“I thought so.” Luti nodded. “Fair enough. Individuals must pursue their own choices and destinies. My decision is made only with regard to what’s best for this monastery.”
“And if I someday find the artifact,” Chandra said, “you’re sure you don’t want me to bring it here?”
“Chandra, if you ever find that artifact, I don’t even want to know about it,” Luti said with certainty. “Nor would I encourage you to tell my successor, whoever that may be.”
And Chandra thought again that they were talking about the future as if the monastery definitely had one. Which wasn’t at all certain at the moment.
Chandra awoke from her nightmares sweating and breathing hard, with a scream on her lips.
The death of innocents was on her head. Because of her rash acts, her impulsive nature, and her reckless deeds.
She looked around her darkened bedchamber in Keral Keep and understood, for the first time in all the years she had been having this dream, why she had had it tonight.
The Keralians had welcomed her as one of their own kind when she first arrived here, and they had shared their home, their humble comforts, and their teachings and knowledge with her ever since then.
Now, as a result of that, soldiers and white mages were massed outside their walls, laying siege to their home, intent on destroying their way of life, and threatening to kill them.
All because of her.
Chandra swung her legs over the side of her narrow bed and, feeling nauseated, rested her head between her knees and concentrated on taking slow, steady breaths.
It’s happening again. Because of me.
She must prevent it this time. She must.
Chandra knew she couldn’t live with something like that happening twice. Indeed, she couldn’t even live with what had happened-she was always running away from it.
I can’t outrun two memories like that. I can’t.
And suddenly, sitting here in the dark, breathing hard, sweating, shaking, hunched over her knees and trying not to be sick… She knew exactly what she must do.
She had been confused and uncertain ever since returning to Keral Keep. Ever since things here had instantly spiraled into this crisis upon her return. She had floundered and vacillated. She had guiltily avoided eye contact with her fellow mages. She had expressed outrage when she mostly felt consuming guilt. She had considered fleeing and rejected it, and she had resolved to stay and then wondered if that was a mistake.
And all to avoid this, she now realized.
All to avoid the decision she knew she must make now-the one thing she could do to prevent the Keralians from meeting the fate that others had met because of her.
For a moment, she felt terribly sad as she thought about what would happen shortly. She was still young. There was still so much she hadn’t seen or experienced. And now she never would.
Then a kind of peaceful resignation settled over her. Perhaps this was her fate. Perhaps she had been heading toward this choice ever since the nightmares began.
She stood up, walked over to the simple table and chair that were in the corner, and sat down there to write a brief message on a short sheet of parchment. Then she got dressed and left her chamber, heading for Brannon’s bedroom. When she got there, she shook the boy awake.
Chandra indicated the parchment in her hand. “I have to send a message. I need your help.”
He blinked sleepily. “Huh?”
“Bring your bow and arrow.” She pulled back his covers and hauled him out of his bed.
He stumbled after her, following her out of his room and along the corridors of the monastery. By the time they reached the south tower, he seemed to be awake.
“We’re sending a message to them?” he asked, looking down at the mountainside with her. The moon was full tonight, casting a glow over the landscape. “The way they sent one to us?”
“Yes.” She rolled the piece of parchment tightly around the arrow Brannon had brought, then tied it with a thin piece of twine she had brought from her room. “Here.”
He looked at her handiwork and nodded. “Yes, this will fly.”
“If they shot an arrow into the south tower…” She looked down at the rugged landscape below the tower. She could see the white glow of illumination from a base camp. “Yes, there they are. Can you shoot that far?”
“What am I aiming at?”
“That white glow. It’s probably there to help a sentry keep watch in the night. If the arrow goes that far, they’ll find it.”
Brannon took a deep breath and nodded. “Yes, I can do that. I’ve been practicing.”
“Mother Luti told me. And to make sure they see it…” She filled her breath with fiery heat, then blew gently on the head of the arrow. It caught fire. “Here. Quickly now.”
He took the arrow with a nod, his talented young fingers comfortably handling the burning head as he prepared to shoot. Brannon raised the bow, drew back his arm, and aimed. After several steady breaths, he drew back a little further on the bow, his whole body taut with the strain, his gaze focused intently on his target. When he loosed the arrow, Chandra heard it sing through the air as it left the quivering bow behind. The small flame sailed through the night, landing at the edge of the base camp.
There wasn’t enough light for her to see any figures in the distant camp. But she was able to see that the flaming arrow was lifted off the ground and its fire doused.
“They’ve got it!” Brannon said. “Now what?”
“Now we wait for a reply.”
Chandra waited anxiously all the next day for a response to her message, but it didn’t arrive until the day after that. And then she understood why it had taken so long.
She was playing with Brannon, trying to help relieve the natural restlessness of an adventurous boy now forbidden to go beyond the walls of the monastery. Brother Sergil came looking for her, to tell her she was wanted in Mother Luti’s workshop. Brannon followed her there, but waited outside the door, as instructed.
When she entered the workshop, Mother Luti said to her, “Chandra, you have a visitor.”
Her stunned gaze was already fixed on him. “Gideon?”
He nodded to her in silent greeting.
Gideon looked considerably better than he had the last time she’d seen him. His thick black hair was neatly braided down his back, and his face was clean-shaven and free of bruises. His pale brown tunic and leggings were clean and tidy, and he looked healthy and alert. The healing magic of the Order was obviously effective.
He did not have his sural with him; as a member of the Order, he would not have been admitted to the monastery while carrying a weapon.
And Chandra, though surprised to see him, specifically, wasn’t at all surprised that he had agreed to come here alone and unarmed, even after a pyromancer had killed one of his colleagues at the gate the other day. She knew by now that Gideon did what others wouldn’t or couldn’t do.
“What are you doing here?” she asked.
“Walbert accepts your terms,” he said. “I’ve come to take you into custody.”
“Terms?” Luti repeated, looking quizzically at Chandra.