Sun in Glory and Other Tales of Valdemar

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'He's here for you, girl,' the woman said, pulling her arm free Kayla looked up at the Companion, and then she reached out with her free hand. Her fingers stopped inches from his nose, and she let that hand fall. She said, quietly, 'Do I have to go with you?'

He looked into her eyes and said, in a voice that made all song seem flat and thin,

:The choice is yours.

:I have waited long for this day. I have waited, bright heart, and promised myself that I would let you lead the life the mountain would give you.

:But I have heard your cries from across the continent; I have been with you when you buried your dead, when you cradled the living that you knew you could not hold on to.: She looked up at his eyes; his gaze never wavered. 'You know that this choice is no choice.'

He was silent a moment; she thought he would offer no answer. And then, quietly, he said, :Better than you would understand.:

'Because the choice has always been yours to make.'

:Because the Companions Choose, yes.:

'And the Heralds?'

:They are Chosen. But they feel the bond, and they desire it, and they accept it for all that it is; all that it can be.:

'And my oath?' she asked him, voice steady, arm now drawing on an young child for support.

:There are oaths that are made that cannot be kept in the manner that their maker envisioned. If a child promises to love you, and only you, for all of forever, could you hold him to that vow? Would you desire it?:

'I was no child when I made that vow.'

:Dear heart,: he said gently, :you are barely an adult now, and you made that vow when your older brother moved away, long before you had husband or children.: He stepped forward, and she shied away.

Because she wanted what he offered.

Because she had never wanted anything so badly. :I choose you, Kayla.: She heard the song of his name, although she had never asked it of him, and he had never offered it-as if they both understood, in the dreams of her youth, that his name was a binding they had avoided by careful dance until this moment.

'Darius.'

Widow David coughed. The old woman's face was set in its harshest lines. In the distance, children that had been silent until that moment surged forward as Kayla did; they came in a press of small bodies, eager and excited.

But she knew that they would understand it truly later.

For now, all they said was, 'You're to be Chosen, Kayla? You're going to be a Herald?

Will you wear white? Will you have a sword? Will you have a bow?'

She answered all questions gravely, until one lone boy spoke. Evan.

'Will you come back?'

'Yes,' she said, fiercely. 'Often. I will come back with a saddlebag full of Northern toys and treats and books, and I will come at the edge of winter, just before they close the passes, like some foolish, green merchant.'

Darius had saddlebags. She knew, without looking, that they were full; full enough for a long journey.

'Widow Davis,' she said softly. 'Can you do without me?'

The old woman had some mercy. 'Aye,' she said gruffly. 'We did before your mother came. We managed.' She started to say something else, and then stopped. 'They must need you, Kayla, They must need you even more than we do.'

Kayla said nothing.

Because she knew a lie when she heard it. What could they need from her that a hundred other girls. couldn't give them? They had Heralds, full-trained; they had soldiers, they had lords, ladies, Kings. They had so much.

And Riverend had so little.

'I'll be back,' she whispered.

Widow Davis met her eyes, without blinking, and then to Kayla's astonishment, the old woman stepped forward and wrapped arms around her shoulders. 'Come back, child,' she said, although it had been years since she had called Kayla a child. 'Come back whole.'

Kayla flinched. She felt her eyes sting. 'Widow Davis-'

'You've not come back to us with the spring. We missed your song in the winter. It may be that you need what it is he offers; it may be he'll help you to sing for us again.'

Kayla buried her face in the old woman's shoulders.

* * *

Before lunch that day, she was on the road. Her neck was cramped; she'd done nothing but gaze backward, over her shoulder, until not even the hills that were home to Riverend could be seen in the distance. All of her life lay in that village, or beneath it; all of the things she valued.

Promise me, Kayla, that you'll stay. Promise me that you'll take care of Riverend when I'm gone.

I promise, Mother. But you won't be gone for a long time, will you?

Not if I have anything to say about it. Of course, she hadn't.

* * *

Riding was nothing like it had been in her dreams. It was hard work. And painful.

She could feel Darius' rueful smile. She could not see his face, of course.

'They need me, you know,' she told him, the accusation soft.

:I am sorry, dear heart, but so do we.:

'Why?'

:That I cannot tell you yet. But you will understand, I fear, as we approach the city.:

'What city?'

:The King's city,: he told her quietly. :The capital. Or what's left of it.:

'What do you mean, Darius?'

Darius didn't answer.

'Are we at war?'

:We are always at war, Kayla. But the battlefields shift and change with time.:

* * *

He had to tell her what to do for him when they stopped by the Waystations left for Herald use. She did not know how to brush him, water him, blanket him; was not familiar with the food that he ate. Everything about the life beyond Riverend was strange and unexpected.

But sleep was bad. Every night she spent away from the hold, she spent beneath the great, unfurled wings of the shadow beast, the devourer. She knew that she would never have the white dreams again.

Darius would nudge her out of sleep, and she would cry out, reach for him, and then stop, letting her hands fall away.

'I don't see you in my dreams anymore.' The words shook as much as her hands did.

:I know.:

'Will I ever?'

:Yes, Kayla. But . . . it was never easy to reach through your dreams to you. It