“You can,” Imraldera said. “Open your mouth, sister. The time of slavery is ended.”
She placed her hands on Fairbird’s lips and parted them. And suddenly the other girl gasped as though drawing her very first breath. In her throat, like a rushing torrent, words sprang up and poured out. She found herself speaking, singing even, and though each word was halting on her tongue, they were loud and strong. In voices unlovely but full of joy, the two sisters sang songs their mother had once sung only in the silence of her heart.
When they were finished, Imraldera rose. “Frostbite,” she said, and the old dog came to her. Not the spry young pup she had rescued from Killdeer, but a tottering old dam. Yet her cloudy eyes were full of love and loyalty. Her soul had been awakened and it would not sleep again. “Guard Fairbird,” Imraldera said, stroking the dog’s head. “Keep her safe, as you have always done. The Beast is dead, and the people are free, but freedom can be so terrible when new! Keep her safe as long as you live.”
Then she turned to her sister and embraced her. “We may never meet again in this life,” she whispered.
“I mourned you these many years,” Fairbird replied, and her new voice trembled. “I will mourn no more. But please, Starflower, come back to me one day. I know you must go. I know you must follow the Giver of Names as you promised. But come back to me, at least once more.”
Imraldera kissed her sister’s cheek. And then they drew apart. Fairbird stood with Frostbite by her side and watched the young woman follow the stream to the gorge and then descend.
“The Beast is dead,” Fairbird whispered. How strange the words tasted. “We are free.”
“So your name is Starflower?”
The two lonely travelers walked slowly along the Faerie Path winding through the Land. Imraldera, used to silence, did not speak and rarely looked at her companion. But Eanrin was not one for long silences. And the girl looked so down after her parting with her sister. A distraction was well in order. “Starflower,” he repeated. “Hmph. It’s very . . . ethnic, I suppose. I like Imraldera better. Mind if I keep it up, or are you going to insist on Starflower?”
Imraldera shook her head. There was little use in arguing the point, and she knew it. So she smiled and shrugged and continued on her way.
The poet grinned back. “Your sister is quite nice,” he said, seeking to lighten her heart. “She’ll do well, I believe. She’s gotten by for ten years without you, and I think the knowledge that you are alive and well will get her through many more. I know how you women are too! As soon as she gets used to having a voice, it’ll be all anyone can do to stop her! Take my lady Gleamdren, for instance. That lass can chatter a man’s ear off and still find more to say!”
Imraldera gave the poet a sideways glance. He was hiding something, she thought. Hiding behind his lively prattle and flippant ways. But she was a reader of hands and faces, and she saw something more behind his eyes.
“You . . .” She paused, struggling still to form the foreign words. “You have met the One Who Names Them.”
Eanrin’s face went white as a sheet. He swallowed and stared down at the Path for many strides. Imraldera watched his jaw clench and unclench as he considered what to say next. She reached out and lightly touched his arm. He came immediately to a halt, shifting his gaze from the ground to her hand but still not looking her in the eye.
“You faced the Beast for me,” she said. “You fought for me. I thought you were dead.” She smiled at him, though he did not see it. “You met the Giver of Names instead.”
Eanrin nodded.
“What did he say to you?”
And now it was the poet who was struck dumb. He found he could not yet speak of his encounter, of the words that had passed between him and the Lumil Eliasul, of the promise he had made.
“He showed you who you are, didn’t he?” Imraldera said. “And he showed you who you could be.”
“That . . . yes, that about covers it,” the poet said, his voice hoarse. He drew a long breath and spoke through grinding teeth. “Imraldera, I—”
“Do not be afraid, Eanrin,” Imraldera said, reaching up and placing her fingers on his mouth to quiet him. “He knows your true name. Even as I do. You have nothing to fear.”
Then she was moving on her way, progressing down the Faerie Path through the land of her birth. Eanrin fell in step behind.
“He is dead.”
Hri Sora stood on the brink of Omeztli’s rooftop. She felt the presence of her children behind her, and she did not need a look or word to know their story. She smelled Amarok’s blood.
“My love,” she hissed, spitting embers that fell into the darkness below. “My love is dead. I am safe.”
He had seen her vulnerable. He had made her his. And now he was gone.