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ired, so tired. He could have slept for weeks on end. Drowsing on the border country of dreams, he lay swathed in warmth and love, aware of people moving around him, of incense burning and candles shimmering. Pendaran was comfortable now, the pain finally leaving his body as prayers were uttered over him. It was odd hearing Lemony’s voice reciting the prayers to open a door into the Mists for him. So sad and solemn.
Zhou was with him as he had been during all of his waking moments. He wanted to tell him to sleep now, not to worry. It would be over soon. Someone was playing his harp and he was vaguely aware that more people had arrived. They spoke softly as if afraid to awaken him and he smiled, grateful that in the end he was home.
Home in the green rolling hills of Ascalon on a summer day. There were poppies nodding in the wind and little cornflowers hiding in the golden grass. The sky was a perfect shade of blue and white clouds drifted and scattered across it like a herd of wayward sheep. There was a thrush warbling at the forest’s edge and the wind carried the scent of pine boughs.
He sat up slowly and gazed around, suspicious at first that this was some trick of Haodrim, a final attempt to escape death. The Margonite’s voice had been silenced by the amuridan but it had made him miserable with pain and sickness. Pendaran felt good now, clear headed and able to breathe deeply without wincing or coughing. Maybe he had arrived in the Mists. It was somewhat as he imagined it, like the real world, only perfect. He climbed to his feet and noticed a pair of women standing on the grassy slope below him. Their backs were to the forest as they gazed quizzically up at him.
“Come hither,” said one of them finally, raising her willowy arm.
He stalked closer, wincing away from their intense gazes. They seemed to be human and were clad in identical gowns of lush blue and purple silk with wide sashes that made them narrow at the waist. Pendaran felt an instinctive need to bow to them even though they looked like two perfectly normal Canthan women. They were pretty and moved with the sinuous grace of acrobats. The sunlight gleamed blue black upon their perfectly coifed hair and both wore combs of jade and mother of pearl.
“Who are you?” he asked them, dismayed when they turned from him and walked toward the forest’s edge. As beautiful as the world around him seemed, he did not want to enter the darkness beyond the trees. They melded into the shadows, the faint gleam of their hair and vivid robes beckoning him to follow. They were chatting among themselves in Canthan and he struggled to translate what they said, guessing the meaning and knowing he was coming up short.
“(This one) not (rare) ugly.”
“(important woman) married ugly?” asked the other, incredulous.
“Why are we leading (unknown)?”
“(important woman) demands it.”
“(This one) is rude.”
“Confused. It listens.”
They glanced back at him suspiciously but he made no indication that he had understood some of what they had said. The forest floor became less overgrown as they entered its depths. Deep shadows cloaked the ground while the dense canopy hid away the sky. The trunks of the great trees were like columns of an immense temple.
“Where is this place?” he asked them but they acted as if they had not heard.
“(Barking) dog,” said one.
“Can (train) (unknown).”
“Doubtful.”
Pendaran realized they were not separate beings for their minds were in unison, the conversation flowing between them as a single thought. He grew anxious, realizing that all was not as it seemed, that he gazed now through a veil of illusion. What was going on and why were they talking about him as if he were an ignorant beast? He stopped and watched them wind deeper into the forest. They appeared not to care that he was no longer following so he shrugged and went back the way he had come.
Near the forests edge and the welcome blaze of sunlight, he heard their voices behind him. He did not stop, only continued to the place where he had first become aware of them.
“Man, come,” said the first in perfect Ascalonian, her brown eyes warm and alluring.
“Why (unknown) disobey?” said the other in Canthan.
“(unknown) stubborn, scare (man).”
“They are (foolish?) if frightened.”
“I have a name,” he said pointedly in Canthan. At least he hoped he had not spoken Lemony Canthan as Zhou’s guild members were fond of saying. Their dark eyes fixed upon him and they grew silent.
“Does (unknown) hear us?”
“Yes, (unknown) is angry.”
At least Pendaran thought that was what they said. There was a noun they were using to refer to him and he was not sure what it was. It was infuriating, like the hour before breakfast when Zhou only spoke Canthan to force him to listen and learn. He was fairly certain it was derogatory. Even now the two women were glaring down their noses at him, their jaws squared with impatience.
“Human, do not trifle with us. You will come,” said one. They were identical, he realized and both looked displeased with him.
“Why?” he demanded.
“You were summoned, you must come,” said one after a long startled pause. Apparently they were not accustomed to being questioned.
“Who summoned me?”
Confusion became anger which translated into a blaze of fire around their willowy forms to his mesmer senses.
“The one called Shikai by your kind,” one of them answered brusquely.
“Now you will follow and obey,” said the other.
Pendaran had remarked the lack of Shikai’s presence during his rare lucid moments. He had thought it odd Zhou performed rituals without her when she was ever his most faithful and powerful ally. Those closest to Master Bei knew that she was a dragon in human form. For reasons no one knew, save Zhou, she stayed with him during the bright half of the year, but when autumn ended, she departed and did not return until spring was nigh.
Perhaps this was the realm where she dealt when autumn was over. Pendaran followed now, remarking that his escort no longer spoke to one another. He could detect their prickly anger and disdain and smiled to himself despite the seriousness of the situation. He resolved to be calm and enjoy the sights. It was good to be out from under the narcotic haze of amuridan, to walk on his own two feet in this beautiful country where the air was as a balm in his lungs.
The forest darkness enshrouded him once more and he picked his way over tangled roots and the thick leaf litter. This time he saw a pair of deer and a fawn weave between the trees and vanish from sight. The canopy opened up and sunlight lanced the dusty gloom. Ahead, the forest cleared and revealed the silvery line of water. Now the air was heavy with moisture and dew soaked his simple doeskin boots.
The forest withdrew from the edge of a still lake, revealing a long plank walkway that lead out to a sheltered platform. Intricate railing flowed from the shore to the gleaming red columns that held aloft the ornate jade-green tiled roof. The long pier was lined with graceful women dressed in matching gowns of scarlet silk embroidered with blossoms. In matching pairs, they played bamboo flutes and rustling sistrums, their song entwined with the wind and water.
He followed the twin women toward the platform and saw what appeared to be a line of eight sword wielding warriors surrounding a dais upon which was perched a pair of ornate chairs. The two who had guided him fell to their knees in reverence and pressed their foreheads to the lush woven carpet that flowed down the three steps from the chairs. It was then Pendaran realized that the two women seated there were Shikai. He stared perhaps a little too long and felt the disapproving glares of the musicians and the warriors, all of whom seemed to have come from the same mold. He lowered to his knees and bowed as the others had, hoping that if he showed deference she might explain what was happening.
“A decision will be made this day,” said one Shikai. He raised his face to gaze upon her. One pair of kohl-rimmed eyes looked down at him but the other looked away, as if the sight of him disturbed her.
“The moment of truth,” that one said, her voice harsh with anger.
Both figures were swathed in layers of red and gold silk with patterns resembling clouds and scales. In the hands of the one who gazed upon him was a circle of jade carved to resemble a serpent devouring its own tail. The other Shikai bore a rod of jade with a serpent wrapped around its core and a golden ball clutched in its dragon jaws.
“Are you ready, Master Kai,” said the first.
“You will not guide him,” said the angry one, “He must make his own choices.”
“I will not guide him,” the other replied quietly, her gaze never leaving him, “Your answer?”
“I am as ready as I will ever be,” he replied, uncertain what was expected of him now.
“Rise then, and face the shore.”
Pendaran did not bother to question her, he knew without asking that he would receive no answers. Even were he to ask, he sensed he would only invoke the ire of the others. These had to be dragons, he realized, Shikai’s kin. Somehow he had fallen into her realm and his poor mind was trying to make sense of it. He rose stiffly and turned, aware that the music had stopped and a hush descended upon the majestic horde. The pair that had guided him into the forest was once again walking up the pier leading another man. The hair on Pendaran’s nape stood up in alarm as Morisedd drew toward him.
Suddenly the horror of his betrayal returned to him as if it were yesterday. Pendaran trembled with both rage and grief. Bad enough that the man had made him his hostage, but he had used Teleri, his own sister, to ensnare Pendaran. He wanted to pummel the man, to throw his fist into Morisedd’s face and break his jaw.
“I have nothing to say to this man,” Pendaran rasped, “Why have you brought him here before me?”
“We wish to hear how you regard this one,” Shikai replied quietly, “Speak to him.”
Trembling with anger, Pendaran’s hatred was piqued by the way in which Morisedd lowered his face and dropped to his knees. His shameful demeanor only emphasized his fatal role in Teleri’s tragedy. Moments ago Pendaran had been at peace with his own mortality, now a part of him wanted revenge and resented that Morisedd was free to continue living while those he had wronged withered and died.
“You filthy animal. You scum-eating insect. Did you have no compassion at all for Mabane or Sabina? What about Teleri? Gods, Morisedd, you selfish piece of yak dung, how could you let your hatred for me destroy your own kin?”
The man had tainted everyone whose lives touched Pendaran. He remembered the agonized gasping sounds of Mabane’s sobs when the boy had come to say farewell. It was like listening to all of Mabane’s hopes and dreams being throttled out of him. Pendaran had tried to reassure the poor boy that he would not be alone in the world but it felt like a lie. For Mabane, everyone that mattered to him would be dead once Pendaran was gone. Pendaran would have endured any amount of pain and amuridan if it could have kept him alive for the boy.
“Gods, if there is justice, you will pay for what you did,” Pendaran howled.
He fought to regain his composure, afraid that his anger would consume him and it was not the way he wanted to leave the world. He was angry at Shikai for doing this to him, undoing the last kindness of Zhou and Lemony as they prepared him for the Mists.
“Morisedd Dunvael, you have heard the words of your brother-in-law. Now you must tell him how you wish to make amends.”
Pendaran did not want to hear the man’s voice. He could not even look upon him now without wanting to strike him.
“Pendaran, I deeply regret what I did. I know it is not possible for you to accept that now, but I hope you will live long enough that you will not curse when you hear my name or think of me. I know it is too late for my sister, but for Mabane’s sake and for yours, I wish to take Haodrim from you and bear him into Torment.”
Morisedd spoke stiffly, as if he had rehearsed those words. He gazed down on the man still kneeling before him, doubting what he had heard.
“Haodrim is bound to me. We cannot be parted except by death.”
“That is correct,” Shikai said, “but you were not willing to be his host, thus the Mursaat had to bind you with a mighty working. By the laws of magic, such power bears at its heart its undoing. This you learned from Luitha, did you not?”
“Yes.”
“And now I will tell you how,” Shikai continued, “for my kind were first in the world and we made those laws. I gaze upon you and see the spell’s undoing as clearly as you would detect how a knot is unraveled. Haodrim must part from you if another willingly forfeits his life to take your place.”
Pendaran looked away from Morisedd, shocked by what that would mean. Now that he knew the truth of the curse, he realized it was so. What if Zhou had also realized that was the case? He glanced over his shoulder at Shikai, wondering if that was why she was intervening now. Her visage was unreadable, as were those of her retinue and twin.
“Do you accept Morisedd’s offer to forfeit his life and bear Haodrim into Torment?” asked Shikai’s twin coldly.
Morisedd began to weep softly. His fear and misery were palpable to Pendaran’s sensitive mind.
“He is not willing,” Pendaran replied.
“No,” Morisedd croaked, “I am willing, I choose this. Do not doubt my word.”
There was such pain and conviction in his voice that Pendaran could not refute him.
“Does it matter if I do not accept?”
“Your willingness to be Haodrim’s host would negate it,” Shikai said quietly, “Choose, Kai Peng Ren.”
“I want to live, but...”
Morisedd was trembling with fear and anguish. They had both had a taste of Torment and Pendaran would not wish it on anyone.
“You hesitate,” noted Shikai, “Why is that?”
“Do not lead him,” said the angry one.
“I wish it to be known how he thinks,” Shikai responded, “Kai Peng Ren, why do you hesitate to receive Morisedd’s offer? You hate him, clearly, and you wish to live. Tell us.”
“I hate what Morisedd did. He was a low, weak-willed fool who allowed anger to blind him to the consequences of his actions.”
“This is true. His punishment is condign.”
“No,” Pendaran said quickly, worried the dragon people would take matters into their own hands, “Justice I can accept, but I just… can’t wish Torment on someone simply for being human.”
Something shifted in the emotions of the creatures around him. Suddenly there were strange fluting noises, crystalline sounds and humming as if many voices had suddenly converged and become one. Then, just as quickly the sound died and the angry Shikai addressed him.
“Answer, human. If the fate of this one is Torment, you will not accept his offer? You would sooner forfeit your own life than send a hated enemy into eternal punishment?”
Pendaran nodded. He could not accept Morisedd’s offer on those terms.
“I will not send him to Torment for eternity.”
“Why, human?”
“It is not justice, it is wanton cruelty.”
Pendaran’s anger faded, replaced by awe that Morisedd had chosen this. Nothing else he might have said or done could express how terrible the man felt about his mistake. Morisedd thought himself deserving of Torment forever because he had been unable to see past a lifetime’s accumulation of tragedy to the consequences of his actions. He no longer hated him, Pendaran realized. He pitied the man.
Once more the dragon people made their strange sounds, a language so old and deep he could not follow it, not even its emotional nuances. They were alien to him, unreadable except for the façade of humanity they presented to his mind’s eye. He saw in their identical pairs of faces that they were alarmed and confused. The two Shikais were standing now and arguing fiercely, occasionally gesturing toward Pendaran and Morisedd. Then, as before, the commotion died down and the two were seated once more.
“We have witnessed, we will not move against humanity in the coming war,” said the formerly angry Shikai, “Choose an end for these humans.”
The more placid Shikai rose from her throne and moved toward him, seeming to glide in her rich silks and golden adornments. She placed a willowy hand upon his shoulder and spoke softly.
“I will not return to the world in human form, my work there is done. Tell him I loved that when the geas was lifted, the love I had for him did not go away.”
“I don’t understand,” he replied, uncertain what she was asking of him.
“Zhou will,” Shikai said, and then planted a soft kiss on his brow, “Choose life, Pendaran. This man before you is willing to take Haodrim. He will lift the curse.”
“Only if he will not end up in Torment.”
“It is the punishment he believes he deserves,” Shikai replied.
“Since he has wronged me and my beloved Teleri, might I have a say in what happens to him?”
Morisedd swallowed and shook his head but Shikai only smiled, her visage soft and loving.
“Speak it and it shall be so.”
“Morisedd, I accept your offer on the condition that you also serve as a druid at Teleri’s side until you have both found peace. I don’t want her to be alone ever again.”
Pendaran was taken aback by what happened then. Instead of the rage he had always felt from Morisedd there was a great upwelling of relief as the man bowed down and touched his forehead to Pendaran’s feet. Shikai smiled at Pendaran sweetly and kissed his cheek.
“It shall be done,” she whispered, “Go to sleep.”
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