Alaric barely dodged the first swing. His vision swam, but he held his ground despite the strength that fled with each deflected blow.
If you fall, your people will perish.
With a cry of rage, he spun past the Reaver's stabbing attack. The ebony blade grazed his armor, parting it like rotted fabric. Ignoring the shallow gash it opened across his side, he swiftly counterattacked. Mothros flashed, cleaving through the Reaver's armored forearm with ease. The severed member struck the flooded ground, still clutching the massive sword.
Undaunted, the Reaver struck with its other gauntleted fist. Alaric felt his ribs crack as he sailed backwards. He struck the muddy ground hard, skidding until he tumbled into a wide, overflowing puddle. Half submerged, he sputtered and groggily lifted his head.
The towering apparition was barely visible in the pouring rain, but it stalked toward Alaric in an unhurried manner, producing another weapon from behind its back. The razor-edged scythe was long and wickedly curved, gleaming dully when the lightning flashed. The Reaver's steps squelched, splattering mud and water as it advanced. Greenish light wafted from the stub where its forearm had been, but the wound was either unfelt or ignored. The Reaver's eyes flared behind the helm, matching the lightning that flashed as it raised the dripping scythe blade.
Alaric rose, catching the weapon as it fell. The wind howled as he grappled with the towering death-knight. The storm beat against them, tossing their garments and pounding them with stinging rain as they struggled to overcome each other. Alaric pitted both of his arms against the Reaver's one and was still nearly outmatched.
He glared into the Reaver's ember eyes, matching hate for hate, teeth gritted in a snarl. With all the strength he had left, he pivoted and hurled the Reaver aside. It sailed some thirty spans before it crashed against the rocky hillside. A portion of the hill toppled, burying the Reaver.
Alaric exhaled a cloud of vapor, barely able to stand. His ribs pulsed, every throb of agony intensified as blood ran freely from the gash in his side. The rain beat down mercilessly, forcing him to shield his eyes and squint to see the damage.
The Reaver emerged from the rubble, shrugging off the massive stones as if they were pebbles. Raising its monstrous helm, it gazed at Alaric as though unimpressed. Hurling the debris away, it advanced; an unstoppable juggernaut that would not rest until its target perished.
Alaric stood on unsteady legs, waiting for a fate he was unable to stop. He had given everything, but the Reaver was too strong. Alaric had failed, and he would pay the price for his defeat. He prayed his people would find another way to survive. Perhaps they could find a way to prevail where he could not.
Something on the ground pulsed with light, like a glowing heartbeat.
Alaric looked down and saw Mothros, gleaming as if newly forged. It took all his concentration to focus Transference, linking his mind to the weapon. He could not use the Craft directly against the Reaver, but there were other options. A simple bind of mind and metal and the blade lifted as though by an invisible hand, humming its song of bloodlust and death.
The Reaver seemed to hesitate for a moment, as if uneasy. Alaric motioned, and the sword flashed as though it were born of the storm. One moment it hovered in the air, the next it had impaled the Reaver to the hilt.
The Reaver tottered, struggling to step forward. Its gauntleted hand outstretched toward Alaric as though its last thought was to complete its mission to destroy. The eyes flashed, and then a bellow escaped it, a roar of rage and defiance, a scream of sheer animal hate. The great helm exploded, revealing only greenish, flickering light before the armored shell crumpled in an explosion of glowing dust and smoke.
A gale-force wind shoved its way through, forcing Alaric to clutch one of the pillars to keep from being swept away. The wind died as quickly as it came, and when Alaric looked up, all remnants of the Reavers were gone as though they had never existed. Mothros remained, planted into the stones as though by a mighty hand. It flashed once more as if demanding to be used again. Alaric tottered over in obedience. He felt thin, his skin paper, his bones brittle glass. Yet he had never felt so alive, so capable of doing anything he desired. He was losing himself, he knew. He was dying.
But not yet.
Alaric turned. The Threshold entry was in front of him, the gateway that would take him to Leilavin's last place of refuge. Alaric placed Mothros on his shoulder. Its weight almost buckled his knees, but he somehow managed to stay upright. Water rushed across his boots as he ascended the vine-covered stairway. One step at a time he approached the Threshold.
One step closer to death. One step closer to salvation.
Chapter 2: Nyori
The tunnel of hand-carved stone whispered secrets from every crevice. Nyori's fingers lightly traced the roughly-hewn surface, trying to decipher its secrets. It seemed to stretch for eternity, the mouth at the end only a teasing mirage that lengthened with every forward step. Its iridescent glow beckoned; the glimmering assurance of the future that awaited at the Chamber of Pools. She had never seen them, but she knew what to expect. Water that was not water. Liquid that glimmered of its own accord. The Pools were only utilized for rites of passage. In her case, to symbolize her transition from an apprentice to an anointed Shama.
Her heart quickened at the thought. She had yearned for the day, tasted the expectation since her parents hastened to Halladen and delivered her to the Sha ten summers ago. Her village in the Steppes was quickly put behind her, a life to which she could never return. Her new life was in Halladen, the Hidden City. Buried deep in the circle of mountains centered in the vast and wild Great Steppes, it was the abode of the Sha, masters of healing arts and keepers of ancient lore.
"Do you remember, Nyori?"
Nyori glanced over her shoulder. Ayna was a comforting shadow behind her, in the tradition for the student's instructor to witness the anointment. Ayna's eyes glowed golden in the dim light beneath the wide cowl that covered her head. At one time Nyori might have found such an oddity discomforting, but she had years to become used to Ayna and all of her distinctive traits.
"Remember what?"
Ayna seemed to smile comfortingly, but Nyori couldn't tell in the darkness. "When you first came to us. Such eagerness. Many hang back from fear or unease, but not you. You tackled every new lesson as though it was your last, pestering your instructors until they finally presented you to me."
Nyori smiled at the memory. Mistress Ayna only dealt with the most talented students, and was the only instructor who could handle Nyori's insatiable desire to learn everything. Nyori quickly surpassed the other apprentices, mastering the basic skills so quickly that Ayna was practically forced to devote special training to her eager and adept pupil.
"Yet I still am not as young as you when you became a Shama, Mistress Ayna."
"Not quite. But you are the youngest we have had since my anointment. You should be proud of yourself, Nyori. I certainly am."
Nyori felt a swell of satisfaction at her mentor's words. Anya was never one to dole out gratuitous praise, something her apprentices understood all too well. While never harsh, she was rarely satisfied, always ready to wring out more from her talented pupils.
They continued in silence for seconds or ages before they finally emerged from the tunnel. It opened to a rounded chamber of black stone flecked with glimmering azure runes, or Glyphs. Each tiny character pulsed as though beckoning Nyori to understand their language and harness their power. The illusion of a clear night sky was so convincing that she had to focus to prevent a wave of dizziness.
A trio of Pools glittered in front of her; frosted liquid that lay undisturbed by even a single ripple. Each was encircled by a metallic ring engraved with Glyphs that pulsed in alternating patterns of golden light. She felt the current that emanated from their shimmering surfaces. Not Eler, the energy of life. It was Aether, the energy from the heavens. The Pools were all that illuminated the chamber, casting it in hues of shimmering blue. Her white bathing
dress glowed in its radiance.
Each Pool had a separate purpose, but only one directly concerned her. She knew in advance her path led to the Pool on the left.
Where the Ternion waited.
They were spoken of reverently, almost apprehensively. Despite her best attempts to unearth answers, Nyori had learned nothing useful about them at all. No one had seen them outside the Chamber of Pools; it was almost as if they did not exist anywhere else.
The trio turned as she entered, their faces shrouded from the wide hoods of their tattered robes of faded black. For a moment she was paralyzed by their scrutiny, the hidden gazes that probed almost intrusively, penetrating as though she were naked and defenseless.
The vulnerable sensation dissipated when Ayna placed a comforting hand on Nyori's shoulder. Nyori almost gripped it gratefully, but instead clasped her hands and forced herself to meet the piercing stares of the Ternion. The silence stretched for moments of eternity.
A bead of sweat slid down her temple.
What are they waiting for?
As if reading her thoughts, one of Ternion shuffled forward three steps. Her voice dragged across the dry walls of her throat in more of a croak than a voice. "Whom do you bring with you, Daughter?"
Mistress Ayna stepped forward. She did not look at Nyori when she answered. "One who has learned. One who would learn more. One who is ready."
Another Ternion hobbled forward. Try as she could, Nyori could not penetrate the gloom of their hoods to see their faces. "Nyori Sharlin, apprentice of the Sha. Once the path is taken, there is no turning back. Do you know yourself to be ready?" Her voice was the same as her Sister, as though they shared the same mouth.
Nyori swallowed hard. It was almost a shock that her voice did not break when she answered. "I am ready, Mother Ternion."
The third Ternion took three creaking steps forward and extended her hand. The fingers were gnarled almost beyond recognition; skeletal sticks covered by leathery parchment. "Then come. I am called Norna. I will take you to the Eye."
Nyori did not know why she hesitated. She was acutely aware of Ayna's expectant gaze, of her own desire to step forward. Yet her feet would not respond. Not while looking into the endless shadows of the faceless hood in front of her.
"I...I want to see your face." Nyori sensed Ayna stiffen behind her, but kept her gaze steady. "If you don't mind."
Norna's knotted hands rose to clutch the frayed ends of her hood, where they hesitated. "Are you afraid, Daughter?"
With her heart trying to beat out of her chest, there was no need for denial.
"Yes."
"As you should be."
The hood snatched back, and Nyori gasped.
Crystalline blue eyes practically glowed from a face almost as young as Nyori's. The tattered robes were replaced by finely spun wool. Norna's hair was lustrous and raven-black, her skin smooth and flawless. Her voice was almost musical.
"But fear is not a bad thing, Nyori. Not when sagacity tempers it. You are right not to accept illusion without question. Your inquisitive nature will serve you well in your role as a Shama. If you choose to continue." She quirked a bemused eyebrow.
"I am ready, Mother Ternion," Nyori said quickly. She took the offered hand and followed Norna to the other Ternion.
"Paera, Moira. Please welcome Nyori Sharlin, our newest daughter," Norna said. They nodded gravely, looking so similar that Nyori could scarcely tell the difference.
Perhaps one illusion was just exchanged for another. It didn't matter. What mattered lay in front of her.
The waters of the Pool were warm and tingled slightly. It was almost the sensation of moisture without actually being touched, of immersing in liquid lighter than air. The Ternion held her gently by the shoulders and neck as they slowly tilted her backward.
Norna smiled encouragingly. "When you arise you will be shed of your old life and born into your new one. Look into the Eye, and do not fear what you discover."
Nyori clasped her arms across her chest. They lowered her until she completely submerged under the surface. Blue-tinged ripples distorted her view, transforming the Ternion into indistinct figures in glowing white.
She closed her eyes and Shifted.
The focus required to switch from the Outer to the Inner mind was one the majority of apprentices never achieved. Many spent years trying to learn to Shift, only to burn themselves out on equal portions of frustration and futility.
Nyori had learned in weeks.
When she opened her Inner eye, she viewed her own motionless body gelled in the glowing water as though frozen. Time moved differently in the Shift; seconds could turn to hours, minutes into days. She had all the time she needed to seek the Eye.
She turned and swam downward, where the light muted until it appeared nothing existed but shadows. She took a wary glance behind. Her body was still submerged, but so far away it appeared almost indistinct. For a moment she hesitated.
Once the path is taken, there is no turning back.
When she turned again, the Eye of Everfell stared into her face.
It was embedded in the carving of an enormous face that protruded from the murky bottom. Determining if an entire statue lay buried there was impossible, but it would tower high as the hills if it were so. Time and erosion had long obscured the statue's features, but the Eye remained, centered in the forehead of the statue. In place of the iris was a dimly glowing orb around the size of Nyori's face. As she drifted closer it appeared cloudy, as if to envelop the secrets it held within. The swirling haze dissipated at her touch, the orb effused with a warm glow.
It flashed, brilliant as sudden sunlight. The orb became translucent, reflective as glass. She had a startling sensation of being seen by the mirrored eye, watched by something grave and terrible. Nyori's reflected image was indistinct, washed out. She squeezed her eyes shut and felt a sensation like fading, disappearing into something lighter than air.
WHEN SHE REGAINED HER senses, she immediately knew something was wrong. Her hands scraped against cracked and pitted stones. It was something substantial. Something solid.
Nyori slowly lifted her head.
There were no trees, but autumn leaves floated regardless; dying butterflies swept along by an imperceptible wind. A ring of blue-tinged stone towers surrounded her. The view beyond the circle was a washed out painting; a hazy backdrop of drab hills seemingly placed to conceal the nothing that lay beyond. Only the towers of perfectly stacked stone appeared solid. Beyond their boundaries, everything distorted. She gasped when she stared upward. In place of the sky, an ebony ocean rippled above her head. Sapphire shimmers danced among the waves like mischievous jellyfish posing as stars.
She was no longer in the waters of the Pool, no longer anywhere familiar. Somehow the Eye had transported her into a completely different realm. Her heart pounded. She knew the dangers of Shifting minds, but they were always metaphysical, dangers of drifting too far from herself, losing the anchor of her physical body while in her Inner mind. Nothing was said of physically transporting from one place to another. Her hair swung slowly, floating across her face as she turned around to view her surroundings.
"Where am I?" Her voice distorted as it echoed around her in mocking fashion.
"You are in Everfell, child."
Nyori's heart leapt into her throat at the sound of the crystalline voice. She whirled around, moving as though still immersed in water. A black-cloaked figure glided from behind one of the towering slabs of stone, gazing with an intensity that Nyori felt. Cold seeped into her bones as though the figure touched her with icy fingers.
"Everfell? I didn't know..." Nyori took a cautious step back. "Who are you?"
The figure advanced. Nyori caught sight of a woman's face, fine featured and ageless. Her skin was white as bone; her lips painted black, her irises the color of blood. The ebony cloak covered her from head to foot, embroidered with jet roses at the hems and the wide sash at her waist. Twin black-lacquered daggers whe
re thrust into the sash, gleaming wetly.
Her crimson eyes glowed from beneath her sooty lashes when she spoke. "I am Leilavin, child. I am the keeper of Eymunder and master of this realm. Your trespass is forbidden. Who are you? How did you arrive here?" Her voice lashed like a whip, demanding a response.
Nyori edged back from the woman's fierce stare. "My name is Nyori Sharlin. I...the Eye of Everfell brought me here."
Leilavin paused, searching Nyori's face as if seeking confirmation of her words. Nyori felt a tingle across her scalp. Is she capable of reading my mind? She shivered at the thought.
Leilavin tilted her head in birdlike fashion. Her words only confirmed Nyori's fears. "You speak truly. The Eye did indeed bring you here. But why? Unless...you are not a descendant of the Elious, are you?"
"I don't understand."
"It must be. One way to find out. Come quickly." Leilavin strode past Nyori, beckoning urgently. "Hurry, child. If you possess the blood of Elious, you will be able to take Eymunder away from this place before it falls."
Nyori hesitated. Leilavin was small in stature, but her appearance and bearing cast an intimidating shadow. Like the Ternion, Leilavin did not need to declare her power. Her overwhelming aura spoke for her, whispered of secrets and darkness.
Leilavin's silken cloak ruffled as she hurried down a narrow path of beaten ground. "Your arrival is either fate or tragic happenstance. The Pale Lord is on his way here as we speak. I have slowed his approach, but he is more powerful than I have foreseen. He will arrive soon. You must claim Eymunder before he does."
Nyori rushed to catch up to the swiftly moving woman. The movement was strangely dizzying, the blurry surroundings disorienting her. "What are you talking about? I only want to find a way to get–" She paused as they entered a clearing.
In the center of the towers was a rounded slab of stone, cut to resemble a table. Familiar waters surrounded it, glassy liquid that glimmered as though lit by azure fires.
Much like the Pool at home.
The Eye of Everfell Page 2
