A silence seeped into the room. I waited, crouched on my heels, for my king’s decision. Slowly his hand lifted, as if it had a life of its own. It crossed the small space to me, rested on my shoulder. For a moment; that was all. Just the weight of my king’s hand on my shoulder. King Shrewd shifted slightly in his chair. He took a breath through his nostrils. I closed my eyes and we plunged into the black river again. Once more I faced the desperate young man trapped in King Shrewd’s dying body. We tumbled together in the sweeping current of the world. “There’s no one here. No one here but us anymore.” Shrewd sounded lonely.
I couldn’t find myself. I had no body, no tongue here. He held me under with him in the rush and the roar. I could hardly think at all, let alone remember what little of the Skill lessons I had retained from Galen’s harsh instruction. It was like trying to recite a memorized speech while being throttled. I gave up. I gave it all up. Then from somewhere, like a feather floating in a breeze, or a mote dancing in a sunbeam, came Verity’s voice telling me, “Being open is simply not being closed.”
The whole world was a spaceless place, all things inside of all other things. I did not say his name aloud or think of his face. Verity was there, had always been right there, and joining him was effortless. You live!
Of course. But you won’t, spilling all over like this. You’re pouring out everything you have in one gush. Regulate your strength. Be precise. He steadied me, shaped me back into myself, then gasped in recognition.