Page 95 of Into the West

Kordas licked his lips. They stung. “Rose, this is your chance. I told you that we would find a way to free you, and when we did, we’d do it immediately,” he interrupted.

“But I—we said we would stay with you as long as you needed us.”

Kordas was struck by the forceful impression that Mother was listening carefully to every word he said, so he chose them deliberately. “Yes, you did. And, yes—you did. But if we do not free you soon, we will never learn not to need you Dolls. And you will never see freedom. Just because you have chosen to stay with us . . . that doesn’t make you any less prisoners in those bodies, and we damned well never will own slaves.”

He had an audience now, an audience of the hundreds of Dolls who were coming down to where he and Rose stood with Mother and Pebble. What one Doll knew, they all knew, after all. How could they have kept away?

“It’s time for you to be free, in your proper forms,” he said, raising his voice. “It’s time for us to learn how to do without you.” He held out his hand, and Rose put one of hers in it. “It’s not as if you can’t stay hereabouts if you choose to,” he pointed out. “You just won’t be giving us physical help. But we’ll know you’re there.” He laughed a little. “I’m sure that if we can talk to Mother and Pebble, we can learn how to talk to Ivy and Amethyst and Rose. And meanwhile, you’ll be what you were meant to be.”

He could tell that Rose was reluctant, but the rest of the Dolls certainly were not. They crowded up against him and Rose, practically vibrating with eagerness to be gone.

Rose bowed her head in acquiescence.

“Back up, Kordas, Kamaje-friend,” Mother intoned. “I do not wish to cook you where you stand.”

The Dolls spontaneously parted to give him room to get out of range, as Mother cupped her talons before her, with an opening between them, and they began to glow as white-hot as her eyes. He kept backing up until he was nearly halfway to the gate, and only then, as the Dolls flowed around him, rushing—and yet moving in an orderly fashion, no jostling, and no competition—did he notice that Rose was still with him. As they ran, the Dolls tore off, untied, or otherwise removed the items they’d been marked with, dropping them into the mud behind them.

Mother’s talons were so hot now that it was hard to look at them. The wave of Dolls began to race—and he understood, somehow, that they were going to have to pass between those deadly hands as fast as they could move, or they ran the very real risk of losing the ability to move before they reached the place where the heat was enough to melt, rather than break, the glass containing their “selves.”

Even so, they were entirely on fire as they passed into the space between Mother’s hands. It was surreal, and not a little terrifying, to see all these human-like figures rushing to their apparent doom, to see human-like figures burning, burning, burning and still moving into the fire instead of away.

And it was there between Mother’s talons that the Doll bodies actually vaporized.

He not only saw the vrondi then, he heard them—he saw them spiraling up and around Mother, singing her a wordless song that held thanks and praise, gratitude and boundless good will. The Dolls formed a river, a river that ended in annihilation and freedom, and he wasn’t entirely sure of his own feelings at this point. Gratitude mingled with regret, happiness with sorrow, it was all one tangled mess. He realized he was holding Rose’s hand, and she was holding his.

Finally the flood became a flow, the flow became a stream, the stream became a trickle, and the trickle ended. “Your turn, Rose,” he said.

She turned toward him, picked up his hand, kissed it in her own way, and let it go.

“You are the kindest, best, and bravest human I have ever known,” she said, voice shaking with emotion he had not known she could feel. “You are not always wise, or intelligent—but you are unfailingly compassionate and determined to make bad things right.”

He started, hearing those words, and sought for something to say and could not find it. She patted his face with her hand, and spoke again. “We cannot always have love in the way that we want,” she said tenderly. “But we can have love in the ways that we dare. And I will always love you.”

She stepped backward. “Watch for me, Kordas Valdemar. If fate will have it, we will be together again.”

And with that, she turned and flung herself toward Mother, running faster than his fastest horse ever could. He held his hand out behind her but jerked it back as if he’d touched a griddle. The heat had burned his fingertips and he clutched it to his heart.

And then—in a flicker of light—she was gone.

The Hawkbrothers were back, and with them, a cadre of the hertasi. Delia only learned this after she had been helped to her bed, given something for what could only be described as a skull-splitting headache, and left to recover. She’d fallen asleep as soon as she was certain the attack was over, although she didn’t find out what had actually happened until she woke up two days later.

She’d actually awakened a few times during that period, but it had only been to eat and drink what was left for her, attend to the necessary, and go back to sleep. When she finally woke without a headache, and without feeling as if the inside of her head was bruised, it appeared to be about noon, and she could tell from the sounds outside her little home that the place was, once again, full of hertasi and Hawkbrothers. The noise of the birds was back—she hadn’t realized how quiet it had been without it—and the high-pitched voices of hertasi were not to be confused with even human children.

She grimaced a little, hoping she hadn’t kept anyone out of their old home, and searched for some clean clothing. Dressed and more or less ready to face what was going on, she almost ran straight into Jelavan, who had a pitcher in one hand and a bowl of hot oatmeal mixed with dried fruits. “Oh good, you’re really awake. The Healers thought you would be.”

“I’m also starving,” she admitted, but she was polite enough to hug Jelavan with one arm while grabbing for the bowl with the other.

He didn’t bother her while she gobbled down the food without the least shame for her manners. He just stiffened his tail and used it as a prop—or maybe a sort of stool—for his rump as he waited, and told her what had happened after the pain in her skull had made her pass out despite how hard she had fought to stay conscious.

“So all the Dolls have been set free, and I completely missed everything from just before Pebble’s Mother turned up.” She sighed, and combed her unruly hair out of her face with her fingers. “I always miss everything. I suppose all of you Tayledras were actually in the forest spying on us to make sure we weren’t going to turn out to be like the Impies.”

Jelavan sheepishly scratched the side of his snout with a claw. “Well,” he admitted. “Yes. To all of it. But to be fair, we were not expecting the Red Forest to rip itself up and come follow you. We didn’t know it could move, actually. We also watch you because you’re hilarious.”

“And don’t you ever forget it. We’re gods-blessed delights you better keep safe. Well, it’s nice to know you lot aren’t omnipotent and omniscient,” she replied mockingly, licking her spoon. “And you were the ones sending those fireballs.”

“Sometimes, explosives are the best way to show you care.”

“I sure didn’t care for that Forest. Why didn’t you all destroy it before we got here? Or was this some kind of test, to you?”