First Rider's Call
Page 93
“Karigan?”
“Shhh, you are ill,” she said. Her hair rested on her shoulders and was glossy with sunshine. Oddly, she wasn’t dressed in green, but in an ivory dress that sheened in a brightness that made his eyes hurt. She looked to be a celestial being of the heavens—she was beautiful.
“What are you doing here? How did you find me?”
She set aside the bowl of water and stroked back his hair. Her touch was light and feathery, and it sent chills racking through his body. When he gazed up at her, she wavered in his sight.
He closed his eyes. “I’m not seeing very well.”
“My poor Alton.”
When he opened his eyes again, his vision was steadier. Karigan’s features were serene and unperturbed. He could not remember her ever looking so peaceful, and it occurred to him that maybe he had died, and maybe she had, too. When he struggled to rise, she firmly pressed him back.
“Please, reserve your strength,” she told him. “You’ve a fever. You must use your strength to fight it.”
As if in response to her words, the chills left him and he burned. Perspiration beaded on his forehead.
“I feel terrible,” he said. “I want to go home. I have to . . . I have to tell the king. I have to tell him about the forest.”
She quieted him with shushing noises, all the while stroking his hair away from his face.
“I know, I know. You will be able to do this soon, but you’ve another task ahead of you.”
Alton sighed and closed his eyes, listening to the soothing tones of her voice.
“I think . . .” he began. “Thirsty. I’m so thirsty.”
She lifted the bowl to his lips, and when he finished drinking, he said, “I think I . . .”
He couldn’t quite manage the words. Karigan always left him perplexed. One moment she was his confidant and friend, and the next she would say or do something that terribly confused him, causing his feelings for her to range from extreme frustration and anger that she would toy with him so, to hope and—and—
How could she do this to him? In his heart he knew it wasn’t intentional, but the fire of his fever seemed to have stoked the fire in his heart, too, and here she was being so gentle, so caring.
“Karigan, I—”
“Shhh.” She placed her finger across his lips. “Do not tire yourself.”
“But—” He really wanted to tell her, to finally express himself.
She gave him a playful tap on the nose, and leaned over him so that her hair brushed his cheek.
“I will talk,” she said, “and you will listen.”
And she did talk. She spoke of the wall and how it was inhabited by the souls of those who had made it. They were the guardians whose magic made the wall so impenetrable. It was they who sang to keep the forest at peace, and now their voices were failing.
“They were singing the wrong words,” she said, “and the wrong melody. This is causing the wall to fail. You must get them to sing the correct song, a counter-song to mend the wall.”
Alton faded in and out, comforted by her voice, her soothing, light touches. This was the Karigan he loved. If he survived this, he would see about making her his wife, no matter his father’s protests, no matter her common blood.
He came to after an unknown amount of sleep, her voice still murmuring comfortingly to him. She continued to sit beside him, her hand resting on his chest, over his heart. His heart throbbed faster, harder.
“I am going to teach you the song to sing,” she was saying, “to mend the wall.”
“Yes,” he said, his voice weak. “Mend the wall.”
She started to sing. He knew Karigan was rather tone deaf, but now she sang harmoniously. He did not understand the words, but she made him repeat them.
“Mordech en trelish est,” she said.
“Mordech en trelish est.”
“Yes, you do well.”
It was a trial to concentrate on what he was doing, to overcome his fever to do as she asked, but he found he wanted to please her.
There were more and more words, and she gave him more water whenever his voice faltered. How many hours had passed? Had it been days? He did not know, but her voice was continuous in his mind, whether he dozed off or awakened.
At times he twisted and turned in feverish dreams, calling out her name. Sometimes behind her beauty he saw some monstrous visage, but her words and gentle touch would always ease him.
When he awakened once again, he discovered her hands were on his legs.
“What are—?” he croaked.
She smiled at him. “I am taking the pain from your legs so you may walk.”
“Walk,” he whispered. “I haven’t the strength.”
“I will help you.”
He must be feather-light for Karigan helped him up without difficulty. He nearly fainted away, but she propped him against her.
“Think of the song I taught you,” she said. “Sing it to me, and it will help you overcome your weakness.”
His awareness was vague at best. She put his arm over her shoulders, and she put her arm around his waist. It all seemed very distant.
“Sing,” she said, “and walk.”
He did, his awareness dimming still more, the walking a dream. She must have been supporting most of his weight because it felt like he walked on air. She had taken the pain from his legs, though pus seeped from the wounds with each step.
When his voice faltered, she spoke again in soothing, encouraging tones. “When you are in the tower, you must sing the song to the stone with your mind. Do you understand?”
“Shhh, you are ill,” she said. Her hair rested on her shoulders and was glossy with sunshine. Oddly, she wasn’t dressed in green, but in an ivory dress that sheened in a brightness that made his eyes hurt. She looked to be a celestial being of the heavens—she was beautiful.
“What are you doing here? How did you find me?”
She set aside the bowl of water and stroked back his hair. Her touch was light and feathery, and it sent chills racking through his body. When he gazed up at her, she wavered in his sight.
He closed his eyes. “I’m not seeing very well.”
“My poor Alton.”
When he opened his eyes again, his vision was steadier. Karigan’s features were serene and unperturbed. He could not remember her ever looking so peaceful, and it occurred to him that maybe he had died, and maybe she had, too. When he struggled to rise, she firmly pressed him back.
“Please, reserve your strength,” she told him. “You’ve a fever. You must use your strength to fight it.”
As if in response to her words, the chills left him and he burned. Perspiration beaded on his forehead.
“I feel terrible,” he said. “I want to go home. I have to . . . I have to tell the king. I have to tell him about the forest.”
She quieted him with shushing noises, all the while stroking his hair away from his face.
“I know, I know. You will be able to do this soon, but you’ve another task ahead of you.”
Alton sighed and closed his eyes, listening to the soothing tones of her voice.
“I think . . .” he began. “Thirsty. I’m so thirsty.”
She lifted the bowl to his lips, and when he finished drinking, he said, “I think I . . .”
He couldn’t quite manage the words. Karigan always left him perplexed. One moment she was his confidant and friend, and the next she would say or do something that terribly confused him, causing his feelings for her to range from extreme frustration and anger that she would toy with him so, to hope and—and—
How could she do this to him? In his heart he knew it wasn’t intentional, but the fire of his fever seemed to have stoked the fire in his heart, too, and here she was being so gentle, so caring.
“Karigan, I—”
“Shhh.” She placed her finger across his lips. “Do not tire yourself.”
“But—” He really wanted to tell her, to finally express himself.
She gave him a playful tap on the nose, and leaned over him so that her hair brushed his cheek.
“I will talk,” she said, “and you will listen.”
And she did talk. She spoke of the wall and how it was inhabited by the souls of those who had made it. They were the guardians whose magic made the wall so impenetrable. It was they who sang to keep the forest at peace, and now their voices were failing.
“They were singing the wrong words,” she said, “and the wrong melody. This is causing the wall to fail. You must get them to sing the correct song, a counter-song to mend the wall.”
Alton faded in and out, comforted by her voice, her soothing, light touches. This was the Karigan he loved. If he survived this, he would see about making her his wife, no matter his father’s protests, no matter her common blood.
He came to after an unknown amount of sleep, her voice still murmuring comfortingly to him. She continued to sit beside him, her hand resting on his chest, over his heart. His heart throbbed faster, harder.
“I am going to teach you the song to sing,” she was saying, “to mend the wall.”
“Yes,” he said, his voice weak. “Mend the wall.”
She started to sing. He knew Karigan was rather tone deaf, but now she sang harmoniously. He did not understand the words, but she made him repeat them.
“Mordech en trelish est,” she said.
“Mordech en trelish est.”
“Yes, you do well.”
It was a trial to concentrate on what he was doing, to overcome his fever to do as she asked, but he found he wanted to please her.
There were more and more words, and she gave him more water whenever his voice faltered. How many hours had passed? Had it been days? He did not know, but her voice was continuous in his mind, whether he dozed off or awakened.
At times he twisted and turned in feverish dreams, calling out her name. Sometimes behind her beauty he saw some monstrous visage, but her words and gentle touch would always ease him.
When he awakened once again, he discovered her hands were on his legs.
“What are—?” he croaked.
She smiled at him. “I am taking the pain from your legs so you may walk.”
“Walk,” he whispered. “I haven’t the strength.”
“I will help you.”
He must be feather-light for Karigan helped him up without difficulty. He nearly fainted away, but she propped him against her.
“Think of the song I taught you,” she said. “Sing it to me, and it will help you overcome your weakness.”
His awareness was vague at best. She put his arm over her shoulders, and she put her arm around his waist. It all seemed very distant.
“Sing,” she said, “and walk.”
He did, his awareness dimming still more, the walking a dream. She must have been supporting most of his weight because it felt like he walked on air. She had taken the pain from his legs, though pus seeped from the wounds with each step.
When his voice faltered, she spoke again in soothing, encouraging tones. “When you are in the tower, you must sing the song to the stone with your mind. Do you understand?”
