Mercedes Lackey - Anthology (29 page)

 
          
For
the first time since he had attacked Prince Gonten, the young man nodded and,
steady once more on his feet and without any help from those around him, he set
out at a slow walk into the forest. Lord Hvandi lifted an eyebrow, gestured to
Gonten and his men, and allowed.

 
          
Irdun
felt the closeness of the grove now, but was still unable to experience any
emotion other than patient waiting. Another guided his footsteps; another held
his mind. Before him, unseen by the priest, the Prince, or any of the
accompanying warriors, flew a ghostly shape, wings silent in the clinging
darkness.

 
          
Owl
Light, Owl Bright—

 
          
The
old prayer sprang up from some deep well in Irdun's being as he led the way
beneath the clustering trees.
A warmth
filled his
heart as he walked. He was not forgotten. He had played his part, done his
deed, though another had moved his hand. A small smile touched his face, unseen
by those who accompanied him.

 
          
His
mind was filled with wings.

 
          
The
statue of the goddess was the only thing that stood in the center of the grove,
but Prince Gonten looked about uneasily, as if he expected to see armed men
dash out from under the cover of the trees. His eyes snapped back to Hvandi.
The priest had come to a halt several oaces from the statue. The young King
seemed animated at last, but gave no indication that he vould move from his
place alongside Gonten.

 
          
"Savanya!"

 
          
Hvandi's
voice split the silence of the grove, ausing Gonten and several of his men to
start. Tie Prince saw the glowing fire brighten in the iriest's eyes, and
looked away.

 
          
"We
have a score to settle, goddess, you and I, and so let us begin!"

 
          
The
priest lifted his hands and a fiery ball appeared between them. His body rigid
with the effort it took to control the power he had unleashed, Hvandi drew back
his hands and flung the blazing sphere toward the statue.

 
          
And
that was the last thing Prince Gonten remembered seeing with his physical eyes.

 
          
Irdun
recognized Yslinda, standing between two trees at the very edge of the grove,
but knew the other men saw her only as one more tree. His heart sang at this
simple manifestation of the goddess' power. And when the priest flung his fiery
weapon toward the statue of Sa-vanya, Irdun wanted to laugh at the futility of
the effort.

 
          
But
suddenly, there was nothing left to see but the golden eyes of the Owl.

 
          
Light
met light—fiery light opposing that seemingly fashioned from the stars.

 
          
Winds
tore through the grove: a rush of winds bent the trees about, sent leaves
scattering before its coming. From out of the heavens, on wings too vast to be
viewed in this world, the Owl descended in thundering silence.

 
          
Waiting
for the Owl was no longer the priest, but a giant serpent, raised up on its
coils, swaying back and forth, its gaping jaws opened to reveal fangs that ran
with fire. The two mystic beasts grappled, the Serpent trying to snatch the Owl
in its coils, and the Owl attempting to clutch the Serpent with its talons.

 
          
Encased
in her enchanted armor, Yslinda watched the conflict, unable to do anything
save pray. The Owl and the Serpent closed again, both existing in some other
world, yet visible to those who had eyes to see.

 
          
The
winds howled.

 
          
The
Serpent's coils entrapped the Owl, and Yslinda heard a shout of triumph from
the Asketian priest.

 
          
But
the Owl became Light—a light that consumed, that strove to tear the Serpent
from its human base.

 
          
A
scream filled the night. Ripped from Hvandi's throat, it echoed down the
worlds. Yslinda barely noticed the Prince and his men, fallen to the grass.

 
          
Only
the King stood steadfast, his face shining in the Owl Light.

 
          
Shapes
bent in upon other shapes, vistas of worlds she did not understand warped each
other into worlds even more indefinable. The winds howled
,
the winds sang, the winds blew the unclean light away, spinning down the
spirals of conjoined universes into a nothingness that could not be seen, only
sensed.

 
          
And
suddenly, silence.

 
          
The
grove stood as if nothing had happened, is if some titanic battle had not just
been waged.

 
          
Yslinda's
eyes filled with tears as she watched he Owl settle silently on the edge of
existence, the glitter of starlight in its eyes. It slowly folded its wings,
tilted its head, and faded as a dream upon waking.

 
          
And
its light faded with it, to find a new home in Yslinda's heart.

 
          
Freed
from her enchantment, she joined the King, whose eyes were still filled with
the wonder of what he had witnessed. The expression on his face let her know
none would ever see this King as a boy again. Tonight, consumed by wonder, he
had been made a man.

 
          
Prince
Gonten stirred, lifted his head and looked confusedly around. His men had
vanished, leaving behind only their swords and shields. The Prince's face was
haggard in the moonlight, as if he had seen more than he had ever wanted to.
The King extended a hand and, shaking
uncontrollably,
the Prince took it and stood.

 
          
"A
lesson, Prince," the King said, his voice seeming to have deepened since
sunset.
"A lesson for all to learn.
Never place
your faith in someone who wields heaven's powers for his own end."

 
          
"The
goddess has no quarrel with the sun lord," Yslinda added, standing at the
King's right hand. "She has no dispute with any save those who walk in
Darkness. And your priest, though he held himself out as mouthpiece of the sun
god, was in league with those shadows." A small smile touched her lips.
"By now your peo-pie will know what has happened on this island. Remember
it. Leave us to our own mysteries, and we will leave you to yours. Now, go.
Praise the goddess who has let you live."

 
          
Prince
Gonten stood unsteadily before the statue of Savanya. His gaze dropped and he
uttered a groan of fear. With a muttered prayer to whatever god of his was
listening, he fled the grove toward the lake, running as if the fiends of his
nine hells were at his heels.

 
          
Yslinda
looked down at the base of the statue by the goddess' right foot.

 
          
There,
absent from its usual perch on Savanya's shoulders, stood her Owl, its talons
clutching a serpent, the face of which was that of the priest Hvandi.

 
          
Jody
Lynn Nye lists her main career activity as "spoiling cats." She lives
near
Chicago
with two of the above and her husband, SF
author and editor Bill Fawcett. Among Jody's novels are the Mythology 101
series,
Taylor
's
Ark
, Medicine Show, and four collaborations
with Anne McCaffrey: Crisis on Doona, The Death of Sleep, The Ship Who Won, and
Treaty at Doona. Recent works include Walking in Dreamland,
School
of
Light
, and an anthology, Don't Forget Your
Space-suit, Dear!

 
          
IMOH
crept along the blind edge of the crag, trying to ignore the stones rubbing at
his elbows, knees, and bare belly. Though he was slim, there was little room
for him to maneuver. His tanned skin and soft leather pants and shoes were
already gray with
dust,
and his freshly washed and
oiled black hair that he had braided so neatly had been wrenched and twisted
into a mess by the sharp evergreen twigs he'd crawled under. He had never once
cried out, although he guessed strands of his long hair hung from bushes from
here all the way down the cliff. Nor had he made a sound when that last sapling
whiplashed him in the forehead, sending a trickle of blood down into his dark
brown eyes. He must be silent as air. From the shrieks and peeps ahead, the
great eagle was on her nest, feeding her young. If he thought too much about
what he was about to do, his insides quivered. Several times already he had
almost turned around to go back to the village, but that would have been too
much of a disgrace for himself and his clan.

 
          
He
was glad that he had to face his adulthood test by himself. It was undignified
for one of the Eagle clan to crawl on his face with his rump in the air like a
kitten stalking a feather. Worse yet, he would have hated to have anyone know
the fear in his heart. The flat truth was that he was terrified of eagles. He'd
seen them tear rabbits in half, and haul fish out of the river that were almost
too large for him to carry. Imoh would far rather make friends with a wolf or a
wildcat, but his family's totem was the great bird of prey.

 
          
Every
great clan had as its guardian one of ancient animals of the forest. The Wolves
were the leaders. The Wildcats served bravely the warrior class.
Even the loathsome Toad wood for the keepers of the Tribe's wealth,
based upon the legend of the jewel in the head of their name animal.

 
          
Surprisingly,
the Toads were very wise people, as wise as the healers of the Turtle Clan, who
were hermits by the nature of their specialty. The Eagles were the seers. Their
totem saw all, flew over all, and knew things before they came to pass. In
order for Imoh to gain the sight that was his family's gift, he must look into
the eye of the eagle who would be his guardian for the rest of his life. And to
do that, he must brave them in their own habitat.

 
          
Not
that they were difficult to find. The greatest of the eagles, called
Hands-and-face because of their white heads and primary feathers so like
outspread fingers, sat in the very tops of trees, surveying their realm with
those keen, pitiless eyes. The dead trees were their favorites. The eldest wise
man of the Turtles had said it was because the other branches were too pliable
to support them. "The eagle stands most securely upon firm supports, much
as the tribe stands upon the proven strength of its members," Old Heldeh
had said with his eyes raised to the ceiling, speaking as much to the unseen
spirits as to him. "Imoh must find the eagle who shares his vision, climb
up to him, and meet his eye."

 
          
Imoh
himself was like a young tree too green to hold the weight of a Hands-and-face.
His young body, not yet a full man's height, was still more pliable than
mighty. He was growing shoulders on his narrow frame and calves to his legs.
His strength increased daily, and he pushed himself to the extent to which his
muscles were capable. Some of his capers were risky, like jumping from rooftop
to rooftop all around the village circle, but he trusted his body. He knew he could
handle whatever part of his ordeal did not have to do with eagles. Mother
worried greatly about him, but she was a worrier by nature. Imoh was her fourth
child. After three daughters, she hardly knew how to treat a daredevil son.

 
          
"He
needs to acquire steadiness," she complained to Imoh's father, who shook
his head.

 
          
"Eagles
are wild," he said simply. Imoh's mother sighed.