The Pearl of the Soul of the World

Enough. The Ancient voice reproved her sternly. No more of this. You have sworn to renounce him for the sake of the world.



The pearlstuff rose in a white-hot, singeing flash. Aeriel cried out in surprise, heard Irrylath's echoing cry. He dropped her hands. She saw him gazing at his own as though they were numbed or burned.



"Take care!" she cried, bitterly aware her warning came too late. She should have broken from him long since, and yet, selfishly, she had lingered. Irrylath shook his head as if dizzy. He was able to flex his fingers a little, slowly. She remembered the white fire of the burning sword and hoped fervently that his hurt was not great, not permanent. He gazed at her, dumbstruck. The chain about her wrist had begun to glow.



"The Ravenna has enchanted you," he whispered.



Aeriel tugged at the chain, but it would not come free. "Some of her sorcery is in me now."



"Has she given you her sorcery to wield at your will, or does her sorcery wield you?" he demanded, staring at the chain. "Are you now become the Ravenna's creature as wholly as I once belonged to the Witch?"



The thought horrified her. She could not answer him.



You gave your oath to me voluntarily, the pearl-stuff within reminded insistently, but Aeriel took no comfort. The fine, interlocking links of Ancient silver glimmered, unbreakably strong.



"Be my husband if you must," she bade Irrylath, "in Avaric. I shall be far away in NuRavenna."



His eyes grew hard and bright, hands clenched into fists at his breast. "I'll win you back," he whispered. "On my life, I swear it! I'll find a way to break the Ancient's spell and bring you back to me."



Her heart leapt to hear him say it. But she feared he did not believe a word. How could such brave nonsense ever come to pass? Surely he must realize that Ravenna's sorcery—even scattered and diminished as it was—was far too mighty for any mortal to overcome. She had no doubt she would never see him again, and the taste was bitter, bitter on her tongue. He called her name.



"Aeriel. Aeriel!"



She could not bear the pain of gazing on him more and forced herself to turn away.



Someone was approaching over the black marsh flats, coming very slowly with a halting step. He must have been in view for some time, Aeriel realized, unnoticed by anyone. A heron, perfectly white, skimmed the air ahead of him and alighted on the ground before Aeriel.



"We missed the battle, I see," she remarked, cocking her head and looking about. "Just as well."



"Who comes?" Aeriel asked, though even as she said it, she knew. She would know his halt step anywhere. The heron fanned her crest.



"The Lighthousekeeper of Bern, of course. I was to fetch him at the proper hour. Ravenna's behest from long, long ago. We've been traveling for daymonths."



"Yes," the Lighthousekeeper panted, drawing near. "It seems an age. I feel quite spent. I was not made for such journeying. I have something for you, Lady Aeriel—for Ravenna's other daughter is, I see, no more."



He held out to her a hoop of white metal with twelve-and-one sharp, upright prongs.



"Is this what lay at the heart of your lighthouse flame?" she asked. The pearlstuff in her blood leapt, crackling at the sight, but she herself felt no anticipation or joy.



The Keeper nodded. "My task has always been to guard it for the world's heir."



Aeriel nodded and bowed her head. He placed the circlet upon her brow. The crown felt hollow, empty. Aeriel scarcely noticed its weight. Her enchanted blood shimmered, singing and alive. The darkness was suddenly full of light. Lifting her eyes, Aeriel saw the constellation called the Maidens'



Dance by some and by others the Crown wavering in heaven. Its stars drew nearer, descending, taking on the appearance of candle flames. In another moment, thirteen maidens stood about her, all made of golden light: those whose souls she had once rescued from the darkangel in Avaric. It seemed so long ago.



"Eoduin, Marrea…" She called them each by name.



"We understand at last," Marrea, the first and eldest, said, "how it was that you should come among us. We had thought you would join us in deep heaven, but we see now that it is we who must join you here below."



In the space of a moment, she dwindled, her tiny yellow flame floating in the air to alight on Crowns gw> one of the foremost prongs of the crown, burning brilliant upon its tip. Aeriel felt a new sensation kindling within her. One by one, the other maidens followed the first. The crown felt filled now, but still feather-light. Eoduin was the last.



"Forgive me for having been so impatient to have you among us in Orm," she said. "Cold heaven has been very lonesome without you."



As she, too, assumed her place, opposite Marrea's flame, the white heron took wing and settled into the space between the two foremost prongs. Doing so, she shrank, becoming part of the crown, head bowed to her breast and her long, slender wings falling to flank the pale girl's cheeks.



Aeriel's blood answered the flame in the crown. The pearlstuff rose in her, magnified, seemed suddenly to catch fire. Aeriel felt once more a keen, farranging perception, very like the pearl's but immeasurably stronger. The interlocking pattern of the marsh flats unfolded before her. The stars above wheeled and circled one another like burning beads. She felt that she might see to the world's end if she tried, or even deeper into heaven.



Time enough for that, the voice of Ancient sorcery within her promised, in NuRavenna. There, by such means, you shall regather the soul of the world. But haste now. Time is short.



A cool, misty white fire ran along her skin. Aeriel turned back to the others standing before her. She felt utterly alone: they had all shrunk back, staring at her—the Lighthousekeeper, the Lady Syllva and the rest, even Talb—all save for Irrylath, whose head was bowed to his hands. Sabr stood by him, hands like hawks upon his shoulders. He seemed oblivious to her. Even her fierce look of victory had washed away in astonishment as she gazed at Aeriel.



It was not her eyes, though, that Aeriel sought. She found Erin among the crowd. The burning sword hung sheathed at her side, but even through the scabbard, Aeriel was aware of the blade's fire stirring and brightening, answering her own. "Without hesitation, the dark girl came forward.



"And what of you, Erin?" Aeriel asked. "All have told me their intentions but you. Will you go with the Mariners among whom you were born, back to their isles in the Sea-of-Dust?"



One hand resting on the pommel of her glaive, the dark girl shook her head. "I will not. Perhaps one day. Yes, I was born among the Mariners— of that I have no doubt. But I was raised in other lands and hardly feel at ease among my own people, whose tongue I do not even speak, or among the people of Zambul that once enslaved me, or anywhere. I have had but one true friend in all my life."



For a moment, Erin cast her gaze to the sword whispering at her side, then looked up, bold.



"I care not whether some now call you Ravenna's daughter or that you have no shadow and wear a burning crown. You are the only light I know. I want no other fellowship than yours. It seems that I alone of all this throng have it in my power to choose my road. Aeriel, I would go with you."



Aeriel closed her eyes. She would not be alone then, after all. Here at the beginning, at least, one companion would accompany her.



"The Flame in Orm robbed me of my shadow," she whispered, "but I am not without one, ever. If not for you, Erin, I would be lost."



Fearlessly, the dark girl put her arms around her.



"My darkness," breathed Aeriel.



Erin answered, "My light."



Aeriel turned and faced them all.



"Fare you well," she told them. No more remained to be said.



Palms together, Syllva and her Istern sons bowed to her. Talb, Roshka, and the duaroughs made reverence. The islanders, the bowwomen, even Sabr's dismounted cavalry knelt. Orrototo's desert folk gravely nodded. Even Pendarlon and Avarclon and the other Ions saluted her. All paid homage but the king of Avaric, who wept, and the bandit queen who could not console him.



Erin still had hold of her hand. The burning crown's fire seemed to affect her no more than the fire of the sword. Aeriel was glad of it, for someone bold enough not to let her go. It would be a long road to NuRavenna. The light of the crown blazed bright against the night. As she and Erin set out, she heard Brandl's bell-sweet harp behind them, his clear, young voice raised in song:



"On Avaric's white plain,



where an icarus now wings



To steeps of Terrain



from Tour-of-the-Kings,



And damozels twice-seven



his brides have all become:



A far cry from heaven,



a long road from home—



Then strong-hoof of a starhorse



must hallow him unguessed



If adamant's edge is to plunder



his breast.



Then, only, may the Warhorse



and Warrior arise



To rally the warhosts, and thunder



the skies.



But first there must assemble



those the icari would claim.



A bride in the temple



must enter the flame,



With steeds found for six brothers, beyond



a dust deepsea,



And new arrows reckoned, a wand



given wings—



That when a princess-royal's



to have tasted of the tree,



Then far from Esternesse's



city, these things:



A gathering of gargoyles,



a feasting on the stone,



The Witch of Westernesse's



hag overthrown.



Whereafter shall commence



such a cruel Sorceress War,



To wrest recompense



for a land leaguered sore.



With her broadsword Bright Burning,



the shadow Black-as-Night,



From exile returning,



shall dare dragons' might



For love of one above who, flag unfurled,



lone must stand,



The pearl of the soul of the world



in her hand.



When Winterock to water



falls flooding, foes to drown,



Ravenna's own daughter



shall kindle the crown."