"Your honored dead," said Lendri. "I will sing. Add your own prayers if you wish."
Lendri sang. More of a whispered chant really, like a soft breeze through dry branches. At first he sang in his own tongue. Hweilan listened, understanding nothing but the names.
"Sing with me," he said.
"I… I don't know the words," said Hweilan.
"We will sing them in the tongue of the Damarans."
And so they did, Lendri chanting one line, Hweilan following. Flames of this world, bear this flame to our ancestors Our family burned bright Our family…
Lendri took the stick back from her. Holding one end with both hands, he stepped forward and thrust it into the middle of the fire, sending a great shower of sparks fluttering amid the smoke. He held it there as long as he could bear to be near the flames, then he stepped back. The end of the stick was black, but the resin pressed into the runes burned a hot red. Merah daughter of Thewari burned bright, Soran of Highwatch burned bright, Vandalar of Highwatch burned bright, Scith of the Var burned bright, The Knights of Ondrahar burned bright, The people of Highwatch burned bright. Their exile is ended, their rest assured.
Lendri looked up to the sky and sang in his native tongue, but this time loud-more of a shout than a chant. Then he looked down at Hweilan. His eyes seemed hard, not with any sort of religious passion. More in expectation.
"You still wish to bring justice to your family's murderers?" he said.
"Yes." No hesitation.
"Then do as I do. Take off your gloves."
She did.
He raised his right hand, long fingers outstretched, and he sang, "Our family burned bright. Those who robbed the world of their light will rest no more."
She repeated his words, not singing but speaking them clearly.
Lendri brought his open palm down on the top of the stick. Hweilan heard skin and flesh sizzle, a sharp intake of breath from Lendri, then he pulled his hand away. She looked at him with wide eyes.
"Hurry," he said, "before the fire consumes the wood."
She hesitated. What kind of fool put his naked hand on burning wood? But Lendri's gaze on her was fierce and unwavering. She raised her right hand. It trembled.
"Do it, Hweilan!"
In her mind, she saw Scith's last moments. She saw the last look her mother had given her, heard their last words, spoken in anger. She heard again her father's parting words to her on the day he'd ridden out of the fortress-Listen to your mother, Hweilan. She does what is best for you. Make me proud. The next time she'd seen him, his face had been pale and cold, more like lifeless stone than the always-quick-to-smile face of her father.
Hweilan slapped her hand down and grabbed the stick. Pain seized her entire arm. She gasped and tried to let go, but the muscles in her hand convulsed, squeezing tighter. She could feel the skin of her palm and the insides of her fingers burning away, her flesh fusing to the wood.
Control returned. She let go, flesh that did not want to come away from the hot wood tearing and peeling away. She stumbled back and landed hard on the icy ground. The world seemed to spin around her, going black, and she could hear nothing but a roar.
When the world cleared again, she could see the great cloud of her breath mixing with Lendri's. The elf knelt over her, his brows creased in concern.
"Can you hear me?" he asked.
"Yes."
"Foolish girl," he said, and it was then that Hweilan first noticed that he held her burned hand between his own. He was pressing snow into her palm. She couldn't feel the cold. Everything from her wrist down was only pain. "You were supposed to touch the stick, not grasp it. Why?"
She smiled weakly. "It felt like a good idea at the time. My family…" Tears began to well in her eyes again.
Lendri held her gaze a long time, then nodded. "Grieve for them, Hweilan. Honor them. But do not punish yourself. Punish those who killed them. I will help you."
"When do we start?"