by Holly Lisle
She could find neither a ley line power source, nor a link with earth or sun. The energy seemed truly to come from the heart of the emeshest—from the center, where Delmuirie sat like a fat, stupid spider in its web.
She could not break the emeshest’s ties with its source of power, then. She dared not physically enter it, or she would certainty end up in the same situation as her daughter and her friends—from the inside, she wouldn’t be able to help.
Yet what could she hope to do from the outside?
She struggled to ground the energy she controlled—the impossible amounts of power the emeshest generated had disturbed her when she and Witte had arrived in the city. Physical proximity to the wall of light made the effects much worse. She tightened the focus of her concentration, until the world around her ceased to intrude on her thoughts, and only the magic and the emeshest existed for her.
Inside and outside. That was her answer; she needed to be both inside and outside Delmuirie’s wall.
Hard discipline had taught her to pare away all of herself that was physical, and to break her spirit free—long practice gave her the strength to do what she needed to do in spite of her fear for her daughter, in spite of the distraction of the pulsing emeshest, in spite of her fury at the meddlesome, evil god that sat on the rock above her, swinging his leg. Slowly and cautiously, she separated her conscious self from her body. She floated above her flesh, so that for a moment she could see herself sitting on the floor, legs crossed, eyes closed. She turned away from her flesh-self, and as she did, she caught a quick glimpse of Witte sitting on his boulder, suddenly very still, watching her intently.
Forget him, she told herself. Think of Kirtha.
Then she moved her spirit-self into the wall of light. This time, there was no palpable thrill of pulsing energy—with her flesh left behind, the magic couldn’t touch her that way. For the first time, she embraced the mind of the magic.
Chapter 7
AS her spirit-self melted into the glowing barrier, an immense outpouring of energy filled her; the wealth of magic was so vast every touch of power she had experienced to that moment seemed as nothing. Her spirit sang with joy, she heard the joy as music, incredible music, and knew that song as the sound of creation—the singing of the very atoms of the universe. I am, they sang. Everything is. And over that exultant, complex melody, a thread of awareness touched her and embraced her.
You have come, it said. I have been waiting since before the beginning of time for you. Welcome, heart of my heart and soul of my soul.
She did not hear the words as a voice. Instead, she felt emotion—an outpouring of love, immense and overwhelming.
For an instant she welcomed it, as a woman would welcome a lover’s embrace. There was about it a joy and a sense of fulfillment that was almost undeniable. But the more she opened herself to the touch of this other, the more the other surrounded her and engulfed her, until she felt smothered. Startled and bewildered, she tried to block off the source of that desperate, needy emotion. She couldn’t push it away entirely, but she did manage to damp it to the point where she no longer felt it would submerge her individuality in its all-encompassing embrace.
Why did you do that? the source of magic asked. Again, Faia understood the hurt bafflement without actually hearing words.
Who are you? she asked. She didn’t answer its question. Are you Delmuirie?
She felt a quick flurry of emotions then. The first was delight and recognition at the name. The second, which attempted to hide that delight, followed almost immediately; that emotion was flat denial, mingled with disgust. There is no Delmuirie.
Really? Faia implied disbelief.
I am all—I am the whole of the universe. I have awaited the touch of your soul since the beginning of time. The cloistering, too-sweet syrup of other-love flowed around her again. You thought of me as the Dreaming God when you first arrived here, though that is not my name. You have always known me, Faia. And I have known you since before your birth. I created you to be with me.
Don’t be ridiculous.
Ridiculous? In the other, she felt a twinge of anger, quickly suppressed. I brought the first of your people across all of space and much of time, to the here and now that I inhabit—in all the universe, I had found no others before your kind with whom I could truly speak. Once your people settled this world, I discovered to my dismay that they could speak to me, but they could not hear me. They were not truly of my kind—none exists of my kind. In the universe, I am alone. Still, the potential was there—and over centuries, I have touched your people with my power and guided their loves and desires, while with every generation, the children became more like me. You are the culmination of my art and my dreams. You can speak with me; you can become one with me… you can love me.
Faia was unimpressed by the “Dreaming God’s” grandiose explanation. She expressed sharp annoyance, and pushed at the confining bonds of his adoration. You aren’t asleep.
Of course not. I have never slept. I have listened to the symphony of the universe forever, but I have listened alone. Now I have you with me, and I will never be alone again. How wonderful it is to talk with someone at last. You and I will share the eternal symphony of being; we will create worlds together, and share eternal bliss.
Faia recalled her daughter, and her trapped friends, and found within her spirit the anger she needed to confront the “Dreaming God.” I have no wish to be a god, and even if I did, I would have no wish to be a god with you. Your name is Edrouss Delmuirie, whether you want to admit it or not, and you’re an idiot. You tried some stupid spell and got yourself frozen here, and here you’ve been for Lady only knows how long.
I created you. I made you for me—to be with me…
Faia was unrelenting. No, you didn’t, Delmuirie. You didn’t make anything—except a stupid mistake. And even if you had, I wouldn’t stay here with you. I don’t love you. I don’t want you. I have a daughter, and I have a place in the world. That place has no room for you.
She felt his anger begin to boil around her. Heat mixed with lust mixed with fury mixed with bewilderment in an ugly fusion that threatened to suffocate her.
You—will—love—me. I have been alone forever, but forever has become a moment, a nothing, now that you are here. I searched the universe in the hopes of finding another like myself, but none like me existed. I was alone—I have always been alone. I moved stars in their orbits, and changed even the flow of time so that someday I might have you by my side, and now at last I have you. You will be my consort.
No, Faia said. Hard as crystal, cold as ice, she shielded herself from the heat of his desire. If you made me stay here, I would withdraw from you and be silent, and you would still be alone. You will not have me, and I will never love you.
Then, to emphasize her point, she backed away. She followed her spirit lines back to her body, out of the seething cauldron of rage the universe within the emeshest had become.
Even when her spirit was all but free of the god-aura, she could still feel the “Dreaming God’s” wrath clawing after her. You cannot leave me! You cannot reject me!
I can. She pushed him away. I did.
Then she pulled the last thread of her awareness free from the wall of light and slipped back into her body. Immediately the sensations of simply being overwhelmed her, as they always did when she returned to her physical self after long absence. The dull ache in her lower back, the tingling of her nearly numb legs, the roar of her breathing, and the pounding of her pulse in her ears; all of these brought her back sharply to the reality of human existence. Still, the heightened emotions from her time in the emeshest clung to her. Tears streamed down her cheeks; the loneliness of the “Dreaming God” still hurt—and she hurt for him.
Except he isn’t a god, she reminded herself. He’s a man. A fool of a man who has my daughter and my friends and my daughter’s father trapped within the barriers of his stupidity.
The emeshest was no longer golden, and i
t was no longer still. It undulated along its border, whipping out tentacles toward Faia, pulsing dull red and mottled purple and dirty yellow—the colors of a bad bruise. It looks like pain, she thought. If I were going to draw pain, I’d draw it like that.
Faia scrambled out of the reach of the tentacles, back against the wall where Witte sat, gripping a rock. He was pale and shaking. Sweat beaded on his forehead though the tunnel was cool.
“This was a bad idea,” the little god said. “I was wrong to do this. You have to calm him. You have to put Delmuirie back to sleep.”
“My daughter is in there,” Faia said softly. “Remember?”
Witte stared at her. He wore death in his eyes, and fear. “Please,” Witte croaked. “Stop him.” The wall of light flickered and he flickered with it, so that for an instant Faia could see the rock he sat upon through his body. “He wants you back. Delmuirie wants you back. I can feel it. He’s—angry.”
Faia’s hands knotted themselves into fists, and the muscles in her shoulders tensed. “I want my daughter back, and I’m angry too. What do I care if he’s angry?”
“I’m going to die.”
“Gods don’t die,” she said, her voice cold. “Remember? That’s what you told me.”
“I can feel it. I’m going to die. It’s all going to end. Everything is going to end.” The emeshest whipped and rolled and flashed, growing more ragged and erratic with every pulse. And with every pulse of the wall of light, Witte grew more transparent, and his voice became thinner and harder to hear. “Save me, Faia!” he howled. “I want to live!”
Faia clenched her teeth together until her jaws ached. The time she’d spent caring for Witte and liking him meant nothing to her, she told herself. He had killed every bit of compassion she might have managed. “I want my daughter back.”
“Too late!” Witte’s scream faded, too, until it vanished into nothingness. The caverns around Faia shuddered, and from somewhere in the distance she heard thunder boom, and a sound very like that of lightning striking a tree—a terrible ripping, cracking sound.
Then the light vanished.
Faia stood in total darkness and complete silence, blind and lost. After the flash of light and the awful boom, her hearing returned first. Even then, she could hear nothing but the sounds of her pulse and her own rapid breathing. Then she heard a little cry. “Mama! Where are you!”
She sagged against the rock wall, and fresh, hot tears streamed down her cheeks. Her daughter was all right, and free from Delmuirie s magic. “I’m right here, Kirtha!” She called a faeriefire to give them light, but none came. She reached into the earth for power, but felt nothing. Swallowed by darkness, blinded to the touch of magic, she felt more helpless than she ever had.
“Mama! Where are you! I can’t find you!” Kirtha wailed.
“Stay were you are and keep talking,” Faia told her daughter. “I’ll find you.”
Kirtha talked while Faia fumbled her way forward through the dark, over the sand floor of the cavern. At last she reached her daughter. She wrapped the little girl in her arms and held her tightly. Kirtha hugged her, and her round cheek, soft as silk, damp with tears, pressed against Faia’s.
Faia held her and whispered, “Everything is going to be all right now, Kirthchie. It’s going to be all right now. We’re going to go home.”
Chapter 8
IT was not so simple as that, Faia realized.
The light was gone and the faeriefires would not come. She tried other magic—tried difficult things and simple things, all without success, until she was forced to admit that her gift was gone.
She had failed the Lady, she realized. She had been given her great gift of magic so that she could wake Delmuirie—but not so that she could anger him.
I should have bargained with him. I should have asked him to free my daughter and my friends in exchange for my own freedom. He would have given me that; I suspect he would have given me anything I’d asked, if only I had stayed.
She hadn’t been willing to make that sacrifice, and she was being punished for it. The Lady had taken away the one thing that had made Faia special—her magic.
At least the Lady hadn’t taken Kirtha from her, too.
Faia drew a deep, shaky breath. She had to get the two of them out of the maze of tunnels, into the main part of the ruins. Once there, she would be able to get help. She rummaged through her waist pack and found her emergency candle and quicklights. She used the flickering of the flame both for light and to determine the direction air moved through the tunnels.
Wide straightaways led off in four directions, each straightaway lined with carved doorways and intersected at intervals by other wide corridors. She followed the one that gave her the most breeze, until she ran into an area where there were no straight passages left. Then she and Kirtha went through a series of domed rooms connected by twisting tunnels, testing every tunnel and following the leaning candle flame.
She hoped the outside world wasn’t far.
She and Kirtha stopped once to rest, and Faia blew out the candle. The dark swallowed them again.
Kirtha began to cry. “I want light, Mama,” she said. “I don’t like it this dark.”
Faia sighed “We have to save the candle, Kirthchie. We only have one with us, and I don’t know how far we will have to walk to get out of these tunnels.”
“I’m hungry and I wanna drink.”
Faia thought of her pack, and of the jerky and hard cheese and black bread inside of it. Damn Witte! It had been no mistake that he’d brought her without it—she would have bet everything she had on that. He’d left her pack behind out of spite, out of innate wickedness. She had no food because of him, no water, no healing herbs—almost nothing. She could hear the sound of running water somewhere in the distance, but it wasn’t in the direction she and Kirtha were traveling, and she was afraid to wander into the maze of passageways.
Kirtha suddenly asked, “Mama, where’s Witte?”
Faia could not avoid seeing again in her mind’s eye her last sight of the evil god Hrogner—the screaming, twisting form dissolving into air, begging for her help. She winced, grateful the darkness hid her expression from Kirtha. “He—he went away.”
“Why?” Kirtha asked.
“I don’t know.” At least the truth would serve for that answer, Faia thought.
“Will he come back?”
Faia shivered. “I—I don’t think so.”
After mother and daughter were rested, Faia relit the candle, checked her direction again, and led them forward again. The air grew colder—a good sign. The temperature inside the tunnels would be steady; in Faia’s experience, the temperatures in caves varied little with the seasons. But near the tunnel mouths, Faia thought the air would begin to reflect the outside temperatures.
“Hallo!” a man’s voice shouted. “Help! I see a light! I’m not dead, then! Help! Please!”
Faia looked around. The voice was male, and accented slightly. It echoed weirdly through the place, so that she was unable to locate the man by sound. The single candle didn’t throw enough light for her to find him by sight. She turned in circles. “Where are you?”
“To the left!”
She turned left, holding tight to Kirtha’s hand.
“Nay! The light grows dimmer. I meant my left!”
Faia stopped, and carefully backtracked. She went to each of the tunnels in the room—this particular one had five, and held the candle into them one by one. Finally the man shouted, “Yes. I see your light better now!” Faia and Kirtha walked along a round-ceilinged passage and into another domed room. This one differed from the others only in that it held camping supplies, a man, and some sort of heavy scaffolding that appeared to have toppled onto him. The scaffolding boards had fallen across him and wedged into the tumbled boulders and up against the ceiling, pinning him to the ground.
He stared at her with a dazed expression, then held his hands up and studied them as if he’d never seen hands before
. “Light,” he whispered at last “It was so dark for so long…”
He rubbed his hands over his face and his chest. “I’m… cold,” he said. He looked up at her, then over at Kirtha, then back to her again. “Who are you?” he asked, and then, before Faia had a chance to answer, added, “Can you help me?”
He was handsome, Faia noticed. Handsome and powerfully built, with sad, faraway eyes and a wistful expression that caught her imagination and made her heart beat faster.
“Yes. I think I can.”
“I thought…” he whispered. Then his voice broke, and fear and desperation redrew the planes of his face. Tears rolled down his cheeks—but silently. He cried as men cried when they were ashamed of their tears. After a moment, he took a long, shuddering breath and wiped his eyes on a sleeve. “I thought I was dead,” he told her. Anguish overlaid his words. “I opened my eyes, and I could not see anything. Could not see my hand in front of my face, nor anything around me…” He stared off into the darkness of the tunnels and paused—and Faia saw him shiver. “I shouted for help. My voice was the only sound I could hear. That and the moaning. I began to believe that was the sound of other damned souls; damned souls trapped here with me. I thought sure I was one of them.”
Faia frowned. “You heard moaning?”
“Aye. It’s still there. Be still and you’ll hear it only too well.”
Faia held still and listened. She did hear it; a far-off, mournful throbbing sound that rose for an instant to a keening wail, then grew soft and plaintive again. She realized she was listening to wind moving through the tunnels. She hadn’t been able to hear that before; she knew she had to be nearing the outside world.
For the stranger, though, trapped and helpless, that eerie, wonderful sound that promised nearing freedom would have been less than no comfort.
She changed the subject. “What were you doing in here?”
He lay there staring at her, then glanced around the room, up at the mosaics on the ceiling and down at the sand-covered stone floor, at the toppled boulders that had fallen from the far wall.
