gone.
Arya turned away, and he could see her shoulders shaking, whether because of fear or relief he did not know. There. He had done it. Walker had just reinforced everything his training had taught him. Everything Gylther'yel had hammered into him about being alone, everything he had learned about the dangers of bringing others into his violent life, everything he had thought in these last fifteen years was coming true once again.
He would not, could not share his bleak, bloody, and short existence with anyone. No friends. No lovers. No family.
He was the spirit of vengeance, meant to walk alone.
He thought he caught a glimpse of Tarm Thardeyn out of the corner of his eye, but the spirit was not there when he looked. A wave of sadness came over Walker, but he let it pass through him, leaving him empty.
Now that he had done it, how did he feel?
He should have felt nothing. All his experience told him he should feel nothing but ice inside, project nothing but cold outside, and take comfort in his retreat from the world of the living. The dead understood and never judged. The spirits that surrounded Walker would never turn away in fear.
But that was not the way he felt. Instead, he felt… he…
He did not know, and that was what frustrated him.
'You should go,' he said, as much to stop his thoughts as to break the silence. 'I am…' Then nothing, not even the word he had meant to say, which was 'sorry.' He wanted to say more-about his fears, his quest, anything more-but the words would not come. He had forgotten how to speak them, he thought.
But all the while, he knew he had not.
Some tiny voice deep in his frozen heart, a voice he had kept hushed for so many years, was trying to tell him how. And he knew. He understood. He was just…
'Afraid,' he breathed.
Arya had risen as though to leave, but she turned back. 'What?' she asked, her voice a shade above a whisper.
Instantly, Walker was silent, but he had already said the word, and it had been enough.
Arya saw then, as through a tiny crack in his stone will. She saw Walker with his defenses down, terrified, empty, hollow…
And alone.
'It is nothing,' he said.
Arya heard the pain in his voice-not so much in his words, for they were few, but in how he spoke them. He was struggling with himself. Walker had been forced to face death, the hellish cry of vengeance, and fear of himself, and he had done it all alone.
Arya made a decision then, a decision that would steer the course of her life until her last breath. She gathered the courage to look into his blue eyes. She suddenly became aware of a small object in her hand-a silver ring. His one-eyed wolf ring. Arya gently took his left hand and began drawing off his glove.
'What are you…?' asked Walker.
As she bared his flesh, though, his thoughts leaped to his abhorred power to sense spiritual resonance, insights that would steal images from her thoughts and cloud his vision. He did not want that emotional turmoil-he did not want to lose himself when Arya was there, her beautiful face before his.
But she was touching his skin, and there was nothing. No resonance, no visions, no knowledge-only the warmth of her skin.
She pulled the glove entirely off, and with it went Walker's last line of defense, the barrier between him and the sword. Like the walls he had built around his heart, his gloves hid him behind a layer of black. And now she had stripped that defense away. She laced her fingers through his. So soft, so warm…
'Arya-'
She held up his left hand-the wrong hand, but he hardly noticed-and slipped the ring on to his fourth finger. She reached delicate fingers up to brush his cheek.
'Your song,' she said, 'was beautiful.'
Some part of Walker-the fearful part-wanted to argue, scream, or turn away, but he could not. He merely sat, dumbfounded, as she caressed his cheek, then leaned her head against his bare chest.
Then it occurred to him. Though he had touched Arya's hands, kissed her lips, and hugged his arms around her waist, he had not felt any psychic resonance from her. No visions. No feelings. He simply felt what she felt. This unknown sensation would have had him collapse into tears just as soon as he'd have clasped the woman in his arms. It might have frightened him, this lack of resonance, as he had not imagined it possible, but he understood intuitively what it meant.
And that frightened him even as it set his body tingling.
'You cannot,' he said. 'Arya… I… I live for vengeance. It is my unfinished task. When this is over, I will have nothing else. I will die-whether in battle or in silence. There is nothing for you here; only darkness and a grave.'
Arya gazed into his eyes, and he could see tears sliding down her cheeks. 'I do not care,' she said without trembling.
Walker was overcome with a new wave of feeling, which frightened even as it excited him. At first, he thought he had never felt the sensation before, but then he discovered that it was there, buried deep, beneath the ice and shrouded in the mists of his heart. It was warmth in his chest, a feeling of loving and being loved.
His eyes slid closed-eyes that were bleary from the moisture gathering there.
This time, when she leaned in to kiss him, pressing him down, he did not stop her.
Chapter 13
29 Tarsakh
Wandering child…
Miles south of Quaervarr, Meris froze where he walked, sliding the kerchief along his blade. He extended his senses into the surrounding forest. The words might have been a figment of his imagination. He could hear nothing but the chirping of birds, the swaying branches, and…
Where have you wandered, Wayfarer?
Meris started in terror. He heard nothing, but there were the words, spoken in a mocking female voice in his mind!
Feeling his flesh tingle, Meris let the kerchief flutter to the ground and drew his hand axe. He whirled around, searching every shadow and tree-top for the speaker.
'Who's there?' he shouted, brandishing his weapons. 'Show yourself!'
Haunting laughter sounded in his head, so soft as to be barely present.
He sensed a presence behind him and whirled, letting fly his hand axe. The weapon cut into a fallen tree trunk.
A terrified squirrel, which had barely dodged the deadly missile, scampered out of sight.
Who do you fear, Meris Wayfarer, son of Greyt?
'What do you want from me?' Meris waved his sword in the air.
What do you want from me? came a reversal.
