Mistress of Winter

by Giles Carwyn

  Galliana, seated on the mattress next to her, picked up the cloth and set it back against Shara’s forehead.

  “He’s hurt,” Shara murmured. “He needs—”

  “You’re hurt,” Galliana said, her dark blue eyes solemn. Her smooth cheeks were slightly flushed, and her placid expression seemed brittle.

  Shara closed her eyes and breathed strength into herself. Galliana was right. She was hurt, badly hurt. The memories came slowly. She couldn’t remember anything after that terrifying fall in the dream. She thought she had died, but somehow she woke up on the blood-soaked grass, lost and confused. She’d never felt so adrift, so disconnected to her mind and body. Mutilated corpses lay around her; Arefaine was still unconscious, but Brophy, Baelandra, and Issefyn were gone. She heard Brophy shout, and she ran after him, tried to stop him…And he had hit her, struck her so hard she must have blacked out.

  “I need to find him,” she said, struggling against the hands that held her down.

  “Not yet, Shara,” Caleb said, holding her hands still. “We will find him. I have sent Zelani to sweep the city, and, of course, the soldiers are searching, too.”

  Shara shook her head. “No, he’s not himself. He’s dangerous.”

  “Then lock him in a cell,” Galliana said, her eyes flashing.

  Shara glanced at her, pausing at the force in Galliana’s voice. “He needs help. He needs time to—”

  Galliana’s nostrils flared, but she said nothing. Carefully folding the cloth and putting it on Shara’s nightstand, she stood up, smoothing her dress.

  “Gallian—”

  “He nearly killed you,” she said. “You should see your face.”

  Shara reached up and touched her eye again. Her cheek was swollen from her ear to her nose.

  “You don’t understand. He’s confused. He didn’t—”

  “—didn’t mean to hit you,” she interrupted, staring at the wall. “It was an accident? My mother used to say the exact same thing.”

  Shara wanted to laugh, or to cry. “This isn’t the same; you can’t imagine the place he has been for the last eighteen years.”

  “And that means he can beat you?”

  “No, no. It was my fault. I should have seen it. I should have been more careful.”

  “She used to say that, too.” Galliana turned and walked stiffly to the door. “Just before she died.”

  “Galliana.”

  Shara’s niece paused with the doorknob in her fist. In a calm, even voice, she said over her shoulder, “Did he ever hit you before?”

  “No, of course not!” Shara said, as the image of Brophy’s sword plunging into her belly flashed through her mind. She closed her eyes, fought her throbbing head, and pushed the image from her mind.

  “If he did it once, he’ll do it again. If you don’t believe that, you’re a bigger fool than my mother.”

  Shara winced, remembering the image of her sister’s battered face, plucked from Galliana’s mind when the girl first arrived in Ohndarien.

  “Brophy would never do that on purpose,” she assured her niece.

  “Then the black emmeria has him, and you should lock him up. Or kill him.” She slammed the door behind her.

  Dread crept into Shara’s heart, as she remembered those last seconds before Brophy hit her. He hadn’t looked like himself at all. His face was contorted with a mindless rage. He was about to kill Astor.

  Looking at Caleb, she said, “Is Astor—?”

  “Alive,” Caleb said. “Grieving for his mother.”

  “What?”

  “Brophy killed her.”

  “What?” The room spun. Shara couldn’t draw a breath.

  “She was nearly corrupted, and he cut her down from behind.”

  Shara brought her hands up to her face. “Baelandra…”

  “Those bells are ringing for her funeral,” Caleb said, pulling her into an embrace.

  She heard the mourning bells now, faint outside the window, echoing throughout the city. Sweet Baelandra, gone forever…

  She pushed Caleb away. “Does Brophy know? I have to find him!”

  “You should rest, Shara,” Caleb said softly, still feeding her energy.

  “No.” Closing her eyes, she wrenched power from her tumultuous emotions, bending her pain to her will. She sent her awareness out of her room, through the walls of the Zelani school, and out into the city. Her stomach lurched against the strain, and her head began to throb immediately. Bearing down with her will, she forged on. With an effort that brought stabbing pain to her head, she forced her thoughts into focus and reached across the city, searching.

  Ohndarien was in an uproar. Shock, grief, and anger assaulted her from a thousand directions at once. That was how they would remember the day the Sleeping Warden finally woke. It was not the beginning of another Nightmare War, as the council had feared, but it was far from the dream that Shara had envisioned. The mourning bells tolled steadily, telling Ohndarien’s citizens the price that had been paid for Brophy’s return. A life for a life. The most beloved Sister in a century was dead.

  Shara shielded herself from everyone’s feelings and surged ahead, looking for that one lost voice amid the chorus of anguish. She knew where to find him, knew where he must have gone. Focusing her magic, she sent her awareness east, up the ridge. If Brophy was hurting, he would find someplace lonely, someplace high.

  Her ani reached the upper end of the last street where the ground became too steep and too rocky to build houses. The last few homes butted up against a hopeless jumble of boulders that jutted upward at a sharp angle all the way to the top of the wall. Shara had explored those boulders with Brophy and Trent when she’d run away from the Zelani school so long ago. It seemed a hundred years. Those days are lost now, she thought. A vague memory of someone else’s life, and barely that.

  She flowed through the narrow gaps between the vast boulders until she found him huddling in a narrow crevice like a frightened animal. He was so young, so lost that it made her heart ache. Had Arefaine been right? Had Shara abandoned him to years of torture and misery?

  The Brophy she had known would never have cut someone down from behind. The Brophy she knew was a gentle soul. She barely recognized the bundle of rage and despair that huddled in torment, hiding from a world he saw as his enemy.

  “Brophy,” she said softly.

  He leapt to his feet so fast she started. His emotions surged, flying around him in an inferno. Waves of pain crashed into Shara. Her concentration lurched, and she lost him.

  “Shara,” Caleb said, shaking her gently. “Stop. You’ll hurt yourself. You don’t have the strength.”

  She opened her eyes, still in her bed. Her heartbeats pounded against her skull, and she felt her consciousness ebbing. “Brophy…” she murmured weakly. “He’s there…The boulders…”

  “He’ll be all right. But you need rest.” Caleb’s gentle magic flowed into her, easing her pain, ushering her toward sleep. She fought him for a moment, but his ani swept her away like a leaf in the wind.

  Caleb’s lips brushed her cheek, kissed her softly. “Rest, my love. Rest and regain your strength. Brophy can wait.”

  CHAPTER 28

  Brophy,” Shara’s voice said softly.

  He leapt to his feet, smacking his head against the cold stone. His fists clenched at his sides, the knuckles white and hard as marble.

  Brophy had crammed himself deep into a tiny crevice between two cliffs. Sweat streamed down his face, and his arms twitched. He whirled around, looking for the source of the voice, but there was nothing around him except cold stone and deep shadows. The voice was in his head, like all the others.

  He could still feel the side of his fist smashing into Shara’s skull. He’d lost her in the nightmare, never believing that she would return? He’d needed her so badly through those dark times, yet the moment she returned, he struck her down.

  Brophy pressed his hands against the reassuringly solid stone and pounded his skul
l against it twice. He had to get control of himself. He had to shut out the distant screams, the sudden floods of fury.

  He was hungry, thirsty, tired, but he couldn’t go into the city. The damage he’d already done…He couldn’t bear to think of it.

  This wasn’t just another dream. He knew that now with agonizing clarity. The bells tolled for the Sister of Autumn. Aunt Baelandra. He knew. He’d seen the red hair on that head lying on the grass.

  He slumped back against the rock, sliding into a crouch. He jammed the heels of his hands against his brow. He’d killed her without the slightest hesitation. Cut her down from behind!

  The dream was over, but the nightmare continued. He was trapped, imprisoned in someone else’s hate, someone else’s rage. His body was free, but the Fiend somehow still had a hold over him. Somewhere deep in Brophy’s soul, he felt the rot of corruption slithering, spreading. He couldn’t root it out, couldn’t purge it, couldn’t escape it.

  Even worse, a part of him didn’t want to escape. He ached to embrace his feelings, run with them. He longed to feel the power coursing through his arms, his legs. He could ride that wave of power to a place past all fear, all doubt, all caring. He’d just killed his own aunt, and all he wanted was to let go and kill more and more and more. That was freedom, that was joy!

  Brophy slammed his forehead into the stone again, leaving a little smear of blood. I’m not free of it. I’ll never be free of it.

  He looked through the narrow fissure at the boulder-strewn slope rising above him. He could climb the hill all the way to the wall overlooking the Summer Seas. He could go there. He could jump. Wouldn’t that be better? For him? For Ohndarien?

  Brophy closed his eyes and leaned his head against the cold stone. He concentrated on his breathing. Just keep breathing, he told himself. Just keep breathing.

  Brophy woke again, leaping to his feet. He’d heard something. Someone was coming.

  He looked to his right and left along the narrow crevice, ready to run, but not sure which way to go. He saw a faint light in the distance and ran in the opposite direction. He wanted his sword back, wanted to use it, wanted to make the monster pay.

  The light came closer and closer, and Brophy doubled his speed, scraping his shoulders against the narrow sides of the fissure. He reached the end of the constriction between the two cliffs and leapt onto an unstable scree slope between boulders the size of houses. He spun to face his pursuer.

  The tiny floating light drifted toward him. He picked up a rock, hurled it. The stone passed right through the glowing ball and clattered off the rock walls behind it. Brophy slowly backed away, his breath coming faster.

  It approached slowly, and Brophy hesitated. The glowing ball was no bigger than a pebble, but he could feel its gentle warmth on his face. He backed into a little alcove between two boulders. The light stopped a few feet away from him, and its faint glow seemed to seep into his chest, soothing his pounding heart. Brophy held out his hand, and the light gently landed on his palm, filling his arm with a welcome glow. He drew a shuddering breath as the warmth spread throughout his body. He sank to his knees and drew the little light to his chest, pressing it against his heartstone with both hands.

  “I see you two have met,” a woman’s soft voice said from around the corner, just beyond the edge of the alcove.

  Brophy jumped up, his hand reached reflexively for the Sword of Autumn, but it was gone.

  The woman’s thin silhouette appeared at the narrow entrance to the alcove. The tiny light flew back to her, and his heart ached as it left him. It spiraled around her head, illuminating her long dark hair. Her ice-blue eyes shone in the shadows.

  “You’re the one from the dream,” he said, retreating until his back was pressed against the chilly stone.

  “Yes.”

  “You did this. You woke me up.”

  “Just as you did for me so many years ago.”

  The young woman with the powdered face stepped closer, trapping him in the narrow dead end with no escape.

  “Stay back,” he warned. He wanted the light back. He needed the light back. Glancing down, he picked the stone he would throw if he needed to.

  “I’m here to help you, Brophy.” She took a step forward, her long robes flowing over the jagged stones.

  “Stop,” he warned again. He looked at the stones. His fingers ached to snatch one up, to crush her skull with it, paint the rocks with her blood.

  He shook the image from his mind. He had get away, run into the wilds of Physendria or the Vastness, away from everyone; until he could control it, learn to fight it. “Get out of here while you still can,” he growled, barely able to get the words out. His arms twitched. He could gut the bitch, steal the light from her.

  “No. I’m not leaving you, Brophy. I know where you’ve been, and I know the path back home. We’re going to walk out of here together.” She approached slowly and crouched a few feet away.

  “Please, just go.” He clenched and unclenched his fists. The howling voices grew louder, making it harder to think. “It still has me. I won’t be able to stop myself.”

  “You can’t hurt me,” she said.

  His arms trembled, and he took a step toward her. He stared at her delicate neck, imagined it snapping in his hands. “Oh, yes I can,” he said, his voice deep and husky.

  The voices raced through his head, and his entire body began to vibrate. He would rip her chest open; taste her beating heart. With a snarl, he leapt upon her. The voices screamed in triumph.

  She slipped to the side, lithe as a shadow. Brophy caught his balance on the loose rocks and spun, lashing out with his fist. She caught his wrist in her hand. Her gritted teeth glimmered white. Her thin arm trembled, but she held his arm with inhuman strength.

  He wrenched his arm free and lunged for her neck. She let out a powerful, melodic note. He froze for an instant, arms outstretched.

  She slipped past him and vaulted to the top of a boulder in three goatlike jumps. “You can’t hurt me, Brophy. I’m as strong as you are.”

  With a grunt, he broke free of her spell and turned to face her. He snatched up a rock and pulled his arm back to throw.

  Her blue eyes met his, calm and unafraid.

  He squeezed the stone, imagined it smashing into her powdered face, splattering her brains across the rocks behind her. His arm vibrated, aching to throw.

  “No,” he screamed, and hurled the rock away from her. It shattered against the cliff, pelting him with shards of stone.

  Brophy sank to hands and knees, panting uncontrollably. For a few moments his mind was blissfully empty, but only for a few moments. The voices slowly crept back into the far corners of his mind. He fought to control them, fought to keep them back in the shadows.

  “You see?” she said. “You can master it. You are so much stronger than you think. It took me years to do what you just did. The emmeria is only a tool. Like any other tool, it can be mastered by a strong hand.”

  “I can’t…” he said, gripping the stones under his hands. “I killed Bae! I almost killed Shara. I almost killed you.” He slammed his fists into the rocky ground.

  “It’s all right,” she said. She nimbly leapt down the rock and came to his side. He looked up into her bright eyes. “I’ve been there,” she said softly. “I’ve come back from there. I know the way out.”

  “How?”

  She knelt before him and brushed the sweaty hair out of his eyes. “I had help. A lot of help.”

  The little light drifted out of the sleeve of her robe and descended onto his palm. He raised it to his face and breathed in the warmth. His mind slowed, the constriction in his chest relaxed a bit, making it easier to breathe.

  “What is this?”

  “An old friend of yours. His name is Lewlem.”

  Brophy looked up at her. “This isn’t actually—”

  She smiled. “Yes. It is the same Father Lewlem that helped bring the two of us to Ohndarien.”

  “How?”
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  “Magic,” she said with a wink, and helped him to his feet. “That little light has watched over me through some very dark times. I lived in nightmare far longer than you, and was just as lost when I emerged. You saw the Nightmare Battle in your dreams; I saw the Fall of Efften. Everything I knew and loved was ravaged before my eyes. Even now, when I’m awake, I still see Silver Islanders with glowing red eyes, raping, killing, destroying everything that is beautiful in the world.

  “My body did not age in that place, but my mind did. I grew up in that nightmare world. If not for Grandfather Lewlem’s love, I would never have escaped it.”

  “You’re really that baby I carried all the way from the Cinder?”

  “Yes. I told you before, you and I are kin, linked by blood and by fate. I came here to save you the way you saved me.”

  Brophy turned away, not wanting to see the depth of emotion on her face. The anguished voices were returning. He could not keep them at bay. “I don’t think I can be saved. I don’t think it’s possible.”

  She laughed. “You, who have held all the evil magic in the world at bay, are very quick to point out what is not possible.”

  “Just go, please,” he said, clutching the light to his chest.

  She looked at him for a long time with a sad smile, then said, “Very well, if you insist, but I have something for you first.” Her fingers slipped into the neck of her robe.

  She withdrew two silver chains. Each had a crystal shard dangling from it, one white, one red. Brophy touched the hard, red diamond in his own chest. Lewlem slipped through his hand and flew back to Arefaine.

  She held up one of the two heartstones. Lewlem’s light danced along the crimson facets as it twisted on its chain. “This one was your father’s.”

  “Where did you get that?” Brophy asked, his gaze never leaving the stone.

  “You gave it to me.”

  “Me?”

  “When I was still a baby. You bound these stones to my wound to slow the spread of the emmeria. They’ve been with me ever since, but I’m sure your father would want you to have his stone.”