Into the Dark Lands (22 page)

“Erin, child, what would you give if you could end our eternal war? Answer me carefully. Take what time you need to consider my question.”

“Anything,” Erin replied. She didn't need the time to think about it. She was a third, but one day she would be first, and one day she would lead her people to their last confrontation with the Enemy.

The Lady's eyes searched hers for a moment, and her grip slackened.

“Anything. Such an answer I would expect from a warrior of the line.” She turned to look at the statue again. As if musing to herself, she continued to speak. “I returned from the darkness. And to the darkness I must yet again travel. Do you ever fear it, Erin?”

“No. I hate it and I will destroy it. But I don't fear it. What can it bring me but death? ”

“If you could live centuries such as I have lived, I fear you would come to know the answer to your question better than even I.”

Then she turned yet again, and the look on her face was one that Erin would never forget. For Lady Death had such a face: old, like mountains, like the elements, like nothing that knows life truly. In spite of herself, she was frightened.

And the Lady said, “If you will accept the position, initiate, you will be the new Sarillorn of Elliath.”

Just like that, each word a splinter of something so shattered that one could not tell what the whole had been.

Before Erin could force herself to speak, the Lady continued.

“I have walked between the present and the future, the many futures. I have chosen the path and the price for viewing it. I have seen the Heart of the Enemy.

“I know of your weakness. It has troubled the line greatly, for you know as well as we that could you but touch the full extent of your power, you would be the greatest healer any of the lines have ever seen. But I have also seen Karana; I felt the touch of God through you on the field, and I know the power you wield, even if you do not.

“Perhaps, in time, you will find that your weakness contains a hidden strength; this I do not know.

“But this road, this road that I have walked, you, too, must walk, Sarillorn or no.”

“What road, Lady?”

“The road between Dark and Light. And you, of the Light, must take that path, knowing that light casts its shadows, and that they lie at times in places that no eyes can see. ”

She stopped then, closing her eyes again.
How much can I tell you, child?
For Erin was, truly, a child in the eyes of the eldest.

“If you become the Sarillorn of Line Elliath, all the responsibility of the field will be yours. Your friend and line-mate must remain with his unit, but you will belong to all. You will go where you are needed and will lend my power—your power—to all of your kin.

“You will see death, child, and more; your gift, your talent, is the talent of your mother. You are a healer by birth and warrior by choice, but when I grant you a part of my power, it is the healer that will often dominate. When you fight on the field, you
will fight two battles: the one against the enemy, and the other against your need to ease the pain that will surround you.”

Erin nodded. “I already do,” she whispered.

“It will be worse.

“Will you become Sarillorn?”

Erin took a deep breath, weighing the responsibility. Becoming Sarillorn was a dream—a hope—that was never talked about. No honor was higher, no position more respected. But it required so much knowledge, so much skill . . . She swallowed.

“I—I can't, Lady. I don't have half the skill the Sarillorn—or Sarillar—would need.” It wasn't easy to say the words, but she took comfort in knowing that somehow, Belfas would be proud of her.

The Lady seemed to shrink slightly.

“Erin. This thing that I ask of you—I ask it with reason. For although I may not speak of all I have seen, I have seen this: That you, and you alone of all the lines, may one day pull from the darkness a lasting light. If the Bright Heart has a hope, it is this: the end of the war that destroys so many, blooded and gray.

“And thus I name you Lernan's Hope.

“Yet even where you walk, more than hope must sustain you. For the good of the future, you must allow the line to risk some of the present. If you are not yet qualified to be Sarillorn, have faith that you will become the greatest that the line has ever honored.

“Will you become Sarillorn?”

Of all the things that she had imagined, this was not among them. She wanted to say no.

And she wanted to say yes. To say yes, and become the strongest single force that the Enemy would have to deal with. She looked at the Lady as if for guidance and found her answer there.

But she could not speak it. Instead she nodded quietly.

“Go, then. Latham still awaits you. Ready yourself and return to me on the morrow.”

Erin walked away from the fountain, following the green path until she could once again see the long, pale hall that she had come through. She looked down its length to see one man standing against a blank wall.

Latham.

Wordless, she went to meet him.

And wordless, he offered her his hand. He thought, this time, that she would accept it completely. Nor was he wrong; even
those very strong of blood who spent too much time in the Lady's presence yearned for the familiar sight and touch of another—mortal—being.

 

Bright Heart help me to live up to my line
.

She touched the cool stone altar with her forehead and rose. Latham was waiting outside of the Great Hall; waiting to take her back to the Lady. She belted her robe tightly, feeling a chill in the autumn air.

Hunger gnawed at her, and she ignored it to the best of her ability; she'd not been able to eat at all either the previous night or this morning.

“Lernan, ” she whispered, near silent, as she passed through the doors. “Guide me.”

Latham bowed as she entered the day. He noted that she was wearing the simple gray robe of the initiate that had been given to her four years ago. Her hair, unbound, fell loose around her face like an auburn wimple. Only the sword that she wore at her side separated her from the other temple initiates.

“The Lady waits,” he murmured.

She looked beyond him to the very edge of the woods. “I know.”

He knew that she was frightened; she held herself, in fear, the way the young do—tense and withdrawn, as if to avoid the notice of danger or threat. But it was a different fear than the previous day's. The unknown had been replaced by the known. And the known was no less terrible.

“Child,” he said softly.

This time, Erin didn't bridle. For the first time, she heard the warmth and concern in the word instead of condescension. She looked up at him almost gratefully, holding out a barely steady hand.

He took it.

“Come.” He began to walk. “If I am to judge, this day will be the end of it, one way or another.”

She didn't ask him what he meant.

The forest swallowed them both in its shadows and shade. She heard the muted whisper of birds and the patter of small, animals as if from a great distance.

She paused only once, at the foot of the tree that marked the entrance to the Lady's hall. Eyes wide, she turned to Latham.

“I'm not ready yet.” She was ashamed of the words almost
before they left her mouth, but that shame couldn't stop her from speaking them.

“No one ever is, Erin.” His grip on her hand tightened reassuringly. “If you wish time, you have it.”

She rushed on, her eyes imploring. “What if I'm never ready? ”

Very gently he shook his head. “You know yourself, and you must be the only judge of that. I cannot help you.

“But know this: Of all Elliath, the Lady was first; she is eldest and wisest among us. For centuries Elliath has taken counsel with her and trusted her guidance. She makes no decision lightly, nor are her choices foolish even if we cannot always see the end of them.” His voice dropped a little over the last words.

“Come, Erin, will you enter?”

She nodded almost timidly and stepped into the tree, into the flash of light, and into the Lady's Woodhall.

“Will you wait for me?”

“If you wish it.”

“Please.”

He smiled. “Go, then. I will be here.” And he watched as she walked down the hall, dwarfed by the grandeur of height and marble.

 

The Lady was waiting for her. Erin could almost feel her presence as she stepped once again into the garden. She tilted her face toward the light, but felt no warmth from it. The breeze that touched her cheek was cool.

Come on,
Erin,
she told herself as she took a step forward. You already made your choice.

But it isn't too late to unmake it
.

Go ahead. Then the Lady will know you for the coward you really are.

No. No, I'm not afraid of this
.

But it wasn't true; she was afraid, afraid of failing the line in such a crucial position. The power of the Lady was invested in one man or woman until the end of that person's life—and once given, only death could call it back.

But death was common in war.

No. She had made her choice. She would not turn back from it now. She lifted her trembling chin and walked toward the center of the garden.

The Lady sat, cross-legged, directly in front of the fountain.
The alabaster statue looked like a white shadow of her outstretched face and arms.

But where the statue held trickling water, the Lady held a dagger that caught the light, inner and outer, and kept it there.

“Lady,” Erin said, surprised at how steady her own voice sounded. “I am ready.”

“Erin. So soon?” But she rose, looming above her mortal grandchild. “Very well. I, too, am ready.”

In one swift moment, she laid the dagger's edge across her palm, then handed the golden-edged blade to Erin.

Erin duplicated the motion, although she wondered at it; the Lady must know that it held no power for her.

“No,” the Lady said, as if reading her thoughts, “we do not ward here; it is not required. The power that passes into you is not Lernan's, but Elliath's. Lift your hand.”

Erin complied, watching beads of blood run into the lines of her palm.

“Will you be Sarillorn?”

“Yes.”

The Lady nodded and raised her own palm. Slender, ageless hand touched callused, mortal one as blood met blood. The Lady's fingers closed around Erin's like iron clamps.

Erin cried out. Her hand jerked back automatically, but with no success; the Lady's hold was sure. She shouted yet again, giving release to a pain too sharp for words.

She was on fire. Heat burned up through open palm, scorching her arm and spreading across all of her body. Only once in her life had she felt anything akin to it. Her left hand shot up toward her right one as she struggled, ineffectively, to free herself.

Then, in the midst of the heat, she felt something cool and comforting.

“What is mortal in you denies this. But what is Light within you will not. Hold fast.”

Her knees gave way; if not for the Lady's terrible strength, she would have fallen. Suspended by one hand, she bit her lip, trying to contain her cry.

The fire continued to burn until the only thing she could see was the merciless glare of white behind her eyelids. Then she tumbled to the ground.

“It is done.”

Done? She knew, from the feel of moss beneath her cheek, that the Lady had released her—but the pain continued. She bit
her lip, drawing and tasting blood, as her body curled into a tight little ball.

“Erin. Remember your training. Remember what you are.”

Pain. Pain? She could almost see Telvar in the drill circle. Could almost hear him shouting when she had failed, again, to summon the power necessary to continue the fight—power that she alone had.

Desperately she called to it. Wounds, fractures, burns—these were things beyond her. But pain was a known: she had quieted or destroyed it for many of her line-mates over her four years of frontline service.

A faint green glow struggled to surround her body. It was cool, like the waters of the Gifting, and like those waters it began to put the fires out.

But something was different. Something felt strange. Before she had truly even begun to pull power, she felt a distinct snap. Where there had been pain just seconds before there was a dull warmth that grew and spread.

She opened her eyes in surprise and moved her hands away from her face. Both were unscarred.

She unfurled her legs hesitantly, but they, too, were free from any pain.

“Erin?”

She looked up, through drying tears, to see that the Lady of Elliath knelt beside her on the ground.

“L-Lady.” She couldn't stop herself from adding, “You should have warned me.”

“I am sorry. Can you stand?”

“I—I think so.” Once again she was surprised. She gained her feet with no difficulty. “Thank you for helping me.”

“I did nothing, Erin. It was your power.”

“My—but I—” Her eyes grew wide, and she looked once again at her hands. There was no cut. “I?”

For the first time in two days, the Lady smiled. “Yes. You are Sarillorn. You have more power now than you did before—and that power answers to your call.”

“I can do this?”

The Lady nodded again, but this time more soberly. “Remember my warning, warrior. On the field, you must protect yourself against the call of pain—for you will feel it now more strongly than you have ever felt it. If you are not cautious, it will draw you as surely as Andin's white-fire did, and you will expend what you have in healing and not in battle.”