In Legend Born by Laura Resnick

Josarian said, his voice quickening with urgency as Tashinar grew fatigued and the shade began to disperse. " Wait . You must tell me—our child... Is it with you?"
    What little Mirabar could still see of Calidar's face melted with sorrow.
    "No," Tashinar said, her voice growing weak as her strength ebbed. "No, the child... could not make the journey."
    Josarian's shoulders slumped. He murmured something so softly that Mirabar couldn't hear it. She guessed then how Calidar had died. Hard as her heart was, it ached for Josarian as he watched his wife fade into thin air, then lowered his head to weep for the child who had known neither this world nor the one beyond it. He was a big man, taller than most, with broad shoulders and strong arms, but he looked as helpless as a child right now. She felt an uncharacteristic desire to comfort him, but she went to Tashinar instead, who was now slumped over and breathing hard.
    "Come," Mirabar said. "You must lie down." Tashinar wasn't as strong as she pretended to be, and the Calling had taken its toll. It was never a thing to be undertaken lightly, and the burden of Tashinar's gift now weighed heavily on her as she allowed Mirabar to help her into the cave. Once she was prostrate on her pallet, she insisted Mirabar go back outside to be with Josarian.
    "He shouldn't be alone," the old woman rasped. "Not now. He's never Called her before, and... You watched, didn't you?"
    "You knew?" Mirabar asked cautiously.
    A faint smile cracked Tashinar's lips. "You want to know if he's the one. Considering the... the force of your visions, I would be surprised if you didn't try to find out more about him."
    Alarmed by her mentor's pallor, Mirabar said, "Sleep now. We can talk tomorrow."
    "Go to him."
    "Yes, Tashinar."
    She found him still sitting before the fire, brooding in silence. She had to speak twice before he noticed her presence, and he refused the tisane she offered him. He held a painted silk scarf in one hand—the token Tashinar had used for the Calling—absently rubbing it between his fingers as he gazed into the fire.
    After a while, Josarian held the scarf up to his face, inhaled deeply, and then sighed. Whatever demon chased him, he seemed to have escaped it now. His expression lightened to a kind of melancholy peace. He looked at Mirabar with clear eyes and even gave her a slight smile. His face was open and warm, a strong, handsome face that would age well. His dark brown hair fell in thick waves past his shoulders, part of it tied back from his face. He was a man who could easily find a new wife if he wanted one; but Mirabar had seen enough to guess that his heart was still a prisoner of the Otherworld.
    "I'm glad you're feeling better, sirana ," he said gently.
    She met his gaze, noting that he didn't flinch from her eyes as so many shallaheen did. "You needn't call me sirana . I'm just an initiate."
    His smile was more heartfelt now. "If your gifts are as great as Tashinar says, then I want you to remember how respectful I am the next time you lose your temper with me."
    She remembered snapping at him when he'd deposited her on her pallet. "What do you expect when you drop a woman on her head?" she retorted.
    He grinned at that. Then, noticing how she studied his face, he asked, "What is it, sirana ?"
    No. He was not the one. She was sure of it.
    "Nothing," she said at last. "You can't go back down the mountain now. Let me show you where you can sleep tonight."

 
     
    Chapter Three
     

     
    "One shallah against four Outlookers," Tansen mused, rolling his left shoulder to test his wound. "How did he do it?"
    Having agreed to Koroll's proposition, he had been moved to a comfortable—though locked, barred, and heavily guarded—bedchamber in the fortress. He had stayed there for several days while the Outlookers, in an ironic twist of fate, did everything they could to help him recover from the wound they had inflicted. They fed him nourishing meals, cleaned, mended, and