“She does?”
“She says that’s why the Ancient One of the Lementh’kal spoke to me. I’m supposed to be the doorway back, whatever that means.”
“Does she know how you’re to be this doorway?”
“I don’t think so. She just kept asking me questions. She acted like I should know.”
Cara put her hand on Netra’s arm. “Maybe you do.”
“What? Not you too.”
“Think about it. Think about what you’ve been able to do. Think about the things you’ve done.”
“That’s pretty much all I do,” Netra said gloomily.
“That’s not what I mean. I know you don’t like to hear it, but there is something special about you. You’ve been places, seen things, encountered creatures, that no one else has. Maybe the Mother’s hand is guiding you in this.”
Netra put her head in her hands. “I can’t think like that. It’s too much. It’s too big. I’ll only ruin everything again.”
Cara pulled her hand away. “So, just like that?” Netra glanced at her, wondering. “You’re scared of making another mistake so you’re just going to give up? You’re not even going to try?”
Netra was stunned. There was a harshness in Cara’s voice that she’d never heard before. “It’s not like that,” she said weakly.
“It’s not? Because that’s sure what it sounds like.”
Netra flared briefly. “You can’t put that much responsibility on me.”
“I haven’t put anything on you. You’re the one who went looking for it. No one made you go. But you did and now you found it and it’s not what you thought it would be. So what? The question is, what are you going to do now? Are you going to give up, and doom the rest of us with you, or are you going to fight?”
The words were sharp and they cut deep. Netra flinched away from them. “You don’t understand what you’re saying. I tried. I really did. And all I did was make things worse.”
“You didn’t answer me. Are you going to give up, or are you going to keep fighting?”
Netra shot a sidelong glance at her old friend. She had changed so much she hardly recognized her. “Okay,” she said with resignation. “I’ll keep fighting.”
“Good. Now let’s look at this logically,” Cara said. “The Children can’t die because they’ve been set outside the Circle of Life.”
“And that’s also what’s driving their insatiable hunger,” Netra added.
“The only way to stop them is to undo the Gift and return them to the Circle.”
“But how?”
“That’s the question, isn’t it? But I’m thinking that if you want to undo the Gift, it makes sense that you talk to the one who created the Gift in the first place.”
Netra suddenly saw where Cara was going with this. “Melekath.”
Cara nodded. “Exactly.”
Netra stared out over the ocean. “Do you think he’d help?”
“You told me that the Children turned on him. What do you think?”
“He just might. But he disappeared. Where do I find him?”
“When the prison was created, there were thousands of his Children trapped inside it, right? All of them had the Gift, which means they’re all still…alive. But there’s only a hundred or so here. Where are the rest of them?”
“Probably still in the prison,” Netra said. “You think he went back there when the others turned on him.”
“It makes sense.”
“So, assuming he’s there and that he’s willing to help, that still doesn’t tell me what to do. How am I supposed to be the doorway?”
“That I don’t know. I guess we have to just hope it will come to you. Maybe it will make sense once you talk to him.”
“But how am I supposed to get there?”
Cara got up off the wall. “That I do know. Quyloc is the answer. He goes into the borderland and comes out somewhere else. It’s how he and the macht were able to attack Melekath. Let’s go find him.”
They entered the palace through a side door, Shorn following them, and found themselves in a long hallway. There didn’t seem to be anyone about. They opened a couple of doors, found the rooms beyond filled with sleeping figures, and backed out quietly. The hallway led to another hallway, this one larger, with more doors opening onto it.
“Where do we go?” Netra asked.
“I have no idea,” Cara replied. “I’ve never been in the palace before.”
“There must be a servant around here somewhere.”
Then, striding toward them, dressed in a robe, came a short man with a neat, black mustache. “Are you lost?” he asked.
“Chief Steward Opus,” Cara said. “We’re Tenders and—”
“I am aware of who you are. What do you need?”
“We need to talk to Quyloc. It’s very important.”
Opus gave a brief nod. “Follow me.” He led them down more halls and up several sets of stairs until finally they reached a set of ornate double doors. He rapped sharply on the doors.
“Come in,” a voice said from beyond the doors.
They entered and found Quyloc sitting at his desk. Books were piled all around him and a lamp was burning on the desk beside him. He looked at them questioningly.
“Tenders to see you, Advisor,” Opus said, then backed out of the room and closed the doors behind him.
“What do you want?” Quyloc asked without setting down his book. “I’m very busy.”
“She needs to go to the prison at once, to Durag’otal,” Cara blurted out.
Quyloc lowered the book and turned his penetrating gaze on Netra. “Why?”
“It’s something the Lementh’kal said,” Netra replied. To his blank look she added quickly, “They are these yellow-skinned…fish-people, I guess. They rescued us from Kaetria and—”
“Yellow-skinned?” Quyloc frowned. “Was one of them very old? And they spoke in riddles?”
“That’s the Ancient One and Ya’Shi, I think,” Netra said.
Quyloc’s manner changed then. He set the book down and stood up. “What did they say to you?”
Netra explained about the Children and how the Lementh’kal thought she was the doorway to return them to the Circle. Then she explained Cara’s reasoning about Melekath and finished by saying, “We think he could be in Durag’otal.”
Quyloc pondered this for a moment. “It makes sense.”
“That’s why she needs to go there,” Cara put in. “Right away.”
“It seems unlikely that he will help you. He may just kill you out of hand.”
“I’m willing to take that chance,” Netra said.
“What other choices do we have?” Cara said.
Quyloc gave her a look, but did not reply.
“Can you take me there?”
“I don’t know. I can at least get you closer, to the edge of the desert probably. I don’t know if I can travel across the desert itself. It is already claimed by the Pente Akka.”
“I think that would be good enough.”
“I should talk to Macht Rome about this first.”
“Why?” Cara challenged him. Netra gave her a surprised look. Did she even know this woman? “That wall isn’t going to hold the Children out for very long. Every minute counts.”
“He is the macht.”
“What harm can it do to take her there? At the worst there is nothing there.”
Quyloc looked down at the books on his desk. Then he slammed shut the one he’d been reading. “I have found nothing here, nothing that helps in the slightest.” He came around the desk. “Okay. Let’s go.” He looked at Shorn. “Is he going too?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
Thirty-nine
Nalene opened her eyes, wondering what had awakened her. For a moment she couldn’t recall where she was, then it came to her. She was in the small room Opus had taken her to. She vaguely remembered him apologizing for how small it was, how the palace was somewhat crowded at th
is time and this was the best he could do, but she’d paid him little attention, heading straight for the bed in the corner.
Now she lay there, faint starlight coming in through the window illuminating the room. Her sulbit lay curled up on her stomach, its awareness distant and sleepy. She was terribly thirsty. Maybe there was water on the table. She tried to get up, but gave it up as too difficult. The exhaustion she felt seemed to go clear to the bone.
What was the point anyway? The Children had shredded the first barrier. Now they would be even stronger. Lowellin was gone. There was nothing she, or anyone, could do. It would be better if she had died at Guardians Watch.
“Where are you, Xochitl?” she whispered to the darkness. “Have we angered you so much that you will abandon all life in our time of need?”
There was no answer. There was never any answer. Faith in Xochitl, in any god, was foolish. Maybe Quyloc was right, when he said there were no gods, only Shapers like T’sim and Lowellin. Maybe everything she thought she knew was a lie.
“Your problem is that you stand with too much weight on your beliefs. Shatter one of them and your entire foundation crumbles.”
The voice, coming from the darkness, startled Nalene so much that she gave a little cry and jerked upright in bed. Her sulbit squeaked and jumped onto her shoulder. “Who is it? Who said that?”
From out of the shadows a familiar figure stepped into the rectangle of starlight and looked down on her. Her red robe looked black in the dim light. Her porcelain skin almost seemed to glow.
“It’s you,” Nalene said. Her heart was still pounding fiercely. “Don’t do that.”
“Why do you do that?” Ricarn asked. “Why does it matter so much if what you believe is true?” She sounded genuinely perplexed, as if she was so completely different from the rest of the human race that this was a concept she could not grasp.
“I have to believe in something. I have to have something to hold onto.”
Ricarn considered this. “Why does it matter that you have something to hold onto?”
“I don’t know. So it all makes sense somehow?”
“That’s not it.” Ricarn’s eyes were piercing. Nalene wondered how she could see them so clearly in this darkness. “There’s more. Tell me the real reason.”
“I don’t—”
“Tell me.”
And just like that Nalene’s self-control cracked. “Because I’m too small!” she burst out. “The world is too big. Everything…it’s too much. I can’t stand alone before it. I have to have something to hold onto or it will all sweep me away.”
“Ah,” Ricarn said. “I see.” She was silent for a minute.
“Can you just…go away?” Nalene asked. What was it about this woman that so unbalanced her? “I need to rest.”
“You think that holding onto something larger than you will keep you safe,” Ricarn said, as if she hadn’t heard Nalene.
“I guess. I don’t know. Why are you here anyway? Did you just come to torture me?”
“I came because we must have something better. The new barrier will hold no better than the old. We require something else.”
“I thought you didn’t care.” Ricarn turned an inquiring look on her and Nalene continued, “When you first arrived here, we talked and you told me you and your kind don’t care if you live or die. Why do you care now?”
Ricarn bent closer. The way she did it looked unnatural. She seemed like she should be overbalanced, but she did not put out a hand to steady herself, did not sway at all. She seemed to be studying Nalene’s face.
“The simplest form of life still fights to survive. It is the way of life. It is true that I said we didn’t care if we died or not. I did not say we would not do anything.”
Nalene rubbed her eyes. It was uncomfortable having Ricarn stare at her like this. “You keep saying ‘we,’ but I don’t see the other two, the ones in yellow, anywhere. What are their names? Yelvin? I haven’t seen them in days. What happened to them?”
“Yelvin is not a name. It is what they are.”
“Don’t tell me. They’re not human, right? What are they, giant bugs or something?”
The faintest smile from Ricarn. “Human, and yet more. Something else. They are here, when they are needed. When they are not, they are somewhere else. I do not think you would understand.”
Now Nalene felt like she was getting a headache. “So what can we do that would work better?”
Ricarn straightened. “In the morning. I will tell you then what I think.” She turned to leave.
“That’s it? You woke me up for that?”
But it made no difference. Ricarn glided to the door and was gone silently.
Forty
The area was deserted when something moved underneath the pile of rubble choking the narrow street. Pebbles and small stones cascaded down the pile. One of the larger stones shifted, then slid down as well, raising a small cloud of dust. Two more stones were pushed aside and a hand emerged from underneath them. Then another hand. They gripped the stones on either side and pulled.
Slowly, Reyna emerged.
Her dress was in tatters. Both legs were broken badly. Her rib cage had been crushed and several rib bones jutted out from her flesh. She lay there for a moment, panting and cursing softly. She closed her eyes, concentrating.
She grimaced. Slowly her rib cage shifted. Ribs cracked as they moved back into place. Her legs straightened. Torn flesh knitted together.
She tried to stand and slid down to the bottom of the pile. With a groan, she stood, wobbly at first. She hurt everywhere. Worse than the pain were the traumatic memories triggered by being trapped under the stone. How long had she screamed under there, as centuries of lightless imprisonment collapsed down around her all over again?
The men who did this to her were the same ones who attacked them a few days ago and crippled Melekath. Her hatred for them was a growing flame within her. She hoped they were still alive so she could kill them herself. As slowly and as painfully as she could.
But right now she needed to feed. She was badly weakened from the energy she’d burned to shift all that stone, to reknit her shattered body.
She lifted her face, sniffing the air. Off in that direction. It wasn’t much, and it was weakening, but it was all she could find nearby.
She headed down a street at a broken run. Her right leg didn’t work right. It buckled on her and she fell hard, hearing a bone crack in her wrist as she landed. Gritting her teeth, she forced herself up once again. The city was completely dark. How long had she been trapped under there? Had the others already devoured everyone in the city?
The last thought terrified her. If they had fed on thousands, they would all be stronger than she. She would be at their mercy.
She lurched into a run once again, following the faint trickle of Song she smelled. As she ran, her worst fears began to come true. She found a number of bodies on the street, saw a man’s corpse lying half out a window two stories overhead, but nothing living. In the distance she could sense the other Children, burning brightly.
They were strong, and she was weak.
She kept following the one, faint trickle of Song, though every step closer to it brought her closer to two of the other Children. She came around a corner and there they were.
There was a man, lying on his face in the street, barely alive. He was trying to crawl away, his progress painfully slow. Crouched over him were two figures. They turned and looked up as she approached. It was Karrl and Linde. Both were grossly swollen. Karrl had a split down his back, his spine showing in the wound. Linde’s head was huge. Linde frowned at her.
“Go away. This one’s ours.”
“You’ll share with me,” Reyna snapped.
They stood as she got to them. Karrl had a dark smile on his face. “Get out of my way,” Reyna said, and shoved him, putting much of her dwindling power into it.
Karrl’s smile got larger. The shove didn’t even move him.
&nb
sp; Then Linde hit her from the side.
The power of her attack was astonishing. Reyna was thrown across the street and slammed into the wall of a home. She tumbled to the ground. Sharp pain in her left shoulder told her more bones had broken.
She hissed with rage and started to stand.
Karrl kicked her legs out from under her. He grabbed her by her ankle, swung her and threw her down the street.
This time she couldn’t stand. She could only lie there, trying not to scream as they kicked her and slammed her into walls, over and over for what seemed like an eternity.
At last they tired of their sport and wandered away. Reyna lay there, battered and broken, engulfed in a new horror, one she had never experienced in her three thousand-plus years of existence.
She was helpless.
Sometime later she heard someone approaching and she felt fear. Whoever it was, there was nothing she could do against them. Whining with pain and desperation, she began dragging herself toward a nearby doorway using only her left arm, the only limb that was still unbroken.
She made it through the doorway and into the shadowy recesses just as whoever it was passed. Slowly the footsteps receded.
She lay there on her back, fighting to keep from giving in to despair. She was Reyna. She had broken countless people who stood against her. She’d fought back through every desperate battle and always come out on top. She would do it this time too.
A glimmer of an idea.
Slowly, carefully, she gathered her remaining strength, pouring it into her inner senses, staring fixedly into the darkness above her.
There. Barely visible. A ghost thread of Song, a tiny flow of power.
She reached for it.
Forty-one
It was shortly after dawn when the Children began showing up in earnest outside the palace wall, drawn by the Song gathered inside. Working all night, the masons had gotten all the stones into place and it was a good thing because the gates only lasted a few minutes before they were pounded into toothpicks mixed with twisted strips of metal.
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