I feel you there beside me like shimmers of light.
-Sirah Anath Sorrel Albandor of Dunaya
"It shouldn't take eight years to get a war started!" said Tavaris. The rage of impatience erupted like volcanoes from his glaciered eyes. The Ball of Shadows that Minara held darkened and trembled.
She had thought he would be happier to have the war with Galia started, but his current mood said otherwise. Shivering, she steeled herself to look into the Ball. "Tamil has never been popular with her Council. Even I couldn't induce them - most wouldn't even take me to their beds."
"Induce," said Tavaris with a smile. "To put under anesthesia. How fitting. So you failed with them. Most of the kels and sirans on Tamil's Council saw Hallel's sign and think they have happy little lives. Not exactly the hearts of darkness that we can use. Why would they listen to you?"
Minara twisted her shoulders and her heart beat furiously. Most times, she could command a riot with a glance, but Tavaris made her giddy. “Her son, Emick, is still a boy. He couldn't wear the Robe yet, anyway.”
"The war started," he said, sighing. "What happened?"
"Tamil dismissed the troublesome members and chose a new Council, ones that hadn't seen the sign."
"Of course." One side of his lips twisted into a smirk. "What reason for war did she convince them to apply?"
"Conquest is the best way to spread your religion, and take gold. Turbia needs more to support the building of your sanctuaries. We found new kels and sans for the council who want authority."
"Doesn't everyone of reason?" said Tavaris.
Minara laughed. "They each want their own keldom, where they can rule in perfection, with no squabbling in their underlings."
"That would be impossible until I rule supreme," said Tavaris. “People are, after all, glorified chimps.”
"Let the best fight for superiority," she said. "They have no real concept of what perfection means. It will be amusing for us to watch."
"So it will."
"The ultimate prize will be for you," said Minara, "when Tamil puts her son in the Kel's Robe with me as his First Siran."
"And what of mages," he said, "to help send me into the world?"
"My followers will scour the countryside until we find enough. We'll keep a close eye on them until they're needed."
If Tutang's curtains hung open, and silver moonlight shimmered in pools on the bed, the experience could be - pleasant - in that it wasn't unpleasant. Tutang would be in a good mood, his wari clear, and she could almost reach... something. She could almost imagine that he loved her.
He would not be in a good mood after Turbia's attack.
Dylin pushed open Tutang's door; his drapes hung heavy and dark. She scowled and then shuddered. His shirt was already off and hair on his blubbery back showed in the light from the anteroom. She tucked herself next to him in his oversized bed, a bed large enough for five Tutangs, with bedposts thicker than she was. Perhaps on some nights, depending on whom he was with, he used the space.
He sprinkled powdered mountain oysters into his tea every morning because he thought that would increase his virility.
Galia was at war, the curtains hung heavy, and Tutang's anger sizzled. When he touched her, his wari stung like a hot, sour wind from a midden heap. Her wari went into him and disappeared, like drops of water on parched sand.
She should have known how to prevent this mindless theft; Gizelle had given her a wondrous gift. Yet, as Tutang held Dylin like he thought she liked it, all focus fled and her wari sifted away. She hung limp in his arms, weak breath came with difficulty.
It was the only time he ever touched her. His eyes did funny things, like nothing existed but him, not even her. She was an object. That's what hurt most. She no longer existed as a person. She had no identity - he stole it with her wari - and she was a husk until her strength and wari regenerated.
When Tutang slept, she slid away from his room, her limbs heavy with almost nothing to lift them. She crawled up the steps and down her corridor, gray dawn just lighting the dried garlands opposite the windows.
She kept a flint blade in her tubroom. After placing a thick towel on the lavender rug, she lay on the towel, then pulled up her sleeve and cut. Tension eased as blood oozed from her arm, and her wari seemed to hang somewhere above, just beyond touch. She cut a little more. Exhilaration tingled her mind to a point of rapture. She lay breathless as the sun rose, relishing the sting she herself caused, then wrapped her arm in mason root-lined linen. Her wari would trickle back with sleep and something to eat.
The wari returned as strength returned, and cutting weakened her. She cut anyway. She cut for her sanity.
She crawled into her bed and fell into a dream.
A man stood within a crystal sphere, she with him, inside a cathedral of light, white pillars all around. The man was familiar. He was - Canúden den Ubal, the boy she'd shared that vision with when Lianna was a baby, the night before Dylin had met the Escort. Now a young man, he had recently come to work as a hall sweep in Gallel. Awkward for Dylin, who had spent the past eight years successfully avoiding him and putting that intense experience behind her. No awkwardness in this dream, only natural familiarity.
Lianna, a woman, held Dylin's hand and den Ubal's, and smiled at them both. Others stood with them, intimately familiar yet she failed to recognize them. A lithesome woman who looked at Dylin and den Ubal lovingly as a daughter would. A woman with dark skin and dimples. A thin man with closely cropped hair. A pale, stocky man with broad shoulders and a warm smile. Dozens, thousands of people stood within the congregation, all waiting.
Platforms stood one behind another, each taller than the one before, on either end of the cathedral, graced with men and women in silvery robes. A man on the foremost - and lowest - platform held up his hand and twirled his fingers; a ball appeared above the congregation, blue and green and brown and swirling white. Joy and love emanated the room. Expectation. You are the same woman*, the man said. Hallel needs you. The last was the plural you. The man meant all of those in her group, den Ubal, Lianna, and the four others.
The dream changed.
Dylin struggled in darkness. Waves crashed over her head, and breath came painfully as though she drowned. If she could drown, relinquish her pain, she would grasp hands with the Escort again and find her way to the Otherworld with the Ancestors.
"Lianna, no!" she said. Lianna hung above her in what would have been the sky, if there was a sky, curled, trembling and weeping for... what? "I'm here!" Dylin struggled to stand, but waves engulfed her and she found no footing. "Don't weep, I'm here." Lianna wept and the black waves rose to her also, tickled her toes, engulfed her shoulders. Dylin thrashed, unable to make progress in the surges of whatever she struggled in. She shrieked, and her voice fell dead.
A man appeared in the sky, standing above Lianna. He turned towards Dylin; it was den Ubal. He spoke to Lianna; his lips moved, but only crashing waves sounded. Trembling, he took Lianna's hand, pulled her away from the rising torrents. He held something in his other hand, something that glowed. When Lianna embraced him, he wept also, but the waves dispersed from the glowing ball like mist from sunrise. Lianna and the servant laughed, as one laughs when the storm has ended and all is well. They disappeared.
Rosiness filled the expanse and Dylin felt warm, whole. Loved.
Den Ubal's crystal appeared, with a woman's face inside it. The woman had wide cheekbones, large almond eyes, and light brown hair. Dylin had never seen hair that pale, like the color of aged honey. A man's stubby, muscled hand held the ball, but Dylin saw nothing of his face or body. "If you want Hope and Love to be found and saved," the woman said, "find the Ball of Lights and Truths in the heart of Gallel, and all will be well."
"What does den Ubal have to do with all this?" said Dylin. The woman, the hand, and the ball disappeared.
A soft knock woke her. Bright light angled through her lacy windows. The clock on the mantle said it was early afternoon. "Come in." Her chest hurt when she mumbled it.
She dozed, and images of den Ubal touched her with gentle caresses.
A servant, Merase, stood above her with a tray, which she placed on a stand at Dylin's bedside. "Good day, my Lady," she said.
"Hello." Dylin took several deep breaths before attempting to sit up, then fell back again. She hadn't slept long enough for her wari to return. Breakfast, mason root, scalwax, and a little mint milk should give her enough strength to get by, at least to read in the library.
"Are you ready for breakfast, my Lady?" said Merase.
"Yes, thank you."
Merase raised a concerned brow as she set the tray on the table. "You don't look well."
"I'm not too bad at all." Dizzily, she sat up and Merase placed a thick pillow behind her. "Breakfast smells good though I guess it's past time for lunch. I'll feel better after eating." The servant set the tray onto her lap. Dylin sipped hot spiced milk. "Thank you."
Merase curtsied and departed.
"Lianna!" Dylin called with as much energy as she could. "Come here, please." She called three times before barefoot Lianna appeared at her bedside. At least she wore a dress rather than pajamas. Probably Merase had reminded her. "You're old enough that you can come when I call the first time."
"I had to finish the page I was reading."
"Will you raise the fire, warm my poultice? Start some water boiling, and hand me my sack. I need some scalwax. What's scalwax for?"
"It's to make you pretend to be stronger when you're not," said Lianna. "And you drink it."
"That's one way to look at it, I suppose," Dylin muttered. "It gives me energy and numbs my pain, so I can do what needs to be done." If only Lianna would show an awareness of wari, then Dylin would have someone to heal her. Sometimes children showed the awareness at an older age than Lianna's, but Dylin had given up hope that Lianna had the healing gift. "Eat. We're going to the library."
"I already had lunch."
"Will you get me my things, then?"
Lianna did so, and Dylin sprinkled scalwax into her mint milk. The concoction tasted bitter and made her dizzy, but gave her strength. She dressed.
On their way down the obscure stairs to her rooms, Dylin paused on a landing at the statue of Lady Anath. The statue was done in Salandor marble, pale pink with flecks and swirls of blue and gray. The statue, half again as tall as a man, stood out well against a dark tapestry that hung to the tiled floor in folds. Sirah Anath, patron Ancestor of Galia, stood with one upturned hand raised, holding her palm-sized sphere as though she gazed through it. Why did Dylin dream about that sphere? It came as a small shock to realize the pale-haired woman from the dream was Anath. "I am the same woman," murmured Dylin. "Same as what woman?"
"You're not Anath, Mama!" said Lianna.
"No, I'm not," said Dylin. "I was just thinking about a dream."
The Ancestor stretched back her other hand at an angle, as though she were ready to move or to do something. The forefinger pointed behind her gently. The whole piece depicted movement, billowing wraps that left her shoulders bare, shoulder length hair seemingly caught in a breeze. Anath smiled knowingly into the ball, pondering unknown mysteries.
Where there is a question, the answer lies somewhere, whether obvious or somewhere beyond view. Rarely very far, however, if you concentrate and follow your senses. That's what Amara always said.
Dylin continued down the stairs and entered the library through the door at the base. Lianna ran off, probably to find a picture book to read like she usually did. Dylin slowly climbed steps up to the ancient history section at the top of the library. Despite how the librarian, jen Kaylar, cleaned, the open room smelled of paper and dust wrapped in old leather. An intelligent smell. Books lined the walls, and freestanding shelves intersected one another in geometric patterns. Latticed glass in the ceiling let in ample light in the reading areas, both from the sun as well as from the crystals atop Gallel's pinnacles, as did broad windows that opened the north wall. The Kanterol River flowed a blue streak beyond her garden out the window, and scarlet trees of autumn and amethyst mountains faded into the distance.
There were dozens of books about Lady Anath, most of them conjecture. Nothing complete remained from the two and a half thousand years since Anath's time. But a dozen conjectures could guide Dylin to make her own. She scanned book titles about the Ancestor, ranging from anthropological findings to poetry. If the last had been written by Anath, Dylin would have perused them, but poetry about the Ancestor tended towards triteness. Nothing remained of Anath's actual writings.
As she reached to the top shelf and grasped a book called The Early History of Gallel, the bandages on her arm slipped to the floor. In her weakness, she'd tied them poorly. Another person came around the bookshelf, and abruptly stared. It was Canúden den Ubal.
After avoiding him for so long, even now in Gallel's halls as he worked, Dylin had dreamed of den Ubal as a trusted friend. Not that she hadn't thought about him over the years, even dreamed of him. Those dreams consisted of him ignoring her, or laughing at her, or her not being able to find him through the maze-like halls of Gallel, or the surrounding forest. She had bumped into him over the last few months in the library, and he was always friendly, while she tended to embarrass herself with a tied tongue.
"Excuse me, my Lady," he stammered. She wondered at his reticence: Only a week previous, he'd discussed with her insights into the natural history of domestic leopards on one of the reading couches. He'd talked for nearly two hours, and she had managed to not embarrass herself too badly.
She lowered her hand and her loose sleeve covered her cuts. He backed away and turned to another aisle. "It's all right," she managed with a dry mouth. Her dream of him emboldened her. She breathed deep to steady her weakness and followed him. "What are you studying?"
He glanced at her and returned his look to the books. "Anything about Anath. Blasted historians are worthless."
Rather than the annoying obsequious behaviors servants tended to, he just used the respectful, my Lady. He treated her like a person. "I'm also studying Anath," she said.
"Indeed?" His gentle look rested on her face and he smiled. He wore the black silk of a Gallel servant. Thin and olive, he stood a mere hand-span taller than she; he had grown, as boys do, over the eight years since their vision. Lean muscles in his face replaced the boyish softness of before. Sunlight from the windows brought out red and brown highlights in his wavy black hair. "Good luck with that noble endeavor, since nothing worth a rat's tail remains about her. Even archaeology. She lived here in the palace. You'd think there would be more evidence of her presence."
"And yet we pray to her, and she hears us," said Dylin. She held the book at her chest and leaned against the shelf. "The tradition of her greatness pleases those who need a patron to look to."
"Most of us do need one," he said.
"What can you tell me of the Ball of Lights and Truths?" The words slipped out.
Olive skin blanched on his face. "That... question seems not random."
"Perhaps."
"Hmm," he said as he turned and walked towards a small table near a window overlooking her garden. A glance back to her indicated he wished her to follow. She did. They sat, he on the edge of the bonewood chair opposite her. He watched her, a faint smile touching his lips. She met his gaze, then turned her own to where the purple rug met the narrow slabs of wood floor. His studying look made her giddy, and she was too weak despite the scalwax to look him comfortably in the face. In her dream, he was a beloved companion. Here in the library, he was a near stranger. She forced her eyes to meet his, then she looked at her lap where her fingers fidgeted.
"You've read half the library, I'd guess," she said. "As much as jen Kaylar. Is there ever any mention of the Ball of Lights and Truths?"
"And what did jen Kaylar tell you?" he said.
"I haven't asked her yet," she said.
"I did," he said. "She'd never heard the term." He chuckled comfortably. "The only ball I know of with any interest whatsoever is Lady Anath's, and everyone knows that she had it, though some say she was just an athlete. Shall we call that the Ball of Lights? I have read that her ball was her link to the Creators, which was more than Kaylar said. I was looking for that book I'd read it in."
Dylin's heart skipped. "The Creators?"
His eyes widened, then he looked toward the high ceiling. Afternoon sunlight glittered through the skylight. "Hardly anyone in Galia speaks of the Creators these days, though Gizelle once told me that the title is irrelevant, and almost everyone looks to someone or something. But I... had a dream of a glowing ball last night." He looked her in the eyes, disconcerting because his were so honest. Cloud-gray and intelligent. "In the dream, I was with Lianna, and you were... somewhere. A woman's face - she must have been Anath - floated in the sphere. She said something about finding a... ball... truth and light, something like that. She said something about Hope and Love and the heart of Gallel. Hallel in trouble. There was another man, too. I think he was holding the sphere." He twitched as though he felt he had spoken too much, too personally.
"Did you dream of a cathedral of light, full of people, with the Creators?"
"I... did. How did you know?"
"I dreamed the same thing," she said. "Why did we both dream of the Ball of Lights?"
His mouth opened, but high pitched screams reverberated from downstairs. It sounded like Lianna. Dylin grunted.
"I better see what's wrong," she said. She closed her eyes and pushed herself up.
He rose and took her arm. "You don't look well." He helped her down the stairs. His touch was gentle, and she realized that was the most physical contact they had ever shared.
"It's Tutang and this stupid war," she said. "He drains the life out of me."
One eyebrow rose and he said, "I imagine he'd have that effect on anyone with sense."
They came to the source of the noise: Hameline, Lianna's half sister closest in age, straddled her on the floor, pressing a book into Lianna's face. "Hammy!" In Dylin's weakness, the scold sounded timid, and her movements were too weak to push the girl aside; she succeeded only in falling to her knees.
"She's reading, Dylin!" Before Hameline could finish her gleeful statement, den Ubal lifted her by the arms and tossed her aside. She screeched and ran, but he and Dylin ignored her. Lianna stared at him wide-eyed, kicked him in the shin, then leapt to Dylin's side where she clung to Dylin's neck. Den Ubal's eyes widened in apparent surprise that he'd been kicked.
"Lianna! No. We don't kick people. I'm sorry, den Ubal," Dylin said. "Thank you for your help."
He shrugged, but favored one leg. "I did what you would have."
She nodded. "You know Hammy will tell her mother you beat her up."
A shadow crossed his face. "Well, I didn't, so I shouldn't have anything to worry about. Her mother should be grateful I saved the heir." He twisted his shoulders as though squeezing out of an uncomfortable shirt. Or an uncomfortable thought. "Why did we share a dream?"
"I don't know," she said. "And who is Hallel?"
"We saw him get born, and now this. What do we have to do with any of this?"
"Yes. If he's a Creator," said Dylin, "why would he need our help?"
Merase appeared. "There you are, my Lady." She held a folded parchment in her hand.
Dylin's face cooled and her hands twitched. "What have you got for me?"
"Only one this afternoon." Merase handed her the note. "It seems serious. A little girl has been trampled by a cow."
Dylin's gut tightened in disappointment. Emergencies came first: She couldn't relax and wait for her wari to return.
"How will you manage?" said den Ubal.
"I always do," said Dylin. "Cacao and scalwax do wonders."
"You shouldn't have to. I'll go with you," he said. "We can continue our conversation."
She nodded and somehow felt stronger. Lianna clung to her as they both stood. Dylin leaned on den Ubal as Lianna leaned on her, and they made their way to Gallel's north entrance, which led to Dylin's garden. "Lianna," she said, "run up and get your shoes, and my things." The thought of trudging her way up so many steps stifled Dylin's breath. "We'll meet at the Logan Bridge."
Lianna ran with the alacrity only a child can muster.
"She'll come with us, then?" said den Ubal.
"Sometimes I can sneak her past the guards."