by Carol Berg
The scream told me that the warrior had succeeded in taking the demon captive, yet something jarred me about the scene, beyond the unbelievable speed of its resolution. Even as the man changed the sword back to a silver knife, ready to dispatch the demon should it choose death, I tried to recapture what I had seen. What was wrong?
A first-year student could have picked it out. The timing! The warrior had dispatched the monster after he had raised the mirror. But the mirror was only effective after the physical beast was dead. I had flinched because the demon beast had moved just before the sword bit into its gut. Too quick. Too easy. The Warden didn’t have the demon in his control. I wanted to cry out a warning, but I was drowned out by the bellowing demon. Because it was outside of physical form, it spoke in its own nerve-scraping voice, using the demon language, a tongue so vile you studied it only in daylight, lest your nights be forever filled with words of dread. “Never will I yield to such whining scum as you. Take me if you can.”
The knife flashed, the silver Warden’s knife that could be changed to whatever weapon was needed, that could slice through the incorporeal body of a demon if you could calculate exactly where that was. The faint mournful wail of a dying demon floated on the cooling breeze. The light began to brighten. The warrior knelt and opened his arms wide to embrace victory and peace.
But I had no peace. There had been no demon captured, so no demon was dead. Since I existed in that place, I would have felt it. Every demon death was a palpable alteration in the aspect of the universe. That was why we were so wary of killing them all. The change would be so monumental, we believed that nature could not tolerate it. Better to keep fighting than to destroy the very thing you were out to protect. But this one ... This demon was gone, but still alive. Unbound. This scene was all wrong.
“Warden, I challenge this claim of victory. This sham. This craven falsehood.” The thundering voice spoke the very thoughts in my head, but its source was a white-haired figure in a blue cloak who had walked onto the battlefield while I wasn’t looking. Galadon.
I rubbed my eyes and shifted senses back and forth, but still I saw what was impossible. Incredible enough that I was present, somehow able to observe a battle beyond a true portal, but now another had come there, and two humans faced each other on the battlefield.
The warrior was astonished also. “How in Verdonne’s name came you here, wicked old man?”
Blast and curse all treachery. The Warden was Rhys. No one but the three of us—Rhys, Ysanne, and myself—had ever dared call Galadon “wicked old man.”
“You think you have explored the depth and breadth of power, Warden, but it is only the depth and breadth of corruption. There are many aspects of melydda beyond those you know.”
“I know you have no business in this place ... and neither do I anymore. This battle is done. There is no sham. Let’s get out, then you will explain how it’s possible for you to be here.”
“You claim your business is done. Yet you have allowed a demon to leave this vessel unbound—yes, I saw it. You claim victory, yet it walks the earth again, free to take another for its pleasure. What mockery have you made of your oath?”
“You’re mad, old man. I killed the demon, as I’ve killed every one of them for ten years. It’s why they stay away from us and adhere to our bargain. No wonder you’ve twisted the ways of the world to follow me here. You’re afraid to face me with this accusation on a human plane where all can see how you’ve grown feeble with age.”
“I fear nothing save that your corruption continues unchecked. You will bring our people to ruin, and the rest of the world alongside.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about. If it weren’t for me, we would all be dead.” Rhys turned his back and walked off in the direction of the portal.
Galadon called after him. “You’ve not answered my challenge, boy. I demand satisfaction from you. Here. Now. Before your wickedness goes any further.”
Rhys halted and looked back. “You can’t mean this. I have no grievance with you ... save perhaps your everlasting blindness.”
“Others will know of this violation unless you silence me this day.”
What was Galadon doing?
Rhys hesitated, then strolled back toward our mentor. The old man leaned on his staff, the hot wind fluttering his white hair and blue robe. The two were so far away, yet I could hear them clearly, and through their words envision the stubborn resolve on Galadon’s face and the nervous cockiness on Rhys’s.
Yet it was not just fury that flowed from Rhys, but long-held pain and bitterness. “Who would believe you? They’ll see only the great teacher overtaken by age and grief when faced with the ruin of his favorite. Do you think my old friend can save us by playing at Warden’s training? Oh, yes, I’ve watched your games with him these past few nights. Sixteen years, old man. He cannot light a candle with his melydda. You’ve been afraid to test him, because you know it’s true. You just can’t bear to give up the hope. Perhaps it’s time you gave a little thought to the rest of us.”
“He is the Warrior. He will find what he needs. He will save us all—Ezzarian and Derzhi and Khelid. He was born for it.”
“What care have we for the Derzhi or the Khelid or the cursed Empire they desire? Let them exterminate each other. We’ll take care of whatever is left. Send your failed pupil back to his slave masters, old man. It is I who’s done what’s necessary to save us, because you were too busy mourning a dead man.” Rhys was only a few paces away from the figure in blue.
Galadon extended his arms to Rhys. “It is not your reason that speaks such cruelty, lad. Even now your jealous heart echoes the desires of rai-kirah, as it did the day you abandoned your dearest friend to slavers and tainted yourself with corruption. As it has since the day you lost your first battle and sold your soul to hide it. Did you think I wouldn’t guess what happened all those years ago? Did you think you could make such a bargain and never have to pay the price?”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“It is not too late. Put it away, my son. See your own gifts and crave not those that were never meant for you. Or tell me how long it will be until you look into your own mirror and see the eyes of a demon.”
With a roar Rhys raised his knife and changed it into a sword. Galadon did likewise with his staff. Though a formidable warrior in his youth, he would never have been a match for Rhys. Frantically I looked for a way down from the precipice. As far as I could see to the right or the left was a sheer drop to the razor-edged rocks below. Endless wastes behind me. There was no time. Rhys’s sword ripped Galadon’s shoulder, and the old man stumbled backward. Grotesque laughter assaulted my ears. From wherever he had gone, the demon watched and fed. Galadon stayed on his feet, but his sword wavered in the orange light. Rhys feinted, causing Galadon to stagger left, but the old man recovered and nicked Rhys with a powerful stroke. In pained rage Rhys beat Galadon back and back and back....
I could not permit it. Such a storm of anger and indignation came over me that I was incapable of reason or doubt. Galadon was going to die at the hand of my friend, and a demon was growing stronger as it happened. I could not stand back and watch it.
I closed my eyes and reached into the depths of my being, ripping away layer upon layer of fear and horror, pain and despair, shutting out grief, cooling anger, focusing my inner eye upon the essence, the core that gave shape to the soul named Seyonne. There I grasped the cold hard knot that lay where melydda had once lived, and I breathed upon it, willing it to take fire.
Without waiting to see what came of my working, I opened my eyes, stepped forward, and dived off the rocky precipice.
Chapter 29
I had no thoughts to spare for panic in that initial gut-wrenching plummet from the cliffs. I was desperately trying to remember what to do next. The words. Caedwyrrdin mesaffthyla. The movements. Hands just above your head, fingertips together, not clasped lest the jolt break your fingers. The legs, straig
ht and spread wide to slow your fall. Your back arched forward slightly to bear the strain. The senses. Feel the air. Read it, every nuance like the words on a page. Where are the rising airs? Where are the dangerous downdrafts? Be ready. No doubts. Doubts make you weak, and for this, strength is everything.
I could not watch the battle on the plains, only cry out a quick promise. “Hold on, master. I’ll come for you. I will.” And even that was obliterated when the fire began to burn in my shoulders. Oh, gods of earth and sky ... it came, rippling along my arms and back like the searing touch of lightning. In that fleeting instant I thought of Aleksander and the torment of his transformation. How differently such agony can be perceived. For when my wings unfurled and came near yanking my shoulders from their sockets, and as I bent my bones and strained my muscles to their searing limits to bring them under control, I cried out, not with the pain, but with the heart-bursting ecstasy of such magic.
Extend . . . curve the lower veins to catch more air. Sense each nerve connection as it’s made so you can control it instantly—like learning to walk all over again in a tenth of a second with a floor of broken glass beneath your feet. How long had it taken? By the time I had full control and was in more of a soaring dive than a full plummet, I was much too close to the jagged rocks. The thin membranes spread out beside and behind me were not immune to rips. A haze of dust hung over the battlefield as I pulled hard to the right and caught the uprising wind that would carry me toward the two vague shapes. One silver—upright, sword raised. One blue. Bent over. Retreating.
“Hold, Warden!” I cried. “This place is not yours. This life is not forfeit.”
The figure in silver gaped upward in astonishment and dismay. With one sweep of a gathered wing, I knocked him to his knees just as my feet touched the ground. The move was one of my favorites, but I was unpracticed, awkward, and it made my landing unsteady. Rhys recovered quicker and jumped to his feet. “So you’re not entirely dead?” he said as he backed away, his eyes wide, staring at the extent of my transformation.
“Master, are you badly hurt?” I called over my shoulder while holding Rhys at bay with melydda.
“All is well,” came the harsh voice from behind me.
“I never believed you when you told me about the wings,” said Rhys. “I thought you were trying to prove you were better than the rest of us.” With a blurred motion, he changed his knife into a spear, but I was quicker and swept it aside with the fingers of my power. It dropped to the ground, only a knife again. Rhys stepped back, guarded, watching, ready to call down some enchantment if I moved again.
But I didn’t move, only stood my ground between him and Galadon. I needed to understand. “What’s happened to you?” I said. “We were friends. Brothers. It never mattered who was stronger or faster, or who had wings and who did not.”
“It never mattered to you,” he said bitterly. “But when did you ask me or Ysanne? You got so caught up in your glory, and you took Ysanne as if she were your right.”
“Is that what this is about? You wanted Ysanne?”
“You never knew her. For three years she spent her days and nights with you, offered you everything, but you would go off into your everlasting silences, leaving her alone as if she were only some annoyance to your purity. Ask her why you could not be with both of us together—because she could not bear to hurt you. Always it was you. No one could match you. No one could help you. You had to be the strongest and do everything alone. It couldn’t go on. Then came the war ... before she could tell you that it was me she loved.”
“If you hated me so much, you should have killed me outright. Was it so hard to tell me the truth that you had to make me a slave? Shall I describe what it was like, how I could not hold off their horrors because I had to bury the memory of what you did? Gods, Rhys. I loved you both. I would have done anything for either of you.”
He spit at my feet and shifted his stance, edging closer to his fallen weapon as if I didn’t notice. “Didn’t you hear what I said? We didn’t want you to do anything for us.” In a move so swift and smooth I almost missed it, Rhys dropped to the ground, rolled to the right, and launched his silver knife at my heart. But I slowed the knife, holding it off just long enough to soar upward, out of the way. The glittering weapon, changed to a spear, sped past to strike the earth.
“So which did the demons take first, you or Ysanne?” I said angrily, touching my feet to the ground. I snatched his weapon from where it had fallen, as he scrambled backward.
“You don’t know anything,” he said. “I’ll take care of the demons. We’ll be stronger because of what I’ve done. And I’ll not allow you to get in the way.” He nodded his head to something behind me. “You should see to the old fool. He fares ill.” Then he leaped to his feet, turned his back, and walked away.
I glanced over my shoulder. Galadon lay facedown on the red earth. Unmoving. I let Rhys go and hurried to the old man, cursing my delay. “Master, can you hear me?” I said, rolling him onto his back.
The old man was struggling to breathe. A gaping wound in his chest had robbed him of far too much blood. “I was right,” he said fiercely. “Say it.”
“You were right. Of course you were. Was there no easier way to convince me?”
“Now show me,” he said, his red-rimmed eyes blinking away tears. “I’ve yearned to see ... since you told me about it that first time when you were a boy. So young. So young to have such power.”
“I need to get you—”
“Show me.” All the ferocity of his spirit was expended in the demand. A demon could not have refused him.
I shifted him enough that he could rest against a rock, then I stepped back and held my hands high above my head, whispering a wind spell so that my wings were completely spread and filled with air. The rippling pattern of the gossamer strands fell on Galadon’s smiling face. “Son of my heart.” He sighed. “Come close now.”
I knelt beside him again, and he pulled my ear down to his mouth, scarcely able to form the words. “Don’t ... harden ... your heart. Don’t believe all that you ...” When he did not continue, I pulled away to look. He had stopped breathing.
I had no time to mourn his passing. The light flickered, and I glanced up. The twin suns wobbled in circles about each other, and the dirt beneath my feet shifted uneasily. The portal ... Ysanne. Powers of night, they were shutting down the portal. I couldn’t believe it. No matter what else they’d done ... to shut a portal on a living man ...
I gathered Galadon’s too light body in my arms and spoke the wind again. “Now. Here.” A mighty gust picked us up, swirling dust into my eyes as I worked it, faltering, remembering, feeling, concentrating. The staggering suns began to dim, and I strained to see the portal through the dust and the fading light. A whirlwind could slam me to the disintegrating land. Rocks crashed to the surface, shattering into brittle shards that were snatched into the air and threatened to shred my wings. I fought to go higher, out of the debris, to see beyond the darkening haze. The portal was flickering. Fading. It was too far.
“Aife! Don’t leave me here!” I cried. “Face me. Tell me what I’ve done. But not this ...”
The gray rectangle disappeared, swallowed by the midnight darkness rolling in from the horizons. Rocks and tangled shrubs flew wildly through the air. There was no longer any solid place to land. When I tired enough that I could not fly, we would fall—the lifeless Galadon and I—into the abyss. Demon music wailed through the chaos as I struggled to stay oriented. Perhaps the portal was still there, hidden by the darkness ...
“There’s another.” The soft words were like a finger poking into my mind. “Hurry. Soar high, love.”
Another? Another portal? Of course there was another. The one I had used to enter. Catrin’s portal. But where was it? Everything had changed. Panic threatened to disintegrate me as surely as the chaos devoured the landscape. Reverse course. Don’t get caught in a circular wind. The wind is behind you now, so the place will come up fast
er ... on the right.... My back and shoulders ached with fatigue. My legs dragged. Galadon, so light when I lifted his body, weighed like one of the red boulders, but I would not leave him in that place. Veer right. Now look for it. Careful of the updraft.
“This way,” said the voice, so faint it was almost unhearable, yet leading me higher and always to the right. “Hurry.”
A glimmer of gray. A straight line in a place where nothing was straight. You must land perfectly on the edge, lest you fall backward. Hurry. Wavering, wobbling, at the end of my strength, I dived for the flickering rectangle ...
... and banged my head on a stone platform, briefly knocking the wind out of myself on the very solid ground to which I returned.
“Seyonne! You’ve got to wake up.” A hand shook my shoulder so hard it rattled my teeth.
Wake up? Was it an illusion, then? All the emotions that sped through my mind: elation ... disappointment ... anger ... grief ... were they nothing but dream stuff? It seemed such a waste. “I don’t think I’m asleep.”
My next movement told me it had been no dream. The wings were gone, sloughed off like an old shirt as I passed through the portal, but the muscles in my shoulders and back spoke clearly of activities altogether beyond those of slaves. And so, Galadon ...
I flicked open my eyes to see Catrin crouched over me. Her small face was tired and filled with grief and worry; her green gown was stained with blood.
“I’m sorry,” I said, the entirety of the night’s events filling me to overflowing. “I wasn’t fast enough.”
“He didn’t expect to survive it.” She straightened up and moved away.
