“Quickly now, to sleep,” said the grating voice, and the hellish cacophony of my jangled senses was deadened by the blessed touch of his hand.
In an hour, no more than two, they roused me to begin it all again.
Dassine’s regimen had been nothing compared to that of Exeget. I knew no day or night, no hour or season, no word of comfort or argument, no words at all in that time. I did not eat, only drank the vile mess that kept me living and embraced the darkness when they pulled me from the circle of fire, blind and deaf and numb. I lived only as Karon, in the past, and, of course, it was not long until I understood what horror awaited me beyond my knowing.
Dead. Oh, gods, my dear friends… Martin, Tanager, Julia… I had left them to die because I would not compromise my gift to alter the paths of fate. And my wife and son abandoned. I had abdicated my responsibilities for some Dar’Nethi ideal and left Seri to face the horror all alone. The experience of my own death, the relived torment and despair and the ten years of disembodied darkness were as nothing beside my betrayal of my friends, my wife, and my child. And Dassine had brought me back because he believed I had some holy revelation that could save the world. What kind of coward was I?
The candlelight faded; darkness and silence enshrouded me. Was the restoration of three lost souls-those three pitiable Zhid I had healed after the fight with Seri’s brother at the Gate-worth everything that had happened? I could see no other return from all the pain and sorrow.
Oh, Seri, forgive me. How I understand your anger…
“You cannot hide forever, D’Natheil. Three days it’s been since we completed our work.”
The room was dark, though not as dark as my soul. He spoke softly, as if unsure of the state of my hearing. But I would not wake to Exeget. I burrowed back into emptiness.
The next time it was someone else. Hands rolled me to my back and stuffed pillows under my head. “My lord Prince, you must live. You are so much needed. Here, drink this.” He pressed a cup into my shaking hands and helped me lift it to my lips. Brandy, woody and old, the smoothest I had ever tasted, yet I thought it might burn a hole through my empty stomach. I coughed and gagged and heaved, and my invisible companion helped me to sit up straight. My skin was slick with sweat.
“Holy stars!” It seemed like half a month until I caught a breath.
“It is fine, is it not? My best vintage ever.”
“Bareil?”
“The same, my lord. May I make a light?”
“If it’s necessary.” With the glimmering candle flame came the intrusion of the world and all the burdens I had shed in my days of oblivion. “Oh, gods, Bareil…” I bent forward and dragged at my hair with my fingers, as if enough pain might make reality vanish again.
“I know, my lord. It is difficult. I wish it could have been slower, easier for you.”
“You were there? You were the other hands?”
“Yes, my lord. Master Dassine had given Master Exeget a directive with which to summon me and command my assistance. And when I saw what he was doing with you- completing Master Dassine’s work-I was happy to be of service. I hope it did not contradict your wishes.”
“No.” I pushed shaggy, damp hair from my brow and felt several weeks’ growth of beard bristling on my chin. “Thank you.”
“You must eat, even though you may not feel like it yet. I’ll bring something. I’ve scarcely managed to get anything down you in all these weeks. And, my lord, Master Exeget is desperate to speak with you. Though he asked me to wake you, he waits just outside.”
“Exeget…” What was I to think of him?
“It is astonishing, is it not? I was terrified when I saw you in his power. But my lord, I must tell you that never was Master Dassine so careful in his work. I have watched many of the Dar’Nethi masters work, and none other could have brought you through this as he did.”
“Give me an hour.”
Bareil bowed and left the room. Huddled in the corner of my pallet, I forced myself to consider the state of the world. At what I guessed to be the precise expiration of my hour, the door opened and my old enemy sat himself in the chair in the corner. He began examining his hands, turning them this way and that in the weak light, showing no sign of agitation at my delay. He would sit so all night before confessing his urgency.
“I don’t know whether to thank you or not,” I said, conceding the minor struggle in the hunger for understanding.
His hands came to rest in his lap, one laid calmly upon the other. “I did what was necessary. I don’t expect you to thank me. Upon full consideration, you will most likely decide this is only another crime to add to my account.”
“You never told me what was to come after.”
“It would have made no sense at the time and may not yet. It depends on whether you were able to analyze the present situation while you lived your life again or in these past days as you lay here in your self-made tomb.”
“While I journeyed, I was wholly in the past. While I lay here, I was trying to bury it all again. But in the hour just gone, I’ve put a few things together.”
“Do you understand about the child? Who he is?”
“Yes.” Seri’s son. My son.
“And you see that because of your… unique… circumstances-this thing Dassine has done to you-your son is the next Heir of D’Arnath?”
“I guessed it.”
Exeget’s dark eyes blazed far brighter than my candle. “Do you have any concept of what it means if the Heir comes of age in the hands of the Lords?”
“The Three will control the Bridge.”
“Not only the Bridge, but all the powers of D’Arnath. Only Dassine and I, of all Dar’Nethi, ever grasped their full extent. D’Arnath was able to create the Bridge because he could manipulate the forces of the Breach, forces which are the antithesis of order, the bits left over from the creation of worlds because they were defective, too odd or corrupt or broken to be included in the weaving of the universe. Before the Catastrophe, this corruption was dispersed, incohesive. But the workings of the Three, the immense increases in power they believed they created by their superior cleverness, were in fact drawing upon these broken bits and gathering them together, until, in their last disastrous working, the Breach was formed and the corruption trapped within it.
“Only D’Arnath’s anointed Heir inherits his control over the Breach. One of our race at a time. The universe cannot seem to support two with such power. And so, if the Lords corrupt the Heir and control him-become one with him as they are one with each other-then, on the day he comes of age, they will be able to command the legions of chaos. None will be able to stand against them.”
“The test of which you spoke with Madyalar-it is the test of parentage?”
“Yes. You are D’Natheil. Your blood and bone and spirit are indisputable witness to it. You are also the father of the child. Your wife knows it; now you know it. He is Dar’Nethi. There is no other possibility. He and this man Darzid were able to cross the Bridge. Do you understand what that requires? Yes, the way was left open, but only the boy’s bloodlines-your own deeds in the mundane world bear witness to unquestionably powerful bloodlines- and whatever gifts this Darzid brings to bear could enable them to cross so easily. The man knows the boy is your son. We must assume he also knows something of what has been done to you, for he has exposed his own abilities and sympathies in order to bring the child to the Lords. Which means the Lords know the boy’s heritage, as well. If you and the boy undergo the test of parentage before the Preceptorate, the boy will be proved the son of D’Arnath’s Heir and must therefore be acknowledged as your successor.”