*
All Carriol knew that Thorn’s band was in trouble—and knew that more Kubalese were on their way toward Carriol’s border. Carriol fought for her life, winged ones carried soldiers or fought free without riders, leaping from the sky to strike; the wolves fought as fiercely as they had fought at the battle of Hape and in the dark wood. Only the master Seers remained behind in Carriol, seated in the citadel with heads lowered in the prayer of concentration, massing their power more surely here to help cripple the Kubalese; for though the stone was gone, still some power clung inside the citadel itself, this place that once had known the power of the Luff’Eresi.
*
In the sky above the crystal dome, the battle was bloody, a winging, whirling melee of winds and confusion. Kish swept her band in again and again to attack the winged ones and Meatha, while Kish herself drove mercilessly at Lobon. And as Kish called on the powers of the creatures of darkness, those spirits reached out to give purpose to the winged lizards: made warring, lethal creatures of them, all claw and teeth and canny in their maneuvering, slashing and twisting away to divert Meatha. The white mare bore streaks of blood across her coat and wings, and Meatha’s arm was torn. Nearby the warrior queen parried and bore down on Lobon. She slashed, cut Lobon’s shoulder, and swept away beneath Lannthenn to come at him from behind with her ready sword. Lannthenn dove and doubled back; Lobon struck, but Kish was away, quick in the air, eluding him. As the forces clashed and the dark strengthened, the earth below shuddered, and the very boulders shifted, ringing out like death music, Along Pelli’s coast a protrusion of land broke loose and fell into the sea, gentle hills rumbled and cracked apart. What power was this, to so shatter the land? All took heed, but no one yet understood except Kish, and those who fought beside her.
In Farr, Kearb-Mattus let some of the cultists escape his troops in order to surround and take captive the young Carriolinian Seers; soon his troops were ushering Zephy and Thorn and five other Seers down from their mounts, to be bound, to be tied one to the other, then to be force-marched off ahead of the horses toward Dal, and toward the villa-turned-cell where they had left earlier captives. For that villa, too, had fallen to Kearb-Mattus’s men and was now a perfect place to give, with slow, increasing torture, the final death rites the Kubalese leader so anticipated.
Neither Thorn nor Zephy looked up as they marched, nor looked at each other, but their minds were locked as one—angry, desperate—seeking a plan of escape.
*
Lobon struck a telling blow across Kish’s face, another strike that drew blood from the lizard. He saw Meatha skewer a lizard then jerk her sword free as the heavy creature fell. Below them now bodies lay, dark splotches across the meadow and dunes, some lizards, some horses of Eresu, sprawled across the pale sand. Kish was on him again. He parried, forced her back; Kish’s lizard clawed air, she gripped its neck, off balance, and he thrust forward quickly—too late Lobon saw her strategy, too late cried out to Lannthenn and felt the stallion take her sword in a mortal spot.
They were falling, the stallion barely able to use his wings, blood gushing from his torn chest; he was like a crippled bird. Lobon’s heart filled with love for him, with sorrow, and with terrible fear for the stones. Lannthenn fell to earth in a twisting, crippled spiral, went to his knees and was down as Lobon leaped free.
From the crystal dome Jaspen watched, Feldyn and Crieba immobile beside her. She made prayer for Lobon, violent, strong prayer; she had done so constantly since the battle began. She was the child of Cadach, the tree man, the youngest child of five, though no two were born in the same generation or in the same place nor, for that, of the same mother; but all choosing to make right again the sins of Cadach. This was her gift, this guarding of the stone that now held all of Ere’s fate in balance.
Soon behind her, come at the force of her prayer, towering figures made of light rose from the stuff of the crystal dome as if that crystal were but air, figures unclear in their dimension, and their wings all woven of light. They watched the battle, watched the great horse Lannthenn fall and die; watched Kish, the warrior queen, descend to the meadow where Lobon stood awaiting her, holding the stone and the wolf bell as bait.
Kish’s eyes burned with hunger for the stone, but she remained mounted. Around her, lizards dropped out of the sky to slither in the grass, circling Lobon. Above, half a dozen lizards drove Meatha and the white mare back, attacking again, again.
Kish’s mount spun around, she jerked it savagely and brought it rearing over Lobon. He stabbed at its belly, ducked her sword, stabbed again; as the creature twisted away, he leaped and hit it, dodging Kish’s blows, forcing his power at her; felt her sword pierce his arm. And he felt a surge of power in himself, as if all the Seers of Carriol sent theirs flooding like a tide. He struck the lizard, struck again as it reared, slashing its trailing wing; as it tried to climb skyward, he struck once more down its side with all his weight on his sword. The lizard fell screaming. Kish beat it but it could not rise. She slid down, left it to die, confronted Lobon from the ground, her face white and twisted with lust for the stones he carried, with a rage that drew the dark fury of evil into a giant maelstrom, a force that continued to shake the earth. All across Ere the land moved and changed; in Carriol the warriors of light were driven back by the heaving earth, by the dark powers incarnate in Kish’s wrath.
From the crystal dome, the child Jaspen watched and held her own force steady. She felt the power of the two wolves who stood beside her, felt Meatha’s strength supporting Lobon, as all together they sought to weaken Kish and drive her back.
Cadach the tree man Saw the battle, felt the earth’s tremors around him and knew their true nature. Trapped inside his ancient tree deep in the caves of Owdneet, he felt the mountain move above him, below him, Saw the warring in Carriol and Carriol’s armies driven back. Then felt the mountain give way beneath him; his tree toppled suddenly into a newly opened fissure, the roots upside down reached up like clawing fingers as it was swept, with all the treasures of the cave, deep into the center of the world. And Cadach at last knew death, crushed inside the shattered tree.
But the spirit of Cadach was not dead, it came truly alive suddenly and watched all of Ere in the holocaust. Cadach, dead at last and his spirit released, watched Lobon’s battle with terrible empathy. What path that spirit would now pursue, on until the end of Time, what strength it would now embrace into itself to drive back the dark, only Cadach could know.
He Saw the crystal dome and knew it stood on the place where once a jade sphere had been mined. He Saw the mining of the jade, Saw that miner-Seer discover the powers of the stone. He Saw its theft by another, the search for it, all in an instant; and Saw finally a procession of Seers carry the stone up into the mountain Tala-charen to safety, to leave it for fate, and for the natural forces beyond their own will, to deal with.
And so had those forces dealt, and were dealing. Cadach went still in his mind as Kish’s sword struck across Lobon’s, struck again. He Saw Kish take a blow and reel, then strike cruelly at Lobon, Saw the battle in the sky above where Meatha fought desperately to join him.
From the crystal dome a woman stood looking out past the white-haired child and the two wolves: Skeelie, come out of Time as silent as wings muffled by cloud; Skeelie, held tense by the force of the battle. Convulsively she moved forward, her hand gripping the heavy, unfamiliar sword at her side, for she carried Canoldir’s sword. She pushed through the dome, touched the clear door, would go to Lobon, would fight beside Lobon. . . .
As she passed the child and the wolves, she slowed; she saw that the warrior queen was weakening and she brought force strong with the others, felt forces strong around Lobon. She did not know she was whispering Ramad’s name, like an incantation. She stood, sword ready but unmoving, as Lobon parried powerfully against Kish, driving her back now, giving her mortal blows in a surge of fury and strength. But Kish rallied, swung her sword stabbing into his chest in a flashing thrust. Metal
rang, but her sword glanced away. Lobon staggered, righted himself and drove the warrior queen back. He felt the power of the great wolves join him strong as a beating pulse as all across Ere Seers of light turned from their own battles, held their attackers at bay, their powers joined with him in the stones. The warrior queen lunged and slashed, but in her fury she was losing control; she fought desperately as he drove her back again, again, and then with one lunging blow he thrust his sword home into her chest. She fell.
He stood over her, sword ready. She made no move to rise. He stood quietly, watching her die.
At last Lobon knelt beside her. He stared at her white, reptilian face, shaped with anger even in death. He reached, removed from her tunic the five shards of the runestone of Eresu. Took up the starfires. He wanted to wipe the scent of Kish from them, polish them clean. Instead he rose and reached to place the stones inside his own tunic. It was then he felt the twisted metal there. He pulled the wolf bell forth.
It was smashed and twisted by Kish’s sword. The belly of the bitch-wolf gaped open where the blade had gone in. Inside that cut, gleaming green, lay a shard of the runestone. He turned the wolf bell and spilled the stone into his hand beside the others. At once he was stricken with a force like thunder, felt heat and a white light burst around the stone so bright it blinded him.
When the light died, he remained still, shocked, hypnotized with the force that gripped him.
In his hand lay not the shards of the runestone, but a round jade sphere. The whole stone. No mark or line showed where the shards had joined. The runes were carved around its surface, the whole rune—or nearly whole: for a chasm ran along one side of the stone deep into the center, a rough-edged scar where the missing shard should have been. Inside, he could see the golden heart that had been the starfires. He looked up then, and saw Meatha. Skeelie stood beside her, the look on her face unfathomable, her dark eyes deep with emotions that shook Lobon’s soul, the sense of Ramad so strong between them, the sense of their closeness.
“It is joined,” he said inadequately. He felt heavy and stupid with shock. “How—how could such a thing happen? It is not whole, it is flawed. How . . . ?” He was fighting dizziness, fighting to remain standing.
Skeelie moved to support him, stood tall and strong beside him, holding his shoulders. Her voice shook only slightly. “Perhaps it is flawed just as Ere is flawed. Just so—as men’s lives are flawed.”
“Yes,” he said, staring down at the stone.
“Though,” she added quietly, “that makes their lives no less magnificent.”
He leaned against Skeelie, felt her strength, her gentleness. Then he looked across to Meatha, reached to take her hand.
“It is done,” Meatha said. Above them the sky was empty, the remaining lizards had fled.
“And the wolves?” he said suddenly, looking around him. The white-haired child stood alone, a little way from them.
“The wolves are gone,” Meatha said. “They make for Carriol and their brothers.” He glimpsed them in the shadows of his mind racing across the sand. “They will return to us,” she said. “Maybe with mates by their sides.” She smiled. “Too long alone, those two.” Her warmth and her strength, like Skeelie’s strength, reached out and steadied him; and Skeelie moved away.
He looked long at Meatha. “And—are you too long alone?”
She lowered her eyes, then looked up. “I am not alone,” she said boldly. Kish’s spell had fallen from them. The force that linked them now was their own, woven not of darkness nor of another’s greed. He put his arms around her and found the lack of a spell made little difference in the way he felt. He drew her close, wincing as he pressed her against a sword wound; he felt the pain of all his wounds, as if the numbing strain of battle had worn away and his senses come clear once more; pain, and then dizziness.
*
He woke with strong hands lifting him to a sitting position. He was in a bed, staring dumbly at a steaming mug of something vile. He looked up at Skeelie’s face.
“I can’t drink that. It stinks.”
“Ram always drank it. So can you. It will ease the pain.”
He pushed it away. “I don’t need droughts for pain.” Though pain was nearly crushing him.
He began to remember, and the memory so shook him that it, too, brought pain. He gripped the stone in his hand and dared not look at it.
“Drink!” Skeelie insisted. Scowling, he gulped the hot, bitter brew. Not till it was gone did he lift the stone, and read the runes carved into it;
Eternal quest to those —— power
Some seek dark; they —— end.
Some hold joy: they know eternal life.
Through them all powers will sing.
The child Jaspen stood silently beside the bed—this surely must be her bed, a narrow cot. She said softly, “Eternal quest to those with power. Some seek dark, they mortal end.” The touch of the stone seemed to Lobon like fire, immense, filling the light-washed dome. He remembered the moment of the joining, the white light, the stone joining in his hand just as, six generations gone in Time, it had shattered in Ramad’s hand.
On the floor beside the cot lay the split and battered wolf bell. The bitch-wolf was still grinning.
The drug was beginning to take hold, to make him muzzy. He remembered the battling across Ere, Carriol’s desperate warring against the Kubalese, felt with dulled senses how the powers had struck at them, and the powers of darkness called by Kish with the rage that shook all the land. Sleepily, he realized that the sense of those powers was gone now, that infinite calm lay around him and lay too across Ere. He looked up with hazy vision. Both Meatha and Skeelie were watching him, and the child Jaspen, her thin little face calm beneath that shock of white hair.
“The dark is gone,” Meatha said. “Or—the dark has drawn back,” she corrected herself.
Skeelie touched his cheek. “Perhaps the dark will never be entirely gone. Maybe that is what the flawed stone tells us.”
“As long as we are mortal,” Jaspen said sadly, “the dark will be somewhere close to us, even when we are at peace.”
“The land is quiet now,” Meatha said. “And it is different, Lobon. Can you sense it? The land is split apart. Kish did that. The mountains—” She stopped speaking, and the vision came around them, flowing from one mind to the others. All three had Seen the moment of the splitting, only Lobon unaware as if he stood in the blind eye of a storm. They had Seen the fissure begin as a crack high up inside the Ring of Fire, and run jagged and increasing in size, down through the mountains, to cut back and forth across Cloffi with the terrible force of the dark, and across the river Owdneet, so the river’s waters mixed with lava, sending up blinding steam; and the rift had shouldered south through Aybil, toward Farr and toward the villa of Dal.
*
Zephy and Thorn had sensed the rift, as had the five young Seers locked with them in the villa at Dal, sensed it and felt the earth heave and knew that they could die there. In an agony of terror each for the other, they sought out for help. They dug at the stone, forcing their shoulders and backs against the rubble with which their cell was sealed, staring skyward through the small hole they had made, hoping. . . . They felt the earth shift beneath them, and tore with bloody hands at the wall that imprisoned them.
Zephy saw the winged ones first, high in the sky above them, and cried out. The sky outside was filled with wings. Get back! the silent voices cried. Get back! The winged ones turned their backsides to the wall and kicked, kicked again in wild drumbeats until at last the wall gave way. Rubble fell around their feet. The earth’s heaving increased. The Seers tumbled through, leaped to mount. The horses swept skyward as the rift sucked Dal’s villa into a fiery maw and crushed and toppled it a hundred feet into the earth, then moved on, hungering for the sea.
*
The rift had shattered through Farr and split the coastal shelf and then the sea floor, sending the sea leaping out onto the land. Behind it the eleven coun
tries of Ere, so long joined in isolation from the rest of the primitive globe, were no longer joined. Now to the west lay Moramia and Karra in the high desert, nearly untouched, and clinging to them, Zandour and Aybil and Cloffi. That land lay separated now from the eastern nations. The rift was half a mile wide. In the east lay Carriol and Pelli, Sangur and Kubal, and what had once been Urobb. Farr was an island now, cut off from the land.
In the mountains, the fissure had snaked through the caves of Owdneet, which were already shattered by the earlier quakes. The magnificent grotto where Ramad had met the dark Seer was no more. How many mortals and living creatures had died in the devastation, they couldn’t know. How many families crushed, terrified—generations, whole villages. All the fabric of their civilization torn asunder by Kish, by the dark, and all record of it, all the history of Ere wrought in paintings on the stone ceiling and laid out in parchment scrolls gone, neither present nor past to endure save what fragments future generations could slowly piece together. The fissure’s tail snaked north, to end at last at the foot of Tala-charen. Ere was split in two. Only Tala-charen lay untouched.
“We will start anew,” Meatha said, “We will retrieve what we can of the past, and we will write a new history. Tra. Hoppa will write it.”
Lobon looked at Jaspen. What would happen to the white-haired ones? He knew from Meatha that Anchorstar and Merren Hoppa had no idea that they were brother and sister.
“We know about each other now,” Jaspen said, “We are all the children of Cadach. Anchorstar knows, and Merren. Gredillon, in her own time knows. Our brother Thebon who moves through the unknown lands knows. Cadach has died now,” she said, “and has been released, and so we are released from our vows to atone for him. That won’t change what we are, and what we care about.”
Runestone of Eresu Page 46
