“STOP!” Grace yelled frantically, obviously having sensed something in the air that the rest of them didn’t. With an agility that belied her great age, Grace slipped off the side of her horse to land stealthily on her feet, then bolted to where Joya was tied aback Daisy. “Untie her, NOW!”
Within moments Jovian and Maeven were on the ground and beside Grace untying Joya. “Set her down and get away,” Grace said only slightly more relaxed than before. They barely had time to get Joya down to lie on the crushed white stone before Grace was herding them with the horses to the side of the road.
They had only made it to the edge of the road and were turning to the crone—her hand poised at her chin, her eyes squinted in speculation—when they felt the humming in the ground beneath their feet as some strange wyrd issued up from beneath them like ripples of heat, caressing their legs
“She is in her trial of earth,” Grace answered the unasked question.
As the power flowed over them a feeling of serenity infused their being. They watched with utter disbelief as, in the middle of Voyager’s Pass, grass and violet wildflowers grew to maturity in the span of a few heartbeats.
Grace’s cautionary voice stayed their desires to go to the sorceress. Joya’s velvety black hair strewn across the stones rippled slightly with more than just the earth’s wyrd that came to witness and rejoice in her triumph. Violet wildflowers were shifting under her hair, unfurling and poking up through the silken locks as if through some midnight black snow.
The change in the atmosphere around her, from the ground that hummed under their feet with gathering wyrd to the calming, gentle air, was not the only change inspired by the trial. For the first time since her unconsciousness, Joya showed semblance of life.
A whimper issued from lips. Slightly she tossed about as if in the grips of some malicious vision.
Before they knew it everything reverted to normal. Joya lay still once more, appearing as if her lot was cast in with the dead rather than the living. It made Angelica wonder where exactly these trials were taking place as she watched her sister’s skin fade to ashen white once more. Though the earth stopped quivering from wyrd summoned by her passing the trials, the flowers remained. A wyrded garden in the center of Voyager’s Pass some leagues from Naolyn, a testament to all that traversed these grounds that the power of the LaFaye blood had conquered this manmade construction to force earth to grow where it was so intent to be kept out.
“She has passed the Trial of Earth.” Grace whispered, and a smile grew on her face.
For months it seemed Cianna cowered in that darkened cave, no water for bathing, and no light to see by. She knew that if she were to ever escape that her eyes would be damaged by the light of day. Escape, however, was not something her twisted mind thought of lately, for now there was only pain.
Cianna had thought, when she first got here, that the pain was bad, but within the time from then to now the pain had steadily increased to the point where now she could barely move.
At times she dreamed, if dreaming was what it could be called. Most of the time she did not remember what her nighttime visions were, but occasionally she dreamt in color. Not just in color, rather flashing colors of reds, greens, and blues to be exact. When the dream first happened she had enjoyed it, the one piece of the Ever After in this Goddess-forsaken pit the chaos dwarves kept her captive in. Steadily, however, Cianna came to associate the color dreams with another type of pain.
The first time her body had gone into fits was the day after one of the color dreams. At the time she did not link the two, but as the dreams happened more and more and the seizing of her muscles and the spasmodic movements of her body increased along with them she came to realize they were warnings, and she dreaded their coming even as she had once rejoiced in it.
When the dreams did come to an end, she thought she would be happy; however, when they left, and the seizing ended, she was wracked with another pain, one that made her wish once more for the seizing and the dreams, for at least then she had had color …
The pain was more intense than she could conceive of at times but still her body would not give in. No matter how much the pain drove her into begging, even willing her body to give up, her life to end, it simply would not.
Even the painful seizing of muscles she could not control was preferable to the stillness that came when the dreams of color left her—stillness like death.
It wasn’t that Cianna couldn’t move; it was that she didn’t dare, for when she did it felt like hot irons burning her neck, charring her skin. Similar pain came from her underarms and groin when she tried to shift around too much. Cianna could not see the swelling in the areas that brought her such pain, or the patches of darkness that swam up to the surface of her skin.
Food came and went mostly by way of rats that ate it when she did not. Moving was indeed an ordeal, but even if Cianna had been willing to make her way to the food, swallowing it would have been harder to accomplish than the act of getting to it. Even swallowing her own spit was a feat not normally accomplished and soon the floor was slick under her cheek with saliva.
As if all this was not enough, her wyrd must have thought her brevity of action was willing refusal of her pilgrimage, for the dreams chose the moment of her highest torment to return. Her prayers had been answered when the haze the pain created and the delusion manifested in her hunger separated Cianna from rational, cohesive thought. In a blissful ignorance, she drifted in that space between living and dying, sleeping and waking for time uncounted.
The rattling of tin plates on the floor, the creaking of rusty hinges and her own teeth chattering in torment, did nothing to rouse her as they once had.
She was no longer present in her own body but yet aware of all that went on around her with clarity absolved of pain. Clarity as she had never before felt infused her being as she saw with clear eyes the goings on around her.
It took Cianna a few mental trips through the cave to realize that she was sizing it up for escape. Getting out of this Otherworld was not something she had originally thought possible, but now it seemed that with pain no longer clouding her mind, for she was out of her mind, she was able to think optimistically once more.
She observed guard shifts and the general life within the main complex of the cave. The chaos dwarves had made for themselves a wonderful, if primitive, home. Where she was kept was a league or more below where the rest of the tribe lived in rough dwellings carved into the walls, not like the splendid homes she had heard the dwarves of Dellenbore lived in the Holy Realm, but more like caves that existed within the main cave.
She realized, after a few trips around the main complex, that she had no idea where her weapons or pack were hidden, and so she started scouting for that.
Cianna didn’t know how many times the dwarves had checked in on her lifeless form while she was staging her escape, and she didn’t care. She mused what they would find. Would it be any different than what they had seen before? She hadn’t been moving anytime before, except when she was seizing, and she couldn’t remember if she had made any noise. Maybe a part of her had stayed behind, the part that was concerned with the welfare of the body, and she was in nothing more than a lucid dream.
Either way, caring about her body deserted her when she found her supplies held in a room directly opposite the one she was currently in. The doors to both rooms were heavy, made of some metal she guessed must be iron as iron was one of the only ores mined in the Barrier Mountains. The locks, for as cunning as dwarves were said to be with forging, were very rudimentary, being nothing more than long posts of iron slid between three rings, one on either side of the door, and one in the center. It would, however, have to be unlocked from the outside, as there were no openings in the door for other shenanigans.
It wasn’t until much later Cianna realized that no other openings in the door not only meant no possible escape on her behalf, but also an ambush that the dwarves could not see coming. Even in her current state
of zeal at being free from her pain she was not as foolish to think she would be strong enough to overpower dwarves when she wanted.
However, the fact that her weapons were across the hall did mean that she would have to get by the dwarves at some point in order to retrieve them. This thought led her back to how many dwarves were posted to watch over her, and when, if any, guard shifts happened.
One look told her that no dwarves were posed ready to help or restrict her. The locks were enough to restrict her, and her current malaise helped in that department. A shocking realization came then: they wanted to keep her in, but they did not care if she died. They were really just using her for an experiment. If they had wanted to send a message to the Realm Guardians they would have kept her alive at least, but they didn’t want that. The attack this time would come with little to no warning, unless Cianna escaped, which, though it looked possible, was still a bleak idea.
Though the Chaos dwarves ignorance of Cianna would greatly benefit her in the long run, she could not help feeling completely forsaken, alone, and unwanted.
The dwarves, however, were as cunning as they were deplorable, which meant that Cianna would have to be as smart and ruthless about her escape plan.
It was with this intention as her spirit drifted aimlessly that she ran up against the two things that would come to be her salvation concerning the chaos dwarf.
When she first ran up against the immense power she found deep below the main complex, Cianna thought she would lose her mind, lose the fragment of herself that she clung to above all things in this time of abandonment.
The force she touched was greater than anything she had ever felt—large, ancient, and most of all irrevocably dead. She wasn’t sure when the thing she touched had died, but she knew that it happened long before Aaridnay had come to settle the Great Realms.
It uncoiled at her touch, responded to the necromantic wyrd pumping through her in place of her heart. It was as if, in this heightened state of lucidity, her wyrd responded in ways reflecting her emotion. When Cianna was calm, her wyrd would feel like the gentle caress of water lapping through her, taking away her worries. Now that she was panicked it thundered through her like the hammering of an anxious heart.
It took Cianna a moment to realize that this thing did not mean her harm; in fact, it enjoyed her touch, her presence.
There was a feeling of anger that aroused with the creature’s touch. Not anger at her for stirring it from its long rest, but instead anger at the intruders. Cianna hazarded a guess that these intruders that it implied were the chaos dwarves. The creature did not like them one bit.
It was then that something began to take form in Cianna’s mind, and though she would hate to use this loving creature as a ploy for escape, she comforted herself with thinking that the thing would enjoy what she had in mind as much as she would.
For days she managed to rejoin the creature, and each time it responded more and more to her wyrd. In times of worry or doubt, the thing was a comforting force, when she was happy it felt as though the great power below the earth would rejoice with her.
The only thing she was lacking now was a means to escape the hole they kept her in. She thought long and hard about this, for it seemed now the only way for her to be removed from the cavern would be to die.
It became apparent then that she would have to overpower the chaos dwarves, retrieve her weapons, and make a break from there. One of the problems in that scenario was her current malaise. Once in a while Cianna would check in on her body, and from the feel coming from her vessel the pain was still a very real thing.
It was only then, one of the last few times she looked in on her form before rejoining it, that Cianna noticed the reason for her pain. When she had been in her form before she could never see the thing, but now being of mind and spirit, no longer of physical trappings, Cianna could see energy clearer than she could have ever hoped to see with her living eyes. If this is what it was to be dead, Cianna thought she could handle it.
Waiting in the corner, darker than the rest of the chamber, was Wyrder’s Bane. She shivered as she approached it, and was surprised to see that it did not harm her even in the form she currently wore. But there the stone sat, pulsing its malignant force into the room like a vent drafting in black, sick air.
She recoiled from it and wished nothing more than its removal, and now she knew that it would have to be removed before she could escape. Not long after this thought occurred to her, the second means of her escape made itself known.
The tall dark-haired man that was dragged into the cave was dressed as Cianna had seen him almost all her life—except much dirtier than she had ever seen him before. A long plum jacket rested over trousers of the same color. Below the jacket he wore a light green tunic and bound around his throat was a white, silk ascot. A white woolen cloak fastened over all of it completed the uniform of his vocation, and in his hand he carried the only thing that could have been construed as a weapon: a long oak cane tipped in silver and bearing a plain iron handle. Cianna knew that this man, Braccus, would never strike another with that staff no matter how badly he wanted. After all, physicians were sworn to heal not harm; it was seen to when they undertook the Healer’s Trust, an oath they swore to before the Healer’s Board.
The realization that the chaos dwarves had another from the Guardian’s Keep brought her mental form crashing back to the vessel of her torment. It wasn’t long after that when she heard noises from outside the heavy door. At first the voices were indistinct, but as the door creaked open, and Cianna was forced to close her eyes against the onslaught of light, they became clearer.
Braccus’ deep voice stopped suddenly with an intake of breath. “Remove that thing at once!” he ordered, obviously having forgotten the company he kept. There was a thud and a grunt and before long he was crouching beside her, coughing up fluid that joined the pool of saliva under her cheek. “She is dying,” he said, “and that thing is killing her.”
“Look at the swelling,” he said placing cold hands to her neck, hands that slowly lifted her arms and pressed at her underarm. The touch was worse than anything she could imagine, and a whimper issued from her cracked lips. “She is dying.”
The dwarves didn’t seem to care, for not long after his assessment and pleading they closed the door behind them with a resounding thud. Cianna did not know how long they had been left in darkness that threatened to consume her mind as quickly as the renewed pain was, but eventually they came back.
“We are not removing the stone on your orders, but instead by orders of our regent,” the dwarf said. Wyrder’s Bane was retrieved and removed from the room. As it left Cianna felt her malaise slowly reverting.
“When I escape here, you will be the first I sink my arrows into.” Cianna promised.
With a barking laugh the dwarf left them once more in blackness. It was a long time still before either of the two within the damp cell spoke to one another.
“How did you know about the stone?” That was the most important question to her now.
“There were many ways,” he answered quietly. “Besides the studying I have done through the academy? I have read of it in books. I recognized it the moment I saw it. Wyrder’s Bane was said to be the only relic to absorb everything, including darkness so completely. I knew what it could do, and I recognized the sickness within you that it caused.” He sighed then and revealed something to Cianna that she had never known. “Healers have a type of wyrd of their own, though it is not exactly like yours. We cannot manipulate space and energy as most wyrders can, but we can see things within the energy surrounding the body. Normally that is how we make a diagnosis. There will be a slight discoloration in the energy field; this miasma will vary depending on the intensity of the illness and normally in a spot that will inform us where the sickness is originating from. Your whole body was covered in black energy, like thick mud. The energy, however, did not emanate from your body; instead it came from the stone in the corner. It is
sued from the stone and enveloped your entire body like some parasitic hand from the Otherworld.”
“You should have let me die, Braccus,” Cianna stated bluntly. With a sigh she forced herself to roll over despite the agony it caused. She was surprised to find exactly how weak her muscles had become, and if she had any hope of escaping she would have to rebuild her strength. Maybe given some time she would force herself to walk the cell to regain her balance and strength. “But I am truly glad that you did not let them. I will forgive you on one condition.”
“I am not sure I deserve to live after what I have done,” he whispered.
“STOP!” Cianna said, her abating pain, the need to regain her strength, and plotting escape lowering her tolerance. “Your self pity is useless to me. Now listen. I have touched something very old; very powerful deep in the mountains. This would not have happened if I hadn’t been close to death. Feel heartened, Braccus, if it had not been for you we would not have found this out and would not have been able to warn the Guardians of the possible attack.”
“Lady LaFaye, I am not sure I understand. What is it that you touched?”
“I have never felt a presence like that which dwells below the earth, nor have I heard of one like it.” Cianna sighed and rubbed her eyes in frustration. “It is ancient, though. I figure it died long before Aaridnay settled the Great Realms. I am certain that we can use it to escape.”
Cianna hated the thought of using such a wyrd creature for her own ends. No matter how she tried she couldn’t make herself believe that she was doing it also for the creature. Cianna could not lie to herself, and whatever pleasure and satisfaction the creature might get from what she planned it didn’t help her escape the truth that she would be manipulating something that had trusted her, been compelled by her so completely as it was. “It responded to my wyrd,” she finished quietly, guiltily.
“That is not hard to believe, after all you are a necromancer and this being is dead I presume?”
The Mirror of the Moon (Revenant Wyrd Book 2) Page 13
