'That is not the truth,' said Mathias, almost spitting the words. 'There are stories, memories, tales of powers-Avatars-'
'There is nothing you can do,' the great one repeated. 'This is ordained. You are forbidden.'
'If I am forbidden, why was I allowed to see? Why, except to torment me?'
'Sometimes,' said the great one, 'in extremity, a mortal can see where no mortal eyes should ever see. That vision was not meant for you.'
'Yet it came to me,' he said. 'I will save her. I must.'
'Even if it costs you your soul?'
'If it saves hers,' he said, 'yes.'
The great one bent its glimmering head. The field of stars shrank to a field of grass and flowers under a silver sky. Mathias stood in it with a creature like a Companion, surrounded by blossoming trees.
'You are forbidden,' the great one said. But in its eyes was another word.
He held that stare for a long moment, lost in an infinity of blue. 'What will they do to you,' he asked. 'if-'
The great one shook its head infinitesimally. 'Peace is yonder,' it said, 'on the shores of the Havens.'
But Mathias was listening to what it did not say. He looked around him and recognized this place, this circle of trees, this grass; this spring that bubbled forth from the great one's feet, just as it must have done in the morning of the world.
'Do not drink from this spring,' said the great one. 'Mortals who drink of it are doomed. The hounds of heaven will hunt them, and the Powers will condemn their souls.'
'But you,' he said. 'You children of heaven who drink of it, what does it do? What powers does it give you?'
'That is forbidden,' the great one said. 'Go, seek peace. Forget this place.'
Even as it spoke, it turned its back. The spring had bubbled into a pool. It seemed perfectly harmless, a pool of clear water, reflecting the sky. Mortal sky-blue as a Companion's eye, and mortal sun in it, looking down on living earth.
The great one's tail switched. Another instant and it would return to its guardianship. Mathias bent quickly and cupped water in his hands. It was cold, as spring water should be; it numbed his fingers. He did not pause to marvel at so earthly a sensation in this unearthly place. He lifted it to his lips and drank.
It was like liquid ice, like living fire. It was the wine of angels. His mortal spirit was not made to imbibe such potency. It rocked him with agony. It tore him, twisted him, rent him asunder. Darkness took him even here, in this land of perpetual light.
* * *
Mathias lay winded on bruised grass. But, he thought, grass did not bruise here. The dead did not breathe. He was notHe staggered up. His body moved strangely. His head was too heavy, his neck, his hands and feet-He had no hands. When he scrabbled at the grass, long white legs responded, and silver hooves.
His neck twisted about, impossibly long. White mane flew as he whirled; white body spun. When he cried out, a shrill whinny pierced his ears.
His forefeet tangled; he fell to his knees. It hurt. Earth was hard. He heaved himself erect. Through the whirl of confusion, still he recognized this place. He was in the Companions' Grove. He wore that all-too familiar shape, and it was not that of a newborn foal either. He, though mortal, had drunk from the well of the Powers. It had done to him what it must do to the great ones, the shining spirits: it had given him Companion's form.
Such a thing was forbidden to mortal soul-impossible, he would have said. He had defied the will of heaven. He wore flesh again, with full capacity of the body, and full memory of the life that he had lived before. And it was still-gods, it must still be the time in which he had lived.
As he paused to will his gratitude toward the one who had shown him the way, a shudder ran across his skin. Something was rising in the Grove, some force of wrath.
The hounds of heaven were coming to hunt him down. He must run with all his magical strength, and find her before they found him. Then it did not matter; the hounds could rip him into nothingness, he did not care. But first he must save her soul.
His body knew how to run. He had only to let it go. There was glory in speed, and joy-he had thought never to know joy again. Behind him the earth heaved and the spring boiled. He heard, faint but drawing nearer, the baying of hounds.
He ran for Vera's life. Companion's Field was full of white almost-horses and their Heralds in white, and the usual scattering of attendants, gawkers, and hangers-on. They were all gaping at him. He hardly needed to hear the word that ran even faster than he: 'Grove-born! There's not been a Grove-born since-'
Since before his human life began. Intentionally or otherwise, they were gathering, clotting, blocking his way. He darted around and through them, and sometimes over them.
'But,' said someone, who sounded young, 'his eyes are green!'
That checked his stride and nearly sent him sprawling. He got his legs under control again. The road from the Field was not so crowded. The sight of a Companion at full gallop parted the stream of passersby and left them murmuring in his wake.
She was not in the palace. He had known it before he came there, in his heart that was like a needle quivering toward the lodestone. Yet he had to go, had to see-had to prove to himself that those halls, though full of people, were empty of her.
It was a long and desperate while before he found someone who could hear when he Mindspoke.
His throat would not produce a human voice, nor would his lips or tongue shape even the few words he needed to say.
The child in the servant's smock blinked hard. He was frightening her with his intensity. He tried to control it a little, but he did not succeed very well: she was very young and he was desperate. Thank the Powers, she mustered her courage and said steadily enough, 'She's gone out riding, sir. With-with the Consort. The one who's to be, I mean. After the wedding.'
She blinked even harder. 'Yes, sir. Lord Terrell. Don't you know-you aren't-are you new here, sir?'
Her eyes went wide. 'I? Ride a Companion?'
For answer he folded his long legs and knelt, pressing lightly against her, so that she had to swing her leg over his back and cling to his mane. He rose as smoothly as he could. She squeaked a little in alarm, but the fear was fading fast before incredulous delight.
Her weight was negligible, and she balanced well enough once he was upright. She knew how to ride. She guided him as if he had been a horse-odd sensation to be on the receiving end of it.
His mind was racing down too many tracks at once. He focused in on two: the child's guidance, and the news that she had given him. Vera and Terrell? If he could put aside the stab of pure, green, and completely unreasonable jealousy, he could see it, even force himself to approve of it. Terrell was not too young but not too old, his family connections were impeccable, and much more to the point, Mathias had known him to be an honorable man. He was both warrior and mage, and equally accomplished in both.
He had been loyal to Vera during Dashant's war; he had served her well. He would make a more than adequate Consort.
Mathias' young rider guided him out of the Palace and into the city. She held on tighter there, tensing when people stared. He soothed her as he could, and thought calm at her. Her gratitude was like a warm hand slipping into his.
The crowds of the city made their own joyous mortal noise, but he heard that other sound beneath, the baying that would pursue him until he was caught and made to pay for what he had done. He was tiring, a little; even the body of a Grove-born Companion was mortal, and its strength was finite. He slowed his pace a fraction. He was almost through the city. The gate was ahead, and open country beyond it.
'They can't be far,' said the child on his back. 'They only left a little while ago.'
He resisted the urge to quicken his stride. The sun shone blandly down upon him. The road was level underfoot, until at his rider's urging he turned to follow a narrower track.
