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The man held Lynet's mirror, and Lynet followed. Followed as she must because without the mirror the shadows would carry her away once more. She followed that man down the slope to the edge of the cliff.

That sight drove all other thoughts from Gareth. His mind was suddenly cold and clear as crystal. Crouching low, he moved cautiously, silently up the rise.

Lynet followed her brother, down the slopes and up the hills. The mirror he held caught the silver moonlight. Her self strained against her flesh. She could feel Ryol reaching for her, but even this little distance was too much. The shadows came, and she looked and saw how Morgaine held her brother's hand, leading him on, how she smiled down at him, so satisfied with what now happened, and how her brother glowed with his accomplishment.

The sea. It was loud here, the rush and rumble, and the sudden thunder-loud boom as they smacked the entrance of the caves below. The silvered land ahead ended in nothing but rushing blackness. Was that where she had been those times she had flown from herself before? In the night over the sea?

Ryol. Ryol. Help me.

But Ryol could not answer. Was he even there, or had he already given over the last of himself in her service. She felt herself begin to split. She tried to clench her fists, but she was too weak. There was only cold and pain and the rushing of the wind, and Colan in front of her. Father stood behind Morgaine. He stretched his hands out, but he could not touch his son. Not anymore.

Anger burned in Lynet, tracing its lines down the wounds of her arms and through the bones of her skull. Colan stopped. So did she. The cliff's edge waited a bare yard away. Below, the waves shifted and rolled, and called. Called to their white-armed daughters, called to all the dead and drowned. Called to her. Called to him.

Colan turned the mirror over in his hands. Her pain deepened and fear took her. She could beg. He was still her brother.

He was still her brother, and she could not permit this to go any further. He would not be stopped, he would not be swayed. She met her anguished gaze of her father's shadow, and remembered how he had held her hand as she had held the knife.

Yes, Father,
she said to that shadow.
I will do this too

“I am sorry, Lynet,” Colan said, and he did look sorry. There was grief on his face, and a little of the ocean of guilt she had felt before trickled from him now. “I wish this could have been otherwise.”

“Oh, so do I, Colan,” she breathed. He turned the mirror again, and again, spinning it in restless fingers, feeling how cool and light and precious it was.

Ryol? Ryol? Can you hear me?
Her spirit strained at flesh. She let it go as far as she dared. She shook. She hurt. She could not find her breath.
Do you know what I mean to do, Ryol?

Do it, lady. Mourn not for shadows. This is but the seal on the bargain I made years ago.

The effort at holding herself together made her sway. Colan watched her, mistaking utterly the reason for her weakness. “I promised our cousins a life,” he said. “And they are more than willing that it should be yours. Do not fear them, Lynet. It will not be long. I am sorry I must lose this pretty thing.” He held the mirror up once more. “I think it would have been most useful in days to come.”

Now, Lady!

Colan dropped the mirror to the ground, and brought his boot heel down hard on the glass. In that moment, Lynet burst free of herself. Ryol rushed free onto the wind, but with the last of his strength, his ageless, endless self, he wrapped around her, giving her purpose and strength to form her own shape once more. In the shape of herself, shining with moonlight, fury, and the memory of murder and blood, Lynet stood before her brother.

“What have you done, Colan?” she whispered, knowing full well he could hear her be wind and sea ever so loud. Nothing could keep her from him. One step at a time, as she had long ago learned to climb toward Laurel, she walked toward Colan. “You were right, you know. You should have kept the mirror.”

Fear spilled around her like waters in a stream. She scooped it up without pause, and she flung it back at him. He staggered. He stumbled, and she came on. It was easier than she had thought it would be. Ryol kept back the darkness for this moment, but all her anger, all her bitter, bitter desire for vengeance for all that Colan had forced on her, stolen from her flowed from the well-spring of her freed spirit.

“You're a ghost,” Colan whispered, backing further away.

“Am I?” she replied. Another step and another. The sea roared and slammed beneath the cliff. She felt its tides surging through her. The tide knew what was happening. The sea knew and its movement changed as its children fought their strange battle above. That movement, that change, woke the sea-women.

Good.

They were on the edge now. The wind blew hard. There was nowhere else for Colan to go. He had to make his stand here. A thousand things flashed through her. So much of life, so much childhood kindness, so much shared sorrow and fear. All the bright moments of their lives, until he turned, and he turned again, and told himself each time he had no choice.

“Lynet!” screamed a voice.

Gareth. Gareth running toward her. Did he see herself or only the clay remains. Sadness rippled through her, but she did not let herself focus on him. She needed all her attention for Colan.

Forgive me, Gareth.
She made herself move forward that much further.

“You cannot touch me!” Colan cried out, willing himself to believe. “Get you gone in the name of Jesus Our Lord! Gareth! Squire Gareth help me!”

“Too late, brother. Far too late.” Lynet closed her hand around the living warmth of his wrist. She smiled at her brother as he stared at her filled with unspeakable terror.

Lynet leaned her spirit self out onto the wind above the sea, and pulled Colan out behind her.

They fell together, absurdly slow, turning and tumbling, the translucent veil of herself wrapping and encompassing him. She felt the last tatters of Ryol fall from around her, and she mourned him in the moment before the waves reached up and gathered them in. She felt their cool touch, but no shock, no change of air or place, only the dimness. Colan struggled, grasping at the waves as they surged over him.

Then the
morverch
were there.

She felt their glee and their triumph.
Welcome, cousin. Welcome home.
They wound their long arms around him, dragging him down to give him the kiss of greeting, and lead him away. After a time she could feel them no more. She hung suspended in the waters, and peace suffused her. All was done. There was nothing more to hold onto or struggle against. There was a strange sorrow, but that too could be so easily let go. There was only rest now.

Lynet gave herself over to the rolling waters, and felt herself gently dissolve like foam upon the waves.

Gareth saw the man smash the mirror. He saw Lynet fall, and saw her ghost rise up. He saw the ghost drive the man from the cliff, saw them fall. He saw the arms reach up from the waves and draw them down.

He stumbled down the slope to where her corpse lay. She lay sprawled on the grass, one arm pillowing her head, one flung wide. Her bandages had come loose. He knelt, mute and bewildered. Her wounds should not be exposed to the salt air. Carefully, he tucked the end of one of the cloths back into place.

She did not move.

Anger, overwhelming and unreasoning flooded through him. “Give her back!” he shouted to the waves. “You have your proper sacrifice! Give her back!”

But the waves only surged forward and drew back in their ancient, unbroken rhythm. No hand, no voice raised but his own.

“Give her back! She's not yours!”

No answer. He could not speak to the sea and make it hear. He was only flesh and blood, and he could not reach such shadows.

“Damn you!” he wailed. “She did nothing! It is not her fault! How dare you take her!” In childish desperation he snatched the broken mirror, ignoring the pain and the blood that came instantly, he hurled them into the senseless waves. “You have no right!” he screamed at the ocean. “You have no right!”

The blood streamed from his hand, and Gareth, alone, fell to his knees, the bitter salt tears raining down his face. He gathered Lynet into his arms. So cold. He kissed her brow. So cold, so cold. She was gone. Vanished. Gone. He threw his head back and cried out wordlessly to the distant heavens. He cradled her head in his arms and wept because he was too late, too slow, too much a fool. Because he'd let Morgaine lure him away from her door. Now she was dead, and it was his fault. His fault. His fault. He had sworn he would be shelter for her, but he had left her to sacrifice herself on these cold cliffs, and he didn't even know
why
.

Then, in the midst of his blinding, searing grief, Gareth felt something change. The winds that blew so hard fell away, leaving a ringing in his ears. The whole of the air changed. The smell of the sea grew stronger, filling his mouth with the taste of salt, like tears, like blood.

Light. Light coming toward him, moving over the cliffs. Light like the light he had seen on the moors. Light like the Morgaine had carried in the darkness to lure him away from Lynet's door.

“No!” he shouted, clasping Lynet to him. “No more! Get away from her!”

But still the light came on. It mellowed and spread, and Gareth could see a woman. She was not young. Long years had made a map of themselves in the lines of her face. She was tall and strong, wearing a gown of white that trailed down over her feet. She smiled as he cringed back from her. She had green eyes, he saw. Even in the moonlight that leached all color from the world, he could tell they were green. Sea-green. But there was something of the shape of them, something in the way they looked into his.

“Lynet?” he whispered.

The lady's smile fond. “Her mother was my daughter.” With a gentle hand she smoothed Lynet's brow. “I tried to tell my Morwenna of the difficulty comes when our kind gives their love to mortal man. But love does not have such ears to hear these cautions.” She sighed. “I was very proud of her, my daughter. She remained true to him, as he to her.” Then she lifted her gaze to him and Gareth saw a sympathy as deep and old as the sea itself. “I am sorry for you, Gareth, Lot's Son. This has been a long, sad tale this. So many fathers. So many sons. All betrayed so badly. Do you know why, Gareth?”

He licked his lips, trying to force his sluggish thoughts into some kind of order. It was so strange, so unreal that he should be kneeling here with this woman in her space of daylight with Lynet's still form lying in his lap. “It is for love,” he said. “Where love is strongest, the break is the hardest.”

She nodded solemnly. “You understand then.”

“I am trying.”

The woman laid her hand on his arm. Her touch was cool but vibrant, the feel of life held tight and close but longing to break free. “It is enough, Gareth.”

He swallowed. It seemed irreverent, arrogant that he should question such a being as this, but even while his heart broke and he knew he knelt at the end of the world, he could not forget what he had left behind him in the dark. “I beg your help, gracious lady. Morgaine …”

She held up her hand. She seemed startled, but not displeased. “She is already gone, Gareth. Beyond my reach, and yours.”

“I left …”

“He has taken no lasting hurt from her, and she has done nothing other than lain with him.”

“Why? Why did she …” he could not finish a single sentence. He could not bring himself to truly, finally believe all he had witnessed, all he had permitted.

The lady before him sighed. “To wound,” she said softly. “To get what she wants. To deny that she is the one who has caused her own pain.”

They sat in silence for a moment, Gareth and the shining lady, with Lynet unmoving between them.

“Please,” he heard himself say in the voice of that small boy who had been so much with him on this horrible night. “Where is Lynet?”

“She is with me,” said the lady simply.

“Can she return?” The words caught in his throat, caught on hope and despair.

Again the deep sympathy welled up in the Sea's eyes. “Not alone. Not this time. She went too far.”

“Is there anything I can do, Lady? Please. I will do anything. Just … just let her come back.”

“Anything, Gareth?”

He heard the depth of those words, felt the darkness under them. He was no more in the mortal world. This was the invisible country. In this place words bound like stone and iron. In this place any bargain made would be kept, willingly or no. He knew it from his brothers, and from the intuition of his own soul. He felt Lynet's still weight against him, felt her hair flowing loose over his hands.

“What is required?” he asked hoarsely.

“What was given, Gareth. A life.”

He would die for her. He could do it easily. He'd walk off the cliff with a full heart. He knew it. Never have to face the morning. Give his last for love and be sung about as Sir Tristan was in the countryside, and Lynet would be safe and there would be no more ghosts for either of them. No more loss. He would be the one who vanished this time.

But the sea was looking at him sadly now, and he felt the other thing. The part of him that spoke of cowardice. Slowly, under the gaze of the Sea, and holding Lynet's still form, Gareth understood.

“I give her my life,” he said. “As she gave hers. I give it in service to her. I will be hers and no one else's. My life to hers and for hers, for as long as we are granted to live. Will that be enough?”

The Sea smiled, and she stood. “Yes, Gareth. It will be enough.”

She stepped aside, moving into the night, and for a moment he saw Lynet before him, shining, whole and well. Then, that spirit self laid down in the bed of her body. She began to breathe, naturally and deeply and he felt the warmth of her beneath his hands. In the next moment, her eyes opened as simply as if she woke from sleep.