TKC 340 and 341
We enter Hell.
Our pilot flies low, following the riverbed; to lift up for
easier flight could mean our deaths. At this point the fiercest battles take
place overhead, leaving the ground generally clear. Clear of soldiers, at least,
for broken shuttles and flyers litter the earth. The pilot – I must remember to
ask his name – is good; he successfully dodges every obstacle. The strain of
doing so has created whiteness around his lips and dark lines under his eyes.
I do not speak to him; it will distract him.
We enter a world of fire and flame, smoke and dust.
The ruin of the Spire is just ahead and explosions rock our vessel
repeatedly. Here there are soldiers on the ground, Ilfin and Glonu, and they
are dying in their hundreds. This is madness; we should not be here, not with
our king on board.
“Join!”
Linus Makar’s one word command causes me to whip my head
around. Straining against the belts keeping me in my seat, his determination
draws my attention first. Terrible determination … and growing sadness. By the
stars. Where Linus has concentrated his gaze calls to my focus next.
Enris and Iniri have clasped arms, an intense forearm to
forearm grip. Both brace to endure the erratic movements of the craft and they stare
at each other, wordless. The hairs on every inch of my body rise into blades of
torture when an emerald spark flares between the private space created by their
bodies.
Mirlin snorts loudly. “About time,” he mutters.
Siri gasps and peripherally I see how she reaches for Kay’s
hand, but that is now beside everything in this war zone.
The spark erupts into brilliance and grows in size.
Enris and Iniri rest their foreheads together and
simultaneously close their eyes. Rocking as one, they do not otherwise move or
speak. The eerie green coalesces, the brightness withdraws … and a wave of
energy pulses outward in every direction.
It flattens us, from the pilot to the king, in our seats. It
feels as if I am being crushed; my lungs are on fire with the effort to
breathe. The pilot’s hands shudder as he seeks to hold on despite the coercion.
In my book, he is a hero, for the shuttle flies on relatively smoothly.
The energy field suddenly retracts, releasing us. Explosively,
air is inhaled and exhaled.
A giant orb now bobs between Enris and Iniri, glowing only faintly.
It seems more ethereal than tangible and yet it has weight for I hear our pilot
swear under his breath about losing buoyancy.
Linus Makar releases his harnesses and moves to place both
his hands upon the orb. Gennerin hisses somewhere. I do not hear words, but His
Majesty’s lips move in the actions of speech. Enris and Iniri swiftly release their
dual hold on each other to place their hands upon the orb as well.
The three Makar then say one word together. “Ilfinay.”
Ice floods into my veins. What have they done? A tableau
comes into being then, for no one moves even so much as to blink. The enlarged
orb is utterly still, as if waiting. Fire races through me as I dimly comprehend
that it has become a weapon; the Makar have together created a mighty device,
although I cannot begin to know what it is capable of achieving.
Mirlin’s expression draws my attention. The man is avid. He clearly
knows exactly what has happened; he has seen this before. Recognition is abruptly
mine. I now know who Mirlin is and I also understand that he has known his true
self since before we met in the marshes below Normur.
Mirlin is able to see in the dark. He is able to see through
doors. He possesses that particular talent for sight, because he is fated to
remember always. Mirlin’s true gift
is that of memory. He is a Keeper. Ever was he with Enris Makar on Makaran, at
his shoulder, the trusted advisor. His
Ilfin name too is Mirlin. Mirlin Moranth, Soul Keeper.
The Soul Keeper has seen the orb deployed in the past.
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