The Thirteenth Scroll Read online

  The activity around her increased to a fever pitch while she thought of Aghamore—the new Aghamore under her rule. Someday, and soon, the entire kingdom would be rebuilt, reborn, into her vision of what it should be.

  And that vision began here, now, with the obedience she commanded.

  She smiled as the noise began to fade away. Rhys approached, leading her horse.

  “M’lady,” he said, breathlessly, “Lord Giraldus is waiting for you.”

  Aurya nodded, then mounted and wheeled her horse to the side of a soldier carrying one of the torches that would light their ride. She was not going to be held back by someone else’s pace. On this ride, she intended to lead the way.

  Without ceremony, she took the torch from out his hand and lifted it high. “To Caerryck,” she shouted.

  Then she dug her heels into her horse’s sides and it sprang forward, swiftly moving into the gallop she craved. Torch held aloft, she sped down the road, racing to meet the destiny she had come to claim and would not be denied.

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  They did not hear Cloud-Dancer’s first soft whine. But his second, third, his fourth—each growing louder—finally interrupted the hesitant interview between Renan and the young novice who named herself Selia.

  Renan’s eyes flew to Lysandra. He saw her fingers digging their way into Cloud-Dancer’s fur as if trying to hold on to the life she was in danger of losing. The wolf’s blue eyes looked up and met Renan’s own.

  And Renan knew.

  He did not care now about Selia; he did not care about the scroll, about their mission or their goal or who Selia might or might not be. He cared only that Lysandra needed him. Dropping to his knees beside her, Renan took her hand into his own and began calling Lysandra’s name, urging her to come back—to life, to this place… to him.

  A few seconds later, Talog was also there. He, too, began to call to Lysandra, speaking to her in the strangely melodic language of the Cryf. Renan absently recognized a few of the words—but it did not matter what Talog was saying. Renan could feel how the young Cryf, too, was doing all he could for Lysandra’s sake.

  But it was not enough. Though the fingers of her hand moved, though Cloud-Dancer’s whine and actions all seemed to promise Lysandra was still there, buried inside her inert form but wanting to be freed—nothing more happened. Renan wanted to scream, to rage with his frustration that he could do no more; he wanted to weep at his own helplessness to save the woman he loved.

  Then, suddenly, Selia was there. Without a word, she knelt beside him and took the hand Renan had been holding. Then, still saying nothing, she bowed her head and closed her eyes.

  Everyone in the room became silent. Like Renan, all they could do now was wait.

  Inside Lysandra, the war for her life continued. She heard Cloud-Dancer’s whine; loud and glorious, it was the beautiful sound of his love for her. It became her one channel of strength and she tightened the grip of her fingers in his fur.

  Then came another sound, sweet and welcome, too. Renan’s voice was calling her, speaking her name over and over. His touch on her hand was like fire and ice; burning and then soothing the burn, freezing and then warming away the cold.

  His voice, his touch, also empowered her to fight. She demanded back the possession of her body, her life—her soul.

  Finally, she heard Talog’s voice added to Renan’s. Though she did not understand all of his words, she heard him call her Healer, Meddig, and speak the name of the Divine, Diwinydd Creawdwr. But it did not matter what else he said or that she did not understand him, for she heard him with her heart rather than her ears. He put a hand upon her arm, lending his strength to her battle.

  Soundlessly, Lysandra’s soul screamed into the blackness, demanding her right to Be. Motionlessly, she clawed and kicked, gouged and fought the suffocating pressure that was telling her to give up. It whispered into her with thoughts more felt than heard, that she had nothing waiting, was nothing; told her to let go of the struggle, to let herself float where she was free of pain and need and sorrow.

  Then, suddenly, Renan’s voice and touch were gone. All was silence again.

  Into the silence, into the Darkness, came a presence. It was unknown to Lysandra, and yet…

  … It called to her from the spark of Light in the distance; it beckoned to her, giving her new strength to fight again.

  Lysandra felt the Darkness lift a little. The Light strengthened. It came, pouring hope into her weariness. And with that hope, Lysandra recognized the Light for what it was.

  It was Truth.

  Truth called to her, and Lysandra listened. It told her the time of Darkness was at an end—if she would refuse it power.

  How? her mind cried.

  And Truth answered. It came not in words or in pictures; it came as nothing her mind perceived. It came as the breath of Spirit into spirit. With that breath, the Darkness began to swirl like fog disturbed.

  As the Winds of Truth blew through her, Lysandra knew she was done giving power to the Darkness, done listening to its voice speaking to her heart, her soul, of all the pains she sometimes suffered—of loneliness and self-doubt, of the empty hours and sorrow-filled memories. In Truth, she knew that these were offset by many more moments of joy and peace. Life was worth living—and she was worthy of its gift.

  That surety was lifting the Darkness… a little. As she let go of her fear—of living, of loving and of hoping for love—she felt the power that held her captive begin to lose its form. Whatever had been its source, she now knew that her own heart had given it a place to flourish.

  Again the Truth blew, reminding Lysandra that she was not alone, never alone. How could she have forgotten that? She had Cloud-Dancer’s unswerving companionship and loyalty. The Heart of Loyalty and Truth, Eiddig had called him, and she saw with awakening insight that this, too, was part of the Light embracing her.

  And there were Talog and Renan—friends, companions, and…

  Renan, her heart whispered. What was he to her, really? Was she ready to know? Could she face the answer?

  With that question, with the doubts it brought, the Darkness thickened again. This time, however Lysandra realized what was happening. Suddenly, she knew how to combat it. The question came, the doubts whispered… and she accepted them, letting them pass through her. The answers did not matter. She accepted this moment, in faith, that all was as it should be. She accepted the past, in faith, that even its pains had a purpose. She accepted the future, in faith, that the path ahead, though sometimes difficult, would be a journey well worth taking.

  She accepted faith again.

  It came not with childhood teachings or other people’s names and dogmas. This faith, in whose simplicity lay strength, embraced all that had been, was, and would be; all that was named and unnamed, seen and unseen.

  At that moment, the swift Winds of Truth blew open the doors and windows of her soul. Her doubts became like chaff that lay upon the threshing floor, lifted upon that wind and carried away. As the doubts blew free, the blackness lifted and the Light grew.

  Into the Light came a presence. This was the one who carried Truth within her and gave Truth to all she touched. This was the one of Wisdom they had traveled so far to find.

  Their minds touched—and for Lysandra it was as if lights exploded in her brain. They came in brilliance, full of sound and color; they came in stillness, full of silence and shadow. Her mind was awhirl with all the possibilities that had been hinted at but were never true… until this moment.

  What these new powers meant, Lysandra did not yet know. But now, again, she had a future in which to find out. She had Life and Hope—and Truth. That was the greatest gift she felt awakened, filling her—for without Truth at their heart, no other gifts, no other powers had meaning. Without Truth, there was only Darkness.

  Slowly, Lysandra became aware of herself again. She felt the breath in her lungs; she felt the weight of her body and the hardness of the floor on which she lay
. She felt again the warm softness of Cloud-Dancer’s head beneath her fingers, and her other hand…

  She felt her hand being released as the one who was Wisdom, and who had helped Lysandra find the Light of Truth amid the Darkness, backed away.

  Lysandra tried to open her eyes. At first it felt as if her eyelids were made of lead. Then, once more, she heard Renan call her name. She felt his touch upon her forehead, gently stroking her hair as he called her to come back to them. Again, Talog spoke to her.

  Talog, Renan, Cloud-Dancer—they blended and became one within the Truth that now filled her and had called her forth. Against such a union, where faith and caring, where unselfishness and Truth, abide, no magic can prevail. The last vestiges evaporated, and Lysandra was free.

  She opened her eyes. She tried to sit, but her body still felt weak. For the moment, that single moment, she did not care; it was her own again and she rejoiced in the simple and yet divinely complex reality of being.

  Lysandra reached out and felt the faces—first Talog’s and then Renan’s—of her dear companions. She found a tear on Renan’s cheek. Of joy? Of relief? The reason did not matter. It was a gift and she treasured it.

  “Where… where are we?” she asked. Her voice was barely a whisper, and she realized how dry and raw her throat felt.

  “We’re in Caerryck,” Renan told her. He brought something to her lips. It was a cup and she sipped from it greedily, feeling the cool water wash the dryness away, letting the sweetness of plain, clean water rinse the taste and feeling of Darkness from her body. Never before had she realized the true blessedness of water.

  “Caerryck,” she said, her voice stronger this time and her memory beginning to return. “Oh, Renan, where is the child? I know it—I know she is here.”

  “We were wrong,” Renan said. “It’s not a child.”

  “Then who?” Lysandra folded her legs under her and tried to stand—but her knees buckled and would not hold her. With each new second, more memory, more purpose returned to her. She wanted to stand and take up her part in what they had come here to do.

  Gone was the apathy with which she had begun and made most of this journey. No longer was she driven merely by the desire to complete an unwelcome task so that she could return to her solitary life. For the first time she truly understood that each day, each moment, not lived in caring and in Truth, was a little death, a choice of Darkness when all could be Light.

  And she was done with Darkness.

  “Slow down, Lysandra,” Renan told her. “Whatever you’ve just been through has barely passed. You’ve got to be careful. We… we can’t lose you again.”

  She heard the little catch in his voice. With new understanding, she knew what had given it birth—just as that same part of her knew that these feelings, hers and his, would be treasured and never spoken. She gave him a weak but gentle smile as she touched his cheek again, in a silent gesture of the friendship they could share.

  Then she tried again to stand. Talog reached down and gave his strength to her—as he had throughout this journey—with a hand beneath her arm. In a new appreciation, she also touched his cheek. Up through her fingers she felt the Life that filled him, that filled all the Cryf. It was Life that was the Truth of their connection with their Realm and at the heart of their union with the Divine.

  These new perceptions were coming so fast upon each other, Lysandra had to stop for a moment and catch her breath. But she did not want to stop; she wanted to find the one whose touch upon her mind had awakened such new thoughts and all the new possibilities within she felt she had still to discover.

  Standing on her own, somewhat unsteady feet, she held out her hand in its familiar way. Cloud-Dancer immediately took his place beside her. His body, solid and strong, gave her balance as she leaned against him, and with her touch, the bond that was between them bloomed anew. With it came an ever-deepening sense of gratitude for being alive… something Lysandra had not let herself feel for far, far too long.

  Through their bond and shared vision, Lysandra looked around. She saw the little church in which they stood, saw Renan and Talog watching her with expressions that mingled delight and worry. Then she saw the stranger, a priest, looking at her with obvious astonishment. He took a step toward her.

  “By all that’s holy, from the look of ye when Father Renan carried ye in, I thought ye were all but dead. What are ye, girl, that even death can not harm ye?”

  Father Peadar crossed himself as he spoke. Though his cheeks had gone white when she stood, his eyes were now fierce.

  “I am a healer,” Lysandra replied, as if that explained everything. This priest’s fears or superstitions were not her concern; he was not the one she still needed to find.

  With Cloud-Dancer’s vision she looked farther around. There was a young woman withdrawn into the shadows. She stood within her head down, as if by looking away she could disappear.

  With the discernment that now filled her, Lysandra knew this was the one she sought. She moved her hand on Cloud-Dancer’s head in the silent, familiar signal to walk. The girl slowly raised her head and met Lysandra’s eyes.

  Suddenly, her Sight flared into existence. Yet it was different, too. She could see with it—truly See, in more than just outlines and shadows, or colors and depth. She saw feelings and auras; she saw intentions of truth or falsehood; she saw the past in wisps of shadow that followed and shaped each person’s present.

  And, if she concentrated but a little, she saw the future paths waiting to be taken.

  Startled, almost overwhelmed, Lysandra dropped her hand from Cloud-Dancer’s head. Then the explosion of information settled into her more familiar pattern of Sight. Familiar and yet different—for what Lysandra saw of the young woman before her was youth upon her face and the timeless knowledge that shone from her eyes.

  This was the one.

  And with the new powers of her Sight, Lysandra also saw the path ahead. She knew in an instant that it was not only herself this girl was meant to save—it was Aghamore. The Truth of it shone all around her, crowning her and proclaiming that here was the true sovereign; here alone was the one who could expel the Darkness threatening the kingdom.

  “Who are you?” Lysandra asked. She watched the young woman draw a deep breath, and she saw the resignation within that breath.

  “I am Selia,” she said, telling Lysandra what the others already knew.

  But Lysandra knew what the others did not; she could feel that Selia’s inner battles were far from over.

  “How old are you, Selia?” Lysandra asked softly.

  “Seventeen,” came the answer.

  The blood left Lysandra’s face and she gasped. Seventeen… she knew what it meant to have all that one expected, the life one had thought to live, ripped away, destroyed…

  At seventeen…

  And this time she must be the destroyer.

  Above all, Lysandra could feel Selia’s desire to run away—not just from her, from this place, but from who she was and who she was meant to be. Again, Lysandra recognized herself in Selia’s pain.

  As much as she hated the role now forced upon her, what she had just come through had taught her how very close the Darkness was—for all of them. She had battled her own demons and won… this time, and not without help. But next time?

  This young woman, who had the power to touch Lysandra’s mind and heart, to awaken the power of Truth within her, had demons of her own life to bear. It had taken Lysandra ten years to learn to rejoin the world. Selia did not have that luxury. There were too many innocent and unwitting people who would suffer the Darkness if either of them, she or Selia, could not find the courage to act—now.

  As Lysandra continued to meet Selia’s eyes, the presence of new powers built again. Force upon force, power upon power, they filled her until, overwhelmed, she could not comprehend all that was happening. Then again, the onslaught stopped as suddenly as it had begun, but when it was over, Lysandra knew herself to be irreparably c
hanged.

  Sight became insight and suddenly Lysandra understood. She reached out and took Selia’s hand. As she did, their minds touched again and they both knew with the perfect clarity only Truth can give, that there was a connection between them. It was more than the circumstances of life or fate that had brought them both there. They were Wisdom and Prophecy, each part of the other’s future, each instrumental in the other’s full awakening.

  As Prophecy must have Wisdom, so Wisdom must have Truth. There was more, much more, stirring, awaiting discovery within Lysandra, but it would be revealed as time and need dictated. It was not her own needs she must face; it was Selia’s. Lysandra knew that just as Selia had brought Truth to her, awakening its presence forever in her soul, now she must use that gift in return.

  This time it was Lysandra who reached out and touched Selia’s mind, showing the young woman the path and the Truth she was meant to follow. But Selia did not want to see. She pulled herself free from Lysandra’s touch and backed away. The young woman’s pain encircled her like a cloak, covering her true self, the person she could be—must be—as surely as the novitiate veil covered her shorn hair.

  But, just as a few wisps of dark hair escaped their confines, to curl softly across Selia’s forehead, so Lysandra caught glimpses of Selia’s true self shining through the covering of her sorrow.

  The girl backed up another step, away from the revelation Lysandra had given her. “I don’t want this,” she said. “I never have. I don’t want any of this.”

  “I know,” Lysandra replied calmly. She could feel the anxious anticipation in the others’ silence.

  “You know?” Selia responded harshly to Lysandra’s words. “What could you possibly know? I’m not here because of you—any of you. I’m here because Father Peadar asked it. He’s the only one who was ever… kind…” Her voice trailed off.

  She looked at Lysandra with eyes that blazed her pain. But Lysandra did know. She knew all of it—Selia’s past, her pain, the feeling of abandonment and years of silent loneliness. But there was another future waiting, and Lysandra saw that it was all there for Selia if only she could find the courage to walk the path ahead.