The Power and the Glory

Book 3 Chapter XIII: The Phoenix

How badly was Ilaran injured? No one could have come out unscathed after throwing themselves against a door repeatedly, to say nothing of all the rest of the destruction.

Years and years ago, before everything went to hell and before he even knew of Haliran's existence, Siarvin had visited Aderthril for the first and only time since her marriage. Her pathetic excuse for a husband was away -- "off with one of his whores," Aderthril had said bitterly -- and her son had disappeared. They searched the whole castle for Ilaran -- or Raitálen, as he'd been then. At last Siarvin thought of checking the guest rooms. He opened a door and heard the tell-tale scuffling sound of someone drawing back further into their hiding place. When he knelt down he found a small boy curled into a ball under the bed.

It had been millennia since Siarvin thought of that incident. He remembered how Aderthril had been forced to coax Raitálen out with cake, and how it turned out he was hiding to get out of geography lessons. 

Stepping into Ilaran's room felt eerily like a re-enactment of that incident such a very long time ago. Ilaran had been younger then than Shizuki was now, Siarvin remembered. When he knelt down beside the bed he almost expected to see Ilaran as a little boy again. It was almost disorientating to see him as an adult.

"What's wrong?" Siarvin asked quietly.

Ilaran raised his head. In the darkness under the bed it was impossible to tell what his expression was, but Siarvin was almost certain he was crying.

"I can't tell you," Ilaran said in a very quiet, almost choked voice. "I don't want to think about it."

Siarvin was too old to crawl under furniture now. So he settled for the next best thing. "Come here, Raitálen."

It had been millennia since he last used Ilaran's kelros-name. In fact it had probably been millennia since anyone had used it. The only people who had that right were Ilaran's parents, both long dead, and older relatives who were either dead or barely aware of his existence. Ilaran started at the use of that name. Then, very slowly, he crawled out of his hiding place.

He looked awful. There were bruises all over his face, his hands were bleeding, and there was dried blood all around his mouth. A small part of Siarvin's mind had a panic attack over whose blood that might be and what it meant. He firmly ignored that part. Now was not the time. Not when Ilaran looked even worse than he had when he was literally dead.

Siarvin had never had much experience with comforting people after traumatic events. He made an educated guess based on normal people's interactions and came to the conclusion hugging Ilaran might help, and at any rate was unlikely to make things worse.

Ilaran stiffened when Siarvin first hugged him. For a minute Siarvin worried he'd made a mistake and was actually making things worse. Then Ilaran flung his arms around him and hugged him back -- a little too tightly, but no worse than when Shizuki gave hugs in his snake form.

~~~~

It turned out that Abi's wings were not really much help outside the palace grounds. There were too many trees overhanging the path. When she flapped her wings they brushed against the leaves, which immediately went up in flames. It took a lot of panicking and hitting the leaves with Irímé's coat to put them out. Irímé had never had so many near-heart-attacks in such a short time before.

"This is hopeless," he said after the fifth time Abi nearly set a tree on fire. "You'll have to change back. We can help you walk."

It took the combined efforts of Shizuki and Irímé to teach her how to get rid of her wings. Her first attempt went badly wrong. So badly, in fact, that she now had feathers growing out of her face.