In Legend Born (12 page)

Mirabar picked up a stick and traced a symbol in the dirt, then stared at it, frowning.

"What is it?" Tashinar asked.

"I saw this last night. The Beckoner called me outside while everyone slept, and
this
," she tapped the drawing with her stick, "was written across the night sky in fire."

"What is it?" Tashinar repeated.

Two curved lines, each shaped like a sickle, flanked a strange symbol. Mirabar shook her head. "I don't know."

"It doesn't look like a picture of anything," Tashinar ventured.

"No," Mirabar agreed.

"I don't know about those two marks, but this..." Tashinar traced the complex symbol. "It looks like... like writing."

"Writing?" Mirabar repeated.

"Writing. It's what the
roshaheen
do instead of—"

"I know what it is," Mirabar said brusquely. "You've told me before. But since I can't read, why would the Beckoner show me this?"

Accustomed to Mirabar's embarrassment over how ignorant and savage she had been when the Guardians first found her, Tashinar ignored her tone. "Since I can't read either, we'll need to ask someone else."

"Who?"

"Derlen came from a merchant family in Shaljir. He might—"

"Not Derlen," Mirabar protested sullenly.

"He is not your enemy." Tashinar knew that Mirabar was angry over Derlen's insistence that she not participate in any Callings while her mind was so obviously disordered.

"Yes, he is!" Mirabar's eyes flashed yellow with hot emotion, her red brows lowered into a scowl, and her unbrushed red curls danced in the mountain wind. She looked more demon-like than usual today. "He is also a coward and a fool."

"That's enough," Tashinar warned.

"He is trying to exclude me!" Mirabar protested. "He is trying to take away—"

"He believes you're dangerous, to yourself and others, while this thing, this Beckoner, has such a hold on you. But that does not make him a coward or a fool. I understand your anger, and I don't agree with Derlen. But I will not permit you to be unjust to him."

Reprimanded by the woman who had been teacher, friend, and even a sort of mother to her, Mirabar flushed and pressed her lips together. Tashinar watched her struggle to control the volatile emotions which always seethed so fiercely inside her soul; more than ever, they needed a direction, a focus. For a long time the girl had found that direction in her studies, applying herself tirelessly to the difficult, sometimes frightening, often painful work of becoming a Guardian. Her extraordinary gifts and her tremendous determination had made her the most promising initiate Tashinar had ever seen. Having lived a rootless life as an outcast for as long as she could remember, Mirabar had seized on this newfound purpose and belonging with passionate intensity, undergoing every hardship without protest or complaint.

The Beckoner had stolen the peace Mirabar had started to find, and for that, Tashinar hated him, whoever or whatever he was. Although the Beckoner continued his strange visitations to Mirabar, cutting into her mind and ripping into her heart, she nonetheless struggled to maintain her studies and continue her duties; it was a hard fight, but it meant everything to her. So she was both crushed and infuriated when Derlen convinced the other Guardians in their circle that Mirabar should be excluded from all Callings until they understood what was happening to her. Derlen and the others had made the choice they believed was best; no madwoman should be allowed to summon the power and wisdom of the Otherworld, lest she use it for her own gain or even for clearly evil purposes.

There was nothing personal about the group's decision to exclude Mirabar from Callings for the time being, and several of the Guardians regretted it deeply. Mirabar was one of them, after all, and their status as hunted outlaws had made Guardians everywhere unconditionally loyal to one another. But none of them knew Mirabar as Tashinar did. None of them saw the loneliness that haunted her heart, the secret fear that she would never belong anywhere, and the proudly hidden need to be not only accepted but also genuinely wanted. None of the others knew how their decision to exclude Mirabar from the Callings turned her once again into a hungry, skinny, scab-covered child in filthy rags, living on the outskirts of villages, huddling just beyond the circle cast by a night fire, and fleeing when superstitious
shallaheen
threw rocks at her and called her a demon.

"Shall we ask Derlen, then?" Tashinar prodded, stifling her sorrow as she watched Mirabar struggle with her pain.

Mirabar grunted and shrugged, refusing to meet Tashinar's eyes. Knowing that this was the most gracious acceptance she could expect, the old woman went in search of Derlen.

She found him supervising the packing of the gossamer that the Guardians had recently harvested and refined. Once the wealthiest and most powerful sect in Sileria, the Guardians now survived by whatever means they could. Derlen, who was shrewd and efficient in such matters, had long ago set up trade between discreet merchants in Shaljir and various Guardian groups. Living so high up and in such wild places, the Guardians had daily access not only to gossamer forests, but even to some mountain springs and streams that weren't controlled by the Society. If gossamer leaves were harvested at the right stage of growth, soaked, treated, beaten, stretched, and dried, then the vast, fibrous leaves ripened and softened into the most exquisite, sought-after fabric in Sileria. Silerian aristocrats and Valdani usurpers would soon be wearing elegant garments made of swathes of refined gossamer which many Guardians had broken their backs to produce and provide illegally.

The Valdani had, of course, tried to monopolize this trade, but they'd never gained access to any freshwater sources except those controlled by the Society. Refining gossamer required enormous amounts of freshwater, and the Society demanded heavy tribute for such a privilege. When Emperor Jarell ascended to the Valdani throne several decades ago, he had declared that no more tribute would be paid to the Society. The waterlords were quick to respond. Streams and rivers in Sileria had dried up overnight, and deep lakes and ponds became so cold that men lost their hands if they dared to immerse them. Valdani gossamer production, by then a source of great wealth to the Empire, came to a sudden halt.

Tens of thousands of Silerians were also deprived of water—a side effect of the power struggle, and one which concerned neither the Society nor the Valdani.

A huge force of Outlookers, Valdania's gray-clad occupying army in Sileria, immediately attacked the moated stronghold of Harlon, Sileria's most notorious waterlord. The Outlookers drowned, of course; every single one of them. Legend had it that they'd been taken by the White Dragon; it was a brutal, hideous death which made Tashinar shudder even to think of it. The White Dragon, a grotesque monster born of a magical union between water and a wizard, gobbled up souls as well as bodies. While many things about the Otherworld were unknown even to Tashinar, one thing was certain: no one taken by the White Dragon ever saw the Otherworld or any of his loved ones again. A victim of the White Dragon lost his soul to the monster that had killed him, and he remained in its keeping, in torment and agony, until the death of the waterlord who had created the beast. Even Valdani Outlookers didn't deserve such a death, Tashinar thought.

After the mysterious death of his Outlookers, Emperor Jarell vowed to destroy the Society. The waterlords' power in Sileria had gone unchallenged for centuries. But now the most powerful ruler who had ever lived was waging war on the most dangerous wizards in the world, seeking them out despite the huge risks and heavy cost, forcing them underground and into hiding—and also driving thousands of Silerians into destitution and death.

The Valdani had foolishly believed their battle was won when, after a few years, they succeeded in destroying Harlon, the Society's most powerful wizard. However, he was eventually succeeded by Kiloran, who became even more notorious during the ensuing years. Indeed, after so many years of eluding the Valdani and maintaining the Honored Society's stranglehold over Sileria, Kiloran was now reputed to be the most powerful waterlord who had ever lived—perhaps even more powerful than Marjan himself, the very first waterlord.

And so Kiloran frightened most Guardians even more than the Outlookers did.

However, at least the Guardians had found some small benefit in the struggle that was crippling an already impoverished land. With the vast Valdani gossamer industry now destroyed, and with the Society occupied with fighting the Valdani, the Guardians were able to turn a decent profit by supplying refined gossamer at the best prices on the black market.

"We're nearly done here," Derlen told Tashinar. "They can finish packing the rest without me—if this is important?"

"It is." The old woman led him back to Mirabar, who glanced up briefly with hostile golden eyes, then returned to brooding over the strange drawing she had made in the dirt.

Derlen's brow puckered with interest. "What is this?"

"It's something I saw in one of my mad visions," Mirabar said in her most abrasive tone.

To his credit, Derlen didn't stomp away in a huff.

Tashinar said, "We were wondering if you can identify this symbol."

He traced it with a fingertip. "It looks Kintish to me."

"Kintish." Tashinar nodded. "I thought it looked—"

"Do you know what it means?" Mirabar asked, her tone a bit less hostile.

Derlen shook his head, then stroked his gray beard. He had lost his wife in a Valdani raid five years ago and was now raising his son alone, a responsibility which Tashinar suspected accounted for his turning gray so young.

"No, I know only a few Kintish symbols," he said. "Just the ones that were relevant to my family's trade. And that was a long time ago, too... " He frowned at the symbol a moment longer, then shook his head again. "No, I don't know what it means. But it definitely looks Kintish to me."

After he left them alone, Tashinar asked, "Do you think your warrior could be Kintish?"

Mirabar shrugged, staring at the symbol with absorption, seeking to unlock its secret. "I don't know, but I..."

"What?"

"I keep asking the Beckoner how I will know this warrior." The wind toyed with her red curls. "I think this is the answer."

"Are all the Beckoner's answers this oblique?"

"All of them," Mirabar said with evident irritation.

"A great warrior is coming... from Kinto?" After a moment, Tashinar said slowly, "But he still might be Silerian."

Mirabar glanced up at her. "How could a Kintish warrior be Silerian?"

"He might not
be
Kintish. He might just be coming from there."

Mirabar's voice was impatient as she said, "Now why would a Silerian warrior be in Kintish lands? If there's even such a thing as a Silerian warrior."

"Armian," Tashinar said, her voice wispy as the notion occurred to her. "Could he be coming at last?"

"Who?"

"Armian."

"Who in the Fires is Armian?" Mirabar demanded.

"He was Harlon's son."

Mirabar shot to her feet. "
Harlon's son?
"

"Yes."

"Do you mean to say that I've been having visions about a
waterlord
?"

"No. He's not... I mean, he's
probably
not a waterlord. After all, his father died before—"

"An assassin then?"

"Maybe."

"I've been having visions about an assassin?" Mirabar sputtered. "Derlen was right! This
is
an evil—"

"No, not necessarily," Tashinar said.

"How can you say that? They are our enemies! They always have been. Worse than the Conquerors! Worse than the Valdani! How can I have visions of a warrior who will free us, whom I must help, if he's Harlon's son?"

"No, they say that—"

"Who says?"

"The
shallaheen
. They say that Armian is the Firebringer."

Mirabar was so surprised, she nearly keeled over. "The
Firebringer
?"

"Yes." Tashinar added, "Sit down. You look like you're going to be sick."

"Well, wouldn't you?" Mirabar exclaimed. "Harlon's son?" She sank gracelessly to the ground. "Do the
zanareen
believe it?"

"Only if he passes the test."

"The Firebringer... I thought it was just a myth," Mirabar murmured. "Do you really think I'm waiting for the Firebringer?"

"I don't know. I've always thought..." Tashinar shrugged. "I've always thought the
zanareen
were mad."

"So does any sane person." Mirabar paused and then asked in confusion, "Is Armian one of them?"

"No, he's not even in Sileria. The
shallaheen
say that he was spirited away after Harlon's death. Just a helpless child at the time, he was taken across the Middle Sea to live in hiding somewhere, to keep him safe from the Valdani.

"Taken to the Kintish Kingdoms?"

"So they say, but who knows for sure?"

"Someone in the Society must know."