I shook myself and remembered the words I had so often spoken to my soulfriend Akhor in his youth. Anyone can give up, Akhor. It is as easy as death. But both death and defeat will find us all soon enough. Fight while you can with all your strength, and choose life over death as long as you are able.
It is simple enough to say such words. It is much harder to act upon them. Still, they served their purpose, for the memory of having said them to Akhor forced me to live up to mem.
I was preparing to speak when Kedra landed beside me. "Good morrow, Father," he said cheerfully. "How fare you this morning?"
"Well enough, my son. The sealed casks await those who will carry them. All is prepared."
"Mirazhe and I have been thinking of our new life in Kol-mar, that we will share with the Gedri," said Kedra, smiling. "I am looking forward to it, but it occurred to Mirazhe last night that it might be a good idea to bring with us gifts to ease the sudden arrival of so many of us."
"She is wise, your good lady," I said. "That was well thought. What sort of gifts?" I asked. I had much to say to the Kantri, but I was waiting now for Idai. "What could we possible take that the Gedri would—want—" Even as I spoke I realised what he meant. "Kidra!"
He laughed. "Yes, my father. Hlansif trees! We can bring seeds, seedlings, even a full-grown tree or two, and see which survives. I suspect we would then be made most welcome."
"I suspect you are right. To save the Gedri that dangerous voyage—" And suddenly I caught myself. There would be no more wild journeys across perilous seas. Had Kedra and Mirazhe not thought of it, there would have been no more hlansif trees in all the world. The Gedri camp, the boundary fence, the Summer Field, our Great Hall, would not be left behind. They would be gone—gone—all burned, all buried under rock, or else drowned deep in ocean for all time. Somehow it all became real to me in that moment.
This was the ending of my world.
I closed my eyes. Ah, but my heart was leaden with sorrow!
"Father?" came Kedra's voice. Quiet, worried, a little fearful.
I could not leave him to do all by himself. There would be a time to mourn when all were safe and far, far away.
I forced myself to smile at my dear son. "We will have to plant a grove of our own and tend it, that we may use the leaves in trade." I smiled at him. "It is very well thought, but we must ask if any of the others are willing to carry such things. You and Mirazhe will be full burdened with Sherok, and I carry the soulgems of the Lost."
Just then a dark shape appeared above—Idai, apologising as she arrived.
She backwinged and landed beside me. "Good morrow, my friend," she said, when with no warning it struck.
The high-pitched shriek, that these days was never silent, suddenly increased until it was acutely painful, and as a counterpoint there came the deep drawn-out rumble that shakes both body and mind, and the ground beneath our feet began to sway violently.Those who had been balancing on tail and back legs, as I had been, fell over. It was the worst earthshake I had ever been through. It is difficult to explain how confusing it was. That dreadful high shriek had been scraping my nerves raw for days, and then the very earth I was standing on moved like a treacherous sideslip in the air. Trees at the edge of the field toppled over with a great tearing and crashing, I was assaulted on all sides by sound and movement and / kept looking for the ground. All my instincts told me that the ground does not move, but what I was standing on was moving and so could not be the ground. I was looking for the solid place and it did not exist. It was terrible.
It felt like ages, but Idai, who had managed to get airborne, told me that it did not in truth last very long. For that I was profoundly grateful. Many, including my son and his family, managed to get aloft with Idai and avoid the worst of it, but those of us on the ground had scrapes and bruises to show for our slow reactions. I would have appreciated time to get over it but I was more than ever convinced that we had no more time.
I called out in truespeech, asking if any were injured or in need of assistance. There was no response, but a dreadful thought occurred to me in the silence that followed my asking.
Until that moment I had forgotten about Urishhak and Roccelis. They were old friends, both afflicted by the joint ill, who had lived for the last kell or so together in a large cave on the north side of the island. I had been in the way of visiting them at one time, for I enjoyed their company, but it had been many years. I bespoke them both, calling with all my strength, but there was no answer.
I called out aloud, "Toklurik, I pray you, attend me here."
He landed before me and bowed. "Eldest? What can I do?"
"T6k, forgive me—you are kin to Roccelis, I believe?"
"Yes, she is my mother's sister, I—name of the Winds!" He crouched to take off, but I restrained him. "Wait! I know you would seek her out, but first tell me—does she keep the Weh?"
"Her last Weh sleep ended scarce ten winters past," he said, distracted. I knew he was calling his aunt, and from the distress in his eyes I knew he was hearing no more than I had.
"Be at peace, Toklurik," I said quietly. "The Lady Urishhak does not answer either and she is the last of her line. There are none even to be concerned about her."
"I must find out if Roccelis lives," he cried. "She might be injured, helpless—I must go to her!"
"The Kantri are going to have to leave this island in a maiter of hours, my friend," I said. "We may be forced to go before you have time to return."
"Then I will fly after you," he said simply.
"Toklurik—"
"I go now, Eldest," he said. "If you are not here, which way does Kolmar lie?"
I bowed. "Fly east and a little south. You will not miss it!
But Tok, be warned. If our Ancestors are correct it is a good five days' flight. Gain altitude every chance you get, rest on the wind when you can—" I stopped myself, for he was grinning at me.
"I thank you, Hadreshikrar," he said, bowing gaily to me. "I have not forgotten your lessons, and"—he hissed his laughter—"despite the lack of pupils neither have you, for I would swear the words have not changed since you instructed me full a thousand winters gone!"
"There is a small island south of east from here, that you should reach towards the end of the second day," I said, as he crouched to take off. "There is fresh water there, if nothing else. And the rest of us will never be more than a thought away."
"I thank you, Shikrar," he said. "I will speak with you again as soon as I have learned their fate."
"Fly well and join us when you can," I said.
I had known both Urishhak and Roccelis for many years, and never in all that time had I bespoken them and received no answer from either. I understood the need of their kinsman to seek for them, to know for certain, but in my own heart I knew that they were gone. I was very slightly consoled by the thought that at least those two, best of friends, went forth together, and as they never even cried out they must have died very swiftly indeed.
I found it increasingly difficult to think in the face of the high screech that seemed never to end. The air, as well, was now hazy and full of something that made many of us cough. It was time to go, but there was one thing left that must be done.
"Who keeps the Weh?" I called out as loud as I could. The question was echoed round the field, and two names came back to me through Trizhe.
"Eldest, there are two who keep the Weh, Gyrentikh and Nikis."