Sword of Ice and Other Tales of Valdemar

L'lewythi lifted his hands from the pipe, but the music didn't immediately stop; instead, it faded away in degrees, one layer of sound absorbed into the next until, at the end, there was only the original note, pure and easy, sighing release like a breath rippling by.

Olias covered his face with his hands and took several deep breaths in an effort to still the pounding of his heart, then lifted his head and opened his eyes to daylight.

Daylight.

In a place he didn't recognize, barren of trees and bush. Ranyart was gone, as was L'lewythi's horse and the campsite, even the road.

'W-what . . . what have you done?' he croaked.

L'lewythi's only response was to smile, then turn and walk away, gesturing for Olias to follow.

The ground—mostly sun-browned mud covered in cracks—was much firmer than it appeared at first glance, though the terrain was far from level. They began ascending a hill and were met by a strong, steady wind soaring down, carrying with it the first stinging spatters of rain—yet the sky above was blue, the clearest Olias had ever seen.

He doubled his efforts to catch up with L'lewythi and continued climbing, blinking against the sea spray (not rain, after all) until the ground leveled off and he found himself standing at the top of a jagged overhang. Looking to each side, he was struck not only by the vast expanse of the cliffs upon which they were standing, but by their beauty, as well.

Silvery clouds rolled in above their heads, twirling and turning like banners in a breeze, moving quicker than any cloud formations Olias had ever seen, winding around one another and spinning in place. He opened his mouth to speak, and L'lewythi silenced him by placing a finger against his own lips. An odd noise caused Olias to shake his head: the sound of a million insects buzzing. Here atop the cliffs, the buzzing merged with the sounds of the sea and became clearer, more defined, not a buzz at all but the combined whispering of a million different voices speaking in as many tongues. Some were complex and excited, others low and monosyllabic, still others a combination of vaguely recognizable words that degenerated into animal clicks and whistling and yaps.

'What are those . . . those voices? Those sounds?' shouted Olias over the roar of the rushing waters below.

Again, L'lewythi raised a finger to his lips, then pointed out to sea.

The waters rumbled and churned, crashing against the base of the cliffs with the sound of shattering glass. The vibrations rocked upward through layers of stone and sand, shaking Olias to his bones.

Then, with stupendous force and thunderous volume, the spinning tower of silver clouds shot down into the sea, churning as it struck the surface and creating great, revolving waves of frothy spray before vanishing beneath the waters. The froth left in its wake formed a circle that spun around and around and around, its speed becoming frantic as it formed an ever-widening and deepening whirlpool.

The atmosphere crackled with power.

Olias covered his ears against the shrieking winds and watched as the whirlpool turned inside out, rising like a geyser. Atop the foaming fount appeared a shining white stallion with an opal mane, its front legs lifted high, heraldic, its belly the curve of the moon, the rest a silken fish scaled from chest to tail like a shower of silver coins.

The churning fount surged across the sea, the glorious creature riding the crest, its legs pumping, mane flowing in the wind. As it neared the cliffs, the fountain of water slowed and began to curve downward, the spray spinning off, lowering the creature until it hovered directly at the edge of the overhang.

Olias couldn't speak; the eyes of the creature demanded silence.

The creature threw back its head and opened its mouth. A soft, nearly imperceptible sound rose from deep in its chest, a clear, crisp ping! as if someone had flicked a finger against a crystal goblet. The sound—so much like the music L'lewythi had played earlier—grew in volume and, it seemed, even density, assuming a physical form invisible to the eye yet filling the air, enveloping Olias in a liquid-armor numbness, drugging him like a frosty sip from a Healer's herb cup but allowing him to maintain wakefulness as the geysering fount slowly shifted sideways, moving the creature until its face was inches from his own. The exalted sound, the wondrous lone crystal note sung in response to the call from L'lewythi's glass pipe, filled Olias' center, then suddenly split apart, becoming night stars that in turn became a symphony of musical notes even more unbearable in their purity than the music L'lewythi had created, and Olias realized that what he was hearing was the second verse to L'lewythi's song, a song of mourning, and rejoicing, a song meant for no one and everyone, but in that instant Olias chose to think of it as his, this chaste glory, this innocence, this music. A song for no one's mourning, sung only for him to honor the memory of his parents and all they had dreamed of. He hugged himself, dropping to his knees and rocking back and forth, the spuming foam covering him like lather. He was agonizingly aware of the swirling voices, the unknown languages shifting forward, dislodging themselves from his mind and themselves becoming tones. The first crystal note the creature had sung swam forward until it found its matching language- tone, and the two of them merged—a sharp sting in Olias' ears—and were translated—

—'Pwy fydd yma ymhen can mlynedd?'—

—into his own language—

—'Who will be here in a hundred years?'

Olias' torso shot straight up, his eyes staring into the unblinking golden disks of the creature's gaze.

'Gods' he whispered.

.•Greetings, Olias.: said the creature. :My name is Ylem. You should feel honored. L'lewythi doesn't bring many others to this place.:

:Where am I?: asked Olias silently.

:You are where you wished to be: another place, another world, another time. You are in a place that lies between Valdemar and the Otherworld, created by one who feels he has no place in either; only here can he feel some sense of home. You needn't worry about Ranyart. Were you able to cross through the veil that separates this

world from Valdemar, you would find him only a few feet away from you.:

:I don't understand.:

:Perhaps, in time. . . .: But Ylem did not finish the thought.

After the first merging of tones, the others happened quickly and easily. A note sung by Ylem would find its match in a language-tone, the two of them merging and translating in Olias' mind until he could not only hear the other languages spoken in their native tongue but understand them, as well.

Ylem leaned to the side, kissed L'lewythi's forehead, then whispered something in his ear.

Try as he did, Olias could not Hear what the creature was saying.

Ylem was in front of him again, hooves pressing against Olias' shoulder hi a gesture of blessing. Then, releasing a triumphant crystal cry, the creature spun around, its tail snapping in the air, and sailed atop the fountain back out to sea, diving downward and disappearing beneath the waters—

—but not before Speaking one last time to Olias.

:Take care, Olios, and realize if you can that you are not the only one in this place who has known soul-sickness and grief. Keep your anger near. You will need it— but not for the reasons you may think.:

For several moments afterward, Olias could only kneel there, shaking.

Then a voice, a small, quiet child's voice asked, 'Are you all right?'

Olias looked up as L'lewythi placed a hand upon his shoulder.

'Are we speaking in my language, or in yours?' asked Olias.

'Can you understand me?'

'Yes.'

'Then what does it matter?'

Olias struggled to his feet, gasping for breath. 'Where are we?'

'In the Barrens of my world,' said L'lewythi, pointing first to his head, then his heart, then spreading his arms in front of him. 'I made it, I dreamed it. Do you like it?'

Olias rubbed his forehead. 'I ... I don't know. But so far, what I've seen has been . . . gods. . . .'