Page 27 of Gryphon in Light

Kel closed his eyes and cast his mind back. Yes, that did match what he had felt. He opened his eyes again and nodded. “Because if he had moved, all those broken bones would have turned his insides into a pincushion. Which, apparently, I was on the verge of becoming. For a second time.”

But . . . surely that must have worn off by now. Or had it? He took an assessment of himself again and discovered something supremely unnerving.

Inside, his emotions were still a bubbling cauldron. He felt that if he let go, he’d find himself weeping, then laughing hysterically, then terrorized, then deeply depressed, then profoundly ashamed, then enraged, then . . . well, the list went on, every emotion rising to the surface of that stew, then vanishing into the depths again before he could do more than feel it. He gasped, and Ayshen tensed.

“What’s . . . wrong with me?” he managed to get out. “I . . . there . . . too many feelings!”

Then, before Ayshen could answer that rather incoherent question, he managed to attain control over himself, and all the seething emotions faded again, until they were barely perceptible.

But not gone. They were all still there, waiting for a moment of inattention, when something—rage, probably, it seemed the strongest—would flare up like a fire in dry tinder, and he’d be—

—I’d be ranting like I did when I first awakened.

“Nightwind says,” Ayshen said slowly and carefully, “that she was unable to balance something she called humors, by which I think she meant the . . . physical things in you that create emotions. That you’d have to learn to do that yourself. That she and Firesong could probably help, and that would be part of what he would teach you, because it is just an exaggerated version of what a Healing Adept already does. But that until you do balance all those things, you will have to do something else.” He paused, and seemed to be searching for a diplomatic way to say something that Kel was really not going to like.

Less than I liked being controlled—ah. Ah.

“You are about to tell me that I am going to have to stop and think before I say or do anything, aren’t you?” he suggested, trying not to sound resentful and failing utterly.

In the silence that followed, there were no sounds at all in the ekele, except their breathing. And that was when he noticed that all the lighting was supplied not by mage-lights, as was common, but by lanterns. And that someone must have gone around and replaced mage-lights with those lanterns, because while lovely, they were all mismatched.

Given what happened on the path . . . that was probably a good idea.

They gave a very different light from the mage-lights, softer, dimmer, and slightly wavering, as flames were inclined to do. Someone had added a subtle scent to the oil as well.

“Well . . . yes,” Ayshen replied bluntly. “Now, we hertasi see gryphons as creatures of impulse and strong feelings, but you were . . . well, compared to even your former self, if your former self was a candle of emotion and impulse, what you were when you woke up was a bonfire. Not out of control . . . but we knew that only because we know you. Anyone outside our group of friendship would have looked at you and fled. And Nightwind says that now it’s even more important that you stop and think and, well, I don’t know, recite calming things to yourself, because this power you are barely controlling reacts to what you feel.”

Bitter, bitter, this takes all the goodness of that lovely liver from my throat. But even as he thought that, he saw the light he was putting out become brighter, and he knew Ayshen was right. Nightwind was right. Firesong . . . was right.

“But don’t suppress anything, dear friend,” said Firesong behind him, from the stairs, making him start, and the light from from him flared and died again. He turned his head, and Firesong met his gaze before continuing his way down.

Firesong moved soundlessly down the treads, nothing hiding the scars of his face now; he was dressed, perhaps, for bed—or at least for lounging—in a tunic and breeches of some soft, fluid, unadorned material. “If you suppress your feelings, they’ll only come exploding out at the worst possible time. No, you should feel them, and acknowledge them, and then transmute them into something useful.”

“Like you have?” he bit off, not caring that his bitterness showed in the way he almost spat each word.

“Yes, actually,” Firesong replied, and folded himself gracefully down in his favorite nest of cushions. “I’m not saying it will be easy, but transmutation seems to come instinctively to you. Being deliberate does not . . . but I know you are capable of anything you put your mind to.”

“Hurr.” Was that actually a compliment? “It will make me slow, thinking all the time.”

“And what’s wrong with that? Deliberation has its virtues.” A hint of a smile was in Firesong’s voice, if not on his face.

“But gryphons are swift!” he protested. “Skandranon—”

“Is in the past. You are in the present. All things change,” Firesong pointed out. Then before Kelvren could reply, continued, “You are probably wondering when we leave.”

“Yes!” The abrupt change of subject was at least to something welcome. “Tomorrow, surely!”

“You will have to learn patience,” Firesong repeated. Kel felt himself flushing and was about to utter a scathing answer, when he saw Ayshen’s sharp eyes on him and remembered what Ayshen and Firesong had both said about thinking before he answered.

I think . . . I am getting angry. And I think . . . it is for no good reason. Firesong knows better than I do how much of a danger to k’Valdemar I pose. He would not keep me here one moment longer than necessary. So there must be a reason. I think . . . I think there are going to be a very many things in my future that I do not like, but that will have good reasons I cannot argue with.

As he thought, the light that had flared up when Firesong had told him he must learn patience died down.

He snorted a very little, ate the last of the liver to soothe his spirits, and put his head down on the floor, eyes fixed on Firesong. “I am listening,” he said.

It was easier to read Firesong’s voice than his face. And the voice held warm tones of approval. “Silverfox and I have discussed this at length while you slept, along with several others here in k’Valdemar. Not Elders, because, to be frank, the way you get to be an Elder is to lose some of your taste for adventure.”

Kel snorted laughter at that. It was true, and all the funnier for being so. “And you have not?” he asked.