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. He did not know about you. Your
mother had come to me, and she knew, was returning to
your cottage to tell him, joyous through the wide woods.
"She found what you've seen. Orestes could wait no
longer. Your mother brought me his note to read to her: I
HAVE KILLED ARION, AND THE BURNING WILL
NEVER STOP, it said. THE LAND IS CURSED. I AM
CURSED. MY LINE IS CURSED. I DIE."
L'Indasha reached for me as I reeled, as the room
blurred through my hot tears.
"Trugon? Trugon!"
REDEEM NOR CONTINUE. I understood now, about
his anger and guilt and the terrible, wicked thing he had
done. The BEATHA raced through me, and the torchlight
surged and quickened.
"Why did you finally tell me?" I asked.
"To save your life," the lady replied. She passed her
hand above the broken water, and I saw a future where fires
arose without cause and burned unnaturally hot, and my
scars were afire, too, devouring my skin, my face, erasing
all reason and memory until the pain vanished and my life
as well.
"This ... this is what will be, Lady?"
"Perhaps." She crouched beside me, her touch cool on
my neck, its relief coursing into my face, my limbs.
"Perhaps. But the future is changeable, as is the past."
"The past?" The pain was gone now, gone entirely.
"Oh, yes, the past is changeable, Trugon," L'Indasha
claimed, passing from firelight to shadow, "for the past is
lies, and lies can always change." She was nearing the end
of the answer and the beginning of another riddle.
"But concern yourself now with the present," she
warned, and waved her hand above the troubled water
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