by Layton Green
Though desolate, the Crater of the Snow Moon was a very beautiful place.
“Hello!” Mala shouted, cupping her hands and listening to her own echo. “Shaman!”
Did the medicine man know what manner of creature pursued her? Was he choosing to stay hidden and leave Mala to her fate?
She led the horse to the pool of water in the center of the crater, scanning the rapidly darkening rock face.
Nothing. No one.
Though not born to magic, even she could sense the tellurian energies humming in the air. The Cahuilla revered the crater and thought the ancient lake that must have once resided there was the birthplace of all life on Urfe. Every generation, they sent their greatest shaman to live alone inside the sacred space, guiding the tribes and probing the secrets of the crater until he died and the next shaman took his place.
What if the tradition had been interrupted? What if this was a time of transition, or one of Lord Alistair’s death squads had found the entrance and slaughtered the shaman?
The sun disappeared behind the rock wall, casting the land into shadow. The time of the dhampyr. Mala’s breath came in frosty exhalations as she continued calling out for the spiritual leader, trying to devise another plan if he failed to appear.
Sensing a presence behind her, she whirled, fear pumping through her veins as she faced the pool of water shimmering in the moonlight. Expecting to find the arrogant face of Nagiro, she instead saw an old brown woman wearing a headdress made of dirty feathers. A sheepskin shawl wrapped her legs and torso but left her arms bare, exposing sagging triceps and lined skin that reminded Mala of a discarded coconut shell.
Mala’s hand slid to her sash. This was not the shaman she had seen years ago. Had there been a changing of the guard, or had he assumed a new form?
“I need your help,” Mala said. “I am—”
“Mala of Clan Kalev.”
Mala started. She noticed the woman was standing atop the water with no support. “How do you know me? Have we met before?”
“Not in this body.”
Mala nodded. “This, then, is your true form?”
“You misunderstand me. I am now the keeper of the energies. I have become one with the past keepers.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Nor would I expect you to.” The old woman’s voice had a hollow ring, as if she was not quite there. A golden-brown mist had begun to form at her feet, the color of the desert, creeping slowly off the water. “It is against the laws of my people to come uninvited to this place.”
Mala had never been one to ask permission, or forgiveness. “I don’t seek to cause disrespect, but I need your help. Urgently. I’ve nowhere else to turn. I’m being followed by—”
“I know what you’ve brought here. The nature of your enemy.”
“Then you understand why—”
“Silence!”
Mala realized the shaman had somehow expanded in size, a head taller than she had been. Mala blinked, wondering if the mist and the darkness and her exhaustion were causing her to hallucinate. She had been looking right at the woman.
“The appearance of the unclean thing has already desecrated our lands. You have broken our laws. You have no voice here.”
Mala folded her arms, waiting for her to continue. The shaman, she knew, had appeared to her for a reason.
The old woman lifted her hands, and the mist and water rose with her, as if attached to her body. As the water fell away, she held her palms to the sky and waited. Moments later, the cawing of a raven pierced the night, and a pair of the large black birds approached, swooping in to perch atop her hands. The medicine woman whispered to them before sending them away with a flick of her wrist.
“You have two choices,” she said. “Stay as the slave of my tribe for a year, working the wells and using your talents to hunt for game. That is the price of trespass. To leave the tribe before the year is finished is to bring death upon your head.”
“And the second?”
The shaman swept a hand in front of her, dispersing water and mist, seeming to part the darkness itself. “Those who seek my wisdom must pay a price. Those who seek my aid, a greater one. I will treat you as a seeker, if you so desire.”
The cold dry air stung Mala’s throat when she breathed. The sickle of moon hung upside down above the rocks, its silver sheen a reflection of the icy temperature. “I don’t think wisdom can help me, unless you can tell me how to escape the dhampyr. Or perhaps you could kill him for me?”
“I do not take life without reason, and the dhampyr has done me no harm.”
A sudden thought hit Mala. “What if he follows me here? Won’t he be trespassing, as well?”
“He will surely follow your scent through the entrance. You are the one who led him here. He would not have found me on his own. You bear this responsibility.”
In the distance, a jarring howl caused the hair on Mala’s arms to rise. The maddened bray of the hyena wolf.
Mala took a step towards the shaman, causing the water of the pool to rise defensively in the air. “How can you help? What is the price?” Mala waved a hand in disgust. “Tell me, then.”
“The price is a memory.”
Mala blinked. “What?”
“My people are disappearing. Fading into the mists of time, as people do. My power is one of the few things that sustain them. To do what I do, to be what I am, requires great cost. I give of myself and get nothing in return. I cannot increase of my own volition, so the only way to compensate, to give more of myself . . . is to take from someone else.”
Mala shifted her stance. She did not understand what the old woman was talking about. “What is it you want from me?”
“I will take the memory of a loved one. Someone near and dear. The love can be familial, romantic, or friendly, but it must run deep. I will know once I begin if it is enough, and I warn you, do not choose lightly. I will take another if it fails. And the erasure of both will be complete.”
Mala could tell by the old woman’s face that she meant every word she had spoken. And Mala believed she had the power.
What would it mean, to lose a memory? Would she even notice it was gone?
Whether she experienced a sense of loss or not, something would be ripped from her, and she despised that. She hated to feel helpless, hated it more than anything else. Yet if she did not pay this price and fulfill this transaction, she feared she would no longer have a life to live.
“Your decision?” the shaman asked.
Another howl, closer than before.
Who should she choose? Her parents were not an option. Those memories were sacrosanct. She thought of Allira and Marguerite, her closest friends, and wondered if those ties were strong enough. She couldn’t take the chance of losing a memory for no reason.
Two men entered her mind: Gunnar and Will Blackwood. Men for whom she bore complicated feelings. She already had to choose between them once, ending in the death of her longtime companion and lover. She had detested that choice, and hated the shaman for making her choose again. Perhaps one day, if she lived through this, Mala would return and find a way to force her to return the memory, if such a thing was possible.
Yes, one of the two men. That should suffice. She took a deep breath and tried to soak as many memories inside her as she could, trying to keep something hidden deep down, in places no shaman could reach. Maybe she could circumvent whatever terrible magic would strip her mind. “If I do this, what will I receive in return?”
“I shall imbue you with the power of the cougar. You will be able to flee the dhampyr, running day and night.”
“How long will it last?”
“A week, perhaps.”
“Your proposal is flight, in exchange for a memory? Nothing more?”
“You prefer to be a slave, then?”
Mala snarled and paced beside the pool. Running day and night at the pace of a cougar for a week—if the magic lasted that long—should get her to New Victori
a. There she would have options. In a worst case scenario, she had enough funds stowed away to purchase a magical escape.
“What will you do when he comes?” Mala asked.
“That depends on him.”
“If you don’t help him, he might decide to kill you.”
“I will not offer the dhampyr the same advantage as you, if that is your concern. I will offer him nothing at all.”
Mala gave a curt nod. She had been thinking exactly that. “Then you will flee?”
“Do you not understand? I will not flee the crater. I cannot.”
“Why?”
“Because, child, I am the crater.”
Closing her eyes, Mala hugged her arms and said, “Will I keep my possessions?”
“Yes.”
The adventuress sighed, opened her eyes, and gave a single, grim nod. “Then so be it.”
Without warning, the shaman drew her hands together in a clap, startling Mala. The old woman grew in height again, rising to half again her original size. The mist came with her, and the water boiled, and the darkness coalesced in her hands. She began to sing in her native language, a powerful lament that echoed through the canyon, rising in volume until it filled Mala’s head with a tornado of sound, impossibly loud, power thrumming through the words, causing her to feel weak and dizzy. She stumbled as tendrils of mist shot forth from the pool and enwrapped her, propping her up as they swirled faster and faster around her, stuffing her mouth and nose with the smell of moisture on stone, a silent erosion that lasted for millennia, a thousand millennia, the power of the ground and the sky and the world itself. Mala moaned, bowing under the weight of the mist as it seeped into her head, probing.
She screamed.
The singing continued, louder than before.
Mala fell to the ground and pressed her hands against her temples, trying to lessen the pressure. “Make it stop!” she screamed. “It’s killing me!” She felt something rip, as if a hand had scooped something out of her skull, and she screamed again, and again, and again.
Then it was over. Mala bent double and dry-heaved, unsure exactly what had been done and unable to pinpoint where it hurt. She just knew something terrible had happened. Something irrevocable.
Footsteps crunched on the ground behind her, from the crevasse through which she had entered. With a shudder, she pushed to her feet and pointed a shaky finger at the shaman. “Fulfill your promise, woman.”
The shaman swept her arms into the air, agitating the water until it roiled like a boiling kettle. This time she chanted instead of sung, corralling the mist and the darkness, though when the mist came this time it felt different, protective. Moments later, just as a dark form emerged from the entrance to the crater, Mala sensed a transformation. She looked down and saw that instead of arms, she had four legs and paws, and a sleek golden coat, and muscles that rippled along her skin. It was odd; she did not feel as if she had become a cougar, as the lycamancers could do. Rather, she felt as if she were inside one. As if whatever forces the shaman commanded had congealed into animal form, a token protector that would shield Mala from harm.
With a powerful push, she leapt into the air, clearing ten feet or more at a time as she bounded toward the nearest rock wall. As her claws found purchase in cracks a human or a wolf would never be able to use, carrying her quickly up and over the barrier, she heard a long scream in the background. She couldn’t tell if it was male or female or animal, the dhampyr or the shaman. Unsure what type of power the shaman wielded, or how the old woman would fare against Nagiro, the Mala-cougar didn’t wait to find out.
-17-
As Val struggled to rise off his back in the sewer muck, paralyzed by the blast of the stunsphere, the trio of sorceresses clothed in filthy patchwork dresses drifted steadily towards him and his companions. Linked arm-in-arm, the two women on the outside waved a hand as they prepared a spell. A regiment of black sash fighters with weapons raised rushed down the corridor behind them.
Val seemed to have taken the worst hit, and it wasn’t just physical. The blast had addled his brain and he couldn’t find the concentration to use his magic. Not only that, he was slipping further into the muck by the second and was in danger of suffocating.
Beside him, whirling in one direction and then the other, trying to decide what to do, Synne seemed unaffected by the blast, and must have hardened her skin in time. The movements of their serpentus guide, ranging twenty feet ahead looked torpid, and he was trying to shake off the effects. Val had the fleeting thought that Sinias might have some innate magic resistance.
“You must fight the effects!” Synne shouted at Val, as their enemies drew closer. “Or we are all doomed!”
“I can’t even think straight!”
“Push through! Use your magic!” She whipped towards the serpentus. “Did you betray us, snake man?”
Sinias hissed as he raised his hooked staff. “Attack, you fool.”
Though Val tried to overcome the shockwave with sheer force of will, he couldn’t seem to do it. It took all of his energy to stay awake and keep his head out of the muck. As the battle raged around him, he fought the enervating effects of the stunsphere with every ounce of mental concentration he could muster.
With a worried glance at the sorceresses, Synne decided to engage the fighters, who had drawn closest and could easily cut him down. Without a word, the warrior-mage leapt into the fray, surging above the muck to kick the lead fighter in the chest so hard he flew backward and slammed into two other men. Before anyone else could react, Synne spun and backhanded another man and then delivered a back heel to the temple of a cutlass-wielding woman, dropping her unconscious.
The entire group of fighters hesitated, cowed by the fury of the majitsu, and then a cone of gray light struck Synne in the back, sending her sprawling. Val saw Sinias raise his staff and swipe at the floating trio of women with the spiked iron bauble on his staff. As one, they cackled and drifted backwards as another streak of grimy light struck Sinias in the chest. It caused him to grunt and stumble, but he pressed forward, almost catching one of the women in the leg with a reverse swipe, this time from the hooked end of the staff.
Definitely some magic resistance.
The snake man withdrew a stoppered yellow bottle from an inside pocket of his cloak, twisted off the top with his pincers, and flung it at the three sorceresses. The bottle released a cloud of noxious green smoke that expanded to obscure them from view.
Synne managed to stumble to her feet and block the first few blows that came at her. Still, she was surrounded, and one dagger thrust got through, nicking her in the side. A majitsu’s shield was not all-powerful, Val knew. Not even close. They could stop blows from the weapons they could see, but could not protect themselves on all sides or from spells.
He had to help his companions. Fight it, Val. Burn the effects away. Screaming to raise his adrenaline, he managed to rise higher out of the muck, though it felt as if he were pushing through tar. He felt his magic stirring but could not seem to force it to the surface.
Synne somersaulted up and away from her attackers, landing on her heels halfway up a wall and then vaulting behind the entire group. She spun to attack with the graceful leaping movement of the majitsu, delivering a flying knee to the unfortunate fighter at the rear. The burly gypsy’s head snapped back as blood sprayed from his nose. Synne became a whirling dervish of pain, punching and kicking and spinning, silver belt bobbing, delivering knockout blow after knockout blow. Only four fighters remained to stand against her when another cone of gray light smashed into her, this one thicker and uglier than before, crushing her against a wall not far from Val. As she slumped, he saw the light in her eyes flicker and then dim.
“Synne!” he roared, though he still couldn’t get up. A quick glance revealed that Sinias was backing towards Val, retreating before an onslaught of magical gray arrows. One of the sorceresses broke away and tried to soar through the noxious cloud he had emitted, but a fit of coughing doubled h
er over and forced her back. Still, they could bombard him from afar with impunity.
Val forced his gaze inward and snarled, reaching for the wellspring of magic, feeling it slip away whenever he tried to corral it.
The remaining fighters rushed Synne. When she tried to move, another blast of magic slammed her back into the wall. This time she collapsed. Another hit like that, Val knew, and she might not get back up.
The sight of the gypsy fighters closing on his wounded friend enraged Val so much that a flood of adrenaline caused a surge of power to burst out of him, wild and uncontrollable, sending a shock through his nerve endings and burning away the effects of the stunsphere. It also blew a hole in the sewer at his feet. Too surprised to take flight, he managed to arrest his fall at the last moment, just before he hit the patch of solid ground fifty feet below him. In the corner of his eye, barely visible in the dim light, he saw Sinias and Synne in free-fall, accompanied by a pile of muck. Val scurried aside as Synne scooped up the serpentus at the last moment and landed hard on her feet. Majitsu had a way of falling softly from great heights, and though reeling from the blasts of gray magic, she was still upright, staggering as if drunk.
A pair of arrows thunked into the ground at Val’s feet, followed by a green bolt of power. A flood of dirty light lit the darkness, illuminating the three sorcerers and the remaining fighters hovering at the edge of the hole Val had just created.
“Move!” he shouted, throwing himself away from the opening as another volley of arrows hit the ground. They had landed in a tunnel far beneath the original, a much narrower passage with rough rock walls.
After they scurried out of range, Sinias produced a silver glow orb the size of a golf ball, illuminating an intersection ahead. Val worked to fight the remaining effects of the stunsphere as he turned awkwardly back towards the hole. No one had come after them.
Synne staggered against a wall, holding her side. “Can you fight?”
Val gave a grim shake of his head. “Doubtful. I still feel fuzzy, and that blast took a lot out of me. You?”
