Chapter 16

        Down and down and down, until finally the ground was once again where it was supposed to be.

        Tarrin felt bitterly disappointed that it was over.  Ariana was on the ground, fluttering her wings slightly for some strange reason, and with a sigh of regret, Tarrin climbed out of the basket and put his paws back on the hot, sandy soil of the desert floor.

        Ariana had done a good job of it.  They were some thirty longspans to the northwest of the edge of the cloud.  She had spiralled down lazily, taking her time, but moving ever further out to the northwest with each broad circle.  It was some time in the afternoon, and they had come down in an area where those stunted desert bushes were starting to regrow after a denuding pass by Selani flocks.  The Selani themselves were well southeast of them, well beyond any area where they may be a danger to him, or pose a danger to themselves because of him.

        Sarraya flitted out of the basket as Tarrin stretched, then absently returned to his humanoid form.  Ariana blew out her breath and looked at him, then grunted softly.  "I take it that you don't have any water, do you?" she asked.  "Flying like that makes me thirsty."

        Tarrin just gave her a look, then glanced at Sarraya.  "One full waterskin, coming up," she declared.  Tarrin held out his paw as Sarraya summoned up her Druidic power, and a full waterskin appeared in his paw.

        "Magic!" Ariana breathed.

        "I'm a Faerie, girl," Sarraya said chidingly.  Tarrin handed it to the Aeradalla emotionlessly, and the woman gave it a suspicious look before opening it.

        "This is safe, isn't it?" she asked.

        Sarraya gave her a hard look, and Ariana laughed.  "Sorry, stupid question," she apologized, then took a long, deep draw from the skin.

        Tarrin crossed his arms and looked down at the much shorter Aeradalla.  The tops of her wings nearly came up to the level of his eyes, though.  "Alright, now you can tell me how you ended up as a serving wench."

        Ariana chuckled ruefully.  "Well, there's not a whole lot to it," she said.  "When I got home, I found out that my house had been annexed by the Ruling Council, as had everything I owned.  They had declared me dead.  Well, my parents are both dead and my sister is married to a noble and had disowned me--I'm not up to her standards, you see.  So I didn't have anyone to turn to for help.  I lost all my assets when I was captured by the Arakites, and the Ruling Council took what was left.   I was destitute, so I had to get a job.  I worked in warehouses and festhalls, trying to get up enough money for a crossbow, so I could at least hunt for my own food.  I nearly had enough, when the lackeys from the Palace tracked me down and said that I owed taxes on the house that they took from me while I was gone!"  She spat.  "Damned greedy bastards," she growled.  "Ever since the King was wounded, they've been running roughshod all over us commoners, and we can't do anything about it, because they have magicians and we don't.  They've been taxing us into the poorhouse!"

        "What happened to your king?" Sarraya asked.

        "He got a little too close to what he thought was a dead inu," she sighed.  "It took a big piece out of him, and what was worse, it tore off one of his wings."

        Sarraya and Tarrin exchanged glances, then Sarraya laughed brightly.  "Well, Ariana, I think that your governmental problems should be clearing up right about now," the Faerie said with a broad grin.

        "What are you talking about?"

        "We saw a one-winged Aeradalla in that obelisk at the center of the city," Tarrin told her.  "We healed him before we left."

        Ariana gaped at him.  "You did?  That's wonderful!" she said excitedly.  "He went there, hoping that Shaervan would restore him."

        "Shaervan?" Sarraya asked.

        "Our god," Ariana replied.  "That place is the holiest of places.  It's said that Shaervan rested there after he made our city, that he wrote the Book of Joy there, the holy book of our people, and he left behind an object to ensure that we would always be safe and happy.  Only the king and the High Priest can go there."  She gave him a quick look.  "You were there?  What's there?" she asked quickly.  "Everyone passes rumors about what's inside the obelisk."

        "I think it would be a dishonor to your god to pass around his secrets, Ariana," Tarrin said calmly.  "Let's just say that there is something there, and it does what your people say it does.  That's all I'm going to say about it, so leave it be."

        She gave him a slightly disappointed look.

        Sarraya laughed.  "I hope your king has some backbone, girl," she told Ariana.  "From the sound of it, his Ruling Council won't be very happy that he's coming back.  He may have to step on some necks."

        "King Andos is a strong king," Ariana told her calmly.  "He's loved by the people, and he's very shrewd.  All he'll have to do is hold one of his courts where anyone can state a grievance, and that'll be the end of the Ruling Council."  She gave them a sudden anxious look.  "I can get my house back!" she declared.  "I just have to tell the king what happened!"

        "You can just see the king whenever you want?" Sarraya asked.

        "I can," she said with a little smile.  "My father was one of the king's advisors before he retired, and he remembers our name.  If I go to the Palace and make it clear it's something very important, he'll see me."

        "He didn't look quite that old," Sarraya told Tarrin.  "At least not under all that waste."

        "What are you talking about?" Ariana asked.

        "He didn't look old enough to be friends with your father," Tarrin told her.

        "Well, he was only a boy when he took the throne," she replied.  "Men like my father helped guide him while he got used to the throne.  I like to think that my father had a hand in making him the king he is today.  But I guess that's a little arrogant."

        "Truth isn't arrogance," Tarrin said dismissively.

        "Well, in any event, I really have to get back," she said quickly.  "If I hurry, I can be sleeping under my old roof by tonight.  I was thinking I'd take you wherever you're going, but I hope you don't mind if I take care of this."

        Tarrin looked away from her.  "I wouldn't let you take me anywhere, Ariana," he said grimly.  "There's something I need to do yet, and until that's done, I can't leave.  You'd be waiting a long time to take me anywhere, so it's best if you just go home."

        Ariana stared at him.  "Is there anything I can do to help?  First you save me, now you've healed my king.  You should be rewarded for that.  Can we do anything for you?  Anything at all?"

        "I don't need anything," Tarrin told her.

        Give her a shaeram, the voice of the Goddess came to him.  It was not a gentle voice.  It was a commanding voice.  Give her a shaeram, and tell her that if she ever needs you, that she can contact you.

        Why, Mother? he thought to himself.  Why would I ever need to talk to her?  I don't understand.

        That was not a suggestion, kitten, she said sharply.  You are one of my children, and that gives me the right to tell you to do things you don't understand from time to time.

        As you command, Mother, he said with immediate submission.  He would not disobey his goddess.  How do I get a shaeram?

        How do you get anything? came her reply, and then he felt her presence retreat back away from him.

        That was that.  The Goddess didn't often order him to do anything, and when she did, that meant that it was important enough not to question.  Obviously, the Goddess knew something that he didn't, and he would yield to her superior wisdom.

        Getting a shaeram was a very simple affair.  Reaching within, Tarrin came into contact with his own Druidic ability, and formed the image of it in his mind.  Then he simply willed it to appear.  And it did.  A shaeram appeared in his paw, one made of quartz crystal, with a sturdy silver chain.  Quartz?  He wasn't thinking of quartz when he formed the image.  Maybe the Goddess was tampering a bit there?  It was quite lovely, he had to admit, catching the light and giving off rainbow sparkles and scillinting flashes of light.  He wasn't sure how she was going to use it to talk to him, but again, he had the feeling that the Goddess was going to take care of that.  He knew that, when necessary, the Goddess could weave her own spells.  He had seen them, in his amulet, so he knew that she could do it.  He had little doubt that she'd weave whatever spells she thought necessary into the amulet...but probably when he wasn't looking.  No doubt he'd see what she'd do, and try to do it hismelf.  Considering the vast differences between their abilities, that would probably be a very bad idea on his part.

        At least one part he did understand.  She had a shaeram, and he knew her name.  That meant that he could use his amulet to talk to her any time he wished.  It didn't require any talent in Sorcery to be the receiver of one of those spells.  All they needed was the shaeram.

        "Here," he said gruffly, holding out the shaeram.  "Take this."

        "It's lovely," she said, holding it up and admiring it.  "It's like yours, isn't it?  Well, not exactly."

        He nodded.  "It's the holy symbol of my goddess," he told her.  "It also has some extra abilities.  If you need me--and only if you really need me--you can use this to talk to me.  No matter where I am."

        "Really?  Magic again?"

        He nodded.  "But don't play with it," he warned in a strong voice.  He decided that a bit of artful deception was required here, and Shiika's own little device gave him a good idea.  "It will only work once, and then I'll have to recharge it.  So make sure you don't use it unless absolutely necessary."

        "Really?  Alright, then.  I'll only use it if it's really important.  I hope Shaevan won't mind that I'm wearing the symbol of another god," she said worryingly as she slid the chain over her head and settled the amulet in place.

        "It's the only way," Tarrin told her.  "It won't work unless it's a shaeram."

        "That's what it's called, isn't it?"  He nodded, then she chuckled ruefully.  "You just keep helping," she smiled.  "I'm going to be in such a big hole of debt to you that I'll never get out of it."

        "No matter," Tarrin shrugged.  "I doubt we'll ever see each other again."

        "We will," she promised.  "And maybe next time, you won't be coming to my rescue.  I owe you a big debt, Tarrin.  I'll find some way to repay you for everything you've done for me.  For me, and for my people."

        "It's no matter to me, Ariana," he told her calmly.

        "Well, it is to me," she said stubbornly.  "I have to go, or I'll miss the afternoon thermals and have to claw my way all the way up to the city."

        "Hold on," Sarraya called.  "Can't let you be sleeping in an alley, in case you can't get in to see the king tonight."  She flitted up and held out her hands, and he felt her use her Druidic magic.  The basket around her waist suddenly dipped slightly as something appeared within it.  Ariana opened the flap and looked inside, and her eyes went wide and wild as she drove her hand inside and pulled something out.

        Gems!

        Sarraya had literally filled the basket with all sorts of gems!  Diamonds, emeralds, rubies, topaz, onyx, many kinds of jewels.  Some were no larger than grains of sand, but a few of them were as big as a child's fist.  There was an absolute fortune in that basket!

        "Shaervan's feathers!" Ariana gasped, staring in disbelief at the handful of gems in her hand.  "This is a king's ransom!"

        "It very well may be," Sarraya said seriously.  "Those Ruling Council bullies may not go out without a fight.  This way, someone has the money to fight them on even ground."

        Ariana looked at both of them, tears starting to well up in her eyes.  "I can never repay this," she said chokingly.

        "It's nothing but a bunch of little rocks," Sarraya shrugged with a twinkle in her tiny eyes.  "No bother."

        Ariana looked at her, then laughed.  "I really have to go, before I'm flying up there on the back of a dragon," she said with a mischievious grin.

        "Hold on, let me seal that up so nothing spills," Sarraya said, touching the basket with a finger.  "There.  The top is lined with soft wax.  Nothing's going to spill out, and all you have to do is give it a good tug to open it."

        "I can't ever thank you enough for everything you've done for me," she said with a beautifully grateful look.  Tarrin forgot how pretty Ariana was until that moment.

        "You can thank us by getting home and putting everything right," Tarrin told her gruffly.  "Now go."

        "I'll see you again, I promise," she said, stepping boldly up to him.  She reached up and put her hand on the back of his neck, and it startled him enough to where he didn't resist when she pulled him down.  She kissed him on the cheek, then stepped back, gave them one more look, then turned and vaulted into the air.

        Tarrin and Sarraya watched her go, Sarraya sitting on his shoulder, for a few moments.  "What was with the amulet?"

        "Orders, from someone that I'm not about to argue with," he replied.  "Where did you get those gems?  Someone's going to be very angry."

        "I don't steal money from people, Tarrin," she chided.  "I created those."

        "I never thought of using it that way before."

        "You're not greedy," Sarraya chuckled.  "Maybe now you understand why there's such intensive training for Druids.  It protects the global economy."

        "I guess so."

        "So," Sarraya said with a lilting little chuckle.  "Where to now?"

        "The same as before," he replied, turning and looking away from Ariana, towards the northwest.  "That way."

        "It's going to be boring without Var and Denai.  You're not much of a conversationalist, and you can't say anything I haven't heard before."

        "Live with it," he said bluntly, starting to walk just left of the waning sun.

        "I've heard that before," she teased in an accusing tone.

        "Try shut up or die."

        "Heard that too.  Really, Tarrin, you have to work harder if you're going to keep me entertained."

        With his tail, he swatted the Faerie off his shoulder.  He didn't hit her hard enough to hurt her, but it definitely startled her.  So badly that she almost didn't get her wings going before hitting the ground.  She began to splutter and stammer after him, obviously at a loss for words.

        "Now you're entertained," he told her as he picked up into a loping run.  Leaving the Cloud Spire and the city hidden atop it behind, letting them pass on into his memory.  He had done and seen many things there, but now the path ahead beckoned, as did the promised reckoning with the treacherous Doomwalker, Jegojah.  That was all that could find its way into his mind now.

        The days blurred together after that, day after day of endless sameness.  It was a quiet time of reflection, a time to practice with newly regained powers, a time to prepare for what he knew was coming.

        They travelled northwest over desert terrain that grew steadily more hilly, and the vegetation that had occupied swaths of favorable ground became more common.  In some places, the floor of the desert was as green as a manor's lawn, overrun with those tough, wiry bushes that were the fare of the plant-eating desert denizens.  The going was relatively smooth, however, for Tarrin was tall enough to treat the bushes as little more than high grass, and his pads and fur were tough enough to resist the little thorns that armored those stringy plants.  He moved in a virtual straight line over that terrain, rarely detouring from his northwest course, stopping only for a respite during the hottest part of the day, for the night and the hidden dangers it possessed, and to eat, rest, and practice.

        That wasn't to say that there weren't a few problems.  On six separate occasions, he had spats with some of the more adventurous wildlife common in the desert.  Those spats were invariably fatal for the hapless inu and kajat that didn't have the sense to back off, that didn't comprehend that they were dealing with something even worse than they were.  They had ruled the desert for such a long time that their superiority had been bred into them, as well as the sense that they had no reason to fear anything in their domain.  They had never encountered anything like an implacable Were-cat before, and the few who survived marked Tarrin's passing and his scent as that of an enemy to fear.  Tarrin had become utterly focused on his impending visitor, to such a point that he became short with animals that he usually would have allowed to get away.

        Those encounters gave him something of a taste for inu and kajat.  Enough to hunt them down for a meal when the situation presented itself.

        Each day had become an established pattern.  He would wake up and eat breakfast with Sarraya, usually eating whatever was left of the unfortunate victim from the previous night's hunting.  Then they would travel until the hottest part of the day, when they would shelter again to give Sarraya relief from the blistering heat.  While she rested, Tarrin practiced with his magic.  After the hottest part of the day was over, they travelled again until about an hour before sunset.  Then they would find a good campsite that would offer shelter from the Sandmen, Tarrin would track down whatever unlucky animal was nearby for dinner, and they would eat again.  Then Tarrin would practice with his magic again until he felt ready to sleep.  And the new day would start the cycle over again.

        Time was something of of a fluid thing for Tarrin.  In cat form, he was utterly unable to keep a sense of time outside of the time of day.  If he held the form for more than a few days, he became incapable of remembering what day it was.  It was a function of his Cat side, a side that didn't care about the past or the future, a side that only lived in the moment.  In his humanoid form, he could keep track of time, but only if that time didn't fall into an established pattern.   As soon as it did, it all blurred together in a kind of cloud of sameness, and he had trouble counting back the days to determine how much time had passed.  Sarraya had become his timekeeper, telling him that the days were marching on, that the winter in the West was beginning to yield to spring.

        Tarrin did have one sense of continuity during their travels.  His practice of his magic had given him a gauge of sorts to determine how far they had come.  At first, it required a supreme act of will and intense concentration to use his Weavespinner magic, but as he practiced more and more, that level of force and concentration became less and less.  He went from having to focus his entire attention on his magic to being able to exercise his magical ability with only a modicum of effort.  Much as it had been for him before he lost his power, he became intimately familiar with the process, and that familiarity and the practice he had done had elevated his powers to make them quite nearly as reliable as they had been before the accident.  He could again summon up his magic whenever he needed it, and it generally did what he wanted it to do.  The practice did what it was intended to do, and that was give him the ability to use Sorcery.

        But now he could use it safely and efficiently, something he had not had before.  It felt strange to him every time he gathered himself to use his power, that he had no reason to fear it now.  But it also felt as if he had been healed of some long injury, and had become what he was meant to be from the beginning.

        As the days passed, he came to fully appreciate his power, and how much it had changed.  Weavespinner magic worked without the initial stage of building power to weave spells, and that was a significant difference.  When he had seen the Sha'Kar woman use her magic, he had been stunned by the unbelievable speed in which she could control her magic.  Now that he had begun to use the same kind of magic, he discovered it to be dramatically faster.  Weavespinner magic literally moved at the speed of thought, though he still had to concentrate to use his power where the Sha'kar seemed to be able to use it instantly.  He understood that a Weavespinner could out-weave any regular Sorcerer so effectively it would nearly be ridiculous.  By the time the Sorcerer was ready to use magic, the Weavespinner already had total control of the surrounding Weave.  Anything the Sorcerer did could be controlled by the Weavespinner.  The only time the Weavespinner was reduced to the same rules was when he or she resorted to High Sorcery, and that gave advantages all its own.  Speed was the margin of victory in Weavespinner magic, but raw power prevailed when moving up the rungs of the progression of magical power.

        One pitfall he had already identified was the ease of Weavespinner magic.  It was almost too easy, and he could already see dangers in becoming too close to the power.  He would begin using Sorcery without even realizing it, having his will and wish start to affect the Weave in ways he didn't intend.  When he did reach the same level of competency as the Sha'Kar, he would have to keep a tight control on his thoughts, on his desires, else he unconsciously start using Sorcery to try to bring them about.  That could be disastrous, especially considering his aggressive indifference to the continued life of the people around him he didn't know, or particularly care about.  Stray impulses to have them go away could result in killing magic, and that was something that he knew he had to prevent before it happened, else he could get himself into serious trouble, both mentally and socially.

        His sense of the Weave had also increased day by day, becoming more and more acute as time passed.  His practice had intensified it even more, until absolutely nothing about the Weave could escape him when he actively concentrated on it.  He could feel everything within it, every miniscule shift in its pattern of energy, every pulse of the communal heart that powered the flow of magic through the Weave.  He could read the Weave like a book, could sense magic moving through it and determine what kind of magic it was, where it had come from, where it was going, and usually who had summoned it.  Even Sarraya's Druidic magic became more clear to him.  Not because it went through the Weave, because it didn't, but because when she used it, she created something of an echo on the Weave.  And with a little practice, he began to be able to sense what she was going to do before it happened, because of the volume, pitch, and harmonics carried within that echo.

        During that time of practice and progression, they had not been bothered much by the Selani.  Almost all of the clans were at Gathering, but there were a few Selani left here and there, left behind to guard water supplies and verdant belts, to ensure the flocks had something when they returned.  Those sentries didn't interfere with Tarrin, but a few of them had taken up following him, most likely as an entertaining diversion in the monotonous task of guarding plants that don't really try to get up and run away.  He could see them sometimes in the morning or after dark, when there was no heat-haze to hide them in the distance.  He didn't really care that they followed him, as long as they stayed back there.

        All of it had a purpose, and that purpose was Jegojah.  The Doomwalker was coming, he could even sense its approach now, and it would be there soon.  Days, perhaps, but no more than a ride.  Tarrin's hatred and fury over the Doomwalker had not eased over those uncountable days of preparation--in fact, they had become worse.  Tarrin would never forgive the Doomwalker for killing Faalken, for trying to kill his sister and his parents, and the thought that it just kept coming back again and again had offended him at the deepest level possible.  He was tired of looking over his shoulder for Jegojah, and he was absolutely determined to deal with the Doomwalker for the last time.  There would be no quarter, no mercy, in this battle, and it would not end until one of them was destroyed.  He wasn't quite sure how he was going to accomplish this seemingly impossible task, but he wasn't all that concerned.  His impulsive nature gave him a bent of creativity, and he was fairly confident that when the time came, he'd think of something, confident that the Goddess would tell him what to do.  It was faith, faith in his goddess to protect and watch over him.  It was all he had, because days and days and days of endless thought and planning had not yielded a real plan for ridding himself of Jegojah once and for all.  Faith was about the only thing he had left, but it was something that he was willing to depend upon.  His goddess had yet to fail him, and with a record like that, he was more than willing to put blind trust in her.

        Since he had regained a goodly portion of his power, the focus of his travels had drifted away from magical study and had reached a point where he felt it was time to get ready for Jegojah.  That meant that he needed to find an ideal battleground, a place that would suit his needs while eliminating the largest of Jegojah's advantages.  It needed to be a broken place, with lots of irregular ground.  That favored Tarrin, who was more mobile and agile, who could use that broken land to better advantage than his slower, armored foe.  It also had to be bare rock, to deny the Doomwalker its power to draw energy from the land.  It needed to be a lot of rock, to keep the Doomwalker from fleeing to a place where it could draw energy when the battle turned against it.

        One place seemed perfect to him, a place that both Denai and Allia had mentioned.  Some place called the Broken Lands, a place where a flat sheet of rock, hundreds of square longspans in area, had been pierced by innumerable gulleys, canyons, and crevasses.  But that place was many days behind them, to hear Denai talk about it.  He wasn't about to go all the way back there and travel the distance to where he was again.  Since that place wasn't available, maybe something smaller, something a bit closer, would do.  But without Denai and Var to guide him, he'd have to just wander around until he found something suitable.

        So it was with an eye on the horizon that Tarrin ran that day, absently correcting Sarraya on her Sha'Kar as she practiced by speaking in that language.  The corrections were mainly cosmetic, for the Faerie was now more or less fluent in the language, but she had a bad habit of using words of other languages when she felt another word more perfectly mirrored her thoughts.  That was something that irritated the perfectionist in Tarrin when it came to languages, so he strove to break her of it now, before it became too ingrained to easily shed.  The terrain of that region of the desert was noticably hilly, but lacked the rock spires and mesas more common in the southern reaches of the desert.  He had a sneaking suspicion that it wasn't going to be easy to find a good battleground in that section of the desert, but he had to keep looking.  There were many more wild animals there than in the southern reaches of the desert, but that made sense in that there seemed to be more plant life to support the food chain.

        "Can we stop?" Sarraya asked in Sha'Kar.  "I'm starting to get hot."

        Tarrin pulled in and looked up at the sky.  The sun was pretty close to its noontime zenith, and it did feel a little warm.  Ever since he had become a Weavespinner, he didn't notice warmth much anymore.  Or cold, for that matter.  He could feel heat, but it was as if it had no meaning for him anymore, because it never really felt hot.

        "Alright.  Let's go to that little hillock over there," he said, pointing at a small tor that rose up from the surrounding low hills.  "It's higher up, so we can see anything coming at us."

        They moved up to the top of the little tor, which had steep drops on two sides, and Sarraya conjured up a little lean-to to serve as shade against the brutal sun.  She also conjured some lunch, and a little ice from some glacier somewhere to put in a tiny conjured cup of wine.  Tarrin sat just inside the lean-to, the shade yielding to the sun about halfway up his legs as he sat there with his legs out and ankles crossed, leaning against a large rock that was under the lean-to's protection.  He watched in mild interest as a scorpion braved the heat of the sun to climb up his ragged pant leg and perch atop his knee, probably trying to figure out what it was it had just ascended.  The little tail sting flexed back and forth rhythmically as it tried to decide just what to do next.  Then, probably deciding that there was no food there, it climbed across his legs and down the other side, then scuttled behind the safety of a pile of loose rocks nearby.

        "Ah, much better," Sarraya sighed, flitting over and sitting on his thigh.  "You know, the desert is actually kind of pretty.  Nothing like the forest of course, but it does have its own unique charm."

        "You only just noticed?"

        "Don't be nasty," she chided, looking up at him.  "What do you think Var and Denai are doing right now?"

        "Probably something that would make you giggle," he replied absently.

        "I'd put money that if they're not married by now, then they're betrothed."

        "You'd lose that bet," Tarrin told her.  "Selani don't associate trysts with marriage.  Why spoil a perfectly fine physical relationship with marriage?"

        "I guess I'm a prig," she laughed.  "My husband kept trying to get me to go to bed with him for five years while we were betrothed, but I wouldn't hear of it.  I liked him keeping his every attention on me, and to be honest, I didn't want to do badly in bed and have him decide that I wasn't worth marrying," she admitted.  "After we were married, it didn't much matter.  Not that he was disappointed about it.  Five years of fun we could have had, down the drain.  Ah, well."

        "You know, you've never talked about this mysterious husband of yours.  Does he mind you being out here with me?"

        Sarraya grunted softly.  "Oh, yes," she said firmly.  "But that's one of the reasons I'm here.  I love Danzig, but he's terribly possessive, and he has a fit when I perform my duties as a member of the Druids.  Sometimes I take these little trips just to spite him.  These little separations ensure we can still tolerate each other when I come home.  He's very sweet and accommadating for a while, and then regresses back to his jealous ways.  When he does that, I leave again.  It does him good to realize that I can take care of myself, and I'm not going to go chasing after every Faerie boy I meet."

        "You have any children?"

        "Not yet," she replied.  "But I'm young yet.  I've got a few hundred years to go before age starts becoming an issue."  She looked up at him.  "Why the sudden interest in my private life?  You've never so much as asked me my husband's name before."

        "Because you talk all the time, and never talked about it," he replied.  "You always chatter on and on about senseless things.  For once, I wanted to hear you chatter about something that matters."

        She gave him a wild look, then burst out into gales of laughter.  "Well, I guess I deserved that one, didn't I?" she acceded, wiping a tear from her eye.  "I didn't think you'd be interested in boring old daily life."

        "I'd be more interested in things that matter to you than whatever floats to the top of your mind at the time," he said pointedly.

        "Alright, alright.  I live in the southern tracts of the forest, in a colony of Faeries.  It's the closest thing to a city we have.  I live with my husband Danzig, who's something of an important figure in our society.  Something like an advisor to our leader, which really means that he goes and gets drunk with the other advisors every night and pretends to debate about things that matter.  I have two sisters and two brothers, who all live in the same tree as I do, so we stay close.  I'm the only one in my family who's a Druid."

        "I thought all Faerie had magical affinity."

        "We do, but not everyone cares to develop it," she replied.  "And we're not all Druids.  We have Priests, and we also have Faeries who practice Wizardy.  That gives our colony a good mix of magical orders that can deal with a wide range of problems."

        "Clever."

        "When you find something that works, you stay with it," she chuckled.  "No one else in my family really cared to study magic.  It takes discipline, you see, and discipline isn't a trait you see often in my people."

        Tarrin laughed quietly.  "I noticed."

        "Would it scare you to know that as far as Faeries go, I'm very disciplined?"

        Tarrin looked down at her, then he laughed again.  "Yes, that is scary," he told her.

        "We're a frivilous bunch, I'll admit it.  But at least a day in the colony is never boring."

        "It sounds more like chaos."

        "Sometimes it is.  The only thing we have to bind us together is our laws, and Fae-da'Nar.  We have our customs and practices, like other societies.  Of course, we don't often adhere to them if our fancy takes us some other way, but that's part of the unique charm of the Faeries.  The only things we can really say we obey are our laws, and only because the penalties for breaking those laws are severe enough to even make us afraid of breaking them."

        "Heh.  It takes something pretty drastic to scare a Faerie.  They must be awful."

        "The mildest of them is to have your wings cut off and be landbound while they grow back.  The worst of them is exile."

        "Exile?  That doesn't sound bad."

        "Faerie are very social, Tarrin.  We like to be together.  A Faerie robbed of those social contacts doesn't last long, so it's literally a death sentence."

        "You're not like that."

        "I'm a Druid, Tarrin.  I have more discipline than most Faeries.  I can tolerate separation from the colony for much longer than other Faerie can, but even I can't stay away from the colony forever.  In about another year, the need to be back in the colony will become too strong, and I'll have to go home."

        "There, see?  I've learned something.  I could have listened to you chatter on about interesting things all this time, and I could have learned a great deal from you."

        "Don't rub it in," she said in an accusing voice.

        "Truth is truth," he said calmly.  "How you--"

        He was cut short by something he had never experienced before.  It was coming from the Weave, and the only way he could describe it was that the Weave screamed.  He jumped to his feet, ripping the roof off the lean-to and dislodging Sarraya as he shot up and tried to discover what the strange, frightening sensation was, where it was coming from.  It took him a moment to realize that it was emanating from the Weave, a powerful surge that blasted through all the strands at once, like a ripple playing across a pond.  Within that surge came that scream, a horrific sound that wasn't sound, a shriek of emanations of the Weave that chilled him in ways he couldn't describe.

        "Mother!" he gasped.  "What--"

        The scream echoed in his ears, again and again, and he found a voice within the inaudible cries, a voice he knew.

        Jenna!

        That was Jenna!  In an instant, he realized exactly what was happening, and it made his heart lurch.  Jenna had lost control!  She was very nearly as powerful as he was, and he knew that that meant that she now stood on the precipice, she was now facing the challenge of her power.  She had to conquer it, or it would destroy her.  The scream went on and on, becoming more and more powerful, making the entire Weave shudder in ways that only ones of his magical stature could comprehend.

        Tarrin, she's not going to make it! the Goddess said urgently, with a desperation in her voice that he had never heard before.  She's going to be Consumed!

        "NO!" he shouted in a mighty tone, clamping his paws into fists.  He had to do something, anything!  He couldn't stop what was happening, but there had to be something that he could do!  Jenna was too young, too young to understand, too young to know what to do!

        Tarrin, help her! the Goddess implored.

        With that plea came an almost unconscious understanding of exactly what he could do to help, what he could do to save his sister's life.  He immediately dashed from the ruined lean-to, rushing towards the nearest strand which he could physically touch.  It had to be done while in physical contact with the Weave.  He reached it, a rather small capillary feeder joining two minor strands together, and then thrust his fist inside it.  That contact expanded his awareness of the Weave tenfold, opened himself up completely to its every tiny shift of energy.  He reached into that power, joining his consciousness with it, and soon found himself hurtling through the very Weave itself.

        He could actually see the power of the magic, actually hear the beating of the communal heart, actually feel the sensation of moving through the strands.  Through a network of feeder strands, into a larger base strand.  From the base strand to a minor Conduit.  From there into the major Conduit back at the Cloud Spire.  Down to the core, to the Heart of the Goddess, and then up the largest of all the Conduits, the one that ran through the two Towers, one in Suld, the other in Sharadar.  Branch into a minor Conduit, into a base strand, then through a series of secondary strands, hurtling hundreds and hundreds of leagues in the blink of an eye, so fast that he didn't have time to feel awed or amazed at what he was doing.  Jenna's life depended on him getting there instantaneously, there was no time to gawk.

        And then he was there.  He could feel the strand writhe about him as Jenna's power caused havoc in the Weave, as it sought to infuse her with all of its power.  He found that he could still enforce his will upon the Weave, could still use his Weavespinner magic even in this strange, disembodied state he was in.  He wove together a spell of Fire, Air, and Divine, the flows of Illusion, a simple weave that created an image of himself, then he projected it out from the Weave and pushed his consciousness into it.

        The memory of it was still in the Weave.  They called it a simulacrum.  A projected image of self that could see and hear, but could not touch or taste or smell.  As he opened his phantom eyes, he immediately took in the situation, could see into the physical world.

        They were in Ungardt, on the side of a bare hill covered in snow, with the morning sun shining above the eastern horizon.  Several Ungardt children, holding sleds and tobagans, stood around watching in horror as Jenna, his dear sister, was enshrouded by magical fire, arms wrapped tightly around her belly and screaming at the top of her lungs as the power of the Weave sought to burn her to cinders from within.  She was literally on fire, with her hair burning and blazing light emanating from her eyes, her skin blackening as the power destroyed her from inside out.

        He suppressed a wild instinctive urge to rush to her aid.  He could not touch her, he could not beat out the flames.  He could do only one thing to help his sister, to help her survive.

        Teach her.

        "Jenna, stop fighting it!" he shouted in a magically augmented voice, a voice that carried to her ears, even in her writhing agony.  "Don't fight!  If you fight, it will destroy you!"

        Her screaming lowered in its intensity, and she closed her eyes.  He had no idea if she heard him, but then the power flowing into her suddenly increased dramatically.  She was doing as he bid!  The pain it caused her made her shriek mindlessly, and the memory of his own experience washed through him then, making him shudder and causing his heart nearly to break for his sister.  Poor Jenna!  The little girl didn't deserve to suffer such pain!  She was just a child!

        "Surrender to it, Jenna!  Let it flow through you!  The more you resist, the more it will hurt!"

        Her screaming stopped, but she whimpered and gave tiny cries as she pressed her eyes closed, pulled her arms from her belly and reached outwards.  He could feel the power flowing into her get stronger and stronger, until she was absolutely filled to the maximum, and he knew that this was the moment of truth.  If she could find the Heart of the Goddess, could find her core, she would transcend the limitations of standard Sorcery.  If she could not, then she would literally explode, her body eradicated in a Wildstrike of monumental proportions.

        "Look into it!  Don't be afraid!" he said urgently, powerfully, forcing her to listen to his voice.  "Seek it out and join with it!  Join with it, Jenna, join with it!"

        Her clothes burned away, leaving her standing there in a widening circle of melted snow and blackening grass, the sheathe of Magelight looking like ghostly fire as it danced around her body, joining with the real flames to form an eerie shimmering aura of dancing light.  He watched on in terrified anticipation as his dear sister struggled against the power, struggled to do as he told her to do, her body sagging as the fire become stronger around her.

        Then the fire stopped.

        Tarrin felt it in the Weave, an explosive release of energy as the boundless power within Jenna was suddenly absorbed back into the Weave, but what startled him was that it was more power than she had originally held.  He felt a sudden sense of presence within the Weave, and he clearly felt his beloved sister appear within the strand he was occupying, hurtling away from her body and into the core, into the Heart of the Goddess.  She went to float in that black void filled with the sense of the Goddess, the core of the Heart, the Heart of the Weave, the one place where mortal and god existed within the boundaries of its nonexistent space in a harmonious union of love.  Jenna went to stand before the Goddess and find benediction.

        He felt that exact moment inside his soul, and it caused tears to well up in his eyes.  The Goddess reached out and enfolded Jenna's soul with her love, and at the very instant, a blazing halo of glorious golden light surrounded his sister's nude form, taking the form of the cancave four-pointed star that lurked within the center of the shaeram.  Blackened skin became smooth and pale and unmarred once again, dark hair that had been burned away quickly and immediately grew back, the tortured pain on Jenna's lovely face was replaced with an expression of peaceful serenity.

        The simple silver amulet around her neck changed in that moment of transendence, eight small tines growing out from the center star to join with the triangles that surrounded it, transforming itself into the shaeram that graced the neck of the Goddess' Children, the amulet marking his sister as one of the Weavespinners.

        The glow faded away softly, leaving the children to stare in awed silence.  Jenna's little body began to sag forward, and she very nearly fell, if Tarrin had not caught her in flows of gentle Air, warmed by Fire to keep the deadly cold of Ungardt winters from finding her.  He couldn't touch her in his illusory body, but he could still use Sorcery.  He picked her up in that flow of warm, soft Air, then cloaked her nude body in an Illusion of simple cloth.

        "Sister," he said thickly, emotionally, full of relief and pride and joy and fear for his little sister.  She was again his sister, by more than just blood.  She was now a sister of the Weave, joined with him by bonds of power and common ability, by their position as the few who had stood in the presence of the Goddess and found her favor.

        Well done, my kitten, the Goddess said to him in a voice of profound relief, of towering pride.  Very well done.  Take her home, Tarrin.  She needs to rest now.

        Tarrin looked around.  They were in Ungardt, and he had no idea what was where.  He could see no houses or buildings where they were.  "You!" Tarrin snapped in Ungardt, pointing at the nearest of the kids nearby, a rather tall, wide shouldered lad with red hair and snow-crusted furs.  "Show me where she lives!"

        The boy didn't move.  He just stood there and gaped at Tarrin in mute shock.  Then, as one, all the children turned and ran in all directions.

        Tarrin snorted and blew out his breath, which was little more than an automatic reaction, given that his projected image didn't breathe.  He reached out and wove together a spell of Divine and Mind, a spell of seeking, sending it out like ripples in a pond and having them search for the familiar presences of his mother and father.  It was one of the few ways he could use the Mind sphere when not dealing with members of his own race.

        He felt a response immediately, about half a longspan west.  He also felt a considerable drain on himself, on his real body back in the desert.  Using the illusion and holding Jenna in air was taxing, considering he was actually doing it all from thousands of leagues away.  His consciousness may be in Ungardt, but the body that powered his magic was still in the desert.  Reaching directly into the Weave as he was doing was the only reason he was able to affect things half a world away, and then only because Jenna's powerful disruption of the Weave had guided him exactly to where she was.  He already realized that if not for that, he would never have found her.  The Weave was not the real world, and its locations didn't correspond to reality in a precise manner.  Without someone like Jenna to guide him, he could not have found her.  He could not even find the Tower unless someone there showed him the way.

        He became aware of something tugging at his ear, his real ear.  He was separated from his body, but his pause to sense his body's condition had made him aware of it.  He found that he could divide his attention by closing his phantom eyes and yielding a part of himself back into the Weave, enough to become aware of his body.  It was Sarraya yanking at his ear, screaming at the top of her lungs for him to wake up.  She was very nearly hysterical.

        He caused his body's eyes to open, and found himself staring into the sky.  When he sent his consciousness into the Weave, it left his real body inert, and he had fallen over.  The strand he had used to do what he had done had actually moved with his fall, attached to him by a power great enough to force it to move when he did.  "Sarraya, stop that," he said in a distant tone.  "Calm down, I'm alright."

        "Tarrin!" Sarraya screamed, coming into view over him.  "What in the nine Hells happened?"

        "Jenna was being Consumed," Tarrin told her in a kind of daze.  "I had to help her find the path, or she would have died."

        "She survived?  She's a Weavespinner now?" Sarraya asked in surprise.  Sarraya remembered what it meant when a Sorcerer survived being Consumed.

        "Yes.  Now leave me be for a little while.  I'm dividing my attention between you and Jenna, and Jenna needs me more than you do.  Just be patient and guard my body.  I'm not aware of it when I'm like this."

        "I will, I promise," she said quickly, much of the anxiety flowing out of her expression.  "You just take care of your sister."

        "I will," he said in a lazy smile.  He knew that there had to be reasons that he liked Sarraya.  Her compassion and concern for his sister reminded him of many of them.  He closed his eyes and returned to the hazy semi-real state of existing within the bounds of a generated illusion.

        At first, he forgot what he was doing and tried to walk in the direction that his weave told him to go, but he found himself trundling along without moving a finger, walking in place.  That unsettled him a bit, until he remembered that he was not actually there, and that he was going to have to approach the concept of moving from a magical rather than a physical viewpoint.  Moving, he realized, was going to be a matter of shifting the illusion, not of walking along. That required working with the flows of the Weave as they were operating, moving them along through space without disrupting their integrity.  It took him a little bit to get the idea of shifting the illusion in a manner that kept it together, but he adapted quickly to the concept of it, and was moving along in an eerie kind of floating movement forward, as if he were flying just above the snow.

        The sense of surrealness did not dissipate as he moved.  There was no sense of cold around him, all he could feel was the heat of the desert on his real body.  He could hear and see, but what disturbed him most was that he couldn't smell anything but Sarraya and the desert.  He was a being very strongly grounded in his sense of smell, his most acute sense, and it made his movement through the rugged Ungardt hillsides seem like floating in a dreamworld, a place with no smell to it.  It also helped remind him that this was nothing but a dream to him, a landscape a thousand leagues away, and that he was literally not there.  Everything he was seeing was being given to him by the illusion, carried back to him through the Weave, but done with such smoothness and speed that it was as if he really were standing on that hillside in Ungardt.

        Floating along those snowy expanses, carrying the unconscious form of his sister behind him, Tarrin crested the hill and found himself looking down on the Ungardt port city of Dusgaard.  It was where his grandfather lived, in a large town at the head of a very narrow bay-like feature his mother called a fjord.  The city was built of low-beamed houses and lodges scattered randomly along a flat strip by the fjord, bordered by the steep hill over which he had tread.  All the buildings were made of gray stone, most of them with steeply sloped tile roofs to allow the snow to slide off of them.  As Ungardt towns went, it was rather large, probably about three hundred buildings with about a thousand or so Ungardt dwelling within them.  The Ungardt didn't build large cities, they spread their population out over the entirety of the coastline, with only a few sparse settlements inland.  Instead of large cities separated by villages every day or so apart, Ungardt was literally one large, open, sparsely housed village that went from the border with Tykarthia right up to the snowpack.  You couldn't go ten longspans without coming across a homestead or a small village in Ungardt, at least as long as one stayed near the ocean.

        Tarrin's spell of seeking was still active, and it showed him exactly which lodge was the one his parents occupied.  They lived in a small house on the inland edge of the city, with considerable land separating them from the nearest house.  Probably to satisfy his father's need to have land around him, and they lived away from the others because his father probably didn't feel very comfortable around the outspoken, rather rough-and-tumble Ungardt.  He wouldn't have to carry Jenna through the city and gather up a throng of followers.  That was a good thing.  The house was on the northern edge of the city, so all he had to do was skirt the crest of the hill until he was lined up with it, then come down and directly enter his parents' new homestead.

        He didn't allow himself time to think about anything other than getting Jenna home and in a warm bed as quickly as possible.

        He came down the hillside and approached the house, a neatly kept place with snow piled around the steeply sloped rooftop, nearly burying the eaves under the piled snow.  The doorway was cleared of snow, showing him exactly where to take Jenna.  There were snowshoes sitting beside the door, propped against the wall, three pairs of them.

        He used a weave of Air to push open the door, and then looked inside.  The house was dominated by a large common room, which held a large hearth.  The floor was stone, covered in bearskin rugs, upon which rested a large table and chairs for dinner, three upholstered chairs sitting near to the fire with small wicker baskets sitting between them, and a kitchen of sorts by the hearth with shelves and countertops for preparing food.  He saw his mother and father, Elke and Eron Kael, sitting in those chairs by the fire, their profiles to him.  His father was reading from a book while his mother sewed up a tear in a heavy cloak spread out over her lap like a blanket.  Just seeing them brought forth a powerful swell of emotion in him, and he had to supress the urge to try to cry out and rush over to them.  But he wasn't there.  He couldn't touch them or hold them, he couldn't have their scents surround him with a powerful sense of family, of home, that he so craved.  He was little more than a shade, a ghost, an image with no substance, and in that moment he bitterly hated it.  To see his family without being able to touch them was like a torture.

        "Jenna, close the door," Elke Kael said in a commanding tone, keeping her eyes on her sewing.  "You're letting the cold in."

        He didn't want to speak.  He just looked at them, taking in their features with a wistful longing.  His mother was still beautiful, with only a little more gray in her blond hair, just a shade of new wrinkle around her eyes.  She was still tall and buxom and shapely, and still had arms developed by swinging weapons.  His father looked much leaner now, probably had the fat worked off of him when moving up here, and the gray streaks at his temples were a little larger.  He had a scar just over his left eye now, that was new, but he bobbed his lamed leg with a sprynes that told him that the healing done to restore his leg had worked perfectly.  He probably didn't walk with a limp anymore.

        "Jenna, close the door!" Elke snapped, looking up.  She looked short, but her irked expression melted into one of shock when she saw Tarrin standing in the doorway, with an unconscious Jenna hovering in midair directly in front of him.  "Tarrin?" she called in a startled voice.  "Son!" she cried out in sudden joy, jumping up to her feet as his father snapped his head in his direction.  Elke rushed forward as if to embrace either him or Jenna.

        "Don't!" he said immediately, holding out his paws.  "I'm not really here, mother.  This," he said, motioning to himself, "is just an image, nothing more.  I'm not here.  I can't touch you."

        Elke pulled up short, then looked at Jenna.  When Elke got a good look at her, her eyes widened.  "I thought she fainted, but she didn't," she said in concern.  "What happened?"

        "Take her," Tarrin said quickly.  "It's tiring me out holding her like this and covering her up.  I won't be able to hold this image much longer."

        Elke gathered up Jenna in her arms, and she stared in surprise when the illusion covering her nude form wavered and vanished.  Eron had managed to get to his feet and rush over, taking a look at Jenna, then staring at him.  "Tarrin, lad, what happened?" he asked in a calm tone.  "What's going on?"  His father always was hard to surprise or amaze.

        "It's a long story, father," he said in a longing manner, looking at his family.  And he couldn't touch them!  "Jenna had something of an accident.  Well, not precisely that, but as you can see, it pretty much well wiped her out.  She needs rest and attention right now.  Is there still a Sorcerer training her?"

        "No, they won't come up here," he said as Elke quickly rushed off to put Jenna in her bed.

        "Damn," Tarrin muttered.  "Then it's going to fall on you, father."

        "What will fall on me?"

        "Jenna's powers have changed," he said, feeling the effort of all of it start to wear on him.  He was running out of time.  "She's lost her magical powers for a while, until her body readjusts to what's happened to her.  When that's done, she'll regain her powers, and they'll be much stronger than they were before.  Just make sure you explain that to her, father.  I'll explain it to her myself once she wakes up and has some time to regain her strength, but you need to calm her down once she wakes up."

        "Tarrin, what happened?" he asked calmly.

        "Something that was supposed to happen, father," he said evasively, giving his father a direct look.  "Father, listen.  Until she regains her powers, she's going to be very vulnerable.  People may come after her, hoping to control her powers when she gets them back.  You have to protect her until she's able to protect herself."

        Where did that come from?  Was the Goddess tampering?

        "I heard that," his mother said sharply, coming from the door at the far end of the room.  "What's going on, son?"

        "I can't explain it right now mother.  Doing this is very tiring, and I can't hold it much longer, so you have to listen.  Jenna's powers have changed, and for a while she's not going to be able to use her magic.  There are some who probably want her for that power, so you'd better hide her or take her somewhere safe until she recovers her ability."

        "Tarrin, what's going on?" Elke demanded stubbornly.  "I want answers!"

        "I can't give them to you, mother," he told her.  "I have no idea how many others are listening to me talk right now, so forgive me if I don't explain things to you.  Just listen to me, because I can only maintain this a moment more.  Just take Jenna and leave.  I don't care where you go, I don't want you to tell me where you're going, just go.  You can't let anyone get to Jenna while she's incapable of using Sorcery."

        "It's all about what you're doing, isn't it, son?" Eron asked calmly.

        "Not really, but Jenna is important enough to protect.  Don't you think so?"

        "Don't be impertinent, or I'll whip you, boy," Elke said harshly.

        "If you could touch me, I'd be worried, mother," he said dismissively.  "I have to go now, I can't hold this any longer.  Just keep Jenna safe.  I'll contact her in a few days, to explain things to her in more detail.  Just be safe," he told them urgently as he felt the illusion unravel.

        "Tarrin?  Tarrin!" he heard his mother scream, but he was already losing his connection to his projected image.  In the blink of an eye, his consciousness raced back to himself, and he felt and smelled and heard from his own body again.

        The feel of it was bitter.  He was right there in the same room with his family!  Right there, and he couldn't touch them!  He desperately wanted to go back, to look into their eyes, to hold them in his arms, but he was too exhausted to try.  And even then, he wasn't sure if he could find his way back there.  Jenna's power had drawn him to her, and without her to guide him, he may not be able to return.  All he could do now was speak to her through her amulet, where hers would be the only voice he could hear.  It wasn't enough.  Seeing his family again had made him realize just how much he missed them, just how much he wanted to be with them.

        But he couldn't.  He didn't hate the Goddess for what she had done to bring him out to the desert, but he hated the need for it.  He had to be there, he had to do what he was doing, for the safety of his family if anything else.  They were depending on him, as were all the other members of his rather large, unusual family, depending on him to find the Firestaff and keep it out of the hands of those who would use it.  His mother and father and sister, Allia and Keritanima, Triana and Jesmind, Mist and Janette, Sarraya, Dolanna, Phandebrass, Dar, Azakar, Miranda, Binter, Sisska, even Shiika, they were all depending on him.  He couldn't fail them, not now, not after coming so far.  No matter how much he hated it, he had to go on.

        "Tarrin?" Sarraya called tentatively.  Tarrin sat up, wiping at a bit of moisture in the corner of his eye with the furred back of a paw.  He was exhausted, and just moving felt like an effort.

        "I'm alright, Sarraya," he said.  "I saw my parents."

        "I'm sure they were glad to see you, if only for a moment," she said gently.  "To see you were well if anything.  How is Jenna?"

   &n