Chapter 3

  Year of Elyssa 3992, Nohr the 32nd

  She was so tired. She’d never expended so much energy at once in her life.

  Ihllaea stared numbly up at the ceiling, hugging Shonal. He’d helped her back to her dorm room, to her bed, to sleep off the near scorching of her magical self—her soul-tinders—that she’d done while Healing. They’d wept together, holding each other, mourning—and he’d cried himself to sleep, something which she was supposed to be doing.

  But she couldn’t sleep. She couldn’t—Nana was gone.

  She’d tried so damn hard. And this time, with far more knowledge crammed in her head, with her training complete, minus her legitimate Journey. And with the sheer power she possessed…she should have been able to cure Narrea.

  But, like with Mom, she hadn’t been able to. It had been Nana’s time to go home to the Eldritch. And there wasn’t a damn thing she could do about that.

  Ihllaea blinked tiredly at the gray-flecked white granite over her head, eyes dry and aching. Papa had raised more Eldritch power than she’d ever seen in one mage’s mental ‘hands.’

  And what had that snapping sound been? She’d heard something—break?

  The night trudged on, and with it, her numb mind.

  So tired…

  Ihllaea woke to the sound of quiet sobbing. She realized after a confused moment that it was her own weeping, and turned her face into the pillow, hoping she hadn’t disturbed her fellow Journeymen. They would worry.

  Not that they weren’t worried already. With her Empathy, even in their sleep she could sense their concern for her.

  Ihllaea realized her brother wasn’t here. Shonal had probably left to help the family.

  Nana was gone.

  Ihllaea mopped her face, rose and gathered clean clothes. Quietly leaving the other three girls to sleep, she padded down the empty dorm hall to the communal bath room, also deserted at this time, though likely not for long. Soaking in the heated water, she let her numb mind drift.

  Aunt Cassaea—her and Shonal’s foster mother, who was also their mother’s twin—and Papa would have ritually cremated Nana’s body by now. They would have lovingly cleansed her, dressed her in an undyed linen shift for cremation, and burned her. They would’ve gathered every precious ash into the urn for the Ash Walk.

  Ihllaea closed her eyes, slipped down into the water to hide the tears when she heard another student arrive.

  After her bath, she dressed and realized that she’d forgotten her shoes. Slipping back into their room she picked up her shoes and spotted—in the faint light of dawn coming in the window—the white arm band of mourning lying on her pillow.

  Ihllaea stared at it, suddenly shaking. Memory of Uncle Weslin slipping a white band around her tiny arm for her mom all those years ago flashed in her head.

  She snatched it up, whirling for the door as she shoved it into her pocket. Outside the closed room, she hopped on one foot as she put each shoe on, then headed out of the Healer’s dorm.

  She would be accorded the normal four-week Mourning Period. No one was expected at work or school when in Mourning. Ihllaea wanted to scream at the stupidity of Mourning.

  Four weeks? Just twenty fucking days?

  One could never learn to live without a beloved family member, end grieving at the end of a handful of days, or forget the pain of their final hours.

  Who the scorching hell came up with four weeks?

  It would take them a lifetime to learn to say goodbye to Nana.

  Ithae Village was already wide awake, windows lit with cook stoves and candlelight or lifesparks, several people already hurrying to a task, the sun staining the clouds to the east. She paused, stared at it, caught by the vivid crimson of sunrise, lacking the usual orangey color common to sunrise or set. Clouds covered where the sun was rising—but only there. Clear to north and south, the mountains around the Valley stood starkly outlined against the brightening sky.

  It seemed…eerily significant.

  Ihllaea strode purposefully toward the Circle Pillars, loosely braiding her hair as she went. Wood smoke drifted on the faintest of breezes from those stoves. The tang of moisture hit her nose, her sight dazzled by the dew on the grass by the road as the sun broke through into freedom.

  It was a magnificent morning, and Ihllaea resented it.

  Because Nana was gone, and she would’ve loved this morning, but wasn’t here to see it.

  At the Circle Pillars she hesitated, wondering if she should take the blue one to the Empath’s Village Ecaerae, to meet with her cousin Seeanny. As she debated, the brown fire shimmered, and a pair of yoked oxen shuffled between the Pillars of Aedee Village’s transport Circle. She scrambled out of their way, standing between two sets of Pillars to watch them pull their loaded wagon into Ithae. As soon as they’d left the broad stone plinth the Pillars lived on, she decided to just go to the Keep, and took the rainbow Circle. Before she entered the heat and pressure of the Circle that passed her through the Eldritch, she glanced at the red Phelae Circle, wondering if Shonal was already at the Keep.

  Ignoring the looks of the passing Mystics around her, she bit at her braid while shuffling to the dining hall. Located on the Keep’s southeast corridor, it was the kitchen Aunt Cassaea usually worked from. As Castellan of Lore Keep, Cassaea was in charge of the running of the Keep itself. And marginally of the whole Valley too, dealing with the day-to-day fiascoes that Papa, High Mystic and caretaker of the whole continent, didn’t have time for.

  Aunt Cassaea sat by the hearth, staring into the flickering heat. Ihllaea had never seen her aunt sit still.

  The fire…

  These weren’t the first flames Cassaea had stared into in the last few hours. Ihllaea closed her eyes on the pain in her aunt’s gaze, the drawn weariness there. If this was hard for Ihllaea, she knew it was ten times worse for Aunt Cassaea. She’d had to say goodbye to her mother last night.

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  Ihllaea went to her, put one hand on her shoulder. Without turning to look, Cassaea’s hand rose to clasp hers. She was as much mother as aunt, having raised her and Shonal since they were small, just ten Elven years.

  The death of Cassaea’s twin sister and the circumstances around it had rocked the whole Valley with the realization of how vulnerable they were to Shillialora’s queen, Auzhua. Papa had built the Valley’s Guardian in desperation and fear, within moments of the attack that had taken Rattiri from them.

  To this day, the Valley lay under that shimmering barrier Papa had erected to keep their people safe.

  To keep Daeg and Sarroah safe.

  To keep the Phoenix safe, whoever she was.

  “Get some food, Laea,” she murmured, voice trembling.

  “Yes, Aunt,” she whispered.

  Ihllaea grabbed a few pieces of toast and a bowl of oatmeal. Before she went out to the dining hall she glanced at Aunt Cassaea. She still stared into the flames, but now tears crept down her pale cheeks. As she watched, Uncle Weslin arrived to crouch in front of her, taking her hands in his. When Cassaea sobbed, he took his wife in his arms…tender kisses and soft words of love and comfort…

  Throat closing in pain, Ihllaea turned sharply, left the kitchen and went to the head table on its elevated platform where Papa usually sat to watch over his people during meals. He did not appear. Her family didn’t usually sit here. The Leads and the Heads of the Villages did. Today though, her family gathered around the two empty chairs. Shonal gave her a wan smile as she sat next to him, and a one-armed hug even as he took an unenthusiastic bite.

  Ihllaea ate her meal without tasting it. When they were done, their father Covahn rose to clear his throat, looking out over the huge dining hall.

  “The Ash Walk will begin in an hour,” he said into the mournful quiet, his magic carrying his voice for all to hear where they sat on the benches, and even out into the Valley.

  Ihllaea followed her family to Tae’Oora Tower—buried in the central garden, and the heart of Lore Keep—where Papa was getting ready. He would lead them in this ceremony.

  Their family assembled in Papa and Nana’s apartment. Ihllaea stared around. Her grandparents had, with a gentle reign, ruled over their brood of children, grandchildren and now great-grandchildren. She glanced at her father. Covahn stood at the window, staring out, shoulders tensed. No doubt he was seeing only his lost soulmate right now, her loss an ever-present, soul-deep agony.

  Literal soul agony. Rattiri, always, his Rattiri in his mind, and heart. Nothing could touch his love of her…or his endless grief.

  With an inner sigh, Ihllaea withdrew from her pocket the white band. She tried and failed to forget the memories as she slipped it up her dominant arm where it settled over her bicep, visible against the bright green of her Journeyman Healer’s tunic.

  Ihllaea accepted Shonal’s hand when he sat with her, as they all waited, still and numbed by their loss.

  “I’m ready,” Meether finally said from the hall to his and Nana’s room, voice dull.

  She turned her head reluctantly, knowing what she would find.

  She was right. Papa stood in the entrance to the hall, dressed not in the white uniform of the High Mystic, but in simple rest day clothes of unbleached linen pants with a pale blue tunic. The flowing white cloak of mourning draped over his shoulders, hair held back by a band of white as well. He stood helplessly staring at their family, face haggard, eyes shattered, aged decades in just hours.

  Her normally vigorous and jovial grandfather wasn’t there right now.

  Meether was broken by the loss of his beloved mate.

  Ihllaea looked away, sucking on the ends of her hair. She couldn’t stand to see Papa this way.

  Wordlessly, Meether led the way from the tower, across the wide garden and through the Keep Wall. Following Papa out to the front of the castle, they moved past flowerbeds brilliant in the sunshine, smelling of water and earth, and soft floral kisses.

  The people of Lore Valley had already begun to congregate outside the main entrance. Ihllaea was a bit surprised to see so many people there wearing a white mourning band. It wasn’t required of any but the family to wear white, and only the closest wore the mourning cloak. But perhaps she shouldn’t be surprised. The Lady of Lore Keep was much loved.

  Without looking at anyone, Meether set off, past the exterior Circle Pillars, and to the gravel road that wound white through the Valley to the Pass road. It was a long walk, a mile to the ancient Lannanoth tree that everyone fondly called Lannan, the traditional location of Mystic weddings. Beyond it by another mile lay the Memory Flame, their destination.

  Ihllaea had walked this several times now. She’d lost Mom, a dear friend, a young patient—and her first loss as a Healer—a fellow Healer of renown, and now Nana.

  It never got easier.

  She was hale enough to walk it. For the very young, the elderly, the incapacitated, transportation was provided. It wasn’t expected for anyone to walk it but the family. Ihllaea looked over her shoulder to see a great line of people in various stages of grief, a horse or two with riders, a few wagons creaking along, loaded with people.

  The day was already warming, though a light, cool breeze ruffled everyone’s hair and clothes. Ihllaea tried not to think of the ceremony. She hated to see so many people hurting. Taken individually, she could deal with a person’s grief. But like her cousin Seeanny, she was able to feel all around her, and closing off her Empathy was the only way to keep herself from feeling their pain.

  The Ash Walk was long for a purpose. For Meether, he would be remembering, in grief and fondness, this same walk as he’d taken it with his betrothed for their Marriage Walk. It was catharsis, it was release, it was time to contemplate, to remember, to love—and to let go. Because Lannan was the customary location of weddings, it was symbolic that the Ash Walk should pass Lannan, for the lone survivor to walk beyond—without their mate, and learning to live without them as they moved to the Memory Flame.

  Ihllaea was surprised to see the massive tree appear before them so quickly. Papa must have set a fast pace. Or more likely she’d been lost in numb thought. Shortly after, they arrived at the Memory Flame. Meether stopped before the great towering statue, waiting for the rest to catch up. The Flame was centered on a large surface of white granite, the same stone that made Lore Keep and every other building in the Valley, and that filled the mountains around them. The surface spread wide enough to hold hundreds of people as they stood to mourn. But the Memory Flame itself was not pale granite. It was snowy marble, taken also from the mountains around Lore Valley, but deeper, and it was rumored that it had been taken from the same stone that had been chiseled out to form the long-lost Great Library, carved from the depths of the mountains to make room for a copy of every book ever written.

  Papa waited several moments, then slowly moved forward. He lifted one trembling hand, the bead of pale-yellow that had been Nana’s life-gem gleaming in the bowl of his palm. Everyone had one. Ihllaea lifted her hand to her own necklace where the grape-sized, forest-green gem lay against her chest. Each glass bead was made specially for the individual, the color identical to their lifespark, a magical gem that recorded the face, name, lineage, and home of the wearer. In the distant past, thousands of lost names and lives could have been remembered and honored but were not, and mass graves had been prevalent. Life-gems gave dignity back to the dead, and gave closure and solace to the living.

  Meether placed that light-yellow gem on one of the many cleverly disguised tiny shelves on the Flame. The marble fire had been carved so cleverly that its every branch of flame bent and moved, providing thousands of places on the statue for this purpose. Once the bead was in place, Ihllaea sensed with her magic that Papa sealed it to the Flame to protect it from washing or blowing away. With his left hand, he held the cylinder that contained Nana’s ashes. These he poured over the gem, concealing it. Over the next four weeks, the wind and rain would carry her ashes out into the world, allowing people to visit and say goodbye. And then Meether and their family would return to retrieve the gem and take it back to the Keep. There they would seal it permanently into the southern Memory Tower, with her name on the glass front.

  Meether stepped back, staring at the ashes. Even as they watched, the breeze picked up some of the powder, whisked it away. Slowly he fell to his knees, dropped the metal urn with a clatter as he lifted his hands to his face, and Papa wept. “Aebae! My aebae…” he cried.

  Aebae…Old Elven for beloved.

  Papa couldn’t finish the ceremony.

  Papa’s hurting heart tore the numbness away, and Ihllaea rushed to him, Nana’s absence a blow to her sense of self, because Nana was part of her, part of them. Aching inside at the loss, hurting for his hurt, she was desperate to help—but there was no help. She knelt with him, felt the rest of their family surround them, felt someone’s hand on her shoulder, another on her head, sensed everyone’s pain. Above her head she heard Uncle Weslin speaking through tears.

  “From the Eldritch, Narrea Jestin Vonell, you came to bless us with your life. From us, Narrea, you return to the Eldritch to bless it with your soul,” he cried, finishing the ceremony. Beyond their family huddle, the people of Lore Valley began to cry out and weep, calling goodbyes, love, and well wishes.

  Ihllaea buried her face in Papa’s shoulder and sobbed.

  Nana was gone.