Merritt put a finger and thumb together at a spot in the structure and as if pinching the air itself pulled a radiant line all the way from the glowing scaffolding out and down across the Grace until he attached it at the end of one of the rays from the star where it crossed the circle representing the world of the dead.
Magda gasped as she flinched. She gritted her teeth against the stabbing pain. It felt like someone had pushed a knitting needle through her left side and taken a big stitch. She struggled to breathe against the pain bearing down on her.
Merritt quickly returned to the opposite side of the structure and pulled another line of light from the scaffolding to the end of a ray on that side, where it crossed over into the underworld.
Magda gasped again as she felt another stitch at her waist, but this time on the right side. When Merritt pulled the next line of light across the Grace, Magda felt yet another stitch of pain sear through her in the small of her back. She put her hands to the pain, urgently wanting to make it stop, but it didn’t.
Overhead dark, cloudy shapes had begun to swirl around the glowing structure of the verification web. Threads of lightning flickered from the framework to the shapes moving in a circle high above it as Magda felt yet more stitches of pain knitting around her waist coinciding with Merritt pulling lines of light out past the veil on the Grace. She felt as if she were being sewn to the ground. She could hardly move, hardly breathe.
Above them, the lightning in the clouds had the whole sky boiling with a writhing greenish light that seemed to be spreading through the firmament.
She saw, then, that the sword had begun to glow with a soft light that pulsed between a warm yellow and a green color not unlike that green light deep within the clouds overhead.
Merritt dropped to his knees, drawing yet more spell-forms at various places in the Grace. Magda couldn’t move and could barely pull each shallow breath through gritted teeth. She felt as if she were being torn in half.
The rotating dark mass over the structure grew in breadth as it revolved until it seemed like the entire sky was moving above her. The farthest-out parts rotated more slowly. The closer in toward the glowing web, the faster they spiraled around. At the center a point of intense greenish light flared.
Magda realized that the green color was not merely in the clouds. It seemed as if the very air itself was becoming the same strange tint of green.
She remembered then what had been at the back of her mind. Baraccus had told her that the veil to the world of the dead had glowed a strange green when he had passed through it. He had told her that when he had gone though that green wall, that was how he knew that he had crossed over into the underworld. He had called it the green meadow of the spirits.
Magda gasped when she thought she saw a face in the rotating clouds over the structure. In the billowing green light, she saw another, and then another. Each had its mouth wide open, releasing a terrible scream. Each face was distorted in pain and terror. The howls filled the air so that they all joined together into the sound of the roaring wind.
Before long, it seemed as if thousands of vague, filmy corpses were fluttering through the spinning air above the glowing structure.
The sound they made was unbearable. It was terror, misery, and pain all melted together into one long, ripping howl. The green air seemed packed full of writhing, diaphanous figures like so many swimming, squirming, twisting souls all fighting for space. None of them seemed real, none of them seemed alive, and yet they moved with frenzied purpose.
Magda wondered if she had died and was being swallowed up into the spirit world, or if she was suspended, barely alive, beyond the veil in the world of the dead. She wondered if this was what it had been like for Baraccus.
The air above the sword ignited with a massive jet of flame that shot upward. Even at the distance she was, the heat of it felt as if it might burn her flesh from her bones.
The sword heated to white hot. It glowed brighter than anything else, even the bolts of lightning. It was so bright it hurt her eyes. Above it the sky burned with reddish orange flame that turned and churned, blackening as it rolled away, replaced by yet more bright orange fire continually boiling forth.
The ground around the glowing verification web seethed with a carpet of bluish flame that flickered and jumped.
In the center of it, Merritt raced through the walls of flame to pull more lines and draw yet more spell-forms. The world seemed an inferno, while forms in the greenish light howled in fury and agony.
Magda could feel waves of heat off the white-hot, glowing sword rolling over her. The blade glowed incandescent.
Magda thought that surely the heat was burning her lungs. The air above them was a rotating, turning, churning ceiling of flame. The noise of it was deafening.
Black lightning, as dark as death itself, crackled through it all as it arced from the fire above to the hilt of the sword. Every time the black lightning touched it, the blade went momentarily just as black. Magda knew that she was seeing Subtractive Magic called to life before her.
Black lightning erupted from points of the Grace outside the outer ring to arc to the pommel of the glowing sword. Every crackling, twisting streak of it felt as if it was born in her very soul.
At the same time, blinding flashes of bright lightning grounded at the pommel of the sword exploded skyward with earsplitting booms. The blade looked as if it might explode from all the heat and the mix of lightning from different worlds.
Merritt stood then and lifted his arms. As he drew his arms upward, over and over, great columns of water erupted from the pond, pouring up and over the sword. As the waves of water broke over the sword and the structure, she could see the glowing sword through the water.
Clouds of steam billowed up as more and more water funneled up from the pond in a twisting column that cascaded over the sword.
The flashes of white-hot and inky black lightning hurt her eyes. The thunderous noise hurt her ears. The sword smoked and steamed with a howling sound that matched that of the spirits twisting through the greenish air.
Magda’s head felt as if it might explode. The stitches of pain in her side hurt so much she couldn’t draw a breath. It felt like a great weight was crushing her chest, preventing her from drawing air into her lungs.
Everything began to dim. Even though she knew that all the sight and sound was still going on, it seemed ever more distant.
And then, the Sword of Truth suddenly plunged straight down toward the ground.
Magda screamed. As the sword fell, it felt as if an iron spike were being driven down through the top of her head, through her insides, and right into the core of her soul.
Like a great iron door slamming closed, the world went from green to black.
Chapter 67
Magda was dimly aware that she was lying on something soft. She slitted her eyes, squinting. The light hurt her eyes.
She was shivering all over. She realized that for some reason she was not simply cold but also soaking wet. She remembered, then, that it had started raining fat drops of icy rain when they had been out in the woods. She didn’t think that she was still in the woods, but she was having difficulty, between bouts of shivering, trying to figure out where she was.
She saw the hazy figure of Merritt moving about not far away. It was comforting to see him.
Her vision wouldn’t focus but she could make out a table and a chair. There was a bit of red on the table. She saw statues, stacks of books, scrolls, bones, and all sorts of strange devices sitting everywhere around the floor. There were lit candles around the room, too, some on low tables, some on the tops of short pillars, some on the table.
As the room came more into focus, she realized that she was on the wicker couch in Merritt’s home. She had no recollection of how she had gotten there.
Merritt came closer and quietly bent over her a little, moving his hands in the air above her, sweeping them from her head downward. As his hands moved, she felt her frigid, soak
ing-wet dress turn dry. By the time he had worked his way down to her feet, she was completely dry. The bone-chilling cold melted away as a calming, radiant warmth seeped back into her bones.
But she still hurt everywhere.
“Am I still alive?” she managed.
Merritt turned to look at her. He smiled.
“Quite alive. We’re at my place, in Aydindril. It was closer than trying to make it to the Keep. I wanted to get you in out of the rain. It was quite the storm. You were in trouble. The reaction of all the elements combining was greater than I had hoped, but not as bad as I had feared. The breach held.”
His fingers touched her shoulder. “You were strong, Magda. You did good. But I was afraid to try to make it to the Keep.”
“You carried me?”
He nodded. “I didn’t think . . . well, I thought it best to get you in out of the rain here, and see to making sure that you’re all right as soon as possible.”
“The sword,” she said, licking her cracked lips.
“What about it?”
“Did it work, Merritt? Were you able to complete the key?”
His handsome smile widened. “Thanks to you, yes. Thanks to your strength and determination I was able to do it.”
“You did it . . .”
“We did it.” He squeezed her hand. “I’ve healed you, but more than anything you need to rest, now. I can’t use magic to give you that, and you desperately need it.”
In the dim recesses of her memory, she recalled him holding her head in his hands as he worked to save her. She had been healed before, so she had known what he had been doing. His touch, though, felt different from any healing she had felt before. It had fierce intensity, yet a warmth to it that calmed her and let her relax so that he could do as he needed.
She could remember only bits and pieces of him bent over her, holding her head, as the rain poured down on them. She did remember, though, how much she hurt, and how terrified she had been that she would die there in the dark woods.
Magda didn’t know what had needed healing, but she was aware that for a time she had been on the other side of the veil of life.
Merritt had come after her and brought her back.
“Is it still night?” she asked.
“No,” he said. “It’s morning.”
“Morning?” Magda tried to push herself up on her elbows, but she couldn’t seem to muster the strength. “Merritt, we have to go. We need to get to the dungeon. We need to find that sorceress who defected. If she’s even still alive. If she is, they could execute her at any time.”
Merritt’s hand on her shoulder gently pushed her back down. “I know, but right now you have to rest. I healed you, but if you are to recover, you still need to rest. I can’t do that part for you, and you can’t do anything if you don’t finish getting better, first.”
There was something serious about his tone. She looked up to his face. His eyes revealed the level of his concern. The look in his hazel eyes gave her a ripple of terror.
“Am I going to be all right? Am I going to live?”
A touch of his smile returned. “If you rest. Your body needs sleep to fully recover.”
Magda narrowed her eyes, peering, trying to focus her still-blurry vision to see the sword at his hip. Trying to focus her eyes gave her sharp pains in her temples. She didn’t see the scabbard there at his hip.
Merritt saw where she was looking and gestured. “It’s hung on the chair.”
“Please,” she managed past the pain in her throat. “Can I see it? I want to touch it.”
Merritt scratched his temple. “Sure.”
He went to the chair sitting before the table with the red velvet where the sword used to lie. When he drew the blade from its scabbard hanging on the chair, the room filled with the clear ring of steel. It sounded the same, yet somehow different. The ring had a nature to it that resonated with something deep inside her.
He brought the sword to her, holding it out in both open hands. Magda reached up and touched the hilt, running her fingers over the raised letters of the word Truth.
She stretched both hands toward it, wanting it, needing it. Merritt let her lift it from his hands.
Magda laid the blade down the length of her body, feeling the satisfying weight of it against her. The hilt rested on her chest just beneath her chin. At that moment, after all she had been through, it was more comforting than any blanket. Knowing that it was now complete was gratifying beyond words.
She held the hilt with both hands, letting the deep satisfaction of knowing that they had done it seep through her.
Merritt had accomplished the near impossible. The key was complete. Magda had managed to do her small part to help him and as a result the Sword of Truth was now complete.
Though she was ungifted, she could clearly feel the power of the magic the sword now possessed. It was power unlike anything she had ever imagined. It churned the way the storm had. It held more power than the storm had. It was fury and rage and love and life all folded together, over and over, blending them into the finest layers of something new, something remarkable.
This was now a weapon unlike any other, more than any other.
It felt so good holding it, knowing that they had done it, that she never wanted to let it go.
Magda let out a deep breath of contentment and, with the Sword of Truth held in both hands, lying down the length of her, listening to the steady drumming of rain on the roof, she allowed herself to succumb to sleep.
Chapter 68
“Are you sure that you’re all right?” Merritt asked in a quiet voice as they made their way up the broad hallway. “I know I would feel more confident in your recovery if you had gotten more rest. You’ve been through quite an ordeal.”
This section of the Keep was reserved for the Home Guard. The hall was simple stone block walls, beamed ceilings, and plank floors. There were barracks, dining halls, and assembly rooms down various corridors. As they passed intersections, she saw that some of the halls were filled with soldiers. Iron brackets held torches with flames that flapped in the breeze as they passed. The hall smelled musty, punctuated with the heavy aroma of pitch each time they passed a hissing torch.
Two soldiers in polished armor breastplates over blue tunics, their heads bent close in a confidential conversation, were walking swiftly toward them. Magda waited until they passed and were out of earshot before she answered Merritt.
“I’m fine,” she said. “Really. Stop asking me, would you?”
As they marched down the long corridor Merritt glanced over with a skeptical expression but didn’t answer. From time to time he looked over at her out of the corner of his eye, as if checking to make sure she was still upright.
Magda wished it weren’t so late. She had slept the entire day, and on into the night. No matter how much she might need rest, she didn’t want to sleep any more. She was strong enough to do what had to be done. That was all that really mattered at the moment.
“Don’t I look fine?” she asked.
Merritt finally smiled. “Yes, you certainly do look fine.” His face reddened. “I mean, you look like you’ve regained your strength.”
Magda smiled at his look of embarrassment.
Truth be told, she didn’t feel at all fine. She was so exhausted that she could hardly put one foot in front of the other, but she was more concerned that the sorceress from the Old World might be executed before they could get to her. It might be their only chance to get information about what the enemy was up to. She couldn’t afford to worry about how tired she was when there was so much at stake.
Despite the late hour, she expected General Grundwall to still be up. She knew him to be ferociously dedicated to his duty of protecting the Keep and those who lived and worked there. She remembered Baraccus often reminding General Grundwall to get some sleep or he wouldn’t be good for anything. The man rarely took the gentle reminders to heart.
By the clusters of men crowded around t
he archway to the Home Guard’s headquarters, she was sure he would be there. Some of the soldiers in blue tunics and light armor clutched papers or scrolls, waiting to give the general their reports. Other men were gathering for their patrols. The dozens of reflector lamps along the stone walls outside the archway reflected sparkles of light off polished armor and weapons that all the men carried. It was a decidedly male environment that made her feel out of place.
As Magda and Merritt made their way up the corridor, past soldiers coming and going as well as clusters of men discussing their work and their plans for the night, she spotted the general coming out of the arched opening to his headquarters. He was average height, but built like an oak tree, with thick arms and a neck that started flaring right from his ears down into his broad shoulders. She thought that he looked like a man who could shove a mountain aside if it was in his way.
He spoke to various people with brief, direct orders, sending men on specific types of patrols, or telling officers how he wanted watches run, or taking papers with reports from waiting men even as he was talking to others. He scanned each report and thanked the man giving it. Before long he had a sheaf of papers in his big fist.
When General Grundwall spotted Magda weaving her way through the swarm of soldiers, his face lit up with a big grin.
Magda instantly went on alert.
The general smiling like that was out of character. He was a serious soldier, healthy and fit despite the gray at his temples. He often rode with his men or walked miles and miles of patrols through the Keep with them, up and down countless stairs as he checked that his people were safe. He was focused and serious. He was not a man to smile casually.
Since the strange deaths at the Keep, he was, if anything, short-tempered. He felt that the murders reflected poorly on him personally. That the deaths continued put him continually on edge.
But here he was grinning as if he were at a ball and full of wine.
The First Confessor (The Legend of Magda Searus) Page 34
