Realm of Light - Deborah Chester [62]
“No,” Caelan breathed.
Moah appeared not to hear. “Again, the Choven granted the bargain, and a spell was cast. But the man was not true as before. His pride had grown great. The Choven did not care, but because falsehood was found in him, auspices were studied and the spirits consulted. The Choven told the man that children of his request would not be as humans, that they would be fashioned of fire, earth, air, and water. Because of those elements, they would have to follow their own destinies as shown in the auspices.
“The man was living in shame because of his lack of manhood. He could not heal himself. He agreed to the bargain, saying his wife would turn her eyes to another if she had no children to bind her heart to him. The man agreed to let the children walk their own path of life.”
Caelan was stunned. His father was sterile? He had entered a spell-casting of his own free will? Beva, the most outspoken critic of the ancient ways, a man intolerant of the rare sight of Choven at fairs, a man who barely allowed warding keys to hang on his gates? If the Choven spoke the truth, then stern, austere, upright, moral Beva E’non had been the most duplicitous hypocrite in the land.
“But this promise the man did not keep,” Moah said. “In his children, he saw the beauty of his wife and the strength of his own will. His children shone among others, and their bright radiance of spirit made the man more praised by his people. In time, the man forgot his second agreement, and when his wife died he set himself to mold his children as he wished, denying them all knowledge of their true heritage. He trained them only in the ways of his people, limiting them all he could, and would not let them walk their own paths of life to their destinies.
“This was a man of strong will and determination, a man who would die for his own purposes, a man who still reaches out from the spirit world to force his way on his son.”
Moah turned his head and looked straight into Caelan’s eyes. “Always you have fought to keep a sense of yourself, fought to walk your own path of life, fought to return to your true people again and again despite all that has kept you from the glacier.”
Caelan swallowed hard. He was reeling from all that Moah had said. Yet he did not doubt the truth of what he’d just heard.
“The Choven,” Moah said, “do not wish to be known by the people of men. But among themselves, they know the traditions of the gods and the foretelling that one day the earth will be broken.”
A chill struck Caelan. He stared at Moah in rising dread. “That’s what Master Mygar said when he cursed me. That one day I would break the world. But—”
Moah extended his hand, palm up. “How else can light shine into the darkness below? Unless the earth is cracked open to expose all that honors Beloth, what hope has the world?”
Caelan stared at the Choven, feeling his throat constrict too tight for speech. He did not want to believe his curse might actually come true.
Moah met his gaze. “The gods have said that one day the earth must be broken in order to keep the cycle of life. That is the prophecy cast, and the auspices still point to it.”
“I will not destroy the world,” Caelan said in horror. “Whatever kind of monster I am, I will not help Beloth smash—”
“Prophecy has no single interpretation,” Moah said. “Let not fear cloud your mind. Instead, consider the plowman and his work.”
Caelan frowned at the sudden shift of subject. “I don’t understand.”
“Have you ever planted a seed? The earth must be opened so that it can receive the seed. Then the soil is pressed smooth in warm protection until the seed can grow. And when the seed is ready to sprout into the sunlight, again the earth must be broken to allow it to come forth.”
Caelan’s impatient bewilderment grew. “We’re talking about war, not farming.”
“So we are,” Moah agreed mildly. “Was not the imprisonment of Beloth a planting of sorts? Does