“Can we talk?”
Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Naia peering at him through the sheer fabric that covered her face. “I don’t know what there is to talk about,” he muttered in reply.
“Stop it.” The ferocity of her words took him aback. He almost pulled up and stopped his horse as he turned to look at her. Naia’s dark eyes were filled with piercing resentment, her cheeks heated red with ire that could be seen even through the mist of glittering crystals before her face.
“Stop trying to intentionally hurt me,” she spat angrily. “It’s unkind. And it’s not getting you anywhere.”
He found her words troubling; as always, she had seen right through his walls as if they were made of glass, or just the same splattering of crystals as woven into her veil. To her, his defenses were as thin as that translucent drape of fabric she always wore. She was becoming expert at tearing right through them, rendering him nakedly exposed.
Feeling self-conscious, he didn’t know what to say to her. He rode in silence, trying his best to ignore her presence. But he found it impossible. He longed for her, missing her company more now that she was right here, riding at his side, than when he thought she was leagues away in Glen Farquist. He let his eyes trail back northward toward the light of the Gateway reflected from the clouds over Aerysius, thirsting for the comfort of its promise.
“I know what it is you’re trying to do,” Naia said, more softly. “You think that by distancing me, you can protect me. But there you’re wrong. You have a lot of audacity if you think you are responsible for my feelings. You’re not. You have no right to treat me this way. What you are doing is cruel. And it hurts.”
She was right, of course. She had looked into his soul and seen for herself the glaring bleakness that was there. Why she wasn’t riding away, he didn’t understand. But for some reason he couldn’t fathom, she was still here, still at his side. She was waiting for a response, he realized. Yet, he had nothing to say. He had no idea what to tell her that wouldn’t only hurt her more.
“Talk to me,” she insisted. “You owe me at least the truth.”
He didn’t know what version of the truth she wanted to hear.
“Do you love me, Darien?”
As always, he could deny her nothing. He whispered softly, “Aye.”
“Look at me.”
It was hard. So very hard. But he did. Naia’s deep brown eyes were more beautiful than ever, burning with a fierce compassion that he hadn’t earned and would never deserve.
Appallingly, she told him, “I love you. And I forgive you.”
It was the last thing in the world he wanted to hear from her lips. Kicking his heels into the Tarkendar’s sides, Darien sent the warhorse forward at a gallop.
Kyel’s eyes followed the site of the black gelding racing ahead, feeling a fresh swell of resentment. He hoped Darien hadn’t hurt her again. Kyel now regretted asking the priestess to come. He should have left her behind with her votives and her goddess. Her presence didn’t seem to be making a bit of difference, anyway. Rather, it seemed to be having an opposite effect than the one he’d intended; instead of lifting Darien up, Naia’s company seemed to be instilling in him an even deeper melancholy than had existed before. Kyel had been watching the mage, and he hadn’t missed the way he kept staring off toward the mountains with a longing desire in his eyes.
If they could only just get there. At least they were almost to Orien’s Finger; the ruined crag towered over them, its shadow obscured by the gloom that still hung tenaciously overhead in the sky. Looking ahead, he saw Darien’s horse disappearing behind the dark column of stone.
When Kyel’s own horse finally trotted around the circumference of the pillar, he found Darien sitting cross-legged in the snow, staring upward at the shattered summit. The hideous creature he’d adopted sat beside him, nuzzling around in the snow. Kyel almost felt like uttering a choice word from Swain’s extensive vocabulary of curses, figuring that Darien had done nothing in the time he had been there but sit and nurse his bitter mood. Dismounting, Kyel scowled as he led his horse up behind him, further embittered by the fact that his arrival went completely unacknowledged. Darien just sat there, staring up at the sky, eyes dark and distant.
“Well?” Kyel demanded, growing impatient. He glanced around at the curving walls of the small valley, seeking an entrance, but finding nothing but burnt and ruined stone. If there had ever been a stair, it was gone, now. The full force of the Grand Resonance had welled in the small valley, hitting this area the hardest of all. Still, the mage was just staring up at the dilapidated pillar, unblinking.
Frustrated, Kyel felt like he wanted to throttle him.
But then Darien stood up, head tilted back, and lifted his hands as if trying to hold some enormous weight. Kyel felt a sudden surge of fear as he realized what the Sentinel was readying himself to do. Spinning, he turned to find Naia and Swain approaching on their horses.
“Go back!” he yelled at them.
The captain frowned at him for the briefest moment, then followed Darien’s stare upward to the summit of the crag. Eyes widening, he leaned over and grabbed the reins from Naia’s hand, swinging both horses around and sprinting away.
And then the entire summit of Orien’s Finger shuddered, rock and debris raining down. Kyel threw his arms up to cover his head as, with a horrible grating noise, the broken mass of stone twisted on its pedestal, righting itself. The summit shifted forward, grinding as it slid slowly back into place. Kyel looked up, dropping his arms as he realized that not so much as a grain of dust had touched him.
Gaping at Darien in disbelief, he saw that the mage was not yet finished with his work. He was still staring upward, concentration bent on the column overhead. He dropped his right hand, extending the first two fingers of his left hand, angling them upward toward the restored cap of stone. White light burned, hissing, along the crack in the rock face. As Kyel watched, the stone melted from within, running outward from the crack and reforming again whole.
When it was done, Darien simply lowered his hand. Kyel stared in wonder, realizing that he hadn’t even broken a sweat. How many tons of rock had Darien shifted, using nothing more than the force of his mind? And he made it look so effortless. Kyel couldn’t even think about performing such a feat himself. It was inconceivable. As he stared up at the intact pillar of stone, he found himself wondering why Darien had performed the task at all.
When he asked, the mage just shrugged, replying, “I needed to know the time.”
Kyel stared at him blankly as Darien calmly sat back down in the snow.
That’s all he did for another hour. Only this time, the mage’s attention was focused at the cliff walls behind. Kyel stared at them until he had their every ruined feature blistered into his mind, but he saw nothing to warrant such scrutiny. So he paced, growing increasingly impatient, as Naia and Swain stood silently looking on. It was getting frustrating, and every time he asked Darien what he was doing, the Sentinel only instructed him, “Just wait.”
Finally, Darien stood back up from the ground. His pants were soaked through from sitting in the snow, but he went through the motions of dusting them off anyway. The thanacryst bounded to his side, jumping up at him and pawing eagerly at his shirt. Darien whispered something to it that Kyel didn’t catch, and the thing obediently lowered itself to its haunches and sat there, panting like a dog. To his disgust, Darien reached out and ran a hand fondly through the wet, matted fur of its neck in praise.
“What now?” Kyel wondered, the revulsion he felt for the creature coming out in his voice.
“Just wait,” Darien replied, staring up into the sky.
And, as Kyel looked up to follow his gaze, a gust of wind rose from behind him. The wind gradually increased in strength until it blew over the valley with the force of a gale. Above, the gray clouds moved stately by overhead, slowly at first, then increasing their speed until it seemed they crossed the sky at an impossible rate. Gradually, a
break formed between the thunderheads to reveal blue sky between.
Kyel stared in amazement at the golden beams of sunlight filtering down from the gap in the clouds, even as the air around him remained dark and chill. He was almost afraid; the whole scene reminded him too much of Black Solstice. But then he realized the darkness that encased him was not from some dread power blotting out the light of the sky. It was the shadow cast by Orien’s Finger, falling down around him, revealed only now by the dramatic appearance of the sun.
The wind died to a lull, then stopped completely. The air in the canyon stilled to a dead calm. Overhead, the clouds simply ceased their motion as Darien turned and walked toward the blistered cliffs, following the dark shadow cast by the crag. He paced slowly up the exact center of the broad line drawn across the ground, stopping only when he came to the sheer, blackened cliffs.
There, he muttered something under his breath that Kyel couldn’t hear. But something heard him. Above his head, the outline of a marking glowed out of the seared rock of the cliff face, glistening with a bright, golden light. As Kyel looked on, Darien tilted his head back and smiled as the rock wall in front of him suddenly dissolved and a low, dark opening appeared. In the dim light beneath the shadow of Orien’s Finger, Kyel could just make out the beginning of stairs angling sharply upward into the cliff.
“I’ll be damned,” Swain muttered, staring ahead.
Darien glared at him.
They had to leave the horses behind. Darien had a hard time turning away from the Tarkendar; Craig had given him that horse. Watching the black gelding wander away with its nose to the wind, he felt almost as if he was giving up the last part of his old friend that still remained with him. But there was no other choice. So he shouldered the weight of his own pack and, collecting Naia’s without asking, turned into the darkness of the opening he had created.
As soon as the sole of his boot found the first step, he knew that something about it was peculiar. The step didn’t seem formed of solid rock, but rather of a strange, spongy material. It was almost like stepping off the ground onto a cloud. When he reached the fourth step, he was hit by an intense revelation.
“Kyel,” he gasped, whirling around and searching desperately back through the opening. But he could see no trace of his former acolyte, or any of the others. He waited. At last, Naia came through. Then Swain. It was strange; the opaqueness of the opening was almost like the entrance to the Catacombs. It might have been the same, peculiar spell. Kyel appeared, looking up past him into the darkness beyond.
“Shield yourself,” Darien told him, appalled that he hadn’t thought of it sooner. He had almost made a lethal mistake that could have killed both of them instantly. “The stair is spelled.”
“Like the Catacombs?” Naia wondered.
Darien gazed at her, amazed at how clever she could be. “In the Catacombs, time and distance have no meaning,” he agreed. “I feel the same thing operating here. I wouldn’t be surprised if we reach the Well far sooner than we thought we would.
“But,” he said to Kyel with a look of warning, “that means we might be walking into Orien’s Vortex at any time. And then the vortex that surrounds Aerysius. We won’t know when one ends and the other begins. No magelight,” he added, sighing.
“You want us to climb in the dark?” Swain gasped. “That’s insane.”
Darien shook his head. “It should not be long. It makes sense; think about it. Acolytes had a very strict curfew. Aidan said he followed this stair all the way to the bottom and back. Even if he did it on a freeday, that would have given him scarcely six hours to make both trips. Which means it shouldn’t take us more than three, one way. Aidan was a model acolyte. He was never caught out past curfew.”
“It’s a bad idea,” Swain grumbled.
Darien looked down at him, almost finding it within himself to smile. In the years since he had seen him last, he had grown to miss Swain’s abrasive temperament. The captain was one of the very few constants in life that he knew he could depend upon; Swain could always be counted on to say exactly what he meant and do exactly what he believed. His personality was as economically efficient as his signature style with the blade: he never embellished, and he never sought to soften a blow. Darien had always admired the man’s integrity.
In the end, he was glad Swain was with him. He was glad to have them all. Sweeping his gaze around at his companions below him on the steps, Darien realized that, unwittingly, he had surrounded himself with every friend he had that was still alive. He wished Craig could have been there, and even Proctor. Even Royce. So many others, all gone on ahead of him. But, looking down now at the friends he had that yet remained, he realized how grateful he was to have known them, and how glad he was that they were here.
Feeling better than he had in a very long time, Darien turned around and started up the dark flight of stairs. And, as he cut himself off from the solace of the magic field, he found that he didn’t need it so desperately, after all.
Kyel groaned, trying to keep his concentration focused on the next step ahead of him. They had been climbing ever upward in darkness for what seemed like hours. The journey was grueling, made even worse by the fear Kyel felt at each step that he would slip and fall backwards. He brought up the rear of their small party; there was no one behind him to catch him if he fell. The blackness that surrounded them was consummate, as if he had been rendered completely blind. He could see absolutely nothing, not the steps, not Swain moving in front of him, not even the fingers of his own hand. He didn’t think he had ever experienced such complete, absolute darkness before in his life.
He groped forward tentatively, feeling a blinding stab of anxiety at each step as he probed forward with the toe of his foot before transferring his weight down upon it. He dared not take more than one step at a time. If not for the intermittent sounds of their voices, he wouldn’t have even known the others were still with him. As the long minutes dragged on, he began to experience a growing fear that he would be left behind. He started humming, the sound of his own voice making up a little for what he lacked of his perception of sight. And, he had to admit, he was hoping that the others would hear him if he started trailing too far behind, and would stop to wait for him to catch up.
More than once, he almost bumped into Swain’s back as the captain came to a lurching stop in front of him. Naia was having trouble with her dress, and had to keep pausing to collect it out from under her feet. After several halts, Kyel heard Swain’s voice muttering something under his breath, followed by the distinctive sound of ripping fabric. There were no more dress problems after that, though Kyel feared to find out the results of Swain’s hasty tailoring job when they finally moved back into the light.
His legs ached fiercely, not used to so rigorous and prolonged a climb. He was afraid his calves were going to start cramping soon. At least the stair was not as steep as it could have been, and the steps were decently wide. But there could have been a landing, at least, or somewhere to pause. As it was, they had to sit down right on the steps whenever they halted to take a break. The halts were becoming more and more frequent. Even Swain was breathing hard; Kyel could hear the sound of his panting without even having to listen very hard.
At last, they came to a narrow corridor where Darien finally called a halt. When Kyel moved to sit down, he found himself squatting in a puddle of water. Or something like water. In the darkness, it could have been anything.
“Can we not have a light, yet?” he wondered, sick of the gloom and anxious to find out the nature of the substance he had just stuck his hands in.
Darien’s answer was long in coming. “We must be at the bottom of the cave system by now. I’ll wager it’s safe enough to risk it.”
And then, miraculously, a hazy blue light bloomed from out of the ground, trailing in fragile tendrils of mist that instantly revealed the forms of his companions. Kyel sighed, feeling profoundly relieved to be out of the darkness. The magelight skirled along the wet floor,
casting its pale azure light on all of their faces.
Darien consulted the map while they rested, a diffuse ball of magelight casting its glow above the page. The awful creature he had adopted sat dutifully by his side, its terrible eyes glowing in the dark. When it was time to go, Darien folded the map up and shoved it back into his pack, staring ahead at the narrow passage before him. The magelight ran forward over the wet ground, following the motion of his eyes. Fascinated, Kyel tried to form a glowing ribbon of his own. A faint, golden tendril appeared briefly before winking quickly out. It was the best he could do; he didn’t think he could manage anything bigger. Maybe with practice, but not yet.
“The Well of Tears is up three levels,” Darien announced, disturbing the silence that clung to the passage, interrupted only by the faint trickle of distant water.
“Great. So, how do we get there?” asked Swain, pragmatic as ever.
Darien pointed down the corridor in front of them. “We take this straight ahead for a few hundred yards. There we’ll come to a series of rooms. One has a winding stair that will take us up to the level of the Well.”
“Doesn’t sound too bad,” the captain muttered, staring ahead with his hands on his hips. “We’ll have this done and over with by nightfall.”
But Darien shook his head. “No. We should wait till dark, on the chance that Aidan is using the caves. Let’s get going,” he said, pushing himself up from the damp floor. “We’ll stop for a rest in one of the rooms up ahead.”
That sounded good to Kyel. He could use a good, long rest after that climb. They moved forward again following Darien’s glowing mist down the corridor. As Kyel walked, his feet splashed through dark pools. The cave seemed almost saturated with water; it dripped from the ceiling and ran, oozing, down the walls. The roof overhead was covered in creamy bumps that collected water on their ends until a full droplet was formed, then released it to splash down to the puddles below on the floor.
After only minutes, the corridor opened up into a good-sized chamber with doorways carved into the walls around the room. Unlike the passage they had just emerged from, the chamber had more of a man-made appearance, or at least it had been man-altered. There, Darien and Swain spread out, each taking a doorway, the captain moving cautiously ahead with his steel bared. Kyel waited with Naia as the priestess stared at the doorway Darien had disappeared through. At last, both men returned through completely different openings than they had gone into.
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