'I accept,' she said in a hoarse whisper.
She felt the heavy sense of listening depart—the sensation Idalia always associated with the making of the bargains associated with Wild-magery—and then there was only the sense of competence and ability, the deep ever-filling well of Wildmage power, hers for use.
She got to work, putting the thought of the bargain aside.
She reached out with her heightened senses, touching the storm.
It was as if she were in Silver Eagle form once more, riding through the air on great, long-feathered wings. But now she was larger than any Silver Eagle ever hatched, her body so vast that she could sweep thunderheads aside with one beat of her great wings. She flew into the heart of the storm itself, shepherding the clouds where she wished them to go, spreading them across the landscape, slowing their eastward rush.
Again and again she dove into the heart of the storm, feathered shepherd to her dark woolly sheep, but instead of bunching them, she kept them well separated, and instead of hurrying them, she slowed them— though, also like sheep, they resisted her efforts, trying always to return to their own ways despite her best efforts.
Idalia lost all ttack of time. There was only the glory of flight, and the necessity of the task. The storm wind buffeted her, flinging her thousands of feet toward the sky in one instant and tumbling her toward the ground in the next moment as if she'd suddenly lost her wings. Each time she recovered and doggedly returned to her work, though her phantom muscles began to ache with exhaustion. It must be done. There was no one else to do it.
And she had made her bargain.
THE first fat drops of rain on her face woke her from her trance. It was day, but heavily overcast.
Idalia opened her eyes slowly, blinking against the light. She was cold, and ravenously hungry. The first drops of rain were joined by more until it was raining steadily, and in moments Idalia was soaked to the skin. Rain! She'd never felt anything so wonderful.
ALIVE… I she thought in confusion. But —
Ashaniel was standing over her, in the middle of a half circle of Elven courtiers. All of them were gazing down at her with expressions of identical worry.
Idalia stared up at the sky. Day. But it had been night when she began.
'I must—' her voice came out in a hoarse croak. She coughed, and licked rain from her upper lip, and tried again. 'I must have been here all night.'
'Idalia,' Ashaniel said, very gently, 'you have been sitting here for three days.'
HE smelled wet earth. The scent puzzled Kellen, drawing him slowly toward consciousness. How could earth be wet? It had been dry for as long as he could remember.
Wondering drew him back into his body, and he became aware of the sensation of cool hands bathing his face with a damp cloth. His raw skin stung, but the motion of the soft cloth felt good, and he smelled the faint spicy scent of allheal tea. He opened his eyes.
'He's awake!' Vestakia cried. 'Jermayan! He's awake!'
Kellen tried to sit up. The effort produced the sensation that someone had lashed his back with a bundle of hot wires. He could not feel his hands at all, and in a distant foggy part of his mind, he knew that was a good thing. He groaned faintly, and relaxed again, only then realizing that his head was in Vestakia's lap. He blinked. It was a great effort.
He and Vestakia were in a cave. Not very far in—he could see the entrance from where he was. Outside, he could see that it was raining, a hard, steady, soaking rain.
Rain!
Jermayan appeared in the doorway, ducking his head to clear the entrance. The Elven Knight was stripped to the waist, his hair tied back with a length of rag. He smiled in relief when he saw Kellen, and quickly came to kneel at his side.
'How are you feeling?' he asked.
'I'm alive,' Kellen said, sounding baffled, even to himself. 'But… I thought…' The Other-Kellen said you were dead. But that was a lie, just like all the rest of it, just a lie to get me to give in.
And I thought I was supposed to die. Wasn't that the price of the spell?
