Free King Javan’s Year by Katherine Kurtz Page A

and sensing Alroy’s fading awareness of the contact. They summoned them for him, and I must summon them for you, dear brother .
    He made his thoughts a prayer as he lifted his entreaty to the powers that had come before, at the behest of the Deryni who had befriended the Haldane line.
    Hear me, mighty ones , he breathed. I know not the form by which to invite your presence, but I ask it now, for the sake of him who soon shall cross to your domain. I summon you, Raphael, Lord of Air; Michael, Lord of Fire; Gabriel, Lord of Water; and Uriel, dark Lord of Earth. Be here, I beseech you, to welcome him who shall pass and to carry him swiftly into the loving presence of the Most High .
    To his utter astonishment, listeners seemed to heed his petition. He dared not open his eyes or even raise his head, but in his mind’s eye he seemed to sense the vague forms of other presences suddenly surrounding the bed, broad-pinioned and powerful, surely taller than the room could hold, trailing gossamer robes of fog-grey and flame and palest aquamarine and the cool green-black of winter evergreens.
    Startled, he let his eyes open the merest slit. The exhausted and wheezing Alroy had sunk back on his pillows and was drifting into the oblivion of the potion Oriel had given him, no longer fighting the fluid that was filling his lungs and soon would drown him. Oriel himself knelt at his side, one hand still resting on the king’s arm to monitor, his eyes shifting restlessly across the air above the bed, perhaps sensing at least a little of what Javan was perceiving. A trembling Rhys Michael was bowed over Alroy’s right hand, cradling it in both of his, but Javan did not think he Saw.
    â€œHe shall give His angels charge over thee,” Javan whispered aloud, returning his attention to Alroy, closing his eyes then as he reached out toward his brother’s mind. “Lord, let it be done according to Thy will. Into Thy hands we commend his spirit.”
    He could feel Alroy’s breathing falter under the trembling link of their clasped hands, growing ever weaker and more labored, but in his inner vision, the spirit essence of his brother seemed finally to rise slowly out of its disease-wracked body to a sitting position, turning its eyes just beyond Javan’s right shoulder. In spirit Javan turned as well—and beheld a figure he had not seen in many a year, and never quite like this.
    Almost close enough to touch, Javan fancied he could see the regal figure of their father Cinhil, cloaked from shoulder to ankles in a sweeping mantle of Haldane crimson that was cut like a cope. On a head only faintly touched by silver at the temples shone the State Crown of Gwynedd, with its motif of oak leaves and crosses intertwined. He nodded solemnly as his eyes briefly met Javan’s; but then all his attention was for Alroy, the expression on his face one of joy and sadness mixed as he held out his arms to his eldest son.
    Javan longed to speak to him, but he could not seem to summon up any will to do so. Caught fast in mind and body, he watched numbly as Alroy’s spirit rose the rest of the way out of the wasted body and seemed to slide to its feet beside him, laying one spirit hand on his arm and with the other pointing to the physical hand Javan still held—to the ring on the now-relaxing finger.
    Then the figure was moving into the embrace of their father and the two images were blurring into one. At the same time, Javan was overwhelmed by the powerful impression of wings buffeting the air around him, stirring to the very depths of his soul, lifting up and away with such force that Javan swayed on his knees, only his grip on Alroy’s now-limp hand keeping him grounded to the mortal world. At the very end, he seemed to hear the silvery chime of bells, gradually fading into silence; and when he finally opened his eyes, he had no doubt that Alroy was gone.
    Stunned, he forced himself to look around. Oriel