Analindë (The Chronicles of Lóresse) (43 page)

Bobbing motions relaxed her as bits of her curled and fluttered. It felt luxuriant, this drifting. Memories slipped from her. No purpose, no demands on her time, nothing to worry about. Worries? What did she have to be worried about? The void didn’t answer.

Something snagged at one of her wisps and it pulled at her, tearing.

It hurt.

Another part of her snagged and she cried out. This part of drifting was not pleasant.

The void had snags!

Determined not to get caught on any others, she decided to condense herself into a smaller space. She wondered why she’d thought to flatten herself out like this in the first place. She shrugged. It didn’t matter. What mattered now was to avoid getting snared and hurt.

She told herself to reconnect.

Nothing happened.

She grasped two strands of self floating nearby and pushed them together, hard. She told them to meld. They didn’t.

With a cry, she yanked at bits of herself, pulling them together, but they billowed haphazardly and remained unconnected. Frantically, she grasped at the wisps spread out over the landscape and started bunching them together. A blurred numbness dropped down upon her and she lost focus.

Everything faded from mind except a pressing desire to gather herself together. It was difficult. She liked drifting better. But there were snags, and she needed to pull herself together. Slowly and painfully she pulled in a wisp here and a wisp there. She reeled the strands of self together and tied them in knots when they tried to drift away. Little by little she amassed the bulk of herself together, lassoing the stringy parts around herself when she had the chance. By the time she had finished, she resembled a mass of yarn piled together, bulky with no shape. Odd parts hung out in wrong places; she was a lumpy, airy mess that refused to find its form or purpose.

She looped around searching for something, something she’d forgotten while drifting, but couldn’t remember what it was . . . Ah, home. It came to her at last, but where was it? There was no anchor to grasp, to pull herself there. No trail to follow.

Lost.

Panic welled within her as she realized she didn’t know where she was. Confusion clouded her thoughts as she tried to remember what she was supposed to be doing in the abyss let alone how was she going to get out.

A snatch of song came to her mind and left just as quickly; weariness settled deep within her. She contemplated letting herself continue to float, the enticing forgetfulness beaconed to her. She was so utterly tired; it wouldn’t be bad to rest for a moment, would it? She felt the last flashes of alertness beginning to dim.

No!
She jerked her straying thoughts back together.

There was something she was supposed to be doing, someplace where she needed to return. She looked around the inky blackness. Nothing was familiar; nothing jarred her memory.

It was so much simpler to let go. Maybe if she just rested her strength would return. Then she’d figure out what to do. Analindë settled back to rest and felt something new. . . . No, heard. What was it? Analindë strained to listen, to understand.

It came from a far off place, . . . a song, . . . she focused intently, concentrating on the sounds. They were beautiful; it reminded her of wind rushing along the surface of the sea, the salty spray of the ocean, the strength and power of currents. The music gave her focus. Entranced, she drifted toward it. . . . It was speaking to her.

She couldn’t quite make it out so she concentrated harder; fear and weariness melted away as she grabbed hold of the song with vigor. She could almost make it out, then faintly she heard.

«Analindë.»

«Analindë!»

«Come back. Listen to me, stop! You must come back.»

«Analindë!»

The sounds of the ocean continued on, but they held no meaning. Weariness edged back in again; she didn’t have enough strength to figure it out. Maybe if she just settled back to rest, understanding would come.

«Analindë!» A shout, louder and greater than the others before it, jerked her back to attention. Something was familiar about the sound, comforting. It offered refuge from the nothingness around her. Trusting in the rushing salty breeze, she pulled herself toward it.

«Analindë, come back!»

The voice, yes that is what it was, a voice, sounded familiar as if she knew it well. Analindë, wait. . . . That was her name. The realization dawned on her; she felt happy. And the voice?

Andulmaion?

«Analindë, you hear me. Finally.» She felt his relief.

«Andulmaion?» A vague image of an elven man came to mind; he would help shelter her from the nothingness.

«Andulmaion, where?»

«Here. Analindë, you must come.
Right now
!
»

Analindë looked toward the voice and a light flared brightly in the distance; she headed directly for it. Safety resonated and was promised within that voice and place. She would rest there and be content.

Once she had the destination fixed in her mind it took only moments to make her way to it. As she approached, the words she heard became less frantic and more soothing. She had not sensed the urgency behind the sounds before, but she felt its absence as he became calmer. As she neared the light, she saw that it encircled a dimmer light. But Analindë headed for the brighter light; he was the one who had promised refuge.

«No, Analindë. Over here.» The voice indicated the dimmer light.

«But I don’t want . . . »

«Analindë, here.» She heard the strain in his voice as he firmly rebuffed her entrance, directing her to the dimmer light next to him.

«Okay,» she sighed, drifted toward, then settled herself within the dimmer shape. It was almost a perfect fit. Large wispy bits of self hung over the edges, but that was okay; the space felt familiar and safe. She couldn’t quite tuck the rest of herself into the shape, and so she lay there peacefully without moving. It was nice. Comfortable. Not as comfortable as she had hoped since she couldn’t quite fit, but she decided the ocean breeze had been right. It did feel safe, and there was a rightness to the space she filled.

Analindë rested while the brighter light kept her anchored to that spot. She let her mind drift. It felt so good to just be, to float in the safety of the haven. Comfort and wellbeing resonated all around where the brighter light held her; he made soothing sounds.

He? . . . Yes, Andulmaion was definitely a he.

Moment after slow moment she connected to the dimmer light and felt a form begin to take shape. Painstakingly she tucked the little wisps back into herself. By the time that only one piece remained she was exhausted again. So she paused a moment to gather her strength. She didn’t understand why it was so important to fit into this shape, but Andulmaion was adamant she do so. He didn’t say so much in words, but the song his wind sang to her was very insistent.

The soothing shushing sounds surrounding her lulled Analindë into a sense of peace and comfort, giving her strength. She took a deep breath and reached toward the last stray bit to tuck it in. It resisted and held back; she pushed harder, then jabbed it with force. It slid into place, making a latching sound as it did. A bright light flared up within her, blinding, and then dimmed.

As she lay still, the space she filled gradually brightened. It wasn’t quite like the solid glowing radiance holding her, anchoring her, but it grew. The light fluttered, and with every bit of regained strength, it glowed brighter.

Little by little she recognized the shape she had taken . . . a leg, an arm. Sensation returned; tingling spread down her limbs and raced over her body. She felt cold. Her limbs. This was her body. Everything returned, rushing in at her at once. She understood. What she’d been trying to do. Where she was. Shocked, she opened her eyes.

“I couldn’t find them.”

“I know.” Andulmaion held her tightly to him. They were on the couch; his arms and legs were wrapped around her, anchoring her in place. She got the sense that he thought he would lose her if he let go. Her head was cradled on his shoulder; he brushed her hair with his hand and continued to murmur, “It’s okay, everything will be all right.”

She recognized the comforting sounds she’d heard before and realized that tears streamed down both their faces.

“I was lost.”

“You are found.”

“I wouldn’t have made it back, except I heard your call. . . . Thank you.”

He said nothing, but continued to hold her safe for a long time. Analindë closed her eyes again and simply rested; a dull painful throbbing racked her body, as if she had used her muscles beyond their ability. They refused to move again.

Candles flickered, almost gutted. “How long was I gone?”

“Too long. I was worried.”

“I traveled three-quarters of the distance to the Mountain City, but I couldn’t find them. And then I couldn’t find myself. . . . If I had more strength, I could’ve found them, I know I could have.” One candle sputtered as smoke filled the air followed by a faint whiff of vanilla and cinnamon. “But I’m afraid to go back. It was different this time.”

“Shhh, don’t worry. There is no need. Master Therin and the other mages will find them. Let me make you some tea. Then you will rest until Master Therin’s return.” He gently untangled himself from her and laid her back upon the couch as if she might shatter into a thousand pieces if jostled too much, and then he moved away from her. She attempted to raise her head to keep him in sight, but was unable to lift it off the couch.

He returned a moment later with a warm cup of tea. He wrapped his arm behind her, helping her to sit up straight. As he tipped the cup to her lips, she drank. The tea was sweet and it sickened her. She didn’t want to drink anymore, but he made sure she finished it all and then he poured her another. When she finally recognized the taste, she fought him no longer. It was a tea reserved for those who were nigh unto death from exhaustion. It was made from sticky cubes of power infused sugar. It gave strength to the body.

When she regained enough command over her body to hold her own cup, they sat, she on the couch, he in his armchair, drinking more tea and waiting for Master Therin’s return. Neither of them spoke of what had happened, of how Analindë had nearly become forever lost in the void. Instead, they let the heavy silence surround them like balmy air before a storm.

The Twenty-Fifth Chapter

D
eep into the night Andulmaion
woke as someone tripped his ward at the foot of the tower. He sent a tendril of thought winding down the staircase and recognized Master Therin slowly climbing the stairs.

Andulmaion quietly rose from the armchair and stretched his cramped muscles; his neck was going to be stiff tomorrow. He gazed down at the young woman he’d almost gotten killed and berated himself yet again. What had he been thinking? He hadn’t been thinking; that was very clear to him now.

Careful not to wake Analindë, he moved past her couch to make fresh tea. Master Therin would need a cup and he could use one as well. He carried the tea tray over to the sitting area and studied Analindë while he poured himself a cup. He grieved that he’d caused her more harm. The young woman had been tired enough without his thoughtlessness added to the mix. She was so powerful and so smart that he sometimes forgot that she was younger than he, not as advanced along in her studies.

He sat back to sip his tea, remembering how nice it had been to hold Analindë in his arms; he just wished that she hadn’t been dying at the time. Other circumstances could have given him that privilege, but it was not to be. He would not take advantage of their situation. Besides, there were other considerations he needed to take care of before he could think of wooing a wife.

He sensed Master Therin lower the shields long enough to slip inside the suite of rooms. The old master looked haggard. As he sank onto one of the armchairs, Andulmaion handed him a cup of the same tea Analindë had drunk earlier. Andulmaion patiently sat down, respectfully waiting for his mentor to rest. The coming reprimand would not be comfortable and he deserved all of it.

Halfway through the cup it appeared that Master Therin’s flagging energies surged, renewed. The old master looked about the room, as if sensing the shifts of power for the first time. He looked between Analindë sleeping on the couch to Andulmaion and back again.

His face hardened, and with a steel-edged whisper stated, “The residual levels in this room are enormous! What happened while I was gone?”

Analindë’s eyes shot open, fluttered shut, then opened again. The Energy behind the words woke her as the whispered words had not. She pulled herself upright on the couch. Had Andulmaion just frowned at her? She knitted her eyebrows in confusion. He handed her a cup of tea. Her hand shook as she took it.

“I assisted Analindë as she attempted to track the human wizard in the void,” Andulmaion said stolidly, as one who is taking ownership for a grave mistake; his face turned ashen.

“You can do that?” Master Therin said. A light gleamed in his eyes for a brief moment, then it was gone. His eyes roved over her, searching. “You did not anchor yourself properly.” He said reprovingly. “Andulmaion, explain.”

“I have never been able to see into the void,” he said contritely.

“Tell me in order exactly what happened.” He glared at the apprentice.

Realizing that Master Therin was placing the blame entirely on Andulmaion’s shoulders, Analindë rushed to explain. “When the Humans were hunting for me in the forest, I was able to see them within the darkness of the void. Thus I knew how to avoid them and whether I needed to hide or run faster. When we learned that the Humans had disappeared out of the mountain passes, I thought to find them again, just as I did when I was in the forest.” She glanced down at the steaming cup of tea in her hands. The shaking had stopped.

“Only this time, they were too far away, I couldn’t find them. I nearly . . . became lost.” She glanced up quickly to catch Master Therin’s reaction and back down again in shame. Andulmaion was shifting uncomfortably in his chair. Her cheeks felt hot; the tips of her ears burned. Her heart was heavy. “Everything lost focus, and I couldn’t think, didn’t know who I was. Andulmaion called me back.” She lifted her eyes to look at the elven man beside her. His posture was now stiff. Remorse wove its way through his song and he slumped down into the couch.

Master Therin had grown still during her telling; a long moment passed in silence before he turned stern eyes toward Andulmaion. “You did well to call her back when you did. Any longer and we might never have found her. But she should never have been allowed to attempt the void in the first place. She yet has much to learn.”

Andulmaion flinched at the words.

“Analindë,” he turned to face her, “Circumstances have forced growth upon you much too quickly. In this case you try too much, too fast. It takes centuries for the most adept of us to learn how to enter the void and return whole. I want you to promise that you will not attempt any new castings without permission from myself or from any of your other professors. It is dangerous.”

Although not unexpected, his words caught her off guard. Something in her stiffened, taking offense at what he said. Of course she knew the void was dangerous, she’d almost died there. But she’d already been visiting the void, albeit briefly, since the moment her powers had flared to life. She knew that she had failed miserably and put herself and Andulmaion at risk, but where was the constructive criticism? For him, it was always just the criticism or brush-off. It was not helpful to have him berate her further.

And as for doing spell work, would he be around the next time she wanted to try a new spell? Who was going to hold her hand and shepherd her through the process? For it definitely wasn’t going to be him, no matter how much he claimed he was there to help her. How else was she to learn proper procedures unless someone took the time to teach her. She wanted to cry. She felt so alone.

“Andulmaion,” Master Therin swiveled back to face her companion. His eyes, if possible, became even harder; the stars in them blazed then stilled, making his words lash out with a ferocity that turned Andulmaion’s stillness to stone. “I will not have you encourage her in this; you should have stopped her. I do not have time to deal with you both right now. I will handle both your punishments later, once I’ve had time to think of consequences. In the meantime, you are forbidden to aid Analindë in anything beyond shielding.”

“Yes, Master Therin,” he replied.

“You may now retire for the evening.” Analindë did not misunderstand the order and rose to her feet. When dizziness didn’t rush in to overwhelm her, she hesitantly crept across the room, using tables and chairs to help keep her upright.

“Andulmaion,” she’d reached the door when Master Therin’s voice stopped her. She heard him re-enter the room but didn’t turn around to watch. “Your new casting. Has progress been made?”

Andulmaion launched into a description of the morning’s successes and failures. She didn’t stay to listen. Instead, she dragged her weary body into her room, dressed for sleep and fell into bed. Despite the huge fears that worried her and Master Therin’s strict edict, she thought about trying the void at least one more time. She just needed some really good instructions on how to navigate the void. As she drifted off to sleep, Analindë realized that Master Therin had given her an enormous clue as to how she had gone wrong. She needed to learn a lot more about anchoring, and soon.

Dawn came early the next morning, too early. Pale light spilled through Analindë’s windows, filling her room with the rosy glow of morning. Wind howled around the tower, making a sort of music as it whistled around the windows and eves. With the beginning days of winter fully past, brittle coldness had settled in for a long stay.

Analindë slowly rolled out of bed; every muscle in her body howled like the wind racing past the tower, and though she was pretty sure the wind shrieked with joy, her muscles did so in pain. Wincing, she staggered to the bathing room, hoping that a hot soak would help her. She scooped a handful of lavender salts into the water, brushed out her hair, and stepped into the bath.

The marble radiated blissful heat, soothing her aching muscles as she leaned back. She slipped down under the surface of the water reveling in the silence and calm that enfolded her. When she could hold her breath no longer she surfaced again, and lay back resting her face just above the waterline. The water lapped against her cheekbones, lips, and eyes, while her nose turned cold.

She let her mind drift as the water soothed, rambling along one thought at a time. Foremost on her mind was that she hadn’t had any nightmares last night. She found it ironic that she should finally have a good night’s sleep, yet she found herself still troubled by the horrible dreams. She’d been absolutely shattered last night; perhaps that was the key? To be too exhausted to dream?

She let those questions go and found herself thinking about her anger. If she was honest with herself, her anger was based in frustration, which led her thoughts to complacency. Yesterday while she’d trod around the garden she’d basically come to the conclusion that she’d become too complacent, too content to be coddled, and safe in Master Therin’s tower. She was too easily pushed around by ‘those who knew better’. She’d thought of taking action many times, but really hadn’t until last night. No more. The complacency would stop now.

As she thought of the Humans and the Traitors and the havoc they had wreaked upon her family and the turmoil that had enveloped the entire Realm, she felt resolve firm up inside her. She would not retreat, but act.
Learn how to fly.

She rubbed soap into her hair and thought about war. Her parents had made her study war for about thirty-five years, one war after another, looking at strategies and weaknesses, analyzing outcomes and decision making. From her studies, one thing bothered her the most. The cost of war. Commerce, trade, industry, ecosystems, power flows, monetary values, agriculture, livestock, and intellectual studies . . . these things were always impacted by war. Sometimes it had taken centuries to recover. The world and its people still bore the scars from their most recent conflict, The Elven Wars.

And then there was the cost of lives. Precious lives cut short, well before their time. Even the most vile of all Traitors usually had good things to contribute to society. Things they would discover and share with others including strides in knowledge or culture. All lives had value, no matter their intellectual leanings.