Page 43 of Valdemar

He nodded. This wasn’t exactly new to him, since it was written into several holy books he had read . . . but to hear it confirmed by an intensely supernatural creature gave him a chill, accompanied by a strange kind of joy, as if he had been entrusted with something very important.

:However, under certain circumstances—like, in your case, exactly the right, completely unselfish plea at the right time—Instruments are permitted. We are Instruments. We are not avatars—those are mortals who become the physical vessels for gods. We are mortal, like you. We have free will, like you. We are here to advise and help—but that help is mostly limited to what a similarly talented human could do in the same circumstances. We cannot see the future—that is not for us to do—but . . . we are good at guiding. Think of us as a sort of compass. We will always point true north.:

He found himself nodding, and stopped. A strong thought from his doubt and fear said, This is not just pretty, this is seductive—all this is engineered to appeal to you. Seduction, challenge, majesty, mystery, promise? Hope? This is a set-up. This is too perfect for them to just intuit what would appeal to you—they must have already been in your mind, Kordas. They are in your mind!

As is the way of fears, “they” had no firm definition; “they” was the sense of “others” as a foreboding force of judgment and power over him. These thoughts threatened him on a self-awareness level. Could he unravel from this? How can I get a true confirmation of anything if they are manipulating my mind? The spectacle of this is fantastic, but a show is a show, and a show is a performer’s best weapon. If they can play my senses this well—how could I—

:How can you be certain I am telling the truth? Ask your friend Rose.:

And before Kordas could react to that extraordinary statement, the mist swirled and parted before—well, it looked like more mist. A little more solid, a kind of pale blue in color, and moving toward him in a slow vortex.

“Kordas!” said a very familiar voice, and one he had never expected to hear again. A pair of intensely blue eyes opened at the top of the vortex and blinked at him in a friendly manner. “Ardatha invited me here to reassure you that he is truthful. The Companions were not crafted to lie to you. I am not sure that they can.”

“Rose—” he began, and then found himself choking up, with a lump in his throat and unexpected tears burning his cheeks. He covered his mouth with a curled hand.

“I know you miss us, and not just because of all the things we did for you,” Rose said teasingly, her voice warm and loving. “But don’t worry. We’re not leaving your new Kingdom. And not only because we owe you our freedom. We like you. We might even love some of you,” she added, sounding more mischievous. “What you are trying to do—this seems like a good home for truth. So we’re staying!”

:Forgive me, my dear, but I have a lot to discuss with my Chosen, and there is a limit to the amount of time he can stay here.:

“Of course,” Rose agreed, and a tendril of mist brushed the tears from Kordas’s cheek. “You made me seriously consider corporeality for some time. Just to be closer. Pet Sydney’s children for me.”

And with that, she faded back into the ambient mist and was gone.

Kordas sniffed, and dried his eyes on his sleeve. Huh. I’m material enough to cry. And have my eyes itch. This seems . . . very substantial.

But if they control my perception, they could have made me think that was Rose—and had her say to trust them.

:Oh, Kordas. This is a show, a work of art, and true expression unbridled, as a moment of learning in a benevolent plot. I can tell what you feel, and I can’t be flustered by your thoughts. I can forgive more than you might imagine, and I won’t seek power through what you confide.:

“What exactly are you, Ardatha?” he asked—the first question to come into his head.

:Well . . . that’s two questions, actually. The first of us are . . . I suppose you would call us pure spirits, who were never mortal. Whole creations, designed by a master of the craft. When there are enough of us here, in Valdemar, then we will begin mating and birthing, and those new Companions will be those who have once been mortal.:The Companion shrugged gracefully. :The Highest Ones believe that ultimately it will be better having those who understand humanity from having been human as your Companions, than those of us who only look on, inexperienced with your aspirations.:

“So . . . you’re new. And that’s not your natural form?”

:This is a very useful form. The unenlightened will see a horse and discount us. By design, we can travel faster and farther than a horse, and without exhaustion, giving you a mount that can cover great distances in little time. We are obviously not as fragile, unreliable, or as easy to frighten as a horse, and will take you wherever you ask us to, regardless of the danger.:Ardatha shook his head. :We will fight beside you, carry you, and if need be, die beside you.:

Kordas almost choked. Oh, that’s not ominous at all. But—let’s test things a little.

“Can I see your true form?” he asked, now prodded by his insatiable curiosity.

Ardatha’s head came up with alarm. :I don’t think that is a good idea.:

“Indulge me,” he insisted. Because when else am I ever going to get to see the true form of an Instrument of the gods? He couldn’t help himself. Maybe it was the feeling of complete physical safety here. Maybe it was just that he couldn’t help but poke at things that perhaps he shouldn’t. And maybe he should take the Greater Spirit’s advice.

Too late.

:Very well,:said the Companion.

And a long, long minute later Kordas found himself convulsing on the ground, mind flooded with—too much. Just too much. It was like a deep intake of breath that simply never stopped—an inhale that persisted even when the body could bear no more. Kordas was too aware. And terrified, awestruck, and overwhelmed with wonder. Before him was an immense . . . presence, and a light too bright even to contemplate—and he wasn’t seeing it through physical eyes. Inside the light were patterns, wheels of language and geometry, puzzles containing plazas and landscapes of unfolding details. They in turn divided into knots of magical energy, casting out and grasping fields and frequencies he couldn’t interpret, and each of them opened into even more complexity. Clusters of concepts were linked by shining cords akin to lute strings, most of them extending into distances well beyond his confused perception. And yet they were all here. Embodied.

Kordas clutched at his sides and steadied himself. This . . . was a bad idea, was all he could manage to think.

Ardatha’s “voice” said, :You were very brave to try,: but in a tone that meant, I warned you. I did warn you. :There is a reason why we say “fear not,” when we appear to mortals,: Ardatha said, sounding just the tiniest bit irritated. :We have a penchant for theatrics. We could perhaps appear as a harmless small animal, or ordinary object, but instead we appear as something dramatic, and then say “Fear not!” just after we’ve freshly terrified someone.: Ardatha sounded amused, but followed up with a gentle, :You did ask for it. And I did as you asked of me.: Kordas felt sunburned, from his skin to his marrow. The light dimmed, and Kordas cautiously looked up. The Companion was back to his horse form.

“Point taken,” he managed to gasp. He levered himself up off the sand and cautiously climbed back upright into the throne. “Now, this is a lot, but we have a purpose. Brief me on all these things we need to talk about.”

:Excellent. Let’s begin.: