Silver mage, p.78
Silver Mage, page 78
So many lives depended on him. Even now the prophecy was done, he was still not free. At the last moment he had discovered something he wanted just as much but he could not take it. He felt the crack that ran through him, cleaving him in half. Because he could not walk away, he could not abandon the dragons to follow his heart, but a part of him would always remain here, in this moment, when the choice still remained to him.
‘There are so many dangers before them.’
Darred and his fleet filled his mind. They would burn their way across the southern states of his homeland to the Istelan, and from there they would threaten the newly-united North.
‘There will always be dangers.’
‘I could help them.’
His presence would be a foil to the magic of Darred’s priests, for they would not relinquish the devices that gave them control of their army. But there he could only counter the magic. With Silverwing he could waken the dragons from which they drew their power. With Silverwing he could, in time, break the connections that linked them.
‘You have helped them, Æisoul. Now they must go on without you.’
The mage turned to him. ‘I am Aarin.’
Silverwing met his angry gaze steadily. ‘You always were. Yet long before you were Aarin, you were Æisoul as the dragons named you. You cannot now be both.’
Aarin choked back a bitter laugh. ‘I have no choice, have I?’
‘There is always a choice. But the link between us cannot be dissolved this side of death, and that is not a decision you have a right to make.’
‘Then what choice is there?’ Silverwing felt his anger, his frustration, and shared it. Though they were no longer one, they were Joined, and what Aarin felt, he felt. ‘I cannot foreswear the Joining, nor abandon your people, but neither can I go back.’
‘You can’t change what you have done but you may remain here if you wish,’ the dragon answered. ‘The Joining has been made whole and the world will be renewed, but if you do not embrace the gift and perpetuate the cycle there will be no new generation. Eventually you and I will die and there will be no others to come after. The moment will have passed.’
‘That is no choice at all.’
The dragon bowed his great head, the light shimmering on his silver scales. ‘Yet that is the choice you must make.’
Again Aarin turned away, again he looked down at the world. Below him lay his old life, and the people he loved. The desire to go with them was strong, to forget, to live as they did, but he knew he could not. Behind him was everything he had ever wanted.
Silverwing waited, his patience endless. He would not push, or persuade, but his very presence was enough. Reluctantly Aarin turned back.
Through the open channel of the magic that bound them together, the dragon sensed the moment of his resolve. If he had been a man he would have held his breath, afraid to speak, but he was not, and he did not fear to speak for he knew that Aarin could not yet do so for himself. So, he asked, ‘Will you come with me?’
It was Kallis who felt the change first, a chill shiver running down his spine as he felt eyes on him. He stiffened, raising his head to look past Jeta, and he saw them. Where before there had been only rubble, the great silver dragon now rested, and by his side, sheltered by his wing, stood Aarin. Aarin, bruised and hurt and covered with dust, but alive.
Kallis’s fingers tightened in Jeta’s hair, and it felt as though he stopped breathing. He did not understand, and he dared not believe. Neither dragon nor mage moved, but Aarin’s eyes were locked on his and beneath their silvery glaze he saw his friend. Ever so slowly he began to rise, taking Jeta with him yet keeping her head turned from the strange vision, but as they stood she pulled away from him, her eyes searching his face. What she saw there made her frown, and before he could stop her she was turning.
Then she saw him.
Jeta froze. For a moment she felt nothing. Just like Kallis, she could not believe the evidence of her eyes. Moments before she had been grieving for him and now here he stood, silently watching her, and she felt nothing. She wanted to touch him, to confirm that he was really there, but something held her back. He was too still, too silent, and she could not cross the distance between them. Even as the joy began to flush through her she sensed the shadow of another parting and it threatened to tear her heart in two all over again.
She watched him, her eyes huge in her pale face. He was standing by the flank of the silver dragon, staring back at her, his clothes torn and smouldering, streaked with blood. She let her gaze travel up to his face, taking in every bruise, every graze that marked familiar features, trying to match this image with the man she loved who was now so changed, who had died and was now returned. He had not moved, nor spoken, and as she met his gaze she saw the sheen of tears in his silver-bright eyes. There was such sadness in them, such loss, and a heavy weight settled in her chest.
She could not bring herself to speak as the awful realisation yawned empty and deep. He was leaving her. More than union with the dragon now stood between them. She had thought to share him, to give up that part of him that belonged wholly and utterly to another and be content with the part of his love he could still give to her. She had not realised that he would truly leave. The realisation that this parting was forever almost brought her to her knees.
Motionless, Aarin held her entire attention, his eyes begging her to understand. She looked up into the black depths of the dragon’s obsidian gaze, seeing there the reflection of Aarin’s grief, and knew that he had found his future and there was no place in it for her. She had lost him to this majestic creature, just as she had always feared she would.
There were so many things she wanted to say, so many things she wanted him to know, but the most important he knew already.
At last she forced her leaden limbs to move, taking a step forward, then another. As she moved she saw a tremor run through him. His hand came up, reaching out to her, and then she was running. Her feet flew over the jagged rocks, scattering splinters of stone, and as her fingers touched his and he reeled her in she felt the dragon fire burst around her. Unleashed at last, his magic lifted her up and embraced her, and this time he opened himself willingly. As her spirit tumbled into his she felt him soaring to meet her, sharing himself completely. But it was not just himself he shared.
As Jeta fell headlong into the link that flowed between Aarin and his dragon she knew he had given her the only gift he could. For an instant he allowed her to join him where she could never go, in the heady euphoria of the Joining. She felt the raw elements as they flowed into him and through him, passing out into the world to breathe life into it as rain renews the drying river. She saw him as he now was, sitting at the juncture of the living elements, bathed in the silver light of the new dawn of creation, and she understood that he was the one thing that tied this newborn world together. Through him the balance would reassert itself, and she understood why he had to go.
Return to me one day, she whispered, and felt him answer with his whole being. Love flowered all around her, enveloping her in its warm embrace until she thought she might lose herself in it. The forging of the bond that had started that night in Amadorn was completed in an instant of perfect union. Then, ever so gently, she felt him release her. The arms that were wrapped around her let go, and she felt him withdraw. She let him go, saddened but triumphant, and felt the coldness of his absence seep into her. When she opened her eyes Aarin was gone.
Epilogue
A dark speck flew high over the desert, scanning the sands below. Two pairs of eyes watched the progress of three tiny figures as they made their weary way over the dunes to the rag-tag army that marched to meet them. Wings thundered, too far distant to hear, as the banners came into sight, the Golden Eagle of Ephenor flying beside the Black Trees of Kas’Tella. And beyond them, far in the distance, the great citadel of Ephenor stood proud, its spires soaring towards the sun, an island of hope in a barren land.
As Silverwing bore his rider through the dawning skies of the new age, Aarin borrowed his eyes. Through the wise gaze of the ancient dragon he watched that bitter reunion—the army come too late to fight a battle far beyond its strength, and the survivors of that almighty conflict. He saw Shrogar slide from his horse and walk the final yards with halting, hesitant steps. He saw Kinseris come to meet him and did not need to hear the words that passed between them. The Lord of Ephenor staggered, clutching the priest’s shoulder for support, and his cry of grief crossed the vast distance and echoed through Aarin’s heart.
Then the others reached them, gathering around in a tight knot. For a moment he lost sight of his friends, then the crowd parted to let another through. Dressed in the livery of their enemy, he addressed Kinseris. The priest shook his head, but the soldier was insistent. As Kinseris began to turn away, Shrogar stopped him. For a long moment those two friends stared into each other’s eyes, no words spoken or needed. Then, still silent, Kinseris turned back. The soldier dropped down on one knee, holding out his sword hilt first, and Aarin willed the priest to take it. The banner of the twin trees dipped, and as Kinseris took the sword, a great cheer rose from the ranks of Kas’Tella’s weary soldiers.
Sedaine was on the balcony overlooking the parade ground when Vianor found her. She came there when she could, to remind herself of the reason she had chosen this path. And she came here also to gaze into the empty skies, searching for a sign that the new world they lived in had not abandoned them, for she already knew the message that Vianor had come to deliver. She had known it for days, deep in her bones. They were coming.
‘How long?’ she asked the magician without turning. If she concentrated hard enough she could see Nathas’s face upturned towards her in the final moments before the hangman had taken his life. Before she had taken his life. That was why they were here. Because Darred had forced it on them.
‘No more than weeks, my Queen,’ Vianor replied, moving to stand beside her, his eyes also straying to the skies. They could not help themselves, those brief, yearning glances, searching for a sign of what they knew to be true but could not see. ‘The ships landed on the southern coast three weeks ago. By now they will have taken Farnor and it will not be long before the rest of the South follows.’
Weeks. What could be done in that short time that had not already been done?
‘Send word to Elvelen and Naveen,’ she ordered. ‘And to our allies in the East. I want our borders held open as long as possible. Anyone who escapes from the South is to be given sanctuary here. We will need them.’
‘And when they reach our borders?’
She looked at her uncle, her gaze steady and hard. When they reached the Istelan there would be no escape. ‘Then we pull back. Rhiannas must hold the line. If they take the city, they control the gateway to all the North. We make our stand here.’
Vianor bowed his head. ‘As you say, my Queen. It will be done.’
‘Will it?’ She felt the absurd desire to laugh. How could they hope to hold off this armada? All they could hope for was time, though time for what she did not know. For the dragons to come? For her son? A fool’s hope, and she knew it, and yet it persisted. ‘See that it is, my lord. They are coming.’
C M Debell, Silver Mage
