“He is D’Natheil, my lady,” said the Preceptor. “And while the essence you cherish is still part of him, it has become subservient to D’Natheil’s passions. The rite can push one to the limits of endurance, but if anything can quiet the rage that consumes him, if anything can allow even a small part of what he was to emerge, it is this.”
And so I wasn’t sure what to expect when Karon crawled from the Pool of Rebirth, and I couldn’t even attempt to interpret the tears that tempered his smile. But whatever the truth of the rite, I felt a lifetime of love in his fierce embrace.
“You didn’t describe this part, Ven’Dar!” he said hoarsely to the man who stood just behind me. “I’d never have dallied so long if I’d known a miracle was awaiting me.”
“It’s a benefit I’ve added just for you, my lord. But if you recall, I most certainly told you that your lady awaited you at the end of it.”
“What winding have you cast to make this most magnificent of gifts possible?” His cold thumbs traced my cheeks, my neck, my lips, my brow.
“It was not my own doing, but that story will have to come with the rest. Right now, I’ll look after our fire and our supper.” The smiling Preceptor bowed and retreated into an adjoining chamber.
“A day of visions. If you’re yet another, don’t tell me,” said Karon, burying his face in my hair, scarcely able to speak for his shivering.
“A day of enchantment,” I said, kissing his shoulder and his neck. “More than a day, in fact. I’ve hurried the hours along, but now I don’t want it to end.”
He pulled away enough that I could see the cloud of sadness that crossed his brow. “Seri, I must tell you - ”
I put my hand to his lips. “Not yet. The Preceptor has a fire ready in the next room. Much as I would love to tarry with you in this beautiful place, you’re getting me dreadfully wet, and I’ll soon be as cold as you are. Everything else must wait.” The hard knot in my breast, loosened for a single moment, wrenched tight again.
Ven’Dar had not only a fire in the next room, but soup and tea and dry clothes… and Paulo. We had debated whether to have Paulo with us or not, and came to the conclusion that we gained nothing by waiting. Karon would be expecting him. And indeed when he caught sight of our young friend tending the fire, scarcely daring to peek out from under his shaggy hair, Karon gave Ven’Dar a curt nod.
For a while none of us spoke of anything save commonplace arrangements for food and fire and places to sit. The important things were too large and everything else trivial.
Karon relinquished my hand only long enough to pull on the breeches, shirt, leggings, and wool tunic Ven’Dar gave him, and to tie back his wet hair with a leather thong. But once we were seated beside each other on the floor of the cavern, he twined my fingers in his cold left hand as he used his right to drink three mugs of steaming soup and three more of tea. When we’d finished our refreshment, however, he kissed my hand and laid it carefully in my lap, leaned back against a block of granite, and looked from one of us to the other like a magistrate facing three pickpockets. “So, who is to begin?”
Ven’Dar answered. “Young Paulo has the most fascinating story to tell, my lord. But I will begin with the small part I have witnessed and my theories as to the nature of our dilemma. I believe it casts a critical light on Paulo’s tale. Your wife is both our evidence and our advocate.”
“So you can speak to me now?” said Karon, cocking an eyebrow at Paulo.
“It wasn’t my choice, my lord. You’ll see.”
“Tell me your tales, then, all of you. I’m listening.”
Ven’Dar began with the story of his imprisonment by Radele, and his belief that Men’Thor and Radele intended to goad D’Natheil’s anger to make Karon receptive to their beliefs about the conduct of the war. The Preceptor then told of Radele’s silencing enchantment and how Paulo had discovered the secret of the list of the Hundred Talents that enabled Ven’Dar to set us free.
“Men’Thor and Radele… and Ustele, no doubt. And I never suspected,” said Karon, his eyes stormy. “Naive fool that I am. Though Men’Thor annoys me to distraction, I’ve always believed him a man of honor. He offered to grieve with me and seemed sincere… ”
“He longs to be a Preceptor. His initiation robes have been prepared for many years,” said Ven’Dar.
“He can wear them in the Wastes after his banishment! And it was all so pointless. Silencing Seri… yes, it perhaps accelerated what was happening with me anyway. But your story changes nothing of true importance: Jayereth, Gar’Dena, the betrayal, the initial attempt on Seri’s life. Radele was searching the ruins of the main house when she was stabbed; I saw his light moving through the windows. We were hunting Gerick, while Gerick was standing over Seri with a bloody knife in his hand. Paulo saw Gerick, not Radele, back away from her and bolt.”
“Oh, but my tale does change matters, my lord,” said Ven’Dar. “You’ve heard only the first hint of the true mystery. Leave off thoughts of Men’Thor and Radele, and hear my story again. How was I able to use Paulo’s information when I could not so much as distinguish day from night? My thoughts were wholly out of my control. Something else… someone else… intervened… ”
As Karon leaned forward, intently focused on the Preceptor and his story, Ven’Dar described the mysterious infusion of strength that enabled him to free himself and then me. “… No one imposed the list on my thoughts; the knowledge was my own, couched in the terms I have used for thirty-five years to articulate it. But I was provided with the strength, focus, and reason to use what I knew. The second hint of the truth came when your wife emerged from her captivity, looked into the eyes of this youth, and saw something she did not expect to see. And the third came when I awoke in my tower the next morning and found a letter from your son…”
“I’ve never heard of a Soul Weaver.”
Karon was visibly shaken by Gerick’s letter. I felt his desire to believe in Ven’Dar’s theory, to grasp some hope out of the tangle of revulsion and grief. But his responsibilities left him no such freedom as I had, to believe as soon as he heard, to accept without rational explanation.
“We’ve no written record of a proven Soul Weaver. Few believe such a profound talent could even exist. But my studies of the talents have allowed me to spend a great deal of time considering the legend of soul weaving.” Ven’Dar’s face was alight with discovery and wonder. “Unlike the ordinary Dar’Nethi who mind-speaks, reading or hearing the thoughts of another person, or the Healer, who can link his own mind with the body and mind of the other, seeing the damage done to him and sharing the pain of his injury or disease, a Soul Weaver actually becomes one with the other. The Soul Weaver leaves his own body behind and subjects himself to the physical dimensions of the receiver, taking or yielding control of the body and mind as he wishes or as need demands. Courage, skill, knowledge, will… all these things the Soul Weaver can offer or withhold, and then, when ready, relinquish the mind and body of the other, separate himself, leaving the other soul intact. Such acts would require a clear sense of self and monumental self-discipline. To subject oneself to the physical boundaries and mental confusions of another being, giving such help as I received, while resisting the temptations of control and exploitation would require an immense generosity of spirit. Easy to see why nature would make it so rare a gift.”
Karon propped his elbows on his knees, his chin resting on his clenched fists. “But the Lords do this thing possess. How can you know this is not just the manifestation of his true identity, dressed with an honest face for his own devious purpose?”