by Giles Carwyn
Shara shuddered.
“What is it?” he asked.
She winced. “I don’t know. There’s something out there, in the water. I can feel it.”
She looked up suddenly, and grabbed his hand. “Hush! Breathe with me.” Brophy matched his breath to hers, closing his eyes as she worked her magic. The chip of heartstone around his neck vibrated.
An Ohohhim scout party appeared around a twisted outcropping of rock, their eyes flicking left and right. The four of them moved quickly through the dark. Two of them looked straight at Shara and Brophy but did not see them. When their footfalls faded, Shara let go of Brophy’s hand.
“Thank you,” he murmured, looking back at the encampment. They watched in silence for a time. “There are so many of them.” Again, she shuddered. He squeezed her hand as she trained her eyes on the lapping waters below.
“Something’s coming,” she whispered.
A soldier screamed far below. The surf frothed, and five gruesome beasts lumbered out of the water. They were four-footed creatures, stocky like oxen, but their elongated snouts bristled with sharp teeth. Lopsided shoulder muscles bunched under their black skin. Heavy hooves sloshed in the sea as they stampeded up the beach. Tufts of hair bristled all over their stout bodies, and broken horns twisted up from their heads, black and slimy with rotting seaweed. Seawater drained from their mouths, straining through yellow teeth, and their dark eyes shone in the moonlight.
They thundered up the beach and charged the nearest Ohohhim. One man froze while his comrades ran. A beast impaled him on its horns and kept on running. The man screamed as he was carried along.
A warning horn split the night.
The creatures did not stop to feed. They left the dead behind and charged into the tents, ripping apart the canvas and the men inside.
Ohohhim soldiers shouted to each other, drawing swords and grabbing spears. Officers barked orders, and the terrified men formed battle lines. As one, they rushed to brace the monsters. The twisted oxen impaled the Ohohhim on their great horns or tore them apart with their long teeth.
The Ohohhim did not break ranks as the monsters charged through them. The soldiers stabbed desperately and died for it. An Ohohhim stuck a spear clean through one of the beasts, skewering its rib cage. The spearhead burst out the other side, but the beast turned and bit off the soldier’s arm. He screamed and fell to his knees, blood spraying the sand. The beast twisted about and chomped through the soldier’s head.
Shara covered her mouth, and Brophy watched as more Ohohhim died. A hundred became sixty, and still the beasts came on. Sixty became forty.
More troops began to arrive from the ships in the harbor. Boatload after boatload landed to aid their comrades. This time, they threw their spears from a distance, staying clear of the creatures’ deadly horns. When one of the oxen fell, the soldiers moved in with desperate determination. They chopped the legs off the creatures, who continued to growl and snap from the ground, unable to move.
The beach swarmed with soldiers by the time the last beast fell. There was no roar of victory, just a sudden lull in the frenetic activity, accompanied by the moans of the dying.
Brophy’s heart hammered painfully in his chest. The beasts didn’t die. Black blood seeped from their severed limbs, but they bellowed and growled just as they had when they were whole.
“Bring the torches,” one of the officers yelled. “Check for infection. The injured must die.”
Brophy couldn’t look away as the foreigners turned on their own men, slaying the wounded. One man hobbled toward the sea with a broken leg. Three spearmen ran him down and stabbed him repeatedly as he died in the surf. His cries for mercy were lost in the surging of the waves.
“We should get out of here,” Brophy said, breathless.
Shara nodded.
“That way, straight up the mountain,” he said.
Again, she nodded.
The two of them took off at a run, scrambling up the slope on hands and knees. They didn’t stop until they reached the summit. Panting, they collapsed into a tiny shelter formed by two rocks.
“What were those things?” Brophy asked when he finally got his breath back.
“I don’t know,” she whispered.
“They made me sick to my stomach, just like…”
“Just like I did in the Wet Cells?”
Brophy nodded. “The Kherish sailors were right,” he said. “This island is cursed.”
“What if we run into one of them? What if we run into a dozen?”
“We stay as far away from the water as we can,” he said.
She pulled him to his feet. “Come on.”
11
AS THE SUN ROSE, the mist lightened. Whenever the clouds and fumes parted, the sun beat down ruthlessly on the ruined island. The Cinder made the deserts of Physendria look like the land of plenty. Nothing grew anywhere, not even a trace of scrub grass.
Shara and Brophy left the volcano’s ridge and descended toward the boiling bay at the center of the island. A continuous cloud of billowing steam erupted from the water. At night, they had seen a faint red glow somewhere below the surface.
Without any vegetation to hold the soil, the slope had been cut away by rainfall, creating a veined network of ridges and grooves that snaked down to the water. The ground was constantly shifting and unstable.
The two of them hurried down the slope and began walking along the barren shore. Shara tested the water with her finger. It was too hot for comfort, but not boiling this close to shore. The swirling winds blew noxious gases toward them, then the same winds cleared them away.
Sweat streamed down Shara’s face. Her Kherish dress clung to her as if she’d gone swimming. They had almost emptied their waterskins. If Brophy didn’t find the Brothers soon, they would have to look for a water source. There had to be natural springs somewhere. The Brothers couldn’t have survived so long if there weren’t, but it was hard to imagine a natural spring bubbling up from the side of a volcano.
They held cloths over their faces as Brophy led Shara around the beach. He kept one hand locked on the stone around his neck, following the impulses that pulled him forward.
Brophy stopped, coughing. He looked back at Shara with watering eyes. “The pull is very strong here,” he said. “We are close.”
They continued along the rocky shore. The cliffs grew taller and taller to their right, disappearing into the mists. The sloping shore narrowed, forcing them closer to the boiling bay. The fumes lingered against the rocks and Shara began to get light-headed.
“Just a little farther,” he said, clenching the heartstone necklace.
“We’ll be swimming before long,” Shara said, eyeing the water. She pulled her wet skirts to the side and tied a knot high on her thigh to keep them out of the way.
He led her farther into the mist. They had to clamber along the jagged cliff face at the edge of the shore. A false step and they would slide into the bay. Brophy turned right, walking into a narrow fissure that split the cliff wall. The crack was about ten feet wide and extended into the mists. Coughing into her shirt, Shara drew a shaky breath and continued shuffling along.
The fissure grew deeper and narrower as they moved inland. Soon it was about as wide as Brophy and Shara standing shoulder to shoulder. The bottom of the crack turned uphill.
Brophy forged relentlessly upward. Shara leapt after him. Her wet clothes pulled at her, but the heat diminished the farther they climbed from the bay.
The fumes began to clear. Orange light filtered down from above, the sun’s rays trickling into the fissure, lighting the higher layers of mist.
Brophy looked above them. “It reminds me of the Hall of Windows in autumn,” he said. “The light, I mean.”
Shara coughed into her fist and shook her head. “I don’t see how you can compare any of this to home. Ohndarien is blue. This place is gray. Brown-gray. Orange-gray. Yellow-gray. All gray.”
He stopped, a sheepish grin on his li
ps. “I just said the light looked like—”
Shara gave him a little peck on the cheek. “I know what you said.” She smiled. “You dream even when you’re awake, don’t you, Brophy?”
“I didn’t mean—”
“Brophy?” a man’s dusky voice asked from above. Brophy spun toward it, looking up. He stepped between Shara and the noise. Metal rang on metal as Brophy drew his sword. The chip of stone at his throat glowed orange.
“Brophy, is that really you?” the voice said.
Shara grabbed his hand, pointed to a tiny shelf of rock above them. A gaunt man with jet-black hair crouched like a spider overhead. His cheeks were sunken, his skin mottled and peeling from a dozen sunburns. A crude rope tied tattered pants around his waist, and a white diamond gleamed in the center of his bare chest. He carried a long sword in one hand, holding it easily. The blade shimmered in the strange light and a huge diamond glowed on the pommel.
Shara and Brophy drew a breath at the same time.
“Celinor?” Brophy asked, unwilling to believe his eyes.
The man’s arms were corded with muscle, and he looked like he hadn’t eaten in a month, but his green eyes shone with an inner light. He leapt from his perch, bounding off the wall like a mountain goat, landing neatly on his feet. He stood up straight, not quite as tall as Brophy. The white diamond pulsed in his chest in time with another at the end of his sword. He sheathed his blade with the quick efficiency of a lifelong warrior.
“Yes, I am Celinor. It’s really you?” the man asked. “Brydeon’s boy?”
Brophy’s sword hovered between them for a moment, then he put it away. “Yes. I am Brophy.”
The man laughed. It was a strange sound to hear from him, deep and resonant. “Of course you are!” he said, pulling Brophy into a hug. The boy returned the embrace, reluctantly at first, but then in earnest, clapping his uncle on the back.
Celinor broke the hug first and held Brophy at arm’s length, moving him around like a child even though Brophy outweighed him by thirty pounds.
“By the Seasons,” Celinor continued, “I took you for Brydeon himself at first. Thought I was hallucinating, after all these years. Finally losing my mind.” He gave a quick shake to his head. “But that’s the last thing to go here. The mind stays sharp long after the body fades. But of course you’re Brophy. Who else would you be with those shoulders, that stride? You have your mother’s hair.”
“And you are the Brother of Winter,” Brophy said.
Shara saw it now. Add a month’s worth of good meals, and the man would look just like Celidon.
“Yes. I guess you wouldn’t remember me. The last I saw you, you were just a babe.” He paused. “You certainly have the look of your father about you.”
“Where is my father?” Brophy asked, a sudden lump in his throat.
Celinor glanced at Shara. “Well…the letters.” He looked back at Brophy. “We told you in the letters. Years ago.”
Brophy swallowed hard. He closed his eyes. He knew what Celinor was going to say. But how could that be? His dream…
Celinor frowned. “I’m sorry, son. I thought you knew.” He took a deep breath. “Brydeon died years ago,” he said, his voice low. “He saved my life. Saved the child, but…I’m sorry, Brophy. I can take you to his grave, that is all.”
SHARA STOOD next to Celinor as Brophy approached his father’s grave. It was nothing more than a pile of black rocks on a narrow ledge, set between two other monuments just like it. Sulfurous mists gathered and swirled away. A long shard of red diamond rested atop the cairn. Shara felt Brophy’s anguish swelling inside him. She wanted to comfort him, but she held herself back.
“Come,” Celinor murmured, taking her hand and leading her up out of the canyon and out of sight. “Sometimes a man needs to mourn alone.” He sat her down on a rock and settled himself cross-legged on the ground facing her.
“There is too much death on this island,” he said. “Tell me of other things. Tell me of you and Brophy. He has a strong heart, like his father. You have done well to choose him. Are you his wife?”
Shara surprised herself by blushing. “No. I am a Zelani.”
Celinor narrowed his eyes. “A Zelani? A sorceress of Efften?”
“A sorceress of Ohndarien.”
“They have sorceresses in Ohndarien now? Of all ten types?”
“Ten?”
“Zelani is but one of the ten paths a mage can follow to her power. Didn’t you know?”
“No. I thought there was only one.”
He waved his hand. “It isn’t important. The secrets of Efften are best left forgotten.” He cocked his head to the side, still gazing into her eyes. For the first time since Victeris, she felt like she was being read, except Celinor’s scrutiny was gentle and kind. She felt power behind it like a storm on the horizon, but he did not invade her mind.
“You couldn’t have come at a better time,” Celinor said. “With the Ohohhim searching the island, my strength is stretched thin. So thin. We will need your help.”
“You have been here for fourteen years?”
Celinor nodded.
“What do you eat?”
He shook his head. “We do not eat. We do not sleep. You cannot sleep.”
Shara swallowed.
The Brother of Winter waved his hand. “You’ll find out about that soon enough. First, tell me about yourself. You are a Zelani, but what does that mean in Ohndarien? You are not married to Brophy?”
“We are lovers, but not married.”
“Zelani is the path of sensuality. You can lend your strength to your lover.” Celinor nodded. “Is that why Brophy shines like a polished gemstone?”
“Brophy shines wherever he is.”
“Yes, yes. A woman does not need the magic of Efften to make a man shine.” He shook his head, his long black hair swishing across his shoulders. Strangely, he was clean-shaven. With his tattered appearance, she would have expected him to have a long, straggly beard. His eyes narrowed. “I can smell the magic on you, but you do not turn my stomach.” He looked at her chest. “You are not a Sister, but you have communed with the Heartstone?”
“Baelandra gave me a stone to wear for a short time.”
“Ah.” He nodded. “The same stone that Brophy carries now?”
“Yes.”
“I understand. I did not find you so much as you found me.”
“I suppose so.”
He paused for a moment, but his eyes held hers with a raw intensity. The silence was uncomfortable for her, but he did not seem to notice. “Brydeon’s little sister was always headstrong. Did she send you north?”
“No. It was Brophy’s decision.”
“Ah.” Again, he paused as though he were asking silent questions of her soul, receiving answers she could not hear. “You have no corruption within you,” he said at last.
“Corruption? Like the beasts that come out of the sea?”
“You’ve seen them.”
“Yes. I felt them coming before they attacked the Ohohhim.”
“You are lucky there was someone in their way. Those poor creatures reek of malice and hate. They are the opposite of life. When you saw them, you wanted to vomit?”
“Yes.”
He nodded. “That is how it feels. Those who are sensitive react to them more strongly than others. This is what Efften left us. This—” Celinor waved a hand around. “All the evil that you feel in this place, is just a fraction of what Efften wrought when she collapsed.”
“Is all of this caused by the Legacy?”
He paused again. She couldn’t read his mind or his emotions. He was shielded, just like Baelandra, Krellis, and the other Sisters.
“Yes. The Legacy,” he said. “I haven’t heard her called that in years. Did Baelandra tell you what we are hiding?”
“She said it was a weapon of terrible power.”
“Ah.” Celinor nodded, then waved a hand. “Enough of that for the moment. Tell me of Ohndarien. H
ow does she fare? And my family? Tell me of my family.”
“Your younger sister, Vallia, still rules on the Council.”
“Is she as serious as ever? The Seasons know I tried, but I could never get her to laugh.”
“She is. The children she teaches joke about being able to cut glass with the tip of her nose.”
He laughed. “Ah yes. She was always the serious one. And no man yet, I wager.”
“None that I know of.”
“And what of my wife?”
“Hellena is well, though sad. She still waits for your return. Deep in her heart she believes you will come back to Ohndarien, though there are many that have given the Brothers up for dead.”
“Yes.” He sighed. “Yes, she would.” He closed his eyes. “And I wish that I could return to her, but…” He blinked. His eyes focused on her again. “Tell me of my son.”
“Your older sons sailed north to find you. They—”
“I know about my older boys,” he said. “They perished defending the child.” He paused. “Tell me of my youngest. Tell me of Celidon.”
Shara licked her lips, hesitating a fraction of a second. Celinor saw the truth in her eyes. He let out a long breath. “I should be used to it by now,” he murmured. He bowed his head, and tears came to his eyes. Methodically, he blinked them away. “Ah Shara…But you have brought hope to me. A small hope, perhaps, a fleeting one. To see two young people, bright and beautiful, it eases my heart in a way you cannot know.” He touched her cheek. “Tell me,” he whispered. “Tell me how Celidon died.”
“He took the Test of the Stone,” Shara said, her voice hoarse as she felt the man’s pain. “Baelandra thinks he was betrayed by Krellis.”
“Ah.”
“You know of Krellis?”
“I know about the man,” Celinor said.
“Baelandra believes he led Celidon to failure.”
