“No,” Natan said, and a look of frustration crossed his face. “She has not spoken to me. She will not see me.”
“Give her time,” Ashok said. “The memories of her prison cell …” He wasn’t sure how much to say. It wasn’t his place, if Ilvani wouldn’t speak of it. “I was there, and what I saw won’t soon fade from my mind. For Ilvani, the agony is a thousand times worse.”
Natan put a hand over his eyes. “I know,” he said. “But that is just what aches. She is my sister. We are very different-
Ashok stayed silent while Natan unburdened himself. When the cleric finished, he looked a hundred years old. Ashok realized then that not one but two shadar-kai had emerged from that slaughter room, and both had been deeply scarred by their experience.
“Perhaps,” Ashok said cautiously, “if only for now, you shouldn’t think of Ilvani as your sister.”
“What?” Natan looked stricken. “How else could I see her?”
“The person I took out of that cage is not the same person you knew here in Ikemmu,” Ashok said. Natan flinched, but Ashok didn’t spare him. “Ilvani suffered and was made to watch her companions be tortured to death in the most hideous ways imaginable. You and I cannot comprehend what she had to do to endure, what she had to give up of herself. Whoever she is now, she is not the sister you knew. You have to stop treating her as if she were.”
Natan was silent. The words hurt, but Ashok could see him considering them. He nodded, reluctantly, after a time, and looked up at the sword on the wall.
“Why did He give her this burden?” he asked. “What they did to her … it was not an honorable death in battle; it was a death of the mind and spirit. Why did Tempus not give her the strength to defeat her enemies?”
“This wasn’t Tempus’s doing,” Ashok said. “Mortals did this. The gods-what do they care to preserve or ruin one life? What are we to them, truly? I would be afraid if the gods took such an interest in me, for good or for evil.”
Natan looked at him in confusion. “You don’t want a god to act on your behalf, as Tempus has done?”
Ashok shook his head. “I don’t know that he’s acted for my benefit,” he said. “But if he has, I question why he took such an interest in a single life. There are bigger concerns in the world.”
“But what if a single life can change the fates of many?” Natan said, and Ashok saw some of the fire rekindled in his gaze. “Wouldn’t that be worth a god’s attention?”
“I don’t have that in me,” Ashok said. “You think too highly of me. Uwan thinks too highly of me.”
“Perhaps,” Natan said. “But you changed my sister’s fate. That’s enough to place you in my highest esteem, for the rest of my life.” He smiled faintly. “And now I’m here, asking you to help me again.”
“What do you want me to do?” Ashok said wearily.
“Speak to Ilvani for me,” Natan said.
Ashok sighed. “I don’t believe she would welcome that,” he said.
“I think you’re wrong,” Natan said. “You’ve made me see that she is in a terrible, dark place, a place where she doesn’t recognize herself, let alone the ones who care about her. Knowing that, I think of all the beings in the world, the only one she will speak to is the one who knows what it feels like in the dark. You are that person.”
“If she says no,” Ashok warned, “that’ll be the end of it. I won’t press her.”
“I understand,” Natan said. “Will you go to her now?”
Ashok shook his head. “No,” he said. “There’s something I need to do first.”
Natan started to argue but seemed to think better of it. “Chanoch,” he said.
Ashok nodded. He started to turn away, then abruptly he said, “Do you believe in forgiveness?” He kept the bitterness from his voice, but it was a struggle.
Natan smiled sadly, as if he saw every bit of Ashok’s internal struggle. “I do,” he said. “But the rule of this city is not mine. We put our lives in Uwan’s hands and must trust his judgment.”
“And Tempus’s?” Ashok asked.
“Yes,” said Natan.
“Because Tempus would never choose someone unworthy to serve Ikemmu,” Ashok said.
“Never,” Natan said. His faith restored, he put his hand on his chest and bowed his head to the sword on the wall.
When he raised his head a breath later, Ashok was on his way to the door.
“I’ll speak to Ilvani soon,” Ashok promised, and left before Natan could say anything more.
The walk from Tower Makthar to the forges and pens was not a long one, but as Ashok entered the caves the Tet bell tolled. He’d been out of Athanon during his rest time and beyond. Olra would be missing him for his Camborr training.
Strange how in the short amount of time he’d spent in Ikemmu, he’d come to think of the day to day activities as routine, as if they and his companionship with Skagi, Cree, and the others had always been a part of his life.
He would miss them when he left.
He walked past the pens with their howling beasts and the cawing crows and ravens, and headed up the passage to the dungeons. The deeper he went into the caves, the more sound became muffled, until the animal cries died completely, and he could no longer smell the forge smoke.
His breath fogged the air, and the torches along the walls became sparse. Ashok was about to turn around, thinking he’d gone the wrong way, when he saw a pair of guards up ahead of him in the passage. They flanked a wooden door with bars at head level.
Ashok nodded to both of them. “I’ve come to see Chanoch,” he said.
The guards exchanged a glance. “No one’s to see prisoners sentenced to solitary,” one said.
Ashok remembered when he’d stood on the edge of the Span with Vedoran, how he’d been able to get the guard to leave because the man was unsure of his place in the hierarchy.
“Do you know who I am?” he said imperiously.
The guard on his left murmured, “The emissary of Tempus.”
Ashok suppressed a shudder at the reverence in his voice. “Uwan has given me leave to speak with the prisoner, who is still a warrior of Ikemmu and a devoted servant of Tempus,” he said, narrowing his eyes. “Let me pass.”
The guards exchanged another uncertain glance, but then they stepped aside, and one of them unlocked the door and gestured Ashok through.
A single candle burned in the small room, which was taken up by three smaller cells-glorified boxes, Ashok thought. Chanoch was in the farthest cell, chained to the wall. His face was covered with a black hood so he couldn’t see to teleport. The other cells were empty.
Chanoch raised his head at Ashok’s approach and tried to shift against the chains. “Since when do you speak in Tempus’s name?” he asked. Ashok heard the wry amusement in the young one’s voice.
“Are you offended?” he asked, with a good humor he didn’t feel.
“No, but Tempus will be,” Chanoch said. “I’ll speak to Him on your behalf. We’ll preserve your soul, whether you like it or not.”
“It’s your soul I’m worried about right now,” Ashok said quietly. He pressed his back against the cage bars and slid to the floor, unwilling to speak to the black hood. He could feel the shadows already waiting in the dark. “It’s so quiet,” he said. “There’s nothing to hear in this place but echoes.”
“Time enough to listen to your own thoughts,” Chanoch said. He sounded tired. “You shouldn’t be afraid for me.”
“It isn’t fair,” Ashok said.
“I brought this fate on myself,” Chanoch argued. “Lord Uwan, he knows-”
“Don’t … speak to me of Uwan,” Ashok said. The anger rose in him, threatening to become something ugly.
