Disclaimer: Valdemar & concepts belong to Mercedes Lackey; lyrics are to the song "Farther Away" by Evanescence; this fic and original characters belong to their author.
Notes: Right. Since so many people seem to be finding this a tad confusing, here's the run down: the Prologue (with Morgan, Toby & Dori) and the Epilogue (which will have them again) are separate from the rest of the story. From the first real "chapter" to the last real chapter is basically the history/story that they're reading from the historical text Morgan accidentally Fetched from the tombs. Okie?
MARIONETTE
Chapter Two: Farther Away
By Senashenta
For an endless moment, no one moved.
The Karsite soldiers—those who hadn't fallen under Auralee's hooves and teeth—froze in mid-movement. The man who had killed her held his sword at an awkward angle, half outstretched and pointed downward—as it had been when he struck the final blow. His eyes were so wide that the whites were visible, glaring brightly against the dark brown-grey of their murderous depths.
What—
She couldn't see to the side, like she had been able to before. She couldn't see anything, except what was directly in front of her—her hands. Her hands. They trembled and shook, fingers twitching. Quivering. She couldn't seem to stop the movement, and it wasn't only her hands, either—her entire body shook, racked by dry, silent sobs—sobs that were brought on by the pain—the pain in her heart—the pain that resided where Oran's mind—where Oran himself—had been only moments before.
An eternity seemed to pass and tears stung at the back of her eyes.
Tears...
She hadn't shed tears since her previous lifetime, when she had chosen to be a Herald, instead of a Companion: she remembered that life all too clearly, then, as well as every other lifetime she had ever lived. In a myriad of images, everything she had ever done—everything she had ever been—played out across the agony that seemed to dig all the way into the very core of herself.
She was a Herald-Mage, Chosen by a tall and muscular stallion. Names came to mind—Ashita Finn and Colte. They had lived in the joy of each other's company, and died the same way, old but worn, and comfortable. Together. She had been lucky, then, incredibly lucky... they both had...
She was a Herald again, Maeyra Arcott, and her Companion was called Kanna. They ran Courier duty, along the Karsite border, and ultimately lost their lives in a skirmish with soldiers from Valdemar's rival country, Kanna struck down first, with herself following shortly after...
She was a Companion, and had taken the name Nykki. She was nearly twelve years old before she Chose—and then met and fell in love with the young boy that would become a piece of her own heart. His name was Tiernan Kelley, and he was a gifted Animal Mindspeaker. They worked, lived, loved and lost together... and then met their own Fate at the hands of an assassin, hired to kill the King...
She was a Herald once more, given the name Cadence Evelian, and Chosen by the mare, Fiona, who was the fleetest and fastest Companion in the Field. She was a Circuit Herald, and rode the Northern Border Circuit—until the day that the snows caught up with them, and both she and Fiona, as well as their pupils, froze clean to the bone in the winter's icy grip...
She was a Companion, Auralee, and met her Soul Mate when she was eight; his name was Oran Jaser, and he was a poor child from the village of Westmark. He was also the piece of herself that she hadn't known she was missing—
And—
They lived together—
Until—
Until—
Until—
Her breathing quickened, coming in short gasps. Her eyes burned painfully, and crystal tears fell from behind pale blue-grey to trail down her cheeks and drip onto the awaiting ground, below. One thought, repeating infinitely, echoed loudly in the emptiness of her thoughts, and she couldn't seem to move at all—
Oran—he's gone—
Gone—
-
I took their smiles and I made them mine.
I—I sold my soul just to hide the light.
Ristav kicked her Companion.
Kicked her hard, in the ribs, and Dali jumped forward, spurred by the unusual and unwelcome jab of pain that flared from her sides, flying toward where the vague human form of Auralee knelt, crumpled and broken against the ground, passing Oran's prone body as she ran.
The sound of Dali's hooves against the dirt seemed to snap the Karsite solders out of their stupor, but she was much faster than any of them could ever hope to be. She and Rist reached Auralee's side within a breath of Dali's frantic jump into motion, and even as she skidded to an uneven stop next to her friend, Rist was leaning down and to the side—she clamped one hand firmly around Auralee's upper arm and heaved.
The newly-born girl was thin and light—almost too light—and Rist had no trouble lifting her off the ground. Dali had hardly even stopped, and didn't even wait for Auralee to be firmly situated on her back before spinning and leaping forward again—
Her Chosen held fast to Auralee, half-flinging her up and across the saddle in front of herself. She leaned down over the other woman, hands buried in Dali's mane. "Run fast, Dali," she whispered urgently, "race like the wind! We need to get to Sensholding!"
:I'll do everything but fly, Chosen.: Dali replied seriously.
So, leaving Oran's body sprawled in the road behind them, Dali made good on her word, racing through mud, splashing dirt across her own haunches, dashing around the charred remnants of tree trunks, heading toward Sensholding, where the Grove Born and the Monarch's Own awaited them.
:What the hell is going on, Dali?:
:I wish I knew, Rist—but—I don't. I just don't...:
-
And now I see what I really am,
A thief a whore, and a liar.
Despite the war that was raging between Valdemar and Karse, the Holderkin had seemed distinctly unhappy when Monarch's Own Herald Colby and the handful of men and women that could be spared for him had arrived and usurped part of their Hold. Specifically, a makeshift base of operations had been set up in one of the main homesteads, which meant that the Holderkin family that lived there had to find somewhere else to stay, at least for the time being.
Despite the animosity that existed between the residents of Sensholding and the Heralds, soldiers, guards, and even a single Healer, they didn't do anything more than gripe about the situation. Truth be told, the people there were probably glad to have someone around who could protect them—or, at least try to—should the Karsite forces try to take the Hold.
Not that it was a likely scenario, as the Karsites knew just as well as any Valdemarian how Gods-awful vicious the Holderkin could be when they wanted to. And they were stubborn as goats on top of that, and as each Hold was a completely self-contained village of sorts, animals, grains and green included, they could hole up practically forever—and certainly until the attacking troops ran out of supplies of their own and had to fall back. All together, that made them an unlikely target.
The harshness of their society aside, Herald Colby almost wished the rest of Valdemar were more like the Holderkin. "It's not as if the entire country could dig itself in and just refuse to give an inch," he muttered, half to himself, "but it certainly sounds like a good idea."
Across the table from him, Herald Finch Barrett smiled wryly. "And deprive us Heralds of the joy of camping out in Sensholding?"
He snorted into his mug, and stared down at the steaming tea, which, wonderful as it normally was, he had yet to touch. Finch sighed and leaned back in her chair, setting her own cup on the table, to look up at the thatched roof of the homestead they were seated inside. For a moment, no one said anything, and then the third Herald present, who was stretched out on his back on an uncomfortable straw mattress, spoke up.
"You know," he said thoughtfully, "this place has a way of growing on you, after a while."
Finch rolled her eyes skyward. "Ket, you're a freaking lunatic—you know that, right?"
"So Xannon tells me," Herald Kestrel agreed pleasantly.
Colby could only shake his head at the banter between the siblings, and finally just set his mug on the table and pushed it away from himself. Finch's eyebrows rose at the sight—Colby never turned down tea. It could be three days old and stone cold, and he would still drink it...
"Worried about Rist and Oran?"
He gave a faint smile. "Aren't you?"
"Of course," raising her arms, she clasped her hands behind her head and glanced out the single, dust-coated window, which was built into the far wall of the Stead, "but there's nothing we can do until they get back, so..."
"She's trying not to think about it." Ket supplied, with a vague gesture toward his sister. "And so am I." Tilting his eyes toward them, he added; "we should all get some sleep, while we still have the chance."
:I agree,: Xannon murmured in response, though only his Herald could hear him. :The three of you haven't slept a wink in nearly two days. You're exhausted and getting strung-out, and at this rate even if Herald Ristav and Herald Oran... get...:
He trailed off distractedly, and Ket frowned. :Xann? What is it?:
The Companion's next words were colored a deep, charcoal grey. :Gods, Ket, it's Oran... he's...:
Xannon didn't have a chance to finish his sentence, for at that exact second a flash of someone else's pain stabbed through the air—and was followed by a smothering mental Silence—and then—a dark, solemn ringing that they all heard not with their ears, but with their own hearts, and they all knew then—
Ket jerked upright, catapulting from the mattress as if he had been whipped. :Oran! He's not—!:
:Dead, yes.: Xannon affirmed darkly.
Dead...
-
I run to you,
Call out your name,
I see you there, father away.
On paper, the distance from Cordor to Sensholding was barely that of a thumb length, but in the real world, it was much, much farther. Normally, it would have taken days for Dali to make it that far, but desperation spurred her into a speed that blurred her form against the trees around them—to an onlooker, her hooves barely touched the ground at all, despite the weight of not one, but two riders.
Still, they wouldn't make it to the Hold before dark, and traveling even the Valdemarian roads at night was asking for trouble anymore.
:We'll have to stop at the Waystation...:
Though she was reluctant to agree with Dali, Rist really had no choice. They couldn't continue to travel after dark, and as far off as that was, it was a definite eventuality. She didn't reply in words, so to speak, but grunted a vague agreement as she leaned lower across the mare's neck and continued to hold Auralee in the saddle.
So they would stop at the next Waystation...
It was the same Station that she and Oran had stayed the night at on their way to Cordor in the first place, and Rist didn't relish the memories that being there once more would conjure up: memories of Oran, bleeding, dying, lying in the dirt, whispering harshly for his Companion to flee, to fly, to escape, though he himself was already doomed—
Rist squeezed her eyes tightly shut and swallowed against the lump that rose in her throat, a combination of grief at the loss of a friend and nausea at the memory of his death. When she opened them once more, she glanced down at Auralee.
The girl—pale, almost sickly—thin—shivering—was staring straight down at the road as Dali raced away from Cordor and her former-Herald. A blanket of fog seemed to have coated her eyes, and, like with a Companion's, they were a deep shining sapphire, though muted in a way.
She looked... empty. And the thought made Herald Ristav shiver, despite herself.
-
I'm numb to you—numb and deaf and blind.
You give me all but the reason why.
All three Heralds were on their feet and moving in less than a split second, and Kestrel lead the trio as they dashed for the door, slamming it open with a resonating bang, and all eyes turned to them as they emerged, searching the morning light for familiar silver shapes that—
The Grove Born materialized, seemingly from nowhere, and behind him came Xannon and Evelia.
None of them were saddled, but Colby barked an order to one of the soldiers, who grabbed the two nearest of his comrades, and all three of them scrambled to locate the Companions' tack. Normally, the Monarch's Own wasn't so abrupt—or insistent—or abrasive—and they knew that when he was something was seriously wrong.
"Gwydion..." he raised a hand to rest it on Gwydion's nose, and the stallion whuffed. "What's happened?"
:Oran has been killed.: Never one to beat around the bush, he went straight to the point, and Colby's eyes widened. :He must have escaped the barrier, though. If he had still been within the Karsite Shields, we would not have Felt his death.:
A whisper. "And Ristav?"
:Either she is outside the Shielding and alive,: Gwydion told him gravely, :or she is still trapped in the village. If that is the case, then we have no way of knowing if she is dead or alive... as for Auralee and Dali... I cannot reach Auralee at all, though I am sure she is not dead...:
"What about Dali?"
:Her mind is in considerable turmoil. She is panicked. I'm having trouble getting through to her because of it.:
"Keep trying."
Gwydion nodded, and then glanced past Colby, where the soldiers he had sent running were returning, arms full of silver and blue Companion tack. Stepping to the side, Colby intercepted the first of the men, took his burden from him, and checked the name plate—Xannon-before shoving it in Ket's direction.
The next man handed him the correct equipment, then, and the third set went to Finch, who hurried to ready Evelia, just as Ket was doing with Xannon—and Colby was doing with Gwydion. The soldiers, who weren't Linked together via the Companions, could do nothing but watch and wonder what in the hell was going on.
-
I reach but I feel only air at night.
Not you, not love, just nothing.
Companions are inherently faster, stronger and less easily tired than horses, but running full-out for half a day while carrying two people is more than enough to exhaust even them, and by the time the sun had risen to the center of the sky, Dali was just about done. Her mane and tail hung in a matted tangle, her steps faltered and her sides were coated in foam.
But Dali was no a quitter. She continued on, despite her own pain, and despite the urging of her worried Herald...
"Dali!"
Ristav was exhausted, too, both mentally and physically, and was in no mood for Dali to try doing impressions of a stubborn donkey. Still holding Auralee in her lap with one hand, she used the other to yank on her Companion's mane, making the mare wince and shoot a glare back in her direction.
:We're almost there, Ristav! It's only a little way farther, and then I'll stop.:
The problem was that she was on the verge of collapsing in the middle of the road, and though she didn't want to admit it, Rist could very clearly see it. She yanked on Dali's mane once more, and gave her a sharp kick in the ribs with one boot—and finally Dali stopped, jerking to a halt in the middle of the road.
She didn't say a word as Rist slipped down from her back, dragging Auralee with her, but glared daggers at the woman when she shuffled over to the side of the road and sat Auralee on the ground under an old half-dead oak tree.
For a moment, neither the Herald or her Companion moved, and the heaving sound of Dali's gasping breath was the only thing that broke the silence as they looked down on the girl who had once been a Companion, herself.
:She's practically catatonic.: Dali murmured, and Ristav's eyes flicked toward her and then back again to Auralee.
She sat where Rist had propped her, still as death, unblinking, ethereal crystal eyes wide and pinned on an invisible object in front of her. Her mouth moved, though, as she murmured Oran's name over and over again, in a silent litany. Her hair—which was a little more than shoulder-length and bleached as white as the snow—fell across her forehead and down her back in a tangled mess, and wore no clothing, for she'd had none on when she was a Companion...
"We—we'll have to get her some clothing," Rist whispered.
Something nudged her back, and Dali leaned her head down to rest it against Rist's shoulder. :What are we going to do with her?:
"I don't know... I don't know." She shook her head. "We have—to get her clothes. And get her somewhere—somewhere safe." Stepping away from Dali, she headed back over to Auralee and heaved the smaller woman back to her feet. "Let's get to that Waystation."
:Yes.:
-
I run to you,
Call out your name,
I see you there, father away.
Colby and Gwydion lead the way, heading down the road toward Cordor as fast as they could go and still have Xannon and Evelia keep up. On their own, the Grove Born and the Monarch's Own would have been twice as fast—but Colby knew even without having to ask that Finch and Ket wouldn't be willing to stay behind.
Having left Healer Raphael in charge in their stead, they were on their way to locate Dali—
:Dali,: Gwydion reached with his Mind, determined to contact—and subsequently keep in contact—the mare. Her thoughts were still a jumbled mess, but the Grove Born managed to push most of them aside. :Dali, tell me what is happening.:
Rather than words, Dali replied with a mirage of cluttered images—and 'Dion had to try to sort through them to make any sense out of what Dali was trying to show him. Finally, when he couldn't get more than a vague idea that something—something—had happened to Auralee, shortly after Oran's death, he gave Dali a sharp mental slap—
:Focus, Dali! Tell me what happened!:
:Auralee—: she was exhausted. So exhausted that it was reflected in her Voice. :Oran—he died—they killed him—and then Auralee—she just—there was a flash—like lightning—or mage-light—and then she was just—there was—she—and—:
She couldn't vocalize it, and again relied on images to convey what words seemingly couldn't—
A woman. Young—maybe twenty two, or, at the most, twenty-five years old. She was wearing no clothing. Her skin was pale, as if she had been hidden from the sun her entire life. Her hair was tangled, not short, not long, reaching just past her shoulders, and was a pale, bright, unnatural white in color. Her eyes were closed, squeezed shut in what appeared to be pain—or fear—but there was a feeling—a feeling that, were they open, they would be a bright, crystal blue, the same color as a Companion's eyes—
Gwydion pulled out of the visual with a gasping-rush. :Gods, what—:
Colby was already bent low across his neck, and managed to half-call; "what is it? What's wrong?"
:There is something very seriously wrong with Auralee,: he replied vaguely.
"But—what?"
:She appears to have been—turned—into a human.: He had to consciously keep himself from adding "again" to the end of the sentence. What in the Havens are the Gods playing at this time?
-
Try to forget you,
But without you I feel nothing.
Dali was in no condition to carry even one person any more, never mind two. So, despite the constant danger of having the Karsite soldiers possibly catch up to them, Rist—not her Companion—carried Auralee down the road. The now-woman was so light that it wasn't a problem in the least, though, and Rist had to wonder as two why she was so damn skinny.
Companion-Auralee hadn't been just skin and bones, after all... so why was human-Auralee?
No matter.
As for Auralee herself...
It was obvious to both Dali and her Chosen that their friend was hurting. Suffering. Though she continued to stare, blankly, without seeing or comprehending anything that was around her, there was an underlying pain; one that would not have been so obvious, had they not known her so very well.
Oran—
He's—
Gone—
And—
I—
And—
And—
I—
She was trying to cry, but couldn't seem to shed any more tears. A rough sob welled painfully in her throat, but remained unvoiced. Inside, she was screaming—shrieking—but outside... there was nothing but silence.
She was aware of her surroundings, despite what the others thought. She allowed Ristav to carry her, because she didn't think she had the strength—either physical or mental—to make her new legs move on their own. She didn't speak, because there were no words to describe the torture of her existence, without—
Without—
Oran—
It was her own fault, really. The Great Companion she had spoken to, in lieu of the Gods, had not forced her to return—nor had he given her a choice. Had she simply, flatly, undeniably refused, would they have returned her to Valdemar against her will? Or would they have allowed her to choose a new life? Would they have permitted her access to the Havens, to see Oran again, to know he was alright, to know that he was happy, safe, and contented?
A low moan, like the kind a dying animal would make, escaped from her throat.
This is all my fault—
All my—
Rist's head turned a bit, and she eyes Auralee for a second before turning to face forward again. Next to her, Dali paced slowly, eyes on the former-Companion, still tired, still confused, still worried, and twitching both her tail and her ears nervously as she walked. :I think she's coming around, Chosen... she made a noise, right? That's a good sign, isn't it?:
"Maybe," Rist nodded toward an upcoming bend in the road. "We're almost there, Dali. We can talk about once we're at the Waystation."
-
Don't leave me here, by myself.
It was funny, but she didn't remember the Station at all.
Somewhere, deep inside herself, she knew that she had been there, though, if only because a heavy sense of déja vu settled into her shocked mind as soon as they rounded the corner and the little building came into view. It had a shingled roof, and a small stable attached to the side of it, just big enough, probably, for two horses. A fire pit had been dug into the ground, a few yards from the main building, and was lines with large, flame-blackened rocks.
When had she been there?
Before.
Before what?
Just... before.
Before...
She was strong enough to keep herself seated upright when Ristav carried her into the Waystation itself and set her down on the straw-filled mattress. Unmoving, she watched the white-clad woman clatter around the room, searching for something—until she found an old chest, tucked in a back corner, filled with faded clothing.
"Here," she grabbed the first thing she could and turned back to Auralee speculatively. "You need to get dressed..."
She stared. "Dressed..?"
:Um,: Dali was standing in the doorway, watching with worried sapphire eyes. :Aren't you... cold?:
Cold?
Yes, cold...
"I am... cold... I think..."
Her voice was hoarse, and sounded unnatural to her own ears. It didn't sound like her Voice at all—it didn't sound like the one she'd had... before. The Herald—Ristav, her mind told her firmly—seemed to sigh, and set about dressing her in a long shirt. It was obviously meant for a man—it hung down to her knees, almost as long as a nightshirt. But it was something, at least.
Wordlessly, she sat back down on the mattress, instinctively crossed her legs under herself, and proceeded to raise her hands and flex her fingers, staring—
"Dali, I... have fingers..."
:Yes, you do.: The mare nodded slowly, then added hopefully; :you recognize me, at least. That's... um... that's good, Auralee. Right, Rist?:
"Hmm." Rist had propped herself on the edge of a grain barrel. "How... are you feeling?"
Crystal eyes turned upward. "I feel..."
Blankness. There was nothing inside her. No pain... no loss... no sorrow...
"I feel... nothing. I... I'm tired, Ristav."
Rist nodded, seeming to understand. "Lie down then. Go to sleep. I think we all need some rest."
"Yes..."
Rest...
-
I can't breathe.
The sun, which had risen in all its splendor, was a short-lived blessing upon the war-ravaged country of Valdemar. Shortly after noon, dark clouds moved in across the horizon, blotting out the warmth of its rays and promising rain to come. There was no way of knowing if the impending rain storms were natural or not—the Karsites had, they knew, been toying with weather-magic of late, perhaps in an effort to destroy any crops and fields that they hadn't already burned into oblivion.
Across the shadowed land, three silver forms raced. From a distance, they were no more than ghosts, fleeting in the pressing shadows, though the forms on their backs were a bit more solid. Still, they seemed to fade in and out of existence, like a daydream or a mirage...
It had been a long, long time since the time when Companions were commonplace among the border farms and towns.
Before the war, they had shown themselves more. Sightings were not something that happened all the time, by any means, but Companions did come, On Search, looking for children to spirit away into the magical, wonderful world of the Heralds...
Magical. Wonderful.
The dark thought invaded every Heraldic mind during times of war: if I wasn't a Herald, I would not have to do this.
"This"—fighting, commanding, watching people fall and die around you, sending them to their deaths—
Just like Oran, Finch's mind whispered, and she ducked her head to hide her eyes in Evelia's mane, just for a moment. A surge of sympathy welled from the mare. :Evelia... if we had gone, instead of Oran and Auralee, he might be alive, and—:
:And we might be dead.: Evelia interrupted softly. :There was no way to know, lovey. Someone had to go, and Oran and Ristav volunteered. It's sad, but they knew what they were getting into. They knew the risks.: She was grieving, yes, but it is a Companion's job to pass on wisdom—or so some would say. :Danger comes with the territory. It's a terrible fact, but it's true... while being a Herald and being Chosen by a Companion is a wonder in and of itself, there is sometimes a price for that wonder. Every child who is Chosen makes the choice to be a Herald—the life is not forced upon them by any means. And every child who is Chosen and decides to stay and become a Herald knows that, someday, there may come a time when it is necessary for he or she to lay down their life for their Monarch and country. That is the sacrifice of taking Heraldic path...:
:I know... but...:
:I doesn't make the death of a friend and comrade any easier, I know.: Evelia soothed, :but you must understand... Chosen... the simple truth is that it might have been Oran's time to die.:
Finch was silent. She understood—she did. She knew, as did every Herald, that the chances of dying comfortably, old and worn, passing away in her sleep, were very slim. Most Heralds died performing their duty—defending their King or Queen. Defending their country.
Still...
How many Heralds had died, since the beginning of the senseless war they were fighting with Karse? How many Companions? How many Guards, Healers, Mages and Bards? How many countrymen? How many Valdemarians?
Too many... too many friends...
Too many to count.
And Oran was one more.
-
I run to you,
Call out your name,
I see you there, father away.
Flames licked against the spit, yellow, red and orange dancing just below the pale flesh of a skinned rabbit as a thin trail of smoke rose into the darkening sky. She wasn't hungry, but still, Rist knew she had to eat something... she'd felt bad killing the rabbit. It was skinny, barely more than skin and bones. She watched it sizzle and cook above the fire, but her mind wasn't on the meal before her.
I wonder... how Ket's doing...
Thoughts of her friend were more than a little out of place, and she shook her head at her own silliness.
What am I thinking? Ket's fine... its Auralee that I need to worry about, now.
The rabbit crackled and spat in the fire. Normally, the smell of the cooking meat would have been wonderful... but she just wasn't hungry. Dali stood a few yards away, head down, lipping at the wilted grass around the Waystation. She, too, knew she had to eat something... but, as with her Herald, the last thing she wanted was food.
Worried eyes turned toward the building, inside which Auralee was sleeping. :Chosen... what do you think happened to her? I mean,: the mare paused, and her tail flicked nervously, :I mean, she's human now... yes. But... why? Why is she a human?:
"I don't know," Ristav's voice was little more than a whisper, but the Bond between her and Dali was strong enough that words weren't really needed at all. "Nothing like this has ever happened before, has it Dali?"
:Not to my knowledge... or, at least, not in this context.: Dali replied vaguely.
"Why would the Gods have done this to her? Why would they... make her stay here, after Oran..."
:The Gods work in mysterious ways,: Dali murmured, then; :your rabbit is going to burn.:
There was a few long moments of silence, broken only by the sizzle of the cooking animal, as Rist busied herself with turning the rabbit on the spit. Somehow, just as she wasn't hungry, she got the feeling that Auralee wouldn't want to partake in any of her meal—didn't think that it was likely Auralee would eat meat at all, given that she had spent the previous twenty years of her life as a herbivorous higher being.
It was strange how her mind brought up little, unimportant details like that...
-
I run to you,
Call out your name,
I see you there, father away,
By late afternoon, the sun was completely hidden behind dark, ominous storm clouds. Thunder rolled across the sky, and the occasional flash of lightning lanced down out of the darkness to strike the earth below. A cold wind had begun to rise as well, and to the sensitive nose of a Companion, a chill was on the breeze.
:We're almost there,: Xannon told Ket quietly.
On his back, Xannon's Herald didn't respond immediately. He was too busy mulling over the idea that Oran was—gone—and the strange mix of grief and anger that was radiating from his younger sister to really listen to what the stallion was saying.
Kestrel himself... he was worried about Ristav. The woman had been out of touch for far too long, and given what they knew of Oran's fate—
:She isn't dead.: Xannon said firmly. :If she were dead—if she were dead, Dali would know—and if Dali knew, then so would we.:
:I suppose.:
:I know.: The Companion snorted, and half-tossed his head, the ridge of his neck almost catching Ket's nose in the process. Ket didn't even have the strength of will to chastise him. :I told you, Ket—we're almost there. Try Connecting with Rist—she might be able to Hear you, if we're close enough by now.: Pausing for a moment, he added almost as an afterthought; :and... if anyone can get through to her, it's you, Ket.:
Ket was sorely tempted to tell Xannon to just bugger off, mind his own damn business, and leave him to his worrying, but...
He's got a bloody point.
The nature of his relationship with Herald Ristav was something that was hard to define, and all but impossible to explain: he was as close to her as he was to his sister, but loved her in a different way than he did Finch. She was his best friend. His rock. His shoulder when he needed someone to lean on—and he was in the same position in regards to her.
They had known each other since their first year at the Collegium. They had been Chosen in the same month, graduated to their Whites within a year of each other, and spent as much of their free time together as they could manage during their years of Training.
:You can Reach her, Ket... you've always been able to, before...:
He could at least try—
A quick glance toward Finch and it was obvious that she was following his conversation with Xannon—as was Evelia. Their Companions had long ago given up the pretense of the Silence, at least between the four of them—Ket Heard Evelia as well, often and easily as he did Xannon, and Finch Heard Xannon just as she did Evelia.
A quick nod of Finch's head. Try.
Alright.
His head bowing down toward Xannon's neck, Kestrel centered himself and Reached, Searching—
:What-?: His Mind brushed against Ristav's, and her reaction was a start us surprise. :Ket-?:
:Rist!: Despite the familiarity of her Mind, he couldn't help but marvel at how quickly he managed to Find her. Relief flooded across his thoughts, and next to him, a smile tugged at Finch's lips. :Rist... Gods... what's happened? Where are you... and Dali... and...:
She was having trouble finding words. :Ket—you—: a sharp inhaling sensation, and then she blurted out—:Havens—Ket—Oran—he—he's gone and there was nothing I could—there were so many of them—and we were trapped—and Dali and I—we were—out of the way—and Oran was hurt—and Auralee—Auralee—she—:
Where are you? He didn't want to interrupt what she was saying, but needed to know. :Rist, where are you right now? We're heading toward Cordor, but... you aren't there anymore, are you? Where are you?:
A pause. :At... the Waystation. Between you and Cordor, I... I guess. Dali and I... and Auralee.:
And Auralee...
How can she be here, if Oran is already gone?
How?
-
Farther away,
Father away,
Silver fog drifted across the ground, obscuring everything below her knees, her feet included. The vagueness of it flooded the landscape as far as she could see, with graceful, pale trees rising from the mist toward the opalescent sky, where the sun shone down brightly from the east, and, at the same time, the moon watched the world below from the west.
Stars twinkled between the two heavenly bodies. Clouds floated across the heavens.
"Where am I?"
The joyful singing of birds was her only answer, though when she looked around she could see none of the feathered creatures. The chorus in the sky seemed to be coming from... where? Somewhere, surely. Anywhere, maybe. Nowhere? Possibly...
"I don't... understand..."
"You aren't supposed to."
The voice echoed out of the fog—familiar—so familiar—and yet—
"Who—?" She turned, spinning in a circle, searching for the source of the voice. Feathery light, white hair fluttered around her as she spun. And then—crystal eyes found and focused on a form, standing to her left. "You—Oran—"
He had his arms crossed, and was wearing the same lopsided grin that she had come to love during his lifetime. But the wonderful expression faded as she looked at him, to be replaced by a wistfully sad look. "Auralee,"
She couldn't remember.
There was something about him—she knew him, but somehow he was—different—
"How... I know you... but... how?"
He smiled sadly. "We've gone through a lot together, you and I."
The words didn't help to job her stumbling memory. "But... I don't... I don't remember..."
"No, I know you don't." Oran shook his head, "you aren't meant to... for now. But, Auralee, trust me. We know each other—we've known each other for a long time." His arms uncrossed, and then crossed again as he turned his eyes toward the misplaced heavenly bodies that circled the sky above them. "You know... Auralee... you know that I'm sorry."
"Sorry..?"
"Yes," he agreed, and a vague wistfulness entered his voice. "I'm sorry. I should have treated you better... I should have been more careful."
"But... what..." she shook her head, confused; "I'm sorry—I don't know what you're talking about."
"No. No, of course you don't." He looked at her with a love that she remembered—vaguely—darkly—in the back of her mind, and stepped toward her to brush a hand across her cheek, even as she looked on, uncomprehending. "Auralee... you know you have something to do, don't you? You understand how important you are?"
Important...
Hadn't someone else told her that, too? Someone... from before.
"What... am I important for? ...Oran?"
"For the future," he told her, and then sighed. "Just remember... love... you have to be strong. No matter the trials, no matter the pain, no matter how much life hurts... you have to stand true."
What pain was he talking about? What hurt?
She should have known...
She should have...
"But..."
"Can you promise me, Auralee?"
"Promise..?"
"Yes. Promise you will do your best, in whatever the future holds for you."
A hesitant nod. "Y-yes... I... I can..."
"Thank you," he smiled again, and—and her heart began to break—
"You're—you're leaving, aren't you?"
Tears crept into his eyes, shadowing their beautiful color. "For now, I am."
"Will... you be back?"
"Perhaps."
"But—"
"I will... see you again. Sometimes."
"But—"
"This isn't goodbye, Auralee. This is just... until later."
"Oran, you can't—"
Her heart was breaking—shattering—ringing—
"Wait—"
Luminescent eyes snapped open, and faded brick met her gaze. Pain and loss welled in her shattered heart and soul, but she just...
Didn't...
Know...
Why do I hurt like this?
She had lost something.
Something dear to her.
Something that was a part of her.
But... what is it?
-
Father away,
Father away,
Gwydion pushed on, despite the pain that was beginning to throb in his legs. It had been a long time since he'd had to run so fast and for so long—for such an urgent reason—but even though he was a bit out of shape, he was not going to stop—and neither were Xannon and Evelia, though they were beginning to struggle to keep up with him.
:How much farther?: Colby asked.
:Not far,: the Grove Born replied, :Kestrel managed to contact Rist—Xannon says they're at the nearest Waystation.:
Surprise. :He... Rist's alright then!:
:Physically, yes.:
Relief was evident in Colby's Mind, though he didn't say anything in response to that. Instead, the Monarch's Own glanced back at Ket and Finch, who were looking just as tired as their Companions. He worried—all the time—about his comrades.
:They should have let us go.:
The words were a bit unexpected, and Colby turned his attention to Gwydion's back-turned ears, blinking slowly. :They... what?:
:They should have let us go—instead of Ristav and Oran.: 'Dion clarified darkly. :It was our responsibility.:
Though Colby felt the same way, logically, he knew that Gwydion's words weren't entirely true: yes, it was their responsibility. But... it was every Herald's responsibility. Every Companion's. Both he and Gwydion felt that they were more responsible than the others... but it wasn't really that way. They had more authority—they held higher positions than most, but that meant nothing.
They both cared too much...
:That's part of what makes you a good Monarch's Own,: the stallion told him.
:And part of what makes you the Grove Born.: Colby responded.
Silence, broken only by the thunder of Companion hoof beats against the tattered cobblestones of the road to Cordor.
:There—:
Colby turned his eyes ahead, where a worn trail wound away from the main road and off into the half-ruined forest. Gnarled trees, which used to grow high and green, obscured the view to the Waystation itself, but a faint smell of smoke left the telltale signs of a camp fire. Colby raised a hand and gestured forward, in case Kestrel and Finch hadn't seen—
:We see it, Colby,: Finch's Mindvoice told him, :is that where Rist and Dali are?:
:And Aruralee,: Gwydion added.
He had almost forgotten. She's... not a Companion anymore.
Back when they had just left Sensholding, Gwydion had managed to contact Dali—if only for a short moment. And what he had told Colby after that communication was—was—was hard to believe: Auralee, without Oran, no longer a Companion, turned into a human being.
How?
Why?
They started down the path toward the Waystation with him still pondering, a deep frown set into his features and his lips compressed into a thin line.
Comparatively speaking, the distance from the road to the Station was nothing. It took them less than two minutes to wind their way through the overgrown tangle of trees and vines to the building, where Ristav and Dali stood, in the yard, waiting expectantly—grimly—but with hope—for them to arrive.
Both the Companion and her Herald were worn. Exhausted.
Still, Rist managed a proper greeting when Gwydion cantered to a stop just in front of her, and Colby slid from his back: "Grove Born," she nodded, acknowledging Gwydion, before turning her attention to Colby, "Herald Colby—"
—and then, from behind him, Kestrel's voice—"Rist! Gods, you are okay!"
While he interrupted Risav's words, he didn't have the gall to actually come between her and the Monarch's Own, though he looked as if he wanted to. Instead, he stood just behind Colby, alongside his sister, as their Companions moved to join Gwydion, who moved to join Dali, who looked worriedly toward the Waystation—
:Rist... it's Auralee...:
Rist followed her Companion's gaze.
In the doorway, leaning against the frame, pale, shaking, with tears trailing down her cheeks and a confused but broken expression on her face, Auralee looked out at the gathered Heralds and Companions without comprehension.
"Auralee—"
"Auralee?" Finch repeated incredulously, "but she's—"
"It can't be—"
"Gods, Gwydion, I didn't think she was actually—"
:So,: the Grove Born said gravely. :It is true.:
-
Father away...