Ianca begins rambling in another language.
“What is she saying now?”
Gesine shakes her head. “It is not a language she or I know.”
And yet Ianca seems to be speaking it fluently. Finally, her thin, parched lips still and she falls quiet, and I assume she has drifted off through all the dips and bumps along the pockmarked road.
Or worse.
I hesitate. “Is she …”
“Not yet. I can still sense whatever dribs of her life remain.” Gesine blinks back tears. “But it wavers now, fading fast.”
I study the sleeping seer. “What did she used to look like?”
That question brings a sad smile to Gesine’s lips. “Hair like spun gold and eyes like the water of the Endless Sea—dark and blue and bottomless. Beautiful. But it was her humor that I loved most. A kind humor, never at the expense of others.” She wipes away a tear. “It is unfathomable how quickly this happened.”
“How long were you two together?”
“We were friends first. And then we were relegated to the same room. Ianca used to keep me up half the night talking. It was not until a few years later that we became more. We made a silly pact to go through the change together, though that is beyond our control. I knew I would have to watch her go through this alone.”
How painful that must be.
And how terrifying, witnessing the grim details of what’s yet in store for her.
A lump swells in my throat with the thought that I will lose Gesine to this change one day, too, and that day may not be far from now. Even if I don’t wholly trust the caster, I like her, and I’ve come to rely on her as more than a teacher. She’s become a friend and confidante.
“What do you think she meant, what she said about me bleeding for them to bow? Who is going to bow? The Islorians? The Ybarisans?”
“I do not know, but I hope it becomes clear soon. I need something to become clear soon. This cannot all be for naught …” Gesine’s voice trails, her brow pinching. “I think … she may be—”
Ianca starts with a gasp, her hand flying out to grasp my wrist with surprising strength. “Ulysede,” she whispers, and then, just as quickly, her grip slackens, her hand falling to hang limp.
Gesine dips her head and whispers something I can’t make out and then louder, declares, “Now she is gone.”
“I’m so sorry.”
With silent tears flowing freely down her cheeks, she draws a wool blanket over Ianca’s face. “She is at peace, and we do not have time for sorrow.” Taking a deep breath, she steels her jaw and lifts her hand in the air, palm up. A ball of water appears. “You must practice now, so you are ready for whatever is to come.”