The pain is gone.
Well, that’s a relief in any case. I feel lighter somehow. Also . . . smaller. But the smallness doesn’t feel lasting. I should start to grow again soon. For the moment, however, it’s nice to be merely a bit of gossamer nothing.
I turn my awareness slowly around and look down. Down through layers of reality which peel away like mist. Down into a world and realm that already feels as though it has little to do with me. Down to my broken body.
Poor thing. It was so wracked with pain. Human bodies aren’t meant to bear that much pain, not all at once. It simply could not survive. A pity. That form served me well. I experienced so many joys, so many pleasures while inhabiting it. There were sorrows too, of course. There always are. But I don’t know any other existence.
I suppose I shall have to find out what comes next. After one becomes unembodied.
The mists close back in. I begin to turn away, not wanting to linger on that sorry sight. But just then, a flicker of color catches my attention. I let my awareness drift back again and see a little limping creature nose its way to my physical form. A mothcat. Purple fur, orange stripes, enormous bat ears. It hops onto my body’s shoulder, puts its delicate little paws on my cheek. Then it starts to purr.
I start, surprised. That purr vibrates into the bones of that body. The vibration increases and sends out a little thread of light which extends from the body until it reaches me. Though I try to pull away, the glimmering light spirals around me, loop after loop. It’s neither tight, nor uncomfortable, but when I try to slip away, it holds me fast. I can do nothing but hover there in that space of existence above my lifeless form.
Let me go. I don’t have a mouth, a voice. I simply send the command back down the shimmering tether. The mothcat twitches one ear then settles down more firmly on its haunches. Its purring redoubles. The light-tether flares, strengthens.
This is foolish. I cannot remain here. My body is broken. In the end my gods-gift was simply too much for such a feeble frame. Perhaps I’ll have opportunity to take the matter up with the gods themselves. Why would they bestow such tremendous power on such a weak individual? It doesn’t make sense. They ought to have known better.
I tug at the life-thread, eager to be on my way. The mothcat opens its mouth. Its purr rumbles louder, the reverberation humming against the darkened urzul crystals.
“Faraine!”
My awareness quickens. I twist, peer through the threads of light, turn toward that sound. My spirit surges, like the pulse of a dying heart. Vor! Is he alive? I’d not thought it possible. I’d assumed he perished long before the cave devils ever breached his city’s walls. But what if he didn’t? What if he is still there, in that world of flesh and matter? What if his soul still inhabits his body?
It makes no difference. Those flesh-forms of ours are so temporary. And mine is now broken. Uninhabitable. I cannot stay here. I try to tug away. I don’t want to see Vor. I don’t want to feel what I know I will feel at the sight of him. But the tether won’t let me go.
Suddenly, he’s there, standing between two of the great stones, staring down at my empty husk. My whole being brightens at the mere sight of him. Vor! Vor! Alive still. Alive and beautiful. His body is a mere shadow to my gaze, but his spirit shines bright as a star, full of mysterious energies and complexity. It fairly bursts beyond the confines of his physical frame.
I watch the shadow-figure leap forward, fall to his knees beside my body. He cries out my name. I hear it like a distant echo. It catches on the delicate life-thread, ripples up to my awareness. When he touches my bare skin, some of that strange energy of his flows out from inside him and into the tether. The delicate thread strengthens, becoming a multi-stranded cord.
Vor lifts my body in his arms, cradles me close, presses kiss after kiss into my hair, my cheeks, my neck. Gently, softly, I float down through the misty layers of reality, until I’m close enough to whisper in his ear: I love you, Vor. I will always love you. Wherever I go, I carry my love for you with me.
But now you must let me go.
Let me go, Vor.
He throws back his head. For an instant, his soul shines so bright, his shadowy features become clear to my gaze, wracked with pain, with sorrow, frenzied with determination. “I won’t let go, Faraine!” he cries. His voice reverberates against the urzul crystals, and light flickers in their darkened centers.
The mothcat lets out a protesting squeak and scampers away as Vor gets to his feet, still holding me tight. My head lolls, but he adjusts until it rests against his shoulder. Then, stepping from the confines of the circle, he hastens down the slope and into the gardens. The thread of connection stretches, strains. But the binding is stronger now that he holds me.
Up above, through many more layers of mist and unseen realities, I feel warmth and light overhead. And song. So much song. The presence of my goddess awaits. And my sisters? Ilsevel and Aurae? Do they wait for me too, ready to fold me in their welcoming embraces? I long to ascend, to find them, to enter at last into that holy eternity for which my soul longs. And yet . . .
While my soul may long to ascend . . . my heart does not want to go. Not yet.
So, I am dragged along like a child’s kite through the ether. I catch only flashing glimpses of the world. Shining crystals with vibrant hearts that sing out to me like delicate songs. The hearty, glowing soul of Hael, which flares brightly as Vor carries my body into her view. These and other impressions spark at my awareness. Vor’s pace never falters. He bears me swiftly back across the garden, into the palace. Past the carcasses of dead devils, the bodies of slain trolde. I feel the emptiness in those places where spirits used to be. Spirits which have since fled to their new homes as mine should have done. As I should now do.
Yet I trail after Vor into a room full of suffering souls. So many of them hang onto their bodies only by mere threads. Even as I watch, I see threads snap, break. Souls shoot away through realities, speed on to their eternities.
“Ar!” Vor’s voice roars through the mists, harsh with desperation. “Ar, I need you!”
A bright, fiery soul appears as a squat, featureless form draws near to the shadowy figure housing Vor’s soul. My thread has thinned. I feel myself drawing further away. I struggle to lean in, to discern the words being exchanged.
“The princess?” the fiery soul asks.
“My wife,” Vor responds.
With those two simple words, the tether holding me in place strengthens. If only I had a voice with which to sing! His wife. His wife. At last, he claims me, names me what I am.
But it’s too late. I’m already gone, or mostly gone. I am his wife . . . but only for these last few, stolen moments. Still, I will carry those words with me to heaven and treasure them for eternity.
Vor, Vor, I whisper, bending close to his ear once more. Vor, it is time.
He bows his head, hair falling across his face. Then he looks up at the healer and growls, “Do something! Help her!”
Ar ushers him further into the crowded chambers. The beds are all full, but she clears one of her worktables with a sweep of her arm. Vor lays my body down upon it but keeps hold of one hand. As though he knows that the moment he lets go, I will be gone, truly gone.
Ar looks me up and down, listens to my chest, takes my pulse. Then she lifts sad eyes to her king. “She’s dead.” Her voice is blunt as a grinding stone.
“No. She isn’t.”
The healer shakes her heavy head. “I know you don’t want to believe it, Vor—”
“I won’t believe it. Because it is not true.”
“There’s nothing to be done for her, my boy!” Ar puts up both hands and takes a step back from the table. “I don’t have the means to put a living soul back into a body.”
“Is her body broken?” Vor demands.
Once again, the healer bends over my flesh form. To my surprise, she seems to take the question seriously and proceeds to inspect every inch of me for signs of physical damage. She lingers a moment over my mangled ankle, but finally steps back. “I see no signs of a death blow. But her heart has given out.”
“Does it still beat?”
“Not that I can detect.”
“But she’s not gone cold.”
“It may take a little time for coldness to set in. Humans are not like troldefolk, after all—”
“Then you must not treat her like a trolde. Treat her like a human.”
“I haven’t the experience.”
“You’ve cared for a human before. One whom everyone believed had died. You brought her back from the brink on the very day that I was born.”
“The brink of death is not death itself, dear boy.”
At those words, Vor seems to come undone. He bows over the table, over my remains. His spirit darkens, its luminous light dimming with despair. How I wish I could reach out to him, envelop him in my arms, offer him comfort. But to try would only risk hurting him more.
Oh, Vor! Vor! A small part of me had dared to hope his sheer determination would be enough to . . . But there’s no use in such hopes. It’s better for us both if this ends. I’m not afraid. There is no more pain for me. Only ascension and expansion and the light of eternity. My one sorrow is that I must leave him behind.
Vor, I whisper, crooning the words close to his ear. It’s all right. Please, my love, let me—
Vor looks up. His eyes flash like two knives as they lock with Ar’s. “If you cannot treat humans,” he growls, “tell me where to find one who can.”
Ar’s face shutters. Her spirit dims, retreats.
“I know you know where she is,” Vor continues.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t play with me.” He lunges across the table, catches the shoulder of Ar’s garment. “Tell me where she is. Tell me where I can find her. If anyone can help me, she can.”
Ar squirms in his grasp. Her soul flickers uneasily. “Fine!” she says at last. “She dwells on the Surface. I can tell you where. But are you certain, Vor? Are you certain you want to see her? After all this time?”
I don’t understand. What is going on here? Of whom are they speaking? I flick my awareness from Ar’s spirit back to Vor’s. That determined light is back, shining brighter and hotter than ever in his soul. He leans in, drawing his face close to the healer’s. “Tell me,” he growls.
