Chapter 76. The Visitation

irds chattered in the boughs above him and he heard the low hollow drumming of a woodpecker deep within the forest. The steamy air smelled of moist dirt and the complex odors of decay. Pendaran lay still, listening and afraid that at any moment his tenuous grasp on reality would be stolen away. He ached to the marrow of his bones and for this reason he believed that perhaps, just for once, he was not dreaming.

“I’m here, love. Do not fret.”

He wanted to cry out in rage and despair. No matter how hard he tried, he could not escape from Haodrim’s maze of deception. Would he never awaken? He pried his eyes open and squinted as dappled sunlight glared down through the forest canopy.

“Teleri?”he rasped, barely able to speak. Cruel gods, what trick was this? Not content to dredge up his past, Haodrim had at last reached into the present and was taunting him with an image of his wife. He wept to see her for she was both a comfort and a horror. Her pale eyes were like windows into madness, stark and otherworldly. Where he had known warmth and gentleness he sensed a depthless chasm of despair.

“Do not cry,” she whispered, reaching down to dry the tears streaming down his temples. He wanted her, had wished fervently for her to come to him and somehow take him away from his pain and suffering. Haodrim had denied him the hope and comfort of Teleri, giving him glimpses only of those things that would humiliate and break him.

“Haodrim, leave me in peace,” he choked, “I am ruined, what more do you want?”

Teleri hushed him, her strange haunted gaze at once serene and terrible.

“I am here,” she murmured, “You called to me and I heard you. I dreamed of your terrible suffering and wept to see you so alone and helpless.”

“No,” he moaned, “don’t, I don’t want her to know. Let her believe I died in peace, don’t let her see me like this.”

Teleri frowned and shifted her position upon the loamy earth so that she could rest his head in her lap.

“My love, I am here now. You are safe.”

“Dabar,” he cried, hoping the centaur would help him awaken. He was trapped in a nightmare and gods only knew how Haodrim was using his thoughts and his body while he was preoccupied.

“I am here, Pendaran,” the centaur replied, a faint note of fear in his deep voice, “She is quite real.”

He tried to turn his head to look toward the source of the voice but he was weak. What he did see, however, caused his gut to lurch in disgust. At first he thought the bodies strewn around him were scattered forest debris. Flies buzzed loudly over darkened flesh, indicating the White Mantle had been dead for a while. He did not remember killing them. He barely remembered leaving the cave or anything more than a few lucid moments sitting upon Dabar’s back.

“What did I do?” he croaked, and then panicked when he realized the danger Teleri was in.

“You killed the White Mantle because they tried to murder you in your sleep,” Dabar replied darkly, “little knowing it is when you are most dangerous.”

“Teleri, you must abandon me,” he pleaded, “Our children, you don’t belong here. Gods, Dabar, make her leave, carry her away and leave me here to die.”

“Sure if you dream away the wounds,” Dabar replied, “I’m afraid they decided to hamstring me first so you could not ride me away to freedom and kill them later.”

Her hands were oddly cool upon his skin as she stroked his face and hair.

“I talked to Melandru,” Teleri whispered, “Have you ever wondered how it is that stone yields to root? It is time and the daily assaults of weather and the unfortunate exploitation of the stone’s native flaws.”

“A human being is not made of stone,” Pendaran replied, fearing where the conversation was going. He could read it in her eyes, “It can get better. There are others who love you and your children need you.”

“You know that I cannot go back, Pen,” she said sadly, “I woke up in the longhouse after Melandru had spoken to me and knew that I was the stone that had shattered before its time. I should never have let you fall in love with me. It was cruel.”

“No, don’t say that.”

“You would accept possession and torment rather than let your children be harmed. This Melandru showed me, and when I talked to Threnody, she confirmed it. I believed only the worst of you, even after I witnessed your love for me and our children.”

“It doesn’t matter any more,” Pendaran said, “I forgive you. I love you. I will always love you.”

“I know. Melandru made that known to me.”

“Do not torment yourself, Teleri. You had just cause. Please, I understand. Now you must say goodbye and leave me here where I can do no harm. Go home and raise our children and tell them how much I loved them. Do this for me and for them.”

“No,” Teleri said quietly, “I do not wish to go on without you.”

“Beloved, do you not see how we have been blessed with this chance to say goodbye?”

“Melandru said choose. I have chosen.”

She rose after gently placing his head back upon the loamy earth. A low chant issued from her throat with the cadence of something far older than a mere human voice. The wind rustled the leaves in response and he felt the ground quickening beneath him. Helpless to move, he could only lie there watching with a mixture of wonder and horror as tendrils of plant life poked up through the duff around him. Curls of leafy fiddleheads unfurled and fern fronds emerged, soft and translucent green. The pain fled from his flesh and he was flooded with a heady burst of life energy.

The vile unnatural pieces of metal that had been grafted to his flesh fell away from his torso and thighs. The drunken sensation faded and his mind became lucid for the first time in months. He sensed her at the edge of consciousness, the bright essence of her spirit shattered by ribbons of darkness. He felt the ancient magic of life feeding upon life, the sloughing of the spent for the nourishment of the new. And Teleri yielded, gave herself up to the land, grateful in the end to be unburdened and to serve in another way.

“Teleri, please, don’t do this. Stop,” he pleaded, but he knew it was too late, even before the wind grew still with her last exhalation. Wordlessly she lay down beside him, her face pale and peaceful at last.

“No, I never wanted this,” he cried, his grief quickly overcome with rage for Haodrim, “You did this! Gods, how I hate you.”

But the rage faded before an unbearable burden of sorrow, before the undeniable emptiness of his beloved growing cold beside him. He sat up and gathered her against his breast like a child, some part of him willing her to return to the discarded house of her soul. She was gone forever, his precious Teleri. His racking sobs overflowed into animal cries of unbearable pain.