Once steady, she slowly extended her perceptions outward, riding the currents of power this time, rather than fighting. She first became aware of her own heartbeat, slow and steady. This helped reassure her. She was still alive.
Reaching farther, she followed her blood as it fanned throughout her body. As she did so, the sense of her limbs returned: bone, muscle, sinew. It was as if she were rebuilding herself from the inside out, incorporating Cho’s power in each bit, redefining herself in this new context. With care, she stretched farther and steadily rediscovered her senses.
The wit’ch’s mad song dimmed as Elena now listened through her own ears. A great silence blanketed her. It was not so much an absence of sound as an unsettling pressure—like diving into a lake. Just the pressure and the quiet.
But Elena knew this was no mountain lake.
This was the Weir.
Floating in this strange otherworld, Elena kept her eyes closed, fearing what she might see. Cho, what have you done?
Tentatively, Elena reached out with her other senses. She smelled no scent, tasted nothing in the air. The only sensation she did discover was a tingling burn that seemed to paint her entire body. She willed her arms to move and was surprised to discover control had returned to her limbs. As she swept her arms, struggling for anything solid, the burning grew worse from hands to shoulder, almost painful.
Swallowing back her fear, Elena risked opening her eyes—staring for the first time into the strange landscape of the Weir.
Around her was a swirling dense darkness, like a midnight sea—only this had the feel of something living. It caressed against her, but where it touched, her ruby skin flared brighter. As a matter of fact, her entire form burned like a tiny crimson flame in the darkness.
She studied herself and moved her arms through the substance of the Weir. Her skin flashed brighter. Elena understood. Cho’s magick is protecting me, suiting me in ruby armor against the touch of the Weir.
With this realization, Elena stared around her. She turned and caught a flicker of movement. With a kick of her legs, she moved nearer, cautiously. The darkness seemed to clear, and she saw a surprising tableau: Er’ril and the others stood a short distance away, staring back at her. It was as if she were staring at them through a dark glass. She swam closer, her hands reaching forward. But her fingers ran into a solid barrier. She pressed against it. The group did not seem to see her
Muffled words reached her. “How do we know she still lives?” Er’ril asked.
The ghostly form of Aunt Fila stood behind his shoulder. “Because I’m still here. If Elena dies, so does the magick of the book. I would not be here if the bridge were severed.”
Er’ril glanced to the sky. “But the moon is setting. What then?”
Fila only shook her head.
Elena tried to beat against the barrier, but it did no good. She was locked into the ebon’stone Weirgate. “Er’ril!”
No one heard her.
She tried louder. “Er’ril!”
Tol’chuk jerked in her direction. He was closest to the stone.
“Tol’chuk! Can you hear me?”
He leaned closer, placing a hand on the rock. “Elena?”
“Yes!” She almost wept with relief.
The og’re glanced over his shoulder and bellowed, “It’s her! Elena!”
Er’ril hurried forward and pressed his hands against the rock, trying to find a way through, risking the Weir to come to her aid. But he no longer had magick in his blood. The Gate would not open for him
“Er’ril, I’m safe! Cho’s magick is protecting me.”
“Then leave while you still can!”
She beat a ruby fist against the barrier. “I can’t!”
Er’ril shoved harder, shoulders bunching. But it did no good.
Elena reached up and placed her hand over his, their palms separated by the magick of the Weirgate. “There must be another way out,” she called. “Or a clue to destroying the Gates. I must go look.”
“Elena! No! We’ll find a way to get you out.”
Elena lifted her palm from his and drifted back. “I’m sorry. I must try. Too much depends on it.” And she knew this was true. Whether it was her own intuition or something gifted from Cho, Elena sensed an urgency to move on.
She pushed from the glass wall. The dark sea of the Weir swept back over the glass and swallowed the view of the others. Elena twisted around and delved deeper into the heart of the Weir.
The living darkness again surrounded her, featureless and forever. As she swam, Elena worried she would not even be able to find her way back. What if she never escaped here? How long would the ruby magick protect her? Her heart began to grow louder in her ears. A twinge of panic set in—but as she continued forward, she realized the pounding in her ears was not her own heart, but something beyond herself.
She paused, hanging in the dark sea, and concentrated on the source. She did not know what lay ahead, but it was better than the endless blank expanse. It was something.
She slowly swam forward again, aiming for the source of the deep, sonorous beat. After what seemed an endless time, she noticed the darkness grew lighter ahead, almost as if she were coming to another window to the real world. She kicked her legs more vigorously, creating a burn along her skin as the ruby magick flared brighter. Ignoring the pain, Elena sped faster.
The darkness continued to part until a white flame appeared ahead, floating in the black ether. It flared and dimmed in step to the thunderous beat.
Elena swept to a stop before it.
She knew what she was looking at. “Chi,” she said aloud.
But speaking the name caused no change. The light continued to ebb and flow like a living heart of white flame. Elena’s face, chest, and legs burned brighter with each beat, the two opposing magicks igniting against one another, like a match set to oil.
Elena finally understood. She swung around. The living sea through which she had swum and continued to float now . . . it was all one entity. It was all Chi.
Spinning in place, Elena was overwhelmed by the immensity. If only she could speak to him, as she did to Cho. But she had no bridge to this spirit. She settled to a stop, drifting closer to the center of the Weir, the heart of Chi. How could she ever hope to free him? How did you destroy the Gates that bound him here, especially when the stone statues were tied to such a bottomless well of energy? It was a riddle she could not solve alone.
Cho, she silently prayed, if you know some way to communicate with your brother, help me.
Elena expected no answer. Cho was not truly inside her, just the spirit’s energy. In some ways, Elena was like the Weir herself: a vessel full of power and energy. But unlike the Weir, she did not hold Cho’s true heart inside her. It was still somewhere out in the Void.
Elena stared around her, wishing she had a better understanding of Cho and Chi, of the flows of power here. Then an idea formed. She did not know if it would help. A spell—one of the first magicks she had ever learned, one born of her own blood.
Raising a hand, Elena placed her forefinger between her teeth and bit into the skin at its edge. She tasted blood on her tongue, and as she pulled her finger free, a ruby radiance flamed forth from its tip. Craning her neck back, she squeezed her injured hand and dribbled a drop of fiery blood into each eye. The pain was almost too much. She gasped and clamped a hand over her eyes. It had never stung like this in the past.
Slowly, the pain dulled to a scratchy burn, and Elena risked opening her eyelids. She held her breath, fearing she had blinded herself. But she was fine. The sting had just been the Weir reacting to her magick.
She stared around. A new landscape opened, revealed by the magickal sight imbued in her blood. The sea of the Weir was still dark, but now it was veined with glowing lines of silver. Elena could not help but be struck by the similarity to ebon’stone: a black rock streaked with silver.
But these veins were not silver ore. Elena recognized the sheen to this pow
er. She had seen it in Mycelle, Kral, and many others. It was elemental energy. Elena gaped around her. There was so much of it. The lines flowed under, around, and over her.
As she stared, the silver lines grew more substantial. She began to see a pattern stretching away into the darkness of the Weir. A far way off, the veins seemed to fuse and join, forming ever-thicker arteries. It was as if she were deep underground, tangled in the roots of a silver tree and looking up toward where the rootlets became thicker roots, which in turn became the trunk itself.
She glanced around and realized there were four trees, one growing in each direction of the compass. Elena knew this had to be significant.
Four Weirgates, four ebon’stones statues, four elemental fonts.
She approached the nearest, the one heading in the direction from which she came. She reached to the nearest vein and touched the silvery sheen. But nothing happened. Her hand passed through it without harm to either.
Then Elena had another idea. Her blood had opened her special sight. Could it do more? She brought her bitten finger, still blazing with blood, to the same vein.
As her finger touched it, her mind was torn away. She found herself staring back at Er’ril and the others, as if she again hung before the dark glass window. “There must be a way to free her,” Er’ril said.
Surprised, her finger broke contact. And she found herself back beside the flaming heart. It was a direct conduit to the Manticore Weirgate.
Elena glanced around her. She drifted around the giant flame to the neighboring tree’s roots and touched one of its rootlets.
Her mind again snapped away. She found herself staring at a dark room. A brazier of red coals lay open on the floor before her, covered with a grate ornamented with twisted beasts and fantastic creatures. The iron of the grate glowed a fiery red. Beyond the coals, she sensed tiers rising up the room’s walls: an amphitheater of some sort. She sensed eyes back there, spectators in the shadows.
Then movement drew her gaze closer. A cowled figure approached, guiding a naked, towheaded child of about four by one hand. The dark figure tossed aside his cowl to reveal a blasted and ruined face. It was as if someone had melted his features, then froze them in place. Elena gasped with recognition. It was Shorkan, leader of the Black Heart’s darkmages, and Er’ril’s brother.
Elena now knew she must be staring through the Wyvern Weirgate, the statue whisked away by Shorkan as he fled A’loa Glen.
Shorkan moved nearer the brazier. “On this black night, the Master’s plan to break the Land upon his forge will come to fruition. As the moon sets, so will the hope of all the world. Let us praise the Black Heart!”
Voices cried from the dark galleries. “Praise the Black Heart!”
Shorkan whipped up an arm, revealing a jagged, curved dagger. “A sacrifice in his honor! An innocent heart cast upon his flames!”
Elena’s gaze swung back to the cowering little boy. “No!” she cried out.
Ahead, Shorkan paused, his head cocking with suspicion. He seemed to lean toward her, eyes narrowed.
Elena froze. Could he see her? Sense her?
After a moment, Shorkan shook his head and straightened. Clearing his throat, he lifted the blade high again. “Praise the Black Heart!” The dagger slashed down.
Elena jerked her hand away. She could not watch.
She glided away from this foul tree, less sure, fearing she might have given her trespass away. As she slid around the flaming heart of the Weir toward the next elemental tree, she pondered Shorkan’s words: to break the Land upon his forge.
She stared around at the flows of elemental energy that led from the Gates to here and began to understand. These were not so much trees of energy as rivers spilling through the gates and spreading into a thousand streams. The Gates were sucking vast fonts of energy into the Weir.
Her eyes grew wide. She now knew why the ebon’stone statues had been placed so carefully. Across the lands, there were points where the Land’s elemental powers flowed stronger. She had learned this from Cassa Dar in the swamps of the Drowned Lands. The Dark Lord had tried to destroy such an artery long ago, a silver river of the Land’s energy under Castle Drakk. But there were many others throughout the world.
Clearly the Black Heart had not given up on his desire to harm the Land. He must have positioned the Weirgates at four of the world’s pulse points. But why? To tap the energy? Or was there a darker purpose?
Shorkan’s words echoed in her head: to break the Land upon his forge . . .
Elena gasped with sudden insight and horror. The Dark Lord broke individual elementals by using slivers of ebon’stone to draw off their energy and corrupt it, twisting the bearer in turn, too. This was also the Black Heart’s plan here—but not just to corrupt a single person or even a single land.
He meant to corrupt the entire world! By placing his monstrous Weirgates at key points around the globe and tapping into the planet’s energy, he was going to forge the world into one monstrous ill’guard.
And if Shorkan spoke truly, this transformation was to occur this very night. Elena swam forward toward the neighboring nexus of elemental energy. Whether the Gates could be broken or not, a more immediate danger faced them all. If the Dark Lord succeeded, then they were all doomed.
Elena brought her flaming finger to a silver rootlet and touched it. She found herself staring into a gray granite room covered with dead bodies. D’warves, she realized, scores of them. The view shifted slightly, as if the window through which she peered were moving. It made no sense. Then the window turned, and she found herself staring at a familiar, shaggy, black-bearded face.
“Kral!” she yelled.
The mountain man fled backward in shock.
Behind him, Elena spotted other faces: Mogweed, Meric, and a sandy-haired man she did not know. And standing among them was a sight that made no sense: Nee’lahn.
Meric stepped up beside Kral, though a little warily. “Elena? Are you inside the griffin?”
“I’m in the Weir! We don’t have much time! You must find a way to break the Gate’s connection to its elemental source! Can you do this?
Meric shook his head. “We’ve tried everything. The Griffin Gate now defends itself, coming to life, attacking any who near it.”
Elena thought quickly. It must be nearing the time of transformation. “Don’t worry about destroying the griffin! Find a way to separate the stone beast from the elemental connection upon which it’s feeding! Now! This night! Before is all lost!”
Meric frowned. “We don’t know how.”
Kral elbowed Meric away. “I do.”
Meric tried to interrupt, but Kral faced Elena. “I will do this. Trust me.”
Elena sighed with relief. “I must check the other Gates.”
He nodded and lifted an arm. “I’m sorry, Elena.”
Her finger lifted from the silver vein as these last words were spoken. She did not understand their exact import, but she did not have time to return and ask Kral. She didn’t know how many of the Weirgates must be broken to thwart the Dark Lord’s ambition, but she knew the surest course was to eliminate as many as possible.
She kicked and paddled over to the last of the silver flows, calculating in her head. The only Weirgate left was the basilisk, somewhere in the Southern Wastes. She slid up to the nearest shining branch and touched her finger to it.
A new view opened before her mind’s eye: a sandy-floored chamber in a cavernous room. She almost cried in relief. Sy-wen sat atop Ragnar’k. At least some of the desert team had reached the Basilisk Weirgate. The view swung around. Clearly this Gate had come to life, too. A third combatant was revealed.
“Joach!” she shouted.
The call of his name startled her brother. “Kesla?” He stumbled back, falling on his backside.
“No, it’s your sister!”
Sy-wen shifted her dragon back into view. “Elena?”
“I don’t have much time!” She rapidly repeated everything
she had told Kral. “Can you find a way to break the Weirgate’s connection to the Land?”
“I don’t see how,” Sy-wen answered. “Not even Ragnar’k can near that monster.”
Elena saw the long gash on the dragon’s chest, dripping with blood. She turned to the other party in the room. “Joach, do you know some way? Even a dark spell learned from the time you had Greshym’s staff.”
Her brother’s head had remained bowed during her explanation. He raised it now. His eyes held a lost, hopeless look. “I think I do.”
“You must try,” she urged. “Or all the world is doomed.”
Joach nodded, turning away, his voice pained. “Go. I know my duty.”
Elena longed to reach through to him, to hold and comfort her brother, but instead, she pulled her hand back, and the sight vanished. Comfort must come another day. Elena floated in place. She had done all she could here. The rest was up to the others.
Elena kicked and swam back to the original silver river, then followed its course home. She had no idea how to accomplish what she had asked of the others. The Manticore Gate seemed invincible. She pondered her options, but she still had no answer by the time she reached the black glass barrier. She had secretly hoped that a way would reopen for her now. But as she swam up and pressed her hands against its surface, it was as impervious as ever.
With her spellcast eyesight, she now saw the flow of elemental energy piping up from the mountain and through the arm to the ebon’stone boulder. It seemed hopeless. There was no way to move the ebon’stone boulder or break the stone arm off. With so few here, it would take several moons to hack through this stone arm. If only she were free of the stone, she could attack with her magick.
Elena called to the others—they were still gathered near the stone—and told them all she had learned.
Aunt Fila drifted closer. “So we must either break the Gate or sever its connection?”
Elena nodded, then realized no one could see her. “Yes. It must be done this night, or the entire world will be corrupted.”
Er’ril shook his head, looking all around. “I don’t see how we can succeed.”
Wit'ch Gate (v5) Page 55
