‘In all my life I have only truly loved two people -loved them with all my heart. My wife, Mirani, and my daughter Chryssa. When Chryssa became crystal-wed I wanted to die. If it were possible to give my life for hers I would have offered it gladly. But when she died I accepted it. I buried her. And I moved on, Talaban. I chose to live, as fully as I could. It is time for you to do the same.’
Talaban nodded. ‘I know that now. I learned it on the voyage home. What is it you would have me do, Rael?’
‘First put some blue in your hair,’ said Rael, with a weary smile. ‘Then take a few days’ rest. After that gather your crew. None of them has ever fought on a fully charged Serpent. Take them out to sea. Train them. I shall also give you thirty Avatar soldiers.’
‘All the ship’s weapons need to be recharged,’ said Talaban. That will require more than a hundred crystals.’
‘I will send them to the ship.’
‘You think the newcomers will seek a war?’
‘It is inevitable.’ Rael gave a weary smile. ‘For they will be arrogant, just like us, and believe in their superiority and divine right to rule.’
The tavern was deserted, the diners departed, the tables empty. Yet still Sofarita did not sleep. She sat on the windowsill, tense and fearful, gazing down at the silent square. She could not relax for if she did, images would flow past her mind’s eye, people she did not know, places she had not seen, words and conversations she had never heard.
Each time the visions came she felt as if she were flowing with them, drowning in a sea of lives. She feared the flow. Once, as a small child, she had fallen into the Luan, tumbling down the mud bank to disappear beneath the fast-flowing water. A farmer had plunged in to rescue her, dragging her clear. But there was no farmer now to pull her back from this river of other people’s dreams.
Sofarita could not understand why this mystical phenomenon should be happening to her. She had never before experienced visions. She wondered if it could be a sign of approaching madness. Perhaps the visions were not real, but just her imaginings. Perhaps she had a fever. She lifted a hand to her brow. It was not hot. Rising from the sill she walked back into the room and drank a cup of water. Weariness dogged her, and she longed for the bliss of sleep.
But what if she never woke? What if the river of dreams carried her away?
She knew no-one in the city to whom she could turn for help. You are alone, she told herself. You must help yourself. This thought was curiously helpful. True, she could rely on no-one and yet, conversely, no-one relied upon her. She was truly free for the first time in her life. Not subject to the whims of a father who believed women were of little worth, nor of a husband she had liked and respected – but never truly loved. No longer chained within a close-minded village society.
The river of dreams at least offered excitement.
Sofarita lay down upon the bed, her head upon the pillow. Drawing the blankets over her shoulders she closed her eyes. There were no visions, no haunting scenes.
She was in the cellar of the tavern. Baj was sitting at a narrow table, his head in his hands. He was weeping. A man was sitting close by. He was middle-aged, with silver-streaked yellow hair and beard. There was a golden-haired child asleep on a cot bed by the wall. Sofarita watched the scene, dispassionately at first, but then Eaj’s distress touched her. She moved forward to comfort him – and realized she was floating above the scene. The men could not see her.
‘Stop your crying, man, and tell me what happened,’ said the older man.
‘He killed them. It was horrible.’ Baj looked up, his face a mask of anguish. ‘I did nothing, Boru. I stood frozen in the shadows.’
‘He would have killed you too,’ said Boru. ‘To attack Viruk was stupidity beyond belief.’