Free razorsedge by Lisanne Norman

what you saw in the Margins?"

"Not yet. Father Lijou has asked us to mention it to no one as yet," said Kaid, turning to leave. "I mean you no insult, Ghyan," he added.

"None taken, Kaid. I'll see you're not disturbed till morning. If you leave during the night, would you stop by our night watch and let him know?"

"I will."

     
    * * *
     
    It was with relief that he closed the door of the small room behind him and switched on the psychic damper field. Now he felt that he'd truly left the world outside. He started setting out the oil lamp and the incense, taking comfort from the familiar tasks. There had been too much in his life lately that had been beyond his control. He needed this time of solitude and old familiarity— and isolation from the constant background awareness of the minds around him.

Thankfully, the room was heated. Shrugging off his coat, he looked in the chest at the foot of the bed for something more comfortable to wear. In it he found a black priest's robe— one of the Brotherhood's. Surprised, he lifted it out and unfolded it. It had his scent on it— old, but unmistakably his. Then he recognized it. It had belonged to him all those years ago in Stronghold. How in all the Gods' names had it come here? Then it dawned on him. Kusac had said that Dzaka had kept the room tended while he'd been missing in the hope that Vartra would guide him home. He must have kept the robe these ten years past, and brought it here for him.

A wave of emotion came over him at the thought behind the gesture. Despite their unresolved quarrels and stormy relationship, his son had cared enough to not only keep the robe, but to place it here against his return. He took off his jacket and slipped his arms into it, fastening it with the cord that hung from the waist. A sense of premonition, swiftly followed by disquiet, came over him as he did, but resolutely he pushed it aside.

He settled on the mat, lighting the ornate bronze lamp and crumbling the incense onto the hot charcoal. Scented smoke filled the air, swirling lazily as he began to chant the litanies. Gradually the tension began to drop away from him as he let himself sink deeper and deeper into the meditative trance.

For some time he stayed like this, at peace with himself as he repeated the teaching litanies of Vartra, examining each of them in the new light of what he'd learned in the Margins.

It began almost subliminally at first, sounding like the whispers that had followed him all day. Then it became louder, finally intruding into his consciousness.

Tallinu!

He needs to be focused on us.

He's not listening! Tallinu! Tallinu!

Calls himself Kaid now.

Kaid, dammit! Kaid!

Confused, his chanting began to falter as he tried to sense who was calling him.

He's not responding. We can't keep this up much longer!

Get him to do it. He's supposed to be the god, after all. Maybe he'll listen to the doctor.

God? What talk was this of gods?

I can't!

You'd better, because we can't get him otherwise!

He heard the implicit threat. Litanies, chants, all forgotten, he began to mentally back away. This didn't feel right. Whatever it was, he didn't want to know. Then his mind was grasped and held. Powerless, he had no choice but to listen.

Kaid, we're not finished yet. There's work still to be done.

No! I've done enough for you! No more, Vartra, no more! His mind shouted the refusal.

You will return once more. You are at the heart of matters both here and in the future. You will return!

NO!

The room started to recede, and he felt himself pulled toward a heat and fire he recognized only too well.

Got him!

As if from a great height, he saw his body slump, then fall forward onto the floor. A white rime began to form over his robe, then, as panic started to take hold, the image faded and he was swept into a maelstrom of sound and heat and pain.

Fire licked along his limbs, burning and consuming him. The smell of seared fur and flesh filled his nostrils, and as