Page 26 of Gryphon in Light

“Because not being needed as Wingleader here means that you can leave here as you choose. Being claimed by Breon’s statement means you do not have to be tried for justice in Valdemar,” Firesong answered. “In short, because of what has happened, you are uniquely—free.”

If these words came from anyone else but Firesong, I’d drop them in a lake. But—yes, he is right. Being Wingleader meant I was bound here to lead others. Now I am not only replaced, I am redundant. Dangerous, even to have around. And that is their loss, too. And I can’t go deep into Valdemar again because I’m the best known, brightest target, so . . .

Firesong stood up, whirling in an obviously practiced theatrical turn so his robes billowed out before draping, and concentrated for twenty heartbeats. He then gestured in two circles and then a rectangle with his slender, tightly gloved hands, and called up an image in midair of a very well-known map. It distorted at first, pulled at by Kelvren’s affliction, but Firesong used his palm to pull the map image back into proportion. “The Storms were caused by disruptive waves of harmfully structured magic power peaking and trenching in ripples between the Over and Under realms. With the help of several wise and lucky people, we determined that these were the results of the ‘anti-spell’ blast from the detonation of Urtho’s Tower and Ma’ar’s Stronghold, traveling all the way around our world and returning to their places of origin all these years later.”

Kel nodded. He had heard this before. “As you have explained, a cascading disjuncture.”

“Yes.” Firesong nodded. “As they got closer, the waves became more concentrated and frequent. All indications were that we could expect a new Cataclysm unless we did something about it.” The map showed these waves in motion like ripples from a stone, only flowing in toward the stone instead of away. “During the Storms, we stopped one of the returning Cataclysm loci from expanding back outward from the remains of Urtho’s Tower by giving it a place to go, channeled away from our world. But the question remains: what happened to the other locus, from the point of Ma’ar’s ancient stronghold?”

Kelvren listened intently. This was a good question, and it sounded as if Firesong had been considering it for some time now. And if Firesong was concentrating on something for a good long while, it was probably worth thinking about. The fact that Firesong was talking about it now meant it somehow involved Kelvren.

Firesong continued. “The waves should have concentrated, violently exploded outward. And while it would technically have caused less devastation than the original Cataclysm, it should still have leveled hills and forests, and killed untold numbers. Exhausted as we were—we who were left alive, anyway—we braced for it.” The glitter in Firesong’s eyes reminded Kel that the Adept had very much put his own life at risk back then.

Firesong’s map image increased in size until the shape of a well-known body of water with the sketches of a few very faint craggy islands near its shores filled Kelvren’s vision. “The waves, with all their power, poured into the second location, as expected. And then they vanished. No mountain-powdering explosion, no disintegrating, rock-melting firestorms. Because of the haze caused by the Storms, no one has ever found out why. No one can Farsee or scry there, nor any creature’s vision penetrate the haze. Prayers and spirit-realm queries go unanswered. The waters and weather are too treacherous for a ship exploration.”

What was Firesong getting at? If no one could See there, and no one could go there, how was anyone supposed to find out what was there that had absorbed all that power? What did that have to do with him, for that matter?

“If you can learn what I can teach you, if we can create this new Heartstone, if you can control your ruin, and if a few dozen other factors fall into place as I have in mind,” Firesong teased, “I ask you this, Kelvren the Bright.” He let the map image stay in place, and faced the gryphon.

“Would you dare to explore what is at the center of Lake Evendim?”

Kel found himself waiting. Again. He had been under the impression that he and a couple of chosen companions—small “c”—would toss on some packs and head for Lake Evendim. If not that day, then the next, surely!

After that lecture on magic, Kel had been ready, eager, waiting for Ayshen and his packs . . . but Ayshen and the other hertasi just presented him with more food, and Firesong said nothing, just nodding in passing and leaving before Kel opened his beak.

He waited, luxuriating in the feeling of being dry and warm and groomed and pain free, and once his monumental breakfast had already worn off, he realized he was hungry again. There were those platters that Ayshen and the others brought in just waiting for him. And although he was greatly tempted to storm up and find wherever Firesong had taken himself, it would have been a crime to waste that good food, particularly when he recalled how the troops at Deedun were getting by on old goat and gruel sometimes. So he ate it to show his appreciation. And then, of course, he slept, eased by the warmth and lack of pain—and perhaps some incense that Silverfox set to burn in a corner might have had some soothing quality to it.

He woke to hear Silverfox somewhere above in the upper levels of the ekele playing a gittern and singing. It was fully night by now, perhaps two candlemarks before midnight, so his inner time sense told him. There were other sounds besides Silverfox singing, all the sounds of a healthy Vale that he had missed so much. And had especially missed when he’d first landed. Distant murmurs of voices, fluttering leaves, the far-off trickle of water, hints of music elsewhere that harmonized with Silverfox’s voice. Kel just lay there for a moment, listening, since obviously no one was going anywhere tonight.

He has an excellent voice. Kel was no expert in human music, but Silverfox’s deft playing and low, crooning song were both very soothing. Finally, he opened his eyes. It appeared that hertasi had replenished the scant remains of what he had eaten with more: this time not the heavy haunches and sides, but a deftly arranged platter of supremely thin-sliced, fat-riddled raw beef, thin-sliced heart and kidney, and more of the sweet breads he liked. Less than half a candlemark after he began snacking on what had been left for him, Ayshen turned up.

The hertasi made no attempt to be stealthy, announcing his arrival with clicks of his talons on the floor and a gentle swishing of his tail. He had changed his outfit, but that wasn’t what caught Kel’s attention, for he was laden with a bowl of tasty fresh brains, a bowl of liver, and even a small bowl of eyeballs!

“I want you to know,” the little hertasi said, as he carefully put his three ceramic bowls down in front of Kel, “every gryphon in the Vale gave up their right to these tonight. For you. Just for you.”

“Hurrrrr.” He felt an emotion he couldn’t exactly define waft through him, as if he had been brushed by a giant feather. It wasn’t gratitude. It wasn’t exactly pleasure, but it had some characteristics of pleasure. There was some relief in there too. Actually, it wasn’t a single emotion at all, but a mix of them. He pondered how best to respond.

“Tell them . . . tell them I am grateful. That I am thankful. And that . . . that I understand why they did what they did.” I don’t like it. But I understand it, and that’s the truth. “And I hope they understand why I did what I did.”

“Nightwind has been your very vocal advocate,” said Ayshen, as Kel lowered his beak to pick out an eyeball and tossed his head up to send it down his throat. The sweet-salty taste of it in the back of his throat, after days of the scraps no one else wanted in Deedun, made him realize several things in that moment.

That he really, really wanted to live. Live, not just exist. But on the other talon, life itself was exquisitely sweet, and if, when all of this was over, he didn’t have the same kind of life he’d had before . . . well, he could accept that.

I will learn to appreciate what I have, as well as hope after things I do not have.

“You seem calmer,” Ayshen remarked, as Kelvren finished the eyeballs and turned his attention to the brains. “If you will forgive my saying so, when you got here, you were acting, well, drunk. And when you first woke up, you were as moody as a sulky sixteen-year-old who has just been told they cannot attend a dance.”

This morning, he might have jumped up and begun raving again. This time, he didn’t. For one thing, it was Ayshen who was telling him this, and hertasi didn’t waste time insulting people. For another . . .

He ate brains, and thought. Maybe eating brains would help him think. “I think I was drunk,” he replied after a moment. “Or something like it. Fevered, still? Had I been given something that hadn’t worn off? From . . . from what I remember, I remember being almost intoxicated, and then in something like a drunken rage. Didn’t someone say I was shattered, yet unable to feel the pain?”

Ayshen relaxed and folded his legs under him to sit down beside the bowls. “Yes. They couldn’t understand it. But I could. We hertasi have something like that happen when we are badly injured. It allows us to flee to somewhere safe before we collapse, or to stand our ground against an enemy to allow others to flee. It’s as if someone opens our skulls and pours in every intoxicating thing you can think of. It hasn’t happened to me, but it did to my father. He said he felt invincible, absolutely invincible, and if he hadn’t known what was going on, he might have carried on with what he was doing. There was absolutely no pain, he said. And he said all his emotions were elevated as well. In his case, it was mostly anger as well.”

That does sound like what happened to me. Complete with the feeling of utter euphoria and invincibility.

“Hurrr.” He picked at the liver, savoring the rich, raw taste in his throat and on the back of his tongue. The other gryphons of the Vale had sacrificed their own pleasure to make amends, and it would be criminally bad manners not to show his appreciation by eating it. “That is very familiar. What was he doing?”

“Tunnel-digging. An unexpected rock-fall broke every rib in his chest,” Ayshen said frankly. “He was angry at himself for not being more careful and about to try and free himself, but he stopped himself just in time when he remembered what that feeling of euphoria meant.” Ayshen narrowed his eyes, and Kel suspected he was waiting for Kel’s reactions.