Beyond the Wall of Time (23 page)

Under the hole in the world, in thrall to the voice of a god—but really in thrall to her own desire—Lenares dropped the stone.

QUEEN

FLASH
,
CRASH
,
FLICKER
, crash, flash. So much was happening all at once, Robal found it difficult to focus on one thing—until he saw Stella fall.

At that moment he was looking directly at her, wondering how long she could sustain the energy-draining magic she performed.
By
his
side, at
his
bidding. Robal could never forget that. Certainly it dominated his bitter thoughts up until the moment the canopy failed
and the fateful lightning bolt struck her. He didn’t close his eyes, didn’t flinch as the crooked light-sword stabbed down,
searing its image on his brain. A second later he ran, ran heedlessly, despite the lurching rock under him, his temporary
all-but-blindness and the danger above. Didn’t care about that. Knew only one thing. She had fallen.

Robal was at her side even before he noticed she’d been hit, calling her name, shaking her, slapping her slack cheeks, shouting
for help. Her hand and feet were charred black, smoking gently. All the hair on her head—her beautiful hair—had been burned
away. Eyebrows, eyelashes gone. Skin red-raw. Eyes rolled up in her head. Not breathing. Not breathing.

Dead.

He bellowed the Destroyer’s name, but the man was absorbed in the battle. He still hadn’t turned to see what had happened.
Or maybe he knew and simply didn’t care.

He dragged her a few paces, moving her from the vulnerable spot directly below the gaping hole in the canopy. Her skin rubbed
off on the rock, came off in his hands.

“She’s not breathing,” someone said. The scholar. He’d forgotten her name.

“Get help,” he said, his voice barely able to escape his tight throat.

“Stella?” The Destroyer had finally noticed. “Stella!”

“She’s not breathing.” Robal repeated the scholar’s words, not caring how it sounded.

“She cannot die.” The Destroyer’s ravaged face could have been wearing any expression: glee, shock, sorrow, exaltation. “She
cannot die.” He reached a hand down to her. Above, the canopy quivered.

Robal stared up into his enemy’s eyes. “If the Water of Life is in her blood,” he asked, “what happens if her heart no longer
beats?”

“I’m going to release the canopy,” the Destroyer said. “Let everyone know.”

“You can’t do that,” said the young fisherman, Mustar. “Lenares is up there.”

The next few moments were utter confusion. Stella lying on the cold granite, lightning stabbing at the tiny figure seemingly
floating on air high above them, Anomer shouting at the refugees, and a sudden weakness that caused Robal to stumble and fall
to his knees.

The Destroyer stood over him. “You want her to live? Then lie still. I’m going to draw heavily from you.” He cast his voice
wide. “Any other volunteers?”

What was the man doing? A paralysing greyness descended upon Robal just when he wanted to do something. Drawing? What was
being drawn from him? He tried to shout at the Destroyer, to tell him to stop whatever he was doing, but the world had gone
dark.

A few moments later the guardsman resurfaced, floating on a sea of grey. His first thought was of Stella. He tried to rise,
tried to move, but nothing happened. Not a muscle would respond. He lay transfixed on the wide stone pathway, staring up at
the shimmering barrier. Where was Stella? He tried to remember which way he’d fallen. No memory: he’d closed his eyes on the
way down.

Kannwar’s muffled voice came from somewhere close, just left of his feet. Stella would be there. All he had to do was raise
his head a few inches.

He couldn’t do it. The Destroyer had taken strength from him, stolen it, and though Robal knew it had been for Stella’s benefit,
the simmering anger he’d been resisting finally exploded into a brilliant, perfect rage. He wanted to release everything he
was in one howling conflagration aimed at the Destroyer. His fury seared almost everything left within him. Memories, love,
virtues: all began to melt, to change shape in the fire.

The Destroyer gave a shout. Was Stella alive? Had she moved? More likely he was reacting to the healing of the breach in the
canopy.
Let the thing go. Let fire and death rain down. If she is dead, let no one else live. Especially not him.

With an audible snap, the canopy vanished.

Robal exulted, and prepared for a fiery death.

A shriek issued from the figure high above as she fell. Another snap and the canopy reappeared, this time lower—but too late
to save the cosmographer girl. Directly above him her body continued to fall, twisting and tumbling. A myriad lightning spears
were thrown down from the storm, every one absorbed by the new barrier. The crashes of thunder were drowned out by a howl
of anger. Robal tried to move his drained muscles, to roll away from where the girl was about to land, but could not raise
even a twitch. He closed his eyes.

And opened them again to see the petrified face of the cosmographer suspended a few feet above his own. Her scream had stopped,
replaced by frantic panting. He had never seen eyes so large, or a mouth describe such a perfect circle.

Without warning she fell the rest of the way, landing squarely on him. Her knee caught him a blow square in his privates,
but he felt nothing. She sprang up, her lower lip bleeding, and looked at him with something approaching horror.

“Don’t touch me,” she said, then bent down and picked up a small stone that had clattered to the ground with her.

Is this condition permanent?
Robal wondered.
Has the Destroyer done to me what he did to Ma Umerta?
He decided it didn’t matter. Perhaps he and Stella could be left lying here together. It seemed the only way he’d get to
be alone with her.

No, not permanent
, he realised as his legs began to ache, then twitch. The returning feeling grew into an agony of hot pins thrust into his
muscles and joints. His voice returned and he bellowed with pain. His mouth filled with phlegm. He managed to raise his head
enough to spit, and saw Stella’s body lying prone about five paces distant. Willing his leaden limbs to move, he crawled to
her side, to touch her ruined skin, her cold hands, her pale face.

“She can’t be dead,” he rasped.

“She is.” The Destroyer’s voice.

“I thought she was immortal.”

“No one knows the limits of what the Water of Life gives a human body. Clearly we have discovered that immortality requires
a beating heart.”

Robal grated a derisive laugh. “All life requires that, fool. If it were in my power, I would take it from you and give it
to her.”

“As would I,” the Destroyer said, and it sounded so very sincere.

“I am willing to give it a try,” Robal said, levering himself to his feet. “Come now, Destroyer, cut open a vein and give
her a drink.”

The man looked taken aback. “It does not work that way,” he said.

“No? I have seen her killed once, throat slashed by one of your Lords of Fear, and she came back to life. First thing she
did was to drink her own blood.”

The Destroyer frowned.

“You didn’t expect to be taken at your word, did you?” Robal laughed. “Gather around, everyone!” he called, his voice cracking.
“Witness your beloved Undying Man, your heroic saviour, refuse to save his most faithful companion!”

He stepped back a pace to the upper edge of the path, next to a collection of digging implements.

The Destroyer took a step forward. “Be silent, you fool, about things of which you are ignorant.”

“All I am ignorant of,” Robal said as people came closer, drawn by the shouting, “is why you would refuse to renew the blood
of immortality you have already bestowed on her. You captured and abused her seventy years ago, then stood back as she became
a pariah in her own land, never denying the rumour that she had been your paramour. You knew they called her the Destroyer’s
Consort, but did nothing about it. You even knew the curse of immortality could not be passed sexually but let her suffer
an unfulfilled marriage.” He took a deep breath and wiped spittle from his lips. “That’s always been your motto, hasn’t it,
you paragon: ‘Use and discard.’ Now you’ve used her up you’re ready to discard her. Not while I have breath and can wield
a weapon!”

Robal snatched up a pickaxe and took a stance, trying not to wobble on his unsteady legs. It took everything he had to lift
the weapon from the ground, and cold sweat sprang up on his brow as he struggled to hold it steady.

A few of those watching laughed.

A stone sword sprang from the Destroyer’s open hand. At the same time the granite beneath Robal’s left foot disappeared. He
staggered and almost fell.

More laughter.

“You believe Stella needs blood?” the Destroyer asked, raising the sword.

“That… won’t be necessary.”

The crowd gasped and pulled back. The Destroyer gave an exclamation of surprise. Robal turned as swiftly as he could—which
was not very swiftly at all—and Stella stood there, her skin healing as he watched.

“Stella,” the Destroyer said, springing to her side.

Robal tried to stagger in her direction, but fell to one knee. The pickaxe cracked him a nasty blow on the ankle and he let
out a yelp.

“Back again,” she said heavily. “Thought I’d made it through this time, but no, I’ve been dragged back.”

“No, my queen,” Robal protested. “There are those who value your return.”

His heart beat wildly, out of control, and he feared he might collapse or throw up or burst into tears at the sight of her.

“So I heard,” she said, a touch of something—bitterness? laughter?—in her voice.

“You sound different,” said the Destroyer.

“I am different,” she said, but did not elaborate.

“I thought you had died.”

“So did I,” Robal added lamely.

Stella’s lips twisted in disgust. “I did die,” she said. “Just not enough. I will not speak about it, not now, not here. Besides,
we are neglecting the real heroes.”

Hero? Who has been heroic?
Robal had not really been paying attention, so focused had he been on Stella and the Destroyer. But the canopy still held,
though he could hear a faint background roaring beyond it, and see occasional shudders as the gods worked their magic against
it in vain. The injured were receiving assistance, and the remainder of the refugees milled around, sat together talking or
stood close by, listening with puzzlement to the exchange.

The Destroyer nodded. “We are speaking, I presume, of Anomer and his team of brave locals who allowed him to draw from their
essenza. They were instrumental in healing the breach in our barrier, at significant cost to themselves.”

He waved a hand to where a few people lay prostrate, though they all seemed to be alive. Anomer looked up from where he bent
over a woman and gave them a wave.

Stella spoke. “And of Lenares the cosmographer, who climbed above the canopy on her own to face the god and draw her fire.
Lenares, it took great courage to do what you did, and your act distracted Umu long enough for us to make good the damage
she did. We are very grateful.”

The cosmographer girl smiled and blushed, clearly unused to compliments of any kind. A few of the onlookers clapped.

“We were also rendered a great service by two magicians some distance away,” said the Destroyer. “Captain Duon of Elamaq and
Arathé of Fossa gave liberally of themselves, sending their magic to assist Anomer in tapping into the Malayuan locals. We
hope they will rejoin us soon, at which time we will thank them in person.”

“And one other,” Stella said. “Robal, my guardsman, put aside his quarrel with the Undying Man and poured his energy out in
a great flood for him to use. I felt it even as I wandered beyond the void. I have no doubt it made the difference. Without
the actions of brave men like Robal, the god-breathed storm would have broken through and killed us all.”

Robal wanted to strike the smirking Destroyer down where he stood. He’d put her up to this, nothing was more certain. Poured
his energy out? It had been taken without his permission.

“So, miss, when can we leave?” asked an elderly man. “Some of us want to get back to our homes and families, like, to see
what remains.”

“Nothing remains,” said the Destroyer. “Any houses you had will be debris scattered to the four corners of Malayu. Your families
will not have survived unless they took shelter in holes somewhere, as we did. It is a bitter pill, but I will not deal in
false hope.” A number of those listening began to weep. “Andratan will aid in repair of your homes and in the restoration
of government. I will ask the Factor of Malayu to make a personal inspection. This land will be rebuilt.”

“Doesn’t bring back our families,” someone said.

“No, it does not. There is nothing Andratan can do about that. But we did what we could and kept you alive. We hope you are
grateful for that, at least.”

There had been deaths, Robal discovered as he stumbled around after Stella and her shadowy companion. Dozens of them. A handful
struck down by lightning, many more by the acidic rain. A few bodies lay further down the stepped slope of the pit: fallen,
no doubt, when the canopy was removed for a few moments as Lenares was rescued. They had been dead already, Stella said, victims
of the storm-talons, and she pointed to the gruesome stab marks through their bodies.

“How many people lived in the path of the storm?” Lenares asked the Destroyer.

“We don’t have an accurate census. Had the storm struck further north, it might have claimed a million lives. Perhaps a hundred
thousand people live on the Mala Peninsula and in the towns of Camantain, Long Pike Mouth and Doma, but citizens down this
way sometimes… ah… actively resist enumeration.”

“Tax avoiders,” Stella said. “We have them too.” She stared at Robal.