Cart chuckled, embarrassed. "I've never felt quite so much like a cart, drawn by two horses."
Ashara's laugh bubbled with relief, setting Cart at ease. She sat close beside him on the couch, holding his arm. He heard Havrakhad settle into a different seat nearby.
"Now that we've finished with that unpleasantness," Havrakhad said, "why don't you tell me why you're here?"
"Finished?" Ashara said. "Cart still can't see."
"Nor can he be allowed to see, until I can no longer be seen."
"It's all right, Ashara," Cart said. He put a hand on Ashara's and shifted to face the kalashtar directly. "Havrakhad, I apologize. I should have realized that by coming here, I might be turning the quori's eyes on you. I was not thinking clearly."
"The ways of the quori are new to you. Your error is easily understood, and easily forgiven."
"And I'm sorry to disturb you in the middle of the night, again."
"I am growing accustomed to it." Cart thought he heard a smile in the kalashtar's voice. "But I'm sure something important must have precipitated your visit."
"Yes. I saw it again."
"I surmised as much. And it saw you, and noticed that your eyes were open to it."
"Yes."
"What did you see, exactly?"
"It was much like what you showed me last night. The city melted away, and a terrible storm raged in the sky."
"Yes, the dreams of the city are stormy tonight."
Despite the darkness of his eyes, or perhaps because of it, Cart's memory of the nightmare landscape was terribly vivid, even more frightening than when he'd seen it the first time. "All around I saw scenes of terror-collapsing buildings, murder and rape, the barbarians." Ashara's hands tightened on his arm, a gentle reminder of reality that kept him from sliding entirely into the nightmare. He planted his feet more firmly on the ground and continued. "I noticed that the horror seemed to be radiating outward from a single point, like ripples on a pond, and when I looked for the center, I saw the quori again. I heard it say, 'Close your eyes,' and I felt a jab of pain in the back of my head, right where you-what did you do to me?"
"I'll explain in a moment. What happened then?"
"Everything returned to normal. It-the quori closed my eyes, the ones you opened somehow. And suddenly I knew… I felt that I had to find you, I had to join you and take up arms against the darkness, to make sure that the new age was one of light. I… I can't really explain it."
"I can," Havrakhad said. "The quori is using you to get to me."
"What?"
"It planted a seed of its own mind in yours, so it could see through your eyes. It filled your mind with thoughts that would encourage you to seek me out."
"But…" Cart leaned forward, toward Havrakhad's voice. "But I felt those things. I believed them. I still do-I think I do. I want to fight against evil."
"War and slaughter can't bring the Light into the world," Havrakhad said. "The quori's interests are served by encouraging evil means toward apparently good ends."
Cart sat back on the couch. He had felt so ardent, on fire with passion to set the world right, to atone for his past actions-and inaction. Havrakhad had doused that fire.
"What about my eyes?" he said.
He heard Havrakhad rise and move around the room. Ashara gave his arm a gentle squeeze, but he barely felt it. He felt like an inanimate hunk of stone and wood. Havrakhad rustled to his left, then behind him.
"Well," the kalashtar said, "let me show you how the darkness can be overcome."
Cart felt Havrakhad's fingers on his head, and his vision erupted in golden light.
CHAPTER 23
Aunn sat on a bench in Chalice Center and stared numbly at the cloud-filled night sky, lit from below with the pale red light of street lanterns. He watched as the sun set the last remnants of the night's storm on fire and slowly brightened the sky. The last nighttime revelers staggered their way back to homes and hostels. The first merchants and travelers of the daylight hours appeared in the plaza, unlocking doors, driving wagons, hauling luggage to the lightning rail station or the airship mooring tower.
As the morning light fell on his gray skin and blank white eyes, Aunn began attracting attention. He was sure he looked like the worst dregs of the drunks and gamblers who stayed out all night on the streets, but even the most destitute changelings usually had the good sense to appear as downtrodden humans or half-elves, rather than compound the hatred and prejudice they faced. He questioned his decision a dozen times in the first half-hour of dawn light, but he kept repeating to himself, "This is who I am."
At last the merchant he'd been waiting for came downstairs to his shop and unlocked the door, and Aunn rose stiffly from the bench, shaking the night's chill from his limbs. Spending Kelas's money sparingly, he bought a new suit of leather armor, perfectly fitted to the natural form of his body, and a pair of boots. With that, he discarded the last of Kelas's clothes, then went next door to a weaponsmith and bought a new mace, which was a welcome change from Kelas's light sword. The mace had a heft that made it feel like a real weapon, but demanded little in the way of expertise or finesse. By the time he was fighting for his life, Aunn had always figured, the time for finesse was long past.
His last stop was a clothier at the edge of Chalice Center, which catered as much to the wealthy residents of the neighboring Alderwood district as to travelers. He picked out a warm traveling cloak, which cost more than he really wanted to spend but helped to dispel the last remnants of the cold night, and tried it on in front of a full-length glass mirror. The mirror was the reason that Jazen was his favorite clothier in Fairhaven, though the portly human wouldn't recognize him. Aunn frequently visited Jazen's to put the finishing touches on a new disguise, carefully examining every detail of his face and body in the mirror as he pretended to fuss over choosing a new cloak.
His first impression, looking in the mirror, was that the black cloak he'd chosen wouldn't do. He needed color-something bright and vibrant, to make up for the pale gray of his skin, the white hair and colorless eyes, the blank face that seemed to be waiting for features and color and life.
Who are you? he thought, searching the eyes of his reflection for some answer.
"I am Aunn," he murmured. Behind him, Jazen glanced up from where he was busying himself with the hem of the cloak, then quickly looked away.
He let Jazen continue straightening and brushing the cloak so he could look at himself more closely. It was like seeing a stranger-a face he didn't recognize as his own. At first he thought of it as expressionless, blank, but then he noticed a crinkle of distaste at his brow, which quickly melted into a smile. The sight of his smile made him laugh out loud, which made his blank white eyes come alive.
"The cloak pleases you?" Jazen asked, looking up at the laughter. Even his perpetual scowl softened a little when he saw Aunn's smile.
"It's a fine cloak, but the color is wrong. I need something more vibrant." He watched his face as he spoke, the way his lipless mouth formed sounds. It was growing on him.
"Absolutely, I agree." Jazen stood and reached around Aunn's shoulders to unfasten the clasp. Aunn tensed-he always did. Then the cloak was off his shoulders, and Aunn felt suddenly cold. "What color did you have in mind?"
"What would you recommend?"
He watched as Jazen brought a selection of colors and draped them over his shoulder, noticed how his own complexion changed ever so slightly without any conscious effort, laughed at the horrible effect of a daffodil yellow, and finally settled on a purple that was far too expensive.
As he counted out the coins for Jazen, the clothier looked at him thoughtfully.
"I beg your pardon," Jazen said, "but have you been in my shop before?"