Realm of Light

by Deborah Chester

  She clung to him, weeping harder. “You don’t understand,” she whispered. “I cannot explain.”

  In silence he held her, and her tears cooled his ardor. As his head cleared, he realized he had been a fool. In a moment he had swept aside all his good and noble intentions. He had rushed her like a beast and frightened her. He had done everything he had sworn to himself he would not do. Now it lay in the open, and they would have to deal with it, or have it dealt with by others.

  He rocked her in his arms like a child, loving her, adoring her, knowing they had no time for this, aware that their danger increased with every passing second. Yet this moment had come to him like a gift, a single opportunity impossible to relinquish. He had stolen it, and he gloried in it even as it faded for them both.

  “I am sorry,” he whispered again. “I would not cause you a moment’s pain. Yet I have broken my vow never to reveal my heart to you.”

  She buried her face against his shoulder. How good she felt against him like this. How perfectly she fitted in his arms. He felt protective and invincible. All his strength seemed made only for the purpose of shielding her from harm.

  “You are good and courageous,” he told her. “You are brave and wonderful and infinitely precious. I honor you with all my heart, and I do not wish to bring you grief or unhappiness. Yet here I have made you cry. And now you are wondering what we will do, and all I can offer is myself. Is that not arrogance?” He almost laughed from the bitterness that suddenly filled his mouth. “I am a big fool, hoping you will finally say you love me.”

  She drew in a sharp breath and touched his cheek. “I—I cannot.”

  Pain cut through his heart. He shut his eyes against it. “I know.”

  “I am not free. I belong to Kostimon.”

  “Is your heart his?” he asked fiercely, suddenly furious. “Is it?”

  At first she was silent; then she said very quietly, “You know that does not matter. My vows were spoken. I belong to him.”

  “But not forever,” he said grimly.

  “Don’t speak of that,” she said in sudden fear. “Don’t foretell his death. Let that not be between us, ever.”

  His arms tightened around her in hope. “Then you do care?”

  She remained silent, but she did not resist when he kissed her forehead and eyes. Her tears tasted warm and salty on his lips.

  “You are too stubborn,” she said unsteadily. “As my official protector you could have been with me daily, hourly.”

  “No.”

  She pulled back to look into his eyes. Her own were frowning. “You say it would not have been honorable. Is this better, when you seize me like a bandit?”

  “It is on my terms,” he said angrily. “As a man, not your adoring servant.”

  Her eyes dropped, and she seemed to shrink a little. “Oh.”

  He let her go then, and stepped back from her. She continued to look at the ground, her hair half across her face.

  After a moment she said in a soft, shy voice, “Then some day ... perhaps ... you would be my consort?”

  His heart tightened. She had just offered him everything ... and nothing. After all he had said to her, she still did not understand. Regretfully he shook his head. “No,” he said with pride, “I will not.”

  They stood in the shadows, facing each other, trying to find a way to cross the barriers.

  “Because you cannot serve an empress?” she said softly, un-happiness layered in her voice. “Am I so horrible? Does my offer insult you so greatly?”

  It was Caelan’s turn to avert his face from her gaze. “No, there is no insult. You are wonderful.”

  “Then why? You know who and what I am. My destiny has brought me to the throne. Unless the empire is truly lost, I will rule after Kostimon. What do you ask of me?”

  “Nothing,” he said swiftly. “Nothing ... except your heart.”

  “And if I gave it to you ... someday,” she said hesitantly, “you still would not stand with me?”

  His heart thudded with anger. He did not want to explain. There was too much confusion still inside him, too much new ambition, too much stubbornness. Why could she not leave well enough alone? She always pushed him, goaded him. Perhaps it was time she heard the truth.

  “First protector, now consort,” he snapped. “I can carry a sword or I can wear a little crown. Either way, Majesty, the position you offer is still the same one. No, thank you.”

  Looking as though he had struck her, she drew back. Inside, Caelan’s entrails felt as though they were being twisted into a knot. She had offered him a future beyond what most men dreamed of, and he had flung it back in her face. She would hate him now. Could he blame her?

  “I see,” she said. Humiliation burned in her voice. “You have made things quite clear.”

  He sighed. “Please. I didn’t mean—”

  “You have said enough,” she told him with a gesture of dismissal. “This incident is best forgotten. We will not discuss it again.”

  His dismay grew. “I’m sorry I hurt you. I—”

  “Please do not apologize,” she broke in, her voice cool and haughty. “As you said, you are no longer my guardsman, or my protector, or my friend.”

  “That isn’t what I meant—”

  “I think it was precisely what you meant.”

  He opened his mouth to protest when he heard a sound, a deep, resonant sound that seemed to come from somewhere deep inside him. It was a voice, calling to him.

  His blood froze in his veins. Turning his head, he looked down at the ruins and saw the mist curling back, parting to reveal an enormous mound of earth in the heart of the city. Fragments and rubble lay strewn around it.

  Caelan’s vision suddenly leaped. Disoriented, he realized he could see every detail of those fragments as clearly as though he stood next to them. He found himself staring at a broken chair— no, a throne. It was immensely large, too large for any man to sit on. The pieces were made of gold, unblackened even by fire and age. The sides had once been solid slabs of the precious metal, with monsters carved to flank the throne on either side. One half of a snarling visage remained, its lifeless eyes staring back at Caelan.

  He stood there as though his feet had frozen, and had an unwanted vision of Beloth sitting on that throne, towering over his suppliants. Dark coils of smoke belched forth from openings in the ground. Shyrieas perched on the tall back of the throne like pets, their wings folded, talons dark against the bright gold. A gaming table stood before the shadow god, and tiny humans stood upon the squares, crying piteously.

  “Free me,” said the voice of Beloth.

  Caelan staggered back into the cliff wall. The jolt, however, did not free him from the terrible gaze of Beloth. It felt as though fire was blazing inside his skull, turning his thoughts inside out. Sweating, he writhed, unable to break away.

  “Speak my name aloud, and free me,” Beloth commanded. “You have the power to sever my bonds. Speak!”

  Caelan screamed.

  “Caelan!” Elandra cried out. She gripped him and shook him hard.

  Jolted from the vision, Caelan blinked and saw her face instead of Beloth’s. He shuddered and covered his eyes with his hands.

  “What is it?” she demanded in alarm. “What is wrong? Why do you stare at the ruins? What do you see there?”

  The forbidden name felt heavy on Caelan’s tongue. He suddenly wanted to say it aloud to make it ring through the air. He wanted to tip back his head and shout it.

  The sound of Beloth’s deep voice echoed through his mind. Panting hard, he stared at the mound of earth that marked the god’s tomb and felt himself shaking violently all over. His mouth clamped shut in fear, and he battled the urge to speak until Beloth’s unspoken name burned in his mouth and felt branded on his tongue.

  Sweat popped out on his forehead. He could not fight this. His strength was nothing against the force of the god’s will. He was being crushed from inside. His heart was jerking, no longer able to bea
t. He could not breathe. Fire was consuming his veins.

  “No,” he gasped. “No. No!”

  But the darkness was reaching for him, engulfing him, and he could not fight it, could not even sever himself to flee it.

  Screaming, he went down.

  Chapter Six

  The emerald blazed inside his pocket. With his last scrap of conscious will, he grasped it, hoping it would protect him.

  But Beloth’s visage filled his mind anew. Caelan could not command his fingers enough to even hold his emerald. He was dying in the flames of torment, and in agony he rolled on the ground.

  Desperately he clutched the scoured earth, digging up one handful and gripping it until his fist shook.

  Kneeling beside him, Elandra scooped up soil and sprinkled it over him. “Oh, great mother goddess of the earth, have mercy on us who are trapped within thy folds. Protect us from this taint, this sore within thy side. Strengthen us, that we may not fail thee.”

  Through the roaring flames inside his mind, Caelan heard the words of her prayer and clung to them with desperation, although worship of the earth mother was not for men. Yet he was born of a woman, and brother to a woman, and loved a woman. These connections were his hope, and after a moment the agony within him eased. Beloth’s image faded from his mind, as did the crushing pressure to speak. He felt himself released, and with a moan, he rested his forehead on his arm and dragged in shuddering breaths of relief.

  Elandra still knelt beside him, her hand hesitantly on his shoulder. “Can you speak?” she asked after a moment. “Can you stand?”

  They were not safe here. He realized it had been a mistake to pause. If Beloth could sense their presence, anything else in the realm of shadows could. They had to go.

  He pushed himself to his hands and knees, shaking off Elandra’s hand. She retreated from him, and he staggered to his feet. Still breathing hard, he wiped his face with his arm, then doubled over and vomited.

  Only then did he feel as though he had escaped. The weight of Beloth’s forbidden name was no longer inside him.

  “You are ill,” Elandra said in concern. She touched his sleeve, and through the quick flow of sevaisin between them, he knew she had encountered Beloth herself before, and escaped through the intervention of the earth mother.

  Caelan shut his eyes a moment. Ancient magic, natural magic ... the kind that Lea had understood.

  “We must get out of here,” he said in a low voice.

  “But where?” she asked in despair.

  He pointed at the slope of another hill rising beyond the ruins. Noise and light came from that direction, the only signs of life in this dead place.

  “Are you certain?” Elandra asked him.

  He nodded, still feeling clammy and weak. His sense of danger was growing stronger.

  “We must hurry,” he said. “I’ll explain later, but whatever you do, don’t look at the tomb.”

  “I understand,” she said, and her voice was stark with fear.

  A rat ventured forth from among the rocks to lap up what Caelan had spewed. Disgusted, he turned away swiftly and led Elandra down the hill.

  They skirted the city and the mist, lacking the courage to venture into either. Gripping Elandra’s hand tightly, Caelan severed himself in order to see with truth and strode grim and fast over the blighted ground.

  Occasionally a shyriea flew overhead, and red eyes glowed furtively at them from the ruins. Caelan heard shrieks now and then as something fought and died. But obviously Beloth’s powers remained limited, even here. And perhaps not all the denizens of the realm of shadow could see Caelan while he was severed. Or perhaps they dared not attack someone capable of resisting their dire lord and master.

  Past the ruins at the base of the next hill, Caelan and Elandra came to a stone amphitheater shaped like a deep crater. Its steps descended far below to a stage lit by flaming torches. Smoke and mist obscured what was happening down there. Caelan glimpsed an altar and moving figures. The seats themselves were filled with an assembly of warriors in black cloaks, helmets, and armor.

  Beside him, Elandra gasped. “The army of—”

  He put his hand swiftly across her lips, but she had already silenced herself. A low rumble passed through the ground underfoot as though Beloth had heard her near mistake. Neither of them must speak the god’s name.

  They hurried on, skirting the theater, keeping to the scant cover offered. The sentries standing at the top of the theater were seemingly mesmerized by the activity on the stage. They did not look elsewhere.

  Eerie trails of light rose into the air, mingling with the smoke. The scorched smell of dark, forbidden magic filled Caelan’s nostrils, making him feel dizzy.

  Still holding Elandra’s hand, his sword gripped in his other fist, Caelan ran for the slope and started picking his way up the steep, rocky trail. At the top he could see two tall stone pillars where a strange, yellowish green light glowed brightly. When Caelan looked at it too long, his eyes burned and watered. He knew that was the gateway back to their world. He could see the truth beyond it, could sense the realm of light past its barrier.

  Elandra stopped and ducked behind a large boulder, pulling him down with her.

  Impatient by this delay, he tugged at her hand, but she would not budge. “You can’t go up there,” she whispered.

  He frowned. What had happened to her courage? They were practically to the gateway. After all they had gone through, she could not stop now.

  “Come,” he said.

  “No! Don’t you see them? Take care,” she said in warning.

  His frown deepened. What was she talking about? He saw nothing except the gateway, shining brighter than ever. Great rays of its light shone down the hill toward them, as though reaching out. He could see a dark figure silhouetted up there, but nothing else.

  But Elandra herself was barely more than an aura shining beside him. He was deeply severed, to the point where he saw only the essence of things. But Elandra would not warn him idly. Telling himself to listen to her, Caelan pulled partway out of severance and saw a double row of flames burning along the trail. He frowned, and came completely out of severance.

  Once again, exhaustion sapped his strength. He found himself leaning against the boulder for support, his spent muscles aching, his fear constricting in his chest.

  And he saw the double row of guards in black armor lining the trail ahead of them all the way to the stone pillars. Caelan drew in a sharp breath, realizing that if Elandra had not stopped him he would have marched right up to the guards.

  He met her gaze through the gloom. Nothing had to be said.

  “What do we do?” she whispered, her voice as soft as the wind.

  Without severance, he felt too tired to cope. Exhaustion brought discouragement, yet he refused to surrender to either.

  “There is one way,” he replied softly. “What we did before.”

  She frowned and pulled away from him in wordless refusal.

  He tightened his grip on her hand. “I can walk alone past the guards, and they will not see me. But unless you are a part of me, you cannot leave this place.”

  She said nothing, but tears spilled down her cheeks, sparkling in the moonlight. The sadness in her face gave him his answer, and in anguish he bowed his head. Why could she not love him? Why could she not trust him? Why must she fear him so?

  “Gault help me,” she whispered, her fingers tightening on his. “I need what you offer as a fish needs water to live. Take me into the joining. I would be in your heart again.”

  It was as though the sunlight reached into this gloomy world, spreading radiance across the shadows. Caelan’s heart leaped inside him, but there was no time for joy. In the distance he heard the mournful howl of a hunter.

  Elandra stiffened next to him. “Hurry,” she breathed, casting a look over her shoulder. “The hell-hounds—”

  “Don’t think of them,” Caelan whispered. He melted into se-vaisin, flowing into Elandra and feeli
ng the brief jolt of exhilaration as she flowed into him. They shared more completely this time, and he found it tempting to remain lost in the wonder of such a union, yet there was too much danger for him to forget himself.

  He severed back into the cold void, going only partway now for fear of losing her. Elandra’s fear entwined through him, making concentration more difficult than before.

  Thus steeled, Caelan stepped out from behind the boulder and walked forth up the trail until he came to the guards of darkness. He passed them, close enough to reach out and touch them, and took care to keep his pace slow and steady.

  It was tempting to run, but he dared take no chances. Caelan knew he was tiring, despite the protection of severance. This time it was harder than ever to maintain his concentration, to maintain the detachment. He could feel the pain in his leg from his wound. He could feel the aches in his body, the need for rest and food and water. He could feel Elandra like a weight, bearing him down. Holding her in severance was a strain now, one he did not think he could endure for very long.

  But ahead stood the gateway, like a beacon. He could almost smell the freshness of air and light beyond it.

  One of the warriors in black turned his head as though he sensed Caelan’s presence. The visor of his helmet was down, but through the slits glowed red, inhuman eyes. Pale smoke curled forth from beneath the rim of his visor with every exhaled breath.

  Caelan paused, frozen by that scrutiny. He could sense the guard questing suspiciously. For now Caelan remained unseen, neither of one world nor the other, but somewhere between. His gaze swept over the long row of silent grim fighters concealed in their black cloaks and dark steel, tattered smoke rising above their heads. If only one of them saw Caelan, it would be over.

  Making a low, guttural sound, the guard finally turned his head back toward the figure that stood next to the gateway.

  Caelan felt relief stealing over the edges of severance, blurring it further. Quickly he plunged deeper, knowing he put Elandra at risk, yet not daring to take more chances. He hurried now past the guards, almost running past this army of hell.

  His speed made more helmeted heads turn. They could not see him, but their unease was noticed by the Guardian. Robed and hooded in black, this figure stepped forward just as Caelan reached the top of the hill.