I tried to digest the idea of a “fracturing,”—an earthquake, perhaps?—but quickly decided to go on to more urgent matters. “Tell us of these Zhid, Baglos.”
Baglos wrinkled his face in disgust. “The Zhid. The Empty Ones. Servants of the three who are called the Lords of Zhev’Na. We are taught that the Zhid, and even the Lords themselves, were once Dar’Nethi or Dulcé like us, their souls lost when the Catastrophe laid waste all the lands beyond Avonar. But I believe they were a terrible mistake of Vasrin Shaper when she put form to the life Vasrin Creator had made. Zhid feed on fear and destruction and despair. And they are powerful warriors, though their Seeking is more to be feared than their swords.”
“This ‘Seeking” is something of sorcery, then?“
“It is their most terrible sorcery. It withers a man, binding him to the Lords in service, sometimes taking his name and leaving him empty or mad, sometimes making him like to the Zhid in all of their evil. A forest can shelter you from them, as can some dwellings, because a forest is of all places the one where life is thick and rich. And if the dwelling is a home where there have been births and deaths and people living there who care for each other, the Zhid can destroy the house itself, but their Seeking cannot penetrate it.”
I asked Baglos much more, but he seemed incapable of answering anything beyond what he had already told us. “On another day,” he kept saying. “Ask me again and I could tell you.” His knowledge was so spotty, his physical capabilities so unprepossessing, and his emotional state so volatile, that I doubted that he could keep D’Natheil alive, much less do anything in the way of guiding him. He obviously cared for his young lord and his people very deeply, but, aside from his remarkable fluency in my language, he demonstrated no power of intellect or intuition to support his duties, especially when one thought of the dangers D’Natheil faced from the law of Leire, as well as his own enemies.
“What must you do now, Baglos?” I asked. “What were you and D’Natheil to accomplish in Leire, if all had gone as you planned?”
Baglos looked at me like a child who has just heard from his parents that he must teach them to walk, instead of the other way around. “I do not know.”
“Surely there was some goal, some deed to perform?”
“I do not know.”
“You are called a Guide. To what place were you to lead him or in what activity? You speak of his duty to ”walk the Bridge.“ Is that it? What does it mean?”
“I know my own duties, woman, but as for D’Natheil’s course and his purpose and what he must do to further them, I cannot say.”
“Have you lost your memory, too?”
“I have not!” Baglos was indignant and turned away from me in a pout.
I exploded. “Then why in the name of all that lives were you sent? If you don’t know these things today, you’re not going to know them tomorrow. How wise can your Preceptors be to put someone who knows so little in this position? It’s madness!”
Baglos turned back to me with an expression of long suffering. “No, no, woman. You do not understand the Dulcé. Did I not tell you our gifts were different from the Dar’Nethi? It is not required to know all these things. If the Heir were to command me, then I would know what was necessary, and I could teach him or lead him as he desired.”
My head was splitting as I tried to understand. “It doesn’t make sense. How could you tell him anything you don’t know?”
“Such is the gift of the Dulcé: to make connections when commanded by our madrisson—one with whom we have been linked by the rite of the madris. If D’Natheil commanded me to lead him to some great city, even if I had never seen it, I could discover the best way to take him there. If he commanded me to teach him the lore of the stars as practiced in your land, then I could do so, but I could not tell you of it now. If the information is to be found, then I can acquire it. But he it was who knew his course and his purpose. It was not necessary for me to be told.” The Dulcé leaned close and his strange eyes hammered at me. “You must help me, woman. We must find a way to make him remember and to finish his preparation, for if we do not, D’Arnath’s Bridge will fall and the Lords of Zhev’Na will feast on the souls of your people as well as ours. We will see no beauty and no joy ever again.”
Though I believed he spoke truth, I wondered about the many things the Dulcé would not or could not tell us. His story was impossibly strange. And woven through it all were the magical names. J’Ettanne. Avonar. Just as they were woven through the life I had fought so hard to forget…
CHAPTER 12
Year 2 in the reign of King Evard
In the season of Seille of the year that I turned twenty-three, Karon and I were wed. The true ceremony took place in the grand drawing room at Windham, Martin’s elegant silk tapestries, crystal, and brass softened by garlands of fragrant evergreen and the light of five hundred candles. Only our four closest friends were there to witness it. I wore dark green velvet and carried roses that Karon had grown for me. Martin placed my hand in Karon’s, and it was difficult to tell which of our company radiated the greatest happiness. Julia swore adamantly that it was Tennice. For my part, I believed that good Arot himself, in that first Long Night at the beginning of the world, could have been gifted with no better friends and no more perfect joy. I notified Tomas of my marriage. In return, I received a letter from his man of business. My marriage portion was to be the townhouse and a settlement sufficient to ensure the Lady Seriana’s position cannot be seen as a reproach to the family. The Duke of Comigor has no wish to enter into any negotiations with any parties, and since his consent to the marriage was not required, he will assume that the consent of the suitor is not required as to the settlement.
Though I knew Evard would have claimed the sizeable dowry my father had set aside for me, I didn’t argue. Karon and I had more than enough. Tomas had not been stingy, and Karon had a gentleman’s income, set up anonymously by his father when Karon had first gone to the University.
Our more public wedding was in Montevial, where my circle of acquaintances had come to know Karon as the new Leiran Commissioner of Antiquities. My former beau, Viscount Mantegna, had told me of the post, vacant for several months since its most recent occupant had died, and I had pestered Karon until he applied for it. My new husband had returned to Montevial with some vague notion of using his income to buy a house in some out-of-the-way place so we could be together, but to leave Montevial made no sense when I held title to my family’s townhouse, a much finer home than anything he could afford. Evard’s marriage and Tomas’s flourishing career had eased the fears that had forced both Karon and me into self-imposed exile, and even Martin agreed that a respectable position and Karon’s intention to forego any privilege of rank would preclude any closer inquiry as to Karon’s origins. Though we would always need to be careful, we believed we had weathered the storm. And truly, the court posting was perfect for him.