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The terrible reality of Jonathan's plight kept Shiránnor from sleep that night. Over and over again she fell into a doze, only to jerk awake, hissing with pity and horror. More than once she rose and went into the room where he slept, and couched down beside him, examining with sorrow the lines that had not been on his face when he had left her last. Finally, understanding that sleep would not come, she remained there, watching him sleep instead, while from time to time her hand stroked gently across his forehead or his hair, Sending him the sense of her presence.
He had changed so much!
So much pain, so much guilt. His God had asked too much of him. Finally he had broken, had fallen back inside himself, seeking out the one core of comfort that had remained intact.
When your loneliness becomes too great….
It had saved him from madness. But it was not enough. They understood that – those two who had finally found one another; in the midst of the sorrow, she sensed it and was glad. They had brought him back, for the third time and the last. He did not belong here, but he could find what he needed to enable him to return to his own place and his own world. She could do this for him, and then at last she could take away his memory of her, as a thing he would no longer need till they met again beyond the Endless Ocean, where all friendships will be renewed and brought to perfection.
Curiously she examined those other people who flew in the sky ship that now circled the world, patiently waiting. Their commander in particular was strong and strange; her whiskers flirted as she considered him. He and his kind were different from the humans. Their emotions were loud, turbulent. It would not be well if they came down to Kerriel and encountered others less able to cope with them than Skaira; they would disturb the peace. Though that one would indeed fit in well with the Venel Warrior Class.
And the other?
She blinked and frowned. Her hackles shifted. There and not-there. Here and not-here. Something was very wrong.
For a Skair of her power, touching a mind that she had joined (even all those years ago) was not difficult. The wrongness lay in its presence where it was – so close to the place where what remained of its earthly existence now resided. After touching Hoshi, she had had little difficulty in identifying the problem. Solving it would be a different thing altogether.
She had told her three visitors back in the Infirmary that she had spoken to Malcolm. It had not been a perfectly accurate description; it was certainly contact, but rather more complex and diffuse in nature than mere speech. Communication as they understood it would require taking a risk that was possibly the greatest she had ever taken in her life – or, indeed, ever expected to. But it was beginning to dawn on her that it was a risk she was going to have to take. The First Priestess could not hold her hand from helping those in such desperate need because of any personal danger involved.
She slipped from her couch and went outside. The sun was rising; it was going to be a beautiful day. Although there was always a regretful tinge to the autumn sunshine and it was hard to see the days shorten, this was a time of plenty, when kills were fat from a summer's feeding and fruit and ear ripened to harvest. Soon would come the time of gathering, so that the store-rooms would be filled to sustain them during the lean months to come. Truly the Temple Complex in the shadow of Vanreil was a wonderful place to live!
Nevertheless she did not pause to enjoy the view as she ordinarily would have done. Instead she hurried towards the foot of the Great Way. She needed to set herself at the Mother's very Paws now. No lesser protection would suffice – and even then, there was no saying that her safety would be guaranteed.
Anxiety did not make her neglect the due courtesy. The duty priestess keeping vigil would not have noticed anything amiss as she arrived, though a soft note of warning thrummed through the wall of the Seer's cell as she passed, so low it was hardly audible even to one whose ears were stretched for it.
She paced over and couched in front of the Image. Her hearts were beating rather fast. The crystal eyes gazed down at her, wise and terrible.
"Mother, with Your guidance," she breathed. Then she exposed her wrists and opened her mind, seeking him.
She found him almost at once. The cool air brushed against her face, smelling of seaweed and salt; the sand was soft underfoot.
A small boat was resting, empty, in the sand at the edge of the tide, rocking a little as the wavelets lifted it. She knew whence it had come and why; only this vessel had the power to cross the Endless Ocean and reach the far shore in safety. It was made of pale smooth wood, with a high carved prow and stern and two thwarts, in the rearmost of which the mast was stepped. The prow faced out to sea and the dark blue sail was ready to set, but there was not yet enough breeze to fill it. On the horizon lay a faint light, like that of the dawn, but above her arched the measureless dome of starry space. The breath caught in her throat at the beauty of it all.
And he was sitting on the sand. He was facing the boat, a bare body-length away from it. He knew it had come for him, and he was flatly refusing to get into it.
She knew that what she was seeing was what she expected to see, the imagery of her culture and her faith. Doubtless he would see things differently. But whatever he was seeing, he knew exactly what he was doing.
Mutiny.
The awe of the place calmed her. She padded forward and couched down beside him, but at a little distance so that he should not feel threatened by her presence in any way.
They knew one another too intimately to need any acknowledgement; their minds joined seamlessly as though the intervening years had never happened.
"I can't go," he said at last.
"You must." Her voice was tender, but the truth was unalterable.
"I know. But I can't. She needs me."
"That is not your decision."
"It is if I decide not to go." But as she glanced sideways she saw that the grey eyes were full of the dawn light, and the longing for it was breaking his heart.
"Do you remember, when we were together – before?" he asked presently, after a long silence.
"I remember." Skaira were made to remember things. They had phenomenal memories.
"I forgot about a lot of it, but since I've been here I've remembered them. And one thing you told me. That I would find someone special and marry her. That – something I was afraid of wouldn't happen." He blinked. Even now, speaking of such personal things was hard for him. "It wasn't long afterwards that Hoshi and I … I've always been grateful to you for that."
"Your marriage was your doing. It was none of mine. If you were not worthy of love, you would not have earned it."
"But if it wasn't for you, I don't think I'd ever have believed in myself enough to try."
She smiled faintly. "I did only what was put into my hands to do. If it brought you joy, I am glad."
There was another long pause. The sound of the wavelets was infinitely soothing. The dawn light beckoned. Even she, for whom the boat would not come for many years yet, could feel the calling of it, summoning him home. And yet he still sat, legs crossed, arms folded defiantly across his chest. He was wearing the blue uniform he had worn when he came back to meet with her on his last visit. Its presence on him here was significant. Duty before everything.
"It is she who will not let you go."
If he'd been a Skair his ears would have flattened instantly against his skull. He would not hear a word of criticism of his wife. His profile was rigid with pain and anger, but however much he wished for it, self-incriminating lies would not come to him here.
She contemplated that certainty in silence. If he had been determined enough, selfish enough, he could have broken free. The only thing that was holding him here was love. Because his wife could not bear his loss, and because he could not bear to cause her pain.
"You cannot return," she said gently. "Until you go, she cannot begin to grieve. And until she grieves, she cannot begin to heal."
That hit. And hurt. His mouth flinched.
"Your child will need her." Her voice was even quieter. She hated the awful necessity of it, even as she went on cutting into him. "Your friends are not enough. Your princess will need her mother."
"She'll need her father too!" Suddenly his voice was shockingly loud. He screamed his grief at her, his eyes blazing with a pain too intense for tears. "But I can't be there for her!"
"That is a truth for which there is no consolation possible on this side of the Ocean. But you still hold her heart in your hands. You gave her existence. Then you gave her life a second time. Now you must give her her mother back."
"I can't!" he shouted. "Don't you understand, I can't!"
He jumped to his feet. His fists were clenched. He stared at the boat, then with a helpless expression he turned and looked back over his shoulder.
"How can she let me go?" he asked softly. "We never even said goodbye."
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