The Destroyer Goddess (26 page)

Cheylan seemed weighed down by the burden of the boy's death, by his failure to protect him. The two of them had talked a long time. He had seemed particularly taken aback by what she told him about her reasons for marrying Baran—and so disappointed by her married status that she'd found his protestations... well, a little embarrassing. She hadn't realized the extent of Cheylan's  hopes for the two of them together, and she found herself obliged to make him understand that she could never give him what he wanted. Mirabar would have guarded the secret of Baran's illness in any case, since it was among the things her husband didn't want her discussing with anyone; but she was particularly careful to ensure that Cheylan had no idea that she expected to be a young widow. She didn't want to give him any reason to hope for a future with her.

She cared about Cheylan, but that was all. And she already knew she would never marry a second time without love. It was more than her heart could bear again.

"
What
news from the east did Cheylan bring?" Baran prodded, reclaiming her attention.

"Oh! Mostly about Jagodan shah Lironi's triumphs and defeats. Verlon's suspicions about Kiloran. The pilgrims going to Darshon from every part of Sileria."

Cheylan had also, she told Baran, agreed to gather Guardian forces and attempt to seize Wyldon's territory before Kiloran—or some other waterlord—could establish control over it. With little energy to spare for new conquests, Baran agreed with the decision she and Najdan had reached about this in his absence.

Now Baran shifted and moved toward the door of the chamber as if he meant to exit. Flooded with purpose in the wake of her vision, Mirabar forestalled his departure by asking, "What did you do besides meet with Dulien?"

"Ah. Well, I haven't killed Dyshon," he said regretfully. Looking tired, he came closer and sat down on the bed. "He's in Cavasar, I gather, which is farther than I felt able to go. Anyhow, safely escaping that region once Kiloran realized I was there..." He shook his head. "If I want to kill Dyshon, I suppose I'll need to think up some way to lure him closer to Belitar."

"What about Alizar?"

"Yes, I made it to Alizar." The Olvara, when asked for help against Kiloran, had said she would need some of the enchanted water flooding the mines of Alizar. Since she couldn't go there to collect it herself, Baran had done it for her. "I'll take it to her later, after most of the household is asleep."

Mirabar nodded, wondering if the Olvara would confide in him. During Baran's absence, Mirabar had told the Olvara the extraordinary secret which was her right to know—that there were other Beyah-Olvari alive in Sileria. Baran's teacher had been so moved that she was virtually incoherent for days, and the exultant chanting and celebration in the subterranean caverns was so loud, Mirabar initially feared that the rest of Belitar's inhabitants might hear it. However, the sound didn't carry that far, through that much rock, and so no one else learned the secret that Mirabar now helped Baran guard here.

The secret which, Mirabar now understood, would help their child become immensely powerful even though Baran wouldn't be alive to teach her anything. Or to corrupt her with his tormented, amoral, embittered soul. 

"Baran..." she murmured, ignoring how ill and exhausted he looked.

"Hmm?" He glanced toward the closed door, evidently anxious to retreat to his own bedchamber—or maybe to seek the relief of one of Velikar's potions.

Mirabar traced the embroidered collar of his tunic, which was now too big for him. "I want this child," she whispered.

His mouth quirked. "I'm a little... tired."

This child would be what Baran could have been. Should have been. Would have been, if fate and a wildly grieving heart had not twisted him into what he was.

She moved closer to him, sliding her hands down his thin torso and under his tunic, seeking his skin. "I'll do all the work," she promised. "Stay."

His eyelids lowered and his breathing started to change. "I won't die in the next few hours," he assured her softly. "We could wait until I'm feeling..."

"Don't make me wait," she murmured against his mouth. 

"Uh..."

Mirabar shrugged out of her own tunic, then pulled her undergarment over her head and tossed it aside. "I'm your wife," she whispered, kissing his neck. "Don't deny me."

"What did you see in that vision?" he asked with a frown, letting her draw him down into the pillows with her.

"I'm not entirely sure," she admitted. "But this child can save me."

"From what?" His eyes closed as she kissed his chest and slid her palms along his ribs.

 "From what I must do." She framed his hollow-eyed face with her hands. "She can even, in a way, save you."

"From Kiloran?" he asked vaguely, his hands starting to tug at her pantaloons.

"From yourself."

His hands went still. He turned his head to evade her next kiss. "I don't need—"

"She can make a new future, and your power in her will be part of that, healing the very wounds that you have inflicted."

Baran shook his head. "There is no such thing as redemption here," he said. "Not in the land of the destroyer goddess."

"You're wrong," she replied. "You could have changed Sileria, Baran. But your heart broke you. So now you will leave behind a daughter to do your work."

"I'm leaving her behind to kill Kiloran in case we fail," he reminded her. "Don't confuse—"

"Yes," she agreed, "but that's not the work you were born for."

"It doesn't matter why I was born," he said stonily, pushing her hands away. "Not now."

Exasperated with him, she said, "You could have killed him years ago—but you couldn't bear to do it, could you?"

"Kiloran?" He scowled at her. "I have tried with all my—"

"No, you haven't," she said. "You've become a living legend over the years. You're one of the strongest waterlords who's ever lived. Yet Kiloran's still alive."

"Because he's even str—"

"Not that much stronger," she persisted. "Not enough. Not if killing him meant everything to you."

"It does! It always has."

Mirabar shook her head, no longer believing this. "You waited until you were dying, until you knew your life was over. Because before that, you didn't want to live without him."

"Even I'm not that crazy," he snapped.

"Yes, you are," she said sadly. "And now you may have waited too long. You may already be too weak."

"
Waited?
" Baran's tone was vicious. His grip on her arms hurt. "Why, pray tell, would I ever have waited,
sirana?
"

"Because you couldn't bear it if Kiloran died and left you alone in the world," she replied with certainty, finally understanding the grieving madman she had married. Baran had ultimately grown demented mourning the loss of his own soul as much as the loss of his wife. "You would have to face yourself if you couldn't spend all your energy hating Kiloran anymore."

"I
have
faced my—" 

"No. You've always told yourself that this is the way you must be, that you have no choice. That he gave you no choice."

He sat up and pushed her away. "I did... I
do
have to be this w—"

"No."

"He
didn't
give me a choice," Baran insisted, his voice suddenly despairing. "Dar didn't give me a choice. And you cannot imagine how I hate Her for it."

"They had nothing to do with it, Baran. It was always
your
choice," she said. "And when you have lived for nothing but vengeance, what's left after you get it?"

"Stop it," he ordered her, rising from the bed.

She clung to his arm and gazed up into his tormented face. "You needed Kiloran too much to kill him. Until you finally knew you'd soon be dead."

"No!" He tried to tug away from her. "I won't listen... Stop.
No.
" He shook his head. "Don't."

"Baran..."

"I could not..." He was breathing hard, his expression stricken, his eyes glittering with reckless emotion. "I could not have been anything else. Don't convince me, when it's much too late, that I could have been something else."

Mirabar found herself pitying him despite the many people he had killed and terrorized during his reign as a waterlord. "I promise you," she vowed, "your daughter
will
be something else."

"My daughter..." His face crumpled and he sank slowly onto the bed again, sitting with his back to her. "My daughter."

"She will be something new," Mirabar vowed. "A woman with the power which has belonged only to men in Sileria. A water wizard raised by a Guardian and the Beyah-Olvari. Baran..." He flinched when she touched him. "She will be the future. The Olvara sees it, and so do I."

 "And I..." Baran sagged in defeat. He buried his face in his hands and sat there like that for a long moment, shutting her out. Finally, his voice muffled, he said, "If you're right, then it's a good thing I'll be dead. It's too late for me. I can't... It's too late for me to become something else, Mirabar."

She said nothing, knowing he was right.

"I chose things..." He nodded slowly. "Yes, I suppose I did
choose
... things that can never be undone. I left parts of myself behind to die, and they can never be resurrected."

Mirabar touched him again. He didn't flinch away this time.

"Give me this daughter, Baran," she urged. "Give her to me before your time runs out."

He lifted his head. "You and I must succeed. Kill him. Destroy Kiloran," he said harshly. "So that she won't have to. So that she..." He took a few gusting breaths before concluding, "So that you can keep your promise. So that our daughter never becomes what I've become."

She sighed and pressed her cheek against his shoulder, relieved that he understood. Glad that he
could
understand.

"And when Kiloran's dead," Baran concluded, "I'll be ready to die." After a moment, he added, "You're right—I'll
want
to die. And then I can finally..."

She heard what he didn't say:
Finally go to her, to my wife, to Alcinar.

Mirabar leaned against him, pressing her breasts against his back, reminding him of what he owed her before he could seek out his love in the Otherworld—if Alcinar was indeed dead, and if Dar granted him such a fate. 

Baran sighed and sagged back against her, understanding her silent demand. Accepting it. Clinging to life to fulfill their mutual destiny. He turned to her, his eyes wild with madness and sorrow, and sought her kiss. His arms came around her with a strength she hadn't suspected he still possessed, and his mouth was urgent upon hers.

A child of fire...

His skin was hot, and she didn't know if it was anger, excitement, or the start of a fever which would further weaken him. His kisses were hungry, as if he sought her life force to keep him alive just a little longer, just long enough to destroy his enemy and sire his heir.

A child of water...

They touched each other with a familiarity which seemed unthinkable, even bizarre, whenever they weren't alone in their bedchamber, naked and entwined, like this. She clung to him because she must, because it was a destiny more imperative than any dictates of her heart. And there were thoughts, needs, longings she would never bring to her marriage bed, because they had no place here.

A child of sorrow...

His bitter heart engulfed her, and for once she did not shy away from his torment, not even from his madness. She let his terrible sadness consume her, let his heart wail inside her, let his hopeless yearning and insane bloodlust pour into her even as his seed did. The seductive cold of his power washed through her, flooding her senses, filling the vessel which Dar had chosen for his immortality. And Mirabar, who finally understood why Baran, of all men, must father her child, welcomed him.

Fire and water, water and fire...
 

Flame and ice mingled in her veins, in her blood, in her womb. She moaned and writhed beneath him, burning and boiling as the gift was given and taken, crystal-bright and lava-rich. The waters of eternity and the fires of the Otherworld, the ebb and flow of man and woman, the mingled heat and chill of passion and sorrow, of trust and enmity coursed between them and found a new beginning in her, a new caldera in which to grow and ripen.

After he rolled away from her, she lay still for a long time, staring at the damp-marred ceiling overhead, knowing that Belitar would forever be her home now. 

She thought he had fallen asleep, so she was surprised when he spoke. "There will always be water magic in Sileria." She could hear in his voice that he already knew they had finally succeeded, had finally conceived their child. "Always," Baran repeated. "Tansen can't change that. No one can."

"I know," Mirabar replied, feeling the cool glow in her womb. "I know that now."

Chapter Ten

To rule water is to rule Sileria.

                                    —Marjan