See Prologue (A) for Disclaimers

Chapter Nine

Sharak watched Ricenne from a distance.  He had come to her house early in the afternoon, intending to speak with her, try to break through the fog that surrounded her mind. . . but in the end, he couldn't bring himself to face the proof of her sacrifice.  It hurt too much.  So he stood at the top of the hill beside her home, watching her in her garden.

His sight was sharp even in human form, so he could see every detail of her face from a hundred yards away.  Her actions were not quite aimless, but she seemed to talk to the air, occasionally stopping her activities to stare off into space, humming to herself.  For a moment or two, Sharak could pretend that everything was all right, lose himself in memories of when they had both been students of the Ancient One.  He remembered how Ricenne would concentrate so intently on one of her experiments, trying to find just the right combination of potions and magick . . .  It was strange, the things he remembered now, given the screen of time to view events.

He had been so focused on the exotic beauty of Amerys' fine bone-structure, her long blonde locks, the depths of her cerulean eyes, that he had never thought of the less-beautiful Ricenne.  The women had been polar opposites in looks and temperament, Amerys leaning towards flashes of anger when a spell went awry while Ricenne was prone to laughter at her own expense.  Amerys had been powerful, her magick calling to his in a way he had never experienced, her intellect sharp as a dagger's blade.

Sharak had been entranced by his own pride and arrogance, as much as he had been by love itself.  To have such a lover, such a wife . . . such a queen.  His affair with Amerys had been intense, wrapped him up in power and magick and attraction, swept his emotions along for the ride with the near violence of their love-making.  It was no wonder that he had never realized how Ricenne felt, despite his friendship with her.  She was only a handful of years Amerys' junior, many years his own senior, yet she had always seemed somehow child-like.  An innocent.  He had thought of her as a friend, as a younger sister -- yet, he realized now, it had always been Ricenne with whom he had laughed.

After the curse, when Pelagia found him and showed him the truth of the Ancient One's actions, he had come to respect Ricenne in a way he had never felt before.  He had seen and felt her struggle to keep Amerys' name and the extent of his relationship with her from the Ancient One, felt the terror and pain the spirit caused as he ripped the information from her mind.  He had seen her fierce determination to survive in the arctic hell the Ancient One had sent her to as part of her punishment.  

And then, five thousand years ago, when they had been reunited and he had traveled with her, spoken with her . . .  She was changed, more mature, far stronger than he remembered.  She was so much more than she had once been, a seeming contradiction since now she had not even a third of the power she had commanded when they first met.  She was more, Sharak found himself thinking, than Amerys had been or could possibly ever be.  She was someone for whom Sharak had grown to feel more than the love of a friend.  In some way, over all these many, many years, he had fallen in love with her.

He had never even admitted it to himself, had buried it deep in his heart and mind so that the impossibility of that love could not hurt.  He had even gone to see Amerys in her caves above the Terron camp, a punishment to himself, a way to flog his emotions away from the greater pain of loving the  right woman.  Ricenne had proven his liberation from the curse that had caused that pain -- only to cause even more.  For now that he  was in human shape again, now that he could finally see past his own pride, now that he could finally act on those long-restrained emotions . . . it was still impossible.

Sharak looked down at the woman in the garden, watched her as she stood and went back inside the house, and clenched his fist against the tree beside him.  The hard ridges of the bark cut into his palm, dug under his nails painfully.  Sharak noticed the pain distantly.  He was unaccustomed to his power or he might have called on it as he used to, and removed the splinters automatically.  The pain did serve, however, to drag his thoughts enough away from Ricenne so that he noticed something else that should have reached his awareness far sooner.

He was being watched.

Sharak tensed, focusing his attention now that he was aware of the watcher, searching for its location.  Her location.  He recognized the subtle blending of energy that marked the girl, Pasha.  He had noticed it yesterday, that oddness that seemed to match her so perfectly, exactly what one would expect from a girl with the eyes of a wolf.  Sharak smiled thinly and called out, "You might as well make yourself seen.  I know you're there."

A snort of derision came from a tree a few yards away.  Sharak turned and looked up to see her crouched at the corner of a high branch and the trunk.  Pasha looked down at him with no sign of chagrin at having been caught.  "'Bout time," she told him.  "I've been watchin' ye for nearly two hours now."

Sharak frowned at her and approached until he stood a yard away, looking up at her.  She remained where she was, apparently quite comfortable in her chosen perch.  "I didn't think wolves could climb."

"An' I didn' know eagles liked t' wear boots," she returned evenly.  Pasha grinned at him.  "One o' th' good things about bein' human, eh?"

Sharak chuckled, but watched her warily as she descended from the tree by hopping down from one branch to another.  "Why were you watching me?"

Pasha leaped down from the last branch, a good eight feet up, and landed easily a few feet away from him.  "Why were ye watchin' the Elneseyrna?"

Sharak frowned at her.  "It's rude to answer a question with a question."

Pasha grinned at him.  "Then punish me."

Sharak blinked, taken aback by such brazenness from one so young.  He decided to ignore the comment for now; it was safest.  "I was watching her because she was my friend once," he said instead.  He paused, then admitted, more to himself than to her, "And I could not face the price she chose to pay."

Pasha frowned and approached, all playfulness gone from her young face, only curiosity present now.  "Her madness."

"Yes."  Sharak tilted his head as he regarded her.  "You knew something of this before."

Pasha hesitated, then shook her head.  "Not really.  It's jus'. . ."  She looked down at the house below them.  "She's not always like that.  There are moments when she's . . . awake."  She looked at Sharak, who looked stunned.  "Not long," she said quickly.  "Sometimes it's jus' a second or two, like last night.  Sometimes it's a few minutes, sometimes even an hour.  Never more than tha', an' it doesn' happen often.  Mayhap once or twice in a year, three at th' most.  But she seems t' know how long it's t' last, 'cause when it's long she'll come down t' Wood's Heart an' watch th' children.  Sometimes she'll wander farther -- or so Niirin says.  Niirin watches over her a'times, guides her home . . . not that anyone would harm th' Elneseyrna.  But Niirin watches over her ne'theless."

She paused for a moment, then continued.  "I was there once, when th' Elneseyrna was wakeful like that, just for a moment or two.  Ye could see th' change in her eyes.  An' I asked her why she is like this."  Pasha looked back down at the house, where they could see Ricenne through the window.  "She wouldn' tell me.  All she said was tha' there was no price if ye did not know it was bein' paid."

Sharak turned away as tears burned fresh in his eyes.  Behind him, he heard Pasha ask for a full explanation of that statement.  He shook his head, pushing back the grief, and told her what Pelagia had explained last night.  When he looked back, Pasha was looking down at the house, an expression of sadness and gratitude on her face.  "We owe her more than we knew, then," she whispered.

Sharak nodded.  "All of us."

~*~*~*~

Shallan made himself as invisible as possible, pressing into a corner of the tavern wall as the villagers talked.

"A full night and half a day," one the men was muttering.  "They're gone for sure."

"I told you those woods were cursed!" said another, Shallan's granduncle.

Eleni glared at the people assembled in her tavern.  Most of them were here to eat and drink, just like always, but gossip was thin this season.  The appearance and then disappearance of the travelers had set tongues to wagging, and it was wearing thin on her patience.  "Nonsense," she said loudly.  "The Wood is a curse only to those who mean it ill.  Those three children did not -- any fool could see that.  Most likely the lass simply wanted a quiet place to birth her babe and the two boys are watching out for her."

"In the Wood?" a woman asked.  "What mother in her right mind would wish to birth in the Wood?"

Eleni glared at her.  "My time came on me very nearly in the Wood," she reminded her.  "If there had been anything evil about as these old fools insist, neither I nor my children would be here.  Nor for that matter would most of you.  Who among us hasn't tried some adventuring in that forest?  And who suffered more than a head-cold and weary feet for it?"

"Still," Lothal, her husband, said slowly.  "Anyone gone into a Wood -- any wood -- for so long without supplies should be checked on."

"Are you daft, man?!" his brother, Breen, demanded.  He was echoed by a number of other folk in the large room.  "You'd have us goin' into the Wood -- at night no less -- to search for folk who aren't even our own!?"

Eleni shook her head.  "I tell you, they'll be fine.  Most likely they took a different path and simply came out on a side away from us.  They're probably on the road again, and us clucking like mad hens."

Breen glared at her.  "You're always warnin' folk away from that Wood.  Is there a secret you're trying to keep, Eleni?"

The tavern keeper pulled herself to her not inconsiderable height -- and breadth -- and looked down at him with clear amusement.  "Sure, brother-of-law," she said.  She pulled her husband into a kiss.  "And if you think Lothal and I will be sharing the place with the rest of the wild-eyed lovers in this town, you're gravely mistaken!"

Laughter resounded through the room, the gossip of the vanished strangers forgotten as the jokes began.  Shallan smiled himself, though he wasn't entirely sure what his Gram had meant -- but she had gotten Uncle Breen good, as always, that was clear.  Still, she looked a bit worried despite herself.  Shallan grinned and ducked out of his corner as she spotted him, beating the path of the towel to run upstairs to his room.  Once there, he settled against the window and looked out at the sunlit Wood.

"It's not so frightening a place as that," he murmured to himself.  "Why, I could cross it with no trouble a'tall.  And what if those travelers  are in need of help?"

His eyes shone with excitement, picturing himself coming to the rescue, perhaps fending off evil creatures beside that warrior.  He imagined coming home to the praise of the travelers, being heralded as a hero and a brave young lad.  Why, none of the boys would ever laugh at him again, and the girls . . . well, he wasn't old enough yet to really care what the girls thought.  But perhaps the pretty lady who had been with the men might give him a kiss and name her newborn after him in her gratitude!  All he needed was a plan, some supplies, and nightfall.

Shallan puffed up his chest and declared to the window frame, "Don't you worry!  The great Shallan shall rescue you from the grave perils of the Wood!"

It never occurred to him that an eight-year-old boy, even one with a plan, supplies and the greatest imagination in the world, would need more rescuing than not.

~*~*~*~

The village grew progressively busier as the afternoon wore on.  A small hunting party was to go out, while other groups saw to small harvests of fruits and vegetables, and still others set to decorating the "square."  The residents of Wood's Heart -- and a number of their forest-dwelling neighbors -- had decided to throw a party.  Dar suspected that the arrival of the newcomers was just an excuse: the joviality he saw seemed permanently ingrained in the folk.

Why shouldn't they celebrate? Dar thought, watching the activities from a spot in the trees.   Each day is a victory for them -- safe from people who would wish them harm, living their lives in peace, healthy children all about. . .

So why was he sitting up here by himself, like an unwelcome outsider at a wedding feast?   Or like a sulky child, a part of him suggested.  He told it to shut up.  He didn't want to think about why he had slipped away from the bustling activity of the village, why it abruptly had seemed so overwhelming.  He had managed to escape Tao's questioning glance, but he should have known better than to think he might evade the notice of a goddess.

"Nice view," Pelagia's voice said from almost directly beside him.

Dar startled slightly, turning quickly to look at her where she sat quite serenely on a nearby outcropping of rock.  Pelagia cocked her head at him.  "Why do you sit here alone, BeastMaster?  So far from the people below?"

Dar started to answer, but he didn't know what to say.  He remained silent instead.  Pelagia watched him for a moment, while he turned his gaze back to the village below.  After a while, she asked gently, "For all its differences, it reminds you of your home, doesn't it?"

Dar's expression closed off.  "My home is the forests."

"That is not what I meant."  Dar looked resolutely away.  Pelagia sighed.  "I told you we would speak of the Sula, child."

Dar looked at her.  The fierceness in his eyes wavered for a moment; it had never fooled her to begin with.  Pelagia could see the wounded spirit within, the boy who had lost everything dear to him and survived it only by latching on to one frail hope.  And now even that was in danger.  Tao had been correct the other day: he was perilously close to his breaking point.  "Speaking of them won't bring them back," he said.

Pelagia shook her head and moved closer, until she was barely a foot away.  "Closing off that part of your soul will not make it hurt any less."  She caught his gaze only by slipping her fingers under his chin and physically, if gently, turning his head towards her.  "And it does their memories no justice."

Her eyes locked with his, soft and gentle, urging him to speak his mind and heart.  Dar's mouth opened, then closed as he tried to find words.  Finally, he managed to ask roughly, "Why?  Why didn't you do something?"

Pelagia sighed.  "I didn't know.  And even if I had . . . there are some things even we cannot change or affect."

(continued)

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