… her face, his wife Calista, her eyes huge and fearful as she lay upon the birthing-bed, watching him hold the infant in his arms…
"No!" Cerelinde struggled out of his grip, eyeing him and breathing hard. "What manner of flower is this, Tanaros?"
"Vulnus-blossom." His smile was taut. "What did you see?"
"You," she said softly. "I saw you, in Lindanen Dale, your sword stained with my kinsmen's blood."
Tanaros nodded, once. "Their scent evokes memory. Painful memory."
Cerelinde closed her eyes. "What do you see, Tanaros?"
"I see my wife." The words came harsher than he intended. He watched her eyelids, raising like shutters, the sweep of lashes lifting to reveal the luminous grey.
"Poor Tanaros," she murmured.
"Come." He dragged at her arm, hauled her to another flowerbed, where bell-shaped blossoms bent on slender stalks, shivering in the moonlight with a pale, fretful sound. "Do you know what these are?"
She shook her head.
"Clamitus atroxis," Tanaros said shortly. "Sorrow-bells. They sound for every senseless act of cruelty that takes place in the Sundered World. Do you wonder that they are seldom silent?"
"No." Tears clung to her lashes. "Why, Tanaros?"
"Look." He fell to his knees, parting the dense, green leaves of the clamitus. Another flower blossomed there, low to the ground, pure white and starry, shimmering in its bed of shadows. "Touch it."
She did, kneeling beside him, stroking the petals with one fingertip.
The flower shuddered, its petals folding into limpness.
"What have I done?" Cerelinde's expression was perturbed.
"Nothing." Tanaros shook his head. "It is the mortexigus, Lady; the little-death flower. That is its nature, to mimic death at a touch. Thus does it loose its pollen."
Cerelinde knelt, head bowed, watching the plant stir. "Why do you show this to me, Tanaros?" she asked quietly.
A soft breeze blew in the garden, redolent with the odor of memory, making the clamitus sound their fitful chimes. Tanaros stood, his knees popping. He walked some distance from her. "Lord Satoris has summoned you to speak with him."
"Yes." She did not move.
"What does he say?"
"Many things." Cerelinde watched him. "He says that the Prophecy is a lie."
"Do you believe him?" Tanaros turned back to her.
"No." A simple truth, simply spoken.
"You should." A harsh note entered his voice. "He speaks the truth, you know."
Her face was calm. "Then why do you fear it, Tanaros? Why am I here, if the Prophecy is a lie? Why not let me wed Aracus Altorus in peace?"
"Is that what you would bring us here in Darkhaven?" he asked her. "Peace?"
At that, she looked away. "The Lord-of-Thought knows the will of Uru-Alat."
"No!" Tanaros clenched his fist against his thigh, forced himself to breathe evenly. "No, he doesn't. Haomane knows the power of thought, that's all. The leap of water in the stream, of blood in the vein, of seed in the loins… these things are Uru-Alat too, and these things Haomane First-Born knows not. That is the core of truth he has Shaped into the lie of the Prophecy."
Cerelinde composed herself. "The other Shapers disagree, General."
"Do they?" Tanaros caught a bitter laugh in his throat and pointed to the moon. "See there, my lady. Arahila's moon sheds its blessing on Lord Satoris' garden."
Her gaze was filled with compassion. "What would you have me say? Arahila the Fair is a Shaper, Tanaros. Not even the Sunderer is beyond redemption in her eyes."
"No." He shook his head. "Oh, Cerelinde! Don't you understand? Any of the Shapers, any of the Six, could leave Torath and cross the Sundered divide. They will not." He raised his chin, gazing at the stars. "They will not," he said, "because they fear. They fear Haomane's wrath, and they fear their own mortality. Even Shapers can die, Cerelinde. And they fear to tread the same earth where Godslayer abides."
"Is that the lesson of the garden?" Her grey eyes were cool, disbelieving.
"No." Tanaros pointed to the mortexigus flower. "That is. Lady, any Son of Man would do to serve your need. In our very mortality, we hold the keys to life. We hold the Gift Lord Satoris can no longer bestow, the key to the survival of the Rivenlost. Your people and mine conjoined. That is the truth of the Prophecy, the deeper truth."
She frowned and it was as though a cloud passed over the moon's bright face. "I do not understand."
"Do the numbers of the Ellylon not dwindle while those of Men increase?" he asked her. "So it has been since the world was Shaped. Without Lord Satoris' Gift, in time the Ellylon will vanish from the face of Urulat."