Child of a Mad God

by R. A. Salvatore

  And Tay Aillig knew it, too, and it surely did not sit well with him.

  He scowled and turned away, stalking off to set up his bedroll. The women of the Coven would remain awake all night, maintaining the illusion of a sealed cave, but the men, who had no real purpose here other than to sate their own sense of self-importance, could sleep.

  Seonagh rolled her eyes at the man, allowing a fantasy of putting him in the caves, where he would be driven mad, driven to his knees, and driven to his grave. Yes, she would like that.

  With a guffaw, she turned back to her task.

  * * *

  Blackness.

  The rattled young woman thought she had opened her eyes, but perhaps …

  Just blackness.

  Only gradually did Aoleyn come to understand that her eyes were open, and it took some time after that for her to even realize her own body again, that she was lying on the warm, very warm, stone. She was covered in sweat, her light clothing clinging to her damp skin. She felt very tiny, as if the entity of Aoleyn had been shrunken down to some miniscule amount and left to inhabit a gigantic body over which she had little control.

  Slowly, she became aware of her heartbeat, and then the throbbing and buzzing in her head. Beside that heartbeat, her chest ached, and she became aware of her breathing—and that, in turn, made her consciously focus on her breathing so that she was soon gasping.

  The tactile feelings gradually returned, as if her life force was flowing back out to her limbs, to her skin.

  Aoleyn tried futilely to sort out the puzzle here—she had no memory of the recent past. So she reached back further, to the journey she had taken this night.

  Or had it even been this night?

  How could she know how much time had passed?

  How could she know anything? Was she even alive? Was she still within her own body?

  That last troubling thought led her to an inescapable memory, more a nightmare—except that it was true, she just knew. It was true!

  They had invaded her. The spirits of the witches, of Seonagh too, had come into her. They had tugged at her consciousness, at her sensibilities, at her … self. They had made her small within her own frame, had pushed and pressed her, driving her deeper within herself.

  She felt a profound pain in her chest, in her line of life and heart.

  They had done this to her!

  Aoleyn felt violated, horribly so. She wanted to scream, to lash out, to fight back, particularly against Seonagh. How could Seonagh have done this to her?

  They had invaded her, and now left her here, wherever this was.

  Panic welled in her. She forced one arm out to the side, feeling about, searching for grass, or dirt, a pebble, a stair, anything!

  But there was just the hardness of a smooth stone floor, and it was warm, very warm.

  She tried to sit up, but just rolled over onto her side. She reached out again, farther, and hit something sharp, like the edge of a waiting spear.

  She recoiled instinctively, grabbing her wounded hand, and felt the wetness of blood, even feeling the gash itself, and it was a deep one.

  It should have hurt more than it did, she believed, and then had that thought confirmed as the pain became sharper, more acute, and Aoleyn realized that it signaled a more complete return to her physical body, as if her spirit was finally expanding again with the corporeal coil.

  She tried to sit up once more, and this time did so, shifting a bit to be closer to the sharp object she had struck.

  She paused there and tried to collect her wits. She focused on the journey from the encampment, her last real memory, but her thoughts would not coalesce. All she could remember was that she had left the encampment with some others, with some witches and Seonagh, at least.

  She shuddered as their spiritual intrusion came clear once more, but this time, she fought against her instinctive revulsion and tried to see the violation of her most core being in a different light, like when Seonagh had done it to her back in the tent.

  Had the Coven been trying to teach her something?

  She shook her head. The only lesson she could gather was one of inferiority, for they had spiritually pounded her down, had toyed with her.

  Aoleyn swallowed hard and took a deep and cleansing breath. She reached out into the darkness again, this time more carefully. Her hand brushed the sharp point and she tapped her way past it, and along a widening shaft to a wall. She shifted and moved her fingers carefully. Yes, it was a wall—a wall covered with blades of some sort.

  She looked the other way, then ahead, and up, and back.

  Just blackness. Utter blackness.

  Aoleyn wasn’t particularly afraid of the dark. She loved being out in the night on Fireach Speuer, under the stars or even in the blackness of a cloudy, moonless night.

  But this? This was different. This was a darkness so profound that it pressed in on her.

  And then she realized that she was blind!

  She recoiled again and let out a scream that sounded more like a broken gasp. In her movement, she climbed to her feet, and stumbled—pointedly not to the right and the blade-covered wall!

  No, she went the other way, trying to move cautiously, but overbalancing and once again bumping her reaching hand into something sharp.

  Another bladed wall!

  What hell was this?

  Aoleyn spun, and tumbled back to the hard floor. The heat pressed in around her. Why was it so hot?

  She felt her sweat, all about her body, her light clothing grabbing at her.

  She sobbed and felt the heat in her chest, along with the pain. Panic again welled up in her, like black wings rising from the floor to engulf her.

  They had blinded her! They had taken her sight and thrown her into a pit of blades, into the maw of a monster, she thought, sharp teeth ready to clamp down upon her and tear her apart.

  Young Aoleyn wept, expecting pain, expecting death.

  * * *

  Seonagh sat outside the cave with a pair of witches. Even though she was no longer of the thirteen, she was still p’utharai, still a member of that exclusive club of women who had learned to access the magical powers of Usgar.

  All three of the women were spiritually joined through a crystal bar that each held with one hand. Thick with wedstones, this long crystal allowed the three to easily combine their focus and powers on two other crystals, one flecked with perfectly clear quartz, the other heavy with a singular stone, green and yellow, and resembling the eye of a cat. With the quartz crystal, the witches could cast their sight into the distance, and with the other, the cat’s eye, they could see through the darkness.

  So it was now, the trio looking in on Aoleyn as she began to fumble about the crystal cavern.

  Seonagh winced when the young woman stabbed herself on the wall, and those outside heard the distant scream of pain and fear.

  Aoleyn seemed lost and despondent, and in that moment, desperate to the point where Seonagh thought she might hurt herself so badly that she would end any chance she had to become a member of the Coven.

  The older witch winced. Aoleyn’s failure would be her failure, and her failure would likely facilitate the end of her life.

  Her concern went beyond that, though; to her surprise she found that it extended to Aoleyn. The blood ties didn’t really matter to Seonagh, and certainly she had taught many others before Aoleyn—and had enjoyed teaching most of those others much more than her dealings with this impertinent whelp.

  But still, the promise of this one, of Elara’s child, had excited Seonagh.

  Aoleyn was more akin to her sister than in just her appearance. Elara had been a willful one, often acting beyond custom and without permission, as in the night she had tried to help Fionlagh, her husband, in his futile hunt for the demon fossa.

  Perhaps that was why Seonagh had been so tough, and so judgmental, with Aoleyn.

  She feared that the girl’s willful nature would bring her only grief.

  Maybe it
was better for Aoleyn to fail here in the crystal cave. She might die, but she might also come to a mundane future. One where she would only need to worry about being Brayth’s wife and the bearer of his children and not ever tapping into the potential danger of the magic crystals.

  That might be the best outcome, Seonagh thought as she watched the poor girl stumble about in the blackness. There were far worse fates.

  But in her heart …

  Seonagh reached her left hand into the small pouch tied at her waist, feeling the crystals she kept within. She knew them so well that she could distinguish them by blind touch. She felt her personal wedstone. If she let go of the joining rod, she could walk free of her body and go to the girl, whisper to her spiritually, to encourage her, to guide her.

  She brought her hand back out, holding nothing, and swallowed hard, reminding herself that she was joined with two other witches—women who had perhaps read her thoughts!

  Seonagh let go of the distance sight for just a moment to regard the others and gauge their reactions.

  That brought her some solace. These were good women, loyal to the Coven, loyal and respectful to the former witches. Just a few years previous, she had trained the younger, Connebragh, who was just a decade older than Aoleyn. The other woman, Sorcha, was much older, almost Seonagh’s age, and they had danced about the crystal manifestation of Usgar side by side for many years.

  What might these two do if she went to Aoleyn? Connebragh hoped Aoleyn would succeed, Seonagh was sure, but what of Sorcha? Might she see Aoleyn as a threat, or as a suitable replacement for her own place in the Coven’s dance?

  Seonagh mulled it over for just a few moments before realizing that she was far afield here, and in dangerous straits. These two women, like Seonagh, had survived the mod-garadh without any help—indeed, Seonagh had been in this same spot, holding this same crystal bar, when Connebragh had walked through the maw of Usgar. And in that time, Connebragh had been more distraught, more befuddled, more desperate than Aoleyn was now.

  Why hadn’t Seonagh felt any compulsion to fly free of her corporeal form to help Connebragh?

  The old witch scolded herself silently and dismissed her reckless plan. She grasped the crystal bar more tightly and started to fall back into the trance.

  But out of the corner of her eye she caught Tay Aillig, standing in the shadows of a rocky overhang, staring at her, smiling.

  She felt naked under his gaze.

  He could not know that which was in her heart, she told herself, but in meeting his stare, she did not know if she believed that.

  Seonagh suddenly found it hard to breathe. He wanted Aoleyn to fail, she believed, so that he could demand Seonagh’s death for the girl’s tragic failure.

  Hope flowed from Seonagh in that dark, dark moment.

  She felt a hand on her own, and spun about to regard Connebragh.

  The young woman offered a smile and a nod toward the common crystal bar—a reminder of Aoleyn, Seonagh understood. With her hand, Connebragh pressed Seonagh’s hand tighter about the crystal bar, inviting her to look in on her newest student once more.

  * * *

  Tay Aillig stared at the three women huddled before the illusionary wall sealing the crystal cave. He quietly slipped his hand into the nondescript pouch sewn into his pants beneath his belt, the tiny compartment that held his secret.

  He knew what they were doing. While other witches maintained the illusion, these three were watching over Aoleyn, trying to make sure she didn’t die within the caves, as others had.

  The warrior grinned wickedly. He knew he could interrupt their magical connection to the girl, whatever it might be. He could enact the power of the stone he found himself rolling between his fingers, send that antimagic energy out to the trio. Perhaps they would get around his powers in time, but the looks he anticipated seeing upon their faces, terror and confusion, made it almost worth the effort.

  He caught the oldest of the trio, Seonagh, staring back at him, and narrowed his eyes.

  She thought it was personal between them, Tay Aillig knew. She thought that he hated her because of the fool Fionlagh and her sister, Elara.

  Perhaps that was part of it, but what Tay Aillig hated more was the mere existence of p’utharai.

  Former witches.

  They should not have access to the magic of Usgar any longer, Tay Aillig believed—and intended to make formal when he at last gained enough power.

  The formal thirteen of the Coven were tightly bound by their rules, and kept busy with important tasks, but these others, like Seonagh …

  They were impertinent women who had forgotten their place in the tribe. Even the other women, those who would never serve in the Coven, talked lightly about the former witches, laughing about them being “cheeky” or “brazen.”

  But no, Tay Aillig understood, they were simply unruly hags causing mischief and threatening the order that had sustained Usgar for generations.

  If he knew for certain that interrupting the three now would cause more than a little grief, and would, in fact, lead to Seonagh’s death, then it might well be worth the risk of revealing his unique stone!

  But, no, the price was too high.

  Because the girl in the cave intrigued Tay Aillig. With her curves and her black hair and dark eyes. Her small but strong frame that so completely resembled her mother’s!

  The powerful man had to take a steadying breath at the memory of Elara.

  No, he didn’t want Aoleyn to fail in this trial, even if it meant that he would pass on the chance to dispose of Seonagh.

  If she failed, Aoleyn would never gain access to the Coven, and if she was not among the powerful witches of Usgar, then she would not ever be a suitable wife to Tay Aillig.

  He knew.

  He knew that it was Aoleyn, and not Seonagh, who had lifted the tent flaps, the logs, the weapons, the casks. Her affinity to Usgar was strong, her power almost frightening. When he finally arrived at the point of power where he could select his wife from any woman in the tribe, even ones already married if he so chose, this one, this Aoleyn, this daughter of strangely powerful Elara, would top that list.

  But not if Aoleyn failed here and so was placed on a path of mundane servitude. Indeed, if Aoleyn was not bound for a place in the Coven, she would be given to Brayth as early as the next spring.

  He thought of her; he pictured her in his mind. He remembered Elara and knew what Aoleyn would become.

  Yes, he would have her one day.

  One day soon.

  * * *

  “Listen to your breath,” Aoleyn whispered. She silently counted to four as she breathed in, then forced herself to slow her exhale to the same four-count, consciously slowing her breathing, consciously focusing on her breathing.

  She lay down flat on her back and pressed her legs against the stone. Then she started to call to her body, bit by bit. She flexed her toes widely, tightening the muscles in her legs, as well. Then she let go, fully, muscles relaxing, legs relaxing, feet dropping out.

  She had to connect her mind to her body here, had to find her center and her calm.

  She brought her fingertips to her thighs, feeling the flesh of her legs.

  She sent her thoughts through her fingers, her light touch coaxing the legs to relax more deeply. She walked her hands up slowly, one to her belly, one to the plexus between her ribs. Then to the heart, the throat, the forehead, and from there, she pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes.

  The darkness was no less complete when she brought her arms down beside her, and there she lay, feeling her body, counting her breath.

  She heard Seonagh’s voice in her head, demanding that she “find her center,” and by that, she meant that place near Aoleyn’s heart, the place where she found the music of Usgar and the magic of the crystals.

  Hardly even aware of the movement, Aoleyn sat up. She crossed her legs and rested the backs of her hands on her knees.

  She didn’t fidget now. She didn�
��t flick at her fingernails as she so often had when practicing these techniques with Seonagh.

  That had been play, so Aoleyn had thought.

  This was survival.

  “One, two, three,” she said under her breath, breathing in.

  Become aware of your toes, she heard Seonagh’s voice echoing from her memory. Do not move them, simply become aware of them. You have toes. Aoleyn had always laughed at that ridiculous statement—but only internally after taking a whipping for doing so aloud!

  But of course she had toes! She had never before truly seen the purpose of such an exercise.

  Right now, though, facing such dire consequences, Aoleyn found it oddly remarkable that she did, indeed, have toes, five of them on each of her feet.

  “One, two, three,” she said as she exhaled.

  Become aware of your feet, Seonagh’s voice said through her memories, and Aoleyn obeyed. And of the ankles above them, and the lower leg above that. Aoleyn consciously moved her thoughts up her legs, stopping to focus on each bit, finding herself marveling at her own body.

  One, two, three, she mentally counted as she inhaled.

  Slowly, with no rush or sense of urgency at all, Aoleyn let her consciousness move through her body, up to her knees, her thighs, her pelvis, her gut. All the while, she counted and she breathed, slowly, deliberately. She felt her muscles, relaxed but strong, keeping her stable in this sitting position; she felt her blood, coursing through her veins hotly. She felt herself, her body, her soul.

  One, two, three. Focus on the flow of your breath, moving easily past your heart, and become aware of your very center.

  Aoleyn’s eyes snapped open. In her hypersensitive state of meditation, she felt the movement. She still couldn’t see, though, and remained certain that she had been blinded by the spiritual assault of the witches.

  Now, though, it didn’t matter, for another sense had awakened, one that had tickled her previously, teased her from afar, just out of reach. But for the first time she was truly aware of it, deeply and completely aware of it.

  She felt it vibrating, that hollow spot in her chest. And, frighteningly, she felt the world vibrating with it, as if she held some mystical connection to all about her.