by Rick Shelley
– |It's a trick of the mind, a magic, Silvas told himself. His attention had once more shifted from one arena to another. Now he was facing the Blue Rose wizard at a distance of only a few yards. Silvas's pentagram appeared to have moved again, this time to the pass between Mount Mecq and Mount Balq to physically block the way. But the effect wasn't quite identical to the transportation from the ledge above out into the valley of Mecq. This was not a true transportation.
Only a magic, Silvas reminded himself, a projection. He was still at the point of his own pentagram. The Blue Rose wizard was at the center of his. Only magic had brought about this appearance of nearness. Sparkles of light danced on the shields over the two pentagrams and bounced off the hills to either side. The wizards threw every weapon they could bring to bear at each other. Behind Caradoc the archers who had come with the army of Blethye stood waiting, arrows notched to bows, taking shots at Silvas and his companions. The arrows couldn't penetrate the wall of magic around the pentagram, though. And we are not really here after all, Silvas thought, uncertain whether that was protection enough. Overhead, the battle between martyrs and demons was nearly finished. Very few of either remained to contest the issue, and they were all locked in what would almost certainly be their final duels.
The Blue Rose wizard launched a ball of fire at Silvas. It grew quickly, blue fire splattering against and then flowing over and around Silvas's pentagram, hiding the Blue Rose force from his sight. Silvas struggled to quench the fire.
When it was gone, he was once more facing the river of molten rock in the valley. The wall of lava had continued to grow. It was now twelve feet high at the front… and that front was only a dozen yards away. The heat was overwhelming. Even the dome of magic that protected the pentagram was not enough to completely hold the fire off. And soon the river would bury the pentagram.
There was no time for complicated magics. Silvas took a deep breath and spoke the hidden name of his Unseen Lord aloud. The earth shook underfoot, more violently than it had before, though only for an instant. The air shimmered and crackled. For the barest instant the very fabric of being seemed to vanish and reappear. But the wall of molten rock was still there, still inching closer.
The only changes were within Silvas. He felt tremendous reserves of power being funnelled into him on all three levels. His companions in the valley seemed to drain into him. Even the gods around him in the golden pentagram in their land were channeling their power through him, using him as the cutting edge in their desperate last stand against the Blue Rose.
Are they giving me their energy, or am I taking it? Silvas wondered, but only briefly. Now more than ever, he was too pressed to waste time at idle thought. There was too much confusion. His eyes now saw on all three levels of the battle at once. He stood in three places: in the valley of Mecq facing the lava, in the pass between the twin hills facing the Blue Rose wizard, and in the land of the gods facing the gods of the Blue Rose and the cyclone bearing down on the golden pentagram of the White Brotherhood.
Silvas worked his way quickly through the most powerful spells at his command. The power that was accumulating in him was too much. He felt as if he were expanding, ready to burst from the inner pressure the way the monsters over Mecq's castle had exploded.
He held his sword in both hands and extended it: toward the river of lava, toward the Blue Rose wizard, toward the cyclone that had been raised by the Blue Rose in the land of the gods. An aura of blinding light emanated from Silvas and his outstretched sword.
I could not look upon this light from the outside and keep my eyes, Silvas thought. It is brighter than the star I tried to gaze upon when I was a boy.
The words of power spoken, Silvas's mind commanded and his body obeyed, on all three planes at once.
– He stepped out of the golden pentagram in the land of the gods and cut into the cyclone, cleaving it, destroying the windstorm, and then he turned and moved into the gods and heroes of the Blue Rose who had gathered like vultures waiting for the tornado to finish their work. Silvas moved with blinding speed. It was as if the others were frozen in time while he moved among them at will, and his sword destroyed all who wore the Blue Rose.
– He stepped out of the pentagram in the pass between Mount Mecq and Mount Balq. His now flaming sword cut through the outer lines of the pentagram controlled by the Blue Rose wizard. And then Silvas's sword cut Caradoc in half with a single blow, skull to crotch. He whirled and, in what seemed to be a single spinning blow, decapitated the five assistants who had stood in that pentagram with Caradoc.
– He stepped out of the pentagram in the valley of Mecq with the sword, now gleaming an icy silver, raised high above his head. He strode forward and swung the sword into the leading edge of the river of molten rock… and the lava froze, steaming madly for a moment as it cycled from ember red to coal black in the space of a breath.
But Silvas did not see the end of that cycle. The sword came out of his hands, buried in the wall of lava with only the hilt protruding. Silvas himself pitched forward, unaware of the burns on his face and hands, unconscious-or worse-before his head hit the rock wall. He crumpled to the ground as if dead.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
I am not dead. The wonder of that realization kept Silvas from noticing the pain for a time. Hands picked him up and carried him-for a distance that seemed incredible. They can't be taking me all the way up to the castle, he thought, and that unleashed the confusion in his head. There were thoughts floating around in the maelstrom of his mind, but nothing could record itself over the confusion and the pain. There were obscure images, as of chickens plucking their own feathers; dark sounds that were beyond description; nightmare eternities compressed into instants. Reflections of fears were magnified, exaggerated, repeated. A babel of voices assaulted Silvas's mind, blending into indecipherable gibberish.
The cacophony finally damped away to a low hum in the background. The wheel of kaleidoscopic images ground to a halt. Silvas felt himself being lowered to a stone floor. The pain remained. It was as if the fires of Hell burned in every joint in his body. His fingers throbbed. The rest of him felt even worse.
They've brought me to St. Katrinka's, he realized finally. That brought a measure of comfort… and a measure of fear. Do they know I'm still alive? Or do they think I'm dead? Will they bury me as I am?
Just opening his eyes took as much concentration as the most difficult magic he had ever attempted. And it increased his pain. Silvas couldn't turn his head or move to see anything more than the patch of ceiling right overhead. And he couldn't hold his eyes open for long.
I am not alone here, he thought.
Cautiously he started a silent chant for strength. Each word caused an increase to the throbbing in his head. The pain was scarcely tolerable, but Silvas forced himself to continue. He needed strength before he could work on healing. He needed strength just to keep breathing.
Strength returned, but slowly. There was a concurrent easing of the intense pain. After several moments Silvas noticed that he had started to whisper his chant aloud. When he opened his eyes again, the task was easier, and he could even move his head a little. Bay stood at the side door, his head poked into the church. Bosc stood next to Bay, inside the church, looking anxious.
Silvas turned his head the other way… and saw Carillia.
A hoarse "No!" escaped his lips, twisted and tortured. Silvas squeezed his eyes shut, but reopened them at once.
Carillia. Someone had taken off her helmet and covered her with a blanket. Only her head and arms were visible. Her hair was a tangled mess. Her face was impossibly pale, but her arms, and her left hand, were terribly burned-blackened and blistered. The right hand had somehow escaped the fire. Silvas felt his stomach turn at the horrible look of her burns, but he had to force himself to look away from the burned arms, back to her face. It took a long moment for him to spot the slight evidence that she was still breathing, still alive. The spark seemed faint.
Caril
lia, my love, don't desert me, Silvas thought, with such little force as he could muster. He closed his eyes and tried to shut out the memory of Carillia's burns. He chanted silently, pulling in strength and projecting healing to Carillia-hoping that he had enough energy to make the spell work. But he wasn't even certain that his spells would have any force on a goddess.
When Silvas opened his eyes the next time, he saw Bishop Egbert standing a little distance away, swaying as if he might not be able to remain standing much longer. The bishop wasn't looking at the wizard, but at someone else on the floor of St. Katrinka's. Silvas raised his head just a little-even that much movement was difficult-and saw Brother Paul sitting in front of the bishop. There was dried blood on the vicar's face and arms, and some slight evidence of burning. Silvas squinted. His telesight wasn't working, but he could see that the thumb and first two fingers of Brother Paul's right hand, the fingers he would normally extend in giving a blessing, were missing. Short stumps were covered by crude blood-soaked bandages.
A soft background of conversation slowly became audible around Silvas. The sounds had been there right along. He had simply been unaware of them. And for a time yet it was just incoherent noise to him. Only slowly did he begin to extract words and meaning. He continued to look around, straining his slowly returning strength. Eleanora, Sir Eustace's wife, was standing near the side of the church. A young boy held her hand. Sir Eustace's son, Silvas thought, though he had never seen the boy before. Maria was there too, standing next to her stepmother. They were looking down. Even before Silvas managed to spot the focus of their gaze, he knew it had to be Sir Eustace. And the look he finally managed was enough to tell him that the knight was dead.
The monks from St. Ives moved around the church, tending to the injured, saying prayers over the dead. Counting the monks was too much trouble, but Silvas had the clear impression that there were no longer twelve of them. Whether the missing monks were dead, wounded, or merely occupied elsewhere, he couldn't guess. Many villagers had left the church, but there was a crowd outside the main entrance.
As the words floating around Silvas started to become understandable, he picked up what news he could-while he continued his chants for healing, for himself and for Carillia. The battle had been won. The Eyler continued to fill behind his dam. That lava hadn't destroyed anything vital. It had burned and buried a few cottages at the southern edge of the village before flowing to a halt after it split around Silvas and his companions. But the cottages could be replaced. No one had been inside them at the time. The remains of the river of lava were smoking and steaming as they cooled. The surface was a hard black crust that dwindled down to nothing at the edge of the village. The split ends were ramps leading up to the top, a new road leading out of the valley. The crack that had spewed out the lava was no longer visible. The molten rock had sealed its own womb.
Louder voices flowed over softer ones. Silvas became aware of a heated discussion between Maria and Eleanora, though he didn't follow the specifics. He was concentrating on Carillia, and the pain in his heart left little room for other considerations. Carillia had moved a little. Tears of pain were escaping from under her closed eyelids.
Then her eyes opened and the wells of tears overflowed, rushing down her cheeks. Watching Carillia, Silvas was hardly aware that Maria had left her stepmother's side and was coming toward him.
"My love," Silvas whispered, struggling to turn onto his side to face Carillia fully. He felt hands on his shoulders, helping him, supporting him so he wouldn't roll back, and then falling away. He realized that it was Maria, but he had no time for her now. He had no time for anyone but Carillia.
Carillia's head seemed to fall to the side, toward him. She blinked twice, slowly, trying to clear her eyes to see Silvas.
"You have always been my heart," Carillia whispered. The words came slowly. She was obviously much weaker than Silvas.
"I am dying, my heart," she said, and though Silvas felt her words choking him, he couldn't even utter a futile denial.
"Many of my brothers and sisters have already died," she continued, pausing after every few words. "The legends of the immortality of the gods will suffer. Your once Unseen Lord survives, but all of the remaining gods, including him, will remain diminished by this battle." There was a long silence before she added, "Even the few who stood aside and took no part are lessened."
Silvas knew that he alone could hear Carillia. Even Maria, now kneeling behind Silvas, could not possibly have heard.
"You have always been my heart," Carillia repeated, her voice so weak that Silvas could almost believe that he only imagined that he was hearing her. "Now I have only one gift left that I can give you."
She rolled more on her side, sliding a little closer. Silvas rolled toward her in reply, meeting her more than halfway. Carillia kissed Silvas just as Maria put her hands on his shoulders again, supporting him, holding him as he returned Carillia's final kiss.
But it was more than a kiss. A white light enveloped the three of them, bright enough to make all of the living people in the church look.
Carillia poured what remained of herself into Silvas. In the quick flood of knowledge, Silvas learned that Carillia had taken her injuries because she had broken the lines of the pentagrams ahead of him, absorbing the damage to keep him from falling. And then she had put herself into the sword that he had used to end the battle on all three levels. Her right hand had become the hilt of the sword whose blade remained welded into the cleft of the river of lava.
You gave yourself for me, Silvas thought, uncertain whether enough remained within Carillia for her to hear his thought.
But she was not gone yet. Silvas felt the power-the divinity-flowing from Carillia into him. And he was also aware that some of that divinity was flowing through him, into Maria, because of the way she was holding him.
You are become one of us, was in Carillia's voice, but within Silvas's head. He had no chance to ask questions. Her lips fell away from his, and she was dead… and instantly cold. The bright light faded away.
Silvas rolled away from Carillia, and Maria was there to help, to ease him. She knelt over him, and he looked up, his eyes searching her face. Silvas took a deep breath. His pain faded quickly and he felt new power settling into him, restoring him.
There is no going back, he realized. I can't escape her final gift. He could sense the basic change within him even if he couldn't understand it yet. "You are become one of us," Carillia had told him.
Am I now a god? he wondered. The idea was incredible but inescapable.
Silvas sat up. He rested only a moment before he got to his feet-shakily, with considerable help from Maria. She was at his side, half behind him. Silvas felt her hands on his arm and back, he felt her mind tied to his. He took a deep breath and turned. Her hands fell away as she realized, as quickly as he did, that he was now strong enough to stand on his own-almost completely restored.
The church fell silent. The people seemed to freeze into a silent tableau, aware that something momentous had happened but unable to guess what it was. Silvas and Maria stared at each other, their eyes locked together, twin tunnels that let them travel into each other's minds and souls. Silvas could see the frantic play of emotions chasing each other through Maria's mind-knowledge, desire, and even fear-colliding and rebounding insanely, only slowly coming together, finding common ground.
Silvas nodded then. When he spoke, the words traveled no farther than her ears. "You get your wish after all. I think we are linked together beyond all measure and time now."
Maria nodded slowly. There was an entirely new universe within her, demanding her attention, enticing her with unexpected vistas. She could scarcely keep from diving headlong into the novelty, to explore, to try to understand what had happened. I will need forever to come to terms with this, she thought. And she had doubts that she would ever manage to be comfortable with this newness she felt.
"It is our fate," she managed after a long moment of silence.
EPILOGUE
"My work here is over," Silvas said when he noticed that Bishop Egbert and Brother Paul had come to him. He looked around the church at the seriously injured and the dead. "I cannot raise the dead," Silvas said. His eyes returned to Carillia's body. "But I can help those who are still living." He spoke an ancient chant of healing, one that he had never known as merely a wizard, and Maria's voice was right with his through the words.
"Give me your injured hand," Silvas told Brother Paul. Silvas held the hand between both of his and spoke another spell. The vicar's hand grew hot and seemed to pulse, but when Silvas uncovered it, there was no visible change.
"Before the bishop leaves Mecq, you will be able to show him a whole hand," Silvas promised. "Perhaps I should say, 'Before you leave Mecq with the bishop?' " He turned to Egbert, who nodded.
"Brother Paul will return to St. Ives with me," the bishop said. "He is bound for the Greater Mysteries."
"Where will you go now?" Brother Paul asked.
"For the moment I will go home. Beyond that I cannot say." Silvas glanced at Maria. "This world had changed beyond all reckoning. We all need time to find our places again."
Maria walked over to where her stepmother and halfbrother stood over the body of Sir Eustace. She knelt next to the boy, held his shoulders, and kissed him on the forehead, and hugged him tightly. "I will always do what I can to help you, Will," she whispered.
Maria got up and returned to Silvas. They joined hands and walked toward the main door. Silvas stopped, turned, and gestured to the figures at the other door. "Bosc," he said, and the groom trotted across to his master. "Bay, we will meet you outside." The horse nodded and pulled his head back from the side door.
