The Thirteenth Scroll (49 page)

Until that moment, Lysandra had felt only reserve from this particular Cryf. Now she touched her palm to Lysandra’s forehead,
hand flat and fingers pointed upward in the gesture Lysandra had learned was the Cryf salute of both blessing and respect.

“I be Averill,” she said, taking a step back and studying
Lysandra’s face as she spoke. “I be First Healer of the Cryf, and I beg of thee forgiveness. With an unkind heart looked I
upon thee, seeing only that thou wast Up-worlder and disdaining to see the Hand of the Divine upon thee. Eiddig, whom thou
hast healed today, is Guide of the Cryf—and also my brother. The debt I owe thee is thus twice great. We, the healers of the
Cryf, ask that thou accept a place amongst our number, and I, who am First Mother of my Clan, do name thee unto our own. Thou
art Up-world
and
Cryf. It is but small payment on so great a debt, but if thou wilt accept, then I do rename thee. Thou shalt here and forever
be known as
Alysesgwyn Tangwystlwinn
. In the words of the Cryf, this meaneth ‘She of Noble-Strength, our Peace-pledged Friend’—for thou hast healed the heart
of distrust and become the bridge betwixt thy world and the Realm of the Cryf. Wilt thou so honor us by thy acceptance of
these words?”

“It is I who am honored,” Lysandra replied, “and I do accept, with gratitude.”

Touched though she was, Lysandra knew that her strength was nearing its end. Her head was beginning to spin, making the room
tilt as she struggled not to lose consciousness.

Without further words, the Cryf healers lifted her and she was carried in procession back to what she had come to think of
as her own chamber. By the time she was laid upon the soft nesting material that covered the stone shelf, she was already
asleep.

While Lysandra was busy with Eiddig, Renan withdrew from company. His heart had cried out in horror when he had seen the water
turn red as he washed the blood and grime of battle from himself. He had known then that he must be alone.

He left Selia in the company of Talog and the Cryf Elders. Now he sat beside the deep pool that was the birthplace of the
Great River. Eiddig had called it the Heart of the Realm; Renan had somehow been drawn to it as the best place to examine
his own heart.

So far, his thoughts had run in inconclusive circles. He was not certain whether he had been here too long or not nearly long
enough. Minutes felt like hours and hours passed like minutes, and still the same unanswered questions filled his soul.

All Renan could see in himself was fault. He had been so sure of himself, so full of pride—not only when he had left Ballinrigh,
presuming to be guide to the amazing woman whose strength of spirit dwarfed his own, but for the last twenty years. He had
thought that a single, private vow, spoken as a few words in the solitude of his own mind, would change who he was inside.

Now, his vow to eschew magic was broken. He had taken up arms… and he had killed. The vows of his priesthood were intact of
deed—but were they true of heart? Who was he now?
What
was he now? He had thought his life long settled, but now he saw that the answers he thought he possessed were just products
of his own arrogance of spirit. He had become a priest for the wrong reasons; he had thought the Church would protect him
from himself. It was an act of cowardice, of running away instead of the running
toward
of true Religious vocation.

And now
, he asked himself,
what do I have now?
His only reply was silence, and at that moment Renan truly knew himself to be a soul adrift.

Then, as his thoughts began again their round, into the silence came the sound of a footstep. Renan turned to see Lysandra
leaning on the arm of Talog. Her face had the
white, pinched look of one who has given everything and beyond.

The sight filled Renan with guilt. Lysandra should be in her home, safe, cared for—loved, by someone who
could
love her, who
would
keep her safe. Instead, she had found herself on the brink of death, pursued by an enemy whose magic was as black as her
heart, and had rallied time and again to pour out her strength in the aid of others… including himself.

As he looked at her, Renan was afraid of the harm he might have done her. But most of all, he was afraid of his feelings.
Like the double death of a two-edged sword suspended over his heart, he feared to leave his current life and offer his love
to her—and he feared a future without her.

Lysandra turned to Talog and whispered something Renan could not hear. The young Cryf nodded solemnly, then turned and left
her standing alone.

“Renan?” she said softly, her voice husky with fatigue.

“I’m over here.”

“You’ll have to keep talking,” she said with a slight smile. “My
Sight
is taking a rest. It’s been through rather a lot in the last few days.”

“You should be resting as well,” Renan replied. “Your
Sight
is not the only part of you that has been through a lot.”

“I have rested. In fact, I just awakened a short time ago. Talog said you had been here since after the battle. I thought
you might want someone to talk to.”

Lysandra was close enough now for Renan to gently grasp her outstretched hand.

“Where’s Cloud-Dancer?” he asked, realizing how alone and vulnerable she looked without the wolf beside her.

“I left him with Selia while she talks with the Elders. I thought she could use his company.”

“How’s Eiddig?” Renan asked as Lysandra settled beside him. “Is he—“

Again she gave him that small smile, a smile Renan was uncertain how to read. “He’ll be fine after more rest.”

Renan could not ignore how
right
it felt to have Lysandra next to him. His questions quieted when she was near. He fought the urge to put an arm around her
and hold her warmth against his body. Renan had always been content with his vow of celibacy. Many of his brother priests,
he knew, laid it aside as an outdated formality, part of the service of ordination but no more practical in everyday life
than the ornate stoles and robes they wore for Mass.

Renan had been proud—ah, there was his pride again—that he had never had such feelings. Nor was what he felt toward Lysandra
so base. He was in love with her, love born out of friendship and admiration, out of respect that deepened with every hour
he spent in her company. It was a love that wanted to protect not possess—to know and share her mind, her heart, her dreams,
her soul, not just her body, and to give all of who he was in return.

It was a love such as he had, long ago, hoped someday to find—and now was forbidden, and afraid, to feel.

“Eiddig is fine,” Lysandra said again, “and Talog, and Selia. But you are not. What is it, Renan, that troubles you so much?
Please let me help.”

“Let me help,” Renan repeated softly. “Do you know, Lysandra, I think those are the three most important words we can say
to one another. All the really important words are simple like that. But they can also be the hardest ones to answer.”

Lysandra did not reply, but it was not an empty silence she offered him. It was filled with encouragement and acceptance,
a gift and a kindness he had only to open his heart to receive.

“Tell me, Lysandra,” he said, “is there any prophecy in your
Sight
for me? Can you see my road ahead?”

Lysandra closed her eyes. Renan could feel the stillness that descended upon her as she waited, trying, as always, to do her
best to answer the needs of another. But the questions of his life were not answered that easily.

Finally, Lysandra shook her head. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I can
see
that you are at a crossroads, but only your own heart can tell you which path you should take.”

Renan gave a small, mirthless smile. “That is no comfort,” he said.

“It was not meant to be,” was her reply.

Lysandra placed a hand upon his arm in a touch that was both firm and gentle, a healer’s touch. She left it there for a long
moment. Then she stood to leave.

“Renan,” she said, “I do not know what decision you should make or which path is the right one for your future. But remember
that every choice carries its own price and its own reward. Look at both of them honestly, without fear or judgment, and your
answer will become clear.”

Lysandra turned and called for Talog. The young Cryf stepped from the passage and came forward to take Lysandra’s arm. She
gave Renan one more brief touch upon his shoulder, then walked away. There was no need for more words. He knew that whichever
way his decision took him, their paths would remain interwoven and their friendship would continue unscathed.

T
he next morning, all of the Twelve Clans of the Cryf gathered in the Great Cavern, completely packing both the floor and all
of the many ridges that ran in circles nearly to the ceiling. A dais had been raised in the center of the floor so that all
might witness what was to come. Lysandra stood beside Selia as they waited for Baron Giraldus, Lady Aurya, and their remaining
comrade, Sergeant Maelik, to be brought from where the Cryf were holding them prisoner.

Renan sat a little removed from them, still battling with the questions and decisions that had kept him several more hours
beside the pool of the Great River. Lysandra longed to ease the burden she could feel he carried—though its cause was something
he still would not speak of and until he was ready, she would not pry.

What she had told him yesterday was true; he was at a crossroads, and he, alone, must decide which path to follow. What she
had not said was that whichever way he chose would be hard and full of danger to both body and spirit. There was darkness
ahead for Renan. But Lysandra knew with the surety of breath that she would try to help him through until he could find the
Light once more.

Lysandra heard a sound at the back of the cavern. It
slowly grew and she realized it was the sound of greetings, of joy and amazement. She did not need her
Sight
to tell her that Eiddig was slowly making his way through the crowd of his people. With her
Sight
, however, she examined her past patient as he walked—perhaps a little more stiffly and slowly than was his usual wont, but
steadily, leaning heavily on the arm of Talog, his heir-apparent.

The Elder Guide’s strength was returning and to Lysandra’s healer’s
Sight
, it looked as if Eiddig would carry the staff for many years yet.

When Eiddig reached the dais and walked up the ramp to stand before the assembled Cryf, the cavern erupted in noise. Every
man, woman, and child there sent forth their strangely joyful, chirping cry at the sight of their beloved Guide restored and
whole before them. Eiddig raised his arms, staff in hand, and stood for a moment looking as if he would embrace them all.

Then, while the cheering cry continued, he came over to Lysandra and once more touched her forehead in salute. “My life is
thine, Healer,” he said, though Lysandra had trouble hearing him above the din. “The Hand of the Divine is truly upon thee,
and thou hast blessed us by thy presence here. Among the Cryf is thy home ever found. Thy name shall be honored and remembered
with the hope of thy return unto us.”

Lysandra, not knowing what to say or how to speak above the cries that continued to echo through the cavern, bowed to the
Guide. Whatever his words,
she
was the one who had been blessed in this place. Eiddig, Talog—and all the Cryf—had been part of the reawakening of her heart.

Eiddig blessed each of them in turn, starting with Cloud-Dancer. Laying a hand upon his head, the Guide
spoke to the wolf in the Cryf language. The words did not matter; the gesture was understood by all.

Eiddig then went to Renan. Lysandra did not know what passed between them, but she could
see
that the Guide’s words touched Renan’s heart. She hoped that somehow they also eased some of the burden her friend still
carried.

Then Eiddig came to Selia, who was standing to Lysandra’s right. Once more the Guide saluted her, touching palm to forehead.

“Thou art the Font of Wisdom,” Lysandra heard him say. “It is now thy time. Let go the fears of thy childhood, for they have
no more substance than smoke upon the wind. Art thou ready to step into the future? The Hand of the Divine is open and the
Heart of the Divine waits for thee to speak the words of Truth.”

“I am ready,” Selia answered.

Lysandra’s heart swelled at Selia’s words. Though softly spoken, they were full of confidence and acceptance. Although Eiddig
had been the one wounded, it was all the rest of them whose hearts had been most truly healed.

At a gesture from Eiddig, the Up-world prisoners were brought forth. The sight of them caused the cry in the cavern to change.
It suddenly sounded as if some great beast growled, preparing to strike, and Lysandra felt the hair on her arms and the back
of her neck rise in response.

The growl changed to silence at another gesture from Eiddig. The prisoners stood at the base of the dais, and though their
hands were bound behind them, there was no submission in their eyes.

Selia, you are so young to face such a difficult moment
, Lysandra thought.
I wish I could help you—but none of us can. However long it takes to gain the throne, this
is where your reign begins, and whatever happens now will forever mark what is to follow
.

Although she had not spoken aloud, Selia turned and looked at her. Their eyes locked for a long moment. Sighted and blind,
each
saw
the other—mind, heart, and soul. In that instant, the last of Lysandra’s doubts vanished. Selia had within her the heart—and
the
Wisdom
— to be a great ruler. She was truly the hope for Aghamore’s future.

Lysandra gave Selia a little nod. The younger woman stepped forward and looked down at the prisoners. They stared back defiantly,
no contrition or plea for mercy on any of the three faces. Lysandra was certain they expected a sentence of death, and she
wondered again what Selia would do.