manipulated and directed as the god saw fit.
But Uwan had seen the proof with his own eyes, or so he claimed. Deep in the caves of Ikemmu, while he and Ashok fought for their lives against Vedoran, a vision had appeared. Uwan was convinced that Tempus had intervened that day to save Ashok’s life.
“I didn’t ask for any god to act on my behalf,” Ashok said. He wrenched himself from Uwan’s grasp and stepped back to put some distance between them. “Remember our agreement. A Guardian-I serve Ikemmu, not Tempus.”
“Yes, and as such, you should have come to me immediately when Ilvani was hurt,” Uwan said. “You earned your place in Ikemmu, but now you have to abide by the rules that come with the rank. I should have you both thrown in a cell until you learn your place.”
“I’m to blame, not Skagi.” Ashok ignored the other man’s protests. “I wanted to help Ilvani. She’s safe with Darnae-”
“Darnae? A halfling,” Uwan said, “who knows nothing of the shadar-kai and even less about Ilvani.”
“She’s lived in this city a long time and breathes the Shadowdark air just like the rest of us,” Ashok said. “She knows the shadar-kai. Ilvani will be safe with her.”
Uwan glared at him. “Your judgment is impaired where Ilvani is concerned. You know almost nothing about her needs or her nature, yet out of guilt you’ve taken her protection on yourself.”
Ashok started to speak, then stopped. He knew Uwan was right. He didn’t know enough about Ilvani to understand what was going on in her mind.
“Punish me however you want,” he said, “but what Darnae said about the Rashemi-is it possible she’s right?”
“I know little about Rashemen and its witches,” Uwan said. “But Natan and I once spoke at length about Ilvani. Her brother knew her best. He told me that her ramblings are deceptive-there is meaning beneath them, but it’s indecipherable because no one among the shadar-kai can see as Ilvani does.”
“She says she can see the telthors-the Rashemi spirits,” Ashok said.
“I have no doubt she can. Natan believed that she could see much more,” Uwan said. “Just as he was a conduit to Tempus, so Ilvani has an intimate connection to the Shadowfell, the passage for the spirits of the dead. The shadar-kai, rightly, do not dwell on the shadowy paths of the soul. We fix our gaze on the light of Tempus. Natan told me Ilvani has no such luxury. There are spirits everywhere, existing in worlds hidden from our eyes.”
“And Ilvani has a window into those other worlds,” Ashok said, understanding what the leader was getting at. If it were true, it would mean Ilvani’s mind was constantly being bombarded by images she couldn’t fully comprehend, let alone communicate to others. “Right now this Rashemi witch has a stronger connection to Ilvani than anyone else. We have to help her.”
“Agreed,” Uwan said. He looked thoughtful. “Since we can’t pry into Ilvani’s dreams, the only course of action I can see is to send you and Ilvani to Rashemen.”
“To the mirror world?” Ashok felt something stir in his blood.
“It’s not as far away as it sounds,” Uwan said. “Trade caravans venture out from the Underdark often, and some of them pass through Rashemen. You’ll take a party and accompany one such caravan. Your mission will be to travel with it as far as Rashemen and then seek the counsel of the witches.”
“Will they accept outsiders like us?” Ashok said.
“You mean shadar-kai? If they won’t, you’ll have to convince them,” Uwan said. He gave a short laugh. “You’re certainly stubborn enough to find a way.”
CHAPTER FIVE
THE VILLAGE OF TINNIR, RASHEMEN
'Look here, Elina.” Sree led the child up to the pebbled stretch of shoreline and pointed to a cold-water minnow school swimming in the shallows. No bigger than the child’s fingers, they bobbed the surface of the gray water, mouths open in search of food.
The little girl obediently went down on her knees to look at the darting fish, but it seemed to Sree that, as with everything else the child did, she was only acting to please the adults around her. She had barely spoken since her mother’s death and ate only what Sree put in front of her. Whenever Sree left the child to sit quietly by herself, Elina would stay there, unmoving, until the hathran came to find her again.
Lake Tirulag scrolled away from them in the distance, its surface broken by a light, cold wind, and the dozens of boats that fished the lake for trout and crayfish. Dim sunshine shone through the stringy cloudbanks over the hills, but it was not a warm light. Ice patches had already formed in these shallow areas, trapping grass, dirt, and the unfortunate minnow or two, but Sree steered the child away from these sights and directed her gaze toward living things.
Sunlight touched them, and the hathran crouched next to the child. “Do you see our reflections, Elina?” She pointed to the child’s face staring back at them impassively from the water. Above her shoulder hovered the hathran’s mask. The dark image made the symbols carved upon it indistinct. Sree couldn’t make out the leaping flames of the hearth or the mountain peaks that also symbolized the stone roofs of the homes here in Tinnir. Hearth and home, fire and mountain-all were a part of her; all were one.
But did Elina see it that way? Reflected in the gray lake, the child saw a mask with a stranger’s eyes staring out. Elina knew, as did all Rashemi, that the witches were the trusted caretakers of the people, but did that include letting a stranger take the place of her mother? Sree could hardly expect Elina to trust her completely, not yet.
Sree drew back, so that only Elina’s reflection was visible in the lake. “We must move on now,” she said. “Not far from here, a young woman is about to become a mother twice over. I must go to her and ask for Bhalla’s blessing upon the birth. Would you like to come and watch this miracle?”
Elina nodded once and reached for Sree’s hand, but again the hathran saw no spark of emotion, no interest whatsoever in the world that continued to move while the child stood still. Sree led the child on by the lake, but in her heart, she prayed for guidance:
Mother Bhalla, grant me patience, strength, and the will to be gentle with this child. As we wychlaran have been set apart from others, so too will this child be set apart from us. If she is destined to be an othlor, she will need your guidance.
Sree ended the prayer with her traditional blessing, words she often spoke or sung, but this time recited in silence:
Sree felt a sense of peace and purpose settle over her. It will be all right, she thought. In time, all will be well.
Then she heard the scream.
The hut had whitewashed walls, a small garden dormant in preparation for winter, and a sheep paddock in back against the low-rising hills. The smell of damp wool and wood fire smoke filled the air. A dozen sheep clustered together at the back of the paddock, as far away from the screams as they could get.
Sree didn’t stop to knock at the weather-beaten door-she flung it open and pulled Elina inside with her. With a brief glance she took in the hearth fire hung with a kettle of boiling water; the blood-soaked rags hastily discarded in a corner; the offerings to Bhalla and the lake spirits placed on the bedroom threshold. All of this was as it should be for the birthing, but the woman’s screams were screams of panic and terror, not the determined cries of a mother about to meet her children for the first time.
Amid the screams, voices from the bedroom-including the village healer’s-tried to soothe and cajole the young woman to breathe, but Sree heard the carefully concealed desperation in the words.
She found a stool near the fire and sat Elina upon it. No need to tell the child to stay put-Sree knew she
