Starflower (34 page)

“You were born in fear, Eanrin. But my love casts out fear.”

“How?”

And suddenly the Hound transformed. He was a figure of still greater glory, clothed, but only just, in a man's shape. Tall and shining with a
face bolder than the sun, the Lumil Eliasul, the One Who Names Them, the Giver of Songs.

“Will you take up your burden, Eanrin of Rudiobus?” he said. “Will you become a knight in my service? Will you, the masterless, call me Master this day and forever?”

In the end, Eanrin decided, there was only life or death. He saw now how small he was, another beast among beasts. No better than Hri Sora or Amarok or any creature who made themselves their only standard and their only source of truth. After all he had been through, Eanrin knew he could no longer live that way.

“I will, my Lord,” he whispered.

The Lumil Eliasul smiled. “Rise!” he cried. “Clasp my hand and come, Knight of the Farthest Shore!”

Eanrin put out a trembling hand and found it firmly grasped.

———

He stood alone upon the slopes of Bald Mountain. His wounds were healed, his body whole. Eanrin looked down on his shredded, dirty shirt, at the muscles and limbs beneath. Nothing broken, nothing bleeding. Then he pressed both hands to his heart, and here he discovered a marvel.

He had spoken to the Lumil Eliasul. He had given away his life forever.

For the first time in all the immortal generations of his existence, he realized that he lived.

With a joyful cry, he leapt forward, running on the Faerie Path, up the mountain and down the other side. He found the rushing river, and he rushed as fast or faster still, feeling the surging power of life and love in his limbs. To be bound was to be free! To be free was to be bound! He understood now. Later, doubts would return. Later, he would struggle with his bondage to duty, just as any cat must. But for the moment—and what a moment it was, the brightest and truest in all his long immortal life—for the moment, he understood.

He must find Imraldera! That thought gave his feet wings. He must find her and tell her what had happened, what he had seen and—Lumé love him—what he'd agreed to become! He must tell her everything!

If she lived.

All the joy crashed down in that one moment of pain. What if, after
all this, she was gone? What if he had failed her in the end, and the wolf had caught up with her?

“No,” he growled. “No, that cannot be.”

New urgency drove him now along the Path, and he did not smile. He followed the river to where it plunged beneath the earth. Only a few more paces and he would vanish once more into the darkness, searching and searching.

But there was no need.

“Imraldera!” he cried, surging once more to the very heights of joy. For she appeared at the mouth of the tunnel, blinking and dazed, her face streaked with tears. When she saw the poet careening down the slope of the riverbank, however, she smiled. She opened her mouth but had no opportunity to speak, for he reached her in an instant and scooped her up in his arms. Pressing her close and swinging her about, he shouted: “You've won! You've won! You bested the Wolf Lord, you marvelous creature! I will never doubt you mortals again . . . well, not
never.
But I will think twice before doubting; I swear on my hand! Oh, you amazing girl!”

Without thinking, he pressed a kiss to her cheek. A hot flush rushed to his face, and he dropped her unceremoniously and quickly put his hands behind his back. “That is . . . I'm glad to see you whole.”

Imraldera placed a hand to her cheek, her smile a little lopsided but still present on her face. Then she reached up and gently touched the poet's scarlet face.

“Eanrin,” she said, her voice rough and low, “I know your true name.”

“Well, of course you know my name, my girl. Everyone knows Bard Eanrin. I've told you, I'm the most famous . . . Hold on! Did you just . . . Imraldera, my dear, did you just
speak
?”

W
ATERSKINS
DRAPED
OVER
HER
SHOULDER
, Fairbird made her slow way down to the stream. She avoided the other women and did not take her water from the same streambeds as they. There was no reason for this. No one was unkind to Fairbird, especially since she was a favorite of the High Priest.

But when she was a little girl, her sister had taken Fairbird to a private place and always gathered water there, just the two of them. Now Fairbird did the same.

She preferred solitude, with only Frostbite for company. They had begun life as outcasts. And when that dreadful day had come and her sister was taken from her, when the women of the village came up to the house on the hill and brought Fairbird down to their homes, it made no difference. Fairbird shut herself up inside, hiding under a shell much thicker than silence.

As a child, she had been glad when the Eldest did not return, though it meant years of war for the tribes of Redclay. The Eldest had taken
Starflower from her. If he would not give her back, well, he might as well not return himself.

The silent girl, her face pinched, her mouth always frowning, made her way down to the water and knelt to fill her skins. Frostbite lowered her grizzled muzzle to lap at the stream. Fairbird stroked the dog's head and down her back, feeling the protruding bones. Her faithful companion was growing old. How lonely her life would be when the lurcher died.

Suddenly Frostbite growled and lifted her dripping muzzle. Fairbird sat upright and turned to look where the dog's gaze was fixed. A woman she did not know stood downstream near the edge of the gorge. Had she just climbed up? Was she a woman of the Crescent Tribes? A victim of the wars, fleeing for safety? Her dress had once been white and might have been fine indeed. Now it was brown and torn. Her face was dirty and streaked, as though she had wept many tears. A refugee for certain, she looked no more than Fairbird's own age.

Frostbite growled again, backing up a step or two. Fairbird placed a soothing hand on the dog's head, then turned to the girl. “You have come to Red Clay territory, near Redclay Village,” she signed. “Where have you come from?”

The girl raised her hands and signed in return: “From beyond the Circle of Faces.”

Fairbird frowned. At first she thought she must have read the strange girl's signs wrong, and she asked her to repeat herself. The girl obliged, signing the same odd phrase. “Beyond the Faces?” Fairbird asked. “That is . . . not possible.”

The stranger's eyes filled with tears. Fairbird watched them fall down her cheeks as she drew nearer. Then Fairbird drew a sharp breath, and Frostbite whimpered. The girl's drawn face was so familiar.

“Who are you?” Fairbird signed.

The stranger came nearer still until she stood no more than a few paces away. Her black hair blew across her face, but she pulled it back impatiently, her mouth opening and closing. Then she spoke out loud.

“My sister,” she said, “I have found you.”

Fairbird staggered back, tripping over her waterskins and almost falling
into the stream. Her heart raced with terror. Blasphemy! A woman with a voice! The Beast would descend upon them, and who would stop him? Not Wolf Tongue! No, though the Beast slay half the women of the village, the High Priest would not move to protect them.

“Sinful woman!” Fairbird signed, her eyes wide with terror. “Sinful, blasphemous, blight among your people! Is this why the Crescent Tribes sent you here? So you could hex us with your wicked tongue?”

The girl's face was very still. What longing was in her eyes as she gazed upon the other girl throwing curses in her face! But at last Fairbird's hands stilled and she stood panting in the stream. Then the stranger spoke again.

“Forgive me. I . . . I did not know how long I left you. My poor Fairbird! So alone.”

Fairbird stared. Her face went deathly pale. For the space of three breaths she did not move. Then she gnashed her teeth, and her hands tore the air as she signed: “Who sent you? Was it Wolf Tongue? Because I will not accept his advances! Who sent you to torment me with the memory of my sister?”

“Fairbird,” the stranger said, “I am your sister.”

“Liar!” Fairbird's hand lashed the word like a curse. “My sister died ten years ago. Offered in blood debt to the Beast. She died in my place. She died and left me with the curse of guilt. She died and she left me!”

The stranger took a step forward, her hands outstretched. They were very alike, those two women. Neither tall, both slender, their dark hair falling away from faces full of sorrow. But in the one face there was hope, while in the other there was only despair.

Imraldera, still struggling with the newness of the words upon her tongue, said, “Fairbird, my darling—”

“Away from me!” Fairbird signed. She turned to flee, nearly falling over Frostbite as she went. She grabbed the dog by the ear and tugged, urging her to follow her back to the village, away from this woman with an unholy voice. Let the skin lie in the water and rot! She must get away, and she must not remember.

But Frostbite would not be moved.

The old dog, her mind as slowed by age as her body, stood with her lips drawn back. Her cloudy eyes could see little, and her ears did not
know the voice of the stranger. But her nose . . . her nose was as good as it had ever been.

Suddenly the dog yelped. She tore from Fairbird's grasp and flung herself upon the stranger. Fairbird gasped, thinking her lurcher would tear the girl's throat out in her efforts to protect her, and she flung herself after, desperately trying to catch hold.

But the dog, still barking and yelping, stood with her paws on the stranger's shoulders, licking her face and whimpering, her tail wagging as though it would break. The stranger wrapped her arms around the dog's hulking body, burying her face in the gray, musty fur.

Fairbird stared. She had been betrayed so many times in life. First, her mother died before she could know her; then her sister was cruelly wrenched from her by a father who appeared as cold and heartless as stone. Only Frostbite had been true. Only Frostbite had remained by her side as the darkness of her god threatened to swallow the last shreds of hope she clutched for herself.

Now even Frostbite betrayed her. It was the final blow.

With a sob, she turned to flee.

“Wait!”

Fairbird stopped. Something in that voice compelled her to stay, to hear words that might be as arrows.

“I told you once,” said the stranger, “that when you heard me speak your true name, I would return to you. Will you hear me now? Will you let me speak the name that is truly yours? If I speak it, will you know me at last?”

Fairbird stood as silent as she had lived.

“Gift,” the stranger whispered, putting Frostbite gently from her and approaching Fairbird's rigid form from behind. “Love Gift. Gracious Gift. Gift of my mother to me, to my father, to the worlds. That is your true name, Fairbird. You are my Gift.”

Fairbird's hands trembled. She signed, “I killed my mother. I killed you.”

“You gave us reason to die, my darling. You gave us reason to die, and in that, you gave us reason to live.”

Her eyes stricken with tears, the silent girl turned to the one who spoke.

“My Fairbird,” whispered Starflower. “My sister.”

Then suddenly Fairbird was in her arms. She was a young woman now, but she felt no more than five years old as she buried her face in the shoulder of that stranger who was no stranger but who was in fact the dearest of her heart. She wept and felt the tears of her sister falling in her hair and down her neck. Frostbite, in her joy, pressed up against their legs until they fell over in a pile.

They lay together, the three of them, nobody speaking and nobody signing, trying to explain. Frostbite knew best. Let joy be joy without words! And they followed the old dog's example.

But at last the time for stories came. The girls' hands flew as they talked in the silent language. But at last Imraldera came to the end of hers, and she put her hands in her lap.

“The curse is broken,” she said out loud.

Fairbird shook her head. “I cannot believe it,” she signed. “How can a god die?”

“He was no god,” said her sister. “He was Faerie kind, a creature of the Gray Wood.”

“He has been our god for generations.”

“Sister, listen to me!” Imraldera took Fairbird's face in her hands. She could still see the child whom she had snatched from Wolf Tongue's grasp and whom she had told to sit by Frostbite and stay behind. Fairbird was grown up now, and so beautiful. What a terrible thing was the Faerie world, filled with immortals caring nothing for time! Eanrin had explained much to her on their journey to Redclay, things Imraldera had not wanted to understand.

It did not matter. The child Fairbird was gone, but Fairbird herself was present. And they had so little time.

“The curse is broken,” Imraldera said again. “You are free. You may speak as boldly as any man, and you can make them listen. You must tell them, Fairbird! You must tell the other women. It was the Giver of Names who freed you. It was he who gave you your name and now gives you a voice. Do you understand?”

Fairbird's brow drew together. “But I cannot speak. I am not brave like you.”

“You can,” Imraldera said. “Open your mouth, sister. The time of slavery is ended.”

She placed her hands on Fairbird's lips and parted them. And suddenly the other girl gasped as though drawing her very first breath. In her throat, like a rushing torrent, words sprang up and poured out. She found herself speaking, singing even, and though each word was halting on her tongue, they were loud and strong. In voices unlovely but full of joy, the two sisters sang songs their mother had once sung only in the silence of her heart.

When they were finished, Imraldera rose. “Frostbite,” she said, and the old dog came to her. Not the spry young pup she had rescued from Killdeer, but a tottering old dam. Yet her cloudy eyes were full of love and loyalty. Her soul had been awakened and it would not sleep again. “Guard Fairbird,” Imraldera said, stroking the dog's head. “Keep her safe, as you have always done. The Beast is dead, and the people are free, but freedom can be so terrible when new! Keep her safe as long as you live.”

Then she turned to her sister and embraced her. “We may never meet again in this life,” she whispered.

“I mourned you these many years,” Fairbird replied, and her new voice trembled. “I will mourn no more. But please, Starflower, come back to me one day. I know you must go. I know you must follow the Giver of Names as you promised. But come back to me, at least once more.”

Imraldera kissed her sister's cheek. And then they drew apart. Fairbird stood with Frostbite by her side and watched the young woman follow the stream to the gorge and then descend.

“The Beast is dead,” Fairbird whispered. How strange the words tasted. “We are free.”

“So your name is Starflower?”

The two lonely travelers walked slowly along the Faerie Path winding through the Land. Imraldera, used to silence, did not speak and rarely looked at her companion. But Eanrin was not one for long silences. And the girl looked so down after her parting with her sister. A distraction
was well in order. “Starflower,” he repeated. “Hmph. It's very . . . ethnic, I suppose. I like Imraldera better. Mind if I keep it up, or are you going to insist on Starflower?”

Imraldera shook her head. There was little use in arguing the point, and she knew it. So she smiled and shrugged and continued on her way.

The poet grinned back. “Your sister is quite nice,” he said, seeking to lighten her heart. “She'll do well, I believe. She's gotten by for ten years without you, and I think the knowledge that you are alive and well will get her through many more. I know how you women are too! As soon as she gets used to having a voice, it'll be all anyone can do to stop her! Take my lady Gleamdren, for instance. That lass can chatter a man's ear off and still find more to say!”

Imraldera gave the poet a sideways glance. He was hiding something, she thought. Hiding behind his lively prattle and flippant ways. But she was a reader of hands and faces, and she saw something more behind his eyes.

“You . . .” She paused, struggling still to form the foreign words. “You have met the One Who Names Them.”

Eanrin's face went white as a sheet. He swallowed and stared down at the Path for many strides. Imraldera watched his jaw clench and unclench as he considered what to say next. She reached out and lightly touched his arm. He came immediately to a halt, shifting his gaze from the ground to her hand but still not looking her in the eye.

“You faced the Beast for me,” she said. “You fought for me. I thought you were dead.” She smiled at him, though he did not see it. “You met the Giver of Names instead.”