“I don’t think she should come in here until after the bath,” said Kate firmly.
“I can’t exactly get up and walk to her,” said Tyrion. “I’ll be quick.”
She couldn’t argue that point. Rising Kate crossed the room and exited, wrinkling her nose when she passed the threshold. He couldn’t hear what she said but a moment later Brigid was standing by the bed, looking down on him and the sleeping infant.
“I knew you wouldn’t die,” she said bluntly.
The smell caught him a second later, assaulting his nose. The scent was like old meat, starting to turn bad. He couldn’t see any visible stains on her, but her hair hung dull and heavy and there was no denying the olfactory evidence. It was made worse by the fact that there was no possible way for him to retreat.
“I will before long,” he told her, “but I have too much to do to waste time. I need to speak with Emma.”
“She won’t leave Ryan.”
“Tell her she doesn’t have a choice,” he said firmly. “She will want to hear this. After you speak to her take a bath, then I want you to get Jordan and bring him to me. I’ll need some of the smaller stasis boxes as well.”
Brigid stared at him for a moment, quietly processing his words. “Jordan is already in storage again, and I don’t know where the boxes are kept.”
“Emma should, and if she doesn’t she can ask Ryan. You’ll have to get Jordan out of his box. I need him.”
“Why?”
“I can’t stay here. There are things that must be done.”
His daughter became very still and didn’t respond immediately. She looked like some strange statue as she considered her response. “Abby says you’ll die if you move.”
“I’m dying anyway. I have a day, maybe two. This can’t wait.”
Brigid stared at him with eyes that were like stone, “Then I should skip the bath.”
Tyrion sighed, “No, you take the bath. Otherwise I won’t be able to stand being near you. You’ll have time. I need to talk to Emma. Send Abby and any of the others you see, but don’t waste time hunting for them all, a few will do. Once you’re clean, fetch Jordan and a couple of the boxes.”
“How big should they be?”
He held up his hands, indicating something roughly a foot across. Brigid nodded and without another word she left. Tyrion leaned his head back and relaxed. He took one more look at Inara before closing his eyes. He didn’t feel like sleeping but just breathing felt like a chore.
***
“Father.”
A hand was on his shoulder and Tyrion looked up to discover Emma leaning over him. She looked like a pale wraith. Her eyes were sunken and had dark circles beneath them. “You look terrible,” he told her.
Her impatience was written large across her face, “You’re dying.” Unspoken was another implication, he would soon be irrelevant.
“That’s likely,” he admitted, “but I can’t leave things unfinished. You have to be ready to take my place.”
“I don’t even know what you have been doing, or what you plan to do.”
“Let me show you,” he said, reaching for her hand.
She pulled away as though he might burn her. “It’s too late. I’ll find my own way.”
“You’ll fail,” he said bluntly.
“You already have,” she accused, covering her face with her palms. “Ryan is paying the price for that.”
“Not yet. There’s still time—if you help me. Otherwise his sacrifice will have been for nothing.” He glared up at her with all the vehemence in his face that a dying man could muster. Everything that had happened was his responsibility, but he was defiant still. “Curse me if you wish, but you want what I want. I can see it in your eyes.”
Emma’s hands were balled into fists but eventually she opened one and thrust it toward him, “Show me then and I will judge, and if I think you wasted Ryan’s future on pure folly I’ll choke the life from you right here.”
He took her hand and after a moment’s resistance their minds linked. Emma no longer felt like the same person he had met mind to mind only a day ago. Gone was the warmth, replaced by a dark turmoil that echoed his own. She was practically his soul’s twin now, filled with a towering rage. She hated him, almost, but not quite as much as she hated the She’Har.
Opening his memories, he showed her the weapon he would create. He felt her confusion at first, for the memories were not his own, but those of the She’Har, and the weapon was not easily identifiable as one at first. Her awe washed over him when she realized what it would do, followed by her recoil from the images of what it had done once before.
This is why you wouldn’t tell us…
Mentally he agreed with her, none of you would have gone along with this. You didn’t hate them enough. Only you, Emma, only you have the hatred and conviction to see this done if I fall.
And Brigid, she corrected.
But she doesn’t have the means, and she can’t lead the others.
This will be the end of us, of all of us, she responded. You can’t mean to do this.
Think! he commanded. The stasis boxes, the women we’ve taken, let me show you the rest. And he did, finally sharing the reason for the kidnappings, and revealing Ian’s role. For a moment, he feared she would recoil, but her malicious glee surprised him.
Her evil had become greater than his own. Where Tyrion had lacked empathy, Emma did not, but instead her personal pain had been transmuted into a desire to inflict the same suffering on their enemies.
With this we can survive, she realized with sudden understanding. Some of us, at least.
He broke contact. Emma was staring down at him with a look of malign admiration.
“What do you need?” she asked.
“Keep my disappearance a secret. Brigid will return with what you need, assuming I don’t die before I can create it. If I die, you will have to continue without me. No matter what, you must make sure the others don’t try to find me, if I don’t return.”
“I can do that,” she answered grimly. “But you’re too sick. You can’t do it.”
“You were nearly helpless when you tried to destroy the Centyr Grove,” he countered. “I don’t need strength for this. Our special gift doesn’t need power, we become the power we need.”
***
When Kate returned, she found Emma in their bedroom, gently rocking Inara in her arms. The bed was empty. “Where is he?” she asked in alarm.
“Gone,” answered Emma quietly.
“Where?! He’s sick! Why would you let him get out of the bed?”
Emma’s visage was serene, “He was dying anyway. I wouldn’t dream of trying to stop him doing what he wants. Brigid’s gone with him.” Standing, she held out the infant, forestalling Kate’s impending tirade.
Kate took Inara, and while furious, she still lowered her voice, “She’s mad, as are you if you let him leave like this. What will we do if something happens?”
“The same as always,” said Emma. “He’s left me in charge. I need to talk to the others.” And with that she left the room.
Chapter 24
The probabilities have collapsed, stated the First among the Illeniel Elders. We face the worst outcome.
Not the worst, said another. The worst is complete annihilation.
We should give up this course, said one of the youngest, an elder barely five hundred years old. There is time to find another solution.
You are naïve, objected the most senior.
Two millennia, that is a long time. We cannot be sure there is no other answer, continued the optimist.
Only to you, scoffed a new voice. We might prosper for two thousand years, but it will be for naught once the enemy finds us again.
Perhaps we can shift things once more. The better possibilities might resurface if we interfere.
And our last chance for survival might disappear completely, cautioned another.
Enough, said the First. Our doom fell when Ceylendo
r was permitted to examine the humans. We must accept our fate.
Even though we all perish? asked the youngest.
Our survival in the present means nothing if our kind become completely extinct two thousand years from now, rebuked one of them.
We must protect his child.
Which, the one with our gift or the one that bears our wisdom?
They were supposed to be the same.
But they are not, we must deal with what is, not what might have been.
Can we not save both?
That is unclear, pronounced the First. We can try, but the one bearing our wisdom must be the priority. We can more easily replace the one with the gift.
There is little time.
Another has been prepared already. It sleeps. If the need arises we can insure it awakes at the proper time, stated the First.
Why were we not told before?
Because I hoped it would not be necessary, admitted the First.
Surely we could prepare our children in the same fashion?
Humanity’s grudge will not allow it. We must fade from their memories or they will destroy our hope, said the First with a hint of sadness.
***
Tyrion’s belly felt as though it was on fire, yet he felt cold. Holding up one hand he stared at it. It was grotesquely swollen and he could not remember the last time he had felt the need to empty his bladder. His body was filling with fluid, and yet he still felt an unquenchable thirst.
My kidneys have shut down, and possibly my liver as well, he noted fuzzily. Madness cannot be far behind. The toxins in his blood would drown his sanity soon, not that he held much stock in the worth of sanity.
“I think this is the place,” said Brigid. It had been a long time since she had been so near home. As a child, she had not thought to try and memorize the place, but she was reasonably certain that the small cottage on the sloping hillside above them was that of Helen and Alan Tennick, Tyrion’s parents. “There are two people inside.”
He tried to focus his magesight, to see them once more, but while he could recognize their aythar he couldn’t see them clearly. “You found it,” he affirmed.
Brigid looked troubled, “Do you wish to visit them?”
“No, that would only create more trouble,” he said. “Take me beyond the house, up the hill to the right. Over the rise you’ll find a sloping pasture looking down on another hill. You can see Kate’s house from there. I’m sure you’ll recognize it.”
“Why there?”
Because it could be my grave! He wanted to shout it at her, but he didn’t have the strength, and she wouldn’t have understood the sentiment anyway. “The soil is better there,” he announced, making a pretense of having some rationale. But it’s still too shallow for proper growth. Even the strong roots of the She’Har would take forever to grow deeply there. “Thankfully, I don’t have to worry about growing for long.”
They proceeded as they had for most of the journey. Tyrion couldn’t walk, his daughter kept him suspended lightly with her aythar. It was rather like reclining on a bed of air. Jordan teleported them in short steps, taking them as far as he could see, a few hundred yards at a time.
It was an odd way to travel but it allowed them to cover ground faster than a man on a horse, or even someone flying on a dormon. The only downside was that teleporting so many times since leaving Albamarl had pushed Jordan to the brink of exhaustion.
Tyrion couldn’t have cared less.
When they found the place he sought, it was much as he remembered. It hadn’t been so many years after all, since he had sat there, playing his cittern and watching her home, hoping for a glimpse of coppery hair.
“Give it to me,” he commanded, directing his words to Brigid.
They had brought little with them, so his meaning was clear. She unslung the instrument she had over her shoulder and handed it to him. The cittern he had crafted while being kept as a slave. It was still strung with the strings his mother had given him. He stroked the body with rough hands, appreciating its feel one last time.
Brigid used her power to shape the ground, making it rise gently so he could recline without straining before she lowered him.
A cool breeze stroked his cheek while he looked down the hill, watching the house Kate had grown up in. Smoke still rose from the chimney, presumably because Seth and their son still lived there. In his heart, he wished for nothing more than to go back in time, to be young again, with nothing but the hope of seeing Kate to motivate him.
His fingers brushed the strings and the music she had wanted came to life. A lively tune that had nothing in common with the occasion, but his heart didn’t care. He played for several minutes, his swollen fingers tripping clumsily through a song too intricate for them to reproduce.
Then he handed the cittern to Brigid, “I won’t need this anymore.”
“What should I do with it?” she asked.
“Give it to my mother. She might find a use for it,” he answered. Motioning them back he shielded his body against heat and then he ignited the grass around him. It was already dry and within seconds he had a lively blaze going. He burned everything within ten yards of where he lay, grass, brush, and a couple of unfortunate stubby trees. Once he was satisfied he extinguished the flames.
Fire was easy, it fed itself, but controlling it was more effort. By the time he had put the fire out he was breathing heavily, a fact made more difficult by the smoke lingering in the air. A deep racking cough sent shivers of agony through his fevered body.
Brigid was thoughtful enough to send a strong gust of air once the flames were gone, clearing the air around him as she walked back. “What was the point of that?” she asked bluntly.
“Got rid of the weeds, and the ash will feed the soil,” he told her, still gasping. “Can you break the ground up for me? Turn it over and work the ash and cinders into it.”
She frowned, “It’s mostly rock, once you get past the first few inches.”
“I don’t think I have the strength,” he responded. “Just do the best you can.”
Her face was a picture of disgust as she stared down at the feeble man that was her father, but it softened as her expression shifted from pity to something approaching a kind sadness. “I will do more than that—for you,” she pronounced. “Watch.”
Jordan teleported twenty yards back as he felt the aythar begin to twist around her. The intensity of it sent adrenaline shooting through his bloodstream. The woman in front of him radiated danger.
Stretching one arm skyward, Brigid lifted her father softly into the air. The chain that was always near her went with him, circling him protectively as she directed her attention and her power downward. The aythar that surrounded her hardened into adamantine scythes before dipping into the earth and ripping through it.
The shallow soil yielded immediately, and the small rocks and gravel beneath that surrendered almost as quickly. The heavier boulders resisted for a moment but her power would not relent. A series of snapping cracks shook the air as they shattered and broke.
Down her power went, ever further, tearing and breaking as she ground the very bedrock to gravel with her will. The earth rippled and churned around her, as though she stood in the center of a watery maelstrom, untouched amid the chaos.
Tyrion watched her as she worked, marveling at her smooth features as she bent the entirety of her power to the task. Brigid had always been strong, that had never been in doubt. She was one of the strongest of his children, but her focus had become harder than steel, unforgiving and perfect. Her face betrayed no hint of the strain that dealing with so much aythar at once must be putting on her. To look upon her one might think she was merely enjoying the afternoon sunshine, except for the destructive storm of rock and soil that roiled just beneath her feet.
Brigid smiled and then the ground slowed before coming to a stop. A faint sheen of sweat covered her cheeks and brow, but if her labor had been tiresome, there was no other sign of it.
So beautiful, he thought as she lowered him to the shattered earth, and without an ounce of mercy in her, the perfect child of my vengeance.
“Jordan!” he called. When the Mordan mage had approached, he went on, “You cannot return to Albamarl.”
The other man’s brow furrowed, “What would you have me do then?”
“Come closer,” said Tyrion softly, “I have one more task for you.”
The mage leaned close and hardly twitched as a flicker of Tyrion’s aythar ignited one armblade. It slipped through Jordan’s chest and out between his shoulder blades as though his body were made of air. He fell across the older man as his life’s blood spilled frantically from his chest, covering both men. His heart ruined, his eyes dimmed quickly as Tyrion said a few more words in his ears, “The She’Har grow best when they have a body to consume during their germination.”
Brigid had a look of annoyance on her face as she looked down on them, “I’ll have to walk back. Was that really necessary, Father?”
Tyrion fought the urge to laugh, not only would it have been painful, but the man across his chest already made it hard for him to breathe. “You’re staying here,” he wheezed. “I couldn’t risk sending him back alone. Besides, I don’t know that I have the strength for this. His body may well make the difference.”
“How long will I have to remain?”
He sighed, “Most She’Har elders don’t attempt to produce krytek for years after they take root, but this is small, so I hope to be able within a few weeks, but I can’t be sure. You will have to be patient.”
Brigid nodded, “How will I know when it is ready?”
“I think I will be able to communicate with you,” he said, struggling to breathe. “If not, when the fruit falls to the ground. Be watchful, it won’t remain in its casing for more than a day after that. You must seal them in the stasis boxes before that, otherwise…”
“Are they that dangerous?”
“They wiped out billions of people in a matter of weeks,” he replied.
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