Sword of Ice and Other Tales of Valdemar

'Nay. Sometimes, good comes even when you don't get what you want—or when you don't even get what you promised yourself an' somebody else, too.'

Revyn turned suddenly, staring at Seldi in shock. Sometimes, good comes even when you don't get what you want, he repeated to himself. Havens, I think I must be the fool here. Seldi's climbing the crag to pick flowers for his mother is no stupider than what I've been doing here for the past year.

He smiled and said his farewells to the young boy without really paying attention to what he was doing, his mind still repeating what the lad had said. Without even knowing it, Seldi had done more for him than a year of Eser's teachings.

Passing into the hallway, Revyn nearly ran into the Master Healer, who was just returning, a tall strapping youth with a striking resemblance to Seldi following in his wake.

'Ah, Revyn, there you still are. I will just take Derem in to see his brother and we can finish visiting our patients. I know you'll be in a hurry now.'

Revyn gave his teacher a questioning glance and saw the smile crinkling the corner's of Eser's eyes.

'I have letters for you from Elann,' he said, opening the door to Seldi's room and gesturing for the other boy to enter, then going in after him.

Revyn stared at the closing door, then turned and hastened down the hall to the next occupied sickroom, not even bothering to wait for Eser to finish talking to Seldi.

Revyn took the two letters from Eser's hand and hurried out to the garden, ignoring the midwinter cold. He always read letters from home in the privacy of what he had come to consider 'his' grotto, bad weather notwithstanding.

Brushing the snow off of the small bench, he sat down and studied the envelopes. The first he recognized as his mother's handwriting, and he expected the second to be from Chylla.

Revyn nearly dropped the second letter in surprise when he saw that the second letter was addressed in the awkward, blocky script of his brother. Why hadn't Chylla written him? Why would Myndal, of all people, write to him? He decided to read Myndal's letter first— it would surely be the shorter, and would probably only be a tirade against him anyway.

Revyn—

Your sister took sick a fortnight ago, going outside in the snow like the fool she was. She said she was going to find you, but I think she was running away from the decent marriage I had arranged for

her. Anyway, she took sick real badly after we found her and brought her back. She died last week at a candlemark before midnight. I thought you ought to know, but we don't expect you back soon, so we buried her right away.

Myndal

Hot tears flooded from Revyn's eyes as he read the last lines, trying to force his mind to accept them. Chylla, his beloved golden sister—gone! No, it wasn't true. It couldn't be true. Gods, why Chylla? Why couldn't it have been—he stopped that thought before it completely formed. No. He couldn't wish death on anyone, even Myndal. Healers weren't allowed—again, he stopped his thoughts before he touched that which he feared and wanted so much. He folded the page before his tears splotched the ink beyond legibility, tucking it absently into his tunic. Hurt raged inside him as his mind cried her name in agony.

Long minutes later, he broke the seal of his mother's letter and slowly unfolded it.

My poor, dear son—

/ weep as I write this, weep for your poor sister, and weep for your foolish brother. Ah, if the gods only knew how I suffered. I am sure Myndal has told you what has happened, but I doubt me that he told you all. He had arranged a disagreeable marriage for poor Chylla, wanting to wed her to a rich man my own father's age, simply to combine our lands. I could do nothing to stop his plans, nor could your poor sister. Ah, me, how foolish I was. I should have dissuaded her from her attempt to flee to you. She left just before a great storm came up. Myndal was furious and set out with hounds and men after her. They brought her back half-frozen and sick. The fever set in, and Myndal refused to send for any Healers, saying Chylla would be fine and that she deserved a little sickness for her disobedience. I sent for the herb-healer, but she was

helpless. Finally, Myndal sent to Hold Gellan, for they have a full Healer, but by then it was too late. Ah, poor Chylla. My heart grieves for her, my son, as it does for you. As soon as you are able, come home to me, for I fear I need you more than ever. Your ever-loving

Mother

Revyn's tears began again, but this time he felt awash in a feeling of guilt. If only he hadn't stayed to be trained and to continue his Bardic schooling. If only he'd gone home when he knew he couldn't be a Bard, Chylla would still be alive. He could have stopped Myndal from marrying her off to an old weakling. He could have helped her. He should have brought her to Haven with him. He should have— A sudden thought struck him, and he turned back to the letter. Yes, his mother had said that Myndal had refused to get a Healer until it was too late. Gods, his fault again!

He'd been resisting the Healers, holding back on his training, trying to give any Bardic Gift at all as much chance to emerge as possible, hoping against hope that he could still be a Bard. If he had taken the training as it had come, maybe he could have been home, and if Chylla had gotten sick anyway, he could have Healed her. He had a strong enough Gift, he now knew that instinctively. Now he accepted it, now that it was too late for Chylla. Twice and three times a fool! Twice and three times his fault!

He tucked his mother's letter next to the other inside his tunic, folded his arms across his knees, bent his head down, and wept furiously, shaking with sobs as he reviled himself for his stupidity. He grieved for his sister and blamed himself for his grief. The tears soaked the arms of his winter cloak, chilling him as the snow seeped into his bones, but he didn't care. Chylla was dead, and it was all his doing. Nothing would ever matter again, not without Chylla there for him.

Much later, Revyn was only vaguely aware of Eser and some other Healers running toward him with blan-

kets. They snatched him up and brought him in, warming him and giving him the Healing teas that he had so often helped to brew. Thoughts of Chylla raced through his fevered mind, until finally he slept.

He was back at Elann, standing outside the gardens on a foggy spring day. Hazy clouds swirled around him, and his head throbbed painfully. Somewhere, he heard music. Then he heard the golden music of Chylla's laughter. A sharp pain stabbed deep into his heart when he heard the joyous sound.

'Chylla!' he cried, 'I'm sorry!' He ran into the garden maze, calling her name, following the laughter that rang in his head. 'Chylla, come back to me!'

Suddenly, he rounded a corner, and there she was, rosy as ever, her golden hair spilling over her shoulders, her bare feet buried in the fresh green grass.

'Chylla,' he gasped, 'I'm sorry, so sorry. It's all my fault.'

'Oh, be quiet, Revy,' she said affectionately. 'Maybe Myndal was right, maybe we are both fools.'

'But, if I could have been there, I could have Healed you, if I'd accepted my training . . .' Her laughter rang out again.

'If you'd been there, it would have happened differently. But don't you see? It doesn't matter now. The Havens are so bright, so wonderful. They sent me back to wake you up. It's not your fault, silly. I'll be fine.'

'But, Chylla . . .'

She stepped forward and put a golden fingertip across his lips. 'No more of that, now. Tell Mother I love her, and that I'm happy. She always worried about the ending of life. Tell her it's just a new beginning.' She danced backward and began to head toward another of the maze pathways. Just before she disappeared, she turned to face him.

'And, Revy, don't worry about that song you were going to write for me. Just keep Healing. It's a different music, but it's all connected.' She slipped back into the maze, and the shrubs began to disappear into the haze

around him. Rooted to the spot, he cried out her name, trying to bring her back to him.

'Revyn, wake up,' Eser murmured again, holding the student's head in one hand and a mug of tea in the other. _x

'Eser?' Revyn said, wonderingly, turning his head slightly to look at his teacher.

A smile lit the Healer's face as he raised the cup to Revyn's lips. 'Drink,' he said, 'and rest. Your mother only needs to grieve for one child at a time.'