Termination

by Deborah Chester

  If he vanished before he found Noel, then he would lie here on the ground as one more bleached skeleton…forever.

  Spooked by the thought, he rested only a moment. The ravine yawned ahead of him. He tried to look down into it but it seemed bottomless. Vines and thicket choked it, and he almost failed to find the crude stone steps that led down.

  Leon put his foot on the first step, and a sensation of frigid cold swept through his entire body. Frightened by it, he retreated, and the temperature surrounding him returned to a comfortable level. He stepped down again, and was again assaulted by an icy blast.

  “Noel?” he called.

  His voice carried down into the ravine and echoed lower and lower and lower until it vanished in the mist far, far below.

  Something screamed, and Leon jumped back. He glanced around wildly, his heart thumping. He heard more cries, some human, some not, but he saw nothing but the silent ravens roosting in the branches above him, watching with beady yellow eyes.

  “Noel?” he shouted. “It’s Leon. I’ve come to help you. Answer me, won’t you? Noel!”

  Again his voice echoed down. The screams and wails intensified as though the sound of his voice had brought them to life. Leon did not want to go down those steps. His sense of unease was growing steadily. But his flesh was still deteriorating. His legs were vanishing inch by inch. Soon the deterioration would reach his vital organs, and what would happen then?

  Shuddering, he gripped his dagger in his right hand and forced himself down the steps as fast as his shackles would allow. “Noel, hang on!” he shouted, more to reassure himself than his brother. “I’m coming. I’m coming, Noel!”

  The cold intensified as though he were descending into a freezer. Frost coated the vines. The shrubbery lost its leaves until everything was a tangle of dead undergrowth. The steps were old, worn, nearly nonexistent in places. He had to constantly watch his footing, and more than once he slipped on loose shale and nearly fell.

  His fear grew and he wanted to turn back with all his heart, but he was committed now. He couldn’t get back to the door before his body vanished. His only hope lay in finding Noel in time.

  Snow began to fall, dusting his hair and shoulders with white. It was soft against his face. Flakes blew into his eyes, making them sting. Concentrating on watching his feet, Leon paid little heed at first to a faint rustle overhead, then something small and fast struck his shoulder from behind.

  The blow nearly overbalanced him. Grabbing an icy vine in time to save himself, Leon looked around and saw another raven diving at him. He yelled and fended it off, but its beak slashed into his forearm. Blood spurted, and Leon crouched down in a heap, cradling his injured arm.

  With raucous cries, the birds came at him in a swarm of talons, beaks, and flogging wings. He curled himself up into a ball to protect his face and head and hunkered there on the crumbling steps while they struck and slashed at his back and shoulders. And amid their cawing, he thought he heard distant laughter.

  Leon frowned and jumped up with a wild flailing of his arms. “Get back!” he screamed.

  Startled, the birds broke off their attack and wheeled away. Not waiting to see whether they would come at him again, Leon hurried down the steps as fast as he dared, breathing hard with fear, his cuts and scratches stinging.

  He reached a wide landing and for a moment knew hope. But Noel was still nowhere to be seen. Leon saw a banister of stone, and snowdrifts lay in gentle white mounds. He was up to his knees in snow, and the cold pierced him so savagely he felt as though his blood were congealing in his veins. His teeth chattered uncontrollably and his hands were too numb to hold on to his dagger. He tucked his hands into his armpits in an effort to save them and squinted against the driving snow.

  The flesh on his legs was nearly gone now. He could see his hip socket on one side. Was this Noel’s illusion too? Had they begun to blend?

  “Noel!” he shouted through lips that were growing stiff. “Answer me, damnit!”

  He moved from mound to mound, kicking it in hopes of finding Noel. Snow scattered in sprays, but he hit nothing solid.

  Breathing hard, shivering constantly, he looked at the next flight of steps and knew he could not make it. He could not search like this indefinitely. His strength was nearly gone. He had stayed too long already. He was losing himself, forgetting what he was supposed to be doing. Why the hell wouldn’t Noel answer him? Didn’t he care? Didn’t he intend to try?

  Leon stared up at the bleak sky. “Give me the LOC!” he shouted with all his might. “Help me!”

  He heard a flapping sound above the rush of the falling snow. A creature sailed up and landed on the banister. Settling there, it crouched low and folded its wings. Leon blinked and squinted, not certain of what he was seeing. It looked…yes, it looked brown, reddish-brown, with the same yellow eyes as the ravens. It had scales like a reptile, and batlike wings. Its tongue was forked and flicked out nervously from its snout.

  Leon opened his mouth but no sound came out. He knew he was beginning to share too much with Noel. He was taking on Noel’s nightmare. He was entering Noel’s battle. The cold, the snow, this creature…

  “No,” he said. He backed up, ready to run.

  The creature stood up on its legs and hissed. Suddenly it turned a bright, vibrant shade of red, and the whole world snapped to full color.

  Leon yelled in fear and clenched shut his eyes. “No!” he shouted. “No, no!”

  He crouched down in the snow and pressed his hands to his eyes, refusing to look, refusing to believe. He had to get out of here. He had to run now.

  Turning around, terrified that the demon creature would attack him, Leon started to climb back up the steps.

  “Le-on.”

  It was the faintest of whispers, so soft he almost failed to hear it. He told himself he was imagining it, but his heart knew differently.

  Not now, he thought, his heart hammering with fear. It’s too late now.

  “Leon.”

  It was a gasping cry—choked, hoarse, and almost unrecognizable. Leon, however, knew he had found his brother.

  Trembling, he forced himself to turn around and face the monster crouching on the banister in wait. He expected others to have joined it. There was probably a legion rowed up there now, ready to attack as soon as he attempted to go to Noel.

  But when he opened his eyes, only the one demon crouched there. Leon had to make two attempts to stand before his legs would support him. He stumbled forward to the edge of the landing and looked down. He could see a shape lying on the steps, a snow-covered shape.

  His heart jumped. “Noel,” he whispered.

  Momentarily forgetting the demon, he started down the icy steps. The demon hissed as he passed it, and Leon flinched but he did not stop. To his amazement, the thing did not attack him. He tensed, expecting it to strike him from behind the way the ravens had, but it did not. Leon stumbled on, slipping and skidding on the treacherous steps.

  He reached Noel and sank down in a heap. Noel was nearly buried. Blood stained the snow, and Noel’s back and arms were badly torn. His face looked as gray and still as the stones. His skin was like ice to the touch.

  “Noel?” said Leon, half laughing, half anguished. He pressed his palm against his brother’s cheek as though to pour something of himself into Noel. “Please,” he whispered. “Please.”

  Noel’s eyes opened. His gray eyes were dark pools. He did not seem to recognize Leon, yet he said, “Leon?” in a soft, quavering voice.

  “It’s okay,” Leon said. He gripped Noel’s shoulders gently and lifted him.

  Noel shuddered in his grasp. “Fought,” he murmured. “Tried to get out.”

  “I know. I came to help.”

  Noel looked at him in disbelief, and Leon braced himself for an insult.

  “Thank you,” Noel whispered and closed his eyes.

  Leon leaned over him and touched his forehead against Noel’s cold one. He felt renewed strength pour in
to him. Whether it was because they were together again or whether the LOC really was giving him support, Leon neither knew nor cared. He glanced at his legs and saw that they were normal again. The skeletal illusion had vanished.

  Relieved, he stood up, balancing carefully, and pulled Noel’s arm across his shoulders. It was hard going up the icy steps. Noel moved his feet only occasionally. The rest of the time Leon dragged him. The cold was agonizing, and the wind seemed to be trying to push them down the mountain. Gritting his teeth, Leon kept at it.

  When they reached the landing and he was able to drag in a deep breath of relief, he saw that the demon had vanished.

  Leon put his arm around Noel’s waist and hitched him up. “Come on,” he said grimly. “We’re going to make it out of here.”

  He maneuvered Noel across the landing and put his foot on the first crumbly step of the next flight up.

  With a loud pop everything vanished. There was only darkness and a feeling of strange emptiness.

  Startled, Leon raised his head and opened his eyes. He found the walls of Tibo’s chamber around him once again.

  He was lying across Noel, and his back hurt from the position.

  Straightening with a wince, Leon looked around and blinked at Messer Tibo, who stood near the door with a strange expression on his face. Green light flashed in the room, and Leon saw that the LOC had been placed on his wrist.

  Recovering his wits, he wiped his face with both hands and turned around to check on Noel.

  His brother lay on the table as before, unmoving, ashen-faced. Dismayed at the thought that it had all been for nothing, Leon gave him a hard shake, making his head bump against the boards.

  “Noel, wake up. Wake up!”

  Noel’s eyes flickered open. He made a slight sound and frowned.

  Relief spilled through Leon. He threw a grin at Messer Tibo, who was venturing forward.

  “He’s back!” Leon said proudly. “I brought him back.”

  He pulled Noel up to a sitting position and gave him another little shake. “Stay with us,” he said. “You’re going to be fine now. I got you back. Can you believe it? I actually did it.” He laughed. “It was pretty weird going there for a while but we—”

  Messer Tibo’s hand closed around his wrist in warning. Leon’s voice faltered and stopped in midsentence. He looked up at the astrologer, who was frowning at Noel.

  “What’s wrong?” Leon looked at Noel, who was staring right through him. Leon snapped his fingers in front of Noel’s face, and Noel scarcely blinked. “Come on. Pull yourself together. It was rough, but you’re back. You’re okay. Speak to me, Noel. Tell me you’re okay.”

  “He is still very cold,” Messer Tibo said. “Take him over to the fire. I will pour him some wine.”

  Wrapping the fur throw around Noel, they sat him in front of the fire. Noel continued to stare strangely at nothing. His responses were slow or nonexistent. He did not speak.

  Leon scratched his head, feeling at a loss. Noel could bounce back from anything. He always did.

  “Something is very wrong,” Messer Tibo said. With a glare he turned on Leon. “What have you done to him?”

  “Hey, it was a rough scene. Give him a few minutes. He’s in shock.”

  “His mind is gone.”

  “No!” Leon protested sharply. “He’ll be fine. He just needs to sip his wine and get back in sync with things. He’ll be fine. He’s a little shaken. There’s nothing to worry about. Noel is tougher than you can imagine. He’s all right. You’ll see.”

  But Noel went on staring through them, motionless, apathetic. He was incapable of even holding the wine cup. He did not speak. He did not look up no matter what Leon tried.

  “You failed,” Messer Tibo said harshly. “There is nothing left in him. Nothing we can use.”

  “No, wait,” Leon said worriedly. He jumped to his feet and faced the astrologer. “I swear to you that Noel will recover. He’s—”

  “I have heard enough lies. Give me no more.”

  “But he will be fine by morning. You’ll see. Just give him time.”

  “There is very little time for any of us,” Messer Tibo said sharply.

  Leon drew in his breath and waited.

  “You have until dawn to prepare him,” Messer Tibo said. “If not—”

  “Don’t say it,” Leon said. “I understand. He’ll be ready.”

  Messer Tibo shook his head and walked out. In the quiet, Leon heard him locking the door. They were trapped here in this windowless room, prisoners until morning.

  And Noel sat there like a life-sized doll, not moving, scarcely blinking. Leon pulled up a chair across from him and sat down with a sigh. For all his assurances to Messer Tibo, he was frantic with worry.

  “Okay,” he said to reassure himself. “I can do this. I can. LOC, it’s time to give me some suggestions on what to do.”

  Chapter 12

  Dawn crept over Venice slowly, as a mother might tenderly uncover her sleeping children. Messer Tibo’s servants unlocked the chamber door, and now Noel and Leon stood side by side in the shadowy laboratory. The windows had been pushed open to let in the first glimmers of pale gray light. Only one candle burned, and the hearth was cold with ashes.

  Messer Tibo arrived in a hurry from elsewhere in the house. He set down a small basket filled with bottles that clinked softly. “Messer Claudio does not feel well and must rely upon his second to fight for him this morning,” he said with satisfaction, rubbing his long, thin hands. “A message will be dispatched. With that accomplished, we have only to prepare his second.”

  Throwing off his long robes, he snapped his fingers and the dwarf brought him a knee-length doublet of green wool. He accepted a slice of freshly baked bread heavily buttered and sprinkled with cinnamon and nibbled on it as he walked toward Noel and Leon.

  His gaze went from one to the other, and his eyebrows shot up. “Well? What have you to report?”

  From a remote distance, Noel watched his duplicate step forward. Leon began to speak. His tone held the earnestness that always meant he was lying. Disinterested, Noel rested his gaze elsewhere. He felt very tired, but he had not been able to sleep. He was afraid he might start dreaming again. Everything around him seemed somewhat glassy and unreal. A bath and a change of clothing had refreshed him. His arrow wound had already begun to pucker and heal. Sometimes he remembered he had been fighting a battle where he was outnumbered, but he had no marks from such an encounter. Now and then he checked his arms, feeling for cuts and slashes, but there were none. Another dream, he thought, and shivered.

  Leon gave him a shake, and reluctantly Noel turned his head and focused on his duplicate.

  Messer Tibo crowded forward and gripped Noel by the chin, turning his head to one side, then the other. “He appears no better. This pale, wan expression. These dark circles beneath the eyes. He looks like a man who has slept with ghosts.”

  “Never mind,” Leon said. “He’s ready.”

  Messer Tibo gestured at Soma. “The sword.”

  Soma brought a rapier, and Messer Tibo handed it to Noel. “Take it.”

  Noel stared through him without interest and did not obey.

  “Mother of God!” exclaimed Messer Tibo. He seized Noel’s right hand and pressed the hilt into it. “Take the sword!”

  Noel wished he would go away and stop shouting. There had been enough screams, wails, and shrieks lately to last Noel forever. He let the sword drop to the floor with a clatter.

  Messer Tibo’s face twisted with rage. He stepped back. “Imbecile! You have accomplished nothing—”

  “Wait!” Leon said quickly. He picked up the sword and held it out to Noel. “Take the rapier.”

  Noel preferred to go away and find a quiet corner, but Leon’s voice came to him very clearly. He reached out with his left hand and took the sword.

  “Good. Demonstrate position.”

  Wearily Noel turned sideways, bringing his feet together at right angles—one
heel fitted against the other arch. He flexed his knees and assumed the stance. His knuckles snugged against the guard of the rapier and he turned his wrist up, resting the hilt diagonally across his palm. He raised the sword in a salute and lowered it.

  “Ah,” Messer Tibo said, beginning to brighten. “But he is so slow. It is a duelist we want, not a dummy rooted to the ground.”

  “Noel,” said Leon urgently, giving Noel signals with his eyes. “Show him.”

  Noel looked at the floor. Summoning the energy was too much trouble. He thought again, longingly, of a quiet corner where he could retreat and be left alone.

  “Impossible,” Messer Tibo said in disappointment. “He’ll be skewered before—”

  “En garde,” Noel snapped and the rapier whistled in a lightning feint and thrust. One flick of the tip and a slash appeared across Tibo’s chest.

  The astrologer cried out and stumbled back, but Noel had closed from his lunge and resumed stance.

  “Enough,” Leon said with obvious relief. He took the rapier from Noel’s hand and patted him on the shoulder. “Good boy.”

  Messer Tibo straightened slowly, gasping for breath. He fingered the cut in his doublet and examined himself for injury.

  “Did he cut you?” Leon asked.

  “No.” Messer Tibo’s voice was hoarse. He cleared his throat and dusted off his hands. Walking up to Leon, he struck him across the face with the back of his hand. Gripping Leon by the arm, he jerked up his sleeve and removed the LOC. When it was fastened around his wrist, he said, “A very clever little display. There will be no more such tricks.”

  “No, Messer Tibo,” Leon muttered.

  “Does your brother understand he is to provoke a duel with Vicente Contarini? Aldo is unimportant. Does he have his instructions?”

  “He knows what to do.” Leon’s voice was sullen, and he gave Noel a glance. Noel stared at the floor.

  Messer Tibo snapped his fingers. “Then let us go and quickly.”

  They concealed themselves in black masks and cloaks. Bells were ringing as they all climbed into a gondola and set out down the Grand Canal toward the Piazza San Marco. Tomorrow was Shrove Tuesday, the official close of Carnival and the start of Lent. Today was Vicente Contarini’s wedding day.