taar sits astride him, the pull of our velra as powerful as ever between us.
Kildorath is present on his golden licorneir, along with a host of riders.
I’m taken aback at the numbers; I’d been under the impression licorneir bonds were rare these days.
But as I peer around me, reaching out with my gods-gift, I realize how many of these riders are mounted on ordinary horses.
Strange to see the proud Licornyn astride anything other than their beloved licorneir.
A hunched, owlish little figure, seated on a jug-headed mount with wild blue eyes, urges her mount forward and looks down at me from under heavily wrinkled folds of skin.
Elder Halaema. We have met before, under similarly unpleasant circumstances.
I like her no better now than I did then and make no attempt to disguise the dislike in my face.
She studies me for some moments, wordlessly. Does she expect me to genuflect? I won’t—I’ve had enough humiliation as it is, wearing a muzzle like a rabid dog. Standing my ground, I meet her hard gaze, unwilling even to blink.
Halaema sniffs at last and jerks her head in silent command.
Two figures appear from the gloom. They take me by the elbows, and I cannot help a little squeak of surprise, muffled against the rag in my mouth.
I am brought to a horse—not a licorneir, just a regular flea-bitten gray—and made to mount.
Once in the saddle, I cast about for Taar and manage to catch a glimpse of him on the far side of this large company.
He doesn’t look as rested as I hoped, and the song singing along our velra is weary.
I try to sing some encouragement to him—but my heart’s song is abruptly cut off by Kildorath’s sharp voice, crying out orders in Licornyn tongue.
The next moment, the whole company surges into motion.
A broad Licornyn man stands at the head of my mount, firmly leading it by the bridle.
It lurches into a dispirited amble, keeping pace with the licorneir on either side.
Though I twist in the saddle, trying to catch another glimpse of Taar, he is lost in the crowd.