Suddenly, he saw a flash of light and a small bolt of lightning came falling down out of the emptying overhead sky. The bolt of power streaked downward, its appearance foreshortened by the direct angle it traveled at as it approached Marco. It was within his field of vision for only a second, and then it grew large in the split second before it struck him, sliding smoothly into the fingers of his upraised left hand. There was a tingle along the length of his arm, and then the extraordinary moment was over.
Or perhaps it was not over, as he felt a fluttery energy that occupied him. He was aware of it – not uncomfortable, but aware.
Marco lowered his left hand, then raised his right one, and willed himself to fire a bolt of power into the sky. Immediately, seemingly faster than ever before, he had to close his eyes as a shot of energy leapt from his fingers and disappeared into the sky.
Astonishing, he told himself softly. He no longer felt the captured energy within himself. He had taken it in, then dispelled it.
Bravo, Marco, he swore he heard a woman’s voice softly say. It had been Iasco’s voice. A lump formed in his throat, and a powerful longing to see the extraordinary priestess of Ophiuchus swept over him.
“Are you here, my lady?” he asked aloud.
There was silence.
Marco waited, and heard no response, leaving him to question once again whether he was sane or not.
After long moments of silence, he waited no more. He stood up, and picked up the damp knap sack beside him, leaving the bag of foodstuffs to the busy insects that claimed possession of it.
He thought about the ramifications of what he had just done. Somehow, with his left hand, he had drawn in power. He had held the power in his body, then released it.
He straddled a tree trunk, and climbed over, not even aware of his actions as he mulled what had happened.
It seemed impossible. As he straddled the next large tree trunk that crossed his path, he decided to try to repeat the unexpected capture of energy. He raised his hand again, and willed it to capture more energy. The hand seemed to almost try to convey a feeling to Marco, as though it were happy to be called on properly, and correctly told to do what it was capable of doing.
A bolt of energy immediately flew from the sky and entered Marco’s body.
He sat astride a tree trunk, and felt the energy within him. It was present, and he was aware of it. It was not painful, only distracting. He moved off the tree, and took several steps, then raised his right hand and set the energy free.
Marco climbed and walked and thought, then stopped to consider a thought. Where had the energy come from, he wondered. There was no telling. It might have come from the heavens, or it might have been pulled from some other sorcerer at some unknown distance.
He shook his head, and looked up at the sky. The last clouds were in the east; time was moving on.
If there was a Princess Ellersbine – if she was not simply an imaginary obsession of his unstable mind – then he was not making any progress towards finding and rescuing her.
He hopped over the next smaller tree, then began to move forward rapidly, until he found the trail. He felt a small sense of victory, glad to see something that he expected, something pedestrian in more ways than one.
With that, he started traveling forward at an easy jog, on his way to set Ellersbine free. The trail curved gently around the contours of the mountain that it covered, and Marco grew anxious as he followed the curve, worried that at any moment he would catch sight of the tunnel he had entered the previous time when he had thought that he had been on the trail. The path went on and on, seemingly past the point that he dreaded, and then it entered a valley, and began to dip down as it curved around on the inside of the valley, and he knew that he was past the turn, the perhaps illusory tunnel, and still on the trail of the princess, he hoped.
He continued on, growing more confident that he was on the proper trail, then suddenly remembering that he had no actual proof that Ellersbine was in fact on the trail. But he continued on, as the trail turned and started to rise again along the side of the mountain.
Marco jogged until he had a stitch in his side, and he slowed down. He wanted a sip of water; he raised his left hand to his mouth to take a sip of water, saw the new golden hue, and wondered if the enchantment from Diotima would still be on place.
One sip on his finger produced a delicious wet taste of the spring water and brought a smile to his face as he continued to progress.
The water was refreshing, and Marco suddenly felt that he could jog once more. He resumed his quicker pace, and continued on until late afternoon. There was a light object on the trail, he noticed as he slipped down a muddy, sloping portion of the trail. When he reached the object he saw that it was a woman’s shoe, a dirty and tattered, formerly elegant piece of footwear, and in the weeds beside the trail, he saw the mate to the shoe.
They were a pair of shoes such as only a woman of high nobility would wear. In the wilderness that surrounded him there could be only one woman who would have such shoes. He felt energized by the confirmation that he truly was on the trail of the Princess Ellersbine, and his pace increased to a full run, so that he covered several more miles before nightfall finally dropped complete darkness upon him.
His stomach growled from the emptiness of unknown hours since his last meal, but he found that the water of Diotima’s spring kept him vitalized. After several moments of standing still in the dark, Marco lit up his right hand, and began walking, using the narrow circle of light he produced to illuminate the path in front of him for several hours more of advancement, until he finally climbed up onto a stony shelf beside the path, and fell asleep leaning back against the side of a mountain.
Sunlight flickering as it passed through the foliage overhead awoke him the next morning. The sun was not far above the horizon. He sipped on his finger and climbed down from the side of the trail, then started walking. He traveled more slowly than he had the previous day, as he walked with his eyes down on the ground, looking for edible plants. He found a few stalks and leaves that he chewed as he walked, and then found a raspberry bush when he passed a sunny opening, a source of a feast that he stuffed his mouth full of before he started walking again.
In late afternoon Marco came around a sharp turn in the path, and found an astonishing sight before him – a wide savannah located several hundred feet lower than his position on the mountainside trail. The location of the path was evident in a nearly straight bright line across the flat country below. And far out on the savannah he saw a dark line that slowly moved away from him – the gang that he was so relentlessly pursuing.
Chapter 20
Marco was exultant at the sight of the men he was chasing. He felt pity for the princess who had been made to travel so far, a long, hard march that would have been far more grueling than anything she had ever done in her life before, he was sure.
A sense of renewed purpose set him to running as quickly as possible, following the course of the path as it began the long descent across the mountain front. The way involved a series of switchbacks at a moderate angle of descent, and once Marco had doubled back on his first in the series of reversing slopes, he began to look for opportunities to recklessly dash straight down from one level to the next, saving a considerable amount of time until he stumbled over a protruding tree root and rolled to a hard landing that gave him a painful gash in his scalp.
Marco returned to the switchbacks after that, and nursed himself with Diotima’s spring water, which quickly staunched the bleeding, and softened some of the matting in his dirty head of hair. He ran on then, and as the sunlight started to fade he reached the end of the switchbacks, the end of the trail in the mountains, and the end of that phase of his trek to save Ellersbine.
Fyld and Rhen and Hearst and the others, the wounded and the healthy survivors of the battle at Rurita, were far behind him. He hadn’t thought of them once during the long chase he had carried out. He hoped that they were safely back on th
eir own trail, and he hoped that he would be able to meet them again someday, in happy circumstances, all of them and the princess and he – even if that someplace turned out to be Foulata.
He was hours behind Ellersbine, but only hours, no longer days behind, and he resolved to catch his quarry before the sun rose.
He lit his right hand dimly, then held it low so that it would be less conspicuous in the savannah night, and he began to jog once more. When the moon rose an hour later he slowed to have a long drink of water from his finger, and he idly wondered as he walked if he would ever be satisfied to drink regular water from a well again.
When the moon was directly overhead he slowed to a walk, but kept on moving, exhausted, but determined. Half an hour later he stopped, and extinguished the light from his hand. He looked ahead across the plain, and saw a distant fire burning, a fire that he suspected was the camp of the travelers who held the woman he was determined to save.
He walked in the darkness, relying on the dim light of the crescent moons and the stars. He heard the noises of the camp when he drew closer, voices of men raucously singing, and then he heard a scream that chilled his heart – a woman’s scream of despair and anguish. He sprinted forward towards the fire, listening to the alternating screams and laughter, and saw figures take shape among the shadows as he approached.
When he got to the outer perimeter of the camp, a guard suddenly stood up, a man he had not noticed as he had focused on the camp fire.
“Who are you?” the man asked loudly.
There was another scream and another round of laughter.
Marco swept his sword out of its scabbard, the first time he had touched the weapon since his ballroom battle with Death, the battle that might or might not have happened. He swung the sword too swiftly for the guard in front of him to even see, and sliced it across the man’s neck, making him fall silently to the ground.
He kept his sword out, then stepped closer to the camp, and peered into the ruddily lit scene, where he saw a sight that both made him want to cry and made him want to kill every man in the camp.
Argen and Ellersbine were on their knees in a spot next to the fire, while all the men of the traveling band were gathered around as an appreciative crowd for the show underway.
“We’ve sold a lot of material,” a man shouted to the audience. He stood immediately over the two captives. Neither wore more than a few shreds of clothing, most of their attire gone. Ellersbine desperately tried to grasp a few remaining shreds in front of herself. The portions of her shoulders and back that Marco could see showed that the girl had been beaten and flayed; there were scratches and bruises and bloody welts upon her body as well as Argen’s.
“Now it gets even more interesting,” the man standing over the two captives said. “Since we’ve concluded that these two aren’t going to make it all the way to Foulata with us, now we’re going to see what they’re worth to you before we dispose of them.
“Who’ll give me a fair bid for the last bit of royal clothing the princess has to sell, and then who’ll give me the winning bid to take the princess off into the night to get their money’s worth?” he shouted.
There was a roar of approval, and the man yanked Ellersbine’s last piece of cloth away from her, eliciting another sobbing scream from her, and an angry motion from Argen before the leader punched him in the side of the head, knocking the tied-up nobleman unconscious.
Marco’s rage possessed him. He raised his left hand and pointed it at the man who had struck Argen, the man who promptly proceeded to yank on Ellersbine’s hair and lift her head.
“What’ll you pay for a royal pass?” the brutal ringleader asked as he kicked her.
She screamed, and then fainted.
And then Marco willed his left hand to act.
The hand glowed for just a fraction of a second, before a wispy, glowing stream of fog left the body of the laughing torturer by the captives. The man instantly collapsed, while the glowing life-force he surrendered flowed directly towards Marco and flew into his left hand.
The men in the surrounding semicircle were absolutely silent, and for a half second, the only sound Marco could hear was the crackling sound of the wood in the fire.
He sensed that the heads of the men around the scene were turning towards him, but before anyone could say anything he raised his right hand, and caused a bolt of energy to fly at the man closest to him.
The crowd began to shout in fear, but Marco gave them no time to react; he pointed his left hand at one and pulled his life-force away, and immediately raised his right hand to aim the deadly energy at another man.
Men were rising and either fleeing into the darkness, or pulling weapons and starting to rush at him. Marco responded by holding both hands before him, and using them both indiscriminately to target everyone who tried to approach him. Within a minute over a dozen bodies littered the ring of savannah turf that was illuminated by the fire, and Marco stood alone. His blood was pounding in his ears and he felt an exultant joy of battle, yet as he realized there were no more foes left to kill, the wild, rampaging, berserk energy drained away. His knees started to collapse, but he looked over at the bodies of Ellersbine and Argen, and willed himself to stumble over to where they were huddled on the ground.
Marco fell to his knees next to the princess and looked at her. “I’ve come to save you dear,” he said gently as he placed his hand beneath her head. Her face was frighteningly pale, he realized, even seen by the red light of the dying fire.
“Ellersbine, wake up,” he spoke to her, bending lower over her.
She did not respond. Without any sense of delicacy, he rolled her onto her back, and placed his ear against her bare chest, listening carefully for her heartbeat. It was present, but faint, and irregular. The princess was dying.
After his long chase, she had been unable to survive any further mistreatment and torture. Her body was shutting down, and Marco felt intense emotion overwhelm him.
He raised his head. “You will not die!” he said loudly. “After all of this, you will not die while I have the ability to save you,” he spoke to the unconscious woman.
He did not know what he could do, but he knew there was something.
He raised his head and stared up at the skies momentarily, just in time to see a shooting star blaze across the heavens. His eyes widened, and his head rocked back atop his neck, as he felt a window in his mind snap open, and he saw a vision of Theophilus standing over him saying, “Now remember this one trick.”
He remembered it as the light of the shooting star faded into the darkness of the sky, and he knew he had an opportunity to bring the princess back to full life.
He shifted his position, then paused to take a sip of the water from his finger, before he placed his right hand on the side of her rib cage near her heart, and placed his left hand on her rib cage on the opposite side; he could feel her shallow breathing. He leaned down and gently kissed her, and as he did, he released the power of both his hands against her flesh while he began to release the drops of water from Diotima’s spring into her mouth.
Ellersbine reflexively swallowed. The water traveled down her gullet, and when it interacted with his powerful energy, within her body, he felt a powerful tug on his own body and soul, as though a part of him were being diverted to rescue her; at that moment, the unconscious girl began to glow. He felt his own heart skip a beat, then beat wildly for several seconds, before it seemed to settle into a rhythm and the world seemed to spin wildly.
Marco abruptly raised his head, shocked, and he stared down at the princess below him. The wounds and abrasions upon her body miraculously healed, her skin’s glow dissipating as the cuts and scrapes momentarily sported new, pink skin, which quickly faded to match the unharmed parts of her flesh. And he felt a strange protectiveness, a connection to and concern for her.
He removed his hands and stared at the girl’s body, then blushed as he realized he was staring at her in her state of virtual nudity. He r
ose and stepped back, then stopped and stared again in astonishment.
There was a tenuous cable of insubstantial fog that stretched from his chest to hers. He reached his hand and cautiously poked a finger into the misty rope, but felt nothing, encountered no resistance. He waved his hand up and down completely through it next, but it remained in place when his hand finished passing through.
Marco took a step back, and the connection only grew longer. It didn’t thin, or fade – it only lengthened. He stepped further back, back to where a dead traveler lay, and watched as the cable remained a stable, constant force that quietly floated in the air. He knelt and removed the uncut, unbloodied jacket from the man, then went to the next body that had undamaged pants, and took those off that corpse. The long, glowing line between himself and the princess moved easily as he moved among the scattered bodies and returned to where Ellersbine lay peacefully.
Her breathing was regular and strong, and did not alter as he gently manipulated her to clothe her in the items he had taken. And the line between them glowed on the whole time. When he was done he stepped back several paces and looked at the two unconscious people. Argen was still nearly as unclothed as Ellersbine had been, and since both of them were lying still, Marco went and found clothes for Argen as well.
The fire was dying down, turning into a pile of glowing red coals that gave off much less light than the roaring fire of before. Marco dropped the clothes for Argen next to the nobleman’s body, then started dragging the dead kidnappers together in a pile of bodies out of sight behind some brush.
Finally, with nothing else to do, Marco sat down, looking at Ellersbine and looking at the light that remained between her and himself. The princess was alive, and rescued and safe and healed of her wounds. He had made the promise – to himself – that he would rescue her, and despite the unfathomable obstacles and challenges of the pursuit, he had reached her and carried out his promise. With that last thought he fell asleep.
The Southern Trail (Book 4) Page 19
