“The founders of my order were Shae. My father, grandfather, and uncle were all part of it as well. In the Shae tongue, we are called Ravinir. Another interesting Silvan term.”
“It is. The word Ravin has two meanings in Silvan,” Thealos said. “It means literally ‘to break is to be broken.’ When we destroy something, we destroy a part of ourselves. It is a very difficult word for humans to understand. The nuances of it…”
“Are?”
“To be a Ravinir, you are a breaker…a destroyer. Yet you are also broken yourself.” He looked up at Jaerod and saw sadness in his eyes. The look was heartrending, so intensely personal that it clutched at Thealos’ throat. “What is the cost you must pay, Jaerod?”
“The cost is the oath we take. The agony is in keeping it. Sleep, my friend. You’ll need your strength. I’ll watch over you while you rest.”
“But I have so many questions. Please, can we talk a little longer?”
“You can hardly keep your eyes open. Think about what I have said. If you would be part of my order, you must be prepared to give away everything you hold dear. Even Avisahn.”
The thought sent a pang through Thealos’ heart. Give up his homeland? Forever? He looked at the Sleepwalker and felt the heaviness overwhelm him. “I’ve missed you, Jaerod.”
A little smile in the darkness. “Go to sleep, Thealos.”
Thealos stretched out on the cool grass and let the drowsiness take him.
*
Jaerod unbound the clasp that held his cloak closed and spread its warmth over Thealos as he lay sleeping. He stared at the young Shae’s face. The mouth and nose—so like his mother’s. He was a handsome young man. He had always been so. Jaerod sighed and patted his shoulder. So helpless now. So fragile in thought and sentiment.
Carefully, Jaerod knelt down in the grass, one knee up, and planted his right hand on the soft garden soil. He bowed his head and let the Oath magic swallow him up again, hiding himself from the eyes and ears of others.
“Correl,” he whispered in Silvan, though he did not need to. “I have done as I was meant to do here. The boy’s life is in your hands. I know the suffering that awaits him, Correl. Give him courage to face it. Give him strength to overcome it. Heal his heart when it is broken. It is such a hard thing he must do.” Jaerod paused, feeling the strangling pressure of the future. “He is so young. So very young, Correl.”
Jaerod reached out through the magic and laid his hand on the back of Thealos’ head. He watched a shiver run through his body.
After rising to his feet, the Sleepwalker left.
Chapter II
Exeres Tallin dreamed of a woman in a cage of gold and glass. It was a dream from his childhood, one that repeated itself often enough for him to remember the pecularity of its details. The woman was abandoned and lonely, sagging forgotten against a curving glass shield supported by ornate gold stays. The dream saddened him because he understood the loneliness of her prison. His father always said the recurring dream was trying to teach him something.
He awoke at dawn still clutching his blanket for warmth, the images of the dream still fresh in his mind. The wind invigorated him as he sat up and gazed at the massive cedars just south of where he had camped hidden in a copse of oak. Reaching over, he grabbed the gray cloth patch and covered his left eye—his blind eye—and made sure the band fit snugly. After rubbing his good eye with the back of his hand, he stood and stretched, kneading the stiffness from his shoulders and lower back. He twisted his neck until he felt it give a little snap and then sat down and pulled on his boots. The morning chill was sharp, making gooseflesh prickle down his arms. He grabbed his tunic, slid it over his head, and adjusted his medallion so that it hung exposed on his chest, marking him a Druid priest of the Zerite order. The cold made him examine the remains of the evening’s fire, and he stirred the ashes with a stick. Placing a fresh log on the pile, he focused on the Earth magic, drawing it into the wood. Flames burst alive and started crackling.
As he stared at the healthy flames, he thought about her again—the woman in the cage. He couldn’t really see what she looked like. At least not well enough to describe her. The details of the cage were vivid enough, but she had been a mystery his entire life. While he was awake, he remembered feelings more than anything. Without friends—without hope—full of despair. She was a symbol for something in his life, and he saw the similarities. He was like the woman he dreamed about. Both outcasts, both alone. Perhaps because of choice, or perhaps because of who they were. They could not fit into the world, and so the world had caged them with isolation. The world cared little for half-breeds. And cared even less for the blind.