Islana's Story
"I do trust your judgement, Jall, with my life," Kalin said. "Surely you know that by now."
Jall nodded. "Good."
"Why?"
"Because Dysis wants to negotiate a surrender, and I told him he'd only have to deal with the interested parties once—which means you, me and Erra in a room together with him."
There was a long silence.
"All right," Kalin agreed.
"You're sure?"
"I trust you, Jall," Kalin promised him. "And Erra... Did he send you a message?"
Jall nodded. "I think it's a step in the right direction for him... Soon maybe he'll come to his sense about other things."
"About me, you mean?" Kalin asked.
"He misses his family. The two of you... You are blood brothers."
"We were blood brothers," Kalin corrected. "There's no room for me in his family; that's fine. I don't need... I don't want to work with him, but this is more important. I'm sure he'll see the necessity as much as I do, and be willing to..." he trailed off.
"To sit in a room with you without throwing chairs at you?"
Kalin nodded.
"It'll be fine. I'll make sure he behaves himself... He really does want peace as much as any of us."
"I know," Kalin said, but he was far more worried than he allowed his friend to believe. But Erra and I want different kinds of peace; he wants one based in revenge and blood and suffering... And Dysis Serathi wants to see Islana pay for all she's done... Even if we're in a room together, Goddess only knows if anything will get accomplished.
[OPENING CREDITS]
Episode 17: Returning
Plans were being made. Kalin had returned to Kal'Ishka to continue talking with Islana and to discuss matters of the church—the Knights and the war took up much of his time, but he did have other duties which he couldn't neglect. He and Jall had managed to work out a few details of the meeting that would be set up with the two of them, Dysis and Erra, and he trusted Jall to take care of the rest.
It hurt, though, knowing that he'd lose Islana in the bargain. She had been one of his favorites; he'd had a soft spot for her because he knew her family so well, and knew they made excellent Knights—Erra at his peak had been amazing, and Ilyan had lived up to the standard he'd set. Islana had, too, but Kalin was determined to keep her safe from Dysis' wrath, even if it meant losing her as a Knight.
Jall was slightly happier about the decision, though he didn't envy Kalin for having to break it to her. But he had problems of his own to deal with; he had to arrange for Cleran's return to Arpiar. Cleran and Dysis had wanted it to happen somewhat immediately, which left Jall scrambling to make arrangements, and confronting the fact that, despite everything, he still didn't entirely trust the brothers.
"Why not now?" Dysis demanded to know, crossing his arms. "You can just open up that tunnel—"
"No, I can't," Jall corrected. "Not unless I go myself, and I need to be here."
"You can stop by quickly, walk through with Cleran and then back out here."
"No."
"Why not?"
"Because making a trip like that is exhausting, especially when I'm carrying passengers. I can't do it twice in a row. And—"
"Take a rest between them; Cleran will see that you're cared for well enough."
"And I refuse to set foot on your damned Island ever again."
"Why not?"
Jall rolled his eyes and tapped the brand on his arm. "Call me paranoid, but I just don't feel safe."
"You're being ridiculous. No one would dare try and harm you—"
"It's not just that," Jall sighed. "I was a slave there for fifteen years, and every time I even think about Arpiar I want to vomit. I can't... Too many evils happened to me there, and as long ago as they were, I can't just pretend they don't effect me still."
"Then how are you going to send him home?"
"I'll need to find a Knight who can use the Tunnels to go with him."
"But you said no one could make the trip twice in a row."
He sighed. "Nearly no one," he said. "But I doubt you want Islana anywhere near your brother, and she's really the only one..."
"No."
"That's what I said." He sighed. "I'll find a Knight who is willing to stay on your Island for some time."
"What?"
"Someone who can stay with Cleran until he's safely in power, and let both of us know how things are doing."
"You want to send a watchdog?" Dysis demanded. "You don't trust us?"
"I trust you, Dysis, and I trust Cleran. I don't trust the rest of the Warriors."
"This is ridiculous. I've been more than cooperative, I've—"
"You don't really have that much of a choice."
There was a tense silence, and finally Dysis nodded. "Who?" he demanded.
"I don't know yet. I don't want to send someone who doesn't speak the language, but that leaves my choices sadly limited. I was thinking—"
"Could I make a suggestion?"
Ilyan flickered in to sight as he always did when he had something to say, and both of the men in the room did a doubletake. No one was used to the Angel who showed up out of the blue, and Ilyan always found their reactions amusing.
"Of course," Jall sighed. "Who...?"
"Jereh."
"Jereh doesn't speak the language."
"I can take care of that," Ilyan promised. "She's strong enough to handle the hatred; her Healing skills will come in handy, and Cleran already knows her."
"He doesn't like her," Dysis pointed out. "Not that I blame him."
"Hey," Ilyan snapped. "You don't know a thing about Jereh, she's—"
"Ilyan," Jall interrupted. "I know you love playing the guardian, but Jereh has changed without you."
"Fine," Ilyan agreed, vaguely annoyed. He and Jereh had been close before his death, despite their age difference, and the Jereh he remembered didn't fit everyone else's image of her at all. "But she's still the best person for the job."
"You can take care of the language problem?" Jall asked.
Ilyan nodded. "I'll go do it now."
"All right."
"Jall, I'm not sure I like—" Dysis started, but stopped when Ilyan gave him a truly mean look. "Fine," he snapped.
"Thank you," Jall said.
Ilyan waved a little and disappeared again. There was a long silence in the room, then, "Does he do that a lot?" Dysis asked.
"Now and then."
"What did the two of you mean, about Jereh and Ilyan?"
Jall shrugged. "They were friends. She... Changed... After he died." He sighed, and wondered just how Jereh was going to react to Ilyan's reappearance in her life.
Jereh read the letter dispassionately. Her uncle had died and a friend of his had written to inform her, on the off chance that she still cared. She folded it and set it in a drawer, then leaned back in her chair and tried to put it out of her mind. She didn't care that he'd died, not really, she just felt so isolated. She'd mostly cut family ties when she was younger, or rather, had them cut for her; through the past few years, what little contact she and her remaining family members had shared had dwindled to nothing.
She hadn't liked her uncle, and wondered if it even occurred to him to write to her for help. He had been sick for months, apparently, and had never asked her to come help, despite knowing she was a Healer. And despite everything, she would have, had she known... Well, she probably would have. If she'd known his life had been in danger.
"Jereh."
The voice was soft and she recognized it at once. Her eyes went wide and she pivoted to see if she was hallucinating—she had to be imagining it, he'd been dead for years. But there he was, standing behind her... He looked different, obviously; Ilyan was an angel now, his hair and eyes and even his goatee were silver. His wings looked almost awkward folded at his sides, and the halo bathed the room in an unnatural light for a moment, then dimmed to almost nothing.
"Ilyan?" she asked, not believing her eyes.
"Hi," he said simply.
She stared, then, "My uncle is dead."
"Your uncle was a bastard."
"I know," she agreed. "He didn't even ask me to help him."
"Then he was a stupid bastard."
She smiled slightly. "I miss you," she finally admitted.
He nodded. He could feel that; he could feel that she missed him, and—like everyone else he'd spoken to from Kalatsu—she felt guilty, as though she'd somehow caused his death.
"I know," he said. "I'm sorry I had to leave."
"You died." It was the strangest conversation she'd ever had, she felt so different talking to him... Talking with Ilyan had always been different, she'd always trusted him more than anyone else, but even so. "They killed you. This is... It's because of her, isn't it? Why you're here now?"
"Because of Gali? ...Islana?" Ilyan asked. Jereh nodded. "Well... Yes and no. Things are happening that someone has to watch over, to make sure no mistakes are made. You must have realized all the changes going on." Another nod. "And then... Gali was so close to dying, and when I died I'd been promised that I could help her. And so here I am."
"What's it like?" Jereh asked.
"Being dead? It's..." He trailed off. "It's like being alive, but you look through things instead of at them. It's less passionate but more... I don't know how to describe it." He thought about it for a moment. "I feel so disconnected. I'm concerned for the people I love, but it's a very distant kind of concern, and a very distant kind of love. Sort of the way... I guess sort of the way you'd love someone who died a long time ago."
"Sort of the way I love you?" Jereh whispered. She'd never told him when he was alive, but she had always loved him, from the moment they'd met. Her parents had died when she was quite young and she'd been taken in by her uncle, who had abused her for labor in his failing inn. She'd been miserable, but the one night Ilyan had show up and saved her, brought her with him to the palace. He'd made her feel like a princess, and he'd always protected her from then on.
After she'd been accepted as a Knight, he'd been her mentor. She didn't feel comfortable with people her own age, but Ilyan had always soothed her, made her feel at home. It didn't matter what happened, so long as Ilyan was there to guide her. She'd loved him, though he didn't realize; he thought she had a silly girlish crush on him, but that was all. She cried the night he and Alira got married, though she feigned happiness for him, and she cried again when his daughter was born, when suddenly he had someone else to protect, someone more important.
It was stupid, Jereh knew. Of course Ilyan loved his daughter, of course he'd have done anything for her. He was her father. But she couldn't help it, she still resented the child who'd taken him from her...
After Ilyan died, Jereh had changed. She had been quiet but talented when he'd been there to guide her, but without the feeling of protection he'd given her, she'd forced herself to learn to help herself. She'd been friendless, aside from Ilyan, and after spending so much time alone she emerged far stronger—colder, but stronger—than she'd ever been before, and she'd become more so as time went on.
Ilyan smiled faintly. "Yes, Jereh," he said. "A lot like that."
She said nothing.
"I wish," he commented offhandedly, "that you and Islana got along better. If I had survived, I'd've wanted you to be like sisters, or cousins; you were always like a little sister to me. I'm sorry I didn't feel differently, but I did love you, Jereh. I still do."
"I... I know," she said. "It's just... I missed you so much, everything was so hard without you... And every time I see her, it's like seeing you, but..."
"But she lived and I died, and you couldn't stand it," Ilyan finished, when Jereh couldn't find the words. She stared at him, mortified that he'd been able to know what she was thinking about him and his daughter, scared he'd just disappear in anger because she didn't like Islana. Finally, she nodded a little.
"It's not what I would have wanted," he said. "But it's all right. I do understand, Jereh, it wasn't easy for me to leave everyone behind, either. I didn't want to die, I didn't ask to... But I had to, in order for her to live, and you know I'd do anything for her."
"I know." She forced herself to relax, to try and let go of the jealousy. "I just wish that you hadn't... That you hadn't left us. It drove your father over the edge, Ilyan, and now he and the Voice hate each other. Erra and Islana hate each other. Everything went to hell once you were gone."
"Maybe," Ilyan sighed. "But it's getting better now, I promise. Things are heading in the right direction. Father and Islana will recover. Father and the Voice..." he trailed off. "Goddess only knows."
"You don't know? Can't you see the future?"
"Some. I can see parts of it, I can see what people are going to do. But the Voice is not just a person, and Dad is a Kelanister, and the Goddess is another element... It's more than I can predict." He shrugged, unfolded and stretched his wings.
"Why are you here?" she asked finally.
"I wanted to let you know I was here if you need me. It didn't seem fair that nearly everyone else knows, when I care about you so much. Please, Jereh, I hope you know I always did care about you."
"I know."
He hesitated, then, "You have important things to do. I'll let Jall explain, just remember that if you do need me, I'll be there." He half-stepped, half floated towards her and opened his arms. She smiled and embraced him, leant her head on his shoulder and they stood there, intertwined, for a long minute. His halo flared up as they pulled apart slightly, he leant down and kissed her forehead. There was a trace of silver left where he'd kissed her after he faded from view, and as she raised her fingers to touch the tingling silver glow, an encyclopedia of knowledge flowed into her mind.
She dropped her hand and stared in to space, wondering what had just happened.
[EYECATCH]
Arot woke to someone shaking his shoulder. It was far too early in the morning for a casual wakeup call, and the shaking was far too urgent. He opened his hazel eyes and blinked a few times, trying to adjust to being awake and seeing in the dark. His eyes widened farther when he saw it was Cleran standing above him.
"You?" he asked. "Where have you been? Is his Holiness alive? Is he with you?"
Cleran sat at the foot of Arot's bed as Arot sat up and reached over for a candle and a piece of flint, then stopped suddenly as the candle lit itself. He stared at it for a long moment, then turned and stared at Cleran. Cleran's halo was dimly shining around his head, and the flames reflected in his eyes. Arot, not surprisingly, gaped.
"Dysis is alive, but not with me. Here's what's going to happen, Arot: I'm going to talk to you for awhile, and when I'm done, you're going to have the Warriors woken and sent to the center room, and I'm going to address them. This is important, and we'll have to work fast."
Someone tapped on Ocan's door. His shadow slave, the same woman who'd served him since he turned fifteen, answered it. She was part of the reason Ocan had never married; married men gave up the girls who shadowed them, and after having spent his teenage years training her so carefully, Ocan had no desire to give her up. None of the other Warriors who stayed in the Complex kept shadow slaves. Only a few were of rank and wealth enough to do so if they chose, but Ocan was the most senior Warrior present, and so he kept her there as a show of his status.
She had been awake anyway. She always woke before Ocan to begin preparing for the day.
The man at the door was a Priest, she recognized, one of the higher ranking ones. He had been aid to the High Priest, and was one of the men being considered to take on the title, unless by some miracle Dysis Serathi returned. But judging by the look on the man's face, something important had happened, miracle or not.
"Yes, your Lordship?" she greeted him.
"Is he awake?"
"No, Lordship."
"Damn." Arot paused. "I had hoped to speak with him—never mind. Wake him, send him to the Center Room within the half hour. See to it that the other Warriors are roused and do the same. This is... Quite urgent."
"Yes, Lordship. But may I ask—he'll want to know—what this is about?"
Arot debated. He didn't want to tell the slave anything, for fear of spreading rumors, but then, she'd probably accompany her master to the Center Room anyway. "News of his Holiness," Arot said finally.
"Good news, I pray," the slave answered, her voice carefully controlled. The truth was that she did wish for bad news, she hated the Priests and the Warriors, though she'd never say so aloud. She kept her hatred silent, but felt it just the same.
"Wake him." Arot departed, leaving Ocan—and the other Warriors—in her capable hands.
She closed the door after him, found a candle and a match, and lit the room. This was the part she hated. Ocan never enjoyed waking early, and while he wasn't likely to take it out on her when there was important business at hand, it would put him in a foul mood all day.
The girl knelt at his bedside and shook him carefully. He stirred. "Master," she said gently. She hated that word more than almost anything else, but again, would never have dared to not say it. Ocan had made his expectations for her behavior known years ago, and she knew what disobeying him could mean. Even if she'd never dealt with his wrath before—she wished she hadn't, but had far too many times—she'd heard stories. Not stories about him, specifically, but about the Warriors, about the things the had done to her mother, years ago.
It had been a long time since she'd seen her mother, and longer still since any of her stories had happened, but they scared the slave woman nonetheless. But, at the same time as they scared her, it was those same stories that had first inspired her hatred. It was almost a paradox; because of everything her mother told her, she hated the Warriors, but because of the same stories she would never act on her hatred.
"What?" Ocan demanded testily, grabbing her wrist and twisting slightly.
She whimpered slightly, though it didn't hurt. If she didn't react, he'd make sure it did hurt. "His Lordship Arot asked me to wake you, Master, and send you to the Center Room."
"Why?"
"He said there is news of His Holiness."
Ocan released her arm and sat up. "Is that all he said?"
"He asked me to wake the others, once I'd seen to your needs."
Ocan stood and reached for her. She shut her eyes but didn't dare resist as he kissed her, the stubble on his chin scratching her face. "Go," he told her. "I'm awake. Bring me my breakfast in the meeting."
"Yes, Master," she agreed and slid out of the room to do as told.
"Nervous?" Jereh asked, leaning calmly against the wall.
Cleran forced himself to stop pacing. "Aren't you?" he demanded.
They were standing in a room off the side of the Center room, watching through a space where the door was cracked open, as Warriors made their way in. Arot was there, sitting in the seat next to the head of the table, and most of the Warriors had arrived. Ocan was casually munching on something, while his shadow slave sat on a bench against the wall, close enough to do whatever she needed to, far enough away to be utterly unobtrusive.
"Not really. I already know they're going to hate me." She shrugged. "Do you think anyone would notice if I sat over with her to watch?"
"Probably not, there's no white in your hair." He winced from the look she gave him. "What? It's not my fault that people don't pay attention to slaves. And with the white dyed out of your hair, it isn't exactly obvious you're a Knight. If you don't like it, watch from here."
"You're scum, Cleran," she muttered.
"Yeah, so I've been told." He did a quick headcount and decided that everyone he needed was there. "All right. Wish me luck. I'm going to go deal with them—if you want to sneak in, feel free."
She nodded. "Cleran?" she said as he was about to open the door.
"Yeah?"
"Try not to choke."
He rolled his eyes and stepped in to the room, with the distinct feeling that destiny awaited him.
The room went silent the moment Cleran stepped in. He forced himself to walk calmly to the head of the table, and forced himself to keep his face as neutral as he could, but wished he'd had more time to practice it. He, Dysis and Jall had had several long talks about this; Jall and Dysis agreed that he had to appear confident if he wanted everyone to take him seriously.
Well, look confident and use his own brand of pyrotechnics, but that would come up in a minute. Confidence first. It was hard, though, after so many years of being the ignored bastard brother; standing at the head of the table with everyone's eyes focused on him was difficult. "Good morning," he greeted everyone finally, deciding not to sit down. He stood behind the still pushed in chair and leant forward, resting his wrists on the chair's back.
"What the hell is going on?" Ocan demanded, narrowing his eyes and crossing his arms. Cleran made himself remain calm. A look like that from Ocan in the past would have meant trouble, now it was an inconvenience. He'd have to deal with it, that was all.
"That's what I'm here to explain," he said. "His Holiness is alive. The war is ending. The Third Prophet has appeared."
"Yeah, sure. Where and when did that happen?"
"Cresula, about four days ago."
"Are you serious?" one of the other Warriors asked. "Who? And where is his Holiness?"
"Everything that's happened since we disappeared is going to take awhile to explain, but will answer your questions. At least, most of them. This will go much quicker if everyone will please take me at my word." He paused. "Trust me, there are things you don't want to challenge me on."
And with that, he sat down and began to explain. Everything he said was true, technically speaking, but the story he told was severely edited. Cleran didn't mention Islana at all after they awoke on Cresula, and he didn't let on that he and Dysis had been screaming at each other when his powers had been discovered.
It did take awhile to explain everything, and people listened as if spellbound, to his great surprise. He felt their emotions as he spoke, mostly awe mixed with skepticism—lots of skepticism—and a sudden sense of pure hope from the side of the room. It took him a moment to realize that that came from the slave sitting alone, and he wondered what Jereh would have done if she realized he'd forgotten about the slave entirely. He sensed it when Jereh walked in to the room, moving quietly while everyone was paying attention to him, and sat next to the slave. Despite her brave face, she was feeling at least as nervous as he was, if not more. But then, he reasoned, they just dislike me, they don't want to kill me. Yet.
He finished the story, with no more than a few minor muttered comments doubting the truth of what he said, particularly when he gave a fairly dispassionate description of his transformation. "That," Ocan said when he finished, "is bullshit." Ocan stood and faced him, and, not to be looked down on, Cleran stood back up as well.
"Sit down, Ocan," Cleran said, some of the emotion returning to his voice. He allowed himself a tiny smile, though it looked more like a smirk; he'd been counting on someone challenging him, and the fact that it was Ocan made it even better. Ocan was the most senior Warrior present; when Cleran defeated him, the others would have to fall in to line.
And, he grudgingly admitted in the back of his mind, a part of him that he wasn't proud of did want to pay Ocan back for the years of beatings.
"Or else what?" Ocan snapped. "I don't believe you. I think you let his Holiness die and you're lying to cover it up. I think you think we're stupid, but we're not, and you're going to pay."
"No, I think you're stupid," Cleran corrected. "No one else is fighting with me. Sit. Down."
"I don't think so."
"All right," Cleran said, "but consider yourself warned, you don't want to do this. You won't like what happens when you lose."
And with that, it really began. Ocan shoved the chair out of his way and rushed towards Cleran; Cleran narrowed his eyes and concentrated, building a fire within himself but not letting it outward. He allowed Ocan to punch him and the blow landed hard in his abdomen, but even as the wind was knocked out of him, he grabbed Ocan's wrist and let the fire go.
Ocan screamed and froze. The fire wasn't visible, really, though a slight haze surrounded Cleran's hand, and there was nothing physically burning, only the sensation. The rest of the room could only stare on in shock as Ocan screamed, then finally recovered enough to try and pull free. He failed; Cleran's grip was vice-like, and he raised his other, equally hot, hand and gently brushed his fingers over Ocan's forehead. As he did so, the halo and wings came to life, and Ocan passed out.
"'Ye shall know the Sun's True Son by his Halo and Wings of Flame, and by his blood shall the Rift be ended,'" Arot intoned joylessly, after a long moment.
Cleran released Ocan's limp wrist and let him crash to the floor, then turned to everyone else. "This wasn't my idea," he said, "but it's what I am nonetheless. Don't fight with me. I'm not perfect at controlling the flames yet—when I'm mad, they appear, and I can't make them disappear. I don't think burning down the building would be a good idea."
He glanced over at the shadow slave, who was standing indecisively at the side of the room. She knew she should be caring for Ocan, but was too awed by what had happened to react, and she was somewhat worried—there was a good chance he'd take it out on her.
"As for him," Cleran sighed, nudging the unconscious body with his foot, "he'll be fine, but out for most of the day... And when he does wake, he'll have one hell of a hangover." He shrugged, and looked over to her. "Don't worry, I'll deal with him when he wakes," he promised the slave, wondering if people would noticed Jereh when they followed his gaze. If they did, no one commented, and he continued, "Could one of you please help her carry him out?" And, "Thank you," when someone did as he asked.
He took his seat again, and shut his eyes. The flames that made up his wings and halo dwindled and faded, and the heat he'd gathered inside himself faded too. He took a deep breath, and began to speak again.
"Well, that was exciting," he said. "Please, don't make this harder than it has to be. I didn't want this, I didn't ask for it. It's just what happened, I have to live with it, and, unfortunately, you all have to live with me. I'll try to make that as painless as possible."
"Is... Is there really going to be a surrender?" someone asked finally.
"Yes," Cleran sighed. "There is. Dysis is still on Kalatsu because he's negotiating it; I'm here to gather the High Lords in prepare for his return. Incidentally, the sent someone to keep an eye on me. Jereh?"
Jereh stepped forward and walked to his side, her nervousness easily hidden with the same air of intimidating competence she always had up. He wondered, momentarily, if it had always been an act, and decided it didn't matter. She was good at it, either way. "Don't let her hair fool you, she's a top-ranking Knight," he said.
Jereh straightened her shoulders and crossed her arms. She had pulled her hair back into a bun to keep it off her neck, and was wearing something reminiscent of a Knight's uniform, though there were a few alterations. Her clothes were dark purple, and consisted of a fairly tight shirt with the sleeves removed, a pair of somewhat gauzy pants made of a lightweight material, and a pair of sandals Cleran had found for her. They weren't comfortable and she found moving in them awkward, to say the least. Everything felt bizarre. The clothes were too light and too revealing for someone used to several layers, and she felt almost naked.
The look of hatred that crossed every face in the room wasn't helpful, either.
"A woman?" one of the relatively high ranking Warriors finally smirked. "Are you being insulted?"
Cleran practically winced. "Her name is Jereh Nirral. Show her some respect—she outranks Islana and is damned good at her job. And if you don't, she'll probably castrate you." He glanced over at her. "You want to say anything?" he asked in her native language.
She paused, then said to the Warriors, feeling somewhat strange speaking in a language she felt she shouldn't know, "If you try to doublecross us, I'll kill you. And if I ever see any of you so much as touch a slave while I'm present, I'll kill you. They wouldn't have sent me if there was any doubt that I could handle myself."
Cleran nodded slightly, he'd expected something like that. "All right. Take a seat." He gestured down the table to where a few chairs remained free. "Now, do any of you know—is Erolis the traitor still in the city?"
There was a knock at her door. Islana wasn't really surprised; she'd been waiting to hear from someone about her grandfather—she'd sent a message to Jall, certain he'd pass it on to Kalin, and knew that one of them would come talk to her. It had been a little over a day, and she still had no idea what to think of Erra's offer. Someone coming to talk to about it—possibly to hand her an ultimatum about it—was a relief.
"Come in," she called, standing to greet whoever it was.
Kalin let himself into her room, and took the desk chair for himself. She sat back down on her bed, and they shared a moment of somewhat comfortable silence.
"Jall told you?" she finally asked.
He nodded, confirming it, then asked what she was planning to do.
"I... I have no idea," she admitted. "That is, I'd never leave the Knights. Never. I've spent so long—it's my life. All I ever wanted."
"But?" he prompted.
"But..." she let it hang in the air. She knew there was no point in lying to Kalin, he'd proven that much once already. "But my hand..."
Islana flexed the hand in question, grateful it no longer hurt to do so, but she could feel how different it was. She hadn't dared pick up a sword yet, as she didn't know how much of her ability she'd lost to Ocan's work, and she really didn't want to find out. She knew it would be enough to hinder her, possibly enough that they wouldn't let her fight anymore. It was too frustrating for her to think about, so she'd avoided it, largely by dwelling on other things. Mostly her thoughts were split between Cleran and her grandfather. No one had told her where Cleran was now, and she was almost dying of curiosity, but refused to ask. But in the last day, her grandfather seemed so much more important; Erra not only talking to her, but offering to allow her back into his life... She just wished she knew why.
"I know how you feel," Kalin agreed, and her gaze fell to the stump where his arm ended. "It's frustrating. You'll get used to it."
"Were you..." she started. She'd always wondered how Kalin had lost his hand, but had never asked. It seemed like a rude question before, but now she thought she might be able to ask. "What happened to your hand?"
"Someday, I think I'll sit you down and explain," he promised. "You'll appreciate it, probably more so than anyone else—but not now."
She nodded, now more curious than she'd been before, but she had too much respect for Kalin to press the issue. "Jereh never told me if I'd really recover," she said finally. "Did she talk to you? I haven't seen her in a few days..."
"Jereh is on Arpiar with Cleran," Kalin said. "She said she doesn't know... She's done all that she can, the rest any Healer can take care of. She thinks you'll be able to use your hand somewhat, but... That Warrior had been trying to ensure you'd never be able to hold a sword again..."
She gave Kalin a desperate look, hoping he'd reassure her that Jereh promised it would be alright, but the long silence and the look on his face implied otherwise. "I'm sorry, Islana," he said finally.
"Damn it," she cursed. There were too many emotions warring for control of her mind for her to really feel any of them. Everything she'd been through had numbed her; everything she'd felt since she'd awoken was just too much for her to feel. She would get a flash of emotion now and then, sit and cry for twenty minutes, but then it would just stop and she'd be back to staring out the window, wondering why she didn't feel anything clearly, or anything more distinct than generally rotten.
"What am I going to do?" she asked after a long moment. She tried to picture her future without her hand. "I can't not be a Knight. It's all I know."
Kalin nodded, and she reflected for a moment. "I always wanted to be a Knight." Another sad nod, less of an agreement than it was an acknowledgement that he was listening. "I... I gave up everything to be a Knight. My grandfather, the family... Cleran..."
"Islana," Kalin said softly. "Erra still cares for you. He told you."
"But I can't leave the Knights." She stopped, and stared at Kalin. If he had a poker face, he wasn't using it now; she could read the news he was there to break to her easily. "Will I really be that useless?" she asked, glad she was too numb to be hurt by the thought of being asked to leave the Knights.
"No—it's not that," he assured her. "You'll always be welcomed into the Knights, that will never change, no matter what you decide to do... But I think you should take Erra up on his offer."
There was a beat of silence, while she stared at him. "Why?" she asked. "You just said I was welcome—that it's not my hand—"
"It's not, it's... You will be welcome, always. You've done so much that anything less would be criminal on my part. And your hand doesn't matter to me; if anyone understands how little a missing limb really effects you, it's me. It's just... We're discussing peace, Islana. Dysis and I. We're so close..." He trailed off. "Dysis wants your head on a platter, even if there is peace. That's his price. And I would never risk your life, not ever. So long as you work for me, then... It's a barrier to peace. I can't give him what he wants, which he'd use to hold out on what we need. But if you don't work under me... If I have no say in your future, if Erra places you under his protection...
"You're a good Knight, the best—as good as your father was. You've done so much for us, it's not fair for me to ask for this, but Islana, please understand... It's what's best, and it's for your own safety. Please."
"Fine." She said it with a note of finality.
"Islana—"
"Don't," she snapped. "I can't... I know you would help it if you could, but you can't. I've lost everything I cared about, I might as well try and get something back.... Did he really want me, or are you forcing this on him, too?"
"It was his idea," Kalin said. "He sent the message to me and Jall. Erra really misses you, Islana, despite everything.
And, despite the misery she was caught up in, that was something. Not much, but something Islana could rely on, and she needed it desperately.
[CLOSING CREDITS]