ZYGRADON Read Online Free PDF

his father, a spy, a scholar who unraveled the great secrets of
the ancient prophecies that had yet to come to pass.
    He didn't want to be stuck in the shadow of a little girl all his life, keeping her
out of trouble, bringing her beads and yarn and keeping the older boys from teasing
her.
    Then Mrillis thought of the day Ceera had almost fallen into the fire. He
thought of the pain he had endured, and the fear that still lingered, that he might have
no imbrose left.
    He thought of how proud Le'esha had been, and how grateful he had been that
Ceera hadn't been hurt.
    "I don't know, Lady," he finally admitted. "Why can't I do everything?"
    "Indeed, why can't you?" She winked, stood and started up the stairs, leaving
the boy dumfounded and staring after her.
    Ceera raised her head from Le'esha's shoulder when Mrillis caught up with them
at the next landing. She blinked sleepy eyes and whispered something that only Le'esha
heard.
    The Queen of Snows stopped short and shifted the little girl so she could look
her in the eyes. She went utterly still, sending a chill down Mrillis' back that had nothing
to do with the icy air seeping through the gaps around the shutters.
    "Lady?" he whispered.
    "Say it again, Little Star," she said, and stroked Ceera's silvery hair out of her
face.
    "Dream." Ceera closed her eyes and snuggled close against the woman's
shoulder again. "Pretty dream. We made a bowl out of stars. We put the whole world in
it." She giggled. "Like an apple. A bad boy tried to take the apple, but the bowl gave you
a sword and you stopped him." Sighing, she tucked her face into the collar of Le'esha's
dress and fell silent.
    "Bowl and sword," Le'esha whispered, and her eyes flickered white with the
mist of Seeing. A moment later, she shook her head and tried to smile. "There, you see,
my lad? You will do both. Warrior and artisan. Guarding Ceera. Guarding the world, like
an apple in a bowl," she said, her voice dropping to a whisper. "A bowl that you must
make, or help make. A sword that you must help make, or the sword that you will be. A
vision is never truly clear until it has fully come to pass."
    That chill grew stronger in Mrillis, making him shiver, but excitement grew out
of it. He wished he weren't a little boy, barely seven years old. He wanted to be old
enough to walk the tunnel to Wynystrys and study with the other boys. He wanted to
be old enough to ride out and watch the warriors guard Lygroes from the Encindi. He
wanted to be big enough, strong enough, to make the bowl Ceera had seen.
    A bowl made of stars.
    * * * *
    On the evening of his seventh birthday, Le'esha took Mrillis through the Mist
Gates and walked in silence with him until the mists vanished and they crossed the Lake
of Ice to stand on the shore. The boy stayed with her, quietly waiting, watching, his dark
eyes wide with interest, the pulse in his wrist fluttering against the light grip of her
fingers. Though he had gone through the Mist Gates to greet people or make farewells,
he had never stepped off the ice. She knew he sensed, without her saying a word, that
this simple walk on his birthing day had great meaning.
    When she let go of his hand, he waited. Le'esha spread her hands, gesturing for
him to go. The words caught in her throat. She knew what lay hidden by the mist, what
surprises lay in the outside world. The dangers for a boy threatened before his birth, with
two terrible futures waiting for him.
    Mrillis didn't sense the dark shadows of the future. He was only a boy, set free
on the shore of what had likely snared his attention and imagination for years, simply by
being forbidden. His face lit with excitement. He laughed and darted away, to race along
the curve of the sandy, rocky shore.
    Until he found the first pile of bones.
    Le'esha smiled softly with pride and some pity for the child, when he didn't cry
out. His crunching, light footsteps stopped abruptly. She stayed where he had left her,
knowing what he saw. The shape of a