25 The Children of Kings by Marion Zimmer Bradley Deborah J Ross

Author:Marion Zimmer Bradley, Deborah J Ross [Marion Zimmer Bradley, Deborah J Ross]
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

19

Even before she reached the outskirts of the Yellow Forest, Kierestelli sensed the change in the trees. For most of her journey, she had slipped through thicket and grove, shaping herself into harmony with the natural landscape. Now she sensed a withdrawal. Hillside and forest turned opaque, and chill winds brushed the edges of her awareness. Dry leaves crunched beneath her feet, when only a day before she had passed without a sound.

She slowed her pace. There was no point in pushing harder, insisting that the forces guarding the heart of the forest give way before her will. She was the supplicant here, returning without any expectation that the home she had left was still hers.

This part of the forest filled the hollow between the hills. The trees grew taller here, their trunks gnarled with age. As she went on, their tops intertwined to form a canopy, imperfect and shifting in the wind.

It is as all life, each part flowing into a greater whole, she thought. None of us is truly separate.

She halted, tipping her face to catch the dappled sunlight. Motes of brightness flickered behind her closed eyelids. For a moment, she felt as if she floated in a sea of softly effulgent lights or perhaps of living stars. The intimation of chill receded. As if from a distance, she caught the chiming of sweet notes, a harp’s laughter, the ripple of a snowmelt stream, a riot of songbirds after a rain.

Overhead, leaves rustled. Shafts of sunlight glittered on motes of forest dust. As quickly as the rays appeared, they vanished as the branches shifted. Their warmth lingered like an afterimage in Silvana’s mind. It cradled her, lifted her up, sustained her. In her imagination, the trees inclined in salutation, then parted before her. She hesitated.

“So you have come back to us.” The words came in a low voice, the casta archaic but perfectly clear in the way an ancient chant would be understood in spirit as well as syllable.

Between one pulse of her heart and the next, a chieri emerged. The figure was, as all those ancient people, tall and slender, androgynously beautiful. Gray hair fell halfway to narrow hips; the only garment was a sleeveless tunic that looked as if it had been woven from tree bark and moonlight. Colorless eyes met Silvana’s without a hint of emotion.

No welcome, no censure, no curiosity. Only the immense gift of recognition.

She raised her fingertips to her forehead and said, in the language of the chieri, “Foster father.” The word actually meant Nurturer-of-children-who-belong-to-the-race.

“The river flows in only one direction,” Diravanariel answered, keeping to casta.

“All water is one,” she answered. “Did you not teach me that truth yourself?”

A chuckle answered her as a second figure stepped from behind the largest of the trees. “You must concede the point, Dirav. There’s no hope when she starts quoting your own words back at you.”

“Uncle David!” All dignity fled, she rushed into the Terranan doctor’s arms.

As he drew her tight against him, she felt the thinness of his flesh, the withering of muscle, the brittleness of bone.

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