Islana's Story
The slave stumbled a little bit, squinting. He'd assumed the dungeon would be lighted with a torch, as it usually was, but there was no light and he hadn't brought one himself. He was surprised he'd been ordered to go into the dungeon at all, after rumors of Ocan's temper tantrum had spread and all of the slaves had become very wary of the area around the dungeon.
But it was Ocan who'd given him the orders to check on Islana, to ensure that Dysis wouldn't know what had transpired in the torture chamber. But he was nervous about it, since he knew what Islana was planning, and... There really should have been a torch burning.
He paused at the bottom of the stairs. "Hello?" he called, and got no answer. He tried again louder, and then in Islana's language. Still no answer.
Now that his eyes were starting to accept the light, he pressed forward a little bit, scanning for movement. There was none, but... He suddenly saw a body, lying on the floor, and half-yelled, then forced himself to calm down and make his way towards it.
It was Cleran. He was unconscious and bleeding, and the healer winced as he saw it. He could tell Cleran was still alive, though barely. Probably fatally wounded.
He knelt, trying to decide what to do. He didn't really want to Heal Cleran; he knew that trying to Heal a potentially fatal wound could end up killing the Healer as well. He'd almost died when he'd Healed Cleran once before, when they didn't want to risk a trained Healer's life, but didn't want to risk making Dysis angry, either.
It had worked, though only barely. But he could never be sure it would again... But he also didn't want Cleran to die.
His hand started to shimmer with pale blue light. It was out of his hands then, and he took a deep breath and placed the hand on Cleran's chest, where most of the blood was coming from. All he could do was hope that neither one of them would end up dead.
[OPENING CREDITS]
Episode 6: In Darkness
Cleran didn't wake gently, instead, consciousness was thrust on him. He sat up with a start, not sure what had happened. "What the Hell—" he started, but saw Islana's empty cell, turned quickly and saw that the healer slave had passed out next to him. "Shit," he muttered, taking in a sharp breath, remembering what had happened.
His sword and the keys were gone. He glanced down at the slave, stood carefully, and picked him up, then made his way up the stairs as quickly as he could in the dark. There was no one around, for which he was grateful, and he paused and set the slave down once he had found an area he was certain the boy would be found quickly in.
Now if you were an escaped Knight, where you would you go? he asked himself, and then the terrifying reality settled over him. She'd said it, she hadn't been kidding, she'd outright said that if she got the chance she'd kill Dysis.
He took off at a run, without a backwards glance.
Dysis' office was empty, but it didn't look like there had been a fight. Cleran frowned. Would he have fought, though? He's... he's not a fighter. But he wouldn't just have... Gone along with her, would he? And no one heard anything...
He examined the lavish room, and found a little blood. Shit, she's been here, and he's...
That was the question: where was he? Surely, if she'd killed him there, there'd be more evidence of it. Someone would have heard him yell, or seen her, or... Something. There wasn't enough blood for her to have really killed Dysis, at least, not in the manner she'd tried to kill him. So either she'd taken him somewhere to kill him, or had him hostage now.
The question was which one and where. He stepped out of the room and called for Arot, who appeared and gave him a dark look. "Have... Do you know where his Holiness is?"
"He's supposed to be meeting with some of the priests in the Center Room—why?"
"I... Family matter."
"He's busy."
"I won't keep him long."
"Cleran—"
Cleran, for the first time, ignored him and went in search of his brother. The Center Room was the main church room; it was built at the center of the Church Complex and was the largest room by far. It was the main church room, where everyone would crowd to hear Dysis' sermons. It wasn't too far from Dysis' office, but there was no one there when he arrived.
He swore. The building was cursedly empty, and he didn't want to run around frightening people if he didn't have to, if he could take care of it himself.
Looking around the room, Cleran saw nothing other than the pedestal from which Dysis preached and the benches where the masses sought. He remembered the stories about the building of the church complex, and this room. A former Knight laid the foundation. I wonder if Islana—she must be named for him, I never noticed—knows that?
He stopped suddenly. There was another part of the legend, a folk tale that some of the slaves circulated. Islana (that had, of course, been the Knight) had laid the foundation of... Some sort of escape plan in the church complex. And this was the room where the first stones of the foundation had been laid.
Cleran frowned. Just a folktale—but—if there was even some grain of truth to it, wouldn't Islana have known?
He decided it was at least worth giving the room a slightly longer look. He made his way through one of the aisles, over a carpet that was probably as old as the church itself. It had been there since the church was finished and was apparently of great historical value, though he never knew why. He stumbled over a wrinkle, cursed, and continued.
Then stopped, suddenly, and examined the bulge he'd tripped on. The carpet was supposed to be fastened down, to keep wrinkles like that from happening, and for the most part, it was. But that section.... There were a few nails pulled up, it looked as though they'd been pulled out and then hastily, incorrectly refastened.
He made his way to the bulge and pulled it up with his foot. It came far easier than it should have, and there were a few discolored bricks beneath. He crouched and examined the stones, pressing on them. One rattled. He frowned and kicked it a few times, and there was a low grinding noise. A few of the bricks fell in, caught by some sort of hinges.
It was set up to give way. He frowned and tried a few more, and a few more gave. This is it. She must have come down here. He hesitated for a second, checked to find that Islana had left him one of his knives, took a deep breath and jumped through the now open hole.
He hit the ground on a padded floor, and as he did, the ceiling closed over him. He was plunged into darkness and stared at the ceiling in shock. How... How did it...
He decided he didn't want to know. He was still probably somewhere in the basement, but it was hard to tell; he waited a few minutes until his eyes adjusted and he could make out a few basic shapes. There were a lot of dark shadows on the ceiling, which he guessed was the system that had caused the bricks to fold and unfold. He could see that there were a few support beams, but this room was far too small to be the vast basement that the church complex had, which left the question, what was it?
Carefully, Cleran took a few steps. He kept on hand in front of him and one brushing the wall, to ensure he didn't get lost or walk into wall, but hadn't gone more than a few steps when he found another potential problem with walking without being able to see: a staircase.
He was halfway down before he even realized what he'd tripped over.
Dysis sat in silence, back against a cold dirt wall, wishing for light. Or rather, he wished for light other than the eerie blue glow that Islana was now giving off. She'd caught him without too much bloodshed, and he'd been so paralyzed by the sight of his own blood that she'd had no problem fastening shackles—the very ones she'd been wearing beforehand—on his wrists and ankles. Covered in a dark orange priest's robe that matched the one she was wearing (he shuddered to wonder who she'd stolen them from) they had been able to move through the church complex without any real problems.
She'd known with frightening accuracy where she was going, and had dragged him to the Center Room (he'd had a fleeting thought that perhaps the people he was supposed to meet would already be there and provide aid for him), found it empty, and proceeded to dig into some sort of... passage. He'd hurt his ankle when he landed, but was afraid to complain and she wouldn't have understood anyway, and so he'd allowed himself to be dragged down a staircase into this tunnel, which lead to... He had no idea.
Islana hadn't thought to bring a torch, though, and he'd wondered if she knew her way so well she could have done it in the dark, but she'd stopped. She'd said a word in her language and had pushed him a little; he stumbled back against the wall and cringed, waiting to be murdered.
She hadn't, she'd just pointed at the ground. He hesitated, and she said whatever the word was again, and he slid down the wall until he was sitting. She nodded—so he'd learned the word, "sit," it seemed.
Islana stepped away from him, drew her sword (which he had recognized as Cleran's when he'd seen it above ground, a thought that made him shudder) and knelt in the middle of the passageway. She'd begun chanting something, holding the sword in front of her, and a faint light began to come from the sword. It was pale blue, like when one of the Healers was working (or at least, he imagined; Ocando's Healers had an orange tint, and it made sense that Kaleal's might be blue), and it slowly spread from the sword up Islana's arms and now covered her.
She hadn't moved in several minutes now, except to chant. The light was glowing brighter, and Dysis got a very bad feeling. Islana looked frightening—even for her—and didn't seem to be paying attention to him. She didn't seem to be paying attention to anything, it was as if she was unconscious but still speaking.
The shimmer of blue light was still spreading. Having covered her, it was how making it's way over the cold dirt floor, edging closer to Dysis. A little of it touched him and his skin began to crawl; he tried to curl up into as small a ball as possible to get away from it. It wouldn't be long before he couldn't get away from it, though, and he could see it was starting to slide its way up the wall on the side opposite him. He closed his eyes firmly—
—there was a crashing noise. He opened his eyes and could make out through the creepy blue light that someone had tripped down the stairs, and was standing. He yelled, and Islana turned to face him. The holler turned into a scream of panic when he saw her face, dancing with tiny silver lights over the blue glow, and her eyes were all silvery-white with no trace of a pupil.
Then she blinked, and the light disappeared. Dysis was blinded by the black but could hear her stand and hear whoever had come down the stairs start to move, he could hear Islana yelling and an answer in her own language—Cleran's voice? he wondered. It certainly sounded like Cleran, but... But if that was his sword Islana had been using, and since she'd escaped at all... He hadn't let himself hope that his younger brother was alive.
Suddenly he could feel Islana standing over him, pulling him upwards, to his feet. He tried to resist, but could see her blade too close to him, and froze again. She grabbed a handful of his hair and pulled backwards, and he could feel the sword's edge resting on his now-exposed and still-bruised throat.
Cleran stopped short. He'd barely caught a glimpse of his brother before hearing his voice and before the bizarre glow disappeared. "Stay back!" Islana yelled.
"Or else what?" Cleran demanded, mostly just hoping she'd yell again, she he'd be able to hear where she was in relation to himself and to Dysis, but instead he heard her scrambling through the tunnel, to where he had seen his brother, and could barely make out her yanking Dysis to his feet.
"I'll fucking kill him, I'm not fucking bluffing, stay the hell away!" she snarled.
"Islana—"
"I've got a sword at his throat, if you make on more move he's dead!"
Cleran stopped and froze. "I won't," he promised.
"Damn straight you won't. Why aren't you dead?"
"The healer slave found me in time," he answered.
"Pity."
There was a long silence. "What... Will you let him go?" Cleran finally asked.
"No."
"Are you going to kill him?"
"No... Not now, any way."
"Then... Then what are you doing?"
"I was going home. You interrupted."
"You were bringing him with you?"
"Yes," she said. "Let him know what it's like to be a prisoner, to have nightmares because you don't know what's coming one minute to the next—when your execution is." If she'd been able to see Cleran, she could have been glaring him down, but it was too dark to see more than shadowy figures.
"You can't!"
"And who'll stop me?" she demanded.
"I—"
"You're going to stand there and do whatever I tell you to, or I'll slit his throat here and now."
"Right." Cleran stopped. "What... What are you going to have me do?"
"I haven't decided. Give me a reason not to kill you."
"Because you can't kill me and keep him pinned to the wall at the same time. If I die and he escapes—my death won't matter."
"He wouldn't escape." He could hear her smirking. "Neither of you know how to open the floor to get out of here, and he's wearing shackles and isn't going to be doing much running. And, if I was going to fight you, I'd kill him first."
Cleran swallowed. "Don't," he said. "Please, leave—leave him alone."
"No," she answered levelly.
"Then... Then you'll need a translator. To explain to him what's going on, what you want him to do. I can do that."
Islana considered.
"And... And if you're feeling violent, you can take it out on me instead of him," Cleran added.
"You think I'd obey my temper like that?"
"I have no idea, but I don't want to risk that you would," Cleran said. "I won't fight you, I give you my word. So long as you don't raise a hand to Dysis, I'll be as meek as you could want."
Islana took a deep breath and released Dysis' head, and dug into her pocket. She pushed Dysis against the wall and he made a slight pathetic noise; Cleran shut his eyes, not knowing what she was doing. She produced the key she'd stolen from Cleran and unlocked the shackles on Dysis' wrists, then carefully turned and tossed them in the general direction of Cleran.
"Put those on," she said, realizing he would be much more dangerous than his brother. "I'll be able to hear the lock click."
Cleran groped around for a minute and found them, then did as he was told, as much as he didn't want to. Islana sheathed the sword, leant down and took the chains from Dysis' ankles, then repeated the process. She listened to hear that they were all fastened. "Stay there another minute," she decreed.
The robes she'd stolen were lengthy and tied shut at the waist; she pulled the tie off of Dysis' robe and fastened his wrists as securely as possible. "All right, this is how it's going to work. We've got a long walk ahead of us. You are going to walk to my right, he will be to my left; you'll act as translator when I tell you to, and always for him—I don't want the two of you talking without translations. In fact, I don't want the two of you talking at all, so you will speak only if it's to me, or translating something he's said or I've said to him. Understand?"
"Yeah," Cleran said.
"Good. Translate it for him."
He did as told, and Dysis answered. He repeated it in her own language: "What are you going to do with us?"
"If you do what I tell you? Nothing. But get used to following orders, or I'll kill you."
Translation, answer, translation. "Where are you taking us?"
She grinned, though neither of them could see it. "Home."
"Home?"
"Cresula."
"How...?"
"This is a very long tunnel."
"If it's that long, if we're walking... won't we starve?" Cleran asked, without prompting from Dysis.
"Probably." Sailing took several days; walking would take far longer. "But I'd rather starve down here than spend another minute in that cell. And I don't really care if the two of you starve with me. But we should get going."
She put a hand on Dysis' shoulder and stepped forward. He stepped with her, and despite the chains, Cleran hurried to catch up as they walked. "Cresula..." he murmured.
[EYECATCH]
"Islana..." Cleran asked uncertainly. "Shouldn't we stop for the night?"
"How can you tell it's night?" she asked back.
"Because I can barely walk any more, and I think his Holiness is in worse shape than I am. You must be tired."
"Keep walking."
"You're inhuman."
"I'm eager to get home. But really—I'm straight out of the torture chamber, and if I can walk, you should be able to."
Dysis hadn't asked for a translation, but he was starting to stumble. His feet hurt badly, as did Cleran's, and Islana's, though she refused to say so. He took another step, and then stopped as if frozen.
"What's he doing?" Islana demanded.
He spoke, and Cleran translated. "He says he can't walk any more, that you can kill him if you want to."
"Fair enough," she said. "Tell him not to worry, he can live. I'll kill you if he doesn't move."
There was a tense silence, before Cleran did as told. Dysis didn't answer. He gave Islana a weary but hate-filled look that she could barely see, and stumbled onward.
"I hope you're happy," Cleran muttered. "He's going to collapse."
"I don't really care."
"You really think ten minutes of rest will speed up your return home? It'll speed it up—we aren't exactly walking quickly any more. Give us a break. Please."
Islana sighed. She was tired. "Fine," she spat. "Opposite walls. Sit."
He translated, and Dysis muttered, "Thank God," under his breath and practically collapsed. Cleran sat opposite him, and Islana perched next to Dysis. She took a deep breath, at least as relieved to be stopping as they were. She was barefoot, and the bottoms of her feet were nearly bleeding, but the brothers were both covered in blisters from their sandals.
"How far have we come?" Cleran asked.
"I have no idea," Islana answered.
"And you didn't plan this at all? You didn't think to steal some food for yourself and Dysis, while you were stealing those robes?"
"If you hadn't interrupted me, we'd already be there," Islana said.
"What?"
She chose not to explain, leaving him more curious.
There was silence for several minutes. "Islana..." Dysis said, his enunciation unsure. He spoke in his own language, and Cleran translated as he did. "You took an envelope from my desk."
"So?"
"The necklaces?" Dysis asked.
"Yeah." Islana reached into the robe's deep pocket and felt that it was still there. It was, and she pulled it out, opened it and examined the two necklaces. It was impossible to read the initials with no light, but she ran her thumb over them to feel the jewels, almost not believing what and whose they were.
She let one slip back into her pocket, and fastened the other around her neck.
"Why?"
"They deserve to be... Returned."
"To the corpses?" Dysis asked waspishly.
"To Ilyan's brother Knights."
"Not his father?"
Islana closed her hand over the necklace hanging from her neck. "No," she said. "No. Erra Kelanister doesn't deserve this." She leant back against the stone wall and half-dozed.
"You honestly didn't think to bring anything to eat," Cleran complained. "What the fuck did you think, that we would be able to stay at a forced march for days on end without anything?"
"I haven't eaten, either," Islana snapped, irritated, hungry and sore. She was slightly encouraged by the fact that the tunnel was now starting to get colder—the colder it felt, the closer she was to home. By the time they arrived, they'd have been able to see their breath if they could see anything at all. Actually, it was more likely that they'd all be freezing of exposure, but Islana didn't care about that any more.
Her knee, the one Ocan had smashed, was starting to hurt a bit. Her hand had an odd tingling sensation, not quite pins and needles, but definitely not normal. She didn't like the way that felt at all, she remembered the healer's warning that if she used her hand, or her broken bones, too much they'd end up worse, and once his Healing wore off, she'd be in worse state.
But now, feeling the cold on her face and the slight weight of a necklace around her neck, she was more determined than ever to get home. She knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that she'd rather die than turn back; she'd sooner kill than risk another moment in the torture chamber.
Everything that had been done to her... She shuddered, though if anyone had been able to see, they'd have assumed it was a shiver from the cold. She had to get home. That was all that mattered. Surviving to get homeėto explain all that had happened to Kaleal's Voiceėto return the necklaces—home—to see her grandfather.
She frowned. Where had that thought come from? She hadn't been lying when she told Cleran her grandfather probably wouldn't miss her. If it was the other way around, she wouldn't have given the old man any thought. They hadn't spoken in... She couldn't come up with a number. In a long time.
She had to get home. She'd worry about the rest of it later.
He couldn't see clearly, but Cleran could tell there was something wrong. They were all limping a bit; they'd been walking for... He had no idea for how long. It felt like days, with hours since the last break. He was certain it couldn't have been that long, but he was starving, exhausted, and in pain.
Dysis was worse, but Islana look as though she might collapse at any second. She was limping severely, barely able to put weight on her left leg at all. Her breathing was strained and came in gasping breaths, not as though she was out of breath, but as if she just couldn't breath.
He heard an odd noise and focused as hard as he could. It looked like something dark colored, so dark it barely showed up at all, was dripping from Islana's arm. She was bleeding—where Ocan had broken her arm the day before she'd escaped. And she was limping, and when he concentrated he could see that it wasn't her feet that seemed to be giving her problems, it was her knee.
The knee Ocan had broken.
"Are you all right?" he asked, trying to sound as cheerful as he suddenly felt.
"I'm fine," she snapped, clearly not fine, but still putting one foot in front of the other.
"If you say so."
"Do you have a problem?"
"Of course not," he said amiably. "You just seem to be.. Limping. And you did just get out of the torture chamber and all. Maybe we should take a break."
Islana would have glared at him, if it hadn't been so dark. "I'm fine," she repeated.
Cleran said nothing, but watched as Islana continued to deteriorate over the next few minutes. Her injuries were coming back, and they were doing it quickly. Her pace slowed, she was barely able to keep upright at all. She stopped suddenly. "Break. Short one."
Cleran smirked through the darkness, as he and Dysis sat. Islana staggered her way over to one of the walls and nearly collapsed. She began to mumble under her breath. Cleran gathered it was some sort of prayer for strength. He shivered. It was much colder than when they'd started on the forced march, and unlike his brother and Islana, he didn't have a priest's robe. His vest barely provided any warmth, and he sat hunched over, trying to conserve his own body heat.
If he'd been able to see Islana clearly, he'd have been watching as she took the tie off of her robe and carefully ripped it in the middle, creating two shorter pieces. One she wrapped around her above the knee, something between a tourniquet and a bandage. The other she very carefully wrapped around her sword hand, biting her lip to keep from gasping in pain as she tied it.
Ocan had done a good job, after all. This wasn't going to do much more than contain the bleeding that seemed to have started almost spontaneously. She didn't want Cleran to know how bad it had gotten, out of fear that he might realize she'd barely be able to hold the sword, and it would be, if not easy than at least feasible for him to win in a fight—even wearing chains.
Home. I have to make it... I have to.
She kept thinking it to herself, over and over. She might have been saying it out loud, even; she wasn't sure. She didn't care. All the pain was coming back, plus the aches and blisters from her feet... Home. I'm so close, I have to...
Islana started to stand, and a wave of dizziness encompassed her. She collapsed onto her hands and knees and screamed from the pain of the impact of her broken knee and destroyed hand hitting the ground. "Home," she muttered. "I have... To get... Home."
The darkness that had surrounded her crept inside her head. She imagined she saw a dim light as she passed out, and her last thoughts were off a reassuring blizzard, the necklace she was wearing, white angel wings and the moon.
There was a long silence after Islana passed out. Cleran said her name and got no answer, then tried again. Nothing. "I think she's unconscious," he informed his brother.
"I'll check," Dysis said. Cleran objected, of course; what if she wasn't unconscious? What if this was some sort of test? But Dysis ignored him. He had an awful feeling, and was afraid he was going to be the next to go—he almost thought he'd see a light around Islana, flashing off the necklace she was wearing. But even if he couldn't see her, he could hear the agony in her voice as she cried out whatever it was that she'd said.
He knelt over her and carefully checked her pulse. There was one, but it was faint at best. Her breathing was labored, and she clearly was not going to be waking up soon. He realized she was bleeding badly in several places, and wondered why.
"Cleran... What did she yell?"
"She wants to get home," Cleran said, his voice cold. "Is she alive?"
"Just." Dysis shuddered. "I don't want to die down here, Cleran," he said.
"You won't," Cleran promised.
Dysis shook his head, realized Cleran couldn't see it, and vocalized, "No. We... We've come too far, we've been walking too long. I'm too hungry. I'm too weak. You might make it, Cleran, you're stronger than I am. But... I think I'm going to be dead before we could get home."
"No," Cleran said. "I won't let you—no."
"I don't think you can control things like that. It's in Ocando's hands." He sighed.
"Dysis..." Cleran said hesitantly. "What if... You don't suppose we're closer to the other end, do you?"
"What?"
"The other end of the tunnel—we've been walking for a long time. It feels like a few solid days, doesn't it?"
"Yes, but the distance would be..."
"And think of how cold it is," Cleran continued. "Maybe... Maybe we should keep going?"
"And then what? Explain that we're sorry, Islana kidnapped us and died on the way, could we please go home? I'd rather die down here than go through..." he shuddered. "Go through what I put her through."
"You didn't, Dy. It wasn't your fault." Cleran was trying to be reassuring; he could hear how worried Dysis was. Dysis blamed himself for all of Islana's injuries, of course. No, Dysis, if we'd followed your orders... Ocan wouldn't have needed to call the healer slave, and so Islana wouldn't have been Healed at all, so she'd never have escaped... If we followed your orders and she'd escaped, she wouldn't be as badly as she is now. It isn't your fault. You only did what you had to...
"Then whose fault was it?" Dysis demanded. "It's mine, I made the choice, I—I caused this. I'm sorry. It's my fault you're here..."
"Dysis, please. It's not."
Dysis wanted to argue, but was sure Cleran would never realize how right he was. He'd given the orders to have her captured to begin with, and now she was dying in front of him, in a frozen darkness, in agony. He'd never have wished that on anyone, not even her...
"We should figure out what we're going to do," he said eventually.
"What can we do?" Cleran asked.
"Go back. We... I might not make it, but if there's a chance..."
"All right."
Neither of them moved.
"What do we do about... Her?" Cleran asked.
"She wanted to go home," Dysis sighed. "There's no way to—we can't do that for her."
"Should we— I could carry her," Cleran offered.
"No," Dysis said emphatically. "No, she's been through too much. If we bring her back, if we survive and she does, I'll have to... I'll have to have her killed, I'll have to have worse things done to her for this. And I can't—I won't. Not after hearing her scream like that."
"So... We could leave her."
"No," Dysis said again. "What if she woke up? Alone in a frozen black tunnel. She'd have to die alone and in pain. No one deserves that."
Cleran decided not to ask where the sudden wave of compassion came from. "Then what do we do?"
Dysis didn't answer for a long time, then he finally made himself move, despite protests from his sore muscles. He felt weak, so incredibly weak... He carefully emptied her pocket, finding taking back the remaining necklace and finding the key. He crossed the floor and gave the key to Cleran, who unchained himself and then untied his brother.
"Now what?" Cleran asked.
Dysis moved again. He was so hungry... He felt more than a little lightheaded, and this was going to be the hardest thing he'd ever done. Carefully he made his way to where Islana lay, barely alive, and drew the sword—Cleran's sword—and tried to hold it. He'd had sword lessons for awhile as a child, but when it became clear that he was never going to be any good at it, his father had allowed him to pursue other forms of training instead. The blade felt awkward in his hands, but he took a deep breath, knelt above Islana, raised the sword—
"I wouldn't do that, if I was you," a sing-songish voice commented.
He froze, and so did Cleran. Slowly, Dysis turned around and saw—he winced from the sudden light—a figure sitting behind him. Or rather, perched as if sitting, but floating in midair, looking half-amused, half-annoyed. He was glowing, with short white-silver hair, silver eyes, a halo of white light, and white feathered wings. He flapped them every few seconds, but that didn't seem to be what kept him aloft, he was merely floating.
"Who—what are you?" Dysis demanded frantically.
"I'm an angel," the angel said, grinning.
"I gathered that." Dysis forced himself out of the shock. "Why are you here?"
"She called me," he said, nodding towards Islana. "She wanted to go home, she prayed for it—she called me."
"Are you... Are you real?" Dysis asked.
"You'd say no," the angel replied. "I mean, I am one of Kaleal's angels, and you are the High Priest of Ocando. I'm pretty sure you're supposed to deny my existence. But, with that technicality aside, yes, I am." He smiled. "And no, you didn't die. This is neither Heaven nor Hell, though I'm sure it feels like it."
The angel turned his gaze to Cleran for a moment, looking him over as if measuring him. Cleran's eyes were wide and he stared in shock, wondering just what it was he was being judged for, but certain that he was being judged. "You'll do, I suppose," the angel said eventually, then uncrossed his legs (he'd been sitting cross-legged) and stepped down to the ground.
"What... Do you have a name?"
"Yes," the angel said, walking to Islana and kneeling next to her. He leant down and kissed her forehead, leaving a silver light glowing on it. The angel smiled, as the light spread down Islana's body. This was different than the superior smiles of "I know something you don't know," that he'd given Dysis, it was more a smile of genuine pleasure, or even pride. He murmured something under his breath, and though neither could hear clearly, it seemed to Cleran that he'd whispered the word beautiful.
"What is it?" Dysis asked finally.
The angel glanced up at him, as if annoyed that he'd been interrupted. "What?—Oh. Ilyan," he said after a moment. "Ilyan Kelanister. I had wondered—I felt her call me because of the necklace."
There was a long silence, while Ilyan turned his attention back to Islana. The glow started to fade, and he stood again. "You're Ilyan... Kelanister? Erra Kelanister's son?" Dysis asked nervously.
"Yes," Ilyan acknowledged.
"And now you're an angel?"
"Clearly."
"Does... Does your father know?"
"Not yet," Ilyan answered. "I imagine he'll find out shortly, though."
"Why haven't you visited him?"
"He's never called me." Ilyan paused. "I think it would hurt him too much."
"Oh. I... I'm sorry."
"Well, that's life. Or in my case, afterlife," Ilyan said. "I don't suppose you'd mind standing next to your brother for a moment?"
"Uh..." Dysis said, but decided it was probably best not to argue with the glowing angel. He could see now, and saw the Cleran looked as frightened as he felt, but managed to walk over and join Cleran against the far wall.
"And you might want to cover your eyes," Ilyan added thoughtfully, but he barely gave the brothers time to do so before he clapped his hands together, then twisted them as if he had something inside them he didn't want to release—then released it, a blindingly bright spark of blue light. There was a silence so loud that Dysis wanted to cover his hears, and the spark expanded in a heartbeat, until no one could see, and no one could hear—
Dysis and Cleran woke up some time later, in a stone room. It had the feel of a dungeon to it, with stone walls and a glass window textured so that it was impossible to see out, and bars over it. The door was barred, too.
It was freezing cold, but at least there was a fireplace with a fire burning. They were no longer dressed as they had been, either; now they sported far warmer clothes, lined with fur to ward off the cold. Both of them felt a thousand times better, as if they'd had a complete meal or five, a week's worth of rest, and their feet had been Healed.
"Where are we?" Cleran asked.
Dysis didn't answer, but had a sinking feeling. The angel had appeared—assuming he hadn't dreamed that—to take Islana home. Islana had been taking them home. He could only come to one conclusion: Cresula, the frozen island that was home to the Knights.
[CLOSING CREDITS]