Treasures of Fantasy - Margaret Weis [91]
“Sigurd was never sad when he punished us,” said Aylaen. “He enjoyed hitting us. Perhaps your god is the same.”
“Stop it, Aylaen,” said Treia tersely. “I’m trying to help you. Aelon is not like Sigurd. The god wants you to know that he loves you. That is why he wants to give you a gift.”
“And what is this ‘gift’?” Aylaen asked warily.
“Aelon can bring Garn back to life.”
Aylaen stared. “I don’t believe you. This is a cruel jest.”
“No, my sister,” said Treia. “I am in earnest.”
Aylaen stood up, dragging the bed linens with her to cover her nakedness.
“I won’t listen to this. I want to leave. Where are my clothes?”
“I threw them out. They were bloodstained and they stank. Don’t you want to be with Garn again?”
“This is a lie,” said Aylaen, trembling. “I don’t believe you.”
“Raegar assures me—”
“Raegar!” Aylaen gave a bitter smile. “So he is the one behind this. I might have guessed.”
“Please listen to me, Aylaen!” Treia tried to take hold of her sister’s hand, but Aylaen drew back from her. “I know you don’t like Raegar, but he is fond of you”—her lips twisted when she said this—” and he is sad to see you suffer.”
“You are telling me that this god can bring Garn back to life,” Aylaen said. “How is that possible?”
“Aelon is a powerful god, Aylaen,” said Treia. “Far more powerful than the gods of the Vindrasi, which is why they are going down in defeat.”
“Garn would be with me, living, breathing. He could touch me, talk to me . . .?”
“Through the blessing and wonder of Aelon, Garn will be with you.”
Aylaen sat back down on the bed. She thought of loving Garn again, of holding him in her arms, of telling him how much she loved him. Tears filled her eyes.
“I don’t believe it,” she said again.
“Raegar will prove it to you, Aylaen,” said Treia. “Tonight you will sleep here with me. You will have all day tomorrow to think about this. If you are willing, Raegar will take you to the Spirit Priestesses tomorrow night. Now sleep. You must look your best. For Garn.”
Aylaen lay down on the bed, but she could not sleep. She was bewildered, confused, her mind in turmoil. She wanted so much to believe that she and Garn would be together again. But restoring the dead to life was impossible. Not only impossible, but wrong. Garn would be in Torval’s Hall with the other heroes. He would be angry with her for dragging him away.
But I can bear his anger, Aylaen thought. I can bear anything so long as he is with me again!
“Treia, what does Aelon want of me?” Aylaen asked. “The god must want something.”
“Aelon wants you to love him, Sister. As he loves you.”
“And nothing else?”
“Well . . .” said Treia with a smile hidden by the shadows, “perhaps Aelon does want a little something. . . .”
CHAPTER
11
* * *
BOOK TWO
The sky was clear the next day, the sun shone brightly, strong and powerful. The day would be hot. Raegar basked in the sun’s warmth as he walked to the Shrine to meet Treia early, as the crowds were gathering for morning prayers. When he had first come to Oran as a slave, he had detested the summer’s heat. He had thought he would die of it, the breathless nights lying in bed, bathed in his own sweat; the relentless sunshine that beat on him like a hammer during the day, making him light-headed and giddy.
He had grown used to the heat, and now came to relish it. He recalled the cruel, killing winters of his homeland, of toes that turned black from frostbite and had to be cut off, of enduring bleak months of snow and wind, half-starved, half-frozen. He looked back on his life with distaste, wondering how he could have ever longed to return to it.
Aelon was his life now. Sinaria and its people were his life. He wanted, more than anything, for them to accept him, respect him. He had the spiritbone of the dragon. Treia would teach him the ritual or the Dragon Fala would teach him.
He had not yet attempted to summon the dragon, but he was certain she would