The Dagger of Adendigaeth (A Pattern of Shadow & Light) (67 page)

“I faced the one called Rinokh,” he admitted quietly, feeling suddenly tense and furious again, the feelings from that night so immediately resurrected. His failure there rankled, his mistakes unreconciled. “Until that moment, I did not believe. I still don’t know how to believe it…nor how I didn’t see them before.”

“You forget the Fifth Law,” Jaya advised.

“A wielder is limited by what he can envision,” Raine spoke the painful truth.

She turned to him, leveling a telling look. “The First Lord’s vision has no limits, Vestal. Remember you that.”

“Jaya, come—it is time,” Naiir said, joining them at the railing. He pointed to the east, where the first explosions of color were gracing the sky. The Iluminari at work.

The other
drachwyr
filled in around them, such that Raine stood between Jaya and Naiir, with Ramu’s tall form just behind, easily watching the display over and between their heads.

“They do good work this year,” Balaji said approvingly. He stood on Jaya’s left, between her and Mithaiya.

“The Iluminari are a boon to us,” Jaya told Raine while the fire-candles blossomed in fabulous explosions below them. “Otherwise the people would expect
us
to provide this entertainment.” At Raine’s curious look, she sighed and muttered, “The males enjoy evoking such violent displays of the fifth, but I find the exercise tedious.”

“Jaya would prefer we had
no
excitement,” Naiir complained. He leaned around Raine to view his sister as he commented, “There is no miraculous edification to be gained in sitting on your tail for eons contemplating infinity.”

“Nor in bedding every female that comes within distance of your seed,” Jaya remarked imperiously.

“But one is certainly more fun,” Naiir returned with a sharp grin.

To which Balaji inserted, “Jaya, that’s unfair. Naiir may have loved many women in his long life, but he
loved
each of them as surely and deeply as you have delved into your own search for infinity.”

“Thank you, brother,” Naiir remarked, sounding vindicated. He told Raine then, “Jaya is just jealous that nine Kandori princedoms trace back to my loins. She would have us all celibate or impotent, or both.”

“Perhaps if you didn’t take such perverse pleasure in recounting all of your escapades in excruciating detail.”

“Jaya, I
am
the paterfamilias.”

“Bastardizing an entire race of humanity can hardly be considered
familial
,” she retorted.

“This is hardly an appropriate conversation for the Solstice,” Ramu muttered.

“Do you hear this, Balaji?” Naiir complained. “You and Ramu destroyed the entire city of Nab Kaleer in an argument over your precious wine-making skills and received naught but a raised eyebrow from her, but I sire a few princedoms and suddenly I’m anathema.” He gave Jaya a frustrated glare. “I
provided
for them all.”

“They don’t seem to mind being princes, Jaya,” Mithaiya offered in Naiir’s defense.

“You always take his side, Mithaiya,” Jaya grumbled. “I cannot believe you are my sister sometimes.”

Raine was beginning to feel trapped within a den of wolves who by stroke of grace hadn’t yet noticed him but which provident condition he feared might be reversed at any moment. Luckily Carian arrived just in time.

“Winds blow me proper!” the pirate declared loudly as he came out onto the balcony a little further down. Following behind the pirate, Rhakar was a shadow of malcontent—his decidedly unfriendly thoughts preceded him on the currents.

“Ah, here is our pirate friend now,” Ramu remarked. “And still in one piece. I am most impressed with Rhakar.”

“You never give him the benefit of the doubt, Ramu,” Jaya lamented with a sigh.

“Of course I do, Jaya. Otherwise I would never have entrusted him with the pirate’s safety.”

Said pirate having availed himself of the spectacular view, Carian swaggered over to the group. His eye immediately caught upon the dark-haired, exotic Mithaiya. “My aren’t you a lovely chase.” He looked her up and down with a wanton grin. “And what would your name be, poppet?”

“
Amithaíya’geshwen,” she returned, eyeing him dubiously.

“Amithaíya’ge
shwen.” Carian repeated the complicated name with perfect precision, letting it roll off his tongue like a fine wine. “I could enjoy saying that name if I had you pinned beneath me at the time.”

Mithaiya regarded him narrowly. “I have eaten men like you.”

“Really?”  He gave her a lustful grin. “Because I’m sure I’ve never eaten a woman like you.”

Raine couldn’t be sure, but Mithaiya may have actually blushed.

“Which one were you?” the pirate asked, stepping closer to her as he brushed a lock of her dark hair off one lovely shoulder. “Were you the one with the really long tail?  Because that could be interesting…”

The Iluminari show was yet ongoing, but the others began to disperse, with Naiir and Jaya still bickering.

Feeling acutely aware of the power wielded by his current companions, Raine thought he understood why Ramu had told Carian he might regret spending the evening with the
drachwyr
. It wasn’t that their sibling banter was disturbing. It was because these vastly powerful creatures were throwing around thoughts at each other, and each and every thought landed with force.

Raine could see the currents stirring in the wake of their communication, like a still pool ruptured by a shower of pebbles, myriad ripples expanding outward. And the
stories themselves
… Naiir had sired
nine
Kandori princedoms? Ramu and Balaji were behind the destruction of Nab Kaleer? The city had been a treasured center of learning before the last cataclysm—which facts now placed that incidence itself into question.

“Vestal, a word if I may?”

Raine turned at Ramu’s voice to find the Lord of the Heavens extending another glass of wine for him. He accepted it and arched a brow inquiringly. “I take it this is one of your vintages?”

Ramu settled him a slightly pained look. “Naiir often trivializes our endeavor, but the crafting of a fine wine is a noble undertaking requiring skill and concentration. A fitting use for our talents.”

Raine regarded him in wonder.

Ramu indicated they might walk a little, and they wandered away from the others toward the far end of the balcony.

“We
drachwyr
speak freely amongst ourselves,” Ramu noted as they walked side by side. He stood easily a head taller than Raine, but his imposing build was the least of his qualities, for Ramu’s presence was such that one could not stand near him and not feel the power of his being radiating outward. “I would that you know we are not without remorse for the mistakes we’ve made,” Ramu continued, “though they may be mentioned blithely in this company.”

“I am hardly one to judge.” 

Ramu cast him a sage look. “We all make mistakes. It seems the longer we live the more mistakes we have to live with. One would think wisdom brings one to err less, but logic dictates that wisdom is more often gained through our errors than through those choices which meet with simple conclusions.”

Raine did not for a minute think Ramu was telling him this as justification for anything the
drachwyr
had done. He was opening the door for Raine to accept his own mistakes. What Raine knew the Lord of the Heavens didn’t understand was that he’d made so many unforgivable mistakes, he was sure he would drown before he swam to the other side of them.

Raine was silent for a long time, and Ramu did not intrude on his thoughts. Finally, the truthreader confessed, “I’m not sure I have the fortitude to swim that ocean.” 

Ramu received this statement with kind regard. “The First Lord likes to say there are different kinds of courage,” he told him philosophically, lightening the topic with a smile and a wave of his goblet. “There is courage on the battlefield. There is courage in facing known opponents, and a different kind in facing unknown ones. There is courage in trusting to faith, and courage in persisting on a given course despite all odds.” He paused and looked to Raine, capturing his gaze with his own. “But the First Lord says there is also courage in accepting one’s own wrongness, and often this is the deepest and most difficult form of courage to muster, for laying claim to one’s own misdeeds is to confront the accumulated pain not only of one life but often of many.”

Far below, streams of gold flowed along the city streets as revelers prepared their candles for the symbolic opening of the Extian Doors. Raine knew Ramu only told him the truth, but he also knew that there was a canyon of difference between knowing the truth and accepting it.

Ramu placed a heavy hand on Raine’s shoulder. The man was showing him uncommon compassion, and Raine was both grateful and appalled by it—appalled that he needed it so desperately…appalled that his past actions gave cause for it at all.

“Facing your own wrongness without letting the knowledge of it destroy your character,” Ramu advised as Raine stared with clenched teeth out over the sparkling city, “…without deciding that it is now the wrongness that must ultimately define you…this is courage in its purest sense.”

Raine closed his eyes and tried to muster his composure. Below, in the city, bells began to ring and a cheer erupted, carrying to them joyously even so high above. Finally, as the gathered masses below began their chant—‘
Epiphany show us the way! Cephrael show us the way!’
—Raine gathered himself enough to respond with naked, painful honesty, his voice a hoarse whisper, “I do not know if I have such courage.”

“If you did not,” Ramu replied solemnly, “the First Lord never would have brought you here.”

“Tis not the deeds but the decisions that haunt us through the ages.”

- The Adept wielder Marius di L'Arlesé,

High Lord of Agasan

Ean and Isabel
returned to Niyadbakir just in time to change and join Björn for an intimate Solstice dinner. The last night of Adendigaeth was upon them, and across the realm, people were rejoicing.

Having dressed for the celebration in a sanguineous jacket worked in gold, a companion to the gown Isabel was wearing, Ean headed uneasily to dinner with Isabel at his side. He was anticipating any number of gruesome reprisals from the First Lord for his utterly reckless and completely impetuous actions.

It wasn’t just that he’d slept with Björn’s sister out of wedlock; rather, he had the sense to suspect that the First Lord might not appreciate his working a complicated, dangerous and irreversible pattern upon his sister, especially without anyone’s approval or so much as a ‘by your leave…’ Especially being so newly returned to his talent.

They were to meet and dine that evening on one of the many bridges that connected the varied halls, libraries and galleries of Björn’s personal apartments. Framing a delicate arch, this particular bridge connected two towers overlooking the city hundreds of paces below. Wide enough for four horses to walk abreast, the lovely white bridge was made even more magical by the hundreds of tea candles that had been set out in celebration of the Solstice. The tiny lights covered every spare inch of the alabaster bridge, as well as the walkways beyond, and the area glowed as brightly as the moon.

Björn awaited them on the bridge. He stood to receive them, giving his sister a kiss on both cheeks. “May we meet in the Returning, Isabel,” Björn said, blessing her with the traditional Solstice greeting.

“And know each other by Epiphany’s grace, dearest brother,” Isabel returned with an adoring smile.

Björn took Ean by the shoulders and hugged him warmly, saying again, “May we meet in the Returning, Ean.”

For the prince, the words had never before held such meaning. “And know each other by Epiphany’s grace, my lord,” he finished solemnly. He met the man’s gaze, holding his breath in anticipation, but Björn merely nodded and smiled again, bidding Ean to take a seat.

The three of them enjoyed their wine while the courses were served. The First Lord was a most amiable and gracious host, but Ean wasn’t fooled into thinking the man ignorant of his and Isabel’s tryst, and the anticipation of certain reprimand made the prince as jumpy as a long-tailed cat in a pen of wild horses. During the soup course, Ean dropped his spoon twice and nearly knocked over his wine.

Each time, Isabel had responded with a private little smile beneath her blindfold, but Björn merely acted as though Ean’s clumsiness was completely natural after having visited the near edge of the known universe. For his part, Ean rather thought the wind at the unraveling fringe of existence felt a quaint summer breeze compared to the force of the Fifth Vestal’s omniscient gaze leveled in forbearance. Indeed, every time Ean’s eyes met Björn’s, he knew—
knew
—that the Vestal was purposefully tormenting him with his tolerance, patience and understanding.

They’d just finished a course of roasted duck stuffed with figs and apricots when full night descended and the stars suddenly seemed to pop to brilliant life. “Ah…perfect timing,” Björn announced as he placed his napkin upon the table. He pushed from his chair and motioned them to follow him to the wide stone railing. “Come, see—the celebration begins.”