Janny Wurts The Cycle of Fire1 Stormwarden

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"Kerainson Jaric, look upon me and know my face, for I shall return to you
this night in a dream. I offer you full memory of the past you have lost; but
in exchange I must also demand a price."
Her image wavered and began to fade.
Frantic to know more, Jaric shouted, "What price?"
But his words echoed across the empty forest unanswered and the fire burned as
before. Jaric clenched his fists until his knuckles pressed as bloodless as
old ivory against his stained leather leggings. The girl's mysterious promise
made him blaze with impatience and her unearthly beauty inflamed his mind.
Wracked by frustration too intense for expression, the boy wrapped his arms
around his knees and stared restlessly at the sky. Stars glittered like
chipped ice through silhouetted branches and somewhere above the thickets to
the north an owl hooted mournfully. Seitforest remained unchanged in the
winter dark-ness, except that the peace which Jaric found in evening solitude
was now irreparably destroyed.
Miserable and alone, he threw another log on the fire then bundled his cloak
tightly around his body. He diverted the anger he could not express into the
motion. Yet no human effort could lift the chill the enchantress had seated in
his heart.
Wind arose in the night, pouring icy drafts through the patched canvas of the
lean-to's meager shelter.
Jaric curled like a cat in his furs, sleepless and tense. With bitter irony he
wondered whether the enchantress' sending had been nothing better than an
illusion born of his own unanswered needs. His disappointment was so intense
that the enchantress' second sending came upon him unnoticed. One moment he
lay with his head pillowed in the rigid crook of his arm. The next, his eyes
closed and he fell into relaxed sleep.
Jaric dreamed he stood in the center of a twilit clearing. The air was clean
and mild, and grasses flowered under his boots. The wintry gloom of Seitforest
stood replaced by a towering ring of cedars whose age and majesty held no
com-parison to any woodland known to mortals. At once the boy knew he beheld a
place beyond the boundaries of time, and there the enchantress chose to meet
him.
It never occurred to him to feel afraid. "You were long in coming to me," he
accused as she stepped into view between the trees.
Her shift glimmered white in the gloom, falling in graceful curves over her
slender body. Although the glade remained eerily still, her presence reminded
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Jaric of music and torchlight and the rustle of fine silk on a midsummer's
night. The as-sociations arose unbidden, left him uncertain and confused, for
the memories seemed those of a stranger.
"No." The enchantress touched his hand with small warm fingers. Jaric found
her nearness disorienting.
She gazed deeply into his eyes and spoke as though she shared his most private
thoughts. "The memory is your own, Jaric. You grew up at Morbrith Keep. The
Earl who rules there often guested great ladies in his hall."
Jaric felt his chest constrict. He forced himself to speak. "Earlier you
mentioned there would be a price for my past."
Although the enchantress was a woman grown, a look of uncertainty crossed her
features, as if a child suddenly gazed out at him through wide blue eyes. She
glanced down, but not quickly enough to hide a fleeting expression of sorrow.
Jaric guessed, after the open longing in his tone, that she already knew what
his answer would be. Whatever her terms, he would accept; if he did not, the
desperation, the loss and the question of his own identity would eventually
drive him mad. It was no fair choice she offered;
that she well understood, and the fact pained her. She looked down as if
fascinated by the flowers at her feet.
But her discomfort was not great enough to make her lift the restraint she had
placed upon him. "The price is this: you will cross the Furlains at the
earliest possible opportunity. When you reach the coast and the town of
Mearren Ard, your fate will pass into the hands of another more powerful than
I."
The enchantress looked up, her expression honestly dis-tressed. "Jaric, I
swear by my life. The destiny which awaits you is of crucial concern to those
who safeguard the people of Keithland. Anskiere of
Elrinfaer is wiser than any but the Vaere. He would not ask your service
lightly."
But neither names nor the girl's entreaty held meaning to one who had no past
loyalties to bind him.
Jaric's lips thinned, a look entirely alien to the frightened boy who had once
fled Morbrith Keep on a stolen horse. "I accept," he said flatly.
Although the enchantress had won the concession desired by the Vaere, the
victory was bitter. Jaric's decision arose from no feeling of compassion for
Anskiere, nor for humanity's endangered existence. He consented only to gain
knowledge of his birthright; and better than any, Taen knew the conse-quences
were heavier than he could possibly imagine.
Telemark tossed down his polishing rag, hung the last kettle on its hook in
the pantry, and succumbed at last to restlessness. Jaric was a week overdue.
Unwilling to admit the depth of his concern, the forester paced the cabin's
confines, searching for any lingering trace of untidiness; but he had cleaned,
polished and mended every belonging he owned twice over since his own return
several days ago. No more loose ends remained to distract him.
He sighed and crossed to the window. Twilight settled over Seitforest, the [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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