Both Sy-wen and Nee’lahn wore matching expressions of relief.
Tyrus turned back to Er’ril. “And I’ve sent a scouting party toward the pit to make sure the fighting has ended here, too.”
Nodding, Er’ril surveyed the dark chamber. The only light came from the spear of moonlight shining down from the hole in the cavern roof, and even this was fading as the full face of the moon set toward the horizon. Torches began to flare around the room. The wounded and dying were tended. Across the way, he spotted Fardale, in wolf form, mourning the death of Thorn and his brother.
“Did we win?” Joach asked quietly, leaning on his staff.
No one had an answer.
Wennar marched up, his armor stained and bloody. He took off his helmet and ran a hand over his bald pate. “The tunnel to Blackhall is gone.” He waved a hand to the far wall. Some of the other passage mouths remained, but the one through which the d’warf army had entered was now solid granite.
“The dark magick linking the caverns has ended,” Er’ril mumbled. “Whether due to the setting moon or the breaking of the Dark Lord, it’s over.”
Meric stood with Nee’lahn. “Our magick, too. At least on this black lake, our powers are severed.”
Er’ril frowned. “Maybe we should—”
The ground trembled, silencing his words. The tremor shook rock dust from the roof.
“Maybe we should leave,” Harlequin suggested, his eyes searching the stone overhead.
The shaking calmed, but not the expressions of worry.
Er’ril nodded. “I think Harlequin is right.”
The small man lifted one eyebrow. “Now that’s something you don’t hear every day, the plainsman actually agreeing with me. Maybe it is the end of the world.”
Er’ril sighed, realizing he owed the master spy many apologies. But such matters could wait until later. “For now, we should help the wounded and be ready to depart as soon as possible.”
Nods answered him. Kast, Wennar, and Tyrus went to see to the injured and gather up their remaining forces.
Er’ril turned to Elena. “I can’t go,” she said softly, her gaze intent on the black floor. “Not until Cho returns.”
Another slight tremble shivered through the cavern. He pulled her into his arms and felt the same shiver in her.
“Cho will rein her brother in,” he assured her.
“And if she doesn’t?” Elena whispered.
Er’ril sighed. “We will face whatever comes together.”
He thought his words would comfort her, but instead, she seemed to withdraw. His heart ached. “Elena, what’s wrong?” he whispered.
She simply stared across the dark floor, silent and alone.
As the ground trembled, Tol’chuk stood over the gaunt, pale creature, unsure why he came. It surely deserved no pity, no mercy, no final kindness. It was hard to tell that what lay here was even once an og’re. Its spine was twisted, its legs no more than feeble twigs. The very bones of its skull shone through the translucent skin.
Still, he dropped to his knees and set aside his hammer. Eyes, large in the starved face, followed him as he sank to the floor.
They stared at one another, the beginning and end of a bloodline.
Again Tol’chuk wondered why he was here. He was satisfied that though they shared the same blood, his heart was his own. He stared. The rage had dimmed in the other’s eyes. Ly’chuk was scant heartbeats from death. Even the strongest corruption could find nothing to grasp in such tenuous life.
A clawed hand moved in his direction, but it was too weak to reach him.
Though there was no pleading in the other’s eyes, Tol’chuk reached and took the hand into his own. Again . . . why? A single word. What did he need here?
But fingers tightened on his own, one flesh touching another, recognizing life in its last moment.
Tol’chuk shifted closer. He had not been able to comfort his own father in death, slain in one of the senseless og’re wars. He remembered back to his own childhood, seeing his father’s prone body dragged past, speared through the chest. But they had been no closer in life than in death. His father, embittered by the loss of his mate and burdened with a half-breed son, had left Tol’chuk long before he was dragged bloody past their hearth.
Tol’chuk sighed. He now understood what drew him here. He needed this final act of forgiveness, not to ease Ly’chuk’s passing, but to free his own heart.
Fingers tightened again on his own. The weak figure must have sensed the pain in his heart. Words whispered from thin lips. Tol’chuk had not known Ly’chuk had the strength to speak.
“I . . . I never saw my son,” he gasped weakly.
Tol’chuk recalled the og’re’s earlier tale. Ly’chuk had fathered a son, but it was on the day of his son’s birth that he had been punished by the Land.
Fingers clasped to his with all the last strength in the feeble body. “See yours . . .”
Between their fingers, a jolt passed into Tol’chuk, shooting up his arm and into the core of his being. It was a burn both icy and searing. It settled low into his belly, then dissolved into a warmth that spread through his loins.
Tol’chuk felt the healing deep in his being.
He stared down at Ly’chuk, unmoving now, eyes gone glassy in death. He held the hand a moment longer, knowing with certainty what had been done. A final gift. Ly’chuk had passed whatever magick had healed his own loins into Tol’chuk.
See yours . . .
Tol’chuk understood the act, sensed for a flickering moment the heart behind it. This last gift was not Ly’chuk’s attempt to extend his bloodline, but to give Tol’chuk a chance to start a new one, a bloodline started from an act of kindness and forgiveness. He lowered the thin hand to the other’s chest.
“Be at peace.”
Elena stared across the black floor. With the trembling of the ground, she knew all was not over. From deep in her heart, the warning of Sisa’kofa rose to haunt her again. She remembered the shadow of the wit’ch floating before the Spirit Stone: You will face a choice, a cusp of prophecy. Your choosing will either damn or save all.
“What’s wrong?” Er’ril asked again.
She shook her head, sworn to secrecy. This fate was hers alone.
“Tell me, please.”
She turned to him, drawn by the pain in his voice. In the storm of those gray eyes, she saw his love, his willingness to sacrifice all to hold her safe. Could she do any less?
“Please . . .” His voice was a strangled whisper. He stepped closer to her. A hand rose to cup her cheek.
She closed her eyes, but it did no good. His touch burned. She could hear him breathing, heavy with his own fear. Her heart ached. Somewhere deep inside her something broke. What was the need for secrets any longer? She opened her eyes and let her fear shine more fully. “Er’ril—”
A violent quake cut off her words. A section of roof cracked. They both leaped back as a slab of rock crashed to the floor. Men and d’warves scattered. No one was injured.
“What’s happening?” Joach asked, his staff ready.
This time the ground did not quiet. It continued to shake in fits and jolts. New cracks skittered over the arch of the roof and along the floors.
“We have to leave,” Er’ril said, grabbing Elena’s arm. “Now!”
Kast came running up as a horn sounded. He had to yell to be heard above the rumblings. “Wennar sounds the rally! We’re ready to go!”
Er’ril waved him back. “Then go! Get everyone out of here! We’ll follow!” As Kast swung off, Er’ril turned back to Elena. He clearly read her indecision. His grip tightened on her arm. “Cho can reach us on the surface as easily as here.”
Joach stood nearby, shifting from foot to foot. “He’s right, El.”
She glanced between the two of them, then nodded.
But before they could take a single step, the ground bucked under them, throwing them to their hands and knees. Rocks crashed all around. Were th
ey too late?
Then a silvery swirl shook up from the ground, as if expelled by the shaking. Elena sat back on her heels, gazing up as the figure coalesced into a familiar shape. “Cho?”
“No . . . it’s Fila.” The figure crouched. Her face was lined with concern, her eyes shadowed with fear. Under them, the ground calmed, but a deep rumbling persisted, thunder in the depths of the world. “Cho still attempts to sway her brother.”
“What’s happening?” Er’ril asked.
Aunt Fila shook her head. “It’s certain doom. Chi recognizes his sister, but he raves. I touched his mind—it is chaos and madness.”
“Why?” Joach asked. “What’s happened to him?”
Moonstone lips grew hard. “These spirits are not like us. They were meant to roam the Void between stars. But Chi has spent over five centuries trapped in those cursed gates, corrupted. What is left is less than animal, a deep rage that intends to burn through all.”
“What can be done to stop him?” Elena asked, eyes wide.
Aunt Fila’s eyes settled on her own. “There is one way.”
Elena felt an icy knot form in her chest.
“What is it?” Er’ril asked.
“Cho can merge with Chi.”
Joach leaned closer. “Will she be able to control him?”
The two men looked on hopefully, but Aunt Fila’s gaze never left Elena. She answered her brother’s question. “Cho intends to destroy her brother . . . and herself.” Elena remembered those times when her raw magick touched pure Chyric energy. The result was instantaneous and explosive.
Aunt Fila elaborated. “Their two energies are opposite in all ways. They cannot exist in the same space. To merge will create a magickal blast that will consume them both.”
“There must be another way,” Elena mumbled.
Her aunt sighed, and her voice dropped lower. “Chi is in pain beyond imagining, and his agony is now Cho’s. She knows there is no way to ease or undo what’s been done. She’s tried. Chi is not just twisted . . . he’s broken in all ways. He will ravage our world, turn our garden into a desert, then move on to others. Cho knows there is only one path to peace for her brother.”
“Then let her do it,” Er’ril said, “before it’s too late.”
His urgency was confirmed by another violent shake and shattering rockfalls.
Kast called from across the room. “Er’ril!” The Bloodrider stood near the tunnel to the pit, flanked by Tol’chuk and Wennar. Almost all had cleared out. D’warves fled at a determined run, many with shields slung between them, carrying the wounded.
“Go!” Er’ril ordered. “Get to the pit!”
Kast clearly hesitated, but then nodded and waved Wennar ahead of him.
During this exchange, Aunt Fila’s eyes never left hers. “I would speak a moment with Elena.”
Er’ril bunched his shoulders, ready to refuse, but Elena touched his arm. “Go. The longer we argue, the shorter our time.”
Er’ril stared at her hard, his jawline iron. But she held steadfast. Go, her heart cried, go before I no longer have the strength.
He finally snapped away, stalking back several steps, cloak swirling. Joach went with him.
Swallowing hard, she turned back to her aunt. “Tell me,” Elena whispered, ready for the worst—but what her aunt said next shocked her to the marrow.
“The Spirit Stone. It’s already been destroyed.”
Elena paled. “What?”
“It happened so fast,” Fila said, her eyes suddenly lost. “The brightness blew out of the crystal heart of the world, snuffed like a candle in a windstorm.”
“So the world is doomed.”
“Not doomed. The living heart pumped elemental energy throughout the lands. Like a body whose heart has ceased to beat, the blood still remains. Elemental energies will continue for now, but their potency will fade over the next several decades, perhaps as long as centuries, until eventually all magick will be gone.”
Elena found it hard to breathe. “So the Dark Lord has won after all?”
“Don’t think that way. If he had vanquished the Land, he would have created the world in his twisted image. He would have done to the lands what he did to Chi.” The apparition shuddered. “I would rather the world were destroyed instead.”
Elena fought back her despair. “Then what can we do? What will happen after Cho and Chi merge?”
Again Aunt Fila sighed. “The magickal blast will be cataclysmic. It will be a force a thousandfold stronger than either spirit alone. Something must be done with that magick.”
“What?” Her voice was a squeak.
“Remember you are blood-tied to Cho. As the magick explodes outward, the energy will flow through the bridge back to you, Elena. For a brief moment, you will have control over this vast well of power.”
Elena sat frozen. “No . . .”
“Yes. And you will face two choices.”
Unbidden, her head began shaking. It was Sisa’kofa’s prophecy fulfilled.
Aunt Fila continued to speak. “The energy will need a vessel. One choice is to keep the magick for yourself.”
Elena recalled her hard struggle with her own wild magick, to balance the wit’ch inside her. To have the wit’ch a thousandfold stronger . . . “I couldn’t . . . I can’t . . .”
Aunt Fila nodded. “It is a hard choice. It would burn away your body. You would become like Chi or Cho, living spiritual energy.”
Elena could not fathom such an existence.
“The other choice lies under your own feet. The empty Spirit Stone.”
Hope flared. “I could revive the Land with this magick?”
“Yes, but it is too small a cup. The amount of energy far surpasses what the Spirit Stone once held. It would be like a man being hit by lightning. Such a jolt would reshape the world. Our world would end. A new one would begin, as vital as this one, but vastly changed.”
“So I either become a god, or I start our world anew.” She stared over to Er’ril. He watched from a distance, his gaze hard upon her. No matter what her choice, down either path, she would lose this man who held her heart so tenderly. How could she choose?
And then there was the warning from Sisa’kofa to consider, a prophecy handed down through the centuries: I have come to tell you that your choice—either way—will doom all.
Aunt Fila spoke. “But there may be another path, a way to avoid all of this.”
Elena turned from Er’ril back to the moonstone spirit. Her eyes pleaded for some way to escape this fate.
“The Blood Diary,” her aunt said. “It is Cho’s link to you, to this world. Without it, she exists only in the Void.”
“I don’t understand.”
“The book is necessary to hold Cho here so she can merge with Chi, but once this is done, you can sever the link. By breaking the connection to this world, the energies will be released into the Void rather than through you.”
“So I wouldn’t have to make a choice!”
“Exactly. If you destroy the Blood Diary at the precise moment Cho and Chi fuse, then the energies will have no connection here and will dissipate into the vast emptiness beyond.”
Elena’s heart surged. Sisa’kofa had said there would be another choice! Here it was! Her voice sharpened. “What must I do?”
“I will help you. I will let you know when to destroy the Blood Diary, but you must not hesitate. It must be done perfectly.”
She nodded. “How do I destroy the book?”
“That’s the easy part. You’ve held that power all along.” She motioned for Elena to lift her hands. Aunt Fila covered Elena’s right hand between her two ghostly palms. “In this hand is wit’ch fire.” Her right hand went ruby with a fresh Rose, ignited by the spiritual energy. “And in this hand is coldfire,” her aunt said, quickening her left.
Once done, Aunt Fila put her moonstone palms together, opening them like a book between Elena’s two hands.
“And between them lies stormfir
e,” Elena finished. “I can destroy the book by unleashing both magicks simultaneously.”
A nod of satisfaction. “You must be bloodied, readied, and standing in the center of the confluence. Then act immediately upon my signal. Can you do that?”
Elena considered the alternative. “I won’t fail.”
Aunt Fila smiled and sighed. “Then prepare yourself. Cho already calls Chi to her.” The figure faded back into the black floor, trailing a whisper, full of love. “Your mother would’ve been proud.” Then she was gone.
Er’ril was instantly at her side with Joach. He eyed her ruby hands. “What’s happening?”
It was too much to explain in too short a time. She held out a red palm and spoke hurriedly. “I need the Blood Diary.”
He caught the edge of her urgency and pulled open his cloak, tugging the tome from a pocket. The gilt rose still shone brightly, though dimmer as the moon set in the skies far above. He held the book out to her.
“What are you going to do with it?” Joach asked.
She slipped out her wit’ch dagger and sliced a deep gash in her palms. She was not taking any chances in the flows of her magick. “The book must be destroyed,” she told them.
Joach opened his mouth. Elena met his eyes. He shook his head and closed his mouth, taking a step back. But his eyes remained wounded.
She knew what hopes he held between the covers of this book. After this was over, she’d find a way to help him. She took the book. “Get everyone far back,” she warned. She didn’t want anyone caught in the magickal backwash as she unleashed her stormfire. Across the room, only a handful of others still remained. She spotted Meric and Nee’lahn, Kast and Sy-wen, Tol’chuk and Tyrus.
Er’ril waved them all back, but he stayed a moment longer. “Elena?”
She met his gaze. “I must do this alone.” She walked backward toward the room’s center. The ground shook again, vibrating through her legs.
“I love you,” he whispered.
“And I you.” It was too hard to see him. Her heart ached when it needed to be at its strongest. He seemed to sense this and took a step away, retreating with Joach.
Wit'ch Star (v5) Page 62
