"I can’t believe all the history that man is holding inside of him," I
remarked. Of all my discoveries about the Serpent Isle, the people and
their history seemed distant. Shamino’s involvement pulled them that much
closer to me, a very exciting feeling.
"I’ve never felt that I’ve truly known him," Iolo said. Which I could believe
quite easily.
"He’s a quiet guy," I threw a glance back over my shoulder. The gate was
obscured by mountain now. We walked slowly. The sea whispered all around
us, omnipresent.
"Even so, I’ve known him for thousands of years and he’s still a mystery."
"Thousands of years," I echoed. "It doesn’t seem like it."
"Oh sure it does. I can’t even remember the first day I spent on Britannia,
it was that long ago," he said. I laughed.
"Don’t tell me you’re senile," I teased. He snorted.
"You mean to tell me you’re not?" I grinned at his comeback. And there,
around the next curve of rock the Golden Ankh mocked us both from dry ground.
Breathing hard, I fell onto my haunches, shocked at how we both panted
now that the wood had been gathered. The cold grass licked in between my
boots and robe, sending chills down my spine. Iolo sat next to me. I watched
a flame from our little fire lick high into the blue horizon. It glowed
eerily on the sunless sky.
"How long should it take him?" I asked.
"I don’t know, hon. He might be looking for food, or working on making
sure the portcullis can’t be shut again."
"I can’t help but worry. He’s already hurt, and we need him to get out
of here." The cold sky seemed to darken by the second. It felt thick and
stormy in the breeze of salt.
"He’s fine, Gwenno," Iolo said absently. His face stared out to the same
horizon. The same bleakness.
"And we will make it home, right?" I asked with only a touch of sarcasm.
I could feel Iolo smiling next to me. I think it must have been the pure
exhaustion that allowed me to sense it but there it was, shining in the
dark.
"If we got here we can make it back," he reached over the fire to warm
his hands. The sun and its trails of light had all but disappeared.
"That makes sense," I sighed. It did not feel like we were very close to
getting back. The ‘Ankh’s dinosaur of a hull looked down at us. The same
exhaustion that let me feel Iolo’s smile let me see the ship do the same,
but this grin didn’t shine. It leered at me, laughing from the side of
its face like a devil. Too much ground and not enough water supported it,
lifted the masts too tall at a steady, crooked angle.
I waited for Iolo to answer me somehow, to speak again. He turned his hands
slowly over the orange flames. They did not shake. Thank the virtues they
did not shake. I often look to my own hands, afraid to see any sign of
aging. And now to his. He did look older since I had last seen him. But
beautiful. Still beautiful. He must have felt me staring. His hands fell
to his lap and he turned to me.
"We’ll find a way. When have we failed before?" I stiffened, trying hard
to resist the shiver rolling down my spine.
"Never," I whispered. He scooted closer and pulled me to him with one strong,
thin arm.
"I don’t know where the Avatar is, but she’s not dead, Gwen. I know she’s
not." His arm squeezed in rhythm to his words. Everything he said becomes
song sometimes. I lay into him and hoped it would continue.
"I believe you," I said quietly. The sea echoed me with its violent whispers.
My stomach rolled and growled.
"I didn’t get that feeling from when she disappeared," his voice took on
that tone, the storytelling tone. I settled in, my stomach protesting in
hunger. "We were in the great temple, in front of the most amazing stone
serpent yet. We had seen other serpent statues in the underground dimension
of the Ophidians, but this one shone as if it had been hewn from obsidian
only days ago. . ." tears rose under my eyelids. The pulse of his voice
made it feel like I was lying in a bed of fine silk, safe and warm. " ...
Of course she had no fear at all, she raised the sword. I’d never seen
such a fine sword, sharp and curved like a kryss . . ." a tear rolled down
my cheek, very cold. The wind sucked to that spot on my face. I fought
to pay attention to his words. "The statue crumbled, just like that—and
I’d never seen a more stable piece of rock . . ." my stomach growled again.
I couldn’t do it anymore. Another tear and more wind. I didn’t worry about
them—they were definitely happy tears. But relaxing would be hopeless.
His voice faded a little, he had to cough it back alive.
"Iolo," I whispered.
" . . . Shamino fell so hard! I fell to the ground and covered my head
with my hands, afraid the whole temple would collapse in on us."
"Iolo," I sat up too fast, my head spun.
"I hear it too," he stood. I didn’t even realize that that was why I wanted
him to stop. Suddenly I just felt in danger. My arms perked into gooseflesh.
"Shamino!?" I called out, struggling to my feet. Iolo grunted behind me.
A figure loomed in the dark, limping so badly I could barely believe he’d
made it this far. I ran into the dark, into his weak reply.
"Yeah. . . Gwen," There were no kegs this time. A grimace twisted the poor
man’s face. His frozen, wet clothes clung to him hard. Another step forward
almost brought him crashing down to the ground.
"Virtues, Shamino," I tried to get under his arm but he shook his head
and waved me off.
"I’m all right," he panted. Iolo came up behind us.
"Come on and dry off, are you sure you’re okay?" Iolo rasped. Shamino limped
on, ignoring our concerns.
"I’ve got food and a bit of water," he said instead. At the fire’s edge,
he crumbled to the ground, legs slowly going out from under him, muscles
shaking so that we could see it. I knelt on the ground beside him, Iolo
stood behind me. Shamino sat there, staring into the fire and panting,
gasping for his breath. His pack sagged on his back, very full. I reached
behind us, into my own bag and found my canteen again.
"Thank the Virtues you’re all right," Iolo said quietly. Shamino stared
at my outstretched canteen, breathing like a wild animal. I nudged it toward
him and he reached his hand up. It quivered in the firelight. His brown
fingers closed on it, but it wasn’t enough. The whole thing shook like
crazy. He lifted his other hand up and clutched it. This exhaustion—my
heart wanted to stop. He sloppily lifted the bottle to his lips and swallowed
it, slowly.
"I’m sorry, you must be starving," he gasped, and shook the pack from his
back. His armsn quivered, I didn’t think he’d be able to hold himself up
much longer. Iolo helped him lift his arm up and free the leather straps.
I couldn’t tell if he shook from the cold or from exhaustion, but it didn’t
matter. Either way it made me sick.
"Shamino, you have to get out of those wet clothes," I told him. Iolo opened
the pack.
"I don’t have any other clothes."
The wind breezed by to accent my concern. "Shamino, you’re exhausted, if
you stay in those clothes you’ll freeze to death." I looked around. Iolo
and I only had the clothes on our backs. I stood and untied my robe. "Here,
wear this. I’ve got stuff underneath, and Iolo can keep me warm. Come on,
take it off," I smiled weakly. Shamino looked to my husband with gigantic
eyes. Iolo shrugged.
"She’ll be fine," he said absently. He counted what Shamino brought back:
ale, water, and food.
"So will I," he panted.
"Come on, we can’t afford you getting sick or worse," I let the robe fall
right off my back. Underneath I wore a thin shirt and soft brown leather
leggings. More than enough. Shamino looked up at me with a goofy smile.
"You don’t have to," he reached up to undo his belt, hands shaking. He
couldn’t even pull his own clothes off. He sunk all the way onto the ground
and let breath out. In the grass he rolled, pulling his tunic up his body.
Underneath, tanned flesh was exposed. He wrestled it up to his armpits
and then rested again, this time he closed his eyes.
"Thank you so much, Shamino," Iolo said. "This is enough for at least a
few days."
Shamino grunted from his gut, trying to make some kind of spoken words.
He started struggling his clothes off again, his fingers closed around
his tunic and he lifted up. It didn’t make it past his chin. My guts squirmed.
Now this was scary—so exhausted he couldn’t even pull a tunic off. I couldn’t
take it. I knelt next to him. He stiffened, eyes opened. I grabbed his
shirt and started pulling it up and off, as gently as I could. He helped
weakly, turning red. Embarrassed. Next were his pants. He pushed up on
his arms, wanting to do it himself, but muscles shook and withered. He
lay back and closed his eyes and let me take his pants off. I unbuttoned
the fly, it wasn’t easy to get a grip on the slimy wet leather.
"Did you eat, Shamino?" Iolo asked. He’d picked out some bread and cheese
for us now.
"Yes," he said. I yanked the bottom of the pant legs and wet leather slowly
gave to me. He squirmed appropriately, sluggishly, and we did it. I lay
the leggings out in the grass close enough to the fire to dry them by morning.
Now he had to at least cover up with my tiny robe. I grabbed it, stopped
dead when I saw the cause of his limping. Half of his thigh was covered
in a ripe bruise. It reached from mid-thigh, under his undershorts and
up over his buttocks. I didn’t say anything, just knelt back down. Iolo
came over to help hold him up. The robe was obviously way too small, his
arms jutted out of it like long thin twigs. He fell back and closed his
eyes. I tied it gently, all the time watching his steady face, his closed
eyes.
I sat on my haunches and surveyed our camp. My heart slowed a little, calmer
now that Shamino had warm clothes. My stomach growled—ready for that bread.
First I found our only bedroll among our things. I unrolled it opposite
from Shamino—for us-- and took the blanket. Shamino was already asleep—a
matter of seconds had passed. I covered him and sat down next to Iolo.
"You’re wonderful," he said through a mouthful of cheese.
"Yeah, well, so are you," I helped myself to a hunk of bread. The dry smell
of the food was almost orgasmic. I dug in and resolved to ignore everything
else, at least for now.
Sea wind made me cross my arms tighter across my chest. I wished for the
warm breezes of Britannia, not this arctic land. I’d been standing here
for virtues know how long, watching the stain of darkness on the horizon
creep toward us from the north. If this storm broke, it could be very good
for us. Enough wind and waves might give us the extra feet we needed to
get that ship into the water.
"Shamino’s clothes are dry now," Iolo pushed through the sand behind me.
He didn’t sound so well again.
"I don’t want to wake him yet." Last night, Iolo’d almost kept me too warm
with his fever. I didn’t say anything. I just clutched into him and tried
to sleep. He took his medicine as Harnna told him to. Now he looped an
arm over my shoulders and rubbed my arm to warm me.
"We’ve got to get going if we want to get out of here before that storm."
"Well then lets go to Monitor and get a keg," I offered. "We could each
take an end. I don’t think Shamino should be running around. Did you see
that bruise?"
"Yeah, it’s bad. He definitely shouldn’t work too hard." I faced my husband.
The light was flat and made him look flat, too. Very pale. "I suppose we
could grab another keg before he wakes. That way we’ll be ready to start."
Our eyes met. Iolo smiled kindly, pulling wrinkles out around his eyes.
"But I don’t want you to be too cold."
I felt myself blushing. "I’ll be fine." He smiled, beautiful. I fell against
his chest with my arms around his waist. He was very hot under that robe.
He rubbed my bare arms with his callused hands and kissed me on the top
of the head. The sea’s whisper became a low roar at my back. I didn’t want
to move. I breathed him in deeply—wanting to taste him. The thick warm
man smell of him tasted dirty and old as I breathed it through the mouth.
"I know. But I still worry over you. Look, your arms are covered in goose
bumps," he rubbed some more. I closed my eyes on the rough cloth of his
robes.
"Once we get walking I’ll warm up. How are you feeling?" I looked to his
face. It was very pale, framed by even whiter hair.
"Not my best, but I’ll make it," he bent forward and kissed me now on the
forehead. He was right. Electricity cracked in the air, it was full of
expectation with the building storm. It could be all right for us. But
I didn’t want to pull away to find out. "We better get moving," his words
crushed me. I chuckled to myself and squeezed him.
"All right, lets go. You don’t think Shamino will wake up and wonder where
we are?"
"No, no. He was so exhausted last night I could hardly believe it," we
started down the beach now.
"I hope he’s all right. I’ve never seen someone too tired to undress himself.
It’s a miracle he made it all the way back."
"I wonder what the hell he went through to get into the city." Iolo sighed.
He still sounded rough.
"I suppose we’ll find out."
"Are you armed?" He asked, serious.
"No, I’m not."
"Well, I only have my crossbow."
"I’m not worried, I trust you to protect me," I did. You could see the
wall and the city now, and the portcullis looked open from here. Iolo pulled
his bow from his belt. It was one of his; he must’ve brought it with him.
I recognized this one. The man had gone through many, and each outdid the
other. He had wrapped the end of the stock in thick leather and carved
some ornate ankhs into it. Now the leather was so oiled and worn, it was
a part of the bow, hardly discernable from the rest of the wood.
"Who will protect me?" he smiled and shook that thing in my face. Only
Iolo, my master bowyer could keep a bow working perfectly for hundreds
of years. This one looked close to death though.
"If it comes down to it, dear, I’ll put the moves on the goblins." He laughed—I
hadn’t heard him laugh in the longest time. It made me feel even better.
More confident. We’d definitely be okay. But as we did come up under the
open portcullis, a chill zipped down my arms, raising the hair up good.
"Ghost town," Iolo said matter-of-factly. We stopped in the street along
the south wall of the crematorium. That thing in there with its fire growled
low and sinister.
"Should we look around for more clothes or anything?" I only asked because
it might be awkward to take things from the victims of the banes. Even
if it had been Dupre who had killed this town. Iolo shook his head.
"Shamino’s clothes are dry now. I don’t think we need anything except to
get out of here." He fished the keys out from his robes. The key was in
my memory, small and gold with no markings or jewels. Three prongs. He
let me find it as we slipped into the cracks in the mountain, the hidden
cave.
"Gwenno run!" Iolo shouted, pushing me behind him. Sudden. My heart leapt
into my chest as I fell down the wall. He held up his old hunk of leather
and wood. A horde of green awakened in front of us. They had been waiting.
An ambush of goblins.
"Iolo," he fired. I scrambled to my feet, pain exploding in my shoulder.
The goblins rushed forward over their falling comrade, Iolo fired. I clutched
the shoulders of his robes, gathering them under my fingers.
"Run, Gwen, get armed," he growled, firing automatically, fast. I was frozen
to act. One two three four goblins. Lots of bolts, blue and white. The
front one fell forward. Iolo fired, stepping back. I snapped out of it,
the surge of green right on us, trampling on top of their dying partners.
I scanned the cave, picked up a rock, and leaned around Iolo.
Two left. And I threw it. The goblins threw spears. My rock struck home,
in the head of the one more forward. Iolo yelled. Had he been speared?
Oh gods, it went fast. The last goblin brandished his spear, screeching
loud, vile things coming from its ugly face. And then a shaft, blue and
white feathered appeared in its face right between its eyes. It collapsed
forward, hands and spear splayed on the floor. So fast.
Five, not four dead goblins lay in their own blood on the cavern floor.
I shivered, suddenly very cold. My shoulder throbbed warmly in the middle
of it.
"Are you all right?" He asked gruffly. I reached up to rub my arm where
I’d hit the wall. Just a bruise.
"Yeah," I swallowed my shaky word, fighting to be calm. Iolo set his old
bow against the cavern wall and turned to me. He did not speak as he untied
his robe slowly. Blood shone red on his arm, but that was just a scratch.
He looked down at himself, pale. I couldn’t tell if it was just his sickness
or something very bad. I had to be calm.
"Did you get hit?" I asked. He nodded and let his robe fall away from his
hands. Now I saw blood. Now I knew fear. My guts clenched. I lifted his
undershirt up very carefully. A two-inch slit opened his side right beneath
the southern ridge of his ribs.
"If you hadn’t thrown that rock, I’d be run through," he said. I laughed,
a dead sound. It could be deep—it could have hit his vital organs. "Seriously,"
he said. "You bought me some time." He put his own shaky hands around the
wound and sucked in air through his teeth.
"It could be deep," I knelt down to look, the air around us sharp as glass.
His fear was palpable.
"Your arm is hurt," he said.
"I know," I used his shirt to dab the cut off. Well, the spear wasn’t still
in there, which was a sign. He stiffened and let me pull his flesh apart
enough to see, thank the Virtues, that it was only a flesh wound. I laughed
from sheer relief. "You’re okay, it’s not deep, but it is bleeding." I
straightened up. Color began to seep into his face.
"What a relief," he crumbled into me, hugging me too hard. I wrapped my
arms around his shaky body. "I didn’t expect that."
"Me either. I’m glad I could use my moves to help after all."
"Really, Gwen, you did good. But your arm is hurt," he pulled my shirt
down by the collar to expose my purple, scratched shoulder.
"Just a bruise," I sighed.
"I’m sorry. I pushed you too hard."
"It’s fine, Iolo. I’m fine."
"Thank the gods," he let me go and regained his crossbow. "Now I want you
to grab one of those spears." He stepped gingerly over the first body,
bow ready for any littlen aftershocks. I bent down and picked up the closest
spear, the one that must have ripped the two-inch-long hole in his side.
I still held the keys clutched in my non-throwing hand.
"You need to stop that bleeding," I carefully passed by the dead ones,
afraid of the stench of death beginning to wisp around them now.
"In a minute."
"Here’s the key," I handed it over to him. He opened the door fast, afraid
another surprise would greet us, but none did. Our stockpile of kegs remained
the same. We silently walked to the first one. I took the top and tipped
it toward myself. He guided it. He rolled his arms around it and we lifted.
One two three.
"Iolo, Iolo, let’s put it here for now," I panted. I could see the mast
of the Golden Ankh rising over the stubby mountains.
"All right, slowly," together we sunk to the dewy ground. I raised up,
back protesting a bit. "You okay?" he asked.
"Fine," I rubbed my arms. My bruised shoulder ached in the distance. The
sun was coming up the sky, but the wind had picked up as well. "I wonder
if Shamino’s up yet."
"One way to find out," Iolo pulled his arm around me. Oh, the heat from
his body all but canceled out the chilly wind. What a day for him to be
sick. Our companion looked comfortable, at least. Shamino, arms growing
from my little robe like misfit roots, lay next to the dying fire.
"The storm’ll be upon us too soon," Iolo said. "Shamino!" His bard’s voice
rattled me. Damn he could be loud. But Shamino didn’t hear. I felt sick.
"He’s all right, right?" My stomach felt like it had been left outside
in the frozen north. I knelt next to him. He didn’t twitch a muscle. The
wind took that opportunity to blow my hair across my face.
"He’s fine, we just have to wake him up," Iolo said, unsure. I raised my
hand, ready to put it in front of Shamino’s mouth. His chest, virtues help
us, didn’t seem to be moving. My heart jumped to my throat.
"Aah!" His whole body twitched together, shooting me up, startled. I came
to my senses a second later and he sighed. Iolo chuckled.
"I’m sorry," I breathed. "Sorry. Are you all right?"
"I don’t know," he moaned and turned slowly onto his side, groaning. I
suppose the last thing he wanted was my undivided attention if he felt
as crappy as he looked.
"We have to get going, Shamino. I don’t want to hurry you, but--"
"We gotta hurry," Iolo cut in. "There’s a storm coming." Shamino groaned
louder and rolled back on to his back. He didn’t look good. His body lay
there under the filtered light but Shamino was nowhere near.
"This will be our best chance, Shamino, if the waves pick up—and I really
think they will." I said. He blinked his dull eyes.
"Good," he moaned. I worried.
"Shamino," Iolo threw his dried clothes right on his stomach, drawing him
up into a ball. He sat, sheltering his clothes with his top half, maybe
too tired to sit up. I rubbed his back once, twice.
"Are you all right?" He better be. A glance over my shoulder told me the
storm would be here very soon. He sat himself up, grunting.
"I’ll live," Shamino said. He shook his head slowly side to side and went
faster until his hair flew back and forth all crazy. I hadn’t noticed until
now but his hat—the old red one he seemed to never go without for the past
few hundred years—was missing.
"Gwenno," Iolo grabbed me by the hand and yanked on me to follow. "Let’s
get that keg now," he purred.
"You’re going to get a keg?" Shamino insisted, alarmed.
"We already have one, it’s just around the bend there," I explained. "Why?"
"Nothing, nevermind," he said, yanking my robe from his shoulders. Life
had reentered him, thank the virtues.
"What’s the hurry?" I asked Iolo as he dragged me around the peak.
"Nothing—I just want to get this keg in place."
"Don’t be nervous, Iolo. If we don’t get out of here today we have hundreds
of years to keep trying."
"You shouldn’t say that," he stopped walking to face me. "I don’t want
to be here for hundreds of years."
"Neither do I, but we do what we have to. Come on," I bent over to lift
the keg, wishing already that I had spent more time working out and less
time on scholarly pursuits.
Iolo didn’t move. He looked back over his shoulder, around the bend of
mountain.
"Come on," I huffed. The wind picked up in a sharp accent.
"Don’t ask him about what happened last night," Iolo said. I sputtered.
"Why ever not?"
"Just trust me on that," he stated. I shivered. We lifted the barrel. Somehow
in the past ten minutes it had gained about 50 stones to its bulk.
Three barrels now sat at the middle of the ship on the sand, only a couple
feet from the lick of the rising waves. Iolo lay up against the mountains,
on the hard grey rocks. I felt distant from everything, I couldn’t touch
the world, after the work we had done, I couldn’t convince my body to go
on.
In the boat, Shamino’s milling around made plenty of noise. He insisted
that he could do at least a decent job of sailing the thing, as thunder
challenged him. I watched carefully, so he couldn’t tell. His instincts
seemed too dulled by sleeplessness to notice how I stared at him. Iolo
pegged me too right. I could feel him watching me, sure. He knew I wanted
nothing more than to ask about the city. Where in hell was Harnna? It did
no good to wonder, as he limped across the deck, shirt abandoned long ago.
His unruly hair blew right in his face. He ignored it. Iolo cleared his
throat, but who cares? Shamino still didn’t see me. I stood right in plain
sight, keeping no secrets. If it bothered him, he’d look over here.
The way he worked was just madness to me. Madness, arms flailing, going
too fast to really know what he was doing, or so it seemed. Thunder made
me jump. Iolo chuckled from his rest area.
I walked over, everything moaned. The storm had gained on us, but so slowly
it was hardn to gauge time. I pat my robe as I walked, looking for the
pocketwatch I knew I didn’t have with me. The thing smelled like sweat,
dry Shamino sweat.
"Sit down for a minute, at least. If you think that was hard—"
"Iolo, I have a feeling this isn’t going to work," I didn’t feel it until
the words crossed my lips, with a chill. The storm, moving like a snail
before had thrust off its shell and gained legs. It charged us.
"We have to do it now," Shamino called from the deck. He leaned over the
side of the ship, panting. The kegs sat in place, half buried in sand.
Iolo was to shoot a bolt lit on fire back to the line of mountains where
our trail of powder started and then we were all to hit the deck, quite
literally. The kegs, by our crude estimation would blow the sand from beneath
us with enough force to push us out a few feet, and as soon as he could,
Shamino assured us he could grab control so the sails would catch the wind
from the Northwest and use it to surpass the point of the isle until we
were deep enough to anchor and sustain the ship until the storm passed,
but not so deep that if something went wrong we couldn’t make it to shore.
This plan passed through my head as my feet clapped on the gangplank.
Oh, it sounded all right to me in theory. But it felt like a snowball’s
chance in Furnace.
"All right," Iolo sighed. The trail of gunpowder looked like it was blowing
away.
"Is the Avatar dead?" He asked, showing no emotion. He must not let it
show, not in front of us, in front of Geoffrey or Nystul, or the young
chambermaid pretending not to hear in the far corner of the tomblike throne
room.
"We do not know," Shamino said with an equal amount of fight to contain
any hint of fear, remorse—anything.
"Xenka told us the Guardian’s hand reached into the void and took her.
That is all we know," my husband added calmly.
"Xenka? Who is this Xenka again?" He pressed his lips together tightly,
becoming frustrated.
"She is a prophet who was cursed with the ability to see the future. She
foretold our coming, guided us until the end, and then came to tell us
the Avatar’s fate."
"If she was the one who guided you to this end, how can you be sure she
isn’t a pawn of the Guardian?" We looked at each other back and forth for
a moment, questioning. British pushed his hand across his face, rubbing
his eyes. I would bet Iolo that he hadn’t slept much. He looked much older
than the last time I was in Britannia, aged much harder than Iolo or Shamino.
"I suppose you might have a point there, but the serpent spirits that hold
the isle together seemed to side with her in guiding the Avatar," Iolo
said.
"Also, Batlin died as a result of Xenka’s followers’ guidance. We really
have no reason to suspect her of siding with Guardian, since she wanted
to see the Avatar stop the storms and restore balance too," Shamino added.
"These serpents," British began, "What kind of creatures were they? Surely
you never heard of such beings, Shamino?" I felt a shock. At what I didn’t
know, but the world seemed to proceed very slowly as I looked to King Shamino
for his answer.
"No, Milord. I knew of the strange ruins, but not of the religion behind
them."
"Could they be evil?" He asked in all seriousness. I shuddered.
"I don’t think so, Lord British," I said softly. "In all my studies it
seemed that yes, the serpents of Chaos and Order were constantly causing
fighting between the ancient serpent people, but the serpent guiding the
Avatar—the Balance serpent—he was seeking peace between order and chaos,
between everyone." I explained. Lord British looked to me intently, too
hard. I felt myself shrink slowly.
"And Dupre spoke to us after being assimilated into the Chaos serpent.
He would have warned us not to proceed if he detected any evil on the part
of the serpents," Iolo helped.
British shook his head slowly, deep in thought. Geoffrey looked to his
boss, then to us, then back to our liege who nodded to himself.
"All right. There is much I do not understand about the Serpent Isle and
what happened there. Please excuse me, my friends, I need time to think.
You can stay in the castle as long as you’d like. In fact, I’d appreciate
it if you would stay for at least a couple more days, in case I think of
something to ask," he smiled sadly. We all agreed.
"Thank you, my liege," Iolo said.
"No, thank you three. It took a great effort to get back here, I can tell.
And all the sacrifices you’ve made to help the Avatar and her cause—all
of Britannia, and especially me, I appreciate it." He stood, robes of silk
and fur, expensive materials and extensive labor making him look cheap
and worn. Like wrapping a rough garage sale toy in gold leaf wrapping paper.
Iolo put his hand on my back to guide me, stop me from staring at our king.
I felt the blush of embarrassment start to pour in to my face as the three
of us paraded out of the throne room. The eyes of the attendants and the
guard shot needles into my back.
"Gwenno, did you think Lord British was acting strangely?" Iolo pulled
out a chair for himself.
"Oh, I don’t know, all things considered, I would expect him to act shocked."
"But he looked more than shocked to me. Like he hasn’t slept in years."
"You noticed that too?"
"Seriously? You thought so? The Avatar mentioned something to us about
seeing him in the dream world in Gorlab swamp. She said he was nervous,
that the castle was burning around him, that there had been earthquakes,
that the guards were all dead. If that’s truly what he dreams, we can’t
blame him for not sleeping," said Iolo.
"Aye, we can’t." I pulled out a heavy oaken chair to sit next to him at
the table. We sat in silence for a while. I watched the candles distort
Iolo’s shadow along the wall in their drafty flickering. He drew a map
for himself on the table with his finger, tracing virtues-know-what.
"Could Xenka have been evil do you think?" Iolo asked quietly.
"She was certainly a disagreeable woman, but she didn’t strike me as being
evil," I replied. But then again, I knew her for only a short time, half
of that in which I was crazy.
"But do you think she was in cahoots with Guardian?"
"I don’t think so. That would mean the serpents were too. And that the
Ophidians believed in myths, in nothing."
"Maybe the serpents are, though. Maybe Guardian knew them even back then."
"I find that hard to believe. Especially since the Serpent Isle people
of today died. Wouldn’t Guardian want to preserve them if he was in charge?
They hated Lord British. Guardian wouldn’t have allowed the banes to kill
off his potential allies."
"He would if his true goal was to get the Avatar," he smiled. "I’m just
trying to play devil’s advocate here. I don’t really think the serpents
would allow Guardian to let Avatar bind them together. The only one of
them that wanted balance was the balance serpent."
"You and the Avatar did your best, dear," but he wasn’t done explaining
it all to himself. "I keep thinking about Harnna. She was right about us:
we brought nothing but grief to the people of the Serpent Isle. We started
with the aim of finding Batlin and stopping the magical curse the storms
were—and finding you, of course, that was what was on my mind. Dupre just
wanted Batlin’s blood—such a fighter he was. Oh, Gwenno. All we did for
the Serpent isle, if you look at it objectively, is empty out the towns.
We killed it."
I didn’t know what to say, he talked too fast. And too much.
"We killed everyone but," he held up fingers, "Harnna, that’s one. The
Woman in Fawn and her guard, three. The two boys and Fedabiblio, six, and
the mad mage plus two of his servants, one half-dead anyway. Nine. Then
there was the son of that innkeeper. I count ten. Can you think of others?"
"The monks," I said, shocked. "I can’t believe you forgot them."
"Ha, me either," he laughed. "But they don’t count."
"Sure they don’t. I get your point, though," he looked at his hands and
picked some dirt from under his fingernails. "Iolo, what happened in Fawn
isn’t your fault at all." He looked up at me.
"I know that. I know it but I don’t really feel it."
"Iolo," I warned. I didn’t want him to feel like he had done wrong.
"I didn’t feel it until Dupre flung himself into the fire. That hurt, Gwenno.
I think before that, I let finding you occupy my mind."
"We stopped the storms, Iolo. That’s what really counts. And the gargoyles
all woke up, there’s that."
"Oh, I don’t question our good intentions, Gwen. If Xenka was working for
the Guardian, though, that changes everything."
"There isn’t any evidence that she was working for him, except that he
took the Avatar, and she didn’t give me any reason to think she wanted
the Avatar to go into the void. In fact, Xenka was about to let Zenith
die—she had the short straw, right?"
"You have a point there," he sighed. "But I don’t like British having his
doubts. He’s the last person who should be questioning what we did. For
virtues’ sake, he sent us."
"He’s just upset the Avatar is missing. He’ll get over the initial shock."
"I hope so."
"Once we get home and start living our normal lives again, you’ll feel
better too," I said, hoping it was true. He stopped playing with his fingernails,
all of them clean now, and stood up. "Where are you going?"
"I haven’t been in Britain in what seems like forever. I want to make some
rounds."
"Already? You aren’t tired?"
"Aye I am, but I feel like I could use a little walk," he said simply,
hanging on the open door. Probably go see how Coop was doing running Iolo’s
Bows.
"Would you like me to come with?"
"Aye, dear. Coop will be glad to see you, and we can arrange for a carriage
to get us home in a couple days." I stood up and looked down at the ragged
robe that Shamino had slept in and my nose wrinkled itself.
"Lets stop at the tailor’s. I need a good change of clothes."
"Anything you want, Gwenno," he snaked his arm around me. Strong and comfortable.
I smiled in spite of myself, for his arm and for the prospect of walking
the streets of my Britannia once again.