BMT belongs to Trudi Canavan
Chapter 35 - The King and the Black Magician
"I don't give a damn what the Houses think! "A jewelled hand slammed down on a wooden desk sending papers and scrolls flying everywhere. "The Houses can go and drown themselves in the Tarali River! Surely even they cannot argue with the ruin of the Inner Circle!"
The King's anger abated abruptly and he drew a hand across his face, pinching the bridge of his nose.
"I'm sorry Ilorin. It's been a long few days..." He glanced around the room at his cousin, the counsellors and Higher Magicians that had gathered in a meeting room at the palace.
"...for us all," he added contritely.
Lord Balkan cleared his throat and spoke quietly, carefully, spreading his hands on the table in front of him.
"Your Majesty, we at the Guild share your sentiment that the truth of Akkarin's words be acknowledged, and gratitude duly be shown; but you must see the need to rebuild the Guild quickly." He paused to meet the King's green eyes, bright with emotion, and continued.
"If we alienate the Houses by asking them to accept too much too soon, they may be reluctant to send their sons and daughters to us as novices. We need them," he stated bluntly.
Vinara stepped forward. "We all feel some guilt at Akkarin's exile, but we had no way of knowing if he spoke the truth. We had no choice." Her voice dropped to almost a whisper. "We all feel remorse for what happened, and that our trust in him failed. I know you... count him as a friend," she added gently.
"Counted him as a friend," the King muttered, and he turned his back on them and turned to stare out of the window.
Much of the rubble and debris had been removed, or piled neatly, in the search for bodies following the destruction of the Ichani attack. Mercifully, only a few dead had been found both in the Inner, and the Outer Circle, as the Slums were now to be referred to. Though the recovery would take time, homes could be rebuilt; it was the Guild who had suffered the greatest loss and, with half their number now dead, and, not knowing the exact situation in Sachaka, it was the Guild that had to be bolstered with haste.
The King sighed and continued to look out of the window. His eyes narrowed. "If they had seen what I saw; what you all saw," he said, nodding to the magicians present, "they would not blanch at my request."
"No," a new voice said. "But they did not see, and, if you allow me to speak frankly your Majesty, what the Houses do not see, very rarely concerns them." Osen looked up to meet the King's gaze. "With Sonea's presence in the Guild over the last few years, her unquestionable natural power, and with the bravery of the Slum dwellers over the last two weeks, I think that we have all had to face our prejudices and re-think." He glanced at the faces in the room and many of them dropped their gazes with expressions akin to shame.
"But I advise a more cautious approach to change," he continued. There was a murmur of agreement. "What creeps upon the Houses may not be so readily noticed by them. And," he looked briefly at Balkan, "we have spoken to Akkarin" – the King's eyes became sharp and bright – " and he does not wish to reprise his role as High Lord. He will stay if the Guild wishes it, but only as its protector; he has made that clear. In many ways, he is no longer the man he once was."
The King looked aggrieved and deflated. "Or, maybe he is exactly the man he always was – we just did not see it." He paused, sighing heavily. "Oh well, I suppose you're right," he muttered resignedly. "It is too much to ask that Akkarin lead the Guild." He sighed. "It's just that when Black Magicians save your life, your city, and, most likely, your country, it turns everything on its head and causes you to question what you once held as certain." He stood up suddenly then, running his hands through his dishevelled hair.
"But, nonetheless, "he inhaled deeply, "we should at least have an informal vote as to whether Akkarin be allowed to rejoin the Guild..."
Rothen awoke with a start at the soft rapping at his door. He shook his head sleepily and a dim globe light sprang into life above him as he straightened in his chair. The gathering shadows of late afternoon now crept across the floor of his guest room, and he gazed listlessly about him.
It's getting late, he thought. I must have fallen asleep. A knock sounded at the door again. Probably Dorrien or Vinara checking up on me. He glanced at the cold plate of food that sat where his son had left it earlier, and he grimaced, foreseeing the rebuke he would receive. He willed the door open. The figure that stood there hesitated, as if reluctant to pass the threshold.
"Sonea!" Rothen exclaimed, suddenly fearful. "Is she..."
"There is no change," a low voice interjected. "Her aunt and uncle are with her." The dark gaze that met the older magicians was full of pain.
As Akkarin stepped slowly into the beam of the globe light, Rothen took in the pale face, the dark circles under his eyes, and the pinched look to his mouth. Though they had both kept a vigil at Sonea's bedside, the two men had barely looked at each other, or exchanged words. The former High Lord walked over to where Rothen sat, the door snapping shut behind him, and the alchemist dropped his gaze and slumped forward, his head in his hands, his fingers clasping at his greying hair. He saw the black silken robes brushing against booted feet as Akkarin came to stand next to him.
"Rothen, I..."
"You said that nothing was more important to you than keeping her safe." Rothen interrupted, looking up accusingly to meet Akkarin's black eyes. "Before you were exiled. Do you remember ? I asked you to make sure you did, and you led me to believe you would. Instead you used her in a battle you thought you could not win. You let her risk herself needlessly. You, you..."
"Needlessly?" Akkarin asked incredulously. "Used her? You know as well as I Sonea's sense of justice and fairness. My mistake was allowing her to know the truth about the Ichani. Once she did, she wanted to do everything she could to help. Everything, including learning Black Magic. You must believe that I tried to persuade her otherwise. Her determination and stubbornness are quite formidable for one so small."
A wistful half smile played on Akkarin's lips then, but Rothen looked away. The younger man's expression became serious again.
"As for needlessly, we would all be dead if not for her. But you must know that, if I thought Kariko at all honourable, I would not hesitated in trading myself for her freedom."
But Rothen was unwilling to let his anger go. He needed someone to blame, even though deep down he knew that that someone was not the man who stood before him now.
No, he thought, all that remains of the man who is to blame is a shallow crater in the Guild grounds. I am a foolish old man. Sonea would not thank me for suggesting that she was weak and easily led, when the reality is that she has shown a bravery in sharing Akkarin's burden that most of the magicians of the Guild could not even contemplate.
Rothen's resolve to vent his hurt at the only other living person who understood it weakened. But there was one thing.
" Vinara thinks Sonea may have been pregnant before, before..." Rothen could not finish and his eyes flashed up at Akkarin. "It was yours?"
There was a rustle of silk as Akkarin sank wearily into the chair next to Rothen. " Vinara told me; and yes, it was."
As Rothen glanced at the younger magician, he saw the glittering of unshed tears on his lashes. The older man quickly looked away, suddenly ashamed and with a feeling that he trespassed unrighteously on another's grief.
Akkarin's hand brushed his face. "Nothing happened whilst she was my novice." He spoke quietly. "She did not even know of my regard, but...I love her" he stated simply. "With all my soul. How could I not?"
As he spoke, Akkarin realised suddenly that he cared for this small woman from the Slums more than anyone in his whole life, past or present. There was nothing illusory about his love for the oddly courageous and loyal girl; his feelings were firmly grounded in in the bleak reality of dirt and sweat and blood.
Rothen met Akkarin's eyes steadily, and the two men regarded each other. At that moment, an unspoken understanding passed between them of the pain that they both bore, and an unspoken promise of care and protection for the woman that they both loved in their different ways.
"Yes." Rothen whispered, almost inaudibly, and he smiled. "How could you not."
A while later, Akkarin rested his forehead on the cold glass of the window. He was glad he had made his peace with Rothen; he knew it was what Sonea would want, but the comfort it had given him had been short-lived and he had quickly sunk back into his dark mood.
He stared fixedly now into the gathering dark at a group of magicians who stood in intense conversation at the edge of the gardens. The globelights above their heads threw the lines of their faces into shadows of haggard anxiety. The former High Lord recognised some of them – Lord Telano, Lord Ahrind – and he could well guess what they were talking about: the upcoming vote to formalise the decision that he and Sonea should be accepted back into the Guild. Akkarin could not bring himself to care and he shrank sullenly back into the unlit room before they could notice his pale, watching face at the window of the Healing Quarter.
The Black Magician did not care about anything, except...except Sonea. Only she had been with him into the edges of reality where he had lived these past weeks; only she had walked willingly with him into Sachaka and had gazed up at that indigo sky, impossibly full of stars.
Akkarin watched, silently and still as a statue, as the sky that now hung above the Guild buildings eased its way through the deepening spectrum of twilight until, finally, its darkness threw forth the first glimmerings of starlight. He frowned and drew his fingers across his brow, Sonea's voice whispering through his mind as he did so.
"You could almost pick them like fruit..."
A physical pain lanced through him, as though his very soul cried to watch stars without her. He winced and turned his back on the window. He glanced impatiently at the door and then at a plate of food on the table next to him. How long could they take? He slumped down heavily into a chair and pitched forwards, his head in his hands.
Curse Vinara for her persuasive, soft words! It was she that had succeeded in getting Akkarin to leave Sonea's side for a short time while the Healers tended to their patient's personal needs, and hopefully for the former High Lord to tend to his. Akkarin had agreed reluctantly, and had indeed used the time to wash and change, though everything took place in a hollow kind of two-dimension. It was as if he managed only to exist - he glanced at the food again – though that did not quite stretch to eating. Since he had awoken following the Ichani defeat, his life had become grey and thin, like a light that might at any time be extinguished.
Living with that kind of bleak anticipation was becoming intolerable, especially when Sonea was not in his immediate sight. Vinara had promised to fetch him as soon as they were finished caring for her, and that had been over an hour ago. Akkarin's boot tapped on the stone floor as if he was trying to drown out the sound of his quickening heart within him. His gaze bore into the wood of the door, and then he abruptly stood, running his fingers through his unbound hair in one last attempt at restraint.
He could bear it no longer and he strode to the door, reaching out his fingers to the handle – and then he stopped as it clicked softly open. As Akkarin saw who stood in the doorway he froze momentarily, before spinning on his heel, striding back to the window to stare out of it once more. He folded his arms across his chest and his jaw clenched rhythmically. His eyes burned as they became focussed on the ghost-like buildings of the University opposite; he was careful not to look skyward.
"I see you have brought your bodyguard, your majesty." Akkarin spat the last two words with contempt, and the king, who hovered in the doorway, glanced obliquely at the red-robed men in the corridor behind, and then at Balkan who had entered the room before him. Merin splayed his hands in a pleading, conciliatory gesture. He took a step towards his former High Lord.
"Akkarin...I...I..." the King faltered, words failing him.
"What do you want Merin?" Akkarin's tone was hard and unbending; his stance, rigid, as he stood tall and forbidding by the window. Merin sighed and his arms fell resignedly to his sides as he realised there would be no reconciliation here today. And yet there were things to be resolved, and quickly; Merin did not have the luxury of waiting for his friend's forgiveness.
"The Higher Magicians – what's left of them - and the Royal Council have had an informal vote: in light of recent events, you are to be re-admitted into the Guild."
The King saw, reflected in the windowpane, as a cold, grim smile pulled at Akkarin's features. "How generous of you, your majesty," the Black Magician responded condescendingly. "Do you want me to fall to my knees and prostrate myself in gratitude?"
Merin looked at Balkan, and then again at the red-robed men at his back. The Head of Warriors held the king's green eyes for a moment and, understanding the mute request, he turned and shut the door on the stunned looking guards. The king nodded his approval and thanks and stared once more at Akkarin's back.
"Akkarin, now is not the time for recrimination or sentiment, and I won't insult you by simpering and pleading with you; but this is not about us. Kyralia needs you. If you leave, your knowledge leaves with you, and all of this...this loss and destruction, it will have been for nothing. We will be destroyed, sooner or later. You are the only one – "
Akkarin spun suddenly to face the king at last, and his face was viciously contorted, his eyes wide. "No; not the only one! Or is she beneath your notice, even now! She saved your life!"
"Yes! Yes, she saved my life." The King raised his voice in response and Balkan took a step nearer to his side. "And I give thanks to her every day for that," he continued fervently. "But she may yet die, Akkarin," Merin stated with cold pragmatism, and then his face softened as he saw the horror and pain his words caused to the man facing him. "She may yet die," he said, softer. "And even if her body recovers, her mind may not. We cannot trust to her recovery. We need – "
"Trust?!" Akkarin exclaimed. "You dare to speak of trust! You, who would not believe the word of a lifelong friend! Was that all our friendship was worth? A decision made in little more than a heartbeat?!"
"You had been lying to us for years!" Merin retorted angrily. "You had been practising forbidden magic! What did you expect?!"
"I expected you to understand! To believe me! I had no choice! And you..." the Black Magician's fury closed his throat, and he continued in a low, choking voice. "You... you sent us to our deaths, and you know it! How fortunate for you all that we survived," he concluded bitterly, and he glided past Merin to the door. "Excuse me, your majesty, but I have somewhere else to be."
The King grabbed Akkarin's sleeve. "Please, Akkarin! Will you stay and help us? You told Osen you would, but I need to hear it for myself."
Akkarin turned back to him, incredulous. "Lorlen is dead!" His eyes flickered, like a guttering flame. "And you have not even asked how she is. You really don't care do you?"
"Of course I care, Akkarin! But I am Kyralia's King – my first duty is to my people-"
"He only had her for a few hours." The former High Lord's expression became distant and distracted. "But that is enough for an Ichani such as Kariko." His eyes abruptly snapped to the King's and he moved away from the door and towards Merin again. "Are you familiar with their ways, Merin? Have they told you what Ichani do for fun? "
"Akkarin..." Balkan interjected warningly and the Black Magician glanced at him, his eyes narrowing shrewdly as he looked between the two men and realisation dawned.
"Oh. I see. The good King has been spared the gruesome details. His royal person does not have the stomach for it," he muttered through clenched teeth. "Well, maybe I should enlighten you." He stepped close to Merin and, immediately, the hum of a shield sprang about the King. Akkarin's black stare slid to Balkan. "I will not harm him," he stated darkly. "Do you really think me that dishonourable?"
"Balkan," Merin said, not taking his eyes off Akkarin. "Lower your shield. I...I trust him. I should know what they are, and how lucky was our escape. " One black eyebrow rose in response, but otherwise the former Guild leader's face remained sternly impassive. The hum of Balkan's magic suddenly stopped and, swiftly, without waiting for invitation, Akkarin placed his hands on the Kings temples.
Memories, images, poured from one man to the other, and the King's mind recoiled at the horror of what Akkarin showed him, but there was nowhere, nowhere, to hide. As the image of Sonea, as she writhed beneath Kariko, desperately tried to evade his warped intent, entered Merin's head, the king pulled away and cried out in horror. His eyes were wild, his breathing hard and, gagging, he fought down the bile that rose in his throat, but he could not tear his eyes away from the tortured ones of his friend.
"They used her so violently and cruelly that she may never bear children," Akkarin whispered, his voice breaking. "And all that, all that, to get at me! Me!" And he slapped hard at his own chest. "To cause me pain – because they knew that I...that I loved her. I love her." Tears ran silently down Akkarin's face and he turned away, still grasping the silk of his shirt at his chest. "Whether Sonea lives or dies, I will never move past this; Kariko has had his final victory over me. And you, you played right into his hands."
"Akkarin..." Merin croaked. "I am so sorry...I...I.."
Softly: "Get out."
"Akkarin..."
The Black Magician spun round. "Get out! Get out!" A wave of fury built in him, threatening to drown his reason and it roared in his ears. "If it would not cause my sister pain, I would kill you now, where you stand, and welcome gladly the execution that would follow!"
Akkarin closed the gap between himself and Merin, but the insistent tug of darkness, the infuriating weakness of exhaustion was still there, and he could only lunge – stagger – forwards. Balkan stepped in front of the King, but as Akkarin stumbled, Merin reached out, ignoring the Head of Warrior's restraining hand, and he caught the other man against him.
So debilitated, so broken, was Akkarin that he sank to the floor like a stone, dragging Merin with him. The King held his friend in his arms as silent, dry sobs racked Akkarin's tall frame like a tempest, seizing him, shaking him.
As Balkan quietly left the room, knowing the King no longer needed his protection, he heard the King repeating, over and over, like a litany: "I am sorry, Akkarin. Forgive me. Please, forgive me."
But Akkarin could not forgive him, because he did not truly blame him. That guilt lay much, much closer to home.
The next day, the Higher Magicians gathered in Osen's office. He was the natural successor to Lorlen and had taken on the mantle of administrator with a determined organisation which was needed after the invasion. He spoke now to his colleagues who seemed to be in endless discussions over the last few days. The faces before him looked tired and drawn, bewildered even, by the need to discuss matters previously not contemplated.
"As you know, I'm sure; the King requested that the Guild reinstate Akkarin as high lord. I, and others," he glanced at Balkan, "thought that some of the Guild, and certainly the Houses, would find it difficult to accept a Black Magician as high lord. As it turns out the question request was academic – Akkarin has made it clear to me that he does not wish to be considered for the position." He paused. "In fact, he has indirectly suggested that Lord Balkan be considered, and I agree; of course, it will go to the vote."
Balkan looked up sharply in surprise.
"Oh, close your mouth Balkan," Vinara said kindly. "You are our strongest warrior, apart from Akkarin, and all have looked to you for guidance these past days."
Osen continued: "The other positions we have previously discussed, and I propose the vote go ahead in one weeks time." Some of the magicians looked at each other and there was a murmuring.
"I agree with Lord Osen," Lord Garrel interjected. "We need to be decisive and create a sense of stability. One week is sufficient for the remaining Guild members to consider the options."
Yes, Rothen thought from where he sat across the room, you think you are a strong candidate for Head of Warriors, and the sooner it goes to the vote the sooner you think you will gain some power. Rothen's eyes narrowed at the warrior; he could still not forgive Garrel for his role in encouraging Regin in his bullying of Sonea that first year.
"That brings us, yet again, to the question of the Black Magicians. What should we do about them?" Balkan asked and sighed. "I think it unreasonable to expect Sonea, if she recovers, and Akkarin, to remain in the Guild grounds for the rest of their lives. They are both young, particularly Sonea."
"The city then," Vinara suggested. "Restrict their movements to the city boundaries." She paused. "With an escort maybe, so that we can reassure anyone who doubts their trustworthiness, that they will not draw on the potential power of the people of Imardin."
"That is maybe a workable solution, if they agree to it; along with the restrictions we discussed on their teaching ." Balkan pursed his lips in an expression of satisfied resolve.
Director Jerrick, scowling as usual, steepled his fingers thoughtfully. "Surely it is not appropriate that Sonea return to lessons – a fully fledged Black Magician sitting with novices as if she were their peer."
Rothen considered Jerrick. He couldn't decide if Jerrick meant this last comment as a slight to Sonea, or as a sign that she be shown greater respect given recent events. He cleared his throat in annoyance.
"Confinement, restrictions; this all sounds too much like punishment to me, and I fear it will be perceived as such. Akkarin and Sonea are not guard dogs to be kept on a leash for our convenience; to be at our beck and call in case the thief comes to the door again." Rothen was angry now, and his voice rose.
"Yes, they broke Guild Law, but if they had not, there would be no Guild. Which of us can say we would have the courage to do as they did? To be outcasts, only to return to save the very people who had judged you and would be rid of you! Yes, they must accept their new role as protectors of the Guild, and some checks must be put in place, but surely we must acknowledge what they did for us all, "he paused, "what they risked and endured for us." Rothen's eyes burned as he spoke and some of the people present nodded in contrition.
Lord Telano, Head of Healing Studies, spoke. "What if we give them, Sonea in particular, a further purpose, and at the same time demonstrate our trust in them."
"What do you have in mind?" Osen asked, his eyebrows raised enquiringly.
"To make them responsible for the running of the new Healing Quarter in the Outer Circle. I know Sonea showed a particular interest in this discipline, and has an obvious motive in helping her one time co-habitants."
"That would suit Sonea very well, but what of Akkarin? I remember a powerful ambitious and aloof young magician who, only a few years ago, would have had only disdain for such an idea, " Vinara said.
"I think that you may find that our former high lord is done with ambition." Osen said quietly. "As for aloofness, it seems that the girl from the slums has achieved what numerous young ladies from the Houses could not; she has broken Akkarin's reserve. I think he will be happy to support Sonea in such a project, if she recovers of course. Thankyou Telano, an excellent idea." He nodded at the other magician who smiled.
As the magicians filed out of the room some time later, Vinara fell into step beside Rothen. She took in his pinched face and his eyes which still held a glint of anger.
"Don't feel bitter at their pragmatism Rothen. They are very aware of the debt they owe to both Sonea and Akkarin. They – we- are all just anxious to gain a sense of normality. There will be time for gratitude later."
Rothen's face was unreadable and he remained silent. Vinara sighed and continued."You are returning to the Healing Quarter?
Rothen nodded.
"I will walk with you. I have told Akkarin he is strong enough to try to reach Sonea through a mind read today." She grimaced. "How I have restrained him from trying until now I don't know. I think he knew if he was not strong enough, and tried and failed to reach her, it might have been a step backwards. If anyone can reach her though, it will be him." Vinara's face looked sad.
"It has been four days. We can sustain her a while longer with water and nourishing liquids, but if she doesn't wake soon...She has suffered greatly because of us – I feel. The bullying of her novice days, the contempt of Guild members and the Houses. To be held hostage and live in constant fear, then the burden of truth and knowledge, only to not be believed and sent away."
"She chose to go with Akkarin; we gave her the chance to stay, " Rothen stated darkly.
Vinara looked sharply at him. It was her turn to now feel anger. "Only to be called a liar, or a fool and accused of practising evil? She showed a bravery most grown men would not in leaving, and a greater bravery in returning. And to be snared by Kariko." Vinara spat the name in revulsion. "We are cosseted here at the guild: I have never seen such injuries before, and never wish to again. And the innocent life inside her lost also." Her eyebrows rose as she continued."I feel remorse at his treatment, but I confess I am surprised at Akkarin abusing his position in that way." Vinara's mouth tightened in a line of disapproval.
"The shame of us all; Sonea has been used badly. "I'm sorry Rothen," she glanced at him, "I do not include you in that. Forgive me my rant, it was unthoughtful."
"No, do not apologise. I am relieved to find someone else who feels as strongly as I, apart from Dorrien of course." Rothen smiled. "But do not judge Akkarin too harshly." Rothen's smile became one of self-deprecation. "Although I was guilty of that only too recently. Nothing happened between them whilst she was his novice , and Sonea knows her own mind. Their love is not shameful, or transitory." Rothen said.
The Healer raised her eyebrows. "You seem very certain; have you spoken with him about this?"
"He came to my rooms last night. He will not deny his feelings for Sonea, " Rothen took a breath, "whether she recovers or not. He risks much by being open about this, not least with his own family."
They walked out of the University, across the desolate gardens, and towards the Healing Quarter. Despite everything, Vinara suddenly gave a short laugh.
"Black Magician Sonea, of Family Delvon, House Velan. How times have changed."
"It is time, Akkarin." A voice behind the former High Lord startled him, and, turning, he saw Vinara and Rothen enter the room.
Akkarin was sat on the chair that he had barely left since he had awoken from his exhaustion three days ago. His thumb methodically stroked the small, cold fingers that lay in his and he absently noticed the slightly rough skin and chewed finger nails and the purpling bruise across the back of the hand. He quickly brought the fingers to his lips and kissed them gently before laying them on the bed and turning fully to face the newcomers. His features were a strange mix of fearful expectation and hope, and he drew in a long breath as his dark eyes settled on Vinara.
Akkarin felt as though something were constricting his lungs and throat.
"I only hope this works." Vinara continued, averting her gaze and instead focussing on her patient. "We are running out of options." Her eyes flickered back to Akkarin. "Are you sure you are strong enough?"
Akkarin didn't trust his voice so he inclined his head and, without waiting further , he placed his palm on Sonea's brow. Her face was white, traced with the faded red lines of healing cuts and grazes, and the only sign of life was the slight rise and fall of her chest below the sheet. Akkarin's hands moved to her temples, tracing lightly across the skin, and the touch caused his memory to reel backwards to the first time he had touched Sonea.
In Rothen's rooms , when I performed the truth read, he thought. I am so sorry; forgive me, for everything. I could see no other way, as there is no other way now. But the words only echoed into the silence of Sonea's mind. He closed his eyes and inhaled a breath, preparing to breach the sanctity of his former novice's mind for the second time, and knowing that what awaited him would make her memories of her slum life look like a day at the races.
Sonea. I will make this right; I will make it up to you, I promise. Please come back to me. And as he thought those words, Akkarin, his full strength returned, stealthily slid past the outer barriers of Sonea's mind until he found her consciousness on a plane almost devoid of colour. Pale, translucent mists coruscated around him, shimmering like veils. As he drew one away, another moved to obscure his sight. The image of his physical form in her mind spun around and around, seeking to make contact with her.
Then, as if from a great distance, he heard a young child's voice singing and he instinctively drifted towards the sound. The mists shifted before him as he gently exerted his will, and he glanced a small figure sat on a floor of nothingness. She played with stones in a game Akkarin recalled seeing the children of the Slums playing on his visits to Cery. He drew nearer, slowly and deliberately. When he stood just two paces away, the girl looked up at him, as if noticing him for the first time. The song she sang was a lament that spoke of loss and pain and loneliness, incongruously sang in her childish voice, and Akkarin thought it would pierce his heart. Abruptly it stopped.
Large dark eyes in a pale face, framed with black hair, stared at him. As she smiled, the curve of her lips was achingly familiar.
Sonea?
The girl tilted her head in a birdlike way and Akkarin's heart was in tatters.
Yes, that is my name. My Pa gave it to me, but he went away. My Ma died, the girl explained with the directness of a child.
Do you have a family? Do you have a name? She asked, but looked away and continued methodically with her game.
Akkarin crouched down until he was at her eye level and his mind gently formed the words in hers. My name is ...Akkarin.
Her small hands paused in their movement for a moment before continuing with the game.
I have a family, Akkarin continued, though I do not see them often. I did think to have a family of my own one day but...
A family? A wife? The girl that was Sonea's consciousness looked up sharply. Before he left, my Pa said they were not worth the trouble. I might marry a boy when I'm grown, but he'll have to cook. I can't cook; I burn everything. And she smiled again.
My Aunt says a girl as wilful as me must have a talent, I just haven't found it yet. Some say I look like my Ma; she was beautiful. The girl's expression became wistful. Maybe I'll grow pretty and some boy will notice, and won't care that I have nothing else.
Akkarin's mouth curled in a sad smile. Oh yes, you will grow pretty, and more than one boy will notice. But you will have so much more to offer, Sonea.
As he formed the words he reached out a hand to tuck a tendril of hair behind her ear, but she recoiled at the touch. Then, she looked away and shrugged.
Maybe I'll just wait here. Cery and Harrin will be here soon; they promised I could go with them this time. I wish they hadn't told me to meet them here though, she murmured as she glanced fearfully over her shoulder with a shudder. Akkarin followed her gaze but saw nothing but the swirling mists.
Don't you like it here? Why don't you come with me? I will help you find a better place. He held out his hand, but she ignored it and looked behind her again, her fingers moving quickly in agitation. Akkarin still saw nothing.
What is it Sonea; what do you see?
She met his gaze and her eyes widened in terror. Suddenly an image of a huge black, rough hewn wooden door, slammed into his senses. It was barred with many bolts and locks and his mind reeled as an unbearable pressure crushed down on him, almost pushing him from her mind. Quickly, he caught the image of the door and held onto it. As he regained control of his senses, he found himself on the plane of swirling mists again. The ugly black door was the only object on the shimmering landscape, and, as he looked, the door almost seemed to pulse with a dark aura, like a thing alive.
The child that was Sonea was curled before the door, her eyes tight shut. A screaming wind suddenly manifested itself through the vista; the translucent floor beneath Akkarin's feet bucking and heaving. His hair snatched and whipped about a face in which every bone was etched to razor sharpness.
Suddenly, Akkarin felt Sonea's consciousness slipping from him again as an irresistible pressure pulled at him.
SONEA! He yelled desperately above the roaring gale. Please, Sonea! I will help you. PLEASE! Akkarin implored, reaching out his long, phantom fingers towards her, and they trembled.
The young Sonea opened her eyes, her face twisted as she looked up at him.
He said you would hate me now... that you will blame me...that I could have stopped him. Her voice croaked in barely a whisper, and yet seemed to reverberate around his head.
I couldn't stop him...I couldn't do anything.
The distance between them seemed to yawn before him and Akkarin became desperate, knowing that if he lost her now that it would be forever- she would not find her way back alone.
I know what is behind the door Sonea. I saw; I was there. I am the one who is to blame. I shouldn't have left you. I don't hate you, Sonea, I love you. We can face this together. Please...I love you.
Akkarin's hand still shook as it strained towards her across the gulf. Her face stared momentarily; an indistinct oval in which only her eyes looked smudged and dark. Suddenly, her face blurred and changed into the face of the Sonea Akkarin knew, and loved. Then, in an instant, the unbearable distance between them was gone, and she stood next to him, her small hand clinging to his with the desperate hunger of a frightened child, and he stared down at her and relief washed through him.
And the door...It loomed before them and they walked towards it. It opened silently, a chasm of blackness, and together they walked through it. And together they faced the ghosts and demons that lay beyond.
At the foot of Sonea's bed, the two watching magicians exhaled the collective breath they had been holding, Vinara unknowingly clutching Rothen's arm tightly. They saw as Sonea's eyes flew suddenly open, her hand reaching slowly upwards towards Akkarin's face and tangling in the raven's wing shadow of his hair. He clasped her fingers and his voice was more gentle than Rothen would have believed possible of the former High Lord.
"You are safe now, Sonea. I will look after you, I promise – always...I love you. I love you..."
At his words, pent emotions broke her shock like a tidal wave, the tears falling hot and fast and she covered her face awkwardly with her injured free hand. Akkarin felt his heart twist inside him and his arms went round her, pulling her tightly to him. He buried his face in her hair and his own tears mingled with hers as he cradled and rocked her, methodically smoothing her hair in his habitual display of tenderness.
Grief-stricken, Rothen bowed his head and let Vinara gently pull him silently from the room, closing the door on the clinging couple. The low born slumgirl and the high born nobleman; the two Black Magicians who had saved their land, endured so much, and had somehow managed to find each other.
For four days Sonea had wandered the frontiers of death, at the end of which she had been pulled back from the brink by Akkarin's sheer determination and love, and her return to consciousness gave those around her a much needed boost. But Sonea herself was still submerged in a stupor of healing medicines and numbing magic; she was weak, her will to rally still lost in the fog of nightmare. She rarely spoke, and when she did it was in a voice as weak and helpless as an infant's. And she barely raised her eyes, and when she did her glance was dulled by suffering.
Jonna spent many hours silently sewing by her niece's bedside whilst the girl slept, gradually adjusting to what had happened, and to the knowledge that life would never be the same again. And Rothen came as often as his new duties, forced upon him by circumstance, allowed. His face remained ravaged, puffy-eyed, with the lines of age sharpened and augmented.
Cery, too, came at last, finally stealing himself for the sight of her since that dreadful day in front of the university. She was asleep when he came, and she lay motionless on the bed, like a white marble statue sculptured on her own sarcophagus. Only the living foliage of her dark silk hair seemed to emit light, and her eyes were tightly closed, the lids dark smudges. When the young Thief gazed down at the woman he had loved for her vitality, reduced now to a poor lacerated body that looked as if it might evaporate into the surreal air of the sickroom, he could not bear it and he fled the building.
Two days after Sonea awoke, Dorrien came. He had avoided the two Black Magicians since their return to consciousness, unable to face his feelings in the light of what had happened. He wanted to be the one who cared for Sonea, who tenderly nursed her back to her former self. But it could not be. And he could not stand it. He told his father that he had done what he could for the injured at the Guild, but that he was now returning to his village, vulnerable as it was so near to the Sachakan border.
With a heavy heart Dorrien knocked on the door of Sonea's room and, as it swung open, he stared straight into the eyes of Akkarin who sat in a chair by the bed. The two men took one another's measure, until a movement from Sonea drew their attention. Akkarin leaned towards her and gently stroked her cheek, whispering something in her ear. Then, he stood and silently walked to the door, laying a hand briefly on Dorrien's arm as he passed him, before leaving the room and shutting the door behind him.
Akkarin knew what Rothen's son himself could not yet admit; that he had come to say goodbye to Sonea for good, convinced that he would never again love anyone as he did her. The Healer said some words to her that he later could not recall, and then he bent to kiss her pale forehead , pausing in the caress, recording in his memory her face and smell, and stroking her hair. Then Dorrien left with dry eyes, a determined expression, and a resolute heart. He would love Sonea for the rest of his life, but she belonged to someone else.
And Akkarin. He quietly assumed the responsibility for all Sonea's needs, and he would brook no argument. He rarely left her side during the day, and at night he lay carefully next to her on the bed, learning to quickly read if she wanted him to hold her or not, needing only his detached presence; physical touch by anyone, including Akkarin, was unbearable to her at times.
During those first nights of recovery, Akkarin's ear was as sharp as that of a night stalker, and he was immediately awake if there was a change in her breathing, or if he heard her stir or moan. With the help of Takan, he coaxed her to eat, and when Sonea saw his anxiety she tried to smile and would take a little food. He bathed her face, brushed the tangles from her hair, moved her whilst her sheets were changed, anticipated her every need. He welcomed each small act, every gesture, every glance that made her his. And without reservation, she gave her tormented self to him and they absolved their guilt and shame in each other.
Soon Sonea was walking a few, tentative steps on her newly healed legs, supported by Vinara and Akkarin, though her paleness was a measure of her pain. She refused to levitate and had quietly, but firmly, requested that the level of pain-numbing Healing be lowered because she said it fogged her mind and she needed to think clearly. At her request Vinara and Akkarin's eyes had met and an unspoken word passed between them.
Hope.
A faint smiled tugged at Akkarin's mouth. Yes, Sonea had always been that: Hope. It seemed she had saved some for herself and he marvelled at her resilience and it bolstered his own.
The day after she walked, Sonea asked to leave the Healing Quarter and return to her old room in Rothen's apartments. There was no doubt that Akkarin would go with her, and the arrangements were made, and no-one questioned it.
The days and weeks passed. Sonea and Akkarin were formally accepted back into the Guild as its Black Magicians – defenders of the realm. A new residence was planned for the incumbents of the Guild's newest position and the work began. Akkarin and Sonea were venerated by most, yet feared still, and they were compelled to live in a strange kind of semi-freedom.
Whilst the rest of the City around them was flung into a frenzied period of reconstruction and change, the Black Magicians felt themselves to be trapped in a somnambulistic bubble; intrinsic to the developments, yet apart, different - adrift in their own private world of pain and uniqueness.
Just as he loved her like no other, in that time Akkarin also came to know Sonea like no other. Through sleepless nights they lay close and whispered stories of their past lives to each other. There was no memory from the past, no dream of the present, no plan for the future that they did not share. They were raw, flayed open, and the only salve for their wounds was each other. They surrendered all their secrets; going beyond the physical, they abandoned their souls to one another.
And Sonea needed him as she needed air and light. She claimed him; it seemed normal to her that he was by her side day and night. She yielded her entire being into his care, creating an indissoluble bond that helped them endure the memory of their suffering which hovered over them like an evil presence. When he left her for short times, she stared at the door, waiting for his return. When she was racked with nightmares or pain, she reached for his hand and whispered his name, seeking his comfort.
And Akkarin...he was there. Unquestionably, indefatigably, there. And for the first time in a long time, his life had a purpose beyond that of being just a weapon. Now, now he was her hope. Now there was the possibility - just the merest possibility- of a future.