Bloodsongs (47 page)

He did as she told him, slamming the dagger into the silver sheath. She snatched it from him, and before he could stop her, she managed to sit up and buckle it around her waist. Telric cursed, tore a scrap of cloth from his sleeve, reached inside her garment, and pressed it to her wound. She winced at the contact, but she also sighed.

She had beaten Demonfang. Its power had coursed through her, and she had turned it aside, saving her soul. But she could sense the damage the blade had done to her body. Blood poured through Telric's rough swab, and its bitter taste was thick in her throat. It was difficult to draw a full breath.

The Eye of Skraal twinkled in the dirt between Kel's legs. She pointed without speaking. Telric retrieved it and put it into her hand.

She said weakly, “My mother—I've got to finish the spell.”

She tried to rise, but her friend wrapped his arms about her. “You're hurt too badly.” He kissed her softly on the brow. “It's you we've got to worry about.”

“No,” she insisted, pushing him away. “I told you what I've got to do. Now, help me up.”

He gazed sadly at her, then lifted her in his strong arms. “I can walk,” she assured him, but he still carried her to the circle of gold.

“Tell me what to do,” he said, lowering her. “I'll do the work. You stay quiet.”

She propped herself on one hand. “First, bring Kel into the circle, too.” He hurried to obey and carried her son across the yard. He deposited his nephew on the opposite side of the design. A string of spittle ran down Kel's chin as he sat there staring at his thumbs. “Now bring me the book.” She waited until it rested on the ground before her. “Now the lamp.” He brought that, too, moving as swiftly as he could.

The song in her soul was weaker this time when she called it; the harmonies seemed disjointed and distant. But she extended her hand, and a tiny blue flame bloomed on her palm. “Stay close to me,” she said to Telric, “no matter what you see.”

She touched her flame to the Lamp of Nugaril.

A red light blazed forth, unnaturally bright. It gave no warmth at all. Instead the air turned strangely chill. Beyond the circle shadows sprang up around the courtyard and took on a weird life of their own. They danced and cavorted, drawn to the circle. They whirled and spun, stygian shapes without substance, soundless.

Nugaril was an evil god, Frost knew, and these were his spawn. The shadows radiated a vileness that made her shiver, and she thanked the gods of goodness that the circle's gold kept them at bay.

“Traveling with you, I should be used to such things,” Telric muttered, kneeling beside her. It was clear from his tone that he was not and never expected to be.

A loud trumpeting from Ashur made her turn sharply, and she bit her lip at the agony in her side. She cursed herself. How could she have forgotten him? The shadow things flew at him, and the unicorn bellowed in torment, a sound that cut her to the soul, worse than Demonfang.

She staggered to her feet, breathless with the effort, and called his name. She feared, though. Ashur was a tangible creature, but also a creature of magic. Could he enter the protection of the circle? He came running, the shadows giving swift pursuit.

The unicorn's unearthly eyes blazed, trailing flame, as he leaped over the golden markings and crashed to a halt, hooves hurling a shower of dirt and stone pebbles on Reimuth's unmoving form. Frost threw one arm about his neck and hugged him. He nuzzled and licked her hand.

Pain flared in her ribs again, and new blood rose into her mouth. She gave the unicorn one more pat and sank down by the Book of Shakari. At her order, Telric took up the lamp and the emerald. “Hold them over my mother. Shine the light on the gem like this.” She showed him how to rotate the Eye of Skraal between thumb and forefinger. The emerald reflected the light and cast it off in tiny spears of coruscating radiance. “You mustn't stop once we begin. It may be a long time.”

He hesitated, and he searched her eyes, full of concern. “Are you all right?” he said. Then he waved a hand at her mother's body. “I don't want to bring her back just to lose you.”

Frost nodded, forced a smile, and patted his cheek. “Let's finish this, then I'm yours to do with as you will.” She winked, trying her best to be convincing.

Telric was not amused, but he scrambled to Reimuth's side.

Frost closed her eyes as a wave of blackness swept over her. The taste of blood in her mouth came stronger than ever. A momentary, unreasoning fear wormed itself into her thoughts, but she fought against it.

The spell of the Three Aspects was its own potent magic. It required none of her power. Instead, she called on her witchcraft to slow the flow of her blood, to block all sensation of pain.

Telric lifted the emerald and the lamp. He began to turn the stone, and a beautiful sparkling illumined Reimuth's withered features.

Beyond the circle the shadow shapes danced, attracted to Nugaril's flame, repelled by the circle of gold. She watched them as she gathered her strength.
Life where none should be,
she considered,
unearned and undeserved.

She looked at her mother. In the last moment Reimuth had called her name.

She picked up the Book of Shakari. Nugaril's Lamp provided enough light to read by. She turned to the first page. The language was Old Chondite, a tongue that reeked of its own peculiar magic.

The pages cracked and snapped with age as she turned them. She read aloud, chanting the ancient poems and cantrips as the priests of Chondos would have done.

The Aspects were the three god forces that governed the cosmos: light, darkness, and neutrality. Shakari's wisdom guided the lords of light. Nugaril was a minor but vindictive god of darkness. The goddess Skraal was one of the neutral powers that maintained the balance between good and evil. Life, the book suggested, was not born of one or the other, but was a union of all three influences.

Frost paused long enough to study the sky. The stars twinkled serenely. No trace of morning yet tinted the heavens.
How much time,
she wondered,
how much time?

She read on, understanding less and less as the pages went by. It didn't matter. She knew the structure of the language and the pronunciations. The words alone were words of power.

A sudden coughing seized her. Doubling over, she spat crimson. Pain knifed through her side, and she clutched her ribs in surprise. Not even her magic was enough to dull the growing agony, it seemed. She ground her teeth and looked up. Telric looked as if he would dart to her side, but he kept his place bravely. He was pale with worry, illumined strangely by the same shimmering that bathed Reimuth. She forced a sheepish grin and read.

A shout from Telric interrupted her. She didn't stop but glanced over the book's edge, chanting as loudly as she could.

Reimuth's features blurred and reshaped into their former youthful countenance. The flesh softened, the limbs grew firm again. The long, brittle hair that splayed over the ground thickened and turned dark.

Joy flooded through Frost when her mother's bosom heaved with its first breath. She closed the Book of Shakari as she completed the final page. The tome slid from her hand and fell into the dirt.

Telric set aside the lamp and the emerald. He went to her and wrapped his arms about her. His warmth suffused through her, and his touch was comforting. “Your mother lives,” he said into her ear. “You've given her back her life.”

She settled into his shoulder, letting him take all her weight. She had not called upon her witchcraft, but her pain seemed to fade away. “She lives, and maybe I am redeemed of that foulest sin of my youth.” Frost shut her eyes and trembled, freed from a great burden.

“Why doesn't she move?” Telric asked.

Frost rubbed the back of his hand and locked her fingers in his. “There's a vast gulf that separates life and death,” she explained, “and the crossing can be hard. Even a soul needs rest. She'll awake soon enough.” She tried to look over her shoulder for her son. “She'll have to take care of Kel.”

All the strength went out of her then. She coughed, and blood dribbled on her chin. Weakly, she reached inside her tunic and pulled out the swab that covered her wound. It was soaked and useless.

Telric held her tighter, and she realized he was crying. She listened to the sound of his tears and for any faint note of power that still remained within her. At her soul's core there was unnerving silence.

She touched the hilt of the dagger at her side. “Demonfang has won after all,” she whispered. She turned her gaze beyond the circle. The air was alive with the frantically dancing shadows. They seemed to mock her with their vitality. “Put out the lamp,” she told Telric. “Let me rest by you without those damned creatures watching.”

“Close your eyes, and they'll go away,” he urged, pressing his cheek next to hers. “The lamp is out of reach. I don't want to leave you.” His tears dripped onto her face. They rolled thickly, hotly, on her flesh. “Don't leave me, Samidar.”

She turned her head from side to side. “Where's Ashur? Move me so I can see him.”

He did as she requested. The gentle care he took was not enough to keep her from crying out and grabbing for her wound. But when the film cleared from her vision, the unicorn was there.

She reached up a shaking hand. Ashur lowered his head and licked her fingers as he had often done. His great spike bobbed near her face, and she ran her palm along its glistening length. His eyes burned like stars, flickering with slender prominences.

“Go, my good friend.” Her words were barely audible. “Run to wherever you dwelled all those long years when I didn't think I needed you.” Her lids drooped; she snapped them open. “I always needed you, though. You're a dream, my unicorn, and we all need dreams.” Ashur bent his head lower yet, and she ran a hand through his rich mane. “Run,” she repeated, “and everyone who has a dream will chase you.”

Ashur only continued to lick and nuzzle her. She pulled her hand away and clutched Telric's sleeve. “Drive him off,” she pleaded. “Make him run away. I want to see him run!”

But Telric shook his head. “The shadows are still out there.”

“Then put out the lamp, and the shadows will die.”

He refused to let go of her. “I need the lamp,” he said slowly. “If you leave me, Samidar, I'll bring you back.”

She cringed, but it wasn't pain that made the tears spring into her eyes. Gods, she didn't want to leave him. She could have been happy growing old by his side, spending days and nights in his arms. Suddenly, she longed to see his home in Rholaroth and to call it her home.

But it was not to be.

She brushed his lips lightly with the tips of her fingers. “Can you read classic Chondite?”

His expression was answer enough. He hugged her tighter than ever, and great sobs racked him.

“I can.”

She felt Telric twist around, but she was too weak to follow. It was her mother's voice, though. Reimuth walked into her view, still naked, still beautiful, still younger than her daughter. In her hand she held the Eye of Skraal.

“You spared me, Samidar, and you spared your son.”

Frost tried to shake her head. She rolled her eyes upward to her mother's face, but she couldn't focus her vision. “He's not the same. . . .” She gave up the effort. It was too much trouble to form the words. She sighed and stared across the circle. She couldn't see Kel.

“None of us are the same,” Reimuth answered.

Telric spoke, full of sudden hope. “You're a sorceress. Can you save her?”

Reimuth knelt and took her daughter's hand. “The wound is too grave.” Her mother's lips pursed grimly. She picked up the Book of Shakari and blew the dirt from its binding. “But we have the Three Aspects.”

Frost felt a surge of hope that quickly dimmed. It had to be close to morning; the night of the new moon was nearly at an end. She squeezed her mother's hand and drew her close. “Say my name again,” she begged. “My true name.” She watched Reimuth's mouth intently as the word formed. It sounded sweeter even than the witchly music that once had filled her soul.

Her gaze wandered to the sky. There was yet no hint of the sunrise, but it had to be close.
If only there was time,
she thought sadly.
If only there was more time.

Telric's breath was feather soft as he whispered in her ear. Yet it was not the Rholarothan's voice she heard. It was Kimon and Kirigi. The words came to her from across a yawning void.
Don't
worry,
the voices said in chorus,
don't fear.

She held on to those voices for a long time, drawing comfort from them. She had no fear. If she lived, then she had Telric to love. If not, then Kimon and Kirigi were waiting for her.

She glanced at the sky, and a wan smile flickered on her lips. She reached out for Ashur once more to touch the unicorn that was only a dream. Her dream. His eyes seemed the only light in the darkness that pressed upon her.

The voices spoke again, but she didn't understand, and it didn't seem to matter. She felt her life fading.
Was it time?
she wondered.
Was there time?

A
last song rustled through the empty corners of her soul, and she closed her eyes. Sighing, she gave herself up to sleep, content to greet whatever world that waking brought.

 

      
      
      
When stars fall they leave a trail of light

      
      
      
And one may dream one dream

      
      
      
If their hearts are pure and right

      
      
      
For in that gleam that cleaves a shining arc