Findel's Embrace

The six members of the Synod stood together, unaware of the company that kept vigil. The Change marred all their faces, their fingers knobbed, their robes lumped at the shoulders atop growths.

"The sons of Talanael and Aelor are beyond our aid."

"When the blessing left them, it broke their minds."

"It has returned to the firstborn. We failed to kill him."

"We did not know it was possible for the blessing to depart."

"I am convinced it was because the cursed-one left the flow of the Current and returned. His birthright has found him again."

"The embrace is heavy. It crumbles on our borders, even with the Mingling abandoned."

"More transgressors grasp the Current in Veroi, Piev, Tlorné. . . even Aelor and Shéna."

"What of the foe?"

"Isecan has not assaulted Miret, though a group of Canaen encamps near the Meadows."

"They are not warriors. The scouts say they built houses."

"It is only a matter of time until the Canaen assault. This may be a supply camp."

"We need not wait. Form the transgressors in company and send them to attack."

"It will be difficult to control them outside of the embrace. We have little influence in the Mingling, now."

"The more of them die, the more of the Current left to us. We must reach equilibrium."

"What if that equilibrium is not strong enough to resist the Canaen?"

"The Isecan Current flows weakly in Miret. It is hardly present in Yene and Lishni. They could not defeat us here."

"The servant of Tirlav, the former Liel Aelor, has requested a boon."

"What?"

"He has asked for command of a company to the Mingling."

"Give him the transgressors."

"Send him to deal with these Canaen near the Meadows. Give them vaela to strike quickly."

"It is best to be rid of the memory of that son of Aelor."

"There are still two heirs, should the cursed-one die."

"There is one scion remaining in Talanael, as well."

"Our situation might be salvaged."

"What of the Malady? It has slowed but not stopped entirely."

"We must protect the heirs."

"Send the afflicted to the Mingling."

"Let all the scions of the High Trees be sent to the River-Tir of Veroi. The embrace is yet strong there, and it is untouched by the Malady."

"Let it be done."

*****

Faro walked in the midst of a procession of sentinels and ancients. He bore his spear in his hand. Near Faro, a sentinel carried his harp and the bag of dhar gifts. They neared the edge of the enclave's embrace, and Faro felt his skin prickle knowing Vireel was so near. He had avoided gazing outward into the Current, not wanting to see her. The trees and brush grew dense near the edge of the enclave, and the path narrowed so that they had to go single file. He saw the light ahead, and the temperature plummeted as he followed the sentinels into the open air. A cold wind blew in from the northern sea.

Beyond the eaves of the enclave, a landscape of dark moss and lichen-covered rocks rolled away, broken here and there by clumps of bushes or crooked conifers. It was bright in the sunshine, and Faro squinted, looking for her amidst the unfamiliar landscape. A year ago, Faro would have felt the chill wind keenly, but after spending the winter with the dhar, he had grown a little more acclimated to the cold.

Faro knew that between the enclaves lay barren ground, left to the natural temperatures and the scouring wind. Vireel had told him that this is what the whole of both Isecan and the Nethec had once looked like. Sometimes, a lone Vien or a small coterie would set up a garden in a small embrace, breaking away from larger enclaves. It was difficult to sustain, and so most of Isecan was divided by these empty spaces, strips of land left as buffers. Though he knew all this, he had never seen the natural landscape before.

One of the sentinels pointed.

"There."

A quthli stepped out from among a cluster of jutting rocks a couple hundred yards away. Two more emerged, and then she came. She still wore the hooded robe she'd worn the last time Faro had seen her. She approached alone, leaving her quthli behind.

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The vienu ancient stepped up beside Faro.

"Keep your word. We will watch from here."

Faro looked at her. There was honest concern in the clench of her jaw and the narrowed set of her eyes. He had nothing to say, so he didn't. It was too late to change course. His heart pounded, and he took a breath to try to steady himself. She would not leave him be. He felt certain of that. The wind blew cold against the sweat on his brow as he started to walk toward her. Now he reached for the Current. Within the strong flow of Isecan's Wellspring, he sought what little eddies of the Nethec Current might have flowed so far. There wasn't much. He had never been so close to the Wellspring of Isecan.

They drew close. He could see the uncanny loveliness of her marred features, and the placid shape of her mouth. At last, the two halted. Faro forced himself to meet her eyes and those unsettling irises of Change-melded yellow and violet. Surely, beauty did not always bespeak goodness. Vireel's gaze shifted down to the weapon in his hand, and the faintest flicker of confusion crossed the parts of her face that yet moved.

"You have stories, now," she said.

Of all the things Faro had imagined her saying, this was not one. He didn't reply.

"I look forward to hearing them," she added.

"You won't."

She took a step closer, and Faro stepped back.

"Falo," she said, extending her hand palm upward. "I wanted to say that I am sorry. Perhaps you were right. This war. . . it has made me lose sight."

Faro stared at her. The wind snapped the edge of her robe, and as the fabric pressed against her form, he saw the outline of her sword beneath. But then, she always wore a sword, though he'd never seen her use it.

"Why did you come here?" Faro asked.

"There is nowhere within the reach of the Current that I could not sense you. You burn like a lamp in the darkness."

"That is not what I asked."

Vireel made an expression that might have been a smile, if her face could yet move as anyone else's. On her Change-stiffened lips, it looked more like a grimace.

"To speak with you. To apologize. . . can we not go somewhere and talk without all these eyes? These people do not care about you."

"I will go nowhere with you," Faro said, although he doubted himself. She appeared remorseful. Was that possible? She had helped raise him. Should he not hear her out? He did not feel her reaching toward him with the Current.

"We can go to your mother. I know where she is."

Faro almost asked if his mother was well, but he kept himself from it. How could he ever trust her again?

"I will go to her myself."

"Let me come with you."

Faro looked past her at the three quthli watching from a distance. Their long hair swirled in the wind.

"Where are the rest of your quthli?"

She shrugged.

"I did not need them."

Need. That was her way. The quthli were useful to her or not. In all his years in her glade, he had never seen her speak to a quthli, or show any sign of interest. She played upon their minds, that was all. How different from Coir, who had learned their language and shared their meat, vile as it was. Maybe she had left the rest of her quthli behind at some camp, but it didn't matter. It was the same with him; she must still think him useful.

Maybe he was wrong, but he could never trust her. Vireel had her purposes. Faro would not be one.

"We are done. I want you to stay away from Jareen and Coir. Don't come near them or me."

"Falo, please!" she said. "Do not let your anger cloud your vision. Together we could end the Nethec."

"I will not help you. My answer is no. Forever no."

Vireel's gaze shifted toward the eaves of the enclave and the watchers there.

"What did you promise them?" she asked.

Faro did not answer. It felt foolish now to think he had bargained to kill her. He did not want to kill her. To be free of her, yes, though even now he questioned it.

"The Synod has withdrawn the embrace from the Mingling. They have even abandoned Miret, forbidding the Trees there to flee. Thousands died in the winter. The war has nearly ceased." A fresh sense of danger grew in Faro. There was some point to her speech, some plea to come, but he could not guess it.

"Maybe it is time to let it cease."

"The Synod is weak, but now that they have withdrawn, the Malady is scarce among them. They may rid themselves of it entirely. Without the Malady, you are my only weapon against the Synod."

"Why not let it be? Let the war cease."

"They still enslave our people."

"You sought to enslave me."

"Better one than a whole nation. It all comes down to force of will."

The rush of her strength struck him like a gale, and he reeled, fighting for his mind as the torrent washed over him. He had kept his grasp on the Current in readiness, but still he struggled to resist. His vision went dark as if he'd been knocked free of his own body. He raised his spear ahead of him blindly. At least, he hoped he raised it.

She was trying to take his mind not with subtlety but with sudden overwhelming force. There were traces of the Nethec Current in the attack. She was drawing on both, as was her way, and while there was little of Findel's Current that reached so far east, she had grasped it. Faro grasped it back, and it responded to him, turning from her to him. He felt hints of that distant weight. There was not enough, not enough to free his mind.

Yet near him, there was more, much more, trapped inside the living steel. Within it dwelled the mingled powers of the Nethec, of Isecan, and of a vent in the deeps of the north, every Current to which the living steel had been exposed. One of them, she did not know. He reached out to it.

Fly.

Faro fell to his back, hitting the rocky ground hard. White pain flashed in his vision. He raised an arm over his face as if to ward a blow, but none came. Struggling to sit up, he squinted. Vireel was on her knees, her hands wrapped around the shaft of the spear, its blade buried in her chest. A rivulet of blood ran down the haft.

Faro struggled into an upright position, hands on his thighs, breathing hard. Vireel's breaths came in pained rasps, and then with a spasm they stopped. She crumpled onto her side. He reached out to her with the Current, but he did not find her. Across the rocky ground, the quthli turned and fled west in their strange lope.

Faro's head throbbed, and he reached up. There was a bump forming where he had struck a rock, but his fingers came away without blood. His thoughts came slowly as he tried to breathe, staring at her body. Not long ago, three people had made up his unnatural Tree—the only Tree he'd ever known. She'd been one of them.

"I do not understand."

Faro looked to the side and saw the vienu ancient standing there. Others arrived to stand around him. He ignored her question, rising unsteadily to his feet. Carefully, he approached Vireel. The living steel had lodged in her heart, driven there by the Current, itself. The blood had run down to the bottom of the haft, and he was loath to touch it, but he could not leave the spear. She was gone, so he wiped the haft of the weapon with the edge of her own robe before he pulled it free.

"We do not understand how it was done," the vienu said. They had followed him to her body. He didn't want to talk to them. He didn't want to look at them. He wanted to get as far away as he could, but part of the bargain was yet undone. He turned to the vienu ancient.

"Bring me your afflicted."