Elessa and Fazel were gone.
Near the ashes and fading flames, a tear in the world was growing larger. As its edges crackled with all the spectrum, the outline of a body formed within.
‘Look!’ cried Fahren. ‘Corlas, let us put aside our quarrel a moment! Your son is being reborn!’
As Charla helped him to his feet, Corlas did not take his eyes from the silhouette forming in the gateway of the Stone. Meanwhile there was movement by the trees as Jaya and Lalenda stepped out of hiding. Slowly they all converged around the Stone, casting untrusting glances at one another as they formed a ring around it.
‘There is nothing to be gained,’ cautioned Fahren, ‘from further strife.’
‘Silence,’ said Corlas.
Another figure padded out of the trees. Tyrellan, his face impassive as he took them all in.
’Nothing to be gained,’ he echoed, warily moving to stand by Lalenda. ‘Losara will be represented too.’
‘It will not be Losara any more,’ said Fahren.
Behind Tyrellan floated a beautiful butterfly. It circled the goblin once and then landed on his shoulder, where it opened and closed its colourful wings. Tyrellan barely glanced at it, but instead met Fahren’s eyes.
‘Your have poor taste in allies, Throne.’
‘Silence!’ shouted Corlas, making them all start.
The gateway opened wide …and yet the figure inside had not taken a final shape.
Soul’s Reckoning
Losara’s recollections became like tributaries into the stream of Bel’s past. It was an odd feeling as his history reshaped itself, concurrent events mixing in with each other, remembered by the one they were becoming, yet also by the both that had been …
A boy ran through the Open Halls, the strip of fur tied round his head signifying that he played the hugger. A young Hiza chased after him, brandishing a wooden sword …while a boy also sat unseen in a dark corner of Skygrip, watching others play nearby, wondering why they took such joy in hurling a ball of string to one another. Should he try to join in, he wondered, to understand what it was they did? The ball came towards him and he stepped from the shadows to catch it – but it banged against his fumbling hands and fell to the floor. He crouched to retrieve it, looked up to find the other children whispering to one another, casting about worried glances.
‘Is this how?’ he asked, raising the ball to throw it to the nearest – but the boy backed off, shaking his head.
‘That’s all right, lord,’ he said. ‘You keep it.’
They left him there, standing alone, the end of the ball unwinding between his fingers. He looked about and realised that shadows had stuck to him, stretching elastic from the wall to his body, and shook them off in annoyance …
‘Ho ho, you rascals!’ chortled Corlas as Bel and Hiza raced past, knocking over a shield. ‘Get him, Hiza – I hear that one hugged an entire village to death!’
‘Grar!’ yowled Bel, and made for a tree …
The memories flowed both ways, to him and from him, going to the other part, which he could not yet control.
Losara.
Yes?
Why do you persist?
A pause.
Bel. A statement more than anything else.
Yes, that’s right. I’m Bel. We are Bel.
Lessons with Battu arrived …and those with Fahren flowed away. Heron looked down into his crib, emaciated and miserable …and Corlas picked him up, jiggling him in the air. Tyrellan, thought of with affection, pointed a claw down a winding corridor …and now the First Slave was in the distance, riding along behind the shadowmander, terrorising his people.
Do not fight, Losara. You are the lesser. Take your place quietly so we may go on to win the war for the light.
Losara considered the words. Maybe , he said.
There is no maybe. You should never have existed. All you are is your magic. Without it, you are nothing.
Do you really believe that?
Let us see how you would fare in my place.
Suddenly Losara stood in the throng of battle, his feet firm on the ground.
No shadow to turn to and whisk off as , came Bel’s voice.
Metal clashed a finger’s breadth from his ear. He was pushed to his knees as two warriors battled by, a Saurian and a huge Arabodedas repeatedly clashing two-handed swords.
Get up , said Bel. You’re vulnerable down there.
Losara scrabbled to his feet, felt a scabbard bang against his leg.
You have no magic. The sword is your only ally. Remember the prophecy, Losara – the blue-haired man raises a sword high in victory.
Losara drew the blade, heavy in his grip. A Mire Pixie came at him, holding a small shield with one hand, claws extending from the other.
Your enemy , said Bel, for this moment.
No.
In this heartbeat.
No.
It is my memory, Losara. You are playing my part, albeit with your own weak carcass.
The pixie hissed, and Losara backed away. Around him he could feel the heat of bodies, the ground trembling with the thud of feet and the falling dead. Someone jostled him from behind, and he did not know if it was friend or foe.
What is it like? said Bel. Without your power? The knowledge that, at any moment, from any direction, you could feel cold steel slide into you?
An axe struck the limply held blade from Losara’s hands. The Arabodedas who wielded it moved before him, glowering from under spiky brows. ‘They sent a scrap like you?’ he said in a disgusted tone, and raised the axe again. ‘What did they think you were going to do?’
The scene began to fade and the axe-head, now ephemeral, passed through him.
So , said Losara, because I wouldn’t make a great warrior, you are superior – is that your point?
Bel found himself unsure what his point had been.
Your strength is a talent , continued Losara, just like my magic. What’s the difference, really? Let us be fair, then, and see how you would manage in one of my memories.
Bel raced towards a copse of trees, marvelling at how it felt to travel through the grass in this strange shadow form. He could sense his power, great and deep, knew how to wield it – power that should have been his, he thought jealously.
I do not guard my knowledge from you , said Losara, as you did your swordsmanship . I am more interested in seeing how you use it, rather than watching you flounder about looking lost. Anyone can tell you that a fish thrown from a mountain will not fare well.
Bel entered the trees, and discovered a troop of Varenkai who had been ransacking the Fenvarrow supply carts. The mages in the group sensed his presence immediately.
I shall do better than you, I suspect , he said, stepping from the shadows. You, I now seem to recall, when faced with such clear enemies, chose instead to dally. He extended his hands, revelling in the power that sprang forth. Blue energy swept through the soldiers, and the mages’ light wards did not stand for more than moments. As they shattered, the mages screamed with the rest, their muscles melting and their brains boiling. Bel was ecstatic with what he wielded, but too quickly it was over.
You see? he said triumphantly. I do not flee to cogitate when faced with such a simple scenario.
No , said Losara. Instead you seize with gusto the opportunity to murder your own countrymen.