—and he was hanging in the air over the white tower as a shivering wall of water approached, red light racing across its glossy surface from the glow of the Seals in the sky, higher than mountains, too high too escape—
He blinked and took a step across the bare seabed to grasp Jeronek’s shoulder. For a moment even his full strength would not budge the southerner, as if Jeronek was not a man but a pillar of stone, anchored eternally to that spot.
Then a shudder went through him and he responded to Cob’s pull, staggering along though his eyes never left the wave. With a grunt, Cob yanked the tree-staff from the mud and turned toward shore.
Vina had not moved from her wall. Her dark gaze stayed on Cob. “This is your mindscape,” she said as he dragged Jeronek past her. “You are in control, not him. Do not let his memories, his fears, overwhelm you. There is no wave if you do not permit one.”
“Then why are they running?” Cob said, watching Haurah and Erosei charge up the beach. Beneath him, the seabed shivered, and behind him he felt more than heard the rumble of the incoming water. It made every nerve scream with instinctual fear. He wanted nothing more than to be that bird and fly.
“They are slaves to memory,” said Vina, “as is Jeronek. As am I. But I know that I am dust. My pain is over. I do not need to relive it through you.”
“It never ends,” said Jeronek in a voice hollowed by despair. “The wave always returns. Bones upon bones. We will never be free.“
The wave closed in. He felt it in the earth and air, an oppressive sense of doom against his back. The day had never been bright—there was no sun in the pale sky—yet it had dimmed, a broad shadow thrown over everything. Even the shore was bleak in the grey light, Haurah and Erosei just specks racing away.
The mud pulled out from under his feet as if to refute his escape. Jeronek was a dead weight in his grip. In his mind’s eye he saw the wave crashing over the tower, breaking the crenels and pulling down the walls, dashing it all into oblivion.
He set his staff in the mud, angry at the memory—barely comprehending it but furious that this was happening. His flying dream had given him Jeronek and the doomed Pillar; Erosei speeding toward his death on the island; Haurah awaiting hers in the forest. His father in their cave home. All of them were fatalistic, stuck to their final moments as if nothing else defined them. Only Vina had carried him with her at a moment of action, her army on the move toward an uncertain yet optimistic future.
“I didn’t make that kinda wave,” he muttered. “I pushed the water back. So then I just…”
Letting go of Jeronek, he closed his eyes and let the roar fill his ears, focusing on how the water had felt while pulling away—and on bringing it back in the same manner. Swift but smooth, washing past his feet then his ankles then his knees to lap against the shore like a common tide.
The roar faded. The sense of weight melted from his shoulders. Cool water rose up his legs, tangling seaweed around his calves, and stopped just at the knee.
Behind him, Jeronek made a choked sound then fell silent.
“Very good,” said Vina from her wall. “Accept the consequences of your actions. Fix what you break. But do not let others place their burdens upon your shoulders, not when bearing them is needless.”
“Not needless,” Jeronek rasped. “That memory can not be allowed to fade.”
“All fades with time,” said Vina.
Cob looked back at Jeronek. The southerner stood staring into the distance where the black water had loomed, the set of his shoulders resigned yet solid, like a weary sentinel awaiting the horde. His khopesh and shield were gone, his armor faded.
Surrendered, Cob thought. I won’t let that happen to me.
“Come on, kid!” shouted Erosei from up the beach. “You wanna learn this shit or not?”
Cob turned his back on Jeronek and waded to shore. As soon as he got there, the fight was on: Erosei charging swords-first, Haurah on his heels in full wolfbeast form. Cob welcomed it, the sand flowing up him to form new armor, his staff cracking against shoulders and knees as he batted them away. When Haurah’s fur grew thorns and bark plates, he discovered that just hitting her was not enough to keep her away; he had to dig his heels in the ground and force her down with the staff, make the sand reach up to hold her. It rarely worked for more than a few moments. In her true form, she was too powerful to chain.
Erosei was a different matter. Swifter than Cob, he stabbed those twin blades like needles to constantly chip away at the armor, but there was not enough weight behind his strikes to cut deep. Cob remembered a snippet from their discussions: Erosei was of metal, not of wood or water or stone, and that seemed to hamper him in the scuffle. He was vicious though, always going for the eyes or the throat, always moving, his dark warrior’s crest streaking the air behind him, and while his blades could not break through Cob’s armor, Cob’s own strikes rarely connected. Even when they did, Erosei just bent away, then swung back with the same fervor as ever.
Were he fighting in the physical realm, Cob would have exhausted himself early on, but there seemed no end to his energy or that of his foes. His anger certainly continued unabated; for all that Jeronek had cautioned him to be calm, he could not restrain the gleeful rage whenever he tried to break Erosei’s face. Erosei seemed to like it, always taunting him, always trying to draw him out for Haurah’s attacks, and only the greater reach of his staff kept Cob from being constantly mauled.
It was fantastic.
Finally, he managed enough control to hook a rope of sand around Erosei’s ankle at the same moment that Erosei tried to dance aside from his staff. The ancient Kerrindrixi went down hard on the shore, and Cob swept the staff around to fend Haurah off, then lunged forward to press its end to Erosei’s throat. With a strangled laugh, Erosei let his swords fall.
“Got me,” he said. “You’re gaining technique. Now let’s see what you can do against a real enemy.”
He pointed up the shore, and Cob looked that way to see a dark forest stretching into the distance. Within the forest glimmered a faint yellowish light.
“What kind of enemy?” Cob said.
“The kind that almost killed you, idiot.”
Annoyed, he jabbed the staff down but Erosei had already rolled aside, laughing. He glanced over his shoulder for Vina and Jeronek but found that both were gone, along with the ruins and the sea. In their place lay the slow slope of a valley tangled with weed and briar; when he looked forward, the strip of sandy shore had likewise vanished beneath the green.
The pale light danced among the trees as if taunting him.
“Come, Ko Vrin. We hunt the wraith,” said Haurah through her mouthful of fangs. Then she leapt forward onto four legs, a great dark wolf racing for the trees.
Erosei followed her, and with nowhere else to go, Cob gave chase. He did not relish the idea of hunting. Sparring with a pair of vicious allies was educational, almost fun, but running down an enemy—even one that had tried to kill him—felt strange. Like he was turning the order of nature upside-down.
This is what I want, he told himself. Once I’m free of the Guardian’s bonds, I’m hunting Morshoc. This is good experience.
Still, it sat oddly in his stomach, like he had swallowed a stone.
Into the dark forest he plunged, bare feet beating on the living soil, and within instants he felt a connection to the trees around him. Their roots dug deep, their branches spread wide, and every one was a new limb—millions of hands outstretched to the sun or delving for water, millions of fingers testing the breeze.
And more than that. He sensed the light ahead like the heat of a candle-flame, a tiny danger that could yet spark a conflagration. Every tree it passed told him of its proximity, of their fear of its fire. It did not belong.
He would remove it.
At his side raced his companions, wolf and man, keeping time with his strides. He felt their fury but his had ebbed. Painful as his time in the spire had been, it was over, and the thought of
tearing into his captors with tooth and claw was distasteful. He would shatter them, drive them from this place, but not descend to barbarity. That was not his way.
As if sensing the cooling of his temper, the forest around him gained a layer of frost. His footfalls crunched on brittle leaves, and icicles shimmered as he passed. The light still danced ahead, enticing, but he felt he was gaining on it. Felt its essence behind that pinprick of heat—another radiance made neither of fire or light but of unearthly life, ephemeral and infinitely vast.
Threatening.
He reached out through the roots and branches, struggling to grasp it. The flame it carried made the trees quail but they obeyed him, twisting limbs after it. Too slow. It danced away, fleet-footed and flowing, so he turned his will on the smaller plants—the bracken and thorn-brush, the ice-crusted weeds and grass. They moved more quickly, and after a few snags he felt them catch and keep.
He picked up the pace, concentrating on keeping the light imprisoned. It struggled but not as violently as Haurah or Erosei had, and it occurred to him that opponents who faced him on his own turf were fools indeed. By touching the ground, the water, the forest, they had submitted themselves to him.
Soon he could see it with his own eyes, not just the senses of the trees. It huddled among a tangled mass of thorns, clutching the little flame like a weapon of last resort. He stopped a pace away to regard it—a featureless inhuman entity, no more than a bizarre conglomeration of glass and glow.
He raised the staff to destroy it.
Something grabbed the end.
He looked back but there were only shadows. Haurah and Erosei had gone, leaving the forest frigid in his wake, the snow high between the trees. Wind whispered among the icicles, and as he turned toward the light again, he thought he heard his name.
He shook it off. He was alone.
Again he raised the staff.
Again, something grabbed its end, pulling it backward. He cursed and turned to find the shadows thicker, moving. Humanoid. One of them clutched the end of the staff, and he swiped at it with one hand, saw it leap back.
‘Cob,’ said another.
“Go away,” he told them, annoyed. Here in the dream, he doubted they were his enemies. Maybe they were like the water: some weird manifestation of the other Guardians, or his fears, some nagging old memory. The first one grabbed for his staff again, and he shoved it off.
Felt cloth under his hand. Heard it yelp faintly as it hit the ground.
‘Don’t hurt him,’ said the other shadow. ‘He’s a friend, Cob. He’s a friend!’
Cob looked to the light, which still shuddered beneath its mesh of thorns. When he squinted he could just make out a shape to it. Limbs, garments. A face where there had been blank crystal.
The shadows both grabbed for his staff again, and this time he let them. As it left his hands, their shapes sharpened. Coats, scarves, gloves. Alarmed eyes staring at him from among the cold-weather garments.
Lark. Fiora. Wolf-Arik beside them.
Behind them, two unfamiliar people—a man and a woman.
Tangled in the thorns was Ilshenrir, his head bowed, a lantern clutched to his chest like it was the only light in the world.
A spike of nausea went through Cob. He looked down to find himself barefoot and shirtless, in earth- and blood-stained breeches, the ground beneath him covered in hard snow. There was forest around him and he still felt every root and branch, but it was not a dream; when he breathed in, his lungs hitched with the residual pain of the haelhene hooks, and two aching webs spread across his back.
He tried to speak, but his tongue lay dry in his mouth. The back of his throat was scaly with old blood. A shudder ran up his spine, not cold but horror for what he had nearly done, and he looked around once more as if he could catch Haurah and Erosei laughing among the trees.
But they were gone, the Guardian silent inside him.
You manipulative bastards, he thought anyway.
“Are you… Are you awake now?” said Lark cautiously. He recognized her as the one he had pushed, and grimaced, averting his eyes.
“He stopped at least,” said Fiora. “Ilshenrir, are you all right?”
“As much as can be expected,” came the wraith’s hollow reply.
Closing his eyes, Cob concentrated on loosening the wraith’s restraints. He made sure the thorns pulled away slowly, not certain if they could really hurt Ilshenrir but not wanting to find out. As the last branch relaxed, he sensed the wraith rise, and regretfully met his gaze.
There was no accusation in Ilshenrir’s eyes, only gratitude, like a prisoner given a stay of execution. It hurt worse than any glare.
“I’m sorry,” Cob managed, his voice a rasp. “I… The Guardians…”
“You were dreaming,” said Fiora. “It’s not your fault.”
He shook his head. “No. It is. I was about to— I’m sorry, Ilshenrir, y’didn’t deserve that. They baited me.”
The wraith bowed his head slightly. “You have spent several days in deep sleep, to mend from the wounds inflicted upon you by my kind. I am not surprised, nor am I offended by your Great Spirit’s response. I am only glad that you changed your mind.”
“I wouldn’t’ve tried t’ hurt you if I’d known. Or Lark. Lark, I’m sorry, I—“
“Kinda getting used to it from you,” Lark said, smiling wryly. Then she held up her hands, as if reading something in Cob’s expression. “Not that you’d do that if you knew what was going on! It’s all right, it was just a mistake.”
“But I could’ve—“
“You stopped yourself,” said Fiora. “Everything’s all right.”
That’s not true, Cob thought, looking at them. If I hadn’t been interrupted, I would have hit him until the light fled, just because the Guardians pointed me at him.
I’ve gone to the Dark. For all their words, it’s really happened. I’ve let the Dark in and now it’s made a monster of me.
But none of them looked frightened now, only worried. Next to the women, the wolf-Arik whined, then cautiously padded forward to tuck himself against Cob’s leg. Cob could not help it; he crouched down and buried his hands into the wolf’s fur, and the wolf pressed up against him, sniffing all over then resting his furry chin on Cob’s shoulder. It was all Cob could do to not burst into childish tears.
As if she could read his mood, Lark said, “Let’s get inside, huh? Get you something to eat. And a wash. And some new clothes—though since you’re Cob, Destroyer of Tunics, that probably won’t last long.”
Despite himself, Cob snorted.
“Ilshenrir, you should come too,” she continued. “We need to talk about what we’re gonna do, and you’re part of it. The haelhene can’t possibly fall on us the one night you’re not watching for them, right?”
“Don’t say things like that,” Fiora snapped. “You’re gonna get us cursed!”
The wraith nodded slightly, ignoring Fiora’s outburst. “They do not like to fly at night. I will come.”
Lark clapped her gloved hands together. “Great! Now let’s get the pike out of this forest and back inside. Oh, Cob, allow me to introduce our hosts, Mother Matriarch Vriene and her husband Sogan the bear. You’ve been sleeping in their basement. I guess we have to let you have a bed now.”
Cob blinked and looked to the man and woman who had hung back. The woman smiled and inclined her head slightly; she looked pleasant and motherly in a refined way, and he returned her smile cautiously. The big burly man beside her appeared human but felt malleable to Cob’s lingering Guardian senses, the same way Arik did. As if he could reach out and push him and he would change.
“Uh. Bear?” he said intelligently.
The woman smiled. “My goddess Brigydde is called Tamer-of-Beasts for a reason.”
Sogan grunted.
Cob rubbed at his temples, then raked fingers through his tangled hair and sighed. A bath and food and fresh clothes sounded like a blessing right now, and as little as he felt he de
served it, he knew the others would drag him along whether he liked it or not. There was something to be said about having strong-willed friends.
Mostly curse-words, but now and then a ‘thanks’ was in order.
“Thanks for havin’ us,” he said, bobbing his head to the Mother Matriarch. She returned it pleasantly then gestured for them to follow, and he regained his feet and gave Ilshenrir another apologetic look. The wraith touched his shoulder lightly, not quite smiling.
“You are forgiven,” he said. “Let us make our plans.”
Cob nodded, and with the wolf at his side he moved after the others toward town. In his heart, though, it would not be so easy to leave the dark woods behind.
*****
A mark later, after he had scraped and scrubbed and gargled up unpleasant amounts of reddish phlegm, Cob sat at the Damiels’ table in clean clothes, awaiting dinner. Arik was in the washroom now; by Vriene’s command, while he was in human form he was to clean himself and wear clothing like everyone else.
Cob approved.
The other four chairs held Fiora, Lark, Dasira and Ilshenrir, while Mother Matriarch Vriene bustled about the kitchen and Sogan hulked in the corner. The big man—or bear—did not seem put out at being barred from his own table, but his gaze followed his wife as if someone might swoop in at any moment and steal her away.
Cob watched Dasira over his mug of tea. She was the only one who had not chased him out into the snow, and he knew why; he remembered seeing her before his capture by the haelhene, seeing the threads beneath her skin. Feeling her essence, the same as Darilan’s.
Watching her now, he could sometimes glimpse the man he had known in the curve of her mouth, the cool slant of her eyes. But most of the time she just looked like herself—this stranger who had come along supposedly at Lark’s behest.
She avoided his gaze. He supposed that, in her situation, so would he.
He did not know what to feel, and so he had decided not to feel anything. It was hard to make his nerves agree with him, though; his shoulders were knotted with tension, and he kept catching himself clenching his teeth. He could not tell if he was angry or anxious or maybe just incredibly hungry, and so, as much as he wanted to grab her by the collar and demand answers, he kept quiet.
The Splintered Eye (The War of Memory Cycle) Page 36
