Solineus stumbled backward, another snake sailing past his face. “Shit!” With all his winter gear, the face was about the only thing vulnerable. He hoped.
Another hit his arm, and he swore he felt the fang scratching against his skin. He whipped his arm, slapping the snake against the ground, and a Twin took its tail off. Another curled in steaming ice and sprung, but he was ready, and the snake sailed to either side, cut in two; blood spattered his face. The pain came in an instant, a burn as if splashed with boiling oil. Searing and unrelenting. He dove to the tundra, dropped a Twin and scooped snow to rub on his skin. It was a comforting but bitter freeze. He smelled smoke. Smoke?
He dropped and rolled, the fur of his bear-skin smoldering in twenty spattered spots. Satisfied he wasn’t about to combust, he came to a knee, panting. The ground steamed with blood, snake parts scattered willy-nilly. Inslok strolled his way, snuffing his own smoking cloak with a gesture.
A fever snake sprung from behind the Edan, and there was no time for warning. But Inslok didn’t need it; he spun, a hand snagging the creature from the air behind its head. Its body wrapped the Edan’s arm and its head twisted, biting. The fangs sunk into the Edan’s bare hand.
Solineus’ mouth dropped open. “Inslok…”
The snake stared, and the Edan stared back, one as emotionless as the other. But only one could rip the other in half. Inslok dropped the body with the head still stuck in his hand. “A determined beast.”
“A poisonous one.”
Inslok pulled the head behind the eyes and eased the fangs from his flesh. “Yes. I can feel the heat in my veins. It is nothing.” He turned to look at Glimdrem. “The human?”
“I kept him clear, but took a bite myself.” He turned to Solineus with a smirk. “A Trelelunin’s system is hardier than you humans’.”
Solineus snorted. Immunity to cold wasn’t the only woodkin gift. But the skin of Glimdrem’s face bore a pasty pinkish hue. “You’re sure you’re fine? You’re sweating.”
Glimdrem stood, brows knit, wiped his forehead. “I’m sure I had worse in the jungles—” He took a single step before dropping to a knee, then crumpled to his shoulder. His hands shook and foam bubbled from his mouth by the time Solineus reached his side.
Five years. Five cursed years on Sutan, thousands of venomous snakes and worse passed every day. My first snake bite is in the snow. The irony struck him even as he curled dying. Not that he expected to be dying for long; Inslok knelt beside him, and Glimdrem could feel the Edan’s Life energy. The healing would come, and all would be well.
He stared up at his healer, and those glassy, emotionless eyes. Inslok spoke in Edan: “The poison is Elemental, like the blood of the snakes themselves. It is beyond my skills. You will be dead soon.”
“I’ll what?”
“I could detail what I expect you’ll suffer, but I doubt the knowledge would ease your passing into the Father Wood. If you like, I could speed your end as a mercy.”
Glimdrem didn’t need details. His body burned so hot the wind couldn’t chill his sweat, and the bite on his neck burned like a white-ingot straight from the forge. However worse it got from here, he’d be damned if he’d let this Edan kill him, even if it meant ending the pain. He grunted through clenched teeth, “Keep trying.”
“As you will.”
Solineus leaned over him. “Hold on. You can fight this.”
Damn the human for being the one who cared. The part of him already detaching from his body wanted to laugh, but what remained felt as a child stifling tears. Pain surged; maybe he screamed.
Black.
Light.
He blinked.
He sat cross-legged amid a grove of Eternal Oaks. Eleris Edan, he assumed, but he didn’t recognize the location.
Beside him knelt a woman, an Edan, and she smiled with a coy twinkle in her eye, but her focus was a complex weave of vines. To the unknowledgeable eye it might seem a simple thing. But Glimdrem understood. It was a single vine interwoven into the pattern known as the Growing Universe, but the vine was twenty varietals, maybe more, grafted into one. It would flower year round in differing colors, creating a variety of patterns with the passing seasons. If done well, the patterns manifested would change year to year in a choreographed dance to celebrate the mastery of its creator.
This Life-sculptor was a master of skills in a way he’d never seen.
“It’s stunning.” This isn’t the Mother Wood. He smiled. “Am I in the Father Wood?”
“You mean, are you dead?” She laughed, then pointed to her living sculpture. “You once mastered this art, did it die within you?”
“No, maybe I… I never achieved this, a creation so wondrous. Whatever skill I possessed is long forgotten.”
“If I told you this endeavor was yours, and I only tend it until you come home?”
He chuckled, and the weight of being dead lifted. I’d call you a liar. “I’d say you’re playing games.”
She gestured to the sculpture as a child begging him to solve her puzzle.
“I’ll play your game.” He closed his eyes and stretched his senses, making contact first with the leaves, the stems, fiber and root, then the vital essence of this living thing. His spirit explored the winding paths of the vine, the flow of its sap. Thirty-four varieties of vine, mingling in perfect harmony. The sobu could handle drought, the renistu extreme cold, the okstan produced an oil that deterred beetles, beetles who devoured the sobu… The whole borrowed gifts to create a life more wondrous than the parts, as astounding and difficult to kill as the Edan.
I have become you, came the voice.
Glimdrem chuckled. You are more perfect than I.
More perfect than you are, not so perfect as you once were. The you forgotten.
Glimdrem’s gut knotted. The wisdom of lost centuries haunted his dreams, and those moments he dared Life-sculpt again. But he wasn’t about to let this vine get the best of him, no matter how ideal its sculpting. I’m here for a game.
Then play.
Glimdrem snarled and his spirit sank into the roots of the vine, the bulb of its growth. He felt the life essence of the lady Edan and was about to depart when he sensed the last being he would’ve expected: Himself. A fragment of his soul lingered still in this vine which must be over a thousand years old. It was the Life-sculptor’s signature that could never fade into nothing.
I have become you.
You are not so weak.
Neither are you.
Glimdrem’s eyes startled open to find a frozen world in which only a perfect vine could survive. Inslok leaned over him, struggling to keep him alive.
Solineus, that damned human, was there too. “Keep fighting.”
Glimdrem struggled to swallow and speak. “The Father Wood is beautiful.” He seized the Edan’s arm, the one the snake had bitten, and wove his spirit into the Edan as he would a vine… To his dismay, it worked.
Inslok jerked, but relented to the grip, his stare less cold than usual; warmed by curiosity, Glimdrem guessed.
He felt the poison’s Fire in the Edan, felt Elemental Life channeled to keep Glimdrem alive, felt the Edan’s heart pulsing Spirit in a slow, perfect rhythm with his unflappable heart. The snake’s Fire wasn’t a direct attack on Glimdrem’s life, it killed by destroying his Spirit.
Life-sculpting was the art of Spirit manipulating life, sculptor to vine. He needed to reverse the flow.
The Edan’s Spirit was overwhelming his own, threatening to throw him from the host. His eyes clenched and his will grappled the Life the Edan flooded into his body, used its energy to link with Inslok’s pulsing Spirit. Life and Spirit chained, two elements so often related. He released his grip and Inslok’s Spirit followed Life in a torrent.
Glimdrem’s mouth gaped in a gasp and his eyes flew wide. The furious heat flooded from his body and he rolled to his side, taking his first stable breaths since bitten.
Inslok’s voice was placid as ever. “What have you achieved?”<
br />
Glimdrem still felt the Fire in his veins. He took several steadying breaths before speaking. I grafted you to me, for a flicker. “Nothing I have a name for.”
Solineus asked, “You’re cured?”
Glimdrem shook his head and struggled to his feet. “It burns. But it won’t kill me, not yet.”
Inslok stared as might a statue. “You can do this again?”
“I think so.”
Solineus said, “Enough times the poison might leave your system?”
Glimdrem cocked his head. There just wasn’t a way to know. “If the poison was that of a normal bite…”
“The Touched is powerful, it’s possible he could cleanse your blood.”
Glimdrem nodded, but it was difficult to put faith in a skeleton who spoke in riddles, no matter how much he seemed to know.
Inslok strode east toward the Steaming Lakes. “We move.”
Glimdrem’s head rocked with a silent snort. “The Edan has spoken.” And he stumbled on his first step to follow.
Solineus offered his shoulder, but Glimdrem shooed him away with a glare. “I’ll manage.”
Rinold slid in on the opposite side of Glimdrem, and the other Trelelunin fanned out behind. “Can you trust a man who puts so little stock in life and death?”
Glimdrem said, “The Edan never break a vow.” His muscles limbered, and he extended his stride to escape the blather of humans, but he still caught their words.
Rinold said, “I don’t figure that one cares much for the other.”
Solineus replied, “They’re more alike than not, so who the hells can tell?”
Being compared to an Edan burned Glimdrem’s sensibilities, where once he would’ve taken it for a compliment. He is more perfect than I.
As you once were, came the voice.
“Shut your mouth,” he grumbled, but of course, Glimdrem realized there was no one there.
30
A Walk with the Dark
Snake. Shake. A tail’s rattle, a tale’s battle,
a poisoned fang to lance the boil,
saves or slays.
Which say you, twisting viper, lisping viper?
Restrict, constrict… the doom edict, you claim?
A shame, a sham, unleashed and Dehorned Ram.
–Tomes of the Touched
“What happened at the Crack of Burdenis?” Three days sitting and talking, while watching frantic priests and guards search the grounds, and Meliu danced around the topic every time he broached it. He learned more about her whiskey-flop mother and quick-fisted father than he knew about her.
“I told you, I wasn’t privy to nothing. All I heard was rumors; enchanted gems and Shadows from the Stone.” She glanced to the sky, the sun midway to setting. They were thinking of making their escape around sunset, and he figured she wished for the sun to move faster to avoid the topic.
“None of that, I mean what’d you do there? How’d you escape? You mentioned the Tears of the Gods.”
She cocked her head with a crooked smile. “Damned good memory, for a Choerkin. You really want the story?”
“Make it quick, I’ve better things to do.”
“Quick’s the only way I can tell it. I led Guntar and his message—”
“And Tokodin.” His heart squeezed into a fury, recalling the man who’d poisoned his father, but he swallowed the insults on his tongue.
“And Tokodin, before I turned back into the caves. The route I took you Wardens is the fastest one I know, but there’re three trails which led to the Crack. I figured to take the one fewer folks know to travel, sneak down to the libraries. A fool’s play, I made it half way before set upon by a Taken, and I ran. But my luck wasn’t so good, and I ran straight into a fight ‘tween several priests and Shadows.
“That’s where… Angin grabbed me, or rather, the Taken priest. His giant hands snagged and lifted me, and I hit… you saw my head. High Priest Tulmur put a mace to Angin’s knee, and he staggered. But his grip, it still felt as though he’d crush my ribs, but the mace’s next blow crushed the Taken’s forehead and I fell to the ground. And ran. I tried every prayer I knew to hide, but they sensed me. A Shadow came for me, and again Tulmur arrived, killing the thing with fire. He lifted me into the Tears of the Gods. I stayed there for two days, living on drips of cave water.”
“What are the Tears?”
She shrugged. “Stalactites, with streaks of glow set in their minerals, like enchanted tears I guess.” Again she shrugged.
“But the Shadows and Taken didn’t sense you hiding? Maybe they are magical, like Kinesee’s pearl.”
“Kinesee’s pearl? You’ve a quicker wit than you let on, Choerkin.” An infused mineral in the stalactites meant the formation was worth a fortune, if true.
“Your skill with curses far surpasses your compliments.”
“I’ll work on that” She hesitated with her next words. “Seeing as his name came up, I wanted to ask about Tokodin.”
Ivin glared, certain his face was more vial than he intended. “Nothing to say.”
Ivin’s face was an angry smile, ugly, but still more controlled than her father’s would’ve been. She trusted she could push the line with this man, Choerkin or no.
Tokodin deserved her defense.
“There’s no way I believe he murdered… anyone. He was a gentle soul.” She prayed for Light without words, just a trickle, and let the energy fall over Ivin like an invisible blanket.
The man’s face eased. “Joslin saw him slip something in the drink, from a silver vial. I mean, at first I didn’t believe, but I saw him with that vial. I thought it was whiskey or some such.”
“Bearers sometimes carry dolemin for if they’re caught, but it’s supposed to be painless and damned near instant.”
Ivin inhaled, then the air escaped in a rasp as he spoke. “I heard the same, but if the poison isn’t fresh… It weakens, fuels visions. If it’d been fresh, they say Rikis would be dead.”
“A blessing in the darkness.” Meliu fidgeted, uncomfortable with the old saying. “But where the hells did he get it?”
“The Colok captured a Bearer a year before, I don’t recall his name—”
“Mecum?” It was the only name which made sense, the priest missing from the famous group eaten by Colok. The funeral had been a small affair, and without a body, so it remained difficult to forget.
“Aye, he was the one who taught the Colok our language. I saw Tokodin holding that vial, rolling the dice… several times.”
Meliu understood Tokodin’s dice too well, and there was no doubt loyalty to Istinjoln and a fear of the hells would tear him apart even if trying to stop a war. “He was letting the dice decide whether to kill himself. To save his soul from the hells. He never made a big decision without a roll of the bones.”
“I found the night die by his body, a one.”
That final day of Hawk and Snake outside the Crack of Burdenis, if the night die had been a one, Tokodin would’ve taken the whole pot. Was he proclaiming victory, or obsessing over a loss? Either way, it sounded too much like Tokodin, and sorrow welled in her eyes. Maybe she was wrong about him. “The other dice?”
Ivin shook his head. “That’s the peculiar part, I admit. It was the only die there. The days were missing, not in his robes.”
“You said a boy saw him?” Her mind drew the connection, but she shook her head. Ulrikt was on Kaludor during Kotin’s murder. Unless Ulrikt and his Face were two people and both still alive. She exhaled and rubbed her eyes; these were secrets and speculations she wouldn’t share. “Maybe he threw them into the shit-hole. Maybe I didn’t know him so well as I thought.”
“Not a one of us would’ve expected it.”
She rose to her knees and peered over the tower’s parapet. The courtyard below was quiet, whereas a couple days ago guardsmen and priests ran crisscrossing the area in roving bands all the way to the gates leading into the city.
The sun was maybe two candles from setting;
it was time to go.
She glanced at Ivin, his hair blackened by dye, and the bruises visible a day ago faded into soft blotches that didn’t look so suspicious. “I think it’s time to leave.”
“I’d rather we stayed until night.”
“After dark, we’d need explain ourselves.” She muttered a prayer, pushing her senses to the room below. She didn’t hear a soul and pulled the ring of the trapdoor to crack it open.
Ivin kneeled, putting an eye to the dark crease. “Nobody.”
Flickers later they stood in Ivin’s cell, and she was more nervous than she’d care to admit.
Ivin asked, “Got a piece of charcoal to write with?”
She reached into her pack and handed him a chunk. “What for? Don’t be wasting it on something stupid.”
“Leaving a message.”
She snorted and set to working on the lock. “I think you were hit a time or two too many.” With the steel tools she’d gotten from the tinker’s buddy, the lock clacked open in moments, and when she turned she saw Ivin drawing what looked like two horseshoes on the wall… except, were those nipples? “What the hells is that?”
“Tits.” He tossed her the charcoal with a grin. “Stone tits. Iro will understand. In fact, he’ll make more of it than there is if he ever sees it.”
“Never quite understood men… Never will.” She stepped out the door; all quiet. “You stay close, and if I say duck, you scrunch into a ball and don’t move a muscle.” They’d practiced atop the tower, but the big bastard was harder to hide than her tiny frame, and sore muscles made his not moving difficult. Once outside, she turned and relocked the door.
She skulked to the edge of the spiral stairs, the gray blocks void of life and character. She prayed and pushed her hearing down a floor; raspy breathing, a prisoner she noted on the way up, only this time less healthy than she last heard. She took the first couple steps slow, then bounded to the lower flat.
Trail of Pyres Page 27
