The man sighed lengthily and with much effort in drawing out
the exhalation to its last lingering wisp. 'Well, now, I wish I could say it transpired all so neatly as you say, Kirit, but in truth-'
'The hells!' Joss sat up. 'We're on a cursed Guardian's altar. We've broken the boundaries again-'
He tried to rub the haze out of his eyes, for there came Marit scrambling up from the fire and running toward him with a grin like a blaze of joy.
She dropped to her knees beside him. 'Joss. Do you know who I am?'
For answer, he embraced her and then, because her body crushed against his body felt so cursed good, just as it ought, he kissed her. Oh, the kissing was good. He'd never forgotten the taste of her, and the way she had of-
Memories cascaded so hard and fast that he broke away and clapped his hands to his head as if he had the headache that afflicted him when he was drinking too much. Only his head didn't hurt at all.
'Aui!' She laughed. 'That wasn't the greeting I was expecting. But I admit, it's the one I would have wished for.'
He lowered his hands 'You're dead, Marit. Twenty-one years dead. To think I could never let you go, for I tell you I missed you so badly and then would go on and on blaming myself for what wasn't truly my fault. Eiya! I'm remembering-' He pressed palms together, pinched himself, smoothed his hands down his thighs. He was wearing his reeve's leathers, although they were dusty in some spots and in others smeared with a stain that slid with an oily slime under his testing finger. 'I hesitate to say this, but I have an odd memory that you are a ghost pretending to be a Guardian haunting my gods-rotted dreams and that I was… I was…' Yet it was all haze, a smeary, oily confusion of arrows flying and men shouting and one man — could that be himself? — desperately trying to shield his beloved companion. What in the hells?
She grasped his hand in one of hers. A death white cloak shivered at her shoulders: a demon's cloak.
Neh, not a demon's cloak. That had been someone else's word for them. That had been Anji's word.
'Joss, there's no easy way to say this. You're dead. I don't know how you were killed. Or how long ago it happened. But Jothinin and Kirit and I found you, and we've done our best to help you awaken.'
'Awaken from what?'
'From death.'
'Marit, no one awakens from death. You pass through the Spirit Gate and cross to the other side.'
'Except for a few of us, a very few, who as it says in the tale must walk the lands to establish justice. If they can. A rather heavy "if" in days like these. Or in any days, I suppose.'
'You're talking about the Guardians.'
'I am. And you are. Because you've been — well — you've been claimed by a cloak, Joss. Jessed, if you will. Don't take this the wrong way, but the cloak that's wearing you is the one that used to belong to Lord Radas. Not that that means anything, mind you. It's not the cloak that corrupts the Guardian. I don't believe that. I think it's something inside the person that weakens and breaks, so just because you're wearing the cloak of Sun doesn't mean you'll become corrupted as he did.'
He felt its weight dragging like stone on his shoulders, and yet its power coursed through his body like a river's streaming current or the wind's blustery push or a flame's fiery snap. It draped over him, whispering against the stone on which he sat. An arrow was half hidden under the fabric. When he picked it up, it fit easily in his hand.
Across the ledge a glittering labyrinth flowered as if the arrow's touch on his skin had brought it to life: the maze that led to the altar and its hidden pool spread in patterns that winked and tempted. How easily he could walk it now! Those twists and turns ignited memories, banished the haze.
'Captain Anji killed me. Only he didn't really kill me. He didn't dare strike at me. That gods-rotted bastard. He had his soldiers kill-'
'Calm down, Joss. You're upsetting Scar. Here now, give me a kiss.' She tipped his chin up and kissed him lightly once, twice, thrice, until he laughed and, behind her, that cursed envoy of Ilu — what was he doing here? — spoke.
'Yet again we have proven women believe sex solves everything.'
'He was getting agitated!' retorted Marit, but she sat back on her heels and smiled in a way that made Joss's ears — and more — burn. 'The hells, Joss. Not that you weren't a pleasant armful before, but you were just not this cursed handsome when you were young. What happened to you?'
He was working back through her words, spinning the arrow
once around slowly. 'What do you mean? I'm upsetting a scar?'
'Ah.' She rose, walked back to the fire, and poured liquid from a leather bottle into a cup. Beyond her, three horses stood close together, heads and necks drooping, one with a hind hoof tipped up on the toe. A feathery bulk sprouted from their shoulders and folded back along their flanks all the way to their croups.
'Those are winged horses,' he said indignantly as she returned.
'Drink this.'
It was a tart cordial, just the way he liked it, with real bite. And he was cursed thirsty all of a sudden. But he set down the cup.
'Let's say, just for the sake of argument, that I'm awake, and not dreaming or plowing my way through some manner of drunken stupor. Let's just say those are three winged horses. Let's say I'm wearing a Guardian's cloak, for I'm certainly wearing something like it. And that this arrow in my hand is somehow connected to the cloak of Sun. Let's say that you and these two individuals are also Guardians. I can't believe I just said all that.'
Now he did knock back the cordial, and it seared his throat and made his eyes water in a most satisfactory way.
'Do you remember what Marshal Alard used to say, Marit? If you have to choose between what seems the most reasonable explanation, and what the cold, hard evidence reveals-'
'Go with the evidence,' she finished.
'There you stand, wearing the cloak of Death. Him, the cloak of Sky, I suppose. And her-' The firelight must have been playing tricks on him, for she looked like a ghost, not like a person. 'My apologies, verea. We've never met.'
Marit tugged him up, biting her lower lip in that way she did with her eyes so inviting. She chuckled as he flushed. Eihi! Now he remembered what he had been doing not long before he'd died, and it hadn't been with Marit but rather with that gods-rotted magnificent hierodule Zubaidit, and it had been cursed energetic and tremendously wild and hot and-
'What are you thinking about?' she demanded, really laughing now. 'Neh. Never mind. For I'm pretty sure I don't want to know. And now, thank the Lady, I don't have to.' She led him by the hand over to the fire, where she introduced him to Jothinin and Kirit. The girl was a cursed odd-looking person, an outlander, ghastly pale with almost colorless eyes and hair like straw. Fortunately, she was quite young, likely not more than sixteen or
eighteen, and treated him with the reserved deference due to an uncle never before met.
They had a nicely spiced porridge and several ripe sunfruit and mangoes, not that he was particularly hungry, and more of that wonderfully tart cordial. He had a curious idea that he didn't actually need to eat, but the act was comforting, and the food was tasty, and he had anyhow lived all his life eating in company. It would have seemed strange not to do so now.
Jothinin was a talker, just like the foolish Jothinin in the tale, but he had a pleasant voice and a great many entertaining tales to tell, many of which were a joke on himself. But at length even he fell silent as the fire sparked and popped, and Kirit, its keeper, gifted more wood to its flames.
'So let's say it's true, that I'm a Guardian,' said Joss. 'What does that mean? For here are four of us. Anji has the other five cloaks. He's bound them with chains into chests and I'm pretty sure he means to hold them. I admit, seeing what happened with Radas and Night, it's not entirely surprising Anji believes the cloaks dangerous and corrupting.' Yet when he pulled the fabric of his Sun cloak through a hand, he felt no shadow, no dark seam cracking wide to eat out his heart and turn him into a lilu. Not that he couldn't crack. Not that every person wasn't vulnerable in some way. But it wasn't inevitable, as Anji had claimed.