The Dark Remains - Mark Anthony [202]
Sareth opened his mouth to answer, but before he could Melia and Falken approached.
“There you are,” Melia said. “We haven’t time for dawdling if we’re—” Her amber eyes alighted on Sareth. “Oh, I see you were distracted.”
Falken studied Sareth’s visage. “So, who’s your Mournish friend?”
Lirith tried to speak, but now her heart seemed to have fluttered up into her throat. Beneath her gown, her skin broke out in a sweat.
“Sareth!” a woman’s voice called.
They turned, searching for the source of the voice.
“Sareth!”
The call was closer this time. Sareth turned around, then his eyes went wide, and he threw back the robe.
“Vani!” he called.
Finally Lirith saw her—a woman wrapped in yellow, her skin and eyes as coppery as Sareth’s, moving toward them with swift, sinuous grace. Now the sweat made Lirith’s skin clammy. The woman was absolutely beautiful. To Lirith’s dismay, the woman threw herself into Sareth’s arms, and the Mournish man caught her in a tight embrace, his eyes glowing.
“Vani,” he murmured, and the love was plain in his voice. “How can this be? How is it you are here?”
Lirith wondered the same thing. Sareth had been following them ever since Ar-tolor. Had been following her, she might have let herself believe. But what a foolish thought that was, for this strange woman had thrown herself at him, and he seemed not to mind it in the least.
She started to turn away, so as to not have to witness the terrible spectacle any further, when Aryn gasped and Durge let out a soft oath. Lirith followed their gazes, then amazement stunned her as well.
Following the strange woman, three figures walked toward them: a tall, blond man, another man with a bald head, and a regal woman with eyes like sun on leaves. Lirith staggered, and had the wall not been behind her, she would have fallen.
“Sister,” she said softly, but by the time she spoke the word Grace was already there, along with Travis and Beltan, all of them grinning, their expressions every bit as astonished and joyful as Lirith’s own.
“My dear ones,” Melia said, eyes shining. “You have such wonderful timing.”
67.
It was strange, but in all their urgency to return to Eldh, Grace had never stopped to think about what it would be like when they finally did. Not that it mattered; she would never have been able to imagine feeling like this. She could not remember a time in her life when she had laughed so effortlessly, had embraced others with such abandon, or when she had felt so light and full at the same time.
The symptoms are clear, Doctor. You’re experiencing joy. Not something you’re used to, granted, but I hear it’s far from life-threatening. You might actually get used to it someday.
She hoped not.
There was much hugging and talking. So much, in fact, that they began to win stares from passersby, and the man whom Vani had called Sareth—and who, given his sharp, dark features, was clearly the brother she had been looking for—herded them all into a shaded grotto where they could speak out of the glare of the sun and public attention.
As glad as she was to see her friends, there was something else Grace ached to embrace, something she had craved all those months on Earth. As they stepped into the green, moist air of the grotto, she let herself shut her eyes, reach out, and Touch the Weirding.
A thrill coursed through her. On Earth, it had been so worn and dirty that she had forgotten just how wondrous it was. The threads of life wove all around her in an elaborate web, shimmering and perfect.…
No, Grace. Not perfect.
She hesitated, then began to probe. Something was wrong—all her instincts as a doctor told her so. But what? Every thread she touched was bright, flawless. Then she understood. At the hospital, she had learned that sometimes it wasn’t what you observed, but rather what you didn’t. She glimpsed them—small, dark areas in the web, places where strands should have shone but which were empty instead.
Grace, are you all right?
It was Aryn’s voice, speaking in her mind. Eyes still shut, Grace