Findel's Embrace

Faro's senses reordered themselves only slowly, and while the vision remained imprinted in his memory, his recollections of what had occurred after he woke were jumbled. It was evening when he left the little house with his mother. Coir was gone already, fetched by the council. The old man had dozed in a chair throughout the day. The memory of his snoring was clear enough.

It had been hours since Coir was called away, but he still sat with the council beneath the pavilion near the center of camp. It was a pleasant evening. Rain had fallen during the day, dampening the grass, but now white clouds scudded overhead, driven on by a fresh breeze and flushed by the lowering sun. As Faro and Jareen approached the pavilion—she grasping his arm—the council stood and bowed their heads in respect. Clearly the pair were expected, for someone had already set out two woven mats. Only after Jareen and Faro had seated themselves did the others settle as well. Faro still did not know any of their names or backgrounds.

"Son of the Daughter of Vah," a vienu said. "We give you great thanks for your victory against the Nethec."

"It was no victory," Faro said. Even he could hear the fatigue in his voice. "It was merely a delay."

Despite his command to quit the war, it was not likely that the company would remain in disorder long. The Synod would grasp their minds afresh, especially as they left the Mingling and drew closer to Findel's Wellspring.

"You drove them mad," a vien said. It was one of the sentinels who had followed him before the fight. His tone was excited. "They fled through the woods naked like crazed beasts. We hunted and slew them for miles."

"You needn't have killed them!" Faro snapped. He hadn't known that would happen. The conflict overwhelmed their minds and shattered their wills. He had not thought to order his mother's followers to leave them be. It was his fault. He'd let more be slaughtered. The memory of the bodies of his prisoners lying slain by Vireel's quthli returned to him.

The sentinel looked at him askance.

"They are foes," he said.

"Did any retain their wits?" Faro asked.

"Some. Perhaps as much as half, but they fled."

"Not all were slain," Coir said. "There are prisoners."

"Of those who kept their wits and begged mercy," the sentinel added warily. "Some were thrown from their vaela in the confusion."

Faro lifted his hand to his forehead, only to lower it when he saw his mother's look of concern. Though his stupor had cleared, the weight of Findel had not. He was still there, pressing against him in the Nethec Current. Faro looked at his hand. The fingers were stiffened, and hardened plaques extended up his arm, a swirling mix of calcified pigments and knobby growths.

"How many?"

"Twenty-three."

So few. Thousands had ridden against them.

"We have little food," the same vienu interjected. "We cannot feed them."

"They suggest killing them," Coir said.

"Or we could send them to the enclaves," the vienu offered hurriedly, looking to Faro instead of Coir.

"That is not practical," the sentinel said. "We cannot spare vien to take them. They are a burden. They would have given us no quarter. We could never trust them not to serve the Nethec. We should learn what we can from them and end their slavery."

"They know nothing," Faro said. "I will provide what food is needed."

"Faro," his mother said. "I do not think you should draw on the Current."

"I am drawing on it right now." It was constant effort to contend with Findel. He needn't always think about it, just as those who extended the embraces of the enclaves did not always dwell on the flow of the Current through them, and yet it worked according to their will. "You will need to leave this place," he continued. "Find somewhere far away, or better, find an enclave willing to take you in."

"We are servants of Vah," another vien said. "This is where the afflicted come."

"You can be servants of Vah elsewhere," Faro replied.

"That is up to the Daughter of Vah."

Faro shrugged.

"I will discuss it with her further."

"This council serves to advise the Daughter of Vah. . . according to her wishes."

There was a pause as everyone looked to his mother. Faro said nothing. Coir kept his face carefully placid, though Faro knew him well enough to see the tension on his brow.

"Prepare to leave," Jareen said.

"To go where?"

"I will let you know. But we will leave."

Faro stood.

"I wish to see the captives," he said. He turned to his mother. "Put them in my hands, to do with as I see fit."

"What will you do with them?" she asked, her brow raised.

"I'm going to send them back to the Nethec," he said.

The sentinel stood.

"So they can fight us again? It is foolishness."

"We are not killers," his mother said. "I am not, and Vah was not. I do not mean to become one."

The sentinel flushed, but bowed his head.

"I seek only to protect you and our people, Daughter of Vah," he said.

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Jareen raised her hand in acknowledgment.

"To seek the Third Way, Vah's Way, we must turn from other paths," she said.

The sentinel sat back down. Faro squinted. Since when did his mother speak like this?

"You may send them back," she said.

"I will take you to them." Coir rose with the aid of his stick.

Faro followed and fell into slow step beside him. It wasn't until they were out of earshot that Coir spoke again.

"Do you know that the Synod forbade any from the Nethec to go to the Mingling, except under orders for war?"

"You've mentioned it," Faro said. The man had mentioned it more than once on long evenings in Vireel's glade.

"It is a command they have reiterated over the years."

Faro glanced at him, knowing the old man would arrive at his point without questions.

"So far as I have found—and I looked into it as extensively as I could when I was in Findeluvié—no exceptions were made." Coir walked took a few more steps before continuing. "Yet every year, a handful of souls would go in search of Vah'tane."

"Vah'tane is said to be in the Mingling," Faro said.

"Exactly. And to the Mingling they went, by all accounts."

Faro knew Coir well enough to know when the old man was telling him something important. The clearing was small, and it did not take long to reach the prisoners at the edge, huddled under the watch of sentinels with arrows on strings. The wretches were bound, sitting cross-legged, their heads hanging. Their feet and wrists were bound, and they did not look up when Faro and Coir slowly approached. The guards bowed acknowledgment at their arrival.

The prisoners might have kept their wits, but they had lost their spirits. No doubt they expected horrors at the hands of the Canaen. He tried to sense them in the Current, but it was difficult. It was the same for the Nethec warriors who had ambushed him and Vireel. It was as if they were barely there unless they grasped the Current. Some of the Canaen did not grasp the Current, either, though it was by choice. They, too, he could not detect unless he knew they were there. His eyes drifted to the prisoners' hands. A few had marks on their fingertips, as if they had grasped the Current.

Faro waited, arms crossed. At last, one of the prisoners looked up at him. The vien's glance fell on Faro's arm. He grimaced and looked away.

"You," Faro said, pointing to him. The vien didn't respond. Faro took a few steps closer.

"Have you grasped the Current?"

The vien did not answer. Faro drew on the Nethec Wellspring, feeling the retaliatory press of Findel. He braced against it, drawing on Isecan's Current as well.

"I am the scion of Aelor and Talanael," he said, using the Nethec accent he learned from his mother. "Have you grasped the Current?"

"Yes."

"How? It is forbidden for you."

"I don't know how. Many of us did." He motioned to the others. "We were sent here for our transgression."

"Where are you from?"

"Piev."

Faro turned to another.

"You?"

"Aelor." The vien did not look up. His hair was dark, like Faro's. Aelor was his father's heartwood. He had never met anyone before—at least, had never spoken with them—from Aelor.

"Did you know any of the High Tree of Aelor?"

The vien shook his head.

"No, liel."

Faro nodded. One by one, he asked the others what heartwoods they came from. Most were from Piev, but there were also a few from Veroi and Tlorné. Only the one was from Aelor. These were the border heartwoods. With more questions, he discovered that they were all from the furthest fringes of their heartwoods. The vien from Aelor lived in the far north, where the heartwood nearly touched the sea. As Faro learned, most of the company had grasped the Current, many without even knowing what they were doing. As a result, they were rounded up and sent to the Mingling.

The picture was clear. Findel was struggling. His Synod was struggling. The Synod was reduced in number. Only six wills remained to wield the Current. So long as Faro lived, two entire High Trees were lost to them. Findel wanted Faro gone because the Synod was losing its grip. They had withdrawn the embrace from Miret and abandoned the Mingling to the cold. They were weak, trying to consolidate their power.

He remembered Vireel's voice:

"Without the Malady, you are my only weapon against the Synod."

Without him. She had told him her goal, but he had not truly comprehended it. She wanted to topple the Synod entirely. Faro knew little of his father, but he knew what he was—a young scion of Aelor, not expected to inherit the blessing. But then the Malady had come. Faro had not know Vireel created the Malady until Jareen told him. She wanted to weaken the Synod, even if it meant the deaths of many of her own people. The plan was a success; it had resulted in the deaths of many of the Synod's scions. But nothing could have allowed her to plan for Faro's existence. That had come to her like a gift. It was a gift she could not let go.

Strange to say, he missed her. Of all those he'd known, she alone understood a little of what he was experiencing. He remembered that night on the northern shore, the warmth of her flesh beneath his hand, and he shuddered. He could never have trusted her. She would do whatever she needed, that was her way.

If he had only understood, things might have been so different. He'd killed her. That was his fault. But she'd attacked his mind. She should have tried harder to explain. Maybe if he'd listened, glimpsed her intention more clearly. . . If they had joined together freely. . .

Then again, if she had told him the truth about the Malady, he could not have accepted it. He still couldn't.

His father's words from the vision returned to him.

"Please, it is suffering."

So much suffering.

"Faro?" Coir asked. Faro remembered where he was. His head was throbbing. How long could one stand such a weight?

"Is there Malady in the Nethec?" Faro asked the prisoners.

"Nethec, liel?"

"Findeluvié," Faro corrected himself. "Does the Malady press it."

The child of Aelor answered again:

"Only in the east, liel, and less than before."

"Has it taken any of the High Liele?"

"Not in many years."

"And their scions? What of them?"

Faro saw muscles spasm on the vien's face. Faro let more of the Current flow.

"The Synod has moved the scions west, to keep them from the Malady," he said. The words clearly pained him.

"Where are they?"

Another grimace contorted the vien's face.

"At the River-Tir of Veroi."

The child of Aelor breathed heavily, sweat dripping down his forehead. Faro had just gainsayed the vien's will. He'd done it through his entire interrogation of the prisoners. It hadn't even occurred to him until after. He'd done it before in the north, but he'd thought he was saving them, then.

Faro glanced at Coir. The old man arched his eyebrow ever-so-slightly.

"Listen to me," Faro said, turning back to the prisoners. "Listen to your Liel. Vah'tane has been found, and with it a cure for the Malady. Its secret is held by the Daughter of Vah. I command you to tell all within the Nethec to come and seek Vah'tane. Let those sick come and seek a cure."

"Can this be true?" the child of Aelor asked.

Faro hesitated. He had lied so easily. When had that happened?

"Go home," Faro said. "And tell everyone you meet my words. This is my command."

The sentinels looked at each other in confusion. Faro turned to them.

"Let them go. This is by command of the Daughter of Vah."

"The secret of Vah'tane is known?" one of the sentinels asked. "Is it true?"

"All who come in peace should be welcomed," Faro answered. "Now cut them free."

When the ropes were severed, he waved his hand toward the prisoners. "Go," he commanded. The prisoners rose, looked around in disbelief, and jogged for the path in a tight huddle.

As they walked back to Jareen's house, Coir turned to him.

"I have an idea where Vah'tane is, but I do not know. Do you?"

"Less than you, I suppose."

"So it was deception."

"It was."

"You told her to leave this place. How will they find her?"

Faro heard the note of accusation in the question. The truth was, he didn't expect them to find Jareen. If the Synod did not gainsay his command as soon as the prisoners fled west, then it might stir disorder in the Nethec. Disorder would only help him. If what Coir told him was true, the Synod might have a weakness when it came to Vah.

Such were his thoughts. What he said was different:

"Is it real? I know you always believed it without question."

"No, my lad. I believe nothing without question. I have questioned it many times. I am persuaded. I am satisfied to die in the hope of its truth."

"And if you die in a false hope?"

"I would regret nothing."

"I'm not sure I can understand."

"There was a time when I could not prove the Currents were true, yet you have lived every moment of your life knowing. So I am not sure you can understand. Not unless you find something greater to believe in than what you have."

"Would Vah'tane be greater?"

"Yes, if Vah spoke true."