Storm Rising

Jarim shook his head. 'But why did he hide it and then run away?' the envoy asked in honest puzzlement. 'Surely if he had gone to his leaders and told them he could not follow the path of the shaman nor give up the magic, they would have sent him there with a proper escort. It is no sin to seek the Kin-Cousins if one is unfortunate enough to bear that gift. I would send my own son to the Hawkbrothers if he wished it so badly.'

Well, that was more than I expected out of him! There's some flexibility there after all!

'Thus speaks a man of generous heart whose Clan is as the flowers in springtime in their numbers,' An'desha replied warmly. 'Thus speaks a man whose Clan is generous, and lets the fledged bird fly where it will. But a man with only one son may not wish to see his blood leave the Plains and join that of the Tale'edras. And a Clan whose numbers are small has a fear to lose even one. An'desha would have had no choice; either he lose the power or become a shaman.'

Jarim thought about that for a while. An'desha let him digest the blunt words. They did not go down well, but he finally nodded, and An'desha took that as a sign to continue.

I think it has finally occurred to him to admit that not all of the People are perfect.

'So An'desha foolishly fled, found himself alone and afraid in the Tale'edras forest, and in his fear and loneliness, tried to call fire to keep him company.'

'And found himself possessed,' Jarim filled in grimly.

'And found himself possessed.' An'desha nodded. 'But this time the case was different. An'desha did not fight, for he was not used to fighting. He fled, hiding himself deep in his own mind, and Ma'ar—who now called himself Mornelithe—thought he was destroyed.'

Jarim settled back, wearing a look of speculation. 'So An'desha lived on. Of Mornelithe called Falconsbane I know some, none of it good. It is said he shifted his form to that of a man-cat of powerful build.' He quirked his eyebrow in silent inquiry, inviting An'desha to admit that this was where his odd eyes came from.

'He did, as you can see by this.' He tapped the side of his head beside his left eye. 'An'desha was a prisoner, for he dared never reveal his existence to Mornelithe.' An'desha decided to cut some of this short. 'Perhaps some day I will tell you some of what he endured and experienced. It is enough to say that it was more terrible than any human should ever endure. In the course of it all, Mornelithe Falconsbane became damaged, and also acquired as enemies the clan of k'Sheyna, the Clans of Valdemar, and Firesong k'Treva. And it was at this point that the Kal'enedral took an interest.'

'That I also remember,' Jarim confirmed.

'It was soon thereafter, with Falconsbane's hold and sanity weakened and An'desha able to exist with a little more freedom, that messengers came to him.' Now, how far do I go with this? Better just describe them, and let him make his own conclusions. 'They were two, spirits, one called Dawnfire and one called Tre'valen.'

'That is a Clan name.' Jarim raised an eyebrow still higher.

An'desha only nodded. 'They came in the form of vorcel-hawks of fire, as well as in human form. They taught him to walk the Moonpaths, and their eyes were the black of a starry night.' He did not wait for Jarim to comment, but moved on to the end of this part of the story. 'They helped him to help the others in destroying Falconsbane truly, and for all time. Then—although I do not recall this—after all of them escaped to the safety of Valdemar, they appeared again. This time, to reward him, they transformed the strange body in which An'desha now dwelt alone back to the form that An'desha had borne those many years ago when Mornelithe stole it. They left only his eyes unchanged, to remind him and others what he had been, what he had endured, and the price he had paid. And now you have heard why it is that I appear the way I do. This tale I speak, that you may recall. This story I give, that you may learn.'

Jarim sat in silence for a very long time. An'desha waited patiently: silence was a positive sign; it meant that Jarim was at least thinking. The fire in the hearth beside them burned brightly and quietly, not even a hiss or a crackle to break the quiet.

And, fortunately for An'desha, Jarim's thoughts had settled, not on the transformation, but on Those who had accomplished it. 'They were Avatars,' he said, slowly and reluctantly. 'You have been touched by Her Avatars.'

An'desha just shrugged. 'I make no judgments, and you may determine the truth of what I have told you for yourself. There are those who were present when I regained my true form who can describe what they saw to you. Among them are Darkwind and Firesong, whom I believe you trust.'

'But if—if An'desha's body was host to the Falconsbane—he—you—are much older than you look.'

'I believe,' he said slowly, 'that although They chose not to erase the memories, They elected to return to me all the years that had been stolen.' Do think about that, Jarim. Think about how one can look seventeen and actually hold the bitter experiences of twice that many years.

'Now, we come to the next story, if you are ready to hear more.'