Fritz appeared in Rafen’s field of vision, standing above Etana. He looked down at Rafen silently, his eyes expressing unspoken kinship. Rafen felt as if he knew Fritz already, as if he could predict what he would say or do, what gestures or mannerisms he would use. After all, Fritz had already helped save him once, in the king’s bedchamber, when Rafen had been only twelve. And yet, something about Fritz was foreign too. His character, nationality, history… Incarnate, he had changed from what he had been as a spirit. He was distinct, and in some ways beyond Rafen’s reach.
“Thank you,” Rafen said quietly.
“Ah,” Fritz said. “Why do you say that?”
“You saved me,” Rafen said. “Twice. When I was twelve, and now.”
Fritz’s forehead furrowed in confusion. “I do not remember meeting you when you were twelve,” he said.
Rafen felt a vague sense of disappointment.
“It must have been a vision, Rafen,” Etana said kindly. “Don’t worry about it.”
“Rafen,” Fritz said, “I am glad you are awake. We must move on now. You will understand, I am sure?”
Francisco darted out of nowhere and started to help Rafen stand shakily. Another smile spread over Rafen’s face, despite the world-blackening pain.
“You’re safe too,” he said. “Thank Zion…”
The Phoenix had brought him external aid and saved his brother.
“Francisco rescued you,” Fritz said.
Francisco shook his head violently, but Fritz had already turned away to the other two within the circular enclosure of stone. A hand to his temple, Sherwin was hunched near a fire, rocking back and forth mutely. Rafen felt a kind of wild relief and anger at the same time.
“Stamp out this fire, Kasper,” Fritz said. “Sherwin, we are moving on.”
“Yes, Sire,” Kasper said enthusiastically, leaping up. “Come on, old fruit. Stamp out this beauty.”
Rafen clutched his side while Francisco and Etana helped him toward Trinity, who was tethered to their left. He couldn’t help wondering what Kasper was doing here.
“I could not get anyone to listen to me or to come,” Etana said, her tone strained. “I could not even speak to my Father. He sent me a message, saying Richard had divined his intent and issued an edict with the royal seal saying that no men were to help or serve you, on pain of execution. Grandmother was forced to flee, and I am not sure where she is. Kasper came with me here. I suppose he might be some help. I hope he will be.”
“Don’t worry,” Rafen assured her, now next to Trinity. “Cyril Earl will give us aid. And because we have your Grandfather, there’s much less to worry about. Siana can’t ignore the truth now.”
“Which way shall we take?” Kasper was saying much too loudly.
“Hush,” Fritz said. “I will lead us.”
“Capital,” Kasper said, rubbing his hands. “This should be terribly exciting.”
Chapter Twenty
The Door
in the Side
of the Mountain
Water was surely the most beautiful element in the world, and it was the element Zion had chosen to give Sherwin thousands of years ago. Flecked with greens and grays and aquas, shimmering and silent, immense and vivifying, its unpredictability gave him joy beyond reckoning. He could see through the millions and millions of leginis of it: every fish, every clam, every tentacle, every eel was fixed in his mind, and his ken had room for all of it. He would sweep through the deep, a bodiless consciousness driven by the purpose Zion had given him.
He met the other ten members of the Eleven on his journeys. Among all these, his closest companion was the one they called the Fledgling. The Fledgling’s presence was felt most keenly in flames: the fires of travelers, wise men, nobility; forest fires and holy fires, and fires in the sky. Melinar, the female master of all green things living, was never far from him. Sherwin often spoke with the Fledgling, even across many leginis. Though the Fledgling was frequently content with his own silence, he would travel with Sherwin. It was strange that fire and water should mix. Yet they would perform the most experimental kesmal together. At the eastern edge of the world, they would meet in timeless episodes to create configurations of water and flames that would explode and spin on the air and disintegrate into shining fragments.
Their play was a welcome interlude amid responsibilities, the main one of which was to maintain the strictest unity among all parts of the world and to imbue every mortal with a sense of Zion.
The time was warped. It flew past him, a living element that took all other life with it. He vaguely glimpsed the black-faced terror in the East, and then experienced his own revulsion of it and attraction to it. Part of him deeply desired the undermining of the Eleven and the realization that his element, water, was the truest, the best – that his kesmal was the most divine. He couldn’t explain this and sought to subdue it. Yet the desires grew like a tumor, until before he knew it, they were beyond his control. They lived a different life within him…
He remembered his spirit flying to take on flesh as Zion had commanded him, settling in the curled embryo of an Ashurite woman, deep in the Mountains in Siana. And then he saw himself at fourteen, squatting lithely in a loincloth, the ruddy light of flame suffusing his olive face. He was holding the phoenix feather, staring at its brilliant glow, the warmth moving through his whole body as he glanced up at the Phoenix, who was directly before him. The eyes of flame and ash penetrated him.
I am safe here, he thought, clutching the feather to his chest. He thought this because he heard the Voices daily now, every hour, every minute.
There was a flash, and he was burning the phoenix feather. He was insane! He felt some scrap of himself leap up and screech: No! No! The rod was by his side, and he could hear nothing except the Voices. His own voice was drowned out as he thrust his hand into the blue flames. Then the feather was falling into gray fragments… Grief was like a knife to his consciousness, pain beyond belief consuming him.
He was unraveling as the Nazt-driven Alakil tried to shove down his resistance. And then he was free, but not as he had been before incarnation. He was directionless. He saw his body in the Ravine below, still animated, still clearly in possession of something like a soul. Yet he himself was hovering far above the craggy walls, and spirits buffeted him, calling to him, snatching at him.
Zion, please! I’m alone!
A blast of wind sent him flying, turning upside down, over and over. Reality was a confused sensation that involved sounds and colors. Nothing was tangible. There was nothing to hold onto…
This was the death of everything.
When he came to himself, he was in the red darkness, and water pressed up against his skin, comforting him. Water! He curled up tighter, like a fist, his body fixed to the wall of soft flesh. A heartbeat sounded above him, each movement caused by it flickering through his consciousness.
It had all been a bad dream then, he thought vaguely. He had been incarnated again.
*
Etana stayed close to Rafen while they rode through the narrow, descending pathways where Fritz led them. The bumpiness of the road was unbearable, and Rafen clenched his teeth against the growing pain in his side. He shuttered his eyes before Nazt reminded him of his susceptibility during repose. In all likelihood, if he hadn’t drifted while Sherwin was leading them, they would never have reached the Den Nyolam. Now he was weaker than ever, and still had the same battle to face.
Sherwin turned to meet Rafen’s eyes at one point. Rafen regarded him critically. One temple was bandaged, but apart from that, he looked quite healthy. Sherwin opened his mouth, closed it again, and blurted out painfully, “I was a fool.”
“Indeed you were,” Fritz said from in front.
Sherwin dropped back further so that he could speak to Rafen in private.
“Look,” he said. Rafen cut across him.
“It was partially my fault,” he said. “You’re right – I haven’t even thought about you and Fra
ncisco, and what’s going to happen to you two after this. I’ve been acting like my life is the only important one.”
“Well, that is sort o’ wha’ Adelphia said,” Sherwin said, staring at the ground.
“I frankly don’t care,” Rafen said, and Sherwin gazed at him in wonder. “That attitude is going to get me nowhere. I know I shouldn’t make foolish decisions, but I need to put others first. I won’t fulfill my purpose if I don’t, and I won’t be acting like the Fledgling or the Runi either. Yet I also need to be strong enough to survive… that’s why I must get more training and help.”
Sherwin nodded, licking his lips. “Yeah… yeh’re right. Look, Raf, I admire tha’, yer know. Puttin’ others first anyway.”
“It’s what I’m meant to do,” Rafen said wearily. “You’re free to admire it if I succeed.”
Sherwin managed a smile. “I’m sorry,” he said.
Rafen nodded. “So am I.”
“Sherwin,” he added quietly after a moment of silence, “did you attack me with kesmal near that black archway?”
“Wha’?” Sherwin said. He shook his head vehemently. “Must ’ave been an enemy, Raf. They were pretty close to us by tha’ time.”
“You must be right,” Rafen said.
“I say, old fellow,” Kasper said, slowing down to speak to Rafen, “you certainly kept that quiet, about your phoenix feather, eh? A jolly old secret.”
“Very,” Rafen said mildly.
“I don’t blame you,” Kasper said. “I wouldn’t have known how to say it myself. ‘Oh, by the way, Father, family, I’m the last Runi.’ They would sooner believe I was pregnant, ha ha!”
To Rafen’s left, Etana looked slightly uncomfortable.
“I’m jolly glad it’s you and all that, old prune,” Kasper said. “Richard is a frightful sort. I think you’ll do jolly good, and with Zion’s help, we’ll clean the whole thing up.”
“You really shouldn’t have come,” Rafen said through teeth gritted against the searing beneath his ribs. “You’ll be hung for it.”
“Ah, I suppose,” Kasper said in a blasé voice. “It really doesn’t bother me, old chap. I’m not the wisest fellow this side of Hara, but I know how to die. I’d go all the way for you, Rafen.”
He was smiling complacently as he walked, and Rafen didn’t doubt his sincerity.
“He dropped everything for you,” Etana said in a low whisper. “He might have been a duke… his studies were going exceptionally well for once.”
Rafen shook his head. “He really shouldn’t have.”
Etana looked ahead at Kasper with warm affection. “He’s the only one in the family who would have done it.”
*
They reached the Ravine late in the day. Sherwin had been growing increasingly fidgety, and several times he stopped altogether and protested in an undertone to Francisco that he couldn’t go on. Francisco persuaded him softly. Fritz continued to look back at Sherwin with suspicion in his eyes.
For the first time, Rafen realized how insubstantial the numerous bridges across the Ravine were. The crumbling gray stone was scarcely wide enough for a horse to travel across, and there was nothing to support the bridges as far as he could see. It was impossible to tell how far there was to fall, because white clouds laced the Ravine beneath the bridges. Rafen supposed the New Isles clock tower might have easily fitted beneath them.
The rocky moss-covered walls surrounding them shadowed the stone platform leading onto the bridges. Rafen stared at the tooth-like crags around them and wondered how many enemies hid nearby. He touched a hand to his phoenix feather. It was growing warmer again, and his wolf’s senses told him a band of Naztwai was almost on them.
“I’m not goin’ across one o’ those,” Sherwin hissed to Francisco.
He was leaning against a stone wall, visibly shaking as he looked at the place. The humming in the air was the wordless expression of all the spirits Rafen could see hovering about. Something within told him the Lashki was never far from here.
“Which one is it?” Etana said to Fritz, who had paused and was surveying the scene leisurely.
Though a warning was on the tip of Rafen’s tongue, he didn’t want to panic their company. In all likelihood, Fritz, a Runi as well, knew exactly the danger Rafen was sensing.
“There were eleven,” Fritz said, thoughtfully staring at the eight that crossed to the towering stone wall on the other side. “And it was the tenth.”
“We’re trapped,” Sherwin said loudly.
“My dear fig,” Kasper said with indignation.
“It’s the seventh one,” Rafen told Fritz impatiently. “Etana must cross first.”
“How do you know this?” Fritz asked, turning to Rafen. The sharpness in his tone told Rafen their surroundings were affecting Fritz as well. It wasn’t an encouraging thought.
“I have seen it,” Rafen said
“Oh, do let us go,” Etana said. “Rafen must go first; he is wounded.”
“Rafen cannot be right,” Fritz said.
“When ’e sees things, ’e sees them,” Sherwin remarked. “Raf, yer go first.”
Rafen stared at Sherwin at this unexpected show of sympathy.
“I say,” Kasper said, pointing above.
A black shape crashed to the ground before him, and Kasper stumbled backward. Trinity whinnied and reared, tearing Etana’s hand from Rafen’s. Rafen fell backward in the saddle and attempted to hold on. He didn’t have the strength. His back hit the ground with a dull thud, and pain blackened his vision. Etana screamed, and kesmal exploded around them. A solid thump told Rafen the Naztwai had been finished. He struggled to sit up, but the pain in his side was blinding. When his sight cleared, he saw Trinity’s hooves above him. His kesmal was hesitant.
With a tremendous grunt, Kasper jerked the halter left, and Trinity reeled sideways, his hooves landing beside Rafen. Someone helped Rafen to his feet. His legs were shaking badly. Then a fist filled his face, and he was on his back again, blood streaming from his jaw.
Asiel leered above him, one fist closed. He clutched his nhanya blade with the other hand.
“Rafen, how considerate of you,” he said. “You visited the Den Nyolam and walked into our trap.”
The nhanya blade glowed with kesmal as Sherwin flung his arm around the Ashurite’s neck and threw him backward. Asiel’s kesmal burst vertically into the air, like a firework. Sherwin jerked Rafen to his feet, and the wound at his side tore, warm blood drenching his shirt beneath the many layers he wore.
“Yer ’ave to cross,” Sherwin said.
“I’m going to fight,” Rafen shouted, making to draw his sword.
Sherwin forced his hand away.
“Don’ be an idiot. Remember what yer said abou’ foolish decisions? Yeh’ll endanger us all if yer don’ go.”
The platform was seething with Naztwai. Fritz and Francisco were back to back amid a circle of them, fighting fiercely. Etana had mounted Trinity and was standing in the saddle aiming kesmal at the Naztwai on the stone wall above the platform. Their corpses tumbled down to crush their battling fellows. Rafen’s stomach turned over as he saw her fighting. If she fell, both she and their child would be dead.
“You knew this was a trap,” he said to Sherwin.
“I didn’,” Sherwin said, shoving Rafen toward the seventh bridge. “Don’ worry. Etana is comin’ right after yer.”
Rafen turned back momentarily and aimed a focused beam of kesmal at a Naztwai behind Etana. The Naztwai crumpled with a whistle, and Rafen’s strength drained further.
Asiel had leapt up to wrestle with Kasper, who had stolen his nhanya blade.
Rafen staggered forward. The bridge beneath him shook perceptibly. He glanced down, and his stomach heaved. Particles of the path beneath him were dropping down through the clouds that veiled the Ravine floor. Even though such a path to a country house would have seemed adequate, its width here, edged on each side by a sheer drop, was alarmingly small. In his injured state,
he knew he was likely to kill himself by taking a false step.
“GET OUT OF ’ERE!” Sherwin roared, and Rafen tottered forward.
The bridge shook again, violently, as something began to follow him. He turned and saw Etana leading Trinity by the halter, her face white. The platform was seething with Naztwai, and Sherwin was blocking their access to the bridge, slashing and slicing with a speed and vigor Rafen hadn’t thought him capable of. The pile of corpses beside him was growing and forming an effective wall to protect him from further attacks.
“Rafen!” Etana gasped. “You look terrible. Please pause a moment.”
Rafen stepped a little too far sideways and lurched, his balance shifting.
“PLEASE!” Etana shrieked, lunging forward and seizing his hand to steady him.
The bridge was trembling constantly now, and Trinity snorted and rolled his eyes behind them.
“You must be good, Trinity,” Etana said. “We are almost across now.”
“Of course we are,” Rafen croaked.
He couldn’t see the other end of the bridge. It was concealed by mist, and the way there was likely twenty times as long as the short distance they had crossed.
“Keep going,” Etana urged him. “Sherwin is watching for us, and we must get across while things are safe.”
“He is hurt,” Rafen said, moving forward slowly again.
“Not as hurt as you,” Etana said. “Your jaw looks dreadful. And you’ve gone gray.”
Rafen was forcibly reminded of the Lashki. “I hope not,” he said.
Etana smiled feebly. “I didn’t mean like that.”
They toiled on for what felt like an hour. Rafen was horribly conscious of the blood that was running down his side and into his pants. He was becoming more and more faint-headed, and his jaw throbbed. He kept remembering what Demus said about persevering despite injuries. Yet the current environment, filled with spirits and voices, wasn’t helping in the least. Though Etana wanted to support him, Rafen refused her help persistently. She led and soothed Trinity instead. The thing that troubled Rafen the most was that the great chunks falling away from the bridge beneath likely meant the others could not follow them.
The Fourth Runi (The Fledgling Account Book 4) Page 19
