The Simbul’s Gift

Alustriel ignored the jibe. "It is old—part of it, at any rate. You said you were displaced in time: Days? Months? Years?"

"Try centuries. Try millennia ... several. The stars didn't match."

"Oh dear."

Alassra took her sister's hand, helping her to her feet and saying, "I don't like the sound of that 'oh, dear'."

"Could anyone have followed you?"

"I couldn't have followed me. You couldn't—but someone did, don't you think?"

Alustriel nodded, then immediately shook her head. "It makes no sense."

"Welcome to the Yuirwood, sister. Stay here long enough and you'll get used to it." Alassra restored the glowing tattoos. Coincidence or not, there was none where the corpse's heart should have been. "It might not mean anything," she muttered. "That part might be pure Cha'Tel'Quessir. All the other tattoos stop and start. The fact that I can't determine which zulkir marked him might not mean anything at all."

With nothing more to be done or learned, the Simbul cast fire on the corpse. The sisters stood in respectful silence while hot, blue flames reduced it to a thin layer of ash that would disappear in the next rain.

"This is your forest, Alassra. What do we do now? Head back to the stream and follow that trail in its other direction?"

Alassra resisted the temptation. She was never without an arsenal of magic sufficient to get her— and a sister—out of any trouble she might find by accident, but the spells she had in mind weren't the ones she'd choose if she were actively looking for trouble.

"Bro could be in trouble," Alustriel said into the lengthening silence.

He could be dead, possessed, or worse. If it were as simple as rescuing one man from a Red Wizard, Alassra would have set after him in a heartbeat. But one man's safety wasn't sufficient reason to go raging through the Yuirwood, not tonight. Ebroin was in the thick of something much larger than himself.

"This wants thorough thinking, sister. It's time to go home and do it," the Simbul said, expecting an argument. "The gods of the Cha'Tel'Quessir will have to look out for him for a little while longer."

"And one of those gods is Zandilar."

Alassra nodded. "A goddess could solve all our problems with cause and coincidence. She must be involved, but after two years, I know precious little beyond what I knew that night when I first heard her name."

"Have you consulted with the elves?"

"With the Cha'Tel'Quessir. They know the name, but if they know more than that, they—the ones I know the best and trust the most—aren't saying anything. They know precious little of the old Yuirwood."

"I meant the Tel'Quessir, the sages of Evermeet."

The Simbul rolled her eyes. "The Cha'Tel'Quessir don't know Zandilar; why would the elves of Evermeet? They'd lost contact with the Yuir elves long before the Cha'Tel'Quessir began."

"The Yuir had lost contact with the Elven Court," Alustriel began, using a wise, patient tone guaranteed to set Alassra's teeth on edge.

"Sister, if you know that the damn elven sages know something, then say so."

Alustriel took a deep breath, drawing herself up to her full height, currently a finger's breadth above her sister. "The Yuir had become decadent. They were divided by petty wars and wracked by disease ... by disease, 'Las. You know Tel'Quessir almost never become physically unwell unless their spirits are unwell first. They don't talk about it, but I'm certain they know more than they've said and far more than the Cha'Tel'Quessir."

"I don't suppose you could coincidentally arrange a meeting with them?"

"I think they'd come to Everlund, if I were there with both you and them, in case there were disagreements."

Alassra shrugged off her sister's not-so-subtle criticism. "They behave; I behave. They become insufferable; I become insufferable."

"They're very old and very wise. You must make allowances."

"I'm getting to be quite old myself, Alustriel, and I don't suffer fools easily, no matter how old and wise they are." She held out her hands to whisk them both back to Velprintalar.

* * *

The room was welcome after the haunted shadows of the forest, though neither woman made a move toward the comfortable chairs. Alassra's eyes drifted toward her tidy bookshelves. After what she'd seen tonight, there were spells she didn't want to be without. There were folk she wanted to speak with, too: Cha'Tel'Quessir whose willingness to trust her with Yuirwood secrets was going to be tested. She made appointments in her mind.

"Will Everlund at sunset, three days from now, be acceptable, or do you want me to ask them to come sooner?"

With a bit of luck, in three days time Alassra could have the whole problem resolved and the meeting wouldn't take place. "Sunset, three days from now, will be ideal."