Daughter of Witches: A Lyra Novel (30 page)

Mist’s eyes went wide. She straightened and seemed to grow taller. The guards beside her shifted, and their hands went to their sword hilts. Even Gadrath fell back a step. Mist ignored them all, except Gadrath. “You fool,” she said in a flat voice. “You utter, incompetent fool.”

Gadrath’s eyes widened. Obviously, no one had ever dared to call the High Priest a fool. He opened his mouth to reply, but Mist cut him off. “Do you know what you have done, with your pride in your power and daring?” she demanded. “You have all but released one of the most deadly plagues of Lyra!”

“I?” Gadrath seemed to have forgotten that Mist was his prisoner; he spoke as to an equal. “But your spells are…”

“You know nothing of magic,” Mist said with angry scorn. “Your ‘god’ is not at rest. He is bound—bound by the power of the traditions you so despise. Your Temple has repeated the same rites for hundreds of years, and they have become part of the pattern of Chaldon’s binding. You are right to fear. You yourself have weakened the spell. It cannot hold for much longer.”

“If I know nothing of magic, you know nothing of Drinn!” Gadrath sneered, but his voice held a note of uncertainty. “How could you know what purpose our rituals serve?”

“I have felt the spells that hold Chaldon,” Mist said. “And Ranira has told me of your customs and rituals. I have studied magic for years, and I know how such things work. It does not matter whether you believe me or not; you will learn the truth soon enough when Chaldon frees himself.”

“Your ignorance betrays you,” Gadrath said with more confidence. “The rituals of the Temple are not broken. I have left a substitute to conduct the rites in my place.”

“Do you think there is no reason why people are forbidden to leave Drinn during your festival?” Mist replied. “You sent guards to search for us, and you, the High Priest of the Temple, have left Drinn willingly. That is the flaw in the pattern. Do not think Chaldon cannot find it.”

Gadrath’s face was ashen. “You left the city before ever I did. If anyone broke this pattern, it was you.”

“We left in spite of all you could do to hold us,” Mist said. “Chaldon’s binding could not be seriously weakened by that. It was you who opened the gates and more—as the official representative of the Temple, you ordered men out of Drinn, deliberately breaking the tradition you should have been striving to maintain. Even that might not have been enough, but you left the city yourself, and that has shattered the pattern beyond anything you can do to repair it.”

Gadrath stared at Mist. His lips tightened briefly. His eyes glittered. “We shall see. Chaldon has always responded well to sacrifice, particularly a powerful sacrifice. How will he receive a foreign witch, I wonder?”

Gadrath raised his right hand and closed it deliberately over the pendant. A shadow crossed his face as he held out his left hand, palm downward. Blackness began to form below it, swirling and thickening rapidly into a long, flat slab like the lid of a coffin. He stared at it for a moment, then lowered his left hand. At the same time, the fingers of his right hand opened. But the hand did not fall to his side. It hung at his breast, as if stuck to the pendant. Gadrath’s mouth twitched; he jerked his hand downward. Ranira thought she saw blood on his palm as he turned toward Mist and gestured.

“Bind her to the stone,” he said to the Templemen beside her.

R
ANIRA SAW
A
RELNATH TENSE
as the Templemen started forward. Before the Cilhar woman could move, the guards stopped. With their first step the last daylight had vanished with the abruptness of a shutter closing, and the entire clearing plunged into darkness. The flickering red fire and the bright points of the stars above the clearing were the only sources of light left. Except around Mist. Daylight seemed to linger about her, intensifying the impression of power her regal bearing gave her. The Templemen did not retreat before her, but neither did they continue advancing.

“Bind her!” Gadrath’s voice rose above the startled murmurs of his guards. “Her spells cannot harm you while I am here. Bind—”

The priest’s voice choked, trailing off in a bubbling gurgle. Ranira’s head turned, and she gasped in horror. Gadrath stood frozen, the crystal pendant on his breast pulsing with darkness. His face writhed. From the black slab he had conjured rose a blackness so intense that it hurt the mind to look at it. It swirled around his body, rising higher as Ranira watched.

The Temple guards retreated. “Witchcraft!” one of them cried, pointing at Mist. “Kill her,” said another. One of the guards started forward again, sword in hand. Before he reached Mist, a dark figure leaped onto his back, throwing him to the ground. Simultaneously, one of the other Templemen fell backward, choking and clawing at a short chain that had dropped over his head and pulled tight. The Temple guards had forgotten their other prisoners in their anxiety to be rid of Mist, and Jaren and Arelnath had taken advantage of their lapse.

The other Templemen wavered and fell back. A loud shriek from Gadrath completed their confusion. Templemen began running in all directions, some with drawn swords, looking for enemies, others without weapons looking for a place to flee. Ranira tripped one and kicked another; there was little else she could do with her hands tied. Suddenly the area in front of her was free of guards and she found herself with an unobstructed view of Mist and Gadrath once more.

Mist stood as if unaware of the chaos about her, her lips moving in a low chant that seemed somehow familiar to Ranira. In front of her, Gadrath still stumbled and shook, moving blindly first in one direction, then in another, mumbling to himself as he went. He strained as if he were fighting with something only he could see. The black slab was completely gone, melted into the air around him. Gadrath stumbled closer, and Ranira backed away. Then he looked directly at her. Ranira screamed.

They were not eyes that looked out of Gadrath’s face at Ranira; two ovals of solid blackness glared blankly from under the High Priest’s eyebrows. The words he muttered became clearer: “… eat you. I will. Down, slave! You thought to use me. Now you will learn.” The voice was far deeper than Gadrath’s own.

A convulsive shudder passed through Gadrath, and a pair of ordinary gray eyes stared into Ranira’s for an instant. Then the priest cried, “Not me. The girl, your Bride—take her! Not me!”

A second convulsion took Gadrath. He made a motion as if throwing something with both arms, and a blackness flowed toward Ranira. She had time to scream only once.

Darkness swallowed her, cutting her off from all sensation. For a moment she was aware of something reaching for her. Then even that faded. She could not see or hear; she could not even feel her own body. In utter panic, she struggled against the blackness that was crushing her. She did not move, could not move, but something in the very attempt made the blackness give way a little. She tried again to push the blackness away. The darkness retreated—she was learning how to resist the cold weight in her mind. It was a matter of determination, and six years as Lykken’s bond servant had fully developed Ranira’s stubbornness. Once more she tried to break free. She felt something snap, and suddenly she could see. She tried to move, but discovered she was not completely free. She had no control over her arms or legs; she was a passenger in her own body.

Gadrath lay crumpled on the ground before her. Mist still stood apart, chanting. Ranira heard a distorted version of her own voice saying, “Struggle as you will. You are not strong enough to escape me.” Her arms moved without her willing it. The ropes about her wrists parted under a strain far greater than Ranira alone could ever have exerted.
You see? I can do far more even with this feeble body than you. But struggle on; it only makes the victory sweeter.
She saw her arm rise and point at Mist. She tried to scream a warning through the scornful laughter that poured from her own mouth. She could not do it.

Desperately, Ranira lashed out. She felt the pain of her wounded shoulder and saw her arm waver. The bolt of blackness that shot from her fingertips went past Mist’s shoulder, missing by inches. The healer’s chanting never faltered, but the shadow in Ranira’s mind howled in rage and turned on her.

Sight vanished. Hearing stopped. She felt herself growing weaker as the darkness pressed closer, eating at the edges of her mind. She fought back, and the shadow withdrew for a moment. She had a glimpse of Shandy running toward her, arm raised, and the darkness closed in once more. With all her strength, Ranira struck again. Something was flying toward her, glittering in the firelight. Her vision failed before the object reached her. She was forced back, swallowed into darkness.

Without warning, white fire engulfed her. She felt no pain, but the darkness cringed and suddenly was gone, leaving her in control of herself once more. She looked down. Clenched tightly in her hands, the chain twining around her fingers, was Mist’s necklace and the moonstone.

Shandy was beside her. “Renra, did it work? Are you all right? I know it’s magic, but I couldn’t think of anything else!”

Ranira had no time to reassure him. Just as she looked up, light flared through the clearing. She squinted an instant too late; her eyes were blinded by a dazzling brightness that seemed crowded with faces. As her eyes adjusted, her fingers tightened involuntarily on the moonstone.

In front of her, barely three paces away, a black smudge stood outlined against the brightness, hardly recognizable as Gadrath. Darkness swirled around him, making it impossible to see the details of his form. She sucked her breath in and shoved Shandy behind her, holding out the moonstone.

Light shifted and flowed in front of her. Mist stood at the center of the glow, her garments whipping about her as if she stood in a strong wind. The healer raised her hands, and figures began to form around her, faint outlines sketched in white flame. They wavered and grew brighter as Ranira watched, and the light intensified until Mist stood at the center of a ring of white fire, forcing the shadow backward. Ranira’s eyes met Mist’s, and suddenly she understood. Mist had reached the Island of the Moon at last; the flaming shapes could only be images of the people Mist had been trying to contact for so long.

The shadowy horror that was Gadrath gestured, and a wall of blackness swept toward Mist. Lightning flared from Mist’s outstretched hand. The blackness dissolved into a whirling mass of shadow shot with light and webbed with power, hovering in the air between the healer and the priest. Ranira’s skin began to tingle. She backed up a pace.

Pale green light washed over the clearing: Elewyth had risen. The shadow withdrew into itself, forming a tall, dense pillar of darkness. Mist moved toward it almost reluctantly, and Ranira remembered the healer’s aversion to killing.

More lightning flashed around the shadow, without apparent effect. It seemed to be waiting, content to resist without striking back. Ranira stared in puzzlement as Mist struck again. Why should the shade wait? Abruptly, Gadrath’s voice came back to her, and her eyes widened in horror.

The Temple of Chaldon! Gadrath had left someone behind to conduct the rituals, and one of the rituals was designed to join the power of all of the people of Drinn and channel it through the Shadow-born to destroy the Island of the Moon.

That was what the shadow waited for. Ranira had no doubt that it was already too strong for the Temple Priests to control; whatever power it could draw from Drinn it would use for its own purposes.

Ranira opened her mouth to shout, but it was already too late. Red light bloomed in the clearing as Kaldarin rose, and she remembered that Mist had said Kaldarin strengthened the Shadow-born. The shadow swelled under the crimson glow; even Ranira could feel the surge of power. Mist fell back. The flaming shapes around her vanished. Darkness flowed out from the shadow, engulfing Ranira once more.

Cruel laughter echoed around her. Her eyes strained against the darkness. She put out a hand, but there was nothing to touch or see. An odor of decay reached her, something foul brushed her hand, and she recoiled from its touch. Something sucked at her mind. Terrified, Ranira pulled away. The suction grew stronger.

In desperation, she called on the magic she knew she possessed. She felt new strength rise within her and the warmth that heralded the beginning of the flames. Better to burn than be eaten, she thought fleetingly, and concentrated harder.

“That won’t save you, little fool,” a deep voice hissed near her ear. “You will come to me in the end, like the rest of Drinn, and your friends as well. Indeed, you are already half mine. Tell me, should I take the boy first, or the black-haired witch?”

Anger exploded in Ranira. Flames roared around her but she did not care. She struck at the darkness with all the power she possessed. The only response was scornful laughter as the darkness pressed closer. In utter fury, she grasped at the flames around her and threw them at the shadow. She felt the thing draw back. With a surge of triumph, she seized more of the magic fire and threw it, drawing recklessly on her power.

For what seemed an eternity, Ranira hurled her fire into darkness. In her desire to hurt the shadow, she ignored her own pain. She was too angry to be afraid.

Then the flames began to die. Soon they were a mere flickering around her. The darkness began to close in on her again.

She tried desperately to call up her power again to bring back the flames that were her only weapon, but nothing remained; her strength and her resources were all but exhausted. Then, as the shadow came closer, she remembered that she still held the moonstone, and she extended it like a shield between herself and the darkness.

Power coiled within the stone. Thanks to her new sensitivity to magic, Ranira could feel it. She reached for it as she had reached for the flames, but it eluded her. The last of her own fire died. She clenched her fingers around the stone, willing it to do something—anything. Sudden power flowed into her, and with a gasp of relief she struck out at the shadows once more.

The darkness drew back but even as she struck, Ranira knew that she still did not have enough strength to seriously harm the dark thing. She lacked the skill and the knowledge necessary to use the power of the moonstone effectively. She could hold the shadow back for a little, that was all.