Tandar Visits Marantas
by Karin S. Heigl
Part 1 appears in this issue.
conclusion
Those feet withdrew completely into the body, the mighty rump became smaller, denser, somewhat narrower. Tandar realized the transformation was almost over. It was not the first time he had seen such, yet he still sucked in the air like a babe coming into this world.
He would never get used to this. Even if he had done it more than a few times himself, once, when he was very young. But those days were long gone and he refused to remember. Only, it was too late; the sight had touched something within him and, without caring for his consent, frayed pieces of memory came to him.
Swelling... swelling to an extent it hurt too much to bear, then being pushed through something... narrow... then torn apart at the waist.
He shuddered and pushed the memories away, groped for something else, anything. The other way, back to man’s form... nothing. He did not recall anything. He sighed, sank into the newfound silence. It lasted for a heartbeat, and was enough to give him strength.
The agonizing images returned, but now he awaited them, and wrapped them into a soothing veil of silence. Still they were there again, and hurt, and he felt lightheaded: How could he ever have forgotten? How could anyone in the world willingly go through it? Then he remembered that he had stripped himself of his dragon heritage at a very young age, and he could not truly fathom the nature of this transformation. He could just gape at its beauty.
Tandar interrupted his thoughts with a few deep, controlled breaths, looked up, and swallowed.
Before him stood a graceful man, delicate, yet strong and lithe. A man of the smoothest strength of muscle he had ever seen and would ever set eyes upon.
Marantas’ bare arms rested at his side; his long black hair was tied back, exposing his throat. His dainty lips and brows were motionless, but his eyes... Almost anything about him was dark. A black supple vest covered his upper body but left his neck, collarbone and shoulders bare. He was also clad in black breeches and soft black boots. The uncovered parts of his body showed olive skin that shone with the recent transformation, bearing a hint of velvet green dragon dust. He did not wear weapons of any kind. He did not need them.
Marantas was like the black wild cats that roamed the steppes to the East; vigilant, ready for the kill, but calm. Every movement held a dark, shining self-assuredness as if in deep sleep. No. He was not like them. He was more... something else that Tandar could not find words for. He just stood and watched him.
He was magnificent.
A silent envy prowled in his deepest thoughts, but Tandar did not resist. Envy was appreciation.
Marantas’ eyes were dangerously calm. The green sparks danced so slowly they almost stood still at the ground of his moor eyes.
“What are thy wishes, Master?” the dark voice spoke again, finally voicing the question, now making it a request to leave. Its smooth, golden core had gone hard. Tandar’s stomach cramped. It felt unnerving to hear this powerful dragon voice come out of such a delicate body.
But it was not only that. This word... Master... how many times had he called the High One thus? A thousand times? A million? How many times had he come before him, seated in the High Seat with dignity, back straight, magnificent in his white silk, hair and beard white as snow, and terrible blue eyes that cut through everything? Tandar had lost count and did not care in the slightest to add to this list. The High One’s features always wore a slight sneer; and Tandar hated this face so much he almost threw up when he saw it. Yet each time he bowed, and each time obeyed.
Master... who the Master truly was, that remained to be seen.
Still, Tandar regretted having disturbed Marantas in his mountain refuge. He had earned it. Difficult enough everything must be for him; he was torn between three worlds, and now four... Life was not just. Did not he, Tandar, above all men know about it?
And suddenly he felt that bond again, and it was strong, and powerful, and nearly swept him from his feet. He suppressed a stagger and planted his feet firmly to the ground. No. This time he would not let go of an opportunity, a chance laid into his lap. He would seize it.
Without clearly realizing it, he held his hands up before his eyes and studied them. They were young. They were borrowed. Yet they were his. His alone and he would do everything to put them to good use and if it would be the last thing he did in this world. Hunting that wild boar alone in the forest had been reckless. But the boy had given him the greatest gift of all in his, Tandar’s, most desperate hour... Falling, leaking life, searching, searching... there he had found the boy, dying in the dark woods.
A glimmer caught Tandar’s eye. His gaze wandered from his hands, following the glimmer. The next moment he found himself looking Marantas straight into the eye. A green spark had caught a sun ray and reflected it.
Marantas was watching him. And in this instant Tandar knew Marantas had felt it, too. The bond was still there.
It must unsettle him much... All the more Tandar admired him. He was so calm, so controlled. Yet still not rigid. How did he do that?
The green sparks in Marantas’ eyes began to move lazily. It seemed as if the sunbeam had wakened them from a doze.
Tandar gathered his wits and took a step closer. And one more closer. One more. “You have become mighty,” he said once more, even though many things had happened and it now felt very distant, like repeating a memory. He was not sure why he chose those words again, and at first they rang hollowly in his ears; but the longer the words lingered in the air between them, the more they filled with meaning.
And now Marantas responded. He shifted his weight to one leg and then to the other. The sparks danced faster. Their green took on a hint of gold. Was it from the sunlight or did Tandar imagine it? Whatever it was, it gave Tandar the courage to do what he had come for.
“I need you,” he blurted out, much to his own dismay. Too blunt. Too hasty. But what should he conceal? There was no need to wait, nor was there time. The dancing stopped for a heartbeat.
“I need you to find someone,” he went on and then paused, checking Marantas’ response. Still nothing. This man was truly unnerving. “Find the girl. Find her and protect her,” his voice grew more confident and powerful. “It is of the utmost importance that she stay alive. Do you understand?”
Now Tandar was back to his old self and, while he did not enjoy it, some small part of him still clung to the olden days and enjoyed this hollow display of power. But he knew this glimpse of yesterday would perish.
He watched Marantas with sharp eyes, yet he felt himself soften and his heart fly out to him. All he wanted to do was reach out and take him into his arms. But this desire was so very misplaced that he pushed it away.
Slowly, Marantas nodded. “Yes, Master.”
Tandar almost flinched. That word again. He pushed it away, too, and continued: “Protect her at every cost. She is of the utmost importance. I lost her trail on the Yonder Coasts a fortnight ago, but other pressing business has kept me from searching further. She must be somewhere between here and the Old Lands. I have felt her presence wavering; she may be hurt or worse. Please.”
He paused and listened to his words fade. Please. When did he last hear this word come out of his own mouth? A year ago? Was it ten?
Suddenly he was back in the green Dales with Marantas. His heart racing, the heart in the other body thumping, the bond growing stronger...
Tandar shook his head and the memory dispersed. Please. He could not let this interfere. She was all that mattered. She was too important. He reached for his temples, the skin was sweaty, but he forced himself to breathe calmly.
Then he looked up again and without warning into deep dark eyes. Tandar recoiled, but did not drop his gaze.
Marantas was already very close, too close. And he was fast, fast at learning, fast with understanding, too fast with everything. And now finally Tandar could admit to himself that this man overwhelmed him. That also had been the reason he, Tandar, had been so... so... It had been the reason for everything.
He finally understood. And a great weight stirred in his chest, lifted from his heart, and flew away; a weight he had not known existed.
Marantas’ eyes were full of understanding. But for the first time since he had set eyes upon him, Tandar saw him tense. Every fiber in Marantas’ body was taut as a bowstring. He knew. He knew everything, had always known.
What kind of lore Marantas had learned in the meantime Tandar did not know. Yet he saw in those eyes that they knew many things. He saw in those eyes that they had inherited the old Wisdom of Sight that had run strong with the Spider Lords since the day they had sprung from Shahla the Enigmatic.
In this moment Tandar saw one other thing very clearly: He could still trust him with his life. That was why he had come here in the first place. His heart had longed for the certainty, that he, Tandar, could still trust Marantas.
There he knew this had been the true poison. Not the bond that existed between them. No. The true poison had been his mistrust. His! Raw realization burned through him, blinded him for an instant; and in this blindness so clear, so very, unmistakably clear, he broke down.
And in the smell of sand and stones mingled a hint of moss and turf and moor, and the scent grew stronger. Tandar felt warm, firm hands upon his shoulders, through his silken cloak. Which was, to his surprise, now a lighter gray, like the rocks to his right that were warmed by beams of sunlight.
The earthy, fresh green smell became stronger with every heartbeat. How long had Marantas lain there? Before he had come to Tandar? Before he had found him, Tandar, in his lonely tower of a mind? He smelled good. His scent was soothing; and confusing.
“Forgive me,” it burst out of Tandar, much to his own surprise. “Forgive me. All of those years I had to live in mistrust, without it I would not have survived, I...”
He could not speak any longer and covered his eyes with his hands. No. No. This was unforgivable. Yet Marantas knelt down before him, took his hands and made soft, consoling noises.
Tandar’s eyes fixed on a small, smooth stone right before him. How smooth his patterns were... he wondered how old this stone was... He could not lift his eyes, he could not. But he must tell him, must make him understand...
“In all those years of pain and despair, of betrayal and hopelessness, mistrust was my best advisor... Without it, I would have been long gone. I had to mistrust every kind word, every sign of mercy and love. Love was the most dangerous mistress anyone could have imagined. There was no one I could go to, please understand.” Tandar did not lift his eyes from the ground while he spoke.
Marantas came still closer and, while his soothing scent wafted by, said quietly, “I understand.”
That was all it took. Tandar started to cry. He, Tandar, the Great. He, Tandar, Keeper of the Burden, Teacher of the Mighty. Brother of Dragons. But even those must weep, and so he wept for a long time. But somehow it did not feel wrong. It was right. And all the while Marantas held his hands; his grip was firm, but gentle.
“It is good,” Marantas said after a long time, his voice now filled with golden warmth. “It is good.”
Marantas helped him stand up and steadied him when he staggered. They touched their brows to one another. Marantas still held his hands and Tandar felt the old bond he had mistaken for poison. No. Marantas would not betray him. He could trust him with his life. And hers.
He felt a nudging in his back, soft but demanding. Mistfoot... Yes. It was good, if Mistfoot nudged his agreement. He was the only being he had trusted for a long time beside his own sister. If only she had not gone so long ago. How much he longed for her. His heart ached. No. He would see her again. Soon.
And, gently, Marantas broke away and looked him in the eye. “I will fly with the last light of day,” Marantas said. His resolve soothed Tandar who had long stood alone against the tides of time. It felt good to have Maranas back at his side.
“I will not linger. I will use night and stars to search for her. I will find her.”
Tandar looked upon Marantas in amazement. Those had been his exact hopes! For an instant, he felt fearful of this man who saw and knew all, but it quickly passed and made way for a deeper feeling of warmth and thankfulness that went deep to his bones. It felt good.
“Yes,” Tandar could only say, “she is our only hope.”
At those words Marantas tensed, ever so slightly, his moor eyes grew darker and the sparks lay still at the ground of the pool. “No,” he replied, his voice firm, “there is another.”
Tandar was taken aback, if only for a heartbeat during which he studied Marantas’ face. What did he know that he, Tandar, did not? Was he really who he claimed he was? The next moment Tandar dropped the thought, it did not matter. Marantas would make the right choice in the right moment. He would protect the girl with his life; he could see it in his face, his features were serene, his mouth serious, his moor eyes dark and quiet. There lay great strength, but not deceit. There lay resolution, but not dominance. There lay faith, but not delusion.
And Tandar knew he had been right to come here. Marantas was the right one, the only one. He would find her. Tandar’s heart rose.
He felt another nudging in his back and then a warm nuzzling in his palm. He laughed in delight and suddenly stopped, startled by the sound.
Marantas’ eyes smiled, sparks dancing, bathing in the low sun that now reached the bottom of the Dale.
The men exchanged one last look. Then they parted ways.
Tandar slid onto Mistfoot’s back and felt a little lightheaded; it was so much more than he had hoped for. He was not certain whether he was awake and pinched himself secretly. It hurt. At that Mistfoot twisted his head back up to him and shot him a dark, sly glance. Tandar thought, for a moment, he had seen a nasty smile play on Mistfoot’s mouth. He was not Mistfoot; he was Mischief-Foot!
Tandar snorted and smacked him lightly on the hindquarters; and as Mistfoot ran, flew down through the Dale, his footfall seemed to flicker like laughter. All the while, as he and Mistfoot rode out of the Dale, he felt Marantas’ steady gaze following. It did not feel heavy anymore.
Copyright © 2022 by Karin S. Heigl
