The White Dragon (45 page)

"I mean," Mirabar said, "it will be a lot easier to convince people of my visions if I'm not the only one who has seen them."

"That was a vision?" Rahilar started rocking back and forth.

"Well, just part of one."

"Pyron," Lann said. "Where is that almond wine Josarian likes so mu..." He stumbled over the memory, paused, then tried again. "Where's the almond wine?"

Pyron nodded and rose clumsily. "Um, there's a lot left. I'll get some."

Rahilar followed him with her eyes and protested, "Are you sure you should go inside the—"

"Yes, I'm sure," he called over his shoulder as he disappeared into one of the caves.

Yorin caught Mirabar's eye with his own and winked, a surprisingly frivolous gesture in that tough, scarred face. "Sleep," he said with a shrug. "Who needs it anyhow?"

This was the second time Mirabar's visions had leaked through the night to ensnare others. The first was the night after Josarian died. Had it happened only here at Dalishar, in her presence? Or were others in Sileria now being alerted to the coming of the new Yahrdan?
 

She would, she supposed, find out starting tomorrow, when she quit Dalishar and set out for Zilar, as Tansen had ordered.

He was gone now, having departed at sunset with five other men. The bustle and excitement here should have made his absence scarcely noticeable, but Mirabar felt it sharply. He had not rested enough, and he was once again off courting death. There were things she might have said...

Then again, there were things he should have done.

Stop
, she ordered herself. Mirabar's head reeled every time she reviewed their quarrel and the hopelessness of settling it to their mutual satisfaction.

Overhead, Abayara was starting to wane, but Ejara remained full. The moons' alabaster faces had a faint reddish tinge now and the stars were obscured, thanks to the smoky rages of the volcano. Nut the night was still a bright one for mountain-born eyes. Mirabar looked in the direction of Darshon—and rose to her feet even as Lann muttered, "Look!"

One by one, the rebels followed his gaze. Mirabar walked to the edge of the clearing, to the craggy cliff's edge, and stared into the distance, apprehensively staring at the snow-capped peak of the volcano wherein dwelled Dar, the destroyer goddess.

Lightning flashed violently above Darshon, again and again, illuminating the mountaintop as columns of colored smoke rose from the caldera. Pink, red, orange, yellow, and ghostly white, the spirals of smoke and steam coiled upwards into the tumultuous storm, then swayed and shifted, as if shying away from the restless lightning which broke open the sky, over and over.

Mirabar didn't realize she was holding her breath until she heard Najdan, now standing close to her, release his.
 

"Have..." She felt her lower lip tremble and bit down on it for a moment. "Have you ever seen anything like that before?"

"No." His voice was scarcely recognizable. "Not even as a child in the Year of Red Moons."

Colored clouds rose and spread around Darshon's icy summit, swaying this way and that, sometimes snatching their heads back like snakes in response to the high winds and the angry bursts of lightning. Shifting and galloping light turned colors in the night and danced wildly all around the sacred home of Dar.

"My father..." Lann said hoarsely. "He once said you could see the dead dance, in the right light..."

"That isn't the dead," Mirabar said with certainty.

"No," Cheylan agreed. Mirabar had forgotten about him. She had forgotten everything for a few moments. She tore her gaze away from Darshon now and met his eyes. Like her, he had seen shades of the dead. So he knew, too, that this was something else.

"What is
that
?" Pyron asked, carrying a large wineskin as he joined them and stared wide-eyed at Darshon.

"We don't know," Mirabar replied.

"Well, you're supposed to know!" There was a shadow of panic in his voice. "This is your—your sort of... you know."

"Give me that wine," Mirabar said.

"Wine all around, I think," Lann added.

"Good idea," said Pyron. "There's plenty more where this came from, blessed be Josarian's memory."

"Josarian!" Yorin exclaimed. Everyone else looked at him. "Don't you see? Dar is angry that the Firebringer is dead."

Everyone looked at Mirabar for confirmation.
 

All she could say was, "Possibly." She looked back at the swimming, colored mists and the lights whirling around Darshon with increasing urgency. "But since we didn't kill him, we have nothing to fear."

"I like that theory," Pyron said. "I respectfully accept the
sirana
's interpretation of—"

"And if Dar is angry," Mirabar continued, "then She shouldn't have let him die."

A crack of volcanic thunder roared in the distance as a column of flame, visible even at this distance, shot straight up into the tumultuous sky over the caldera. Mirabar fell back a step, while many of the
shallaheen
ran halfway to the dubious safety of the caves before collecting their wits.

"Disrespectful comments—" Najdan began.

"I don't care," Mirabar snapped. "Whatever gods rule us, they have used me, tormented me, and led me around at their will." Her eyes were misty with frustrated rage. "If Dar wants my continued service, then She had damn well better be worthy of it."

"Mirabar..." Najdan said, surprising her with his almost unprecedented use of her name.

She looked at him now and saw his confusion, his uncertainty. She saw his age, his scars, and the hard life he had led. She saw him wandering the unknown territory into which he had ventured, following her with such stern devotion.
 

And she realized that she must be stronger than this. For him, and for the others.
 

With the Firebringer dead, they counted on her to understand Dar for them. To reassure them. To soothe their fears of the destroyer goddess and convince them of Her continuing love.

Mirabar didn't feel strong, she wasn't at all sure there was nothing to fear from Darshon, and she had no idea if Dar still loved them. But she knew—because she had known Josarian, and knew Tansen—that her private fears were irrelevant and mustn't dictate her actions. Especially not in front of others.

"I'm sorry," she said quietly to Najdan. Then she turned and announced to everyone else, "We have nothing to fear. We were the Firebringer's friends. We tried to save him. We will avenge him. And Darshon... is very far away tonight."

These statements, and a few additional ones, had the desired effect—as did the almond wine which Josarian had favored so much that his men ensured there was always a good supply of it here at Dalishar.
 

Only Cheylan did not join in the determined drinking and nervous conversation with which Josarian's friends now tried to comfort themselves. He remained at the edge of the clearing, his gaze fixed on Darshon's distant drama.

Mirabar eventually joined him. "What do you think?" she asked.

"I'm not sure." His dark hair absorbed the light of the sacred fires of Dalishar and the torches that the rebels had used to further illuminate this strange night. His golden eyes glowed as he gazed across Sileria. "But I find it... interesting."

"I'm afraid for you," she said. "Going east again tomorrow."

Cheylan smiled as he looked at her. "I'll be fine. I'm from the east, after all." He shrugged. "This display is new, but we in the east are accustomed to living with Dar's moods and tantrums."

"Please be careful." Her voice almost broke. She had said goodbye to friends too often lately. "Please don't..." She made a little sound and concluded, "Don't fail to return."

He placed his palm against her cheek. The unscarred palm of a
toren
. "I will return to you. Nothing will stop me."

His wasn't the touch which made her blood run hot like lava and her heart swell like gossamer leaves soaking up the rain. But he understood what it was like to be her. Tonight, maybe because she felt lost, afraid, and lonely, Mirabar felt a tremendous kinship with Cheylan. Even if another man had stolen her heart, this one would always have her trust.

"I saw it," Cheylan whispered to her.

She frowned.

He elaborated, "The vision."

"Oh."

"The eyes in the night sky. He is coming."

"Yes."

"The glowing eyes," he said.

"Yes."

"Golden."

"Yes," she repeated.

He stroked her hair, his gaze bright with excitement. "Like yours and mine."
 

"Is that all you saw?" she asked, trying to move away from his caress without appearing to reject him.

"There was more?" he asked, his attention sharpening.

"Yes, much more." She frowned. "You didn't see?"

He took hold of her shoulders, ignoring the way she tried to evade his grasp. "Tell me."

"A place... A watery place with lava dripping into it, making steam rise. I don't know, maybe a cave or cavern... Perhaps underground... Glowing things..."

"Glowing things," he repeated, his voice soft yet urgent.

"Glowing plants and, ugh, crawly things."

"Ah." Cheylan nodded, his expression intense. "And this is where... What? You'll find him?"

She shrugged. "I don't even know if it's a real place."

"But—"

"Fire and water. Water and fire. A child of fire, a child of water..."
 

 
"And a place" There was something insistent in his tone. "Caverns of fire and water."

Memory flashed through her mind. "Protect what you most long to destroy," she murmured.

"What?" His grip on her arms was starting to hurt.

"That's what the Beckoner told me." She glanced around, looking at the core of rebels sworn to support Tansen against the Society. He hoped to bring thousands more to his cause at Zilar, she knew. "Could we be wrong?"

"About what?"

"The Society. Surely..." Her heart pounded as she tried to articulate a possibility she could never accept. "Did Dar let Josarian die so the Society would rule Sileria?"
      

"No. I don't believe that," Cheylan replied with certainty, slackening his hold on her.

Mirabar stepped back. "I can't believe it either, but..."

Why did You let him die, Dar?

"Protect what you most long to destroy," she repeated.

Fire and water, water and fire...

"Are we wrong to go against Kiloran?" she asked Cheylan. "To try to destroy the Society?"

"You think they could be part of the future?" he asked. "Part of this... this ruler you must shield?"

Hatred, vengeance, and panic all battled her attempts to consider this dispassionately. "If so, then it may already be too late."

Cheylan tried another approach. "What about Zarien? After what we saw in the fire today, surely he's not—"
 

"
Zarien
." Mirabar turned away from Cheylan to inspect the crowd of wakeful rebels. "Has anyone see Zarien?"

"Of course," Sister Rahilar said. "He was..." She looked around vaguely, then her expression went blank. "He..." She met Mirabar's gaze. "Now that you mention it..."

Pyron frowned. "I haven't seen him since... since, uh..."

"Where's Zarien?" Mirabar demanded.

Yorin looked at Lann. "Weren't you supposed to keep an eye on him?"

"In a general way," Lann said defensively. "But I didn't think that meant I was supposed to watch him like a virgin near Outlookers. And in case you haven't noticed, I've been very busy!"

"But where is he?" Rahilar asked.

"We can't have misplaced a whole boy," Pyron said.

Oh, no.

"We didn't misplace him," Mirabar said wearily. "He's run away."

"Should we send someone after him?" Rahilar asked.

"But who could we spare?" said Lann. 
      
"It's the middle of the night!" said Pyron.

"He could get hurt," Rahilar warned.

"Or lost," said Yorin.

"I suspect that boy can take care of himself," Cheylan mused.

"
I
suspect," Lann said, stroking his beard nervously, "that Tansen's going to be very annoyed with me."

"Where do you suppose Zarien's gone?"

"Back to sea, maybe?"

"Good riddance."

"Oh, he seemed like a nice enough boy."

"But he didn't belong here."

Mirabar recalled what she had seen in the fire. "I'll bet he's following Tansen."

"Then he's in trouble. Even
I
can't follow Tansen when he's covering his trail," Yorin pointed out.