The bark against her back was hard as she blinked, glanced down from the sky. Oh, again, she thought, someday again. Though the odds of that were slight. Once in a lifetime in that manner, one might expect the Goddess. Otherwise,
only at birth did one see Her, in one's own mother — quickly forgotten, that sight — and at death, when the Silent Mother, the Winnower, came to open the last Door.
She glanced across the lake, at the Fane standing silent, watching her, surrounded by the constellations of early sum-mer. He'll be ready soon, she thought. Somewhere to northward the wolves began singing again.
Someone came lurching along toward her in the darkness, walking loud and heavy as usual. Oh, Lady, not now, she thought with affectionate annoyance, as Lang plopped down next to her. "Are we waiting for Moonrise?" he said.
He smelled of unwashed horse and unwashed self, and Segnbora wrinkled her nose in the dark — then wrinkled it more, at herself, for she had no call to be throwing stones on that account.
"Just full nightfall," she said. "I guess the theory is, if you're crazy enough to climb the Fane, then exercise your madness in the dark, as the Maiden did. 'Out of darkness, light; out of madness, wisdom—' "
Larig nodded. "How crazy are you?"' His tone was very uneasy. Her stomach knotted, hearing in his words a reflection of the nervousness she had been trying to ignore. Worse, she didn't feel like talking. Segnbora wished for the thousandth time that Lang weren't thought-deaf.
She plucked a blade of grass from beside her and began running it back and forth between her fingers. "I think I told you about my family, a little,''* she said.
She could feel his confusion, typical of him when she chose to come at a question sideways. Lang rarely understood any approach but the head— on kind. "Tai-Enraesi," he said. "Enra was a 'Queen's sister of Darthen, wasn't she?"
Segnbora nodded. *Tm related to a lot of people who've been up that hill. Beorgan, and Beaneth, the doomed Queens. Raela Way-Opener. Efhiaer d'Seldun. Gereth Drag-onheart. . " She trailed off. Then, after a while, "To be where they were., I don't know how I can pass the Fane by—"""
Lang slouched further down against the tree, his face calm,
but his heart shouting, Yes, and look what happened to them! Beorgan and Beaneth dead of the Shadow or of sorrow, Raela gone off through some door and never heard of again, Efmaer dead in the mountains or worse in Glasscastle—
Segnbora twitched uneasily, resettling her back against the rowan's trunk. She heartily wished there was something else to try, but over twenty years she had exhausted the talents of instructors all over the Kingdoms. "I thought I might talk you out of it," Lang said, very low. "I like you the way you are." The words came a breath too late. She had chosen. "I don't," she said. "But if you go up there there's no telling what'll happen to you—" "I know. That's the idea!" Lang pulled back, pained.
"Look," she said. "Twenty years of training, and I'm Fire-trained without Fire, Fin a sorcerer who doesn't care for sorcery and a trained bard who's too depressed to tell stories. It's time to be something else. Anything."
4 'But, Berend—"
The use of the old nickname, which Eftgan had coined so long ago, poked her in a suddenly sensitive spot. She laid her hand on Lang's, startling him out of his frightened annoy-ance. "You remember the first time we met? You tried to talk me out of joining up with Lorn, remember?"
"Stubborn,"Lang muttered, "you were stubborn. I couldn't stand you." She glanced at him humorously. "Maybe change isn't such a bad thing, then?"
They traded gentle looks through the dark, and he squeezed her hand. "Care to share afterwards? If you haven't turned into a giant toadstool or some such, of course."
Her heart turned over inside her. When Lang made such offers, there was always more love in his voice than she could answer with, and the inequity troubled her. It had been a long time since her ability to share had been rooted in anything deeper than friendship. "Yes," she said, hoping desperately he would be able to lighten up a little. "You
disturb me, though. You have a prejudice against toad-stools? …" Lang chuckled.
"You two ready?" said another voice, and they both looked up, Herewiss was standing beside them with Khavrinen sheathed and slung
over his shoulder. Freelorn was with him, arms folded and looking nervous.
"What do you mean 'you two'?" Lang said. "I prefer to die in bed, thanks."
Segnbora squeezed his hand back and got up, brushing herself off. "You found the raft, I take it."
THE DOOR INTO SHADOW
"It was hidden in the reeds," Freelorn said. "In fact, the reeds were growing through it in places. Evidently not many people come this way." "Just the three of us are climbing, then." Herewiss said. "Still, it's probably better that we all go across — in case any Fyrd get by our rearguard."
Lang nodded and got up, and the four of them went off to join the others by the lakeshore. Dritt and Harald and Moris were standing at a respectable distance from the raft, for Sunspark was inspecting it suspiciously.
(You really want me to get on this thing?) it said to Here-wiss as he came up. (That water's deep, If I fell in there—) It shuddered, at the thought.
"So fly over," Herewiss said, stepping onto the raft from the bank.
Sunspark gazed across at the Fane, its mane and tail burn-ing low. (There's a Power there, and in the water,) it said. (I'm not sure I want to attract Its attention. . ) "Then come on."
Three
The Goddess's courtesy is a terrible thing. To the mortal asker She will give what is asked for, without stinting, without fail. Nor will She stop giving until the gift's reciptent, like the gift, becomes perfect. Let the asker beware. ..
(Charesttcs, 45)
35
THE DOOR INTO SHADOW
They all climbed onto the raft. Sunspark came last, picking its way onto the mossy planks with the exaggerated delicacy of a cat. But it stood quite still in the midst of them as Herewiss and Freelorn poled the raft. No one broke the silence. On the water the feeling of being watched was stronger than ever.
The raft grounded, scraping and crunching on a rough beach of pale pebbles, Herewiss stepped off, Freelorn behind him, and each of the others in turn. Everyone winced at the sound of their footsteps. Segnbora, second-to-last off, thought she had never heard anything so loud as her light step on the gravel. Sunspark, behind her, got off and made no sound at all. It was carefully walking a handspan above the ground.
They were not only watched, they were felt. There was no mistaking it. There was no threat in the sensation; the regard running through them was patient, passive. But whatever fueled it was immeasurably old, and huge. The others looked at one another wondering, as the Power reached up into them, and found old companions suddenly strange.
Segnbora, feeling what they felt, understood the sensation as most of her companions couldn't. The Fire within her, that had dwindled over the years and was now nearly dead because of her lack of focus, was suddenly leaping up as wildly in her as if a wind had blown through her soul The Power pushed at her, urging her upward toward the mountain. At the same time it looked through her at the others, and looked through them at her, determining what changes, would be made—
Oh Goddess, she thought, this is what I'm needed. 'There' was no mistaking the Source of what stirred here, though this
half-slumbering immensity of calling Flame was only the least tithe of Her Power. And I'm terrified—
Herewiss and Freelorn were standing transfixed, keeping very close to each other. She could not see their faces, but Freelorn's arms were unwound from around Herewiss for the first time since the morning. Khavrinen in its back-sheath was blue-while with Fire. Its light shone through seams in the scabbard, and the hilt blazed like a torch. "There's the trail," Freelom said quietly, looking upward. "Til race you," Segnbora said, just as quietly. She slipped past them and started climbing.