Chandra was not quite ready to get on her way by the time that Chai and the other members of the Order decided that they must. Nor was she really paying attention when they had a somewhat heated argument about someone being sick. Although Chandra was not really able to see or hear what was going on through her tears and exhausted sobbing, she could tell that one person stayed behind to guard her while the rest went on ahead.

It was supposed to be over.

There had been a part of her that was so happy to have run Roan through with that sword. Her mind, placid as a lake on the surface, had been churning for months to find any way to slip its bonds. The moment she realized he had been tainted, that he was truly mad, that he was a danger to himself, and that she could kill him to keep him safe from the taint, that was brilliance.

A brilliant thought that honestly, she wasn't entirely sure came only from herself. Similarly, there was a part of her all along that was too anxious, too paranoid, to believe that it was over. She had ignored it, because that paranoia had every reason to exist. She was bound by spell and torture to follow Roan, and whole sections of her mind even now were dedicated to trying to figure out what Roan wanted from her, even though he was dead.

Should have been dead.

But her partner also wasn't exactly dead. The link still existed, a link to a ghost. If Chandra's mind was in terrible shape, the ghost--angel, perhaps--was worse. Where Chandra was forced by mental scars to run her thoughts around in a few specific loops over and over, what remained of Kentin had nothing left but those looping thoughts: protect her, free her, get revenge. Chandra would heal, but the mission was all that there was remaining of her partner.

It should have been over. They both should have been free. Kentin had been patient, cunning, spending his every ounce of power to protect her, free her. At times he had been forced to watch his wife raped, over and over, abused over and over, tortured over and over. Chandra doubted she could have kept her sanity watching such things happen to him, even if she didn't feel everything through the psychic link.

He had borne half her scars, kept her sane, kept her going, and somehow, even though it should have been over, somehow it wasn't enough. Only now that she was free did she sense how much of a toll had been placed on his mind and soul, the last remnants of Kentin d'Amanci.

She wished she could free him, but the scarred and damaged mind that she found on the other end of the link didn't want to be freed. It wanted revenge. It insisted, over and over. Roan Egrethore must be destroyed.

And yet Chandra had no strength. It wasn't a matter of willpower. She had trained for decades to become an assassin, and she knew how often missions failed due to arrogance, ignorance, foolishness. Those who didn't understand their own weakness would always fail--perhaps not the first time, but inevitably.

Chandra probably could have spent a half hour or four hours sobbing in the dirt, for all she knew. Time was inconsequential to her, and forever would be. What would change when the sun went down? When it rose again? Nothing. Kentin was dead, she was free, Roan had escaped death to become a monster. These were things that the passage of a few hours were not going to change.

That is what she believed, until she sensed something approaching with the dusk. As she sensed its approach, she felt the spirit of her partner still. At first, Kentin was anxious, as though he had no idea what new problem was appearing. And then... it was clear that he knew exactly what was coming. And Kentin, her brave and beloved husband, slowly deflated, as though he were about to give up.

It was strange. The resignation that sweeped over him like a wave took so much with it, but somehow, until the very last part of him quieted down, there was still the urge in him to seek revenge. When that powerful wave reached the last bit of him, the bit that simply could not leave without seeing Roan killed, somehow the two thoughts coexisted, neither able to defeat the other. What was coming would be the end, but he dared not leave yet. He dared not.

Chandra, with more difficulty than she should have had, raised her head. Never had her muscles been so unwilling to cooperate; it went beyond numbness or exhaustion and seemed almost as though her body was in rebellion, unable to act at all. And yet, as though she were trying to lift a weight as wide as the sky and as heavy as a horse, one that shifted to the side every time she tried to move instead of yielding, by force of will and sheer dint of spite, she found a way to raise her head.

A carriage and a woman on horseback rode into the compound. Rin, the other Ti-mana, was moving towards the carriage, but it was the woman who Kentin knew. Somehow, he pressed once more that thought against her, that unyielding combination of submitting to his own fate, and refusing to accept it. Roan Egrethore must die, it said.

The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

The woman on horseback, gracefully and effortlessly, shifted to a side-saddle riding stance, turning the horse slightly to one side, and slipped from the saddle to the ground without any impact or discomfort. Chandra was no expert on horses, but the woman's familiarity with the creature was clear; she knew the creature's every curve and every motion, and there was no doubt or hesitation in her motion, and she landed on her feet without the slightest bend to her knees.

She was barefoot, realized Chandra after a moment. Her clothes were immaculate, of some kind of firm cloth that she didn't immediately recognize, but they were also minimal; they reached her elbows and knees, but no more, and her shirt, while modestly cut, was very loose, as though she might at any time pull it off. She was, to put it mildly, a very strange woman to be appearing in such an awful place.

More odd was that when she gestured with a hand, Chandra found herself lifted into the air and pressed back against the carriage behind her, if gently.

"Kentin, dear, it is time," the woman said kindly. "As promised, you lived long enough to see her free. What remains is for her alone to face."

Kentin's spirit pressed the thought against her one more, urgently, as though trying to extract a promise. Roan Egrethore must be destroyed. But the thought did not loop, and Chandra felt strange, as though the thought were...

As though the thought were Kentin's head, now pressed gently against the side of her own. As though one hand was wrapped in her own, fingers gently entwined, and the other held her head gently against him. As though she could feel his tears running down his face, as though she could feel his lips, just once, softly, on her cheek.

And then he was gone.

Though it should not have been possible, she saw him there, before her, offering his hand to the lady, who took it. The image was so concrete it could have been physical... and then, suddenly, Kentin lost all color, becoming a statue of ashen white, a statue that dissolved inwards, becoming a soul candle floating in midair. The woman's hand reached out and cupped that candle, as though it were hers to take, and it vanished.

In Chandra's mind, a feminine hand, ever so gently, untangled Kentin's torn and scarred mind from her own, and she was alone.

"You have my sympathies," said the woman quietly. "Your fate is one of the worst I have seen in a long time, dear child, made worse by surviving it for so long. In this country in particular, so very many people are victims, but so very few people have had to endure it as long as you. Kentin... I knew when I first heard his soul crying out, that he would endure as much for you, but still it is painful to see such scars. The dead are meant to rest, and leave the future to those who yet live. But he, like many, would never have wanted to rest if it meant you suffered in his place."

"It is charming, in a way. I suspected back then that you would live either way, perhaps even do better without his constant nagging, but he had no faith. And that cowardice on his part seems to have been right." The woman gave a thoughtful turn of her head as she looked Chandra up and down for a minute. "As little as you have left, I suspect now you would not have made it without him. Such is my failure, for I had faith where I should not have. All of you, halfbreed and human alike, are so strange when it comes to these things."

"Who are you?" asked Chandra, not entirely sure how to respond to this woman.

The woman's smile in return was gentle. "I am afraid, dear heart, that the answer to your question is painful. For I am Djinn, and I can do you no more good on your quest to avenge yourself and your husband. The scent of my people is heavy here, and if they find me, they can control me. None of us sisters have wished to see such a day come to pass, for in their hands, we would be empty vessels once more, a weapon to use against the surface. If you are to win the fight ahead of you, I cannot follow, or they shall find me."

Chandra met the eyes of the woman, trying to understand. She knew little of Djinn, except that they were ancient gods who owed no allegiance to mankind. She had heard a word for their people, but couldn't recall it now. They were barbaric things, though, that crawled through the underworld and ate people, flesh and bone.

Although the thought that such awful creatures were here was terrifying, there was a heavy weight in the back of her mind, and she couldn't help but return to it time and time again. "I... am not sure," she said tiredly, "that I dare go chase after Roan. There are dark things, and I am..."

"You are not weak," said Rin suddenly. "Tired, yes, and scared, I can tell. But you are not dead yet, Chandra d'Amanci, and it takes an idiot not to see that this is your destiny. I knew it from the moment Chai said that he was still alive, and if you can't take his or my word for it, here is a goddess in the flesh telling you that... that you may, and must, walk forward. There is no other path."

Chandra had no trouble meeting the Djinn's eyes, but somehow, she could not meet Rin's. She tried, but as she got close to those intense eyes, she saw something she didn't want, couldn't bear.

She saw doubt. When Chandra looked in the eyes of the goddess, she had no doubts about herself, but when she looked at Rin, those doubts were clouded. Somehow, the two women looking at her reflected different images of herself. Although it was difficult, if not impossible, to understand what each saw in her, she knew that the two images were equally real.

The Djinn chuckled to herself quietly as Chandra thought it over. "I am not unkind," she said, "and I will do Kentin one more favor, though you two may both regret that I have done it." The woman's lips curled into a sly grin. "...for a time, at least." And then, without doing any more, she stood up and walked back to her horse, offering a wave over her shoulder. "You two be good to one another."

At once, there were two copies of the same thought in Chandra's mind, each slightly different in tone and meaning. What is that supposed to mean?

And then, Chandra and Rin locked eyes with each other, and both understood.