She didn't have any weapons.
She had no way to fight him.
Except with herself.
She ran between the three of them, shoving them aside. The one with the knife fell against a rock. The other two stumbled, surprised, probably, that someone would attack them when they were armed.
Then she saw it:
The Islander, their Rocaan, the one who had married Jewel and Nicholas longside the Shaman, the one who had killed Jewel so horribly on that day long ago.
He was still standing, but his face was blue. His eyes were closed, and his tongue was sticking out of his mouth.
No one was touching him, yet she could see the marks of fingers in his neck.
He was in the thrall of a Mystery.
A Mystery that was focusing all its Power on the kill.
He, apparently, had thought the Mystery was strangling him, but it didn't matter. The magick was what mattered.
The magick of the Mystery, serving one of its goals.
The justifiable homicide of a hated person. So few were granted the right.
The Power at the moment was so finely focused, so hard to stop.
She knew it.
And she feared it.
She had feared this moment for a long, long time.
His aura was fading.
He was dying.
And he deserved to die for the things he had done. The lives he had cost, the destruction he had brought.
The hatred he felt.
He deserved to die.
But she didn't hesitate. She ran the few feet across the flagstones, grabbed his shoulders and flung him away. With the same movement, she shoved her neck where his had been.
Then she saw her assailant:
Jewel, looking at her.
Jewel, trying to pull back.
"No," Jewel said. "Not you. This is wrong."
She tried to pull away, but it was too late.
The Shaman saw her own life force coloring Jewel's fingers, weaving its way through Jewel's body, becoming part of the Mystery, then seeping into the door of the Place of Power, to go wherever unfettered souls went.
Such a slow filtering.
"No!" Jewel called, but she didn't say it to the Shaman. She called it to the skies, to the Powers. "It's not fair! Take someone else! Take a different price!"
The Shaman saw them, floating above.
She heard the Powers murmur something about choice, about information and Gift, about the way things should be.
"I'm sorry," Jewel said, and then she disappeared.
SEVENTY-THREE
Denl heard his knife clatter to the ground. The old woman had blundered past them as if she hadn't even seen him. She had knocked him aside with her body, and had hit Jakib and Tri at the same time.
Then she had hesitated when she had seen the Holy Sir in the throes of his magick fit. She had hesitated, but only for a moment.
And suddenly she was running toward him, grabbing him, flinging him aside, and taking his place. Her face was contorted, but she didn't look as terrified as he had.
Only she was going to die.
Denl knew it.
They all knew it.
She had taken the Holy Sir's place.
An old Fey woman.
What had she been thinking?
It didn't matter what she had been thinking. She had thrown her life away for the Holy Sir's.
Denl had never known the Fey to be so altruistic. She had to have a reason. A real reason.
Perhaps they needed the Holy Sir for something even worse.
Denl glanced at Jakib and Tri. They were staring at the woman. Jakib still lay where he had fallen. Tri was getting up, but he looked stunned.
It was up to Denl.
He paused to pick up his knife, just in case he would need it, then he ran across the rock ledge. His breath was coming in sharp gasps. Something in his chest had been injured in his fall.
He didn't care.
He had to hurry.
He reached the Holy Sir. The imprint of fingers marred the man's neck. His face was red, but he was breathing, great gasping breaths. His eyes were open, but glazed, as if he didn't know where he was.
He probably didn't know the danger he was in.
Denl grabbed the Holy Sir by his armpits and pulled him away from the old woman. She wasn't fighting, even though the red marks on her neck were growing.
She was staring at something far away, as if it were her destiny.
As if it were her fate to take the place of the Holy Sir.
She didn't even notice Denl behind her, didn't notice that he was hauling the Holy Sir away.
As he got closer to the swords, Tri came forward and grabbed the Holy Sir's feet.
"We ha ta get him out a here," Denl said.
Tri nodded. Carrying the Holy Sir had suddenly become easier. His body swung back and forth as they started toward the path down.
Jakib hauled himself up. He glanced again at the old woman as if he couldn't believe what he saw. Then he started after them.
The Holy Sir's eyes were still glazed. His breath was rasping but even. The marks on his neck were turning purple. He had been badly bruised.
Denl reached the edge of the flat stone area and looked behind him for the path. There it was, descending sharply. Going down carrying the Holy Sir like this would be very difficult.
Maybe even impossible.
"Stop," Denl said.
No one was chasing them. The old woman was still in her place up front. The Fey that the Holy Sir believed to be inside the cave hadn't come after them.
Denl raised his head to scan the area.
No one.
Except a stricken-looking man on the edge of the flat path. He was short and blonde and looked somehow familiar. He had a woman slung over his shoulder. A tall, slim woman with dark hair and dark skin.
A Fey.
The familiar man was staring at the old woman and beyond, his face so white he seemed to be seeing a ghost.
Then he turned his head slowly, and his gaze came to rest on the Holy Sir.
"No!" the man shouted, and the word echoed through the mountains.
It was filled with such anguish that Denl felt the pain.
No!
The man scurried across the flat rock, the woman's arms bumping against his back.
"We ha ta hurry," Denl said.
He would use the idea from the other man. A shoulder carry might work.
"Here," he said. "Let me carry him."
He switched his grip on the Holy Sir, turning him, then using his back and body to pick him up. The man was heavy and longer than Denl realized.
"I'll carry him part a the way. Then the two a ye need ta help," Denl said. "Tri, ye go first down this trail, and tell me what to expect."
The Holy Sir twisted slightly. Denl tightened his one-handed grip on the Holy Sir's back. "Ye," he said softly, "don't move. I ha ye. We'll get ye out a here."
The Holy Sir said nothing, but he relaxed against Denl's shoulder.
"Jakib," Denl said. "Make sure na one follows us. Watch our backs."
Jakib nodded, looking a bit stunned that he was taking orders from Denl. But neither of the others seemed to understand the significance of this.
The Holy Sir had nearly died.
He was the only link left to Rocaanism.
He knew things no one else did. He had explained that to Marly and Denl had overheard.
And then there was that vision last night: the burning boy who tried to get the Holy Sir to use his powers.
Maybe if the Holy Sir had used powers, he wouldn't have needed rescuing.
When Denl got him below, to the city, he would talk to the Holy Sir about this.
The Holy Sir might save them all from the Fey.
Although he had nearly died in this place filled with religious symbols.
Something had nearly killed him.
Something Fey?
Then why had the old woman
tried to save him?
Why had she taken his place?
"Hurry," Tri said, the urgency now in his voice.
Denl took a deep breath and started down the path. His side hurt. He didn't have time for questions now.
He had the Holy Sir's life in his hands.
And he would do everything he could to save it.
SEVENTY-FOUR
Nicholas saw it, but he didn't believe it. A Fey woman, standing in the doorway to a cave, her hands wrapped around Matthias's neck.
A Fey woman who looked just like Arianna — just like Jewel — killing Matthias.
And then the Shaman ran across the flagstone, ran so fast that she knocked aside three Islanders Nicholas didn't recognize, and shoved Matthias out of the way.
The Fey woman was horrified, took her hands away, and still the Shaman was in pain.
She still seemed to be dying.
Nicholas scrambled across the boulder, stopping when he saw the three men taking Matthias away.
"No!" he shouted, but he couldn't go after them, not with Arianna over his shoulder.
And he couldn't leave the Shaman to this.
He ran across the flagstones as quickly as he could. Arianna bounced against his shoulder, his grip on her so tight he wondered if she would get bruises. He wanted to set her down, but he couldn't. He didn't dare.
What if she Shifted again?
But he was alone here, alone with the Shaman and the woman who looked like Jewel and Matthias and his three friends who were carrying him away.
He would have to let Matthias go.
Again.
Matthias, at this moment, meant nothing.
Not compared to the Shaman.
Not compared to Arianna.
Not compared to Blue Isle itself.
Nicholas wouldn't have the Isle without his daughter.
He wouldn't have his daughter without the Shaman.
He kept running toward her. The Shaman was turning red in the face, and there was a growing discoloration on her neck, even though the Fey woman, the one who looked like Jewel, had backed away.
He could hear the Fey woman now.
"No, not you," she said. "This is wrong."
She sounded like Jewel.
She backed away from the Shaman and held her fists to the sky.
"No!" she shouted. "It's not fair! Take someone else! Take a different price!"
The sky was cloudy suddenly as if a haze had fallen over the sun. Nicholas had nearly reached the Shaman. He was close enough to the Fey woman, to Jewel, to see the lines in her face.
There were none.
He reached for her with his free hand.
She bent her head back toward the Shaman. "I'm sorry," she said, and disappeared.
A line, a glow like the sun itself, had attached itself from the Shaman to the Fey woman. The Fey woman's end disappeared when she did, but the line remained. It looked as if it were pouring the Shaman's essence into nothing.
The Shaman fell to her knees.
Nicholas hurried to her side. He kept Ari on his shoulder with one hand. With the other, he eased the Shaman down. He reached for the line, but he could no longer see it.
"What can I do?" he asked.
The Shaman shook her head weakly. "I told you," she said, her voice coming in breathy gasps, "you would not like it."
"You did this on purpose?" he asked.
She smiled.
"We need to get you some help."
"There is no help, Nicholas. I'm dying."
"You can't," he said. "I need you."
And then he realized how awful that sounded. How selfish. She was dying.
"There must be help. There must be."
"No, Nicholas," she said.
"But Arianna—
"Perhaps your son," the Shaman said. Her voice was trailing out. Her lips weren't working as well as they had just a moment earlier.
He couldn't lose her. She was his help, his lifeline, his doorway to the Fey. "I'm sorry," he said. "Sorry I got angry with you about Arianna."
"I thought you'd be angry about this," the Shaman said. She took his hand with hers. Her fingers were surprisingly strong.
"You knew about this?" Nicholas asked. "About Matthias?"
"Yes," she whispered.
"He murdered my wife. He was one of the causes of this war. You know what he is, and you still did this?"
"I know what he is," she said. "You don't."
"No," Nicholas said. "He can't be worth your life."
"He is worth mine and a dozen more," she said. "I mean nothing to the future of the Fey. He can stop the Black Blood against Black Blood."
"Matthias?" Nicholas asked, feeling stunned. "He's a pathetic man filled with hatred."
She shook her head again. Her lips were turning blue. Her face had gone pale. It was as if she were losing blood but he couldn't see where she was bleeding.
She pulled him closer with the remaining strength in her hand. "He is important, Nicholas. Know this. You must know this. He is your God."
"What?" Nicholas asked, unable to believe what he just heard.
"Your God, Nicholas," she whispered. "Matthias is your God."
Then she let go of his hand, and brought her hand to his face. She smoothed his hair away, and touched his cheek lightly.
"I have loved you," she said softly. "Perhaps too much … "
And then her hand fell away. She smiled at him and it took him a moment to realize she was gone.
With his free hand, he cradled her to him. His wisdom, his strength, the person who was always there for him, from the day he married Jewel. The Shaman was thin, so thin, and already growing cold.
"No," he whispered. "not you too. I can't face this. I can't face this all alone."
He buried his face in her hair, the white strawlike hair, and rocked back and forth, holding his nearly lifeless daughter and the body of his last and best friend.
THE RESISTANCE
SEVENTY-FIVE
Matthias came to himself when Denl set him down. They had reached the camping spot, the spot where the boy Coulter had started all the fires. Denl had placed Matthias on the cool ground, and Matthias's hand brushed against one of the boulders.
It was cold and warm at the same time. It seemed to remember the fires from the night before.
He didn't know how he knew what a boulder was thinking, and that startled him into awareness.
He wasn't dead.
He had survived that attack.
Jewel.
He brought a hand up to his throat. Jewel had attacked him.
Jewel.
She was dead. He knew she was dead. He had seen her die. He had watched the holy water seep into her brain.
He had killed her.
And just a few moments earlier, she had tried to strangle him. Then something had happened, Denl had pulled him away, and he awoke here.
With an aching throat, burning lungs, and the worst headache he had ever had in his life.
Alive, though.
He was alive.
"Holy Sir," Denl said, peering down at him. "Tis everathin all right?"
Matthias made himself smile. The wounds on his face didn't hurt nearly as bad as they had before. Not now. Not with the new problem in his neck.
"I'm all right," he said. His voice came out raspy and hoarse, but still his. He extended a hand to Denl. "Help me up."
Denl took it and pulled. Matthias got to his feet and swayed a bit, then caught himself on the boulder.
"Tis sorry I am, Holy Sir," Denl said, "but I dinna think we have time ta rest. I been carryin' ya. Tri was about to .. ."
Matthias had no idea how small Denl had managed to carry him down that mountainside. "No," Matthias said. "It's not necessary."
"Ye may have anather fit, beg pardon, sir," Denl said.
Matthias raised his head. "Is that what you think I had?" he asked. "A fit?"
"Aye, sir. We dinna know what else it could be."
&nbs
p; "Although you do have fingerprints on your neck," Tri said.
Matthias touched the skin gently. It was swollen and painful beneath his fingers. The three men hadn't seen Jewel. They hadn't seen his attacker. Had she been a ghost?
Or the Hand of God, as Pausho said?
Or something else? Something the Fey inside that cave had sent him?
Something the burning boy had done?
"It wasn't a fit," Matthias said. "It was Fey magick. We got too close to them."
He glanced back up the mountain, but the effort of moving his neck almost proved too much. Pain stabbed through his spinal column into his head.
"If so, then why would a Fey save you?" Tri asked. He looked at the others. "That's what that old woman was, isn't it? A Fey?"
Denl nodded and didn't meet Tri's gaze.
"A Fey saved me?" Matthias asked.
"Twas an old woman Fey," Denl said. "She had a cloud of white hair around her head and she shoved ye away, taking yer place."
"What happened to her?" Matthias asked.
"I dinna know," Denl said. "We dinna stay to find out."
Matthias rubbed his neck absently. An old woman with white hair. The Shaman?
Why would she save him?
Or perhaps it was all part of the magick.
Perhaps it was a warning.
Perhaps it was something else.
He didn't have time to think about it.
"We know where the Fey are," he said. "I saw them inside that cave before I got attacked. Pausho will want to know. She can get her tall ones now."
"You're going to hook up with the Wise Ones?" Tri asked.
Matthias looked at him. "That cave is an interesting place, Tri. Do you know what it is?"
Tri shook his head.
"Nothing in all your days as a Wise One told you about it?"
Tri looked down. He had already apologized a dozen times for not doing the work of a Wise One. Any of it.
"Pausho seems to know, and she seems to know how to get inside without getting hurt. I will trade her some tall ones in exchange for information."
"How do you know she'll work with you?" Tri asked.
"She didn't think I'd survive that place. I have. The mountain has spit me back a second time. She can't deny my survival. And she needs me. This place will be different now. The Fey have found it. She'll need my help making Constant safe."
The Resistance: The Fourth Book of the Fey (Fey Series) Page 47
