remember ever having heard of more than two or three travelling together.
'I imagine I will be called upon as well,' continued Inurian, 'since there will probably be the usual granting of boons.'
'No doubt,' said Orisian. He understood little of the strange, unpredictable gifts some na'kyrim possessed - the Shared was something Inurian did not talk about - but he did know that Inurian disliked ostentatious displays of his talents. They would be to the fore in any granting of boons.
'Your father likes it,' Inurian said. 'At least he has in the past. It may... cheer him a little.'
Orisian nodded. 'I suppose I should go to see him.'
'You should,' agreed Inurian. 'He will be glad of it. Never forget that he loves you, Orisian. Sometimes he may forget himself, but the real Kennet loves you dearly. You know that I, of all people, could not be wrong about that.'
That much, Orisian recognised as the truth. There were no secrets from a na'kyrim with the gift of seeing what was within. Inurian always knew what lay in the heart.
'I know you're right,' said Orisian. 'But it is hard to remember, sometimes.'
'Come to me when you need reminding,' smiled Inurian gently.
'I always do, don't I?'
'Do you want me to come with you?' Inurian asked him.
Orisian was tempted only for a moment. He shook his head resolutely. Whatever burdens there were, they were for him and his father to bear. He could not expect others to shoulder them on his behalf; not even Inurian, who he knew would willingly try.
He paused outside his father's room. This door, unlike that guarding Inurian's secrets, was old and grand, with patterns of flowing ivy carved into its panels. The torches that lined the spiral stairway had stained its timbers over the years so that to Orisian it had always seemed to project a glowering presence. He laid his hand flat upon the door, feeling its grain under his fingertips. The wood was cold.
A gust of chill air greeted him as he entered. A window was wide open. The room was gloomy, and the only sound was the shifting of the sea outside. His father lay in the great bed against the far wall. Kennet's grey-haired head rested on pillows; his arms lay limp across the bed cover. His eyes were closed. There were deep lines in his face as if his skin had folded in upon itself beneath the weight of sorrow, and heavy shadows lurked beneath his eyes. His visage had gathered at least another decade to itself in the last few years.
Anyara, Orisian's elder sister, was sitting by the bed and looked up as he came in. She was tired, he could see, and her long auburn locks were lifeless. She put a finger to her lips and mouthed, 'He's sleeping.'
Orisian hesitated, midway between door and bed. He could have left, absolved of some responsibility by his father's slumber. He went instead to close the window. Kennet stirred at the sound of his footsteps.
'Leave it.'
'I thought it was cold,' said Orisian. His father's eyes were red and empty.
'I prefer it.'
Orisian came to stand at Anyara's side.
'You've come back,' said Kennet.
'Barely an hour ago.'
Kennet grunted. Speaking seemed an effort for him. His eyelids fluttered, and closed. Anyara laid a soft hand on Orisian's arm and looked up at him. She squeezed gently.
'Croesan wished you well,' said Orisian. 'He wants you to visit him. I think he would like to show you how Anduran is growing.'
'Ah,' said Kennet without opening his eyes.
'Will you be well for the Winterbirth feast?' asked Orisian, the question sounding hasty and harsh even to his own ears. He did not know what he could say that would reach the father he remembered, and loved.
His father turned his head on the pillow to look at him. 'When is it?' he asked.
'Father, we were talking about it only this afternoon,' said Anyara. 'It's the day after tomorrow.
Remember? There will be acrobats and songs and stones. You remember?'
Kennet's gaze became unfocused, as if he was looking no longer upon the here and now but on
'I imagine I will be called upon as well,' continued Inurian, 'since there will probably be the usual granting of boons.'
'No doubt,' said Orisian. He understood little of the strange, unpredictable gifts some na'kyrim possessed - the Shared was something Inurian did not talk about - but he did know that Inurian disliked ostentatious displays of his talents. They would be to the fore in any granting of boons.
'Your father likes it,' Inurian said. 'At least he has in the past. It may... cheer him a little.'
Orisian nodded. 'I suppose I should go to see him.'
'You should,' agreed Inurian. 'He will be glad of it. Never forget that he loves you, Orisian. Sometimes he may forget himself, but the real Kennet loves you dearly. You know that I, of all people, could not be wrong about that.'
That much, Orisian recognised as the truth. There were no secrets from a na'kyrim with the gift of seeing what was within. Inurian always knew what lay in the heart.
'I know you're right,' said Orisian. 'But it is hard to remember, sometimes.'
'Come to me when you need reminding,' smiled Inurian gently.
'I always do, don't I?'
'Do you want me to come with you?' Inurian asked him.
Orisian was tempted only for a moment. He shook his head resolutely. Whatever burdens there were, they were for him and his father to bear. He could not expect others to shoulder them on his behalf; not even Inurian, who he knew would willingly try.
He paused outside his father's room. This door, unlike that guarding Inurian's secrets, was old and grand, with patterns of flowing ivy carved into its panels. The torches that lined the spiral stairway had stained its timbers over the years so that to Orisian it had always seemed to project a glowering presence. He laid his hand flat upon the door, feeling its grain under his fingertips. The wood was cold.
A gust of chill air greeted him as he entered. A window was wide open. The room was gloomy, and the only sound was the shifting of the sea outside. His father lay in the great bed against the far wall. Kennet's grey-haired head rested on pillows; his arms lay limp across the bed cover. His eyes were closed. There were deep lines in his face as if his skin had folded in upon itself beneath the weight of sorrow, and heavy shadows lurked beneath his eyes. His visage had gathered at least another decade to itself in the last few years.
Anyara, Orisian's elder sister, was sitting by the bed and looked up as he came in. She was tired, he could see, and her long auburn locks were lifeless. She put a finger to her lips and mouthed, 'He's sleeping.'
Orisian hesitated, midway between door and bed. He could have left, absolved of some responsibility by his father's slumber. He went instead to close the window. Kennet stirred at the sound of his footsteps.
'Leave it.'
'I thought it was cold,' said Orisian. His father's eyes were red and empty.
'I prefer it.'
Orisian came to stand at Anyara's side.
'You've come back,' said Kennet.
'Barely an hour ago.'
Kennet grunted. Speaking seemed an effort for him. His eyelids fluttered, and closed. Anyara laid a soft hand on Orisian's arm and looked up at him. She squeezed gently.
'Croesan wished you well,' said Orisian. 'He wants you to visit him. I think he would like to show you how Anduran is growing.'
'Ah,' said Kennet without opening his eyes.
'Will you be well for the Winterbirth feast?' asked Orisian, the question sounding hasty and harsh even to his own ears. He did not know what he could say that would reach the father he remembered, and loved.
His father turned his head on the pillow to look at him. 'When is it?' he asked.
'Father, we were talking about it only this afternoon,' said Anyara. 'It's the day after tomorrow.
Remember? There will be acrobats and songs and stones. You remember?'
Kennet's gaze became unfocused, as if he was looking no longer upon the here and now but on
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