Part 34 (1/2)

An infant began to cry.

”It is Ayya and Vill,” she whispered. ”They have come back.''

A sign. It had to be a sign. Something to ease the memories, to stem the guilt left behind by that small thing shuddering into stillness within Relys's belly, to say that the nightmare was at an end. Something.

But now Dindrane was walking up the main avenue of the town, treading firmly and evenly among the ruins. Her boy's clothes shone as though new-made, a gold torque was about her neck, and the sparkle of the staff in her left hand was matched by the gleam of the Dragons word in her right. As she approached the Hall, the brightness in the west faded, and the sun-as though stilled for a moment in mid-dawn-resumed its climb into the sky, illuminating her glowing face, gleaming in her bright eyes.

Kyria ran to meet her. ”Dindrane!”

Simply, unaffectedly, the priestess bowed. ” Tis I. I have come home.”

”But who ... what . . . how. . . ?”

”Alouzon,” said Dindrane, as if that single name explained everything. ” 'Tis Her love She sends for a greeting. And She sends a sign, too.” She smiled as though her meaning was obvious.

Kyria stared blankly. ”I do not understand.”

Dindrane's smile grew broader, and she gestured with a sweep of her arm that included all the world. ”Go and look.”

”Mama!” Ayya was shouting in the Hall. And though Vill was screaming with all the strength of his infant lungs, Cvinthil's glad laughter and Seena's joyful tears were even louder.

Robes fluttering, hair streaming behind her, Kyria ran for the edge of the plateau. Shouting for anyone who would witness a miracle to follow her, she forced her way through the rubble, streaked across the cratered fields, clambered over the earthworks, and looked out to the west.

The sun was still low, but though the rolling hills left some valleys in shadow, the light showed plainly the verdant wave of fertility that overtopped the Camrann Mountains, crashed down the eastern slopes, and rushed in, surging, to fill the plains. The waste was greening. Crops were springing up out of withered fields: growing up, flowering, and fruiting in the s.p.a.ce of a few minutes. Dry stream beds and empty rivers suddenly gushed with water that sparkled in the new light. Meadows and fields took on the hues of spring, then of summer, and finally of a ripe autumn.

Just call me Alouzon. Your friend.