Realm of Light (20 page)

“But you
were
wanted,” Moah said.

Caelan remembered
his father’s many lectures, remembered his father’s plans for them to be
healers together.

“Years passed,”
Moah said, “and once again during the long days the man came in search of us.
Remembering him, we let ourselves be found and listened to his request. He had
taken a woman to wife, but there were no children of this union. It was
important to this man that he have a son to walk in his footsteps, to train as
he had trained, to become as him.”

Caelan opened his
mouth, but he could not speak. His heart felt like a stone in his chest, too
heavy to beat.

“These traditions
are not Choven ways. But the man spoke long and persuasively. His heart held
much longing and anguish. He had shame among his people because he could not
sire a child.”

“No,” Caelan
breathed.

Moah appeared not
to hear. “Again, the Choven granted the bargain, and a spell was cast. But the
man was not true as before. His pride had grown great. The Choven did not care,
but because falsehood was found in him, auspices were studied and the spirits
consulted. The Choven told the man that children of his request would not be as
humans, that they would be fashioned of fire, earth, air, and water. Because of
those elements, they would have to follow their own destinies as shown in the
auspices.

“The man was
living in shame because of his lack of manhood. He could not heal himself. He
agreed to the bargain, saying his wife would turn her eyes to another if she
had no children to bind her heart to him. The man agreed to let the children
walk their own path of life.”

Caelan was
stunned. His father was sterile? He had entered a spell-casting of his own free
will? Beva, the most outspoken critic of the ancient ways, a man intolerant of
the rare sight of Choven at fairs, a man who barely allowed warding keys to
hang on his gates? If the Choven spoke the truth, then stern, austere, upright,
moral Beva E’non had been the most duplicitous hypocrite in the land.

“But this promise
the man did not keep,” Moah said. “In his children, he saw the beauty of his
wife and the strength of his own will. His children shone among others, and
their bright radiance of spirit made the man more praised by his people. In
time, the man forgot his second agreement, and when his wife died he set
himself to mold his children as he wished, denying them all knowledge of their
true heritage. He trained them only in the ways of his people, limiting them
all he could, and would not let them walk their own paths of life to their
destinies.

“This was a man of
strong will and determination, a man who would die for his own purposes, a man
who still reaches out from the spirit world to force his way on his son.”

Moah turned his
head and looked straight into Caelan’s eyes. “Always you have fought to keep a
sense of yourself, fought to walk your own path of life, fought to return to
your true people again and again despite all that has kept you from the
glacier.”

Caelan swallowed
hard. He was reeling from all that Moah had said. Yet he did not doubt the
truth of what he’d just heard.

“The Choven,” Moah
said, “do not wish to be known by the people of men. But among themselves, they
know the traditions of the gods and the foretelling that one day the earth will
be broken.”

A chill struck
Caelan. He stared at Moah in rising dread. “That’s what Master Mygar said when
he cursed me. That one day I would break the world. But—”

Moah extended his
hand, palm up. “How else can light shine into the darkness below? Unless the
earth is cracked open to expose all that honors Beloth, what hope has the
world?”

Caelan stared at
the Choven, feeling his throat constrict too tight for speech. He did not want
to believe his curse might actually come true.

Moah met his gaze.
“The gods have said that one day the earth must be broken in order to keep the
cycle of life. That is the prophecy cast, and the auspices still point to it.”

“I will not
destroy the world,” Caelan said in horror. “Whatever kind of monster I am, I
will
not
help Beloth smash—”

“Prophecy has no
single interpretation,” Moah said. “Let not fear cloud your mind. Instead,
consider the plowman and his work.”

Caelan frowned at
the sudden shift of subject. “I don’t understand.”

“Have you ever
planted a seed? The earth must be opened so that it can receive the seed. Then
the soil is pressed smooth in warm protection until the seed can grow. And when
the seed is ready to sprout into the sunlight, again the earth must be broken
to allow it to come forth.”

Caelan’s impatient
bewilderment grew. “We’re talking about war, not farming.”

“So we are,” Moah
agreed mildly. “Was not the imprisonment of Beloth a planting of sorts? Does he
not sprout forth now? Should he not be chopped down, and his roots dug up?
After destruction comes rebirth. With Beloth defeated, life can be renewed. The
cycle will continue.”

“I can’t defeat
Beloth,” Caelan said.

“Choven and the
people of men are separate, yet they fit together to create a balance of
harmony,” Moah said as though he had not heard. “We lack the aggression, the
ambition, the insurmountable will of men. Men lack reverence for all sides of
the life force. Men refuse to see the truth, and they walk in fear.”

Moah turned his
head and stared deeply into Caelan’s eyes. “You, Caelan, are of the Choven yet
not of us. You are a man, yet more than a man.”

Caelan did not
want to hear more. He shook his head. “No.”

Moah smiled, and
his dark eyes gleamed. “Yes. You have come to the truth, Caelan. Gaze into it,
and know. You were born of woman and man, yet of spell-force also. At your
birth, the auspices were thrown and your name was given. You are Caelan M’an i
Luciel. It means Man of Sky Who Brings Light.”

Frowning, Caelan
mouthed the unfamiliar words to himself. “Is this why you gave me the sword?”

Moah spread his
dark hands wide in the equivalent of a shrug. “Tell me a truth that you have
known all your days.”

The sudden change
of subject again threw Caelan. “I don’t understand.”

“Think. What is a
truth in yourself that you have always known? What have you always been?”

“Rebellious,”
Caelan said flippantly without thinking.

Then, at Moah’s
sober look, he sighed and took the question more seriously.

“I kill,” he said,
and met Moah’s gaze. “That is my essence. That is my truth.”

“This shames you?”

“Of course! You’ve
been talking about the many forces of life and reverence and truth. I destroy
that. I take lives, whether in light or in shadow.”

As he spoke he
glared at the Choven, standing there in white purity and total wisdom. How did
the blood taint on his hands measure up against Moah’s standards?

Yet Moah did not
seem shocked or offended by him. “Exoner was made for you as a gift. Our most
skilled smith forged it while the spells of strength and valor were chanted
into it.”

“It is a wonderful
sword,” Caelan said impatiently.

“Does it not sing
to you?”

“Yes, but I—”

“To hear metal
sing is a precious gift to the soul, given to few. Exoner will serve you well
in that which is to come.”

Caelan shook his
head. “You don’t understand,” he said. “I cannot accept it.”

“It is not a
bribe,” Moah replied. “The Choven do not buy men.”

Caelan’s
suspicions returned. “No?” he countered. “Then what do you want from me?”

“For you to be
true to yourself.”

“You want me to
kill? Is that showing reverence for life?”

Moah lifted his
hands. “Calmly. Remember that you are in a place of safety. Do not fear.”

“I’m not afraid,”
Caelan snapped. “I’m angry.”

“You are a king,”
Moah said. “Act like one.”

This rebuke
surprised Caelan enough to silence him momentarily. Then he said, “I’m no king.
I’m an ex-slave, arena trained for combat. I—”

“You have shared
with Kostimon, the greatest king in the history of the people of men,” Moah
said. “You were linked to him in Choven fire. You know his heart. You have
swallowed his spirit. You wish to rule.”

Caelan opened his
mouth, but he could deny nothing. “Yes,” he said simply.

Moah nodded
approvingly. “The truth sounds well on your tongue. You bring ambition to the
Choven. You bring ruthless will and the strength of a warrior to the Choven.
Yet you have a kind heart and a gentle soul.”

Caelan wanted to
laugh in derision, but he found himself yearning for Moah’s assessment to be
true. “Once, perhaps, but that was beaten from me.”

“The soul cannot
be beaten,” Moah replied, “unless it chooses to be. We are metalworkers. We
know how to temper and refine steel. You have been tempered in order to meet
your destiny. Had you not been a slave, you would never have learned the
lessons of survival. Had you not been a gladiator, you would never have learned
how to be a valiant warrior. Had you not been brother to Lea, you would never
have learned to love another. Had you not been protector to the Empress
Elandra—”

“I wasn’t her
protector,” Caelan protested.

Moah sent him a
glance of rebuke.

Caelan sighed and surrendered.
“Very well. Unofficially.”

“Had you not
performed such a task,” Moah said sternly, “you would never have learned to
restrain aggression in favor of your gentle side. Had you not fallen in love
with the empress, you would never have learned what is forbidden and what is
not. Nor would you have seen your own destiny.”

“My destiny,”
Caelan repeated. He shook his head, unwilling to accept the burden Moah wanted
to give him. “All my life, others have been telling me what I must do, what I
must be. I want to make my own choices.”

“You are capable
of understanding much,” Moah said. “When you are ready to hear my words, you
will hear them.”

“But—”

“Are you ready to
return?” Moah asked him. “Are you ready to carry Exoner?”

“I have enough
blood on my hands,” Caelan said. “I don’t want to continue.”

“That is good,”
Moah said. “When the time comes, you will know how to stop.”

“But—”

“Caelan, your
spirit is like a strong vine, wrapped and entwined among your threads of life
in a protective binding. When you learn to be what you are, when you learn to
trust what you are, then you will truly be the Light Bringer.”

“You aren’t
listening to me,” Caelan said in frustration. “I came to your camp to ask for
help in freeing the empress from the poison in her, not to call myself a king
and free the earth from oppression.”

“Turn around and
look,” Moah commanded.

As he spoke, he
spun Caelan around by the shoulders and held him in place, giving him a little
shake for emphasis. “Look! Do you see it?”

Caelan looked at
the tall marble columns standing beyond the temple. A black mist flowed around
their bases.

Horrified, he
whispered, “What is it?”

But he knew. In
his heart, he already knew the answer.

Moah replied
anyway. “It is the breath of Beloth, escaping imprisonment within the realm of
shadow. It is the cloud you have seen coming closer to Imperia with every
passing year. It is the darkness that can eventually engulf the light.”

Caelan closed his
eyes. It was the end of the world.

“No,” Moah said.
“There is a chance.”

“Not me!” Caelan
said, spinning around to glare at Moah. “What fool can go against that? How can
a man fight the mist? The wars of gods are not for men.”

“Had a man not
opened the door of Beloth’s prison,” Moah replied, “there would be much truth
in what you say.”

Caelan snorted.
“Kostimon opened the door, but how am I to shut it?”

“That is your
choice.”

Caelan’s temper
grew shorter. “Is it?” he said mildly. “And are you going to put a—a Choven
spell on me to make me as strong as a god? Gault forgive me! I know I am
blaspheming, but what is a man to say to this?”

“The strength of
men and the strength of Choven are woven together in you,” Moah replied. “If
there is a way to stop the return of Beloth, you will find it. That is
foretold.”

“But—”

“There is no one else,
Caelan,” Moah said. His gaze did not waver. “You are the only one.”

Caelan stared at
him and tried again to find a way out. “But I am only a—”

“What are you,
Caelan? What are your strengths? What gifts do you have? How strong is your
faith, your belief in the realm of light? You have feared many things, but if
there is anything which should be feared and vilified, it is that which comes.”

Moah pointed at
the black mist. “Kostimon’s destiny intersects with yours. That is the key
which you must remember. Kostimon is the means by which you can reach Beloth.”

Caelan’s mouth was
dry. He tried to swallow without much success. How simple Moah made it sound.
Didn’t he realize what he was asking? Just that one journey through the realm
of shadow had been horrifying enough.

Cowardice filled
his throat like bile. “I am hurt,” he said. “I am not whole. The emerald has
damaged me in some way.”

Moah released his
arm, but his gaze went on holding Caelan’s. “How many excuses will you find?”

His scorn turned
Caelan’s face hot. “I will find all the excuses I can. But I have told you the
truth.”

“Has not the
emerald always been a help to you, a support to your spirit during times of
difficulty?”

“And if the
emerald causes another attack?” Caelan asked him. “Each one is worse.”

“Do not blame the
emerald,” Moah said. “Such stones as yours are rare. The earth spirits create
them. The ice spirits guard them. We Choven cut and set them according to their
best purpose. As you grow, so does the emerald. Sometimes growth brings pain.”