                      Once She Rose
                         Prologue
            116, Age of Arcadia, Early Winter
    "Thank you, Jorn. You may go."
    "I meant what I said, sir," said the young diamond 
Elwen, quietly but obstinately, as he rose to his feet. 
White hair fell in his eyes, a sight that would have 
prompted Sapphiro to smile, if not for those dark eyes- so 
strange for a juldia!- adamantly peering at him. "She 
didn't want to conquer the world. She just wanted to learn 
how to control the sword, and win some tiny bit of freedom 
for herself."
    Unwillingly, the sapphire Elwen felt himself drawn 
into a debate with this young former captive. "You knew 
Lady Meylona only two or three days. Yet you saw this. 
How?"
    A shade of cynicism slipped across the juldia's face 
at the somak Councilman's skeptic tone. "You don't need to 
believe me. Yet I saw what I saw. And if you try to harm 
her, I will spread the truth, as she asked me to. I don't 
know why I came to you. You'll never listen."
    "You may go," said Sapphiro sharply, and clapped his 
hands. The sleek dark statue of a nightcat he kept against 
one bright blue wall animated and yawned, showing off its 
foot-long fangs.
    "No need to be hasty about it," said Jorn lightly, and 
slipped out of the room, onto the spiraling sapphire 
staircase that led to the ground floor.
    Sapphiro clapped his hands to dismiss the nightcat 
back to immobility, but though he could have closed the 
door in much the same way, he let it remain open for a few 
minutes, staring at the white sky visible beyond it 
longingly. Kept inside the warm and protected vesperstone 
building that housed the Council, and involved in work 
essential to the welfare of the continent as the group he 
served gained more and more power, he had long since 
ceased to notice the round of the seasons. But now, 
smelling the crisp, cold wind, hearing it sing to itself 
around battlements already frosted with ice, as if it were 
polishing the sky, he had to wonder what he might have 
missed.
    At last he sighed, clapped his hands to close the 
door, and turned toward one of the few pieces of furniture 
in the room not made of sapphire. This was a dark wooden 
cabinet made of stained hylea wood- unusual in itself, for 
hylea was valued for its color, gold-white with faint 
whorls, and its silky smooth, warm feel. But it was 
necessary to protect that which lay inside.
    For a long moment Sapphiro stood staring at the 
cabinet. It was an innocuous thing, yes, something that, 
with its color changed so, would not have been out of 
place in a relatively prosperous merchant's home.
    And yet...
    Sapphiro's eyes darted to the side, where a drab 
wooden table stood with a white cloth coiled on top, like 
the cocoon from which a butterfly had taken flight. That 
was innocent, too, and yet a few short months ago- almost 
a year, now- it had held the greatest danger to the known 
world.
    The Councilman smiled briefly, sparingly. "You have 
borne it well, Meylona," he whispered to the death Elwen 
to whom he had given the Lifesword, a death Elwen now 
thousands of miles away on the gull Elwen island of 
Feathergem. "But there are currents in the world you do 
not understand, as yet. You may never understand."
    He hesitated a moment longer, closing his eyes, 
remembering the moment when Meylona had challenged him on 
the Starhonor Trade Route. "Think what race you have been 
elected to represent, Sapphiro. A race of thieves and 
assassins; even the best of them aren't much better than 
rogues. And all of them Elwen. Do you think Elwen morals 
can be cast aside, like so many flawed gems? Tell me, who 
is truly acting immoral here?"
    "You don't understand," Sapphiro whispered. "You were 
meant to bear the Lifesword, but not as you have. Forgive 
me, Meylona, but I must do this."
    Kneeling down, he opened one of the doors of the 
cabinet. Inside were several shelves, but nothing sat on 
any of them, except a tiny silver coffer on the one three 
shelves from the top. Sapphiro took it out and held it 
close to his cheek for a moment, as if listening.
    Then he set the coffer on the floor and opened it.
    A dark radiance, both blue and black, spilled from the 
coffer. Inside was a perfect representation of what 
Sapphiro's compatriots might have called a night sapphire: 
huge, sullenly glowing with the perfect color of a clear 
summer night.
    But then they would have noted that the gem had 
flickering fires inside, more than a sapphire of its type 
was supposed to possess, and that there were facets 
everywhere on it, both small and large. It would have 
taken even an Elwen lapidary many centuries to cut this.
    Sapphiro lifted the night sapphire from its coffer 
with hands that trembled and turned to the far wall. At a 
word from him the wall slid back, revealing a huge map of 
Fhevu, the northern province that was the home of the 
death Elwens.
    Sapphiro's eyes fastened on the small gray corner of 
the map representing the Falchian Plains. Even the 
cartographer, skilled as he was in everything else, hadn't 
been able to make those cracked clay fields look lovely.
    Sapphiro spoke several words under his breath and 
waved the night sapphire at the Falchian Plains. There 
came one burst of light, dark enough to blind, from the 
jewel, and then the fire inside it was gone. Its power was 
drained for now.
    Sapphiro shut the gem away and stared at the map.
    It was done.




                        Chapter 1
                Messages From The Mainland
            116, Age of Arcadia, Early Spring
    "Milmindeth! You don't really think I've become fat, 
do you?"
    The voice was bright and dark all at once, lively and 
cheerful and yet speaking with a strange accent. It rang 
among the cool white buildings and streets of Seamorn like 
a bell, stirring the city from slumber, making it peer 
sleepily toward the voice.
    An equally interesting voice answered it, speaking 
softly but not softly enough to conceal its similar 
accent. This voice was all dark silk with steel hidden 
underneath, able to sting when necessary. "My lady, I do 
not think you have become fat. Your opinion on the matter 
is all that you must listen to, however."
    Meylona Darkhand swept her hair behind her eyes and 
scowled at her akla'shoon, Milmindeth Deepen. She loved 
the man, but when would he stop treating her like some 
fragile combination of child, noble, and valuable 
sculpture?
    Not today, apparently. Though they had been on 
Feathergem Isle for over six months, and no one had tried 
to hurt them in all that time, he kept up his protection 
of her. At the moment he had turned to stare out to sea, 
leaving her to look around the city with a mixture of 
wonder, resignation, and fascination.
    Seamorn was like neither the death Elwen ka'cheer she 
had grown up in nor like the few other Elwen cities she 
had visited in her travels. The gull Elwens, the luggae, 
did not build with metal or wood- not even driftwood, as 
might have been expected- but with stone. And not heavy, 
ugly gray stone like the life Elwens, either. All of this 
was white stone, marble or quartz or others she had no 
name for, which had the double advantage of providing 
coolness in the hot days of spring, summer, and autumn, 
and being beautiful.
    The gull Elwens who lived on the isle- all female- 
preferred to build long, twisted spires, alfar-tale 
constructions as fanciful as the spun-sugar copies of it 
or the twisted bread that they made to eat. The towers had 
large, open windows covered with glass, windows that let 
in light and air and the smell of the sea that no lugga 
could long live without.
    The streets, too, were paved with white stone, so 
smoothly that there was no chance of stumbling, and some 
had stone walls that could be transported from place to 
place, casting shade on those rare days when the sun grew 
too hot for even marble to provide much coolness. Other 
streets were lined with rustling trees that sang a quiet 
music to the breeze, deep and soft, trembling now with 
buds opening to the warm spring air like emerald tears.
    Meylona knew how out-of-place she and Milmindeth must 
seem in the midst of all this perfection. Yet the luggae 
had graciously agreed to let them shelter here, resting 
for a short time away from the problems and perils of the 
mainland. 
    Meylona and Milmindeth both had dark skin, broken here 
and there by swirling pools of some liquid so black it 
cast rainbows into the air when the light struck it. They 
also both had dark hair, though Meylona wore hers long, 
held back with a bright, brown-spotted comb, and 
Milmindeth's hung in a wavy halo a few inches from his 
shoulders.
    But there the resemblance ended.
    Meylona wore strips of shapeless black leather, wound 
and bent myriad times into a garment that resembled real 
clothing in the same way a unicorn resembles a horse. Her 
eyes were golden as the sun blazing overhead like a bright 
coin, with vertical pupils. She moved with a light, 
graceful, confident stride, and bore one sword on each 
hip, as well as a knife in a neck-sheath.
    Milmindeth wore an uncomfortable white tunic and 
leggings that were the traditional dress of the 
sha'sheerini, the death Elwen servant class. His eyes were 
black, but spangled with silver dots like a mirror of the 
night sky. His stride was the stride of one used to 
staying in the background; his weapons were numerous, but 
hidden away. And he had only one hand.
    Meylona reached the end of her mental catalog of 
comparisons and joined Milmindeth in looking out to sea. A 
moment later, someone called her name. She thought at 
first it was one of the sailors working on the boat they 
were passing, but the cry was repeated, and she realized 
it came from above.
    Tilting her head up, Meylona caught sight of a white 
gull flying swiftly toward them. It must have been only 
her imagination that she had heard her name in the cry- or 
perhaps she was better at translating the meaning of gull 
Elwen vocalizations than she thought.
    The bird landed before them, shimmered briefly as if 
caught in heat haze, and then reformed into a pale Elwen 
with large white wings, snowy hair, and dark eyes. She 
wore a silver gown trimmed with gold, and a slim collar of 
some blue stone around her neck.
    "Priestess Aklamba," Meylona acknowledged, bowing to 
hide her surprise. When she had asked the old priestess of 
Chilune and mistress of ancient tongues to translate the 
runes on the Lifesword's hilt, she had thought it would 
take longer than two days- or was it three? Time passed 
slowly and smoothly in Seamorn, one day blending into 
another.
    "Lady Meylona Darkhand," the priestess said, in a 
voice that still had much of the piercing freshness of a 
gull's cry about it. "I have finished the translation. 
Would you care to come and see it?"
    Meylona's hand descended briefly to squeeze the hilt 
of one of the swords that rode by her side. In its sheath, 
it looked innocent enough, even though the make of its 
shiny, warm, translucent hilt distinguished it as a blade 
of ancient manufacture. "I will come, yes."
    "Good." Again the priestess transformed and took off, 
circling overhead briefly before soaring back to her 
workshop. The churni followed on foot.
    Though the air was busy with birds, Meylona had no 
trouble coming to Aklamba's workshop again. In truth, she 
remembered where it was, but it was considered a courtesy 
among the luggae to guide the visitors who came to them 
for shelter, and she was not about to insult her hosts.
    The building was a small, neat square tucked in the 
shadow of the tower that was Aklamba's main dwelling. The 
inside of it was a mess of tables surrounding the one 
clear aisle that had been left to walk in, the altar to 
Chilune, and the large table that held current projects. 
Meylona's heart began to pound with anticipation as she 
saw two sheets of parchment on the table, one covered with 
the angry, angular runes of the Lifesword and the other 
with the common letters of Arcadia's alphabet.
    Don't get your hopes up, the Lifesword warned inside 
her head. You might still be disappointed, after all.
    Shut up, Meylona snapped.
    She started to step forward, but the priestess, who 
had flown in through a window and Shifted again, stepped 
in front of her, eyes hooded. "May I see the Lifesword one 
more time?" she asked softly. "Consider it a- thank-you 
payment."
    Meylona gave her a suspicious look; Aklamba was only 
one among many who seemed fascinated by the Lifesword, 
perhaps to no good purpose. But then she nodded, and drew 
the blade from its magic-damping sheath.
    Whether it was because she did not intend to use it, 
or because it did not wish to display its powers in front 
of a woman who had translated its secrets, the Lifesword 
came forth without the blaze of colored light that usually 
announced it. Seeing it so, Meylona had to admit that the 
only unusual thing about it was its color and its 
obviously old design. The blade was black, but with 
disturbing hints of silver, crystal, and red on the edge 
of awareness.
    Of course, it had a right to be disturbing. The 
Lifesword had not been forged of steel, or even something 
so rare and precious as starmetal, like the other sword 
Meylona carried. The blade was a mixture of starmetal, 
dragonmetal, unicorn horn, and blooddiamond, thus binding 
in one weapon the life essences of Elwens, dragons, 
unicorns, and elves.
    Meylona stared dismally at the sword, once again 
wondering why Sapphiro had chosen her to bear this. She 
had not kept it safe, as she had promised, but used it, 
lending some of her life energy to it, and now she was not 
wholly herself, but possessed by some of the Lifesword. 
Why in the world hadn't she given it back to Sapphiro when 
he asked it of her?
    "If I may?" Aklamba asked, holding out her hand for 
the sword, her dark eyes gleaming with a seabird's 
acquisitive instincts.
    Meylona handed over the sword quietly. The priestess 
was deeply interested in the blade, yes, but she was 
hardly going to run- or fly- off with it when two death 
Elwens stood before her, one of whom could kill her with a 
touch.
    The priestess handled the sword carefully and yet 
inexpertly, proving to Meylona what she had already 
suspected: Aklamba had spent all her life on Feathergem 
and never had to use such a weapon. Yet she examined it 
with all the fascination a scholar of swords would have 
shown, with the fascination most people couldn't help 
showing around the Lifesword.
    "Fascinating," was the main content of her murmurs, 
and, "Such workmanship!" She laid the sword on the table, 
not taking her eyes off it, and handed the parchment with 
the translation to Meylona,
    The death Elwen's eyes traveled over the runes, 
reading hungrily, sucking up the message that had so long 
lain hidden from her.
    To pacify enemies. To keep the land safe from war. To 
purify the water. To purify the air. To transport in a few 
moments. To heal wounds. To bring light into the darkness. 
To restore ruined land. To deflect magic. To resurrect the 
dead. To bestow immortality on the wielder. To make earth 
fertile. To...
    The translation cut off there. Meylona raised her head 
sharply, glaring at Aklamba, who was staring at the 
Lifesword as if she could actually hear the compelling 
song it was singing. "Why did you stop?"
    The lugga managed to tear her eyes free of the sword. 
"The rest of the runes form letters in a language I do not 
know. The other words are Primal, and easy enough. But the 
rest of them-" Speaking now with enthusiasm, her love for 
her work diminishing the seductive tug of the Lifesword, 
she reached over and took the paper from Meylona's hands, 
then lifted the rune-covered parchment from the table. 
"You see how the later runes are clumped together or 
strung separately, while in the Primal part of the wording 
they have a fairly regular flow? They are two different 
languages, that's plain as daylight. But I thought I might 
still know the second tongue." She paused to grimace 
ruefully. "I don't."
    "Can you then give us your best guess as to what that 
second language might be? And why the rest of the 
Lifesword's powers are hidden that way?"
    "That is what it is?" Aklamba blinked. "That little 
sword can do all these things?"
    "Yes." Meylona regretted having mentioned it now, but 
there seemed to be no other way. "I think the sword's 
creator gave the blade those runes, and if you knew what 
language the second one is, then I might have some clue as 
to who he was."
    Aklamba did not challenge Meylona's assumption of the 
forger's gender; like her, she seemed to assume that 
anyone crazy enough to make something so powerful would 
have had to be male. "I am sorry. I suspect it is one of 
the very old Elwen tongues, before our races began to 
speak completely in music, but which one- that I cannot 
tell you."
    Meylona sighed, but nodded. She had already paid 
Aklamba her fee of fresh-caught fish, and now there was no 
reason to stay here. "Understood. And thank you."
    She reached for the Lifesword's hilt, but Aklamba 
caught her wrist. Meylona's immediate outrage died into 
curiosity, and then fear, when she saw the priestess's 
eyes. They held a grave, grim warning.
    "I have prayed to Chilune," said Aklamba in a whisper, 
"and I have had no answer. If the goddess refuses to 
answer questions about this thing, then it must be very 
dangerous. I suggest you think, Lady Meylona, about the 
likelihood that the sword's other powers were hidden 
because they were too dangerous to reveal. I suggest you 
think very hard."
    She let Meylona go. The Darkhand noble gave the 
priestess a slight bow and sheathed the sword, more 
troubled than she cared to admit by the mysterious words 
that sounded almost like prophecy. 
    On reaching the door and looking back into the 
cluttered workshop, however, Meylona wondered if that 
impression had been mere wishful thinking. Puttering among 
books, parchments covered with writing in a dozen 
different languages, and sketches of seabird wings, 
Aklamba looked like nothing more than a sandpiper bobbing 
along the beach in search of a next meal.
    No, surely not.
----------------------------------------------------------
    Later that night, Meylona leaned against the railing 
that fenced the docks of Seamorn off from curious children 
too young to fly and stared at the sea. She felt tears 
trickling down her cheeks, and did nothing to wipe them 
away.
    It was not that she was unhappy here, Stars knew that 
would have been a lie. But neither was she particularly 
happy in Seamorn. Until lately, she had been too busy to 
feel much of anything. But then she had learned all the 
knife-skill Milmindeth could teach her with only one hand, 
and given Aklamba the translation of the runes, and come 
to the realization that she could do nothing to regain the 
innate powers she had lost to the Lifesword.
    And she had realized that Milmindeth was not the man 
she had thought him to be.
    She had loved him for years, but only really told him 
just before they set sail for Feathergem. There the matter 
had rested for two months, until the night they reached 
the isle. Then everything had come spilling out, every 
bitter word she could have spoken about his seeming lack 
of love in return, and she had learned that he did love 
her. That had been a time of joy, of full hearts and minds 
and blissful expectations that her life would follow a 
course she had never dared to hope for.
    But it hadn't happened.
    Milmindeth had warned her that he would still treat 
her like a lady, and indeed that occurred. She hadn't 
known, however, that he would permit no outward change. So 
far as any gull Elwen knew, he was still only her 
akla'shoon, her "faithful shadow" and sworn protector. 
Meylona valued his rare soft smiles and tender glances, 
but something in her yearned for more.
    "I know it's silly," she murmured to the breeze that 
lifted her hair from her face and dried her tears with its 
tiny remaining bit of winter chill. "A feminine fancy, 
perhaps. I have more than I ever thought I would eight 
months ago. Yet...." She trailed off unhappily.
    "I want some public acknowledgement," she whispered. 
"Is that so great a thing? Merely a kiss where others 
could see, or- or even hearing him admit that he loves me 
again!" The tears were flowing more freely now, swifter 
than the wind's ability to quench them. "I can understand 
that he's a very shy and private person, but is it so 
great a thing?
    "And I'm homesick." There. It was said. She did love 
Feathergem- she had fallen in love with it when she saw it 
rising from the sea, smoothly rounded as a turtle's back- 
and she was fascinated by the dainty coolness of Seamorn. 
But she longed to gaze again on a horizon not bounded by 
the ocean, to ride through forests and over the open 
plains, to see the sun descend to rest in the mountains 
rather than in water.
    She longed, simply, to return to Arcadia.
    A step behind her shattered the stillness of the night 
like a discordant note in a symphony, but when Meylona 
turned sharply toward it, there was no one there. Then Dia 
stepped forward, eyes shining like two rubies in the 
deepening twilight, her white mane blowing around her neck 
like the seaweed tossing about the piles of the docks just 
below Meylona.
    With a grateful sob, the death Elwen buried her face 
in the neck and her fingers in the fur of the one person 
likely to understand. The deathtrotter mare's pelt was 
colder than the wind, and dried her tears and calmed her 
sobs until she stood quietly, breathing softly in a kind 
of half-trance.
    -I did not know you were so unhappy, or I would have 
come to see you sooner- said Dia at last, in the way she 
had of rearranging the past to fit her words in, and her 
rider lifted her head.
    "Don't blame yourself, Dia." Keeping one hand in the 
mare's fur, Meylona wearily pushed her hair back from her 
face. The comb, a present from a friend she did not permit 
herself to think of often, had come loose again, and she 
tucked it away in a pocket, feeling as though she did not 
have the strength to replace it. "It's my own fault. I'm 
demanding too much of Milmindeth, and I know I can't go 
back to Arcadia until the furor our departure has caused 
dies down a bit. But-"
    -But that doesn't stop you from wanting the things you 
want- Dia completed.
    "Exactly." Sighing, Meylona stared out to sea again, 
absently ruffling the mare's mane. There seemed to be 
nothing more to say.
    The silence went on this time for a good ten minutes 
before Dia delicately cleared her throat. -There is 
something I came to tell you, but it can wait, if you are 
not in the mood to hear happy news-
    It struck Meylona like a blow, this revelation that 
her friends thought it necessary to sacrifice their own 
happiness to hers. "No," she said clearly, standing up 
straight and turning to look into the small, slender 
mare's bright eyes. "I could use some good news right 
now."
    -I didn't say good, necessarily- Dia hedged. -I said 
happy, but this may not be the most convenient time-
    "I told you, Dia, I can hear it."
    -I mean convenient in general. I mean- oh, I don't 
know what I mean, and I don't know exactly how to say 
this- Dia stared at the ground for a long moment, then 
lifted her head to eye her expectant rider. -I don't think 
you'll-
    "Will you spit it out, Dia?"
    -All right, all right. No need to get so excited. If 
there's anyone who has the right to get excited, it's me. 
I'm the one who's pregnant-
    Meylona felt her mouth fall open. Idiotically, the 
only thing she could think of to say was, "Skim?"
    -Do you see any other deathtrotter stallions on this 
island- Dia asked dryly.
    "I-" Meylona paused for a moment, to let her scattered 
wits come running back home, and then continued carefully. 
"I'm very happy for you, of course. But I didn't realize 
that you and Skim were thinking of becoming mates."
    -He's the only stallion I can stand, so I suppose it 
was foreordained- Dia lowered her head, twisting her 
agile, snake-like neck to nudge thoughtfully at her belly 
with her nose. -The baby was conceived about two months 
ago, so it ought to be born in three-
    Meylona nodded, unsurprised. Deathtrotter mares a long 
time pregnant would not last long on the Falchian Plains, 
ancestral home of Dia's people- and her own.
    For a moment, homesickness ate her heart, but she 
forced herself to banish it. In one way, it was just as 
well that Dia's child would not be foaled in those cracked 
clay fields, among the deadliest and driest places on the 
continent.
    But in another way, it was sad that the little colt or 
filly wouldn't grow up as part of the immense running 
herds, wouldn't be born in the lands to which he or she 
had claim by right of blood.
    "I am happy for you," said Meylona at last, embracing 
the mare and listening hard. Even an Elwen's ears, 
however, were not keen enough to distinguish the thumping 
of an unborn's heart from that of the child's mother, and 
she settled for giving the mare another hug. "Does Skim 
know yet?"
    -No, of course not- Dia snorted. -I'm going to let him 
figure that out on his own. Then he'll be pleased and 
proud of himself. Males are easier to handle when they're 
that way-
    Meylona laughed, but suddenly to her mind came the 
thought that Milmindeth, at least, had escaped that law. 
He never showed when he was pleased, except with general, 
bland words, and thus could not be easily handled.
    The two females stood for a long time more on the 
docks, lost in contemplation of the sea and odd feminine 
musings Meylona could not have given a name to if pressed. 
The death Elwen thought again of Milmindeth, whom she had 
convinced not to accompany her here tonight through the 
simple expedient of slipping off after he was asleep, and 
mingled exasperation and fondness welled up in her. She 
loved him, yes, but did he have to be so indifferent, so 
close-mouthed, so- so infernally smug?
    The wind grew stronger, colder; winter was being 
defeated by the coming of spring, but regained its power 
during the night hours. When it grew strong enough to 
ripple the water into small waves and send the stars 
reflected in it dancing like so many sparks from a 
heavenly fire, Meylona loosed her arms from Dia's neck and 
stepped back.
    "Thank you for coming, my friend." There should have 
been more to say, but there wasn't.
    Dia nodded. -You are welcome- She looked back at the 
sea, as if fascinated by the dancing stars. -I believe I 
will stay here a short while longer. The darkness is not 
cold to me-
    Meylona felt a brief stab of envy. Once she too had 
walked with the chill touch of death every waking moment, 
and would have felt no need to retreat either. But the 
Lifesword had changed all that, connecting her more 
closely to the warmth of life. Meylona was still not sure 
whether that was a good or bad thing.
    "Well, then. Good night." She hesitated, then turned 
and walked away. Dia seemed to want to be alone.
    But perverse stubbornness- both to prove that she 
could withstand the cold, and to prove that she could be 
without Milmindeth's protective presence for an hour- made 
her walk back not to the comfortable house the gull Elwens 
had given them, but into the maze of alleys the city held 
in its nether regions. It wasn't dangerous, she argued 
against the rational voice that screamed for her to go 
back to her akla'shoon. Crime was unknown in Seamorn. The 
most dangerous thing that went on was an occasional brawl 
by drunken sailors.
    The streets, lit only by the auralight that came from 
the Elwen ability to see auras cast by the forces of 
existence, remained narrow and cramped by leaning towers 
for only a short time. Then they widened into a plaza 
Meylona did not recognize from the tour of the city she 
had been given. She hesitated, then strode forward.
    This plaza was set with blue stones among the white, 
forming the shape of a five-pointed star. Other than that, 
and the faint smell of incense in the air, there was no 
sign that this was a temple, as Meylona instinctively felt 
it to be.
    "What are you doing here?"
    Startled, Meylona whirled around. A young gull Elwen 
woman stood before her, the first she had ever seen 
wearing any color beyond white, silver, gray, and the 
occasional splash of blue or gold. Her gown was a darker 
color, almost indigo, and the collar around her neck, 
signifying she was either betrothed or married, a deep 
green. She stared with suspicious eyes at Meylona, shaking 
back loud golden hair that had obviously been dyed, and 
said in a tone of low menace, "Visitors are not to come 
into this part of the city. I thought everyone knew that."
    "It was not explained in so many words to me," said 
Meylona quietly, unable to understand why she was so 
frightened, only knowing that she was. "I will leave now."
    She had turned to walk back into the alley when a hand 
caught her arm. It spun her back to face the woman, who 
now had a kittiwake perched on each shoulder. The birds 
and the lugga stared at her with the same expression of 
dull astonishment.
    "Where are you going?" asked the woman. One of the 
birds chattered something that might have been a 
repetition of the question in its own tongue.
    Meylona was beginning to get some idea of the 
practices that had seen the luggae persecuted until they 
had no choice but to settle on islands. "Please, let me 
go," she said, still with all the calmness she could 
manage. There was no point in losing her head. "If you'll 
let me leave, I'll swear never to return."
    "We can't trust the promises of outsiders." The woman 
spoke in a sepulchral voice, almost as if she were 
reciting a lesson learned in school. "They will break 
them, and break them again. It was broken treaties that 
drove us here. We will remember that until the end of 
time. Then we will break our own promise, and return to 
Arcadia as it dies."
    Meylona shuddered. There was something horribly 
convincing in the woman's voice; she might well be an 
orator for whatever strange church the churni had stumbled 
on to.
    "Well, this is one promise you can trust. I'll leave 
and never-"
    "Josel!" called a voice sharp with impatience from 
behind them. "Who are you talking to? It's past time for 
you to be getting any sleep, if you're going to have 
strength for the rite tomorrow."
    Meylona closed her eyes and released one last bit of 
her death Elwen magic that the Lifesword had permitted her 
to keep- with the result that when another lugga priestess 
entered the plaza, her eyes swept past Meylona without 
halting. The churni had donned a kind of invisibility; 
now, only those expecting a death Elwen would see her.
    "Look what I caught!" Josel stated proudly, shaking 
Meylona by the arm. Her high, excited tone of voice 
brought the churni her first clue that, woman in form or 
not, Josel was still very young.
    "Josel," sighed the older woman, sweeping her fiery 
red hair over one shoulder and kneeling down by the child, 
"I told you to stop playing those games."
    "It's not a game, Mama, not this time! I really caught 
an outsider! And she promised to go away! You told me 
never to trust an outsider's promises, so I-"
    The woman picked Josel up, forcing her to loose her 
hold on Meylona's arm. The death Elwen at once sped to the 
alley she had come from on silent feet. Josel wailed in 
protest to her mother, but by then the churni was safely 
in the shadows.
    The woman swept the plaza with a cursory glance- she 
wasn't expecting to see anyone, so Meylona could have 
stood in the open and escaped her- then said absently, 
"Ah, yes, dear. Now, are you going to become a Maiden of 
the Stars, or not?"
    At once Josel's attention was distracted, and while 
she chattered to her mother about the rite, Meylona 
slipped down the alley with a distinct feeling of relief.
    And one of curiosity. It might be worth coming back to 
see that rite...
----------------------------------------------------------
    The darkness was deeper when Meylona finally wandered 
back to the house she shared with Milmindeth. She had 
found no trouble- not even when she had begun to realize 
she was searching for it, in a half-hearted way- and there 
was not much point in staying out after a while.
    She entered the house without lighting the lamp or 
anything of that nature. Auralight would show her well 
enough whether Milmindeth still slept or not.
    The room was neat, clean, with polished white walls 
and two beds with hylea wood frames. They were covered 
with pillows and blankets of feathers- one of the island's 
most common commodities- and were quite comfortable. 
Between them stood a table with a lamp, a refilling cup of 
oil, two candles, and a flint and steel on it. It was, all 
in all, an ordinary gull Elwen room.
    Milmindeth's bed was empty. Meylona sat on the tumbled 
sheets of hers and waited patiently.
    The shadows seemed to stir, and then Milmindeth was 
sitting on his bed. Meylona felt a faint stirring of 
anger. She knew it was his duty as her akla'shoon to 
follow her, but he had done it so silently and skillfully 
she hadn't seen or smelled or heard him. That was 
embarrassing. Besides, if he'd been with her all evening, 
he would have heard the words spoken at the docks. Meylona 
was glad she'd had the sense to think, instead of say, the 
most bitter things.
    Inanely, the first thing out of her mouth was, "So you 
heard Dia's news."
    She could see the minute adjustment in the silver- 
flecked eyes, the only acknowledgement she would ever get 
that the remark had caught him off-balance. She had become 
better at reading him in these past months, yes, but she 
yearned for a partner who would express his moods instead 
of making her guess them.
    "Yes. Skim should be very happy- not that I will tell 
him, of course. But I think he has often wanted a mate and 
children."
    The voice was precise and passionless, the words neat 
and polite. They were the words someone might have uttered 
who had observed Skim for half-an-hour, instead of the 
partner who had earned his respect as a foal and been with 
him since then. Milmindeth had retreated more and more 
into himself in the last months, losing the openness that 
had marked their arrival on Feathergem. It was driving 
Meylona mad not to be able to figure out why.
    "I was hoping," Milmindeth said at last, "that you 
would be willing to talk about sneaking off like a 
disobedient child."
    Hearing the rebuke in his voice, Meylona snapped him a 
glare. "I want to be alone at times, Milmindeth. Besides, 
I made no promise not to sneak off." She knew how child- 
like she sounded, slipping through logical loopholes, but 
it was hard to be otherwise when she was so irritated.
    "No, that's true. You didn't."
    His agreement with her only struck more sparks from 
her temper. "You don't have to be patronizing, Milmindeth! 
You could get angry at me, instead of disapproving. I 
might prefer that, in fact. It would prove you love me 
enough to let me see a little of you."
    The look in the starry eyes was briefly one of 
puzzlement become understanding. Then there was no look in 
the starry eyes at all. "It's still bothering you that I 
won't admit I love you aloud?"
    "Yes!" snarled Meylona, cursing herself inwardly for 
drinking up those words, even when they were used as part 
of a statement. "Women think about different things and 
understand them differently than men, Milmindeth. I know 
that. But you could at least try to understand!"
    "My lady, I do-"
    "And that title! It's not as if I'm even a Darkhand 
noble anymore!"
    "True, you have black eyes no longer. But you will 
always be my lady to me." Milmindeth executed a perfect 
bow from where he was sitting, his face somehow serious.
    "Always, Milmindeth?" Meylona's anger had drained away 
as suddenly as it had come. Now weary resignation sat in 
its place. "You told me on the ship that you would 
'sometimes' treat me like a lady. I told you there was 
never a chance for me to be a woman instead of a noble, 
and you told me you were offering me that chance. Were 
those lies, Milmindeth? Or simply promises you have no 
wish to keep?"
    "Such things take time, my la- Meylona," he corrected, 
probably a wise move, considering the storm clouds she 
could feel rising in her eyes. "You can't ask me to stop 
being as I am all at once. Such things take time."
    "You never mentioned that during those first months," 
Meylona muttered. In a way, it was silly, the way they had 
beamed and giggled at each other during those first 
months. A child's alfar-tale romance. But Meylona 
preferred it to the sullen misunderstanding that always 
seemed to be between them now.
    "More than your nobility is holding me back," said 
Milmindeth, so suddenly that Meylona stared. She had never 
expected to push him to a confession so early or so 
easily. "I have lived two millennia, Meylona, and you six 
centuries. Should we not wait? You might still find a 
younger husband, one with whom to raise children."
    Meylona put one hand over her eyes, a death Elwen 
gesture of exasperation she hadn't used in months. It 
seemed appropriate now, however. "Milmindeth, you're the 
only man I love or ever will love. And as for children- I 
will bear yours, or none."
    "I don't understand. You could do so much better than 
me-"
    Meylona let out a long, low, exasperated growl that 
even stubborn akla'shooni knew better than to challenge. 
"Is everything a game of station to you, Milmindeth? Yes, 
perhaps I could do 'better' with regard to station, and 
find a higher-ranking husband. But I couldn't find a 
husband who has your qualities."
    Though I'm starting to forget what those qualities 
are, she thought in frustration.
    "Lady Meylona, forgive me for pointing this out, but 
you are still only a child by Elwen standards. Are you 
sure you know your heart? Can you be sure that heart will 
not change?"
    Meylona felt for a moment as if the heart he had 
spoken of had frozen. Then it gave a great jolt, and began 
beating again.
    "I thought that was beneath you, at least, 
Milmindeth," she said with cold contempt. "I see that it 
wasn't. What else about you have I underestimated?"
    She turned away and drew back the sheets she had cast 
aside earlier, glad to hunch inside them as one would 
inside a protective cocoon.
    There was a moment of silence; then his hand descended 
on her shoulder. "Forgive me-"
    "It's not going to be that easy, Milmindeth." Meylona 
closed her eyes, rejoicing in the numb place where her 
heart had been, the cold calmness of her voice. It was one 
of the few times in her life she had ever held power, and 
known what it was, and used it. "Not this time," she 
whispered.
    And she fell into chill dreams.
----------------------------------------------------------
    She woke as a beam of early wandering sunlight fell 
across her face, coming in through the wide, and wide- 
open, windows. She smiled beneficently at it. Its warmth 
was no threat to her; the only thing that could melt the 
armor of ice encasing her heart was an apology from 
Milmindeth.
    She stood and wound the strips of leather that had 
come loose about her again, glancing at Milmindeth from 
time to time. The male death Elwen lay still on the bed, 
eyes open but not blinking, so that she could not tell 
whether he was awake or dreaming. In those eyes was an 
expression of regret.
    That wouldn't be enough, though. Not by a long shot. 
Humming, Meylona opened the door of the house and strode 
out into Seamorn.
    The streets, slick with dew and glittering in places, 
were as cool and quiet as ever. The hiss and boom of the 
sea did not obscure Meylona's tuneless whistling as she 
made her way, unhesitating, along the railing that ran by 
the docks and down the alley she had taken last night.
    The streets remained narrow for a few hundred paces, 
then broadened into the plaza. Meylona snapped her 
invisibility on and knelt in the shadows to watch.
    Setting up candles at each of the five points of the 
star were priestesses in the same dress that Josel and the 
older woman had worn last night. As one stooped to light 
one of the candles, the wind swept her silver hair aside 
from her throat, revealing an exact replica of the star 
tattooed on her neck.
    Meylona felt her interest quicken. Apparently these 
"Maidens of the Stars" took their duty to their strange 
religion seriously.
    As the final candle was lit, one of the women began to 
sing in the lugga tongue, sharp and sudden and bright 
words, like the slap of foam against one's face. A line 
later, another woman took it up, and on the third line, 
another, and so on. The chant echoed solemnly around the 
circle, until all five voices were rising to the heavens 
in precise harmony. This continued for what seemed to be 
two or three verses, then stopped.
    One of the women turned to face the opposite side of 
the plaza, stretching her arms wide and intoning something 
solemnly. The inside flaps of her robe, Meylona noted, had 
been made to look like wings.
    The older woman with red hair stepped into the open 
space, shepherding Josel along. Though the young girl 
tried not to let any emotion show on her face, there was a 
look of awe in her dark eyes that she could not conceal. 
She halted about five feet from one of the lit candles and 
sang back to the quintet of women in the gull Elwen 
tongue, her voice trembling only a little.
    The woman standing with her arms spread wide abruptly 
Shifted, and a gull sprang into the air, crying aloud. The 
other women followed, including the red-haired one 
standing behind Josel, until a flock of six flew in a 
disorderly circle above the initiate.
    Josel knelt and began to inhale the fumes wafting 
upward from one of the candles. At once her eyes acquired 
a dreamy look, and she began to croon in a low, weirdly 
intense voice. The transformed luggae answered from above 
her, the sharp, "Keer, keer!" of their voices making an 
odd contrast with her stumbling tones. The sounds mingled 
and interwove, until Meylona could not tell where one odd 
tune ended and another began.
    Then Josel threw up her arms and Shifted, as smoothly 
as if she had done it all her life, though Meylona somehow 
knew she was doing it for the first time. The smaller 
gull, displaying yellow tips to her wings as bright as her 
dyed hair, circled above the others, a small shape of 
shining white against the green spring sky. The older 
Maidens of the Stars cried, sounds that held notes of joy 
and triumph, and flew away, following her to the sea, 
leaving the candles to bury themselves in wax.
    Meylona glanced hesitantly at the other side of the 
plaza, but the sound of chanted prayers, audible for the 
first time, was not threatening. At last she crept out to 
study the candles.
    One reached for her, or seemed to, with a tendril of 
smoke. Almost reflexively, Meylona inhaled.
    At once her head spun, and her vision softened and 
blurred, colors bleeding into one another. A warm 
lassitude surged through her muscles like currents surging 
through the sea. Despite herself, she smiled dreamily, 
feeling wings of joy lift her. It no longer seemed 
important that the world was steadily becoming darker. It 
was only important to continue inhaling the drug that was 
giving her this wonderful feeling.
    The colors around her became altogether black, then 
formed anew into patterns she did not recognize. She 
stared at them with the trance-like detachment of a 
dreamer.
    The scene before her was strange. Very strange. A 
death Elwen she did not know, a man with dark hair and 
piercing green eyes, knelt on the cracked clay ground of a 
place that might have been familiar once, speaking in a 
low voice. There was a disturbing feeling emanating from 
him. Meylona felt her skin crawl as it would if he had 
cast a second shadow, or had two heads. But the extra 
dimension of him was not nearly so visible as that.
    Then the vision altered, becoming a picture of a woman 
with soft green hair and green eyes hugging someone whose 
face she could not see. The woman, too, had an extra, 
disturbing dimension, but hers was muted- both, Meylona 
sensed, by love for the person she held and by choice.
    The picture altered a third time. Now high mountains 
rose before her. A fortress of every conceivable 
architectural style sat atop two of the mightiest peaks. 
Domes, cupolas, spires, turrets, and things she had no 
name for projected into the air. All of it was built of 
some warm purple stone, veined here and there with gold, 
that glowed in the fading light of sunset. And about the 
fortress rang the sound of bells, a wild, merry 
tintinnabulation, bounding and echoing joyously throughout 
the canyons and crannies of the mountains.
    When Meylona returned to herself, she was sprawled on 
the white stones of the plaza, feeling dizzy and sick. 
Gagging, she sat up and looked dazedly around, shaking the 
lassitude out of her muscles.
    There were several Maidens in the plaza, singing an 
incomprehensible hymn, eyes glowing with adoration, but 
thanks to her invisibility, none of them had noticed her. 
They didn't expect to see a death Elwen, and so there 
wasn't one there, to their minds. Meylona stood up and 
walked away as quietly as possible.
    She had made her way to the railing by the docks when 
bells began to ring. Though they had none of the 
heartbreaking beauty of the sounds in her dream, she found 
herself drawn toward them, as if by an irresistible force.
    They were coming from a church, she discovered 
swiftly, a church of Chilune, Lady of Chaos and Mischief. 
In accord with the precepts followed by its congregation, 
the church had none of the sense of order inherent in even 
the fancifully twisted spires the luggae favored. The 
walls made sudden angular turns designed to confound the 
eye and mind, now and then throwing in a straight stretch 
to lead the eye on, only to foil it again. The towers of 
the church turned in a way Meylona was not sure was 
possible, either geometrically or physically, and the 
bells hung from them- not inside, but out. Their song was 
amplified by hidden acoustic tricks, and caused a low 
humming in the church's triangular, round, or seven-sided 
windows.
    Meylona wandered into the wide, open great hall. The 
aisle wandered crazily this way and that, littered here 
and there with banana peels and trip wires. Scattered 
about in no discernible pattern were cushions of loud and 
soft colors for worshipers to kneel upon while praying. 
All of those spaces nearest the altar, however, were 
occupied by relics, bare expanses of floor, or 
uncomfortable-looking chairs.
    Meylona was trying to puzzle out how anyone, even mad 
architects, could have constructed rafters that doubled as 
optical illusions, when a familiar voice spoke from behind 
her. "May I help you?"
    "Aklamba!" Meylona turned around. She did not miss the 
startled expression that crossed the priestess's face 
before a polite smile came into being.
    "Meylona. I did not think you were a worshiper of 
Chilune." There was a hint of question, or challenge, in 
the words.
    "I'm not, really. I was drawn by the bells."
    Aklamba's face relaxed somewhat from its tense, wary 
self, as though Meylona had passed some sort of test by 
denying a real reason for her entrance, and a smile of 
agreement widened there. "Lovely, aren't they? I can't say 
I agree with most of the things Alidaran did- she was the 
one who designed this place- but the bells are definitely 
something that I can enjoy."
    Meylona nodded absently. There was still a guarded 
sensation behind the words, as if Aklamba were not 
revealing more than she absolutely had to. "What's wrong?"
    There was a long pause, brittle and bright as 
shattered glass, and then Aklamba sighed and looked at her 
feet. Like all worshipers of Chilune, she went about in 
soft, white, embroidered slippers, in imitation of the 
goddess in some legend or another, and the reason Meylona 
had not heard her approach. "You should be told. It is you 
the messages concern, after all."
    Meylona felt her heart lurch, though she could have 
given no reason for it if pressed. As casually as she 
could, she said, "Messages?"
    Aklamba nodded, eyes soft and large and grieving, and 
passed her two sheets of milky white paper.
    Meylona noted that the first bore a red dragon coiled 
about a circle of spears and swords. In the center of that 
ring was a snake, a diamond held in its coils.
    It took all her self-control to keep from crumpling 
the letter. That was the symbol of the Council of Arcadia, 
two members of which had conspired to make her life hell 
in the month before she departed the continent. Quietly, 
she opened the letter.
    The paper bore the official sign of Sapphiro 
Azurefire, or so she had come to learn from the rare 
letters she received from him, urging her to return to 
Arcadia: a fist gripping a sapphire. The first few lines, 
written in goldu, the fine golden ink made by boiling the 
para flower, caught her eye, first because of their color, 
and secondly because of their content.
    My dearest Meylona,
    I knew you will think this nothing more, likely, than 
one of my shifts in morality that you spoke to me about 
the last time we talked. Stars know I deserve any 
degradation, any designation, you care to heap upon me. 
But this time, I have chosen to follow the Elwen side of 
my being.
    Meylona frowned warily. What in the name of the stars 
was he talking about?
    I can only hope my messenger will fly more swiftly 
than the one that bears Azajir's letter. I understand you 
may feel compelled to act on the news my esteemed fellow 
colleague sends you, but I urge you to stay on Feathergem 
Isle. Elwen morality dictates that an individual not be 
sacrificed to save a group, and at the moment you are the 
most important individual born of Arcadia. You must stay 
on Feathergem, safe from the turmoil my colleague will try 
to lure you back with.
    Yours affectionately, and sincerely, Sapphiro.
    Meylona growled under her breath. What was the point 
of all that, if he wasn't even going to tell her the 
danger that Azajir referred to?
    She opened the other letter- this one, predictably, 
bearing the symbol of a silver eye swinging on the end of 
a chain like some obscene pendulum. The symbol of Azajir 
Kalurtum, another Councilman who had stopped at almost 
nothing to win the Lifesword away from her.
    His words were even sparser, and they did have a 
point, a point that made Sapphiro's warning fly out of her 
head.
    My dear, I feel obligated to inform you that an army 
heads for Fhevu, an army roused by tales of death Elwen 
cruelties against children. They mean to destroy your 
people. I am not sure you care for churni in general, but 
surely you will want to protect the Klaina of your birth, 
Darkhand, and your mother's Klaina, Deathwield. I speak to 
you in earnest concern for the death Elwens, and for you. 
Azajir Kalurtum.
    Meylona closed her eyes briefly, only barely aware she 
had closed her fist as well, and the paper was crumpling 
into a ball. Then, ignoring Aklamba's softly spoken, 
worried words, and the offer of a warm hand to support 
her, she dropped both letters and tore out of the church, 
shouting for Milmindeth.
----------------------------------------------------------
    Five minutes later, Meylona finished her description 
of the letter's contents, a description made half- 
incoherent by her whirlwind pacing around the house. 
Milmindeth had not moved from his bed since she first 
called his name, but listened with eyes that grew darker 
with every word she spoke.
    "Forgive me, my friend," he said at last, a mode of 
address that constricted her chest despite her mood. "But 
what can one pair of death Elwens and trotters, or even 
any allies we may hope to find, do to stop an army?"
    "Not much," Meylona admitted freely. "But even if I 
could do nothing, I owe it to my people, both the Klainae 
I was born of, to return."
    Milmindeth started to nod, then paused with an 
uplifted eyebrow. "You said 'could'. Surely you mean can?"
    "But there is something I can do," said Meylona 
quietly.
    Milmindeth sat still, as astonished as if she had 
suddenly declared she was leaving the island alone. Then 
he shot to his feet, hand clenching on the edges of the 
bed for a moment before it followed the rest of him. 
"Meylona!" he growled, anger and fear chasing each other 
across his eyes like comets migrating across the span of 
heaven. "You can't be serious. You can't mean it!" He 
sound as if he wished it actually were impossible.
    Meylona faced him down, feeling dizzy and defiant, on 
the edge of laughter, and stronger than she had ever been. 
"I can be serious, Milmindeth. I can mean it. I have the 
power to stop them, and I will." She slid the Lifesword 
half a foot from its sheath, filling the room with a 
panoply of colors that outshone the sunlight. "One of the 
powers Aklamba translated out was the power 'to keep the 
land safe from war.' Think of it!" The heart and blood in 
her were surging, laughing, leaping; she was flushed from 
the life of it. "Not only to turn back this army, but to 
banish all war from the Falchian Plains, all threat to our 
people, for as long as we wish!"
    "You say we, but it would be you who would use the 
power- and you would pay the price."
    Meylona shrugged and began pacing. "I already speak 
half with the Lifesword's voice and not my own. What 
matters a little more life-force? I think I can understand 
Sapphiro now. The sacrifice of a person for the greater 
good isn't evil."
    "Meylona, listen to yourself. And listen to Sapphiro. 
He told you not to use the damned thing."
    "Damn Sapphiro," Meylona answered happily. "I couldn't 
care less about him or his opinions right now. I am the 
Lifesword's wielder, and I will decide when to use it and 
when not to." She looked sideways at Milmindeth. "You will 
come with me? You won't leave me?" Even with a sense of 
purpose, she had come to realize, the long road home would 
be lonely without her akla'shoon.
    "How can you ask such a thing?" His voice was low, as 
if to conceal pain, and she realized she had 
unintentionally hurt him with the remark, as much as he 
had hurt her by calling her a child last night.
    Impulsively, the former noble strode up to him and 
embraced him, her head resting on his shoulder. "I'm 
sorry, love. I didn't mean that the way it sounded. Of 
course you'll come with me, and Skim, and Dia. We'll stop 
this evil together."
    Milmindeth did not answer with words. His hand 
descended on her right shoulder, his free arm coiling 
about her, and he kissed her hard, furiously, hopefully. 
Meylona took the message of love implicit in the kiss, and 
ignored what else it might mean, not wanting to spoil this 
moment of open love by probing too deeply.
    "You are dear to me," said Milmindeth at last, 
huskily, drawing back. "I don't want to lose you."
    Meylona ignored the heaviness in his voice, too, and 
the quiet ring that said he had already lost her. "Come. 
We should ask for safe passage back to the mainland as 
soon as possible. I don't think the army can reach Fhevu 
any faster than we can sail there, but it's best not to 
take chances."
    "Are you sure the luggae will give us that passage?"
    Meylona sighed, and gave in. Milmindeth wasn't raising 
problems to be irritating, but to remind her that they 
existed. And she owed him something for his unconditional 
support of her. "All right. We can find Aklamba, and ask 
her advice. But I think I know what she'll say."
    Milmindeth nodded in understanding, and followed 
Meylona out of the house and back to the temple of 
Chilune, unobtrusively catching up their packs as he 
followed. Meylona noticed, but did not comment. She had 
packed some days before, answering an unknown restless 
urge within her, and it might well be the last time either 
of them would see the cottage.
    When they neared the church, Meylona heard the sound 
of Aklamba's voice, so loud it might have been leading a 
congregation. But when she peeked into the hall, Meylona 
saw the priestess kneeling alone before Chilune's altar, 
where a sweet-smelling sacrifice of flowers burned. Her 
prayers had a a desperate sound, to Meylona's ears. But 
they were also meant to be private, and she discreetly 
withdrew.
    The smell of flowers did not vanish, as might be 
expected, but lingered in the church. At last Aklamba's 
voice ceased, and Meylona warily peered into the church, 
to see her gathering up flowers and studying them, tears 
of frustration and despair leaking from beneath her lids.
    Meylona coughed and rapped politely on the doorway- 
missing a door, of course.
    Aklamba looked up without even dull surprise. 
"Meylona. Come in." Her voice was flat, gray as the sea in 
storm, but without the sea's expression. "I have asked my 
goddess what I should tell you, and have received no 
answer. Chilune did not even take my sacrifice!" She shook 
the flowers, which bobbed, trailing little wisps of smoke. 
They really did look remarkably good for having been put 
to the flame.
    "A moment of your time, no more," said Meylona 
diffidently, stepping inside. It was one thing to assume 
the priestess would give them advice, another to actually 
ask it. "Can you tell me whether you think I should return 
to the mainland?" It was not the question she had meant to 
ask.
    While she was groping for possible replacements for 
it, the priestess replied in the same voice. "Of course I 
do not think you should return to the mainland, Meylona. 
Did you expect me to advise you otherwise? What you carry 
can do too much damage to Arcadia. But nothing I say can 
weaken your resolve. Why can't you understand that if you 
go, you stand alone?"
    "I won't be alone," said Meylona defiantly. "I will 
have Milmindeth, and Dia, and Skim."
    "How will you move, once you get there? In a month 
that mare of yours will be too pregnant to ride."
    So other people had noticed. Meylona did not think 
this boded well for the length of time Skim would remain 
in the dark. "I'll teleport if I have to. The sword allows 
me to do that, you know. It was one of the powers you 
translated for me."
    "I have been trying to forget that translation," 
Aklamba whispered, looking away.
    "Why?" Meylona radiated the most sincere concern she 
could over the priestess's obvious distress. "Did I come 
between you and your goddess somehow?"
    Aklamba looked up and forced a smile. "If that is what 
displeased Chilune, you had nothing to do with it. I was 
the one who agreed to do the translation. But yes, I think 
she is displeased that I translated some of the runes, or 
perhaps she does not think I should be asking how I can 
help you, the bearer of this dangerous thing."
    "Actually, I don't really need advice, though that 
would be nice. I just want to know when the next ship for 
Arcadia leaves."
    Aklamba drew in her breath, then let it out again in a 
long sigh. "I told you, Meylona, I do not think you should 
go."
    "Does that mean I am a prisoner here, instead of a 
guest, as I was given to understand?" Outrage stirred in 
her, strong and deep. "You will prevent me from going?"
    "Not prevent!" The gull Elwen looked shocked, almost 
offended. "You know we are not that kind of people, 
Meylona. No, we will not prevent you, and we will carry 
you to Arcadia if all our efforts to persuade you cannot 
change your mind. But we will feel compelled to send a 
message to Sapphiro informing him that you have left."
    Meylona let out a long breath. Then she nodded. Though 
they had defied Sapphiro eight months ago to offer her 
protection, they owed a debt to him, and knew it. Besides, 
there was a certain vindictive satisfaction in imagining 
his face when he received the news. "Understood. Now, on 
to other matters. The ship I came on made the journey in 
about two months. Do you have any idea how long this will 
take? I assume I will be going to Lustresdon or some other 
port directly across from Feathergem?"
    "Your instincts are disturbingly good," said Aklamba 
with a weak smile. "Yes, if we take you back, it will most 
likely be to one of the nearer ports. Lustresdon, 
Olsibarak, one of those. And the journey to one of those 
in one of our swifter ships can be made in under a month."
    "Excellent!" Meylona radiated approval, blithely 
ignoring the phrase "if we take you back." "And when does 
one of these ships leave?"
    "One can leave tomorrow, if your need is urgent 
enough." Aklamba sighed then, and looked down at her 
slippered feet. "I have given the counsel you desire," she 
said softly. "Now listen to mine."
    "Gladly." Meylona fixed her eyes to the priestess's 
and prepared to be bored.
    "I do not think you should return, and not just 
because this sword you bear could endanger the continent." 
Aklamba began to pace, gown swirling about her and wings 
twitching. "To me this setup smacks of convenience. The 
death Elwens have been hated for many years. Why would 
their enemies suddenly decide to destroy them?"
    "I don't know," Meylona admitted. "But I do not think 
even Azajir would send me a false letter to lure me back. 
He is a Councilman of Arcadia, after all. He has some 
honor."
    Aklamba made a sound of contempt. She had been one of 
the original few fascinated with the story a death Elwen 
had left behind her in order to come to the island, and 
often said she had learned more about Azajir than she 
cared to. "I do not think he has. But even assuming the 
letter is real, what will you do when you reach your 
homeland? To hear you tell it, you are wanted by the Lady 
who rules your Klaina."
    "That is true," Meylona admitted freely. "But with 
luck, I won't even run into her. I will warn my people of 
the impending danger, perhaps by calling a General 
Council- which is my right as a noble- invoke the sword's 
power to protect them, and leave."
    Aklamba sighed and looked up at the light streaming in 
through the open windows. "Somehow I don't think it's 
going to be as simple as you paint it." Meylona could 
almost feel Milmindeth nodding behind her in agreement. 
"But it is your choice. We will not try to hold you here. 
But I do hope you will permit me to say farewell to you."
    "Of course." Meylona hesitated, remembering one more 
thing that had stayed in the back of her mind. 
"Milmindeth, will you exit the church, please? I need to 
speak to the priestess about a feminine matter."
    Milmindeth bowed to them both, murmured, "Ladies," and 
discreetly withdrew. Meylona vowed that one day she'd 
break him of the habit to use company as an excuse for 
excessive politeness.
    "Now- what is it?" Aklamba scrutinized Meylona 
carefully. "You're far too young to be carrying a child, 
so it can't be that. And you don't want a betrothal 
ceremony, I assume, or you would have asked Milmindeth to 
stay." There was a slight, knowing note in the priestess's 
voice that made Meylona flush even as she answered.
    "No, nothing like that. I asked Milmindeth to leave 
because I think he would be disturbed by what I am about 
to tell you. I think, also, another female mind would 
understand this better than he could."
    "Dreams, my dear?"
    "How did you know that?" Meylona blurted, betrayed by 
her own startlement.
    Aklamba came forward to take her hands. "Though we may 
not agree with the Maidens of the Stars in disdaining men 
and waiting to teach children the trick of Shifting, we 
watch over them and protect them. We understand them 
better than our male kin do, which is only natural, 
considering that we live closer to them as part of the 
Way. Your movements have been noted, Meylona. We did not 
think you would cause any harm, and indeed you did not. 
But it is luck for you that you were found by an 
imaginative child like Josel and not one of the older 
priestesses."
    Meylona signaled accord. "I know. But I wanted to ask 
you about the dreams I had when I inhaled the candle 
smoke."
    "Go ahead. Ask. There is little more chaotic than 
dreams, and in this I have Chilune's full favor. 
Deciphering dreams is one of the first tasks taught to 
initiates, you know."
    Meylona carefully described the dreams, including such 
things as the way the fortress had glowed in the sunset 
light and the extra, disturbing dimension she had seen in 
both the man and the woman. Aklamba's brow furrowed when 
she heard that part, but she remained quiet, thinking, for 
a long while before opening her eyes.
    Meylona's skin crawled. Those eyes were as clear and 
untroubled as a forest pond, the eyes of a simple-minded 
child or a diviner.
    "You have been given a triad of visions in the old 
pattern," said Aklamba in a voice that was not her own, a 
voice that sang like tapped crystal. "Present, past, and 
future. As you do not know the man, I would say he is 
someone you are soon destined to meet. His extra 
dimension-"
    Abruptly, Aklamba choked, bowing her head as though 
fighting for breath. Alarmed, Meylona started toward her, 
but a mighty hand pushed her gently away. She stood 
helplessly, held at bay by godly power, until Aklamba 
recovered. Her voice was serene still, but there was a 
shadow in the back of her eyes. 
    "That extra dimension is something I may not speak 
of," she intoned. "Neither in man nor woman. Chilune 
forbids that because of the promise made long ago."
    Meylona's frown deepened. Was the man she was destined 
to meet some kind of emissary from Chilune, then, on a 
mission the goddess did not want recognized?
    "The woman is someone loved and lost, someone you knew 
and did not know," Aklamba went on, as though what she 
said made perfect sense and were not an intriguing riddle. 
"Think hard, daughter of death. Who did you know and not 
know, and who do you know now that-" Again she shuddered, 
on the edge of a spasm, and changed whatever she had been 
about to say. "Who did you know and not know?" she 
repeated.
    Meylona held her hands helplessly wide apart and shook 
her head. The woman might have looked familiar, but the 
extra dimension the priestess could not speak of had so 
distorted her that Meylona could not recognize her.
    "Do not fear," sang the serene voice. "It will come in 
time. That was your past. And now, to the vision of your 
future. The fortress you saw was the stronghold of the 
Council of Arcadia."
    Meylona tried to imagine any reason she would want to 
go there, and came up with nothing. 
    At least, not any sane reason.
    "And the bells-" There was a pause; then a snatch of 
the bellsong that Meylona had heard in her dream emerged 
from Aklamba's mouth. The death Elwen woman felt her heart 
constrict in yearning. Despite the fact that these sounds 
had come from the Council of Arcadia, they sounded so 
beautiful that she could not help responding.
    The song ceased, but Aklamba's voice wove the joy of 
it into her next words. "Do not despair, Meylona, daughter 
of life, for those bells will give you hope and courage at 
the moment when you most need them. Do not resist the 
truth, or the fact that you must face it, and all will be 
well."
    Meylona was still pondering that one when Aklamba 
slumped forward. Catching her, Meylona eased her gently 
back into the chair she had taken without the entranced 
lugga ever noticing. Meylona wondered if she should call 
for help, but then saw that Aklamba's eyes were open, 
clear and calm, though exhausted.
    "The divination took more out of me than I thought," 
she whispered in answer to Meylona's unspoken question, 
"but I'm fine." She rested for a moment, gathering 
strength, then said softly, "Is what Azajir said true?"
    "What do you mean?"
    "He said you are a daughter of two Klainae, Darkhand 
and Deathwield. Yet you gave your surname as Meylona 
Darkhand."
    "Because I was born with black eyes. Had I been born 
with green eyes, I would have been surnamed Deathwield. My 
mother was a noble of Deathwield, my father of Darkhand. 
It is a common practice among us, to prevent too much 
inbreeding in any one family..." Meylona's voice died as 
she realized something.
    Stars. Her mother had possessed green hair and eyes.
    "A daughter of Deathwield." Aklamba breathed softly 
out. "Oh, child, I fear for you."
    The overmastering compassion in the priestess's voice 
caused Meylona's revelation to fade. "What do you mean?"
    The dark eyes held Meylona's. "Though I am not 
permitted to speak of it, I know the secret of Deathwield. 
You have not grown up knowing it. When you finally come to 
knowledge of it, I hope you will be strong enough to 
survive it."




                        Chapter 2
                      The Black Gull
    Dia snorted in displeasure. -By the time we get to the 
mainland, I'll have trouble carrying you-
    Meylona rubbed the mare's neck affectionately, and to 
show her she was not to blame for her pregnancy in any 
way. "If that is a problem, we'll just teleport to the 
Falchians." Despite her best efforts to be cheerful, her 
voice sounded false and hollow. Can I not even believe 
myself? she asked in disgust.
    The deathtrotter mare turned anxious eyes on her 
rider. -You really are not upset? I know there are more 
convenient times for a baby to come-
    Meylona gripped Dia's nose and pulled it down toward 
her, shaking it playfully. "Dia, I hardly rule your life. 
You may bear a child every year if that suits you. What I 
am upset about has nothing to do with you." Though she 
tried to keep it out of her voice, there was a slight edge 
of bitterness to the words, warning her steed to ask no 
further.
    Dia wisely did not, instead turning the conversation 
to lighter matters. -A child every year? I think not. 
Though I know I will love all my foals, five months of 
weight gain and all that pain is a ridiculous price to pay 
for-
    "Dia!"
    -That- the mare finished innocently. She looked 
narrow-eyed at her rider, in mock outrage. -Skim knows 
now. And I did not tell him. Unless Milmindeth found out 
somehow by telepathy and told him, I don't think there's 
any way he could have known- She tilted her head 
challengingly.
    "Milmindeth was with us last night, yes," Meylona 
replied casually. "But I don't think Skim needed any help 
from him to tell. You're beginning to show."
    The mare automatically looked at her swollen belly, 
then jerked her head up to glare. -I am not showing-
    Meylona grinned, feeling the shadows of what Aklamba 
had told her fall away. Nothing as disturbing as what the 
priestess had said about the Deathwield Klaina could be 
real, so long as she was arguing like this with Dia. "You 
are, too. We shall have to journey gently once we reach 
Arcadia, and not go through places where we would need to 
disguise ourselves. There's no way, in a month, that I'm 
going to be able to fit a saddle girth around your belly."
    -Did I ask to have a rider who teased me like this- 
Dia complained, stamping her hoof against the grass and 
looking up at the sky. -No, I did not! Did I ask to carry 
large children? No, I did not- Abruptly she bowed her 
head, tugging at Meylona's hair like any ordinary horse. 
-But I'm satisfied with both of them, I suppose-
    "I love you, too," Meylona replied, standing up and 
rearranging her hair. She really ought to put the comb 
back in, but she had no patience for that right now.
    -If you mares are quite finished- said a dry voice, 
like Dia's, but deeper and firmer in timbre. Hoofbeats 
sounded behind Meylona, and a cold muzzle briefly touched 
her shoulder.
    Meylona turned to face Skim, Milmindeth's stallion. He 
stood proudly framed against the trees of the garden the 
gull Elwens had turned over to their equine visitors. 
"Greetings, Skim. You must be very happy."
    Looking about as if for listeners, the tall, regal 
trotter bent his head and said in the equivalent of a 
stage whisper- I am. But don't tell her that- He flicked 
his tail at Dia.
    Sneezing, one deathtrotter way of laughing, the mare 
reared and drummed her hooves gently against her mate's 
ribs. Skim sprang away from Meylona, nipping the mare's 
neck and driving her in a circle before letting her do the 
same to him. Watching them play, even though their coats 
and eyes shone in the sunlight slanting down from above 
with a brilliant radiance that should have shattered 
shadows, Meylona felt the chill touch of fear again. Only, 
this time, it had a suspicious taste, as if it were more 
warmed-over envy than fear.
    Will Milmindeth and I ever be that- that easy around 
each other? It was the only word she could find for it. 
The trotters saw no harm in playing jokes on each other, 
in openly expressing their love where anyone could see it, 
or in mating hastily.
    Skim stopped abruptly, forcing Dia to stop also or 
crash into him, and loped over to Meylona. -So. I hear we 
are returning to the mainland- His eyes glowed with hope. 
Though he had been the one who put Arcadia the farthest 
behind him, he had also never given up the belief he would 
see it again someday.
    "Yes, my friend," Meylona murmured, reaching up to 
touch his mane gently. LIke Dia's, it was as cold and 
white as a shroud, ever billowing gently around his neck 
in unfelt breezes. "Tomorrow, if they can muster a boat 
for us. They have one ready, I understand, but apparently 
the crew is reluctant to put out without Chilune's 
blessing, which they can only get at sunrise."
    -All right- The stallion nodded, pouting, and went 
back to chasing Dia so abruptly that Meylona blinked in 
startlement. Then she shrugged, smiled, and turned, 
leaving them to their happiness.
    Milmindeth straightened up when he saw her. He had 
been waiting just outside the garden, allowing her to go 
in alone. Though Meylona knew he would deny it if she 
asked- and of course she would never ask him- the churni 
woman thought it might be because he was distressed to see 
foliage dying around him. That was one power the Lifesword 
had taken from her that she did not miss.
    "They have a ship ready, my lady," said Milmindeth, 
without preamble. "The Gull of Midnight, she's called. I 
heard some people muttering that that's not exactly a 
favorable omen." Milmindeth smiled fleetingly. "But 
apparently these sailors aren't as superstitious as some."
    Meylona nodded and said nothing. She herself thought 
the name a bit ominous, but then, she supposed anything 
would seem ominous to her after Aklamba's strange 
divination.
    Milmindeth bent to look at her a little more closely, 
and his starry eyes held enough compassion that Meylona 
felt her heart unfreeze a little. "Do you want to tell me 
about it?" he asked quietly.
    Meylona shook her head and looked out to sea. Though 
only the inner parts of Seamorn were very far from the Two 
Continents Ocean, they were especially close now, with the 
sea separated from them only by a narrow, decorative rail 
of pale stone. Several ships rolled at anchor in the 
sheltered harbor, where two headlands curled toward each 
other like the horns of a crescent moon, and they were 
busy with both sailors making repairs and adjustments, and 
birds. Thousands of seabirds of every kind followed the 
ships that were sailing on test courses, diving in and out 
of the water, and swarmed over those pitching (relatively) 
in place. Their voices nearly overpowered the sound of the 
waves slapping against the rail. Meylona stood still, 
drinking in the strange chorus, letting the waves wet her 
boots. What did she care?
    Milmindeth had wisely taken her head motion and 
subsequent silence to mean that no, she didn't want to 
talk about it, and had returned to watching for danger. 
Abruptly his eyes narrowed, and he stared. Though 
Milmindeth could take alarm from the most innocent things, 
Meylona followed his gaze. A distraction would be welcome 
just now.
    Perched on the railing some distance away, eying them 
with more of the cocky boldness most gulls had than would 
be expected of a single one, was a black gull. Though its 
bright webbed feet and pointed bill were unmistakable 
after six months of observation, Meylona found herself 
scrutinizing the bird, trying to see if it were a tern, or 
a cormorant, perhaps.
    "A black gull," Milmindeth whispered, almost 
rhetorically. "On the eve of our sail in a ship called 
Gull of Midnight,"
    As if it had heard, and understood, him, the black 
gull clattered its wings and its beak. The sound was 
inherently repellent, but through it, Meylona managed to 
distinguish something disturbingly like self-satisfaction.
    Or laughter.
    Then the black gull took wing, crying aloud in a 
manner as like a gull as possible. Though Meylona told 
herself it was her imagination, she felt a cold wind blow 
from its wings. And she did notice that as it swooped low 
over the waves, a momentary darkness seemed to spread on 
the water, a darkness that lingered longer than one might 
have expected from a shadow.
    Of course, the sun was sinking westward, casting long 
shadows. And it was still colder with the arrival of night 
than it would eventually be. And...
    "Let's go in, Milmindeth," said Meylona abruptly, 
turning to head back to the house they had abandoned. Not 
even the memory of the sunlight in the garden could warm 
her. "I feel a draft."
    "As my lady wishes," Milmindeth murmured, and followed 
behind her for a few paces. Then he came up and draped his 
arm about her shoulders, trying to lend her warmth.
    Meylona knew the gesture was innocent, but she did 
find something to bless the gull about, after all.
----------------------------------------------------------
    Meylona groaned and sat up, breaking the heavy yet 
sleepless lack of motion she had lain cocooned in since 
going to bed two hours ago. She had tried everything: 
tossing and turning, asking herself questions, even 
listening to Milmindeth's soft, steady breathing. None of 
it worked. This was tried and true insomnia.
    Meylona glared out the window. Riding overhead, 
showering their light through the glass panes with no care 
for who was trying to sleep, were three of Arcadia's four 
moons. Rareth, the small purple one, was in the forefront, 
but both he and Takon, the aqua moon of summer, were only 
crescents. Meylona could have dealt with that. But Lureth 
the golden, brightest of the four, seemed to have 
forgotten that her season was autumn, not spring. She was 
full, and stared down like an unwinking golden eye, 
conspiring with her comrades to turn night to day.
    Grumbling, the death Elwen sat up, pulled the comb out 
of one strip of leather to pull her hair back with, and 
stood. With a glance at Milmindeth, who did not change his 
breathing, even with the tiny catch that would mean he was 
awake, she slipped out of the house and into the night. 
Perhaps walking would tire her enough to remind her body 
of its duty.
    Seamorn lay in a hushed world, a dreamless sleep made 
all the more eerie by the light that shone over it, a pale 
imitation of the sun's. Only the sound of the ocean 
reassured Meylona. The moons could fall from the sky, the 
sun shine at midnight, and the sea would still continue to 
beat until life's end.
    Meylona felt her breathing slow and calm. She moved to 
the railing and gripped it, listening to the sea and 
letting the wind battle the comb for control of her hair.
    There came the sound of a gull from somewhere near. 
Meylona had lifted her head and begun to smile before she 
saw all the shapes bobbing on the waves like so many toy 
boats. The smile faded. The seabirds could not be fooled 
by bright light, as an intelligent being could; this was 
night, and they slept.
    What, then, had made that sound?
    Again it came, a half-smothered cry that made Meylona 
shudder. She didn't know why, but she felt that the sound 
was not natural, a cruel mockery of a real seabird, as 
Lureth was a mimicry of the sun.
    Abruptly the moon was blotted out by a rushing cloud. 
Meylona looked up, the breath streaming back into her 
throat as she realized no cloud could move-
    That damn fast. 
    Or be that dark.
    She had only that moment's warning before the gulls 
descended on her, and she used it. She drew her sword, the 
starmetal one that would leave iced-over cuts, and the 
knife from her neck-sheath. That was plain, honest steel, 
but it would do.
    Black gulls swirled and danced about her, a miasma of 
snapping beaks and beating wings. Meylona fought 
desperately, her sword whirring through the air, knowing 
one of those wings could stun her for a crucial moment, 
that one of those beaks could remove an eye.
    Finally she did receive a direct hit from one coal- 
dark wing. The self-preservation instinct, however, and 
the terror pumping through her, led her to fight beyond 
the pain, to strike the gull that had hit her with a blow 
that severed its head from its neck.
    It was a temporary victory. At once two gulls took its 
place, striking viciously with their beaks at her 
unprotected face. Meylona jerked her head desperately 
upward, saving her eyes but earning cuts beneath them. 
Something in her mind breathed a shallow sigh of relief. 
In truth, not even the loss of an eye was critical to an 
Elwen; it would regenerate in a few hours. But fighting 
these demonic birds, those were hours she didn't have.
    After a while, her initial panic calmed, which was 
both good and bad. She could fight more calmly now, but 
she missed the strength her fear had given her.
    Still, there was a reason for the fear's 
disappearance. Though the birds were trying their hardest 
to kill her, and no one seemed to be responding to either 
her mental or her physical calls for help, she was still 
alive. There had to be some reason for that, and as long 
as there were reasons, there was hope.
    At last, the flock fled, still calling their mockeries 
of real gull cries, still undefeated. She had the distinct 
feeling they chose to retreat.
    She didn't care. She was alive, though at a cost of 
pain and perhaps twenty gull lives, and she intended to 
stay that way without much speculation.
    But her mind asked questions anyway, of course. How 
had she survived the loss of blood? Why had the birds 
departed? Where had they come from and why had they 
attacked her in the first place?
    Trembling, Meylona bent and wiped gently at the blood 
on a cut. There her hand halted. After a moment, she began 
to shake the harder.
    Though the blood remained, there was no sign of the 
deep slash she knew had produced the fluid. It had closed 
with the swiftness and silence of- of-
    Magic.
----------------------------------------------------------
    The doorframe, indeed the whole temple, seemed to 
shake as Meylona pounded on it. "Please," she whispered 
despairingly, praying to any power who would hear her that 
Aklamba had decided to stay here and pray to Chilune for 
forgiveness, rather than go home.
    No one answered her, however, except the bells, which 
hummed lowly once and then grew still. At last, defeated 
and utterly despairing, Meylona turned away from the 
temple and put her head in her hands.
    She had hoped the priestess would advise her, but it 
seemed there was no one to help her save herself. 
    She made her way to the railing that stood by the sea 
and leaned over it again, trying to calm herself by 
breathing deeply of the salty air. The night was still, 
cool, quiet. Gradually her pounding heart calmed, and 
Meylona forced herself to view the situation in a more 
rational light.
    What did it matter that a flock of strange birds had 
attacked her, and that strange magic had healed her? She 
had enemies and friends enough that both could have 
happened.
    But why?
    "I still want to know why," Meylona whispered to the 
whistling breeze, "even if it doesn't matter. And I think 
it does matter. Those gulls were drawn to me, somehow; 
suppose I did it myself? And suppose I healed myself? 
Only- I'm not a mage. The only magic I've ever handled is 
innate. How could I suddenly have acquired spell magic?"
    Talking it out like this made her feel much easier, 
much more willing to face the world that lay still under 
moonlight and did not fly about attacking people. She was 
loosing the rail from her tight clutch when a slender 
winged shape soared over it and landed directly in front 
of her.
    "Meylona Darkhand?" came a voice from the shape in 
front of her.
    The death Elwen fell back a pace. From the accent, she 
was sure the stranger was a lugga, but the moonlight was 
so bright that she couldn't use her nightsight, and so the 
intruder remained a black silhouette to her. "I am she," 
she said cautiously. "Is there some kind of business you 
have with me?"
    "You are taking the ship Gull of Midnight?" the voice 
pursued, without really acknowledging her question.
    "I am."
    The wings of the lugga moved, as if in a shrug or a 
nod. "You are not." The calm statement set Meylona's teeth 
on edge, and it was good to be able to transform her fear 
into anger. She glared at this stranger.
    "And why not?" Her hand strayed to her sword hilt.
    The lugga's emotional aura changed to one of 
amusement, and Meylona could hear the smile in her voice. 
"The gulls have decided you are not fit to set foot on a 
gull Elwen ship, Meylona Darkhand. If I were you, I would 
not discard as inexpert the judgment of the sea."
    "Judgment? It was an attack!"
    "Exactly. The sea sometimes shows her will in strange 
ways. Yet we have no choice but to obey." The lugga gave a 
humble bow that Meylona somehow felt was utterly false.
    "I may have summoned those gulls to myself, 
accidentally. I don't know how, but they were not a 
judgment, but misguided magic."
    "That is why." The lugga straightened, and Meylona 
could sense her eyes glaring at the death Elwen with 
something like angry pity. "No lugga ship, the Gull of 
Midnight or any other, will carry a mage. The sea does not 
like them, and will rise against ship and passenger. Even 
a newly-born mage counts, Lady Meylona Darkhand. You may 
have thought you could sneak your curse past us, but 
that's not the way it works. The sea warns us beforehand 
by signaling them out. Even a member of the crew can be 
left behind if proven a mage. Certainly a passenger."
    Meylona shook her head stubbornly. "I must return to 
the mainland, and that is where I am going."
    "I do not think so," said the strange shape 
thoughtfully. "After I warn you, I fully intend to go and 
spread my warning among the other ships. You will find 
passage nowhere off this island."
    Meylona took a slow, menacing step nearer the sailor, 
meaning to ask if she were willing to risk the wrath of a 
mage by not carrying the churni. A sound other than the 
slopping of waves against stone distracted her, however.
    She turned to see a sleek shape bobbing in the water 
near the docks. It looked up at her for a moment, then 
disappeared beneath the surface. A scant second later, it 
made a glimmering leap out of the water about twenty feet 
away, auralight shivering over it as brilliantly as 
sunshine would. It uttered a high-pitched, clicking cry as 
it landed back in the water. Meylona breathed a sigh of 
relief, and smugness. To the sailors of Feathergem, 
Aklamba had once told her, there was no better omen than a 
dolphin leaping so close to shore.
    She turned challengingly to the lugga. "If that 
doesn't convey the sea's approval of me, what does?"
    The gull Elwen sounded troubled, even as she pointed a 
finger. "You summoned that dolphin to you!"
    "Then I could have summoned the gulls as well, 
couldn't I?" Meylona asked with a sarcastic sigh. "Why 
name one the judgment of the sea and not another?"
    The sailor said nothing more, but took wing and flew 
again over the railing. Meylona hoped to get a glimpse of 
her face as she passed through the moonlight, but the 
woman shimmered and Shifted in that moment, becoming a 
regular gull like hundreds of others. The seabirds dozing 
on the water lifted their heads briefly to one of their 
own, then tucked their beaks under their feathers and went 
back to sleep.
    Meylona remained gazing after the sailor, troubled in 
a way beyond the merely obvious. If she had summoned the 
dolphin, had she also summoned the gulls? Or had she 
summoned one but not the other? Had the sea really judged 
her?
    She turned away, setting one foot in front of the 
other, letting her steps lead her back to the cottage. 
There was not much else she could do at the moment- and a 
tired ache had begun to pervade her limbs, the fatigue she 
had been looking for.
    She stumbled into the small house, wrapped herself in 
blankets and dreams, and forgot the odd, moonlit world 
where she had learned so much.
    It wasn't quite as easy to forget the next morning, 
when she woke to find Milmindeth holding something in his 
hands, gazing at it in open puzzlement. She asked 
permission with an outstretched hand, and he placed the 
small object within it. 
    A black feather.
----------------------------------------------------------
    The smoke wafted up to heaven, carrying the prayers of 
Chilune's faithful with it. The smell of burned flowers 
and the sound of the words sharply said by the priestess 
both seemed to linger in the air, as if Meylona's senses 
had sharpened. She shook her head irritably. That's what 
getting five hours of sleep does for you, she thought.
    Aklamba finally finished her devotions on the small, 
makeshift altar and stepped back. At once the kneeling 
sailors on the Gull of Midnight climbed to their feet and 
began to scramble busily about their ship.
    No one protested, after all, about letting down the 
ramp that would allow their passengers to climb aboard. 
The sailors were small, wiry, strong women, with tunics 
and leggings instead of the usual gowns, their wings bound 
tightly to their backs except when they had to fly to the 
crow's nest or other high point. They all carried 
scimitars, dirks, crossbows, or some other weapon strapped 
to their waists. They would be formidable opponents. But 
they only watched stoically as Milmindeth and the trotters 
started to step aboard.
    Aklamba caught hold of Meylona's hand and stared into 
her eyes as if she would read what was written there. "Be 
careful, daughter of Deathwield."
