Wandering Lark

by Laura J Underwood

  He lay there panting, seeking to draw essence from himself in order to call back the shield, but his nerve ends felt numb with exhaustion. Je’Rhel stood smiling.

  “You have no more strength, Lark,” the demon said. “Pity.”

  Je’Rhel crouched and eyed Alaric from those brilliant blue eyes. “Perhaps I should put you inside a soul stone instead. Yes...then I could carry you with me forever. Let you see what it is like to be a prisoner.”

  “I didn’t make you a prisoner,” Alaric said.

  “No, you didn’t. Still, I cannot say that I do not have a certain fondness for you, Lark. And it would be fun to have you around.” Je’Rhel smiled and his voice took on that honey sweetness it did every time he forced Alaric to do something against his will. “Try to imagine it. Your soul compacted into a mere fragment of stone. Unable to move. Unable to see.”

  The Elderkin’s words weighed on Alaric’s thoughts and senses. He could feel himself being pressed into a space so confining, he could scarcely breathe. Like a cupboard locked by errant sisters. Like a truck that locked down its own lid. It closed around him, strangling his senses.

  No, stop! Alaric thought in vain.

  “Feeling rather close?” Je’Rhel said in a teasing way. “Oh, yes, you are afraid of small dark spaces are you not? Perhaps I would put you in obsidian where a tiny bit of dim light would manage to get in. Then again, I think it would be more fun to hold your soul within granite where it will be grainy and rough, and everytime you dared to move, you would wear a bit more of your essence away...”

  The words continued to swirl around Alaric, pushing his mind into the dark and giving him a taste of oblivion for an eternity. His heart tried to crawl into his throat. His lungs heaved as though they would collapse. And all he could hear was a faint buzzing, like that of bees...

  Bees? Shona is afraid of bees—just as I am afraid of small places.

  But Shona had promised to protect him from small places, just as he had promised to protect her from bees.

  How could he dare fail her now?

  I am not that child sniveling in a dark trunk!

  He roared those words in his head. And anyway, he scolded himself, he needed to stop those damned bees. That knowledge of having a purpose, no matter how small, gave him something to focus on.

  So he lashed out, swatting with his hand as he called out, “Adhar clach buail!” And in doing so, he hit Je’Rhel so hard and fast in the nose, the Elderkin was stunned and knocked backwards.

  Je’Rhel screamed and lunged back to his feet. “You will pay for that. Forget the stone! I will obliterate you!”

  He raised his hand, and it filled with a ball of lightning.

  No! Alaric scrambled to get up. No! He wasn’t ready to die. He reached for power, but there was none left. His chest ached as though every ounce of what he had once had was gone.

  “Alaric!”

  His name rang like a song, full of demonic power, and the bitterness of cloves dressed Alaric’s tongue. Woven into that song was Vagner’s unearthly call. “I give all that I am to you,” it sang. “Do as you will with my essence. Be demon with me, and we will defeat this braggart at his own game!”

  Vagner? Alaric felt the essence of the demon filling him. Strength flooded his limbs. Part of his essences shifted and changed. He did not so much rise from the ground as sprang from it with unnatural agility. Just as Je’Rhel threw the ball of lightning, Alaric leapt into the air.

  I’ve got wings! His essence felt like an amalgamation of his own shape and Vagner’s true form.

  “They’re mine, actually,” Vagner’s voice laughed inside him, and Alaric felt the joy as though it were his own. “But of course, you can use them as often as you like, since I will not be needing them. Now, shall we rid our body of this unwelcome intruder forever?”

  “Lets!” Alaric said. He soared around the edged of the platform of light, glowering balefully at the white-skinned form below.

  “This cannot be!” Je’Rhel shouted. “The Balance forbids it!”

  “The Balance is why we two must stop you,” Alaric said, for he could feel the words of the dragon swirling in Vagner’s essence as well.

  He dove at Je’Rhel, flying fast and furious, shifting only at the last moment so that he slammed feet first into the Elderkin’s chest. The power of that blow had demon strength behind it. Je’Rhel could not stand upright. He fell, skittering towards the edge of light. Alaric landed on the platform as the Elderkin sought to scramble upright again. But before Je’Rhel could begin another attack, Alaric seized at the light. With demon magic, he formed it into a quarterstaff and slung the end at Je’Rhel’s head. It struck the Elderkin hard and sent him sliding once more.

  Je’Rhel screamed, and his form shifted. He became Ronan Tey, battered, beaten and missing one hand, lying there looking helpless and sad. “Lark, please.”

  Alaric shouted and lunged to strike once more. Je’Rhel changed forms again. Now he was Marda, old and frail on her deathbed. But Alaric had demon eyes as well as mage eyes, and he could see the creature smiling wickedly behind the pitiful mask.

  “That won’t work!” Alaric shouted and finished his strike.

  The hideous sound of bone crunching reached his ears. Marda’s voice shrieked, “Alaric, stop!” He closed his ears to the sound and struck again, letting all the anger that was in him out with every blow. Je’Rhel lost Marda’s shape as the Elderkin fell.

  For a moment, Alaric stood there, glowering at the creature whose blood flowed dark crimson from the various wounds.

  “Why do you hesitate?” Je’Rhel asked.

  Alaric blinked. Why indeed? All the cause of his suffering for the last few months was lying on the ground. You would have killed me and taken my flesh. You who lied to me, who deceived me and all that were around me as well! I hate you, monster, I hate you for everything you have done to me!

  So why did he not finish it now? Was it because a small part of him still loved what Ronan Tey had been? His mentor? His teacher? His friend?

  My betrayer?

  Je’Rhel smiled. “I knew you could not do it, Lark,” he said and started to rise. “Your heart is too soft to be a true Demon-Bound. You do not have the will to finish this...”

  “Oh, yes I do!” Alaric hissed through gritted teeth. “If I have learned one thing from you, monster, it is that I do have the will...”

  The quarterstaff shifted in his hands and became a sword of light. He shouted and struck the final blow with every ounce of demon strength he could muster. The Elderkin looked briefly surprised as light plunged like steel into his chest and found his heart. Warm blood sprayed everywhere. Then almost effortlessly, Jo’Rhel wilted and fluttered into the dark of the Void.

  Alaric felt the sword fall from his hands, but it disappeared before it even hit the ground. Cold crept into his left hand...the ring. He looked at it just as the silver became like liquid and ran down his finger, and it too disappeared before it touched the light.

  “We don’t need that any more,” Vagner said.

  He took a deep breath and felt the demon essence that was Vagner sliding away. Once the strength of the demon withdrew, exhaustion overwhelmed Alaric and took all awareness away.

  But not before he heard Vagner whisper, “We are both free now, Alaric Braidwine...”

  SIXTY-SEVEN

  Darkness filtered through the windows, but Talena had called light and it came. Perhaps she should not have summoned it, for any who saw her now would be witness to the tears in her eyes as she walked over to the door. The guard there stepped back as though knowing what was about to happen.

  She reached out with her hand and touched the door and willed it to open.

  And it did.

  Slowly, she stepped out into the hall.

  The Queen was there, holding out her arms, smiling.

  “Welcome home,” she said. “Your mother would be so pleased to see you now...”

  Talena hesitated. Affection was not a par
t of her usual behavior. Still, she looked at the small woman who so trustingly stood before her, and knew there was nothing else she could do but fall into those arms.

  I am home, she thought.

  And it felt right to be there.

  A bird twittered nervously outside the tower window. Etienne sat in the window and stared at the thin rime of morning light that had managed to cut through the Keltoran clouds. That was a rare sight. Sunrise. She had seen so few of them in this place.

  Perhaps this was the last time she would see the sun rise, and so it had done so as a special treat to her. The Council trial was today. Turlough was certain he would get his way. And if he did, she and Fenelon and Gareth and all the others would be sundered of their power. And then...who knew? If the Council could be swayed to take their power, it might just as easily be swayed to steal their lives...

  She glanced about the room. The others were lying on pallets. Fenelon and his father were sitting together... Like her, they had not slept most of the night.

  “Surely he would not be so stupid,” Fenelon said.

  “He’s mad,” Gareth replied. “Of course, he will do whatever he can to convince them that this is for the better of the world.”

  Etienne sighed. Shona was napping. Wendon and Thala were wrapped in one another’s arms in the corner. She had been allowed to come from the Temple of Diancecht to be with him.

  Well, at least the Temple would take her out before the worst happened. And Turlough at least promised that Shona and Wendon would be spared death since clearly they were but pawns of their masters. And she supposed if she was so petty, she could have pleaded innocence and sworn that it was Fenelon’s charm that swayed her to do all this. But she knew better. I did what I did because I believed it to be right.

  Alas, she just wished the price had not been so high.

  Then again, she could probably go back to being a healer in her own land.

  Assuming they let her leave? Could she truly trust anything Turlough promised to be true?

  Fenelon seemed to know she was being troubled by her thoughts. He came over and sat down beside her and looked out the window.

  “My, my,” he said. “Sunshine. Never thought I would see that in Keltora.”

  She smiled. He took her hands.

  “Hey...we’ll be all right,” he said.

  “Of course, we will,” she agreed. “I just hope Alaric is...”

  Fenelon sighed. “You know, I do wish those Hidden Folk had not been so eager to keep us out of Garrowye. Just think of the wonders that must be there. I envy Alaric, getting to go someplace new...someplace that no mageborn has been since the beginning of time...”

  She smiled. That was the Fenelon she knew, and just hearing him say such things brought tears to her eyes.

  “Sorry I got you into all this,” Fenelon said. And he kissed her softly.

  She would have let the kiss go on as long as possible, but the door clattered a bit. It opened, and a host of mageborn guards began to filter in. Servants came as well, carrying trays of food. Others dragged tubs and buckets of water and curtains for privacy and fresh clothes.

  “You are to be fed, bathed and dressed within the hour,” one of the guards said. “The High Mage has ordered that each of you be manacled and gagged, and then we shall take you down to the Council Chamber.”

  With that, the guards and the servants left. Etienne looked at the food, the tubs...the clothes.

  “Oh, dear,” she said.

  “What?” Fenelon asked.

  “I’ve never much liked that robe. Blue and white make me look like a wraith.”

  Fenelon smiled.

  The chattering of a jackdaw roused Alaric from the depths of slumber. He stretched and opened his eyes to find that he was lying in a vaguely familiar bed.

  How long had he slept? His body felt sated from a good slumber. But his mind kept trying to reorient itself to the last thing he remembered. Then again, maybe it was too early to try to remember anything.

  With a sigh, he sat up in the luxurious bed...

  I’m back at the White Palace, he thought. A warm wind rustled the gossamer drapes that covered the large open archway leading out to the balcony. To one side, a chair contained new clothes that looked like those he had worn before he came to Garrowye.

  How odd, he thought. Had he dreamed everything that had passed?

  There was a bath ready and waiting, and steaming cups of some brew. All fresh as though someone had known the precise hour he would awaken. He sighed and threw back the covers, looking down at his body...

  Yes, it was his body. That much he felt certain of. And he was going to take great pleasure in plunging it into that tub and ridding himself of the...

  He frowned. There were no aches. No pain. But how?

  With a shrug, he slipped off the bed and hurried across the floor. The tub water was just right, and he sank into it, letting the warmth soak into him. Then he picked up the scrubbing cloths and started to wash himself, still curious as to why there was not a single mark or scar or...

  His gaze fell on his left hand. Where was the silver ring? He had only a vague recollection of it slithering off his hand like quicksilver before disappearing. He looked at the other hand, frowning. Where was the demon’s mark? What? How? He turned his hand over, unable to believe his eyes. The mark was gone! The mark that had bound him to Vagner was no longer there.

  “Vagner?” he whispered.

  Something trembled inside him, a faint vibration filled with the essence of demon. For a moment, his heart quickened in fear. Perhaps the fight had been a dream. Effervescence filled his tongue with the flavor of cloves.

  “Yes?” a voice whispered softly in his head.

  “Where are you?” Alaric asked.

  “In body? I am no more,” Vanger said and chuckled. “But in essence, I am now one with you.”

  “One with me? But...”

  “My sacrifice to keep you alive, remember?” Vagner said. “You told the White One that you would rather be master of a good demon than slave to an evil one. So now...you have a slave, though I must insist that you understand that while I am bound to you for an eternity now, this does not mean you can just abuse me in any old fashion. For one thing, you have to sing to me every night.”

  “Wait...you’re inside me? As Ronan...I mean, Je’Rhel was? But...doesn’t that mean...you’re dead?”

  “Only in the flesh. But you know, flesh is not always all it’s cracked up to be. This is far more pleasant, and I promise you will hardly know I am here...unless of course, you need me. And I suspect, if the White One has her way, you will need me...”

  “But...why?” Alaric asked.

  “Why what, young bard?” a familiar voice said.

  Alaric turned in the tub, startled to find that he was not alone. Master Fion sat in a chair, and beside him stood the enigmatic Sedar in the guise of a lovely woman all wrapped in glittering white.

  “Why did Vagner have to die?” Alaric asked. “You never said anything about him dying.”

  “Vagner is not dead,” Fion said. “You know that. Death to some is not the same as it is to others. To a Youngerkin, death is to cease to be at all. Vagner still exists...”

  “But...Vagner is inside me...the way Ronan, I mean, Je’Rhel was!”

  “Indeed,” Fion said, “and the Balance of that union will make you a most formidable foe when the Darkening comes. For you will be the key that unleashes the true power within the Twice-Blooded Once-Born. You will be the Avatar of the Dragon of Light. The Master of Knowledge.”

  “But that could be ages from now!” Alaric said. “Meanwhile, I am still marked as a demon’s master.” He glanced at his hand. No, the mark was gone.

  “As you chose to be...and wisely, I might add,” Fion said.

  “But you don’t understand!” Alaric said. He grabbed the toweling blanket and crawled out of the tub, splattering water everywhere. Sedar was suddenly at his side, reaching to assist him. He snarled
and pushed her delicate hands away, and she looked so hurt, as though a lover had scorned her. Frowning, Alaric stumbled on the edge of the toweling blanket, then righted himself and reached for his clothes.”

  “What do I not understand, Demon-Bound?” Fion asked.

  “My friends are still in danger because of me. And I cannot go back and save them from sundering so long as there is a demon in me.”

  Fion’s smile grew infuriating. “It is you who does not understand,” the White One said. “Because you are the Demon-Bound, only other demons and the elder races can see that in you now. Mortals, be they mageborn or not, will never have the eyes to see. Only the Twice-Blooded Once-Born will know you when the time is right. To the rest of the world, you will still be Alaric Braidwine, mageborn bard.”

  “What?” Alaric stopped dressing to stare at the Dvergar figure whose face did not really hide the dragon from his eyes.

  “Why, not even that silly peacock Turlough Greenfyn will know.”

  “How can you be so sure?” Alaric asked.

  Fion laughed. “I do like you, bard. You forget who I am and treat me as an equal. Of course, I can be sure of what I say. I am, after all, She Who Sits at the Center of All Things...”

  Alaric sat down on the edge of the bed.

  “Now hurry up and dress. Culann knows that you will not be breaking fast with him this morning as you have to leave and save your friends...”

  “How?”

  “There is a gate stone down in the courtyard. While Je’Rhel’s essence is no longer in you, his knowledge is now yours to use as you see fit. There is nothing to stop you from walking through the world now, Demon-Bound. The walls that kept you a prisoner of Je’Rhel are gone. You broke them with that final blow. You are free. The Youngerkin within you is free as well. He chooses to stay and serve you, just as you chose to be his master. Now do you understand?”

  “I think so...” Alaric said.