The Dagger of Adendigaeth (A Pattern of Shadow & Light) (78 page)

Ean seemed to relax somewhat, but the currents still surged around him.

After a moment, Isabel murmured, “Perhaps you might release the fifth, my darling, as a show of faith in Raine’s veracity.”

Ean looked to her as if seeing her for the first time, and Raine realized then just how much danger he was in. Ean was so enwrapped in the fifth that he might’ve snuffed Raine like a candle with the least provocation, with the slightest misstep toward Isabel.

And if Ean feels thusly toward her, imagine what her own brother must feel.

Suddenly the idea of Björn allowing any harm to come to Isabel was utterly unimaginable. How could he and Alshiba have been so deceived, so misled by their own hurt and confusion? How could they have let themselves forget everything they knew to be true about these dear friends whom they’d once respected so deeply?

Raine resurfaced from these thoughts to notice with some relief that Ean had finally released the fifth.

“I’m…sorry,” Ean said then, clearly meaning it.

Raine shook his head, his diamondine gaze serious and thoughtful. “We have both come through a long journey to reach this moment, I suspect. But we are not at odds, Ean. Not anymore.”

Ean nodded, and Raine saw a darkness leave his gaze. “I’m relieved to know that. It has been…difficult, this feeling that I betrayed everyone.”

Raine regarded him soberly. “I suspect the others will have to work through their own confusions, even as we continue to do.” He looked to Isabel then and gave her a grateful look. As painful as it had been, there was edification in confessing one’s heart to Epiphany’s Prophet.

Isabel preempted his next statement by saying, “You must go to him, Raine.”

“I know,” the Vestal returned grimly. “I have an idea where I might find him.”

“I expect that you do.”

Thus did Raine take his leave of Isabel van Gelderan and her true love, and although the encounter had been shocking and painful and altogether immensely uncomfortable, as he left the cloister, Raine felt a lightness of spirit that he had not known since before Tiern’aval fell.

***

Carian walked in dreamscape. Somewhere on the vast distant plain, Dagmar worked his talent, weaving the pirate into the blank canvas of his dreams. Now that he’d arrived, however, Carian wasn’t sure what to do. Dagmar had explained that the closer Carian got to Gwynnleth’s dreams, the more the world would assume focus, but right now Carian saw only formless mist.

“Birdie!” he called for lack of anything better to say. “Oh, birdie!”

In the silence that followed, Carian tried not to feel the fool. It wasn’t that he had any great love of the avieth—or so he told himself—but she was…well, special. Anyone could see that, surely. And she didn’t deserve an end like this. The avieth was a warrior—Carian had seen that in her from the moment of their first meeting—and no warrior should be left to wither and die in their dreams.

Plus she was courageous, and passable smart…and she had a
really
nice ass.

“Birdie!” he called again, smiling at the appellation he’d created for her. He thought it entirely apt, though she seemed to deplore it vehemently, which only made him use it all the more. “Come my captivating canary!”

Silence. The mist drifted endlessly before his vision, revealing nothing.

Carian took a break from calling her to snarl a few curses. This improved his mood considerably, so he tried again. “Birdie! Now listen up, little bird, my cock-loving cockatiel…I know you’re desirous of my loins now. Don’t be shy! You can watch me banging the lizard tonight if you come now, little lovebird.”

Silence again, but Carian thought he could just make out a mountain in the distance. He took it as a good sign and tried again. And again.

And again.

Though time lengthened, gradually Carian began to see shapes in the fog, and it heartened him, emboldened him—as if he needed such encouragement—so he persisted through the endless hours despite feeling utterly foolish shouting into the mist.

“Birdie!” Carian called for the thousandth time as if it was the first. “Oh, Biiirdeee! Where are you, chickadee? Come to your master now, sweet parakeet. Biiirdeee! Oh biiiiiir-deeeee…”

“Hello, Islander.”

Carian spun to Gwynnleth as the world suddenly exploded into vivid color and form. At first completely shocked, in the next moment the pirate let out a whoop and grabbed her up, pinning her arms at her sides as he swung her around, ignoring utterly her raging, indignant protests.

***

As Raine made his way to the Hall of Games, he reflected on what seemed an ironic twist of Fate
. This was so far from the reunion he had often imagined, where he overcame Björn through strategy and righteousness and Balance chose his side for once; where he brought the Fifth Vestal in shackles before the Council of Realms to answer for all of the crimes Raine and Alshiba had attributed to him.

Raine pushed a hand through his hair, his diamondine eyes intense
. How far he’d come on this journey…how far he’d yet to travel.

But that he’d traveled any distance at all was due to Isabel.

Ironic
, Raine thought again. He did know faith after all. He knew faith in Isabel, and recognizing that he could know faith in any form had somehow allowed him to know other sides of it, too.

He still didn’t see why Björn and Malachai had created T’khendar, but he was willing now, much to his own amazement, to trust that small bit to faith—that Björn
did
have a reason for creating the world, and it was nothing so petty as having his own realm to rule. Nor had he done it simply to show he could—two of the many suppositions Raine and Alshiba had entertained.

No, whatever the reason for T’khendar’s creation, it was essential to Alorin’s survival.

The truth seemed so utterly simple to Raine now. Why couldn’t he have seen it three centuries ago? It seemed a bitter pill to realize, also, that while he could so easily sense the truth in others, this one had eluded him completely.

Absorbed with self-abasements, Raine walked through the Hall of Games, barely noticing anyone else in the vast room, and headed out onto the balcony where he’d spent the Solstice with the
drachwyr
.

That had been an unexpected kindness on Björn’s part, though to be sure there had been purpose in it too. Björn never did anything without purpose stacked nine layers thick.

The day was uncommonly warm and humid, the air heavy and saturated with the promise of rain. Laying his hands upon the railing and gazing out over the deep valley, Raine saw a storm building in the south—a massive wall of charcoal clouds poured over the near mountains and rushed their way. For the first time, Raine observed the world through a different pair of eyes, seeing it for an incredible accomplishment instead of a shocking affront.

Still…it only followed that such a display of power and skill would frighten the very souls out of people.

“
Why…?
” Raine whispered desperately to the world. “Why did he create you?”

But T’khendar kept Björn’s secret close to its bosom.

“This is my favorite view,” Björn offered as he came to stand beside Raine. Even having expected he would come, Raine still started at his arrival, at seeing him in the flesh.
By Cephrael’s Great Book!

The Fifth Vestal settled hands on the carved stone railing, and Raine noted his oath-ring sparkling in the muted light of the rising storm. He wondered if it might be more pure of color than his own. His eyes moved upward from the ring, past Björn’s sky blue jacket to his face in profile, to his patrician features, strong lines framing straight nose, cheekbone and jaw…and finally to his eyes, cobalt blue and intense, gazing earnestly upon the world he had created—for there was no doubt in Raine’s mind but that T’khendar was wholly Björn’s creation despite Malachai’s being blamed for it.

His oath-brother seemed a quiet force beside him, focused and still, harboring all the latent power of a calm ocean at dawn. It surprised Raine to realize he’d missed the familiar—if intimidating—feel of Björn’s presence. He hadn’t looked upon the Fifth Vestal in three-hundred years, yet the man didn’t seem to have changed at all. There was something profound to Raine in that recognition.

Things
were changing for him…shifting…realigning seemingly without his control. Some of the threads of the pattern he’d held so inviolate within his consciousness had unraveled all the way back to their origins.

Raine turned back to the view, swallowed. He felt Björn’s presence emanating as waves washing over him, stirring a deep emotional response.
He fought to keep hold of his composure, clenching his jaw against the force of his own feelings, for there were centuries of thoughts, confusions, frustrations and betrayals represented in this moment.

That he could stand shoulder to shoulder with his oath-brother at all and honestly not want to kill him was incredible. That he could be there willingly wearing the mantle of his own guilt was beyond the impossible. Yet there they both stood.

Words failed him.

“The mountains were Cristien’s idea,” Björn offered, glancing at Raine, who met his gaze but for the flash of a moment and still felt pierced by it. “Malachai wasn’t much of a decorator.”

Raine forced himself to take a deep breath and let it out slowly. Then he asked with careful regard, “Was it all of you, this creation? Everyone on the Council of Nine?”

“It would be unfair to say otherwise. Certainly one man alone could not have harnessed the necessary forces, nor conceived of so many disparate and vast patterns within his own single consciousness. It took all of us, and it was still far from perfect.”

“It looks fairly perfect now,” Raine startled himself by saying.

Björn turned him a smile, and their eyes met again
. Met and held, and more passed between them than ever might be spoken aloud. “That must’ve been hard to say,” Björn offered after a moment.

Raine grunted and looked back to the view, exhaling heavy sigh. “You cannot be surprised to know your plan accomplished its purpose,” he admitted tightly. “I am not the same man who passed through the node a fortnight ago.”

“If you were, I would be supremely disappointed. But I cannot take credit for bringing you here. It was Isabel who demanded it.”

Raine blinked in surprise.

“Dare not imagine much escapes Isabel,” Björn advised with a sagacious glint in his gaze. “I am too often praised—or vilified—for what is only her brilliance.”

The words touched closely upon a painful truth, and Raine looked back to the view with deep feelings of regret battling to claim him now. “Why didn’t you trust me?” he heard himself ask quite against his own volition—the question just burst out of him colored by hurt and anger, spurred by bitter confusion.

Björn gave him a look of gentle apology, sensitive to his fragile state. “It was never a matter of trust, Raine. It was a matter of understanding you, of knowing what
you
could believe. It was simply application of the Fifth Law.” He gave him a compassionate look. “How long did it take you to accept that Malorin’athgul were in our realm actively working to destroy it?”

“Too long,” Raine admitted grimly.

“And how willing would you have been to accept it when they were but a promise darkening the horizon?”

He didn’t have to answer that, for the answer was obvious.

Jaya had the right of it,
Raine thought bitterly, hating himself for his own evident shortcomings, for his failure to envision something broad enough that he might’ve gained Björn’s trust before now
.

“But it’s also application of the Eleventh Esoteric,” Björn added, and at Raine’s questioning look, he explained, “A wielder is limited by what he can envision
himself envisioning
—so says the Eleventh Esoteric. This Esoteric should never be confused with the Fifth Law, for they are not the same. A wielder might envision any manner of things and be great in his application, but he will yet be limited in his scope if he considers there is something outside of his ability, if he considers his power to be
limited
in some way.”

Björn turned to face Raine and leaned sideways against the railing. “Take Malachai.” He opened his palm to the view and the storm now blowing in over them, his blue eyes holding Raine’s gaze captive. “Malachai was not limited in what he could envision. He could envision an entire world, could he not? And make no mistake of it, Raine, Malachai was the focal point for this working—through him, we channeled it all. Yet he was limited in what he could envision
himself
envisioning. He could see a great city, but he could only imagine it formed of the bedrock of the world. He could see a great sky, but it was boiling with the ash of volcanoes newborn. What reason not to raise Niyadbakir already formed of alabaster? If he could create it at all, it follows that he could create it of any stone, any material, does it not?”

Raine nodded, holding his gaze, hearing more than just this story but an entire undercurrent of explanation, of reasoning, of belief.