Free Scepters by L. E. Modesitt Page B

mythical creatures, that they didn’t
exist. I wondered if that was because they never lived in the south.”
    “They
must like the cold more.”
    “I
don’t think they like it where it’s warm and damp.”
    “There
couldn’t have been very many of them, ever, do you think?” asked Wendra.
    “The
soarer told me that Corus used to be colder and drier. There were probably more
when it was. There had to have been more soarers then than there are now. I got
out of the room I was in, and I saw enough to know how empty that city was.
They wouldn’t have built a city if there weren’t enough soarers to live there.”
But had he seen enough? Or had he only seen what the soarer wanted him to see?
    “Did
she ever tell you why they were dying off?”
    “No…
only that they were, and that there were very few of them, and that before long
there wouldn’t be any left.”
    “They
live a long time. So that might be a while.”
    Abruptly
an intense green light—a line narrow as a wand—flared skyward from the Plateau,
its width constant, and for a moment, as it lanced toward the small green disc
of Asterta, it was brighter than the setting sun had been a fraction of a glass
earlier.
    “What
was that?” asked Wendra.
    “I
don’t know. I’ve never seen anything like that.”
    “You
think… like your grandmother… herders?”
    “The
death of a soarer?” suggested Alucius. “It could be. I don’t know why they
would commemorate it the same way we do. We want Selena in the sky, but only
Asterta is now…” He broke off his words, considering what the soarer had told
him years before.
    “What
is it?”
    “They
helped make us what we are. You could be right. We might be following their
example, except for the choice of moon.”
    “Asterta’s
green. So are soarers,” Wendra pointed out. “Their lifethreads and radiance,
anyway.”
    “I
wonder…” mused Alucius.
    “Maybe
all herders are soarer’s children. You are.”
    “So
are you,” he pointed out.
    “Those
with Talent, then.” Wendra continued to look at the Plateau, but the single
line of green light had vanished, and the crystal parapets of the towering
Plateau were shrouded in shadow, no longer reflecting the sun.
    Alucius
also watched, and the porch was silent for a time.
    “I
wonder.” Alucius paused. “The soarer said that we had been brought here by the
ifrits. Did I tell you that?”
    “No.
You mean people? Not us, but people a long time ago?”
    “Yes.
She said that… that we were meant to be like cattle for the ifrits.”
    “Where
did they bring people from?”
    “She
didn’t say. She said so much that was new—I didn’t ask. I should have.”
    “It
makes sense,” Wendra mused. “The ifrits feed on lifeforce, or they use it.”
    “That’s
true.”
    “What
I don’t understand is… well… most people have lifethreads that are brown or tan
or amber, except herders. Most herders are black shot with green. You’re green.
I’m green, but we didn’t used to be, did we?”
    “No,”
he admitted. “You were black with flashes of green. I didn’t know how to look
at myself then, but I’d guess I was, too.”
    “But
we’re green now. Why?”
    “Because…
somehow, greater use of Talent turns the lifethread green. That’s a guess, but
it seems to be true. Herders with more Talent have more green in their
lifethreads. Maybe it shows a greater tie to all of Corus. The soarers have
been here forever… a long time, anyway, and they’re green.”
    “What
about the sanders?” Wendra asked.
    “I
never looked that closely, but I always thought of them as red-violet.”
    “And
the ifrits are purple?”
    “Both
feed on lifeforce,” mused Alucius. “I hadn’t thought of it that way.” He shook
his head once more. “Then, there are a lot of things I didn’t think of before I
met you.” He turned to face her directly, grinning.
    “I’m
sure you did,” Wendra replied, blushing.
    “Supper’s
ready, you two,” Lucenda’s