Breath of Heaven, page 65
“Can’t you destroy them then?” the dwarren Cochen asked. He still held his axe, cradled to his chest.
Shaeveran’s shoulders sagged. “If I could, I would.”
“Then what do you expect of us?” GreatLord Kobel leaned forward as he spoke. “You said that we could not return to our cities, that we could not rebuild Wrath Suvane as it was before. Why?”
At Thaedoren’s side, Moiran gasped and sank back into her chair, as if she knew what Shaeveran would say.
“Because the prison is not permanent. Like the Seasonal Trees, this was never intended to be a final solution. Eventually, the remains of the White Fire will shatter and release the Wraiths and the Horde back into the world. It will not happen for hundreds of years, perhaps thousands, but you will have to be ready for when it happens. Your descendants will have to deal with them. I have simply bought you time to prepare.”
And suddenly Thaedoren understood what Shaeveran intended to ask of them. “Instead of rebuilding here, you want us to find these pillars of fire and build our civilization anew around them.”
For the first time since the sessions had begun, complete silence fell.
Shaeveran met his gaze. “Yes.”
The enormity of what was asked smothered the room. The Alvritshai would have to abandon yet another home, as they had abandoned the lands north of the Hauttaeren over five hundred years before. Except this would be even worse. Because during that move, they had simply retreated southwards, keeping their hold on the caverns and halls already in use within the mountains themselves. This time, they would have to abandon everything, all ties to their roots, all links to their past. He had seen the remnants of the White Fire from the walls of the palace glowing on the horizon. They were hundreds upon hundreds of miles distant. Perhaps even further, since he had no idea how tall the pillars of fire were.
On the far side of the room, the Cochen and Archon were deep in whispered discussion. Arguments were beginning to break out all over, but Thaedoren could not determine the tenor of any of them. Some appeared to be arguing against Shaeveran’s demand, like the Cochen. Others were arguing for it. The entire room was in turmoil again.
Thaedoren turned to his mother. “What do you think?”
“It...” she began, but halted, shaking her head. “It is a monumental demand. You know this. I…don’t know what should be done.”
“It is impossible,” Saetor cut in. “You cannot even consider this request, Tamaell. It would mean the end of everything that is Alvritshai. We would be abandoning all that we have ever known, for what? A land that we have never seen, for a task that, if Shaeveran is right, we must burden our children with.”
“But are we not being forced to abandon our land already?” Moiran replied. “The winter that forced us from the northlands has been creeping steadily southward since we left. You know the storm that hounded us as we fled toward dwarren lands and the Provinces was not a typical winter squall. It felt like the storms in the north. It smelled like it. Even if we return to Caercaern and our hallowed mountain halls, even if we rebuilt them, how long before the cold drove us away? Would it not be better to abandon them now, when we have already been displaced?”
“You have no proof that the storm was not simply harsh. Who is to say it has not already broken? You would forsake our ties to the past based on a scent?” Saetor turned his attention on Thaedoren. “And you would base your decision on the word of a human tainted by the sarenavriell?”
“We owe that human our lives,” Moiran hissed. “Not just our lives here at the battle before Temeritt, but for that at the Escarpment and for the decades of peace we prospered under beneath the protection of the Seasonal Tree.”
“We owe him nothing.” Saetor would have continued, but Thaedoren reached over and gripped his forearm, resting on the table between them. The touch choked off his next words.
“We owe him everything.”
Saetor’s brow creased in anger. “He is asking too much.” When Thaedoren didn’t falter, he relented, pulling his arm out from Thaedoren’s hand. “This is not a decision that you can make alone. You will have to bring it before the Evant and let them decide.”
“Agreed.”
He stood. The tumult continued until the Cochen began beating the flat side of his axe onto the table, the sound cutting through the arguments that had risen close to shouts in some instances. The hall quieted, and the Cochen pointed toward Thaedoren.
The Tamaell nodded in acknowledgement, then looked at Shaeveran. “I think it’s obvious that your…proposal…cannot be decided upon immediately. It’s not one that the Tamaell alone can make for the Alvritshai. I will have to call a meeting of the Evant and discuss it with the other Houses. I think we should end this session for today, meet with our respective people, and return again tomorrow.”
“The pillars of Fire will not remain burning for long. If you are to use them to find where the remnants will be, you must leave shortly. Do not take too long reaching your decisions.”
Before anyone could respond, he vanished in a smear of movement.
After a moment of shock, everyone began to rise and file out in a flurry of excited babble, protests, and troubled expressions. Thaedoren turned to Saetor. “Convene the Evant immediately. Have Couraenen attend, if he’s willing. I have a feeling reaching a decision will take longer than any of us expect.”
* * *
Colin watched the meeting break up, the three races splitting into their various components as they left the chamber, runners already being dispersed in all directions. The hub of activity spread, like ripples on a pond. Soon, the entire city would be talking about the pillars, the decision, the choice.
He sighed and turned away from the corridors below, gazing out over the city from the balcony where he’d retreated. The palace courtyard and streets were bustling, mostly with people attempting to repair the city and return to their everyday lives.
But that was impossible, not after what had happened. When something this traumatic hit, lives were changed irrevocably.
He’d learned that the moment he’d drunk from the Well. Perhaps even earlier, on the streets of Portstown…or when he’d been forcibly removed from Trent by his father.
He sighed, his hand moving automatically to the pendant beneath his shirt. He pulled it out, ran his thumb over the crescent and small, empty vial. The familiar ache filled his chest. “The world is changing again, Karen. I wish you were here to see it.”
He let the pendant fall, the moment of respite over. There were still people he needed to see, things he needed to accomplish.
* * *
The sun was beginning to set when he found Eraeth and Siobhaen. He was not surprised to find them together on the edges of the Rhyssal House camp below Temeritt’s ruined outer walls. They were tending a small fire, Siobhaen sharpening her sword while Eraeth fried a few roots and vegetables over the flames. The meal was meager, if it was intended for both of them, and Colin knew that it was.
He released time far enough away that when he approaching he wouldn’t startle them. “Can a lone traveler join you at your fire?” he asked, and halted ten paces away.
Both looked up sharply, suspiciously, and then Siobhaen’s eyes widened. “Shaeveran!” She sat still, body rigid with tension, as if she didn’t know what to do.
To one side, metal clanged on stone as Eraeth dropped the pan and abruptly stood. He moved forward stiffly, and for the first time Colin noticed how drawn and haggard he looked, and he suddenly realized why Eraeth’s face was so stricken.
When he came close enough, Colin reached out and clasped his forearm, pulling him in for a short embrace, the most he expected from an Alvritshai. But Eraeth clung to him and he realized the Protector was trembling.
“Shaeveran.” His voice cracked with emotion. “Shaeveran, Lord Aeren—”
“Is dead. I know. Walter told me. I didn’t believe him—didn’t want to believe him—until I couldn’t find him when the White Fire passed. But I knew you both lived. I felt you in the Fire.”
“They said he died protecting the Tamaell from Lord Peloroun’s and Lord Orraen’s forces in Caercaern, when they attacked the palace.” Siobhaen had set her sword aside and stood. Her face was also drawn with grief.
Colin pulled away from Eraeth gently. “I saw Moiran and Thaedoren today at the council meeting in the palace. How is Fedaureon?”
“He’s handling everything as well as can be expected. From all reports, he’s been received well as Lord of House Rhysall.”
“Why aren’t you both with him?”
Siobhaen snorted. “I’m not even part of the Rhysall House. And Eraeth—” She cut off abruptly, turning toward him.
“I,” he said, “am now obsolete. Lord Fedaureon already has a Protector and advisors. He has no need of me. In fact, they are meeting with the Tamaell and the other Lords right now.”
“They are discussing my proposal.” At their interested expressions, he waved them off. “You’ll find out about it soon enough. You should save your dinner before it burns—” Siobhaen immediately cursed and knelt beside the fire to retrieve the pan “—and then tell me everything that you know about what happened since we departed from Artillien for dwarren lands.”
* * *
The three of them talked well past sunset, darkness descending around them like a cloak. Eraeth built up the fire. Siobhaen recounted what they’d heard from those in the camp about the fall of Caercaern, from the moment Lotaern, Peloroun, and Orraen staged the assault on the palace and the Rhyssal and Baene Houses, to the storm and the abandonment of their lands under the Wraith army’s continued attacks. There were long moments of somber silence. Eraeth poured mugs of human ale, both Alvritshai wrinkling their noses up at it as they drank, but it was the only alcohol readily available. After they’d described the battle at Temeritt, Colin told them what had happened after he left Yhnar. He left out nothing.
“So Walter and the Wraiths are trapped in Aielan’s Light then, until these remaining coals crumble,” Siobhaen said. She didn’t seem disturbed upon learning that Colin had called the White Fire forth himself, that it was not an act of Aielan.
“No.” At their looks, he said, “Walter was not trapped in the flames. He’s still encased in the roots of the Spring Tree. I could have placed him in the fire, but I chose not to. I want him to suffer. I don’t know what the White Fire is like for a Wraith, but I know that the Spring Tree is hurting him. That choice is one of the reasons that the taint of the Well has grown so much.”
Siobhaen and Eraeth traded worried looks.
“I don’t understand,” Siobhaen said. “You said earlier that the Well wasn’t changing you, that you were doing it yourself. But I thought the taint is what drove you from the Ostraell in the first place.”
“I thought the Well was what was causing the changes, yes. But Walter made me realize that it only allowed the changes to occur. My choices—how I acted, how I used the power I had been given—that was what caused the taint to emerge and grow. I used it to hunt and kill the Shadows in the Ostraell, because of what they did to my family, to Karen. I hunted them out of revenge. That’s when the taint appeared. Since then, I’ve used the Wells selfishly. The dwarren accepted the Summer Tree willingly, but I forced the Winter Tree and Autumn Tree upon the Alvritshai and the human Provinces. The Evant hadn’t approved its use. I never gave the GreatLord of Temeritt a choice, simply planted the tree outside his walls. In forging the knife, I destroyed countless pieces of the Ostraell’s heart. Every action I’ve taken that has been selfish or vengeful or cruel or destructive has slowly tainted my soul. This—” he pointed to the whorls of blackness marring the backs of his hands, made darker by the firelight “—is simply a manifestation of that. There is darkness within me. The Well simply makes it visible.”
Silence hung for a long moment.
Then Eraeth snorted. “I refuse to believe that.”
“I don’t believe it either.” Siobhaen shook her head. “I can see why you may believe it, and perhaps there is some truth to what you say, but I don’t think it’s that simple. As far as I can see, you’ve been selfless in the use of your power. You used it to stop the battle at the Escarpment, one that would have destroyed the Alvritshai and dwarren, perhaps beyond recover. You used it to create the Seasonal Trees in order to protect us. The Ostraell gifted you with those lengths of heartwood; it would not have done so if it felt you were abusing its gifts.”
“There is darkness within all of us, Shaeveran. Perhaps the Lifeblood makes that darkness more visible, perhaps not. But you can as easily argue that drinking from the Well over and over has caused the taint to appear as well.” Eraeth hesitated, then met Colin’s gaze squarely. “You are the most honorable man—Alvritshai, dwarren, or human—that I have known. Aside from Lord Aeren himself, of course.”
Colin was speechless. But he managed a small, respectful nod of acknowledgment.
Silence settled, broken a long time later by Siobhaen singing softly. It reminded Colin of the trek into the White Wastes with Aeren, Vaeren, Boreaus, and Petraen. When she finished, he mentioned that night in the way station hut, Petraen playing on his pipe, Boreaus cooking. Siobhaen chuckled at the memory, then launched into other memories—of her time at the Sanctuary, of other moments on their journey northward, of Lord Aeren. Eraeth picked up the thread, relating the time he and Aeren had first met Colin on the dwarren plains. They laughed and cried over lost friends and better times, until Colin finally stood.
“I need to meet with others tonight,” he explained. “Lady Moiran, for one, perhaps Fedaureon. I would like to speak again with the Archon, Quotl, as well.”
“I’m glad you have returned, Shaeveran.”
“Oh, I intend to stay, no matter what is decided tomorrow at the council session. There will be plenty to keep me active for the foreseeable future.”
Then he walked away. Eraeth said something he couldn’t hear as he faded into the surrounding darkness and Siobhaen laughed. He grinned and shook his head, then focused on the camp around him, orienting himself by the glow of the fires and the lights of Temeritt on the hill. The city blocked out the view of the silver lights of the three pillars of flame to the east, but the night was clear and the stars glittered above, the moon low on the horizon.
He had halted to consider who to visit next—Moiran, he thought; he owed her that much—when a cloaked figure stepped out of the night, halting ten paces away.
Colin shifted his staff protectively before him, already reaching to seize time.
“Shaeveran?”
Colin hesitated. “Yes. Who are you? What do you want?”
The figure reached up and drew back the hood of his cloak. Colin didn’t recognize him, but he was clearly Alvritshai.
The man pulled a satchel forward and removed a wrapped bundle with a familiar shape.
At the same time, Colin recognized the man. “You are a Warden of the Winter Tree.”
“Yes, but the Winter Tree is dead.” He held up the bundle, as long as his forearm, weighted on one end. “But Lotaern pulled this from its heart. He claimed it was the Winter Tree’s seed. He gave it to me and charged me to find you and give it to you. I left before Caercaern was destroyed.”
“Lotaern did this?” he asked, incredulous.
“Yes. Before the Wraith army arrived at the city.”
Colin stepped forward, but didn’t take the offered bundle. Instead, he drew back the folds of cloth as the Warden held it, considered the length of wood with a hand-sized knot at one end. He could sense the power within it, like what he’d felt in the Seasonal Trees before he’d planted them, but that power was also subtly different.
“Take it,” the Warden said.
Colin leaned back and let the cloth drop back, concealing the seed. “No.”
“But Lotaern—”
“Lotaern was right to send you here with the seed, but I will not take it. It hasn’t completely finished growing yet. And even if it had, I would still ask you to keep it. It will need to be planted, yes, but not by me. Once planted, it will need to be cared for. Your duty has not ended with the death of the Winter Tree, Warden. It has only begun. You must carry this seed until we can determine how best to use it, and then you must find other Wardens, train them in the Winter Tree’s care, and protect it from harm. Can you do this?”
The Warden lowered the seed. His shoulders sagged, as if burdened, then stiffened with resolve. “I can.”
“Then keep the seed. Make certain you do not touch it directly until you are ready to plant it. There is enough power within you to awaken it. There will be many changes and decisions made over the course of the next few days—the next few months—but remain here, close to me, and I will find you when the time is right.”
“Very well.”
Colin reached out and touched his shoulder as he rewrapped the seed and returned it to his satchel. “What is your name?”
“Irroen.”
“I am thankful that you found me, Irroen.”
* * *
As soon as Moiran stepped into the room GreatLord Kobel had provided her in the palace at Temeritt and eased the door closed behind her, she knew someone was already inside.
“Who’s there?”
From the shadows near the windows cast by the light from the fire in the hearth, and the few additional candles scattered throughout the small chamber, Shaeveran stepped forward.
She crossed the chamber, hand raised before rational thought could take shape, and slapped him, hard enough her entire hand tingled with numbness. “You killed him. You killed both of them!”
