Lanen walked beside me, unusually silent. The feelings between us were not simple nor could they ever be again, but in turning to face the darkness ,we had overcome the worst of it. She knew at last, truly knew in her soul, that she was not to blame for the change the Winds had thrown upon me— and so, at last, did I. And now she was changed as well, of her own free will, to a strange hybrid creature—nearly as strange as I—there was much to take into both of our hearts and consider, of gifts and bereavement, of death and life and the rningling of souls.
I remember the flowers.
I had my wings tucked close in, the surface as small as I could make it. The winds of the eternal Storms that blow between Kolmar and our island were ever potent and threatening. The flying was difficult to say the least.
I had left Idai only a day past. We had found that most of the Kantri were willing to rest for a little time before undertaking the second and more dangerous half of the journey, especially as the rain had stopped and the sun shone, and even that little green rock felt safer than the unknown perils of Kolmar for many of us.
I declared that I would go on ahead to learn what I could of the effects of the Storm winds and to meet with Lanen and Varien, that we might discuss how best to prepare the Gedri for the return of the Kantri. Idai frowned at me and told me that her thoughts would be open to me day and night. It was an extraordinary offer, to be open and listening for days on end. She has always had much of generosity about her, the Lady Idai.
However, at that particular moment I would have exchanged all the generosity in the world for a body beside me in the air. Two can read the currents better than one and I felt very alone, high above the wind-whipped seas. Every muscle was aching from carrying Nikis the Weary—I had heard her so referred to by others now, the poor soul—but thus far they all served me still.
I had left at dawn and encountered the Storms only an hour from the Isle of Rest. It had been a long day of effort, followed by an endless night of work, striving to keep high enough that when the air dropped suddenly away it did not bring me too near the water. I was weary beyond belief, which would explain why I was so foolish as to relax my vigilance when the headwind dropped for a moment. I let out my breath and allowed my wings to lock, just for a moment's rest—
—when a wall of air rose up like a wall of stone before me. I was thrown on to my back, and though I managed to turn over and glide up and out of the drop, my right wing was throbbing in the main joint. It had not broken, thank the Winds, but the pain ran deep. I had no choice, days from land in any direction, I had to use it.
I was most fortunate. I found that the wall of air I had hit was the trailing edge of the Storms. I forced myself higher, every beat of my wings sending out a jolt of pain.
I was glad then that Idai was not there, for I could not restrain myself. With no other soul near me to pity or assist, I cried out with every downbeat. It made it a little easier to bear, but I began genuinely to wonder if, injured, I could go so far alone.
There is no choice, Teacher-Shikrar, I told myself. You have taken this task to yourself on behalf of the Kantri and you are hours from land in any direction. Wind and life or sea and a slow cold death, Shikrar!
That choice was simple enough. I drew in a great breath and roared out my pain to the Winds as I forced myself higher. Kolmar lies ahead, Kolmar and Akhor and a new life. It is well. I stopped talking to myself long enough to adjust my angle of rise. Besides, I told myself, if you think Nikis faces years of laughter at her expense, imagine what would come your way should you fail in this flight. Name of the Winds! You would give every soul you ever lectured about flying the chance to taunt you for the rest of your days.
It seemed to take years to reach the High Air, but it was my only chance. Every time I had to lower my wing I cried out. Eventually I fell silent, for me air was growing thin, but the pain did not lessen.
I knew that my life depended on gaining altitude. I would have given ten years of my future for a rising thermal, but the cold sea ran below me unfeeling, uncaring, cold watery death awaiting me.
We can swim, of course. In the summer we enjoy the water, and in truth it was known that flying very close to the surface took less effort—but I dared not risk it, for it is impossible to take to the air from the water's clutches. If once I touched the sea, I was dead.
The thought sent me higher yet. I may be the Eldest of the Kantri, but in the normal way of things I had still before me a good two more kells of life, and I had a strong desire to see my grandson fly.
When at last I found the broad river on high, when at the end of my strength I caught the edge of that strong wave and could ride it with locked wings, I learned what I needed to know. It led me swiftly and easily over the top of the Storms and that terrible wall of air. I bespoke Idai and told her, that she might guide the others through more gently than I had managed.
Ahead in a clearing sky the winds dropped and the wave in the High Air disappeared, but as I glided down I found another current leading eastwards that was strong enough to bear me. I rode it, wings locked, giving thanks, breathing again. My injured wing throbbed but I was better able to bear it when I could glide and did not have to stroke the air.
The absence of pain seems a simple thing until you possess it no longer.
Once I started allowing myself to glide, however, I found it desperately hard to think. I held on to the little that I knew—according to the Ancestors, I had just over a day's flying yet to accomplish. I was weary to the bone, but I knew I would have to seek height again as soon as I had rested. Just a little rest, just a little, now that the pain was gone—
"Shikrar? Hadreshikrar, it is Idai who speaks. How fare you, my friend?"
I woke with a start to Idai's voice. I was flying through a cloud and was terribly disoriented, but from the pressure I feared that I was far lower than I should be. In the few moments it took me to rouse, the air had grown a great deal rougher. Strange, I thought, this feels like the turbulence you get when water meets—
I came out of the cloud and hit first a powerful updraft that carried me safely up and over the cliff that rose high above the water's edge, and then encountered the downdraft on the other side which threw me unceremoniously to the ground.
Not the welcome I was expecting, I thought briefly as the darkness took me.
I found them halfway up the mountain. They were a long way ahead of me, down a valley and up another hillside from where I stood, and there were more of them than I expected. I saw one that I assumed was Varien, for his silver hair was hard to miss in sunlight, but I knew Lanen the instant I saw her even from that far away.
At last, at last, that stopped me where I stood.
How in the Lady's name could I possibly be certain of that distant moving speck being Lanen?
I looked again. I could not tell how many people there were—more than four. There were at least three horses, but there might have been four or five. There was a strange creature with them at first, though it left as the sun was going down. It moved very fast. It might have been a light chestnut horse, I couldn't really tell. But I knew Lanen was mere, and which of the tiny dots she was.