Realm of Light

by Deborah Chester

  “This will give you strength,” she said.

  Alarmed, he tried to pull off the golden cloth. “This is your protection. You mustn’t—”

  “Hush,” she said with a smile, pulling the cloak once more over his own. “Let me wrap you up. Let me care for you this time, as you have always cared for me.”

  He surrendered to her tenderness, letting her draw his head to her breast and hold him. Her fingers smoothed his hair back from his face, and he closed his eyes at her touch, taking her comfort as the pain seeped from him and he began to breathe normally again.

  They couldn’t stay out here in the open like this. Already he was thinking of where to find shelter for the night. They were close to the hold. Whatever was left standing might be sufficient protection; they could always go into the storage cellar below ground.

  Opening his eyes, he kissed her cheek and reluctantly pulled away. “We must get inside before dark. It’s too cold to stay out here.”

  “It certainly is.”

  Elandra jumped to her feet, shivering herself, and held his arm to steady him as he got up.

  He smiled at her. “I am well now. Here, take back your cloak before you—”

  A screech came from overhead, their only warning as something large and black burst from the treetops and swooped at them. Whirling around to face it, cursing himself for letting down his guard so completely, Caelan had a confused impression of misty wings and reaching talons. Its stench clogged his nostrils, nearly making him gag.

  Even as he shouted a warning and reached for his dagger, his mind was reeling with surprise. How came a shyriea to be here? Had it followed them from the realm of shadow? To his knowledge, none of the creatures had never appeared in Trau before. Or had things changed so drastically during his absence?

  Elandra screamed and darted away from him toward the trees. The shyriea followed her. Caelan ran at it, shouting in an effort to distract it, but it attacked Elandra first, its female face contorted as it slashed at her. With bared fangs, its head darted at her in a swift strike.

  Elandra screamed.

  Rage flashed through Caelan. Screaming a curse at it, he hurled his dagger. All his fury went into the blade so that it glowed as though with fire.

  It struck the demon true, and the shyriea exploded into black ashes that rained down.

  Clutching her bleeding arm, Elandra sank to the ground.

  Caelan rushed to her, fear like a hammer in his temples, and caught her in his arms. She was white-faced, trembling with shock. Her forearm bled heavily.

  “It bit me,” she said.

  “Hush, my darling. Hush,” he said hurriedly, hardly aware of what he was saying. He used handfuls of snow to clean the wound. The bite itself looked deep and nasty. Already her skin around the edges of the wound looked black and withered. As he handled her, he used sevaisin lightly to determine how much of the venom had entered her body.

  The answer stilled his hands for a moment. He closed his eyes, agonized to think of Elandra tainted by this evil. The venom would spread through her, poisoning her blood until it was black and vile. She would become a creature owned by the darkness, commanded by it as General Paz had been.

  Once again, Caelan saw his sword blade slice through the general’s arm, saw again the black fluid gush forth, saw again the infant shyrieas forming in it.

  Sweet mercy of the gods, this could not, must not, be Elandra’s fate.

  Opening his eyes, he ripped the lining of his cloak into strips and bandaged her arm with swift, deft motions. Then he used more handfuls of snow to wipe blood from her wrist and hand. She sat there like a child, unflinching beneath his rough ministrations. Her eyes stared into the distance.

  “My price,” she said dully. “I didn’t believe it could happen. Am I going to die?”

  “No,” he said, picking up her cloak and flinging it about her shoulders. Swiftly he tied it at her throat and pulled up the hood over her snow-sprinkled hair.

  If he could find a way to stop the progression of the venom through her bloodstream, there remained a slim chance of saving her. But how? He felt hopelessness drag through him, and angrily battled it away. This was no time for despair. He must get her to shelter first, and then he would try to think of what else could be done.

  Chapter Nine

  “Caelan,” Elandra said. Her fingers reached for his and clamped hard. Her eyes were wide with fear, and now and then her lips trembled. She was breathing hard, trying not to panic. “You must tell me what is wrong. Am I going to die?”

  With an effort he forced himself to conceal his own fears. He gave her a little smile. “No, of course you are not going to die. It is only a little bite. I am sure it hurts, but you—”

  She raised her hand to silence him. “No lies. I need the truth. Do you understand?”

  Worry lay on him like a thin sweat. Still, he knew he must keep the truth from her for as long as possible. He could not afford to let her panic. He reached for severance, but she grabbed his wrist and pulled herself to him.

  “Tell me!” she cried, her eyes flashing with fear. “Don’t turn to stone. Don’t shut me out. I deserve better than that!”

  It was like being plunged into the past, hearing her voice echo his own pleas to Beva. Appalled, Caelan wondered, Am I like my father?

  He stroked her cheek. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I don’t want to be like him.”

  “Who? You’re not making any sense.” Her eyes clawed at his, holding his gaze when he tried to look away. “It’s bad, isn’t it?”

  The lies and assurances died on his lips. “Yes,” he answered in a hollow voice. “It is bad.”

  Fear leached the remaining color from her face, making her eyes huge and vulnerable. She started trembling, but she didn’t falter. “What will happen to me?”

  “I—”

  “The worst, Caelan!” she commanded. “Tell me the worst.”

  “The venom is in you. In time, if its work is not checked, you will become like General Paz.”

  Her mouth opened, but nothing came out. Her hand dropped from his arm, and despair filled her face.

  “But there is time yet,” he said hurriedly. He pulled her to her feet and put his arm around her to steady her. “While there is time, there is a chance. We must hurry.”

  “Where?”

  “We’ll go to the hold. It isn’t far. We need shelter, and I may be able to find something in Father’s writings.”

  He led her forward, holding to her unsteady pace when he really wanted to scoop her into his arms and run. He had to keep her walking and thinking. If she kept talking to him, then he would know she was still with him.

  “Walk, Elandra,” he commanded. “Walk faster. Keep your blood strong.”

  Her feet moved slowly. After a moment, she glanced up at him. “Is there a healer nearby? A neighbor? Anyone who can be sent for?”

  He frowned. It was as though she couldn’t comprehend that his home had been destroyed and all who lived there had died or been sold into slavery. The same had happened to neighboring holds. Whether anyone had returned or rebuilt, he did not know. But he would not deny her this small hope.

  “Perhaps,” he said. “We will get shelter, and then we will see what can be done.”

  His dagger lay on the ground at the edge of the clearing, its blade blackened. He hesitated over it, hating to be weaponless yet not certain whether it was tainted.

  “Take it,” Elandra said faintly.

  He bent and scooped it up, opening himself to sevaisin. There was death in the metal, nothing more. Relieved, he wiped it and put it back in his belt, then led Elandra on with a quick glance at the sky.

  Beyond the clearing, the trees grew thick and tangled. Their boughs were turning white with snow, and the mist seemed to hang more thickly here, obscuring the way. Shouldering a path through,

  Caelan pushed on at a steady pace, his face grim and set against the lash of snow.

  When she stumbled, his arm tightened ar
ound her. “I am with you,” he said in reassurance. “I love you with all my heart and soul. I will find a way to save you.”

  “Can you?” she asked, her voice dragging with weariness and pain. “I do not doubt your strength or your courage. I know you can do things most men cannot. But can you save me from this?”

  He wanted to shout aloud in fear and frustration. He wanted to run with her for help, only there was no help to be found. For the first time in his life he regretted his expulsion from Rieschelhold. If he had stayed and become a healer, perhaps he would know what to do.

  But if he had become a healer, he would never have met this woman who now meant everything to him.

  I cannot lose her, he prayed. Please don’t take her from me.

  “You are all I have,” she whispered. “I trust you, my love.”

  A few minutes earlier, her admission of love would have filled him with joy. Now he could only grieve for her. But he had to stay in control of himself; he couldn’t bear for her to see the inadequacy and hopelessness he felt.

  She had insisted he tell her only the truth, but he loved her enough to lie. “I will get it out,” he promised. “As soon as we have shelter from the wind spirits, I will find a way to save you.”

  She gave him a tremulous smile. “Forgive me?”

  Her plea nearly unmanned him. Raggedly, he said, “Why? What is there to forgive, my love?”

  “I should have obeyed you—”

  Without warning, she sagged against him.

  Desperate not to let her fall, he tightened his hold. “Elandra? Elandra!”

  He tipped back her lolling head, but her eyes were shut. Her face was as gray as death.

  Frantic, he lowered her to the ground and knelt over her. For a moment time froze around him, and he could only stare. She looked so small, so still in her golden cloak and hood. He thought she was dead.

  Pain lanced his heart, and he wanted to scream his denial to the heavens.

  Then he pulled back her hood, releasing her hair, which tumbled out in a glorious mass. He touched her face. How cold it was, as cold as the snow falling on it, yet her flesh still had the resilience of life. He could feel the light, moist puff of her breath against his palm.

  Air flowed suddenly back into his lungs. He sent up a quick prayer of relief and gathered her awkwardly into his arms.

  Gloom was thickening beneath the trees. He hadn’t realized how fast night was coming. In Imperia, there were hours of twilight and long, splendid sunsets across the bay. He had forgotten how short were the days in Trau, how quick and final the night came.

  As though in warning, the wind picked up and set the trees swaying. Their boughs whispered a sound that set the hairs on the back of his neck prickling. He stumbled forward, trying to hold onto the fading light by sheer willpower. There had to be time to reach shelter. There had to be.

  It was snowing harder now, becoming a driving, stinging force at his back that whipped his cloak. The temperature was falling. Caelan’s breath streamed about his face, and he felt frozen to the bone. His cloak might be wool, but it was lightweight cloth, inadequate here. His years in warmer climates must have thinned his blood, for his hands and feet felt numb already despite the exercise. His face hurt from the cold. The air he breathed felt knife-sharp.

  Do something, he told himself angrily. You fool, think of something to save her.

  But fear made his wits fade. He could not think, could not find the answer. This was not something he could fight with strength and sword. All he had were his gifts of sevaisin and severance.

  The venom must be spreading faster through her body than he expected. If she regained consciousness, she might not know him. Soon she would not remember she loved him. The darkness in her would spread until it consumed her.

  Then she would be what Sien, Agel, Paz, and Kostimon had become, a servant of Beloth, turned into corruption, unable to find her way back to light.

  If he severed her, it would kill her. What else could be done?

  She lay heavy in his arms as he carried her, stumbling through the undergrowth, now and then breaking into a run only to slow down to a saner pace.

  Time was against him now. If darkness fell before he found shelter, the wind spirits would kill them. For Elandra, that might be a mercy.

  “No,” he said aloud, tipping back his head to gulp in more air. Then he began to trot, his panting hoarse in his ears.

  “Hurry. Hurry.”

  He found himself mumbling the word aloud, driving himself on the way Orlo used to drive him through his drills in the arena. He was strong and fast, former champion of the games. Now he was a soldier, the elite of Kostimon’s hand-picked Guard. He could save Elandra. He must save her.

  It was nearly dark. The moaning shriek of the wind warned him that danger could strike at any moment, provided he didn’t freeze first.

  He forced himself to keep going, to not surrender. Not yet, not until every drop of strength drained from his body, not until the wind spirits found them and shredded them to bits.

  He had promised Elandra, promised her. He would not give up.

  The ground dropped abruptly before him, and he went stumbling down an embankment before he could catch himself. He lost his footing and fell, dropping Elandra in the process, and skidded into a stream with a splash.

  The water was so cold it burned. He floundered upright, cursing himself, and dragged himself from the water. Staggering like a drunken man, he found Elandra lying in the snow like a rag doll. It took him three tries before he managed to pick her up again.

  When he straightened, he was hit by a gust of wind so strong it nearly knocked him over. For a wild second he thought he’d been attacked by a wind spirit, but it was only the storm, rising in force now as the blizzard came in. It hurled snow and stinging sleet into his face, pelting him without mercy. His wet clothing froze to his skin. He knew they were in grave danger. If he didn’t find shelter in the next few minutes, they would both die.

  The emerald in his pocket grew suddenly warm. He reached into his pocket, thinking he could thaw his hand around the stone, and heard the rip of splitting cloth.

  The stone fell to the ground with a thud, landing next to his foot. It had grown larger in that instant, and was glowing a bright green that cast an eerie lambent light over the snowy embankment and the dark ribbon of stream at its base.

  Caelan stared at it, and some of his panic cleared momentarily. The stream ... the gully ... he must be near the ice cave where he and Lea had found the emeralds. While he would rather go to a different one, he had no time to be choosy. Also, it seemed his own stone was trying to help him.

  He glanced around and turned north, hurrying along the bottom of the gully, splashing in and out of the shallow stream as he searched.

  Minutes later, he found the mouth of the cave, halfway up the side of the slope. He paused there, his hand gripping the edge of the opening, and wondered if he had the courage to enter what must be Lea’s grave.

  “Please,” he whispered aloud. “Ice spirits... earth spirits... take pity on me. Let me enter in peace.”

  He sniffed for evidence of a lurker that might be using the cave as a den, but smelled nothing. Shouting, he picked up a chunk of ice and hurled it inside.

  Nothing came leaping out.

  It was safe, except for memories.

  Right now, he couldn’t afford those.

  He hurried back to where Elandra lay. Half-covered in snow, she hadn’t stirred at all. The emerald, so large now it would have to be carried with two hands, still cast its light over her like a protective shield.

  He picked her up and lurched back to the cave, boosting her inside, then climbing in and pulling her deeper into its shelter. Lastly, he went scrambling back for the emerald.

  It was too hot to hold. He jerked his fingers away, shaking them, and used the hem of his cloak to gather up the magical stone and carry it to the cave.

  The light it cast turned the ice cave into an eerie
place of strange angles and shadows. Caelan crawled down the long tunnel leading into the small cavern at the back.

  Lea had once played here among the fanciful formations, imagining it to be her palace and assembling her dolls, bark cups, and playthings.

  He saw one of the cups now, lying on its side on the ground. Breathlessly he picked it up, only to find it was brittle with age. It crumbled to dust in his fingers.

  “Lea,” he whispered and had to choke back tears.

  But it was Elandra he must care for now. He built a small fire and stripped off her wet gown to dry. Her cloak remained dry, and he wrapped her in it. A faint glow from inside her jewel pouch caught his attention. He upended it and shook out the topaz it contained. The jewel was glowing with a life of its own. It sent out golden light to mingle with the green coming from the emerald.

  Not daring to touch her stone with his bare hands, Caelan used the pouch to pick it up. He placed it in her palm and folded her fingers around it, praying the magic in the topaz would work to counteract the darkness inside her.

  She looked so pale, lying there. Her eyes were sunken and smudged with purple shadows. A tiny pulse at her temple told him she still lived. Now and then she frowned and jerked as though in pain. He wanted to cry out each time.

  He felt so helpless, so ignorant. Again and again, he was tempted to sever her, but he dared not take the risk. No matter how much he needed to do something, his abilities were not the answer to this problem.

  “Dear Gault,” he prayed, “have mercy on this woman. Give her strength to fight the darkness that assails her. Grant me the means with which to save her.”

  He watched her while his wet clothes slowly dried over the tiny fire. Melting ice overhead dripped here and there, making him shift positions. Hunger he ignored. Exhaustion he ignored. He had to keep watch, as though by his will alone he could make Elandra better.

  Finally he slept, only to awaken with a start deep in the night.

  The fire had died out. It was bitterly cold. By the light of the glowing emerald and topaz he rekindled the fire, then crept over to Elandra. She felt very cold to his touch; only her hands were warm from the topaz she held. She still breathed, lightly but evenly.