Sun in Glory and Other Tales of Valdemar

girl.

Justine's head wound was threatening by itself; enough to explain why the girl was out stone cold.

Her legs were bound together, badly chafed, the skin deeply raw around the ropes. Anya thought they could be broken. Her arms and torso looked unmarked, except her left hand was gashed and bleeding.

Anya cut the ropes around Justine's legs and straightened them.

Now, how could she ground herself? She had always worked in homes or in the main room at Tim's-and always with Tim coaching her. Here, there was no comfortable place to stand rooted to.

Justine was in an awkward spot, and Anya didn't think it safe to move her. She chose a kneeling pose and probed for Earth energy, the way Tim had taught her.

It was there, a breath, a stream, and available. She pulled it up into her, setting shielding to keep her focus, to close out the woods and the path and the wounded Healer behind her. Her body gained life, her mind focus, and she began to see things more clearly as she prepared to transfer the energy filling her to the wounded girl.

She needed Tim. It felt like so much, like more than she had ever felt. Tim should do this-she wasn't up to it.

The energy poured away, lost like water over a cliff, and she put her head down and hid her face in her hands. She shivered; cold and frustrated.

A croak rose from far behind her. Tim's voice. 'I can see you do this. Start over.' A softening of his tone. 'Surrender, Anya. Let go.'

She looked back. Nightsinger sat quietly next to Tim. The Hawkbrother nodded at her. 'Can you help Tim?' she pleaded.

'Only a little. You must help him by doing your work.'

Tears stung the corner of her eyes. She touched the earth, tapping the stream of energy again. It was weak and she reached, and reached, and barely gathered a warm trickle. It wasn't enough. She was going to fail.

She let go, started over, ignoring her first touch of darkness. Whether real or not, she heard Tim's voice in her head, saying, 'Surrender. Surrender.' She touched and reached, and this time the line of power felt focused, less diffuse. She filled herself with each breath, establishing the stream into her as a river, seeing it as light she could channel through her palms. It was more than she could take, and still less than Justine needed. She wanted to scream. Necessity pushed at her until something inside crumpled away, something thin but important. Loss swept into trust, and Anya realized how afraid she had been to...trust...herself. Power, earth energy, filled the places where fear had been. Now, she was part of it, and it was part of her, and the outcome no longer mattered, just the work.

She placed her hands on Justine's head, directing the energy into the prone form. It was warmth flowing down her arms and through the center of her palms into Justine, overwhelming the cold of her wounds, acting on them like sun on ice, melting pain. Slowly. Ever so slowly. Anya could feel it, almost see it, and it was exquisite, like spring colors and stored sunshine flowing into Justine from the earth. It used Anya, like a vessel and a map, seeking direction and amplification in her focus.

Warmth spread through Anya into the girl's head, burning away pain and harm, healing her broken skull. Warmth began to flow down Justine's shoulders, and Anya felt almost as if the two of them were one being. Then suddenly it was too much, her back was freezing. Anya shuddered, the connection lost.

Now it was only her own empty hands on Justine's head. Every muscle in her arms quivered and shook.

Anya's body demanded rest, sleep. She fought for strength to see to Justine. The girl was breathing better, more regularly. Her skin wasn't quite the right color, but it was somehow less white. Anya probed Justine's head gently, and it felt normal. Justine's legs were bleeding where the bonds had been, and still swollen and bruised. So she hadn't finished. But it would be enough. Justine's youth would heal the rest quickly. Anya sighed, and then in a tiny flash of energy, she remembered Tim.

Nightsinger sat immobile by Tim, hands on her teacher's thigh wound. Tim's head was turned away from her, but Nightsinger looked directly at her and said, 'You did well, little one. Let go.' She wanted to go to Tim, but blackness caught her, and she barely felt the ground slap the side of her head as she surrendered to it.

* * *

Anya woke to the sounds of many people. She was bundled in a blanket by the side of the path.

Her mouth was fiercely dry. She licked her lips and tried to sit up, but her head was so dizzy and painful she simply fell back again.

She heard the rustle of clothes, and a cup of water appeared in front of her eyes. An arm propped her up, and another held the cup to her lips. She sipped greedily. When the cup was empty, Nightsinger rocked back on his heels and let her sit on her own. Surprisingly, she found she had the strength, if barely. She watched him refill the cup from a water bag he slung over his shoulder, all of her focus on the precious water, on quenching the desert inside of her.

Nightsinger grinned at her as she got partway through a third cup of water, and finally looked up at him. His long hair was down, a signal to her that they were safe. 'Now, take it easy, little one. You'll be sick. Let the water in slowly. You used a lot of energy.'

Memories flooded back over her. 'Justine?'

'Is fine. I had to splint her legs until one of our Healers got here, and sew her up in a place or two.

Nothing I don't know how to do. But you saved her life. I'm Healer-trained, but have no Gift like yours. I could not have done what you did. She even woke up this morning and asked for you.'

'This morning? How long have I been asleep? How's Tim?'

'You've slept almost two days.'

'And Tim?'

'Ahhh, Tim. He's gone back to the vale-to our home-for a while. A brother of mine came to get him. Tim lived with us once before, that's where he learned his healing skill-the things he taught you.'

'I've heard stories. He never would talk about his past. At least until...until the day we found you.

But how is he?'

'He'll be all right.' Nightsinger laughed. 'Sorry, I should tell you more. Years ago, when he was my age, when we found him, he was-broken. Learning Healing gave him enough purpose to stay alive. And now, well, he swore never to fight again, but you and I just saw how well he does that. This time it was to save people he loves. Maybe, the next time he leaves us, he will be able to both fight and heal.'

'Can I see him?'

'He's already gone. He said you should move to the cave. He'll visit.' Nightsinger held his hand out for the empty water cup.

'But I...I need to learn more,' she protested, handing over the cup. 'Tell him he has to come back as soon as he's healed.'

'He said he'd visit.'

Anya frowned.

'Maybe I'll visit, too-I've never seen this fabled hertasi-built house of his-no, yours-before.'

'I'd like that,' she said.

Nightsinger was smiling companionably. She tried to match his expression and asked, 'Hey, is there food?'

ICEBREAKER

Rosemary Edgehill

Rosemary Edghill is the author of Speak Daggers to Her, The Book of Moons, and Fleeting Fancy. Her short fiction has appeared in Return to Avalon, Chicks in Chainmail, and Tarot Fantastic. She is a full-time author who lives in Poughkeepsie, New York.

It was Midwinter Festival in Talastyre, and the younger children were gathered in the square to watch the traditional Midwinter play before heading home to spiced cider and oranges and the family feast. Elidor stood at the edge of the crowd, unwilling to admit, at fifteen, that he still liked to watch the play, but this was a day of rare liberty for him. Elidor was one of a dozen copyist-apprentices at the great Library of Talastyre-when other libraries around Valdemar needed a copy of one of their books, it was copyists like Elidor who would write out the text in a