'It might even have been true,' said the healer in a low voice. Vasil could not tell if she was warming to him, or simply mocking him. But the memory dragged him on.
'But then I met Ilyakoria. He was born in the same year, the Year of the Eagle, but I was a summer's child and he winter's.'
'Was he a handsome boy?'
Vasil felt how his skin warmed Ilya's, as if his heat, his presence, and his tale, too, might draw Ilya back from the heavens if only he told it truthfully enough. 'No.' He opened his eyes and grinned at the healer. She, too, was a handsome woman, not of feature but of dignity. 'He was one of those hopelessly unattractive boys that no girl ever looks at. And he knew it, and they knew it. But he had fire in his eyes and a vision in his heart. No one saw it there but me. Well.' He shrugged. 'Perhaps his father did, but his father rarely spoke. I think his mother was disappointed in him.''
'In her husband?'
'No. In Ilyakoria. But I had never met anyone like him. I loved him. He was like a blazing fire on a bitter cold night, that you cannot help but approach, to find warmth there.'
'Ah. And you were beautiful. Of course he would love you in return, at fourteen.'
'Of course.' Vasil studied her, but still she did not seem to be mocking him.
'And then?'
'Then when my tribe moved on, I stayed with the Orzhekov tribe.'
'That was allowed?'
'Much is allowed, if you're still a boy, and you're discreet. Girls, too.'
'Is that so?' A smile played on her lips and vanished. 'Is it, indeed?'
Vasil withdrew his hand from Ilya's wrist. 'Then he left for Jeds. I thought he was gone forever.' His shame and his fury and his despair still burned through him, as he remembered. 'I tried to find a woman to marry but I found that I could not forget Ilya, that no one, male or female, could replace Ilya in my heart. I hated him for that, all those long years that he was gone.' He had to pause, the force of emotion was so strong in him. He had forgotten how long these feelings had lain there, buried, hidden, festering.
The healer regarded him evenly, and he thought he felt a little sympathy from her. 'Then he came back.'
'Then he came back. I heard of his return many seasons later, and I left my tribe again to go to him. His own mother had already made him dyan of the Orzhekov tribe by the time I found him, so quickly had he worked. Like a Singer, he had left the jaran and returned to us gods-touched, except now everyone could see it, not just me. They called him Bakhtiian, 'he who has traveled far.' They said he had a vision in his heart, and they all vowed to follow him. 'Without meaning to, he lifted a hand to trace the line of Ilya's brow, tenderly. He turned his hand over and ran the backs of his fingers down around Ilya's eyes and down the curve of his beard. Ilya's strong face was so wan and so lifeless. This was only the shell of Ilya, not Ilya at all, and yet Vasil could not imagine a sweeter sight. 'He let me join his jahar, because of what we had once been to each other, but there were other boys, other men, who loved him now, too.'
'And he lay with them?'
'No.' He drew his hand away from Ilya's face and clenched it around his other hand. 'No.' He could not help but say it triumphantly. 'I was the only one. But a good dyan inspires love from his riders. Only if they love him will they die for him, you see.'
'Yes, that makes sense.'
'He didn't want to love me. He loved women, too. He'd discovered that in khaja lands, and now, of course, women wanted him, which they'd never done when he was nothing but an awkward, ugly dreamer. But still he did not marry.''
'Why didn't he want to love you?'
He shook his head, wondering if she was stupid or simply ignorant. 'Because he wanted to unite the tribes. I should have known from the first, you see.' Oh, gods, still, after all these years, it was hard to say the truth out loud. 'He loved his vision more than he loved me.'
'Is that so surprising? Here.' She stood up abruptly and blinked once, twice, three times, deliberately. 'Veselov, move away from his couch.'
Her tone was so sharp that he moved immediately. She went to stand next to Bakhtiian and she placed her hand on a wooden strut at one end of the couch. Then she shut her eyes and stood there for the longest time.
Ilya shifted on the bed. Slightly, barely, but his mouth moved and his right hand curled and uncurled, then stilled. Vasil thought his own heart would burst, it pounded so fiercely.
'Konstans!' called the healer. 'Come in here.' A moment later Konstans appeared, wide-eyed. 'Send Vladimir to get Tess. You will watch Veselov in the outer chamber.''
Konstans ducked out again. Vasil heard words exchanged and then the sound of someone running away from the tent.
Ilya opened his eyes. And suddenly, everything about him had changed. What had been a slack, limp form was abruptly invested with that fire-however dampened, however weakened-that characterized him. Vasil could not help but be drawn toward it, to the foot of the couch. Ilya stared for the longest endless moment at the billowing ceiling of the tent. The healer glanced at Vasil, then passed a hand slowly over Bakhtiian's eyes. At first he simply stared above. Belatedly, weakly, his gaze caught the movement and tracked it.
'Oh, gods,' said Konstans hoarsely from the curtain. Vasil felt more than saw the young rider collapse to his knees onto the carpet. Bakhtiian reacted to the sound. His head moved and his right hand curled up into a fist.
'Bakhtiian,' said the healer in a calm, even voice, 'you are in your own tent. I am Dr. Hierakis. I-'
But his gaze had tracked down his own body and caught on Vasil. He stared at him. Vasil stared back, drinking in the sight of him. Gods, Ilya was looking at him, just looking at him. Was it possible that it was his own presence, his story, his voice, that had brought Ilya back?
Ilya's lips moved. A hoarse croak came out. Bakhtiian shut his eyes, took in a difficult, shuddering breath, and opened them again.
'Tess,' he said. The word was slurred and thick but perfectly understandable. 'Where is Tess?'
'I sent for her,' said the healer in that unruffled tone. 'She will be here soon. You have suffered an illness, but I think you will be well now. You will be fine, you must just rest and regain your strength.'
Ilya tracked up to look at her. His mouth quirked, as if he was trying to recall who she was. 'Hand,' he croaked. 'Can't move-hand.' His right hand uncurled and curled again. Down by Vasil's hips, his feet and legs stirred.
'Rest for now,' said the doctor sternly. 'Rest here until Tess comes. Let me give you a little water, to moisten your lips.' She turned away. 'Konstans, don't just sit there and gape. Go get Sonia. And Ursula.'
'Of course.' Konstans leapt to his feet and left, but his face, his whole expression, transformed from gravity to joy.
Tess. Ilya's first thought had been for Tess.
Ilya tracked down to stare at Vasil again. What did that expression mean? That he was glad to see him? Furious at seeing him? That he didn't recognize him at all?
'Left hand,' said Ilya. 'I can't move my left hand.'. Which was concealed under a blanket.
'Don't try to move it,' said the healer. 'Here. I'll just moisten your lips a little, and we'll see how you swallow.'' She softened his lips with water, and he managed to swallow, but he kept staring at Vasil. Outside, Vasil heard the sound of running footsteps. Her voice. The curtain swept aside and Tess stood there, just stood there, staring avidly and with sheer incredulous disbelief at her husband.
Ilya still stared at Vasil. He shifted his head slightly to the right, to the left, as if testing to see if his neck still worked. He did not see his wife, not yet. He saw only Vasil.
'Grandmother Night is laughing at me,' said Bakhtiian.
'Ilya. Oh, God, Ilya.' Her voice was low and husky with emotion. At the sound of it, Bakhtiian's attention broke utterly away from Vasil. The healer stepped away from the couch and the next instant Tess was there. She made a sound low in her throat and fell to her knees beside her husband, stroking his face with one hand and his hair with the other. His right hand fluttered and moved and he lifted it to touch her cheek.
A hand brushed his sleeve. Vasil started, he was so taken aback. He had forgotten anyone else existed, but the two of them-the three of them.
'It is time you left,' said the healer kindly. By her tone, she did not mean to entertain any protests. Vasil
