Into the Dark Lands
Page 38
She stirred against his chest.
“Sara?”
“Hmmmm? Is it morning already?”
“Not quite.”
“Good. Sleepy.”
He was silent for a few minutes, aware that if he did not cast his spell soon, he would not be able to—the black of sky had given way to transparent navy blue.
“Sara?” His arms tightened.
“What is it, darkling?”
Warmth shot through him.
“I wish you to know, Lady, that I am what I am: First Servant of your Enemy.”
“I know.” Her voice was still heavy with sleep.
“But I—” He kissed her, fully, and she responded. He told her what he must; for he finally understood it as true. “I love you as much as I am able.”
“Darkling.” She said it in sleepy wonder, her hands brushing against his shoulders.
“Will you remember this?”
“Of course.”
“Will you love me?”
She was silent a moment, and then he felt it: The bands of her light were glowing with life and strength. They touched him, pierced him, and passed through him with such sweet clarity that her words were lost.
And then his eyes flickered red one last time, and Sara’s smile was surrendered to sleep.
He lay holding her, a feeling of peace upon him.
“Sleep, Lady. Sleep. I will watch you; I will plan for the time when the world can be as you desire.”
And she did.
epilogue
It was almost time.
The Lady of Elliath stared at length into the placid waters of the fountain that had been stilled for a century. Caught there, her reflection stared back at her, already flat and lifeless.
She was a Servant, the First of the Bright Heart. Memory hung about her in sharp crystal shards that could not be avoided.
She glanced behind her, saw the sword and the satchel as they rested by the fountain. All was ready.
Yes. It is almost time.
The Dark Lord of the Empire waited without; his army of Swords, priests, and mortals arrayed on the new field. Her people, her descendants, were dead or scattered, the first of the lines to fall.
Only the first. It would continue, and the lines would pay all the price that she had once seen. But she would not be present for those losses; the burden would no longer be hers.
She rose, looking at the fragile beauty of her garden. It glowed with an enchantment and life that had taken much of her power to cast. And here it would wait until the return of the last of the children of Elliath.
She had no tears; even regret was dim and distant. She had set events in motion, cast the net of Lernan’s Hope as widely as possible.
It was time to discharge the last of the responsibilities that she had chosen—the last, and the easiest. The only farewell she made to the Woodhall and the life it had once contained was a quiet backward glance.
Her power entered the field; it caused pain, it brought death. For a moment her blood stirred at the combat; the Light against the Dark. But only for a moment. Arrows flew, swords were raised, the tiny gnat of fire the priests could send came forward, but these she could disregard. Even the field, spotted by shrubs and trees over the rolling hills, seemed withered and gray; life was already beyond her.
Then he came, Lord to her Lady.
All around him, his troops grew quiet. The arrows ceased their gentle storm, the traces of red were withdrawn.
He faced her, and she saw some of what she felt mirrored in his dark face. Here he wore no human guise, and here she discarded hers. They were Light and Dark, as in the primordial beginning.
All around them the twisted bodies of lesser mortals lay in grotesque tribute to the roots of their heritage.
She held her power, waiting. So, too, did he hold his.
No song came to them to fill the empty victory, the empty defeat. No true enmity took fire, no true hatred.
“We have both been changed by the mortal world.”
For a moment his power flickered sharply, his eyes danced. He saw in her only an echo of the past, no more.
“Yes, Lady.” He could not say why, but the change in her disturbed him deeply. She had always been his equal, and not for this sudden chill had he come this far.
They stood above their power, then.
“Stefanos,”
“Alariel.”
She smiled, no exultance in it. “Do you remember the first time we met?”
He nodded, his smile a match for hers, devoid of the wrath and the pull that had driven him to destroy her. “Well.”
They were silent again, the army forgotten. “It was before the gray of the world.” He shook himself and stood taller. “But we had heard, Lady, that you had dared the veils. And it has availed you nothing, in the end, but death—a true death, not a sojourn with your God.”
Her eyes gazed beyond him, seeing too much, seeing too little. “Yes,” she answered. “You heard truly.”
“After Kerloth’s example?”
“Even so.” She shivered, but he knew it was not caused by him. “I went where the Twin Hearts could not go, at the behest of the Bright One. This I foresaw; this and your victory.” Her face suddenly grew very still, her eyes glowing a brilliant green in the dark of the night. “Do you remember, Stefanos, the time when we each walked the void? I wanted, not long ago, to be cleansed by fire. And in some wise I have been granted that.
“You know what you must do. I know it, and I have accepted it. Come, let us have an end.”
“Alariel.” He said her name for the second time and met her eyes, red against green. “Know this: We have nurtured common blood. You were a worthy foe; when the empire is the world, your blood will always be remembered by it.”
She smiled sadly, her face no less peaceful. “And is the empire still so important?”
The question stung him; for a moment it was not the Lady he saw, but her granddaughter’s vulnerable face.
“It is mine.”
“That is all the answer I need.” For a moment, old fires rose in her. Wind carried the smell of smoke and blood and lifted her hair. “And you will pay a price for it, in the end, that is as heavy to you as the one I have paid. The two, you cannot have; and you will be torn between them.”
His fire lashed out then; her shields went up. Both flickered and dwindled.
“You do not know pity yet, Stefanos.” She was weary. “Come, end this.”
Still he stayed his hand, troubled. This was not the First of the Bright Heart, not as he remembered her.
“Brother,” she said softly.
He stiffened. This fight, this battle, this war—for the moment all were hollow. How dared she make a mockery of his power by her acquiescence?
But he, too, was suddenly weary.
“Is this the death you deserve, Alariel? Is this the death you foresaw for yourself?” There and then he swore he would never do as she had done.
“It is . . . peace.” And her shields fell.
Bitterness sang all around him as his fire flared out for the last time. True power, that God alone might match; a world in miniature, seen through the cold, red haze.
As she wished, she was cleansed. No pain seemed to escape her before even the form she had shown was blown away in a red, red wind.
He turned when it was finished and walked away into the darkness, ignoring the rustle of mindless chatter at his back.
Sara. He yearned for her; beside this the desire to feed was as nothing. Sara . . .
But Elliath was only the first of the lines, first and most powerful. Six still remained, and those six he must also destroy before seeking, once again, the comfort of her light.
A century of darkness was longer than Stefanos, First of the Sundered, had ever thought possible.
How much longer?
He shook himself, whispered three words, and passed through the darkness to Rennath. Let the army do as it would without him; he would return
to them soon enough. He walked into the shadows of his rooms; walked into the darkness that no light penetrated.
And there, under a halo of gentle red, she waited for him. In silence he stood, while the time drifted by. Days passed thus, stretching out. What of it? He had time. They had time.
He touched her hand; it did not move.
Very gently he lifted her body, cradling it in his dark arms.
Is this what you feel, Sara?
Is this what you feel when you cry?
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination and are used fictitiously Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Copyright © 1991 by Michelle Sagara
Introduction © 2005 by Michelle Sagara
First BenBella Books Edition September 2005
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Sagara West, Michelle.
Into the dark lands / Michelle Sagara West.—1st BenBella Books ed.
p. cm.
eISBN : 978-1-935-61837-9
1. Women healers—Fiction. 1. Title.
PS3619.A365158 2005
813’.6—dc22
2005004118
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