Endless Night (14 page)

Ciara rubbed her neck, struggling to understand but knowing one thing: the summons must finally have worked.

C
iara stood
with her hand out to the draasin, her j’na gripped in her other hand. The only other time she had summoned the draasin, she had done so with her father’s help. Then he had been there to guide her, to suggest what she needed to do once the draasin answered the summons. This time, with the draasin bowing her neck, waiting… Ciara suspected what she needed to do but wasn’t sure that she wanted to. If she rode the draasin and went with it, where would it take her this time?

The man groaned and started to move.

The draasin tapped her tail on the ground and nudged Ciara, reminding her of the lizard when it had pushed her her.

That settled it for her.

She climbed onto the draasin’s back, using the long, hot spikes protruding from her scaled sides to climb on. The draasin lifted her head and Ciara was forced down, sitting abruptly. With a thrust of wings, the draasin leapt to the air.

Thunder echoed.

She leaned over the side of the draasin and saw the dark shaper following.

“Hurry!” Ciara urged.

The draasin snorted fire and streaked off, moving faster than Ciara had ever seen the creatures fly. Mist streamed over the draasin’s head where cool air touched the heat of her body. Ciara glanced back and saw the dark shaper hovering in the air, darkness converging again between his hands.

She pointed her j’na at him.

It made him pause and gave the draasin the chance to streak onward, finally putting distance between them.

Ciara leaned back against the draasin and let out a long sigh. “Now what?”

The draasin twisted her head around. A bright golden eye met Ciara’s, and there was something like an image that passed between them. Ciara saw fields of green and massive mountains and water. Not Ter. That much was clear.

The connection was nothing like what she shared with the lizard, but could she use it to show the draasin where she wanted to go? Was there anything she could do to guide the draasin?

Where
would
she go?

The answer came quickly, and with it an image of Rens and her home flashed into her mind. The draasin snorted, then banked and soared.

The flight went quickly.

Ciara felt the wind gusting around her and the strange mist billowing past. The longer that they flew, the warmer the air became, soon taking on a familiar scent. Dry. Hot. And so distinctly Rens.

The draasin circled and then began to descend. As she did, heat rose up from the ground like a haze, and they passed through thick, dark clouds. Could they have come during one of the great storms?

Wind whipped around her and dust filled her mouth. Ciara wished for her elouf and wished she had her sandals rather than the heavy Terran boots.

A shout rang out.

The village spread out below her. There was the tower of rock she’d attempted to climb, still needing Fas to help her reach the peak, and the entrance to the caves, and there was Nisa Point, where she had first summoned a draasin and had left home.

How had she reached here so quickly?

Ciara looked to the ground and saw Valash pointing. The old man had a stooped back, but he’d once been a strong man, and he served as one of the Stormcallers. A smaller person, one she didn’t recognize, went racing across the ground.

The draasin settled and swung her tail as she lowered her head.

“Will you wait?” she asked. The last time she’d summoned the draasin, the elemental had taken off before she had managed to learn where she was and what she was doing. If it happened again, she would remain in her village.

Would that be so bad?

Her father could answer some of the questions she had. She needed him to provide those answers. But would she be able to understand what it meant that Cheneth was enlightened? Would she learn how to continue her summons? When she’d been with him the last time, he seemed to indicate that he understood what she could do. If he understood, it was possible he could teach her about it, wasn’t it?

That was what she really wanted. She wanted to understand what it was that she did when she summoned the elementals. Would there ever come a time when she would have control, when she would be able to summon what and when she wanted? Or would she always have this uncertainty, this inconsistency?

For those questions, her father might know, but would he know the answers to all her questions? Would he be able to tell her about nobelas and what it meant that she could speak to the lizard, or why the Hyaln seemed so intrigued by that fact?

Ciara didn’t know.

But she would ask. Until she had answers, she didn’t want the draasin to depart. She wanted her to remain.

The draasin snorted. An image of the village came to her, but from a distance.

That would have to do.

Ciara jumped down and the draasin took to the sky, where she settled into wide circle.

Ciara held on to her j’na and started toward the village, thinking about how long it had been since she’d really been here. When she’d ventured across the waste, she’d been gone for nearly two weeks. And now… now it had to have been a month or more.

All that time, and she still knew her people needed help. Those who had been taken—and possibly by others twisted by Tenebeth—were still gone. Was there anything she could even do?

When her father approached, he did so slowly, leaning on his j’na more than he had the last time she had seen him. His weathered eyes squinted against the sun, and he pulled his elouf around him, stopping about a dozen paces from her.

“Why are you here, shaper of Ter?”

Ciara blinked. Could he really not recognize her?

As she looked down, she realized that with the clothing she wore, her boots, and who knew what other changes she’d experienced, it was possible he
didn’t
recognize her.

She brought her j’na before her and set it into the ground. It struck with a loud
crack
. Light flashed from the draasin-glass end.

“Father,” she said.

He leaned forward, his eyes narrowing. “Ciara? Is that you?”

She took a step toward him but he raised his j’na. She stopped. “It’s me, Father.”

His gaze turned skyward, where he looked at the draasin soaring beneath the dark sky. Thunder rumbled somewhere nearby, and she shivered. Somehow, the image of the village drifted into her mind, complete with her father standing across from her, as well as others she hadn’t seen circling her.

With a sense of dread, she wondered if she had made a mistake. If others in the village had been taken, would the attackers have returned? She had landed with the draasin, thinking she would be safe in her village, but what if that had been the mistake?

Using water, she strained with her sensing, discovering those circling her. A sense of relief washed over her as she realized they were all villagers, not unnamed attackers. Most were too old or too young to hold a spear, but one of them… one of them she recognized more strongly.

“Fas,” she whispered.

The last time she had seen him, he had nearly died, jumping from the rock. He had been healed. Somehow. She still didn’t understand what had happened there, only that whatever pattern she had used, different than summoning the draasin, had healed him. At least that’s what her father had said.

What if that wasn’t what happened at all?

What if Fas remained tainted?

She didn’t doubt that Tenebeth had been the reason he was tainted in the first place. He must have claimed Fas when they were near the waste, before Fas had returned to the village. Or maybe it was when he’d been injured, leaving him exposed. Tenebeth had tried to come for her twice when she’d been hurt, but not at other times.

“How?” her father asked, pulling his attention from the sky and back to her. “And why have you come now?”

“You told me to go with the draasin. I did. I learned of Hyaln. I met Olina. And I have fought Tenebeth.”

Her father set his j’na to the ground with a sick sound. As he did, she realized that a shadow swirled around it.

Tenebeth.

Had he returned while she was gone?

With a jolt, she sent an image to the draasin for help. The draasin circled and started toward the ground, but not fast enough.

Others started to converge upon her.

Ciara couldn’t fight. She wouldn’t fight. These were
her
people.

But Tenebeth had claimed them. The closer they came, the more certain of it she was. She could
feel
it around them, the same way she had felt it around the shaper who had attacked and nearly killed her.

As they closed in, she knew there was nothing she could do. She had returned home only to be destroyed.

O
liver waited
in the brightly lit hall, holding the shaping that obscured him. Wind gusted through an open window, pulling on his cloak. The lanterns in this part of the tower were all shaped, and the light didn’t change with the sudden draft. Were it up to him, he would close the windows and keep the chill out, but this was not his part of the tower.

In the past few days, he had mastered not only holding the shaping over his face but had managed to modify the rest of his body as well. As long as someone didn’t touch him, he could maintain the illusion.

The door opened and Hester stepped out. His eyes narrowed. “What are you doing here?”

Oliver held his breath, steadying his heart at the same time. This would be the first real test of his shaping. If this worked and he could remain close enough to Hester, he would attempt to use the spirit stick on him.

He didn’t know what he would see when he did. He’d practiced with that as well, trying it on some of the newer students in Atenas. Most were still unsettled by the new surroundings and clinging to memories of home, and each time he used the shaping he found a new trick. The most recent was discovering that he didn’t need to even touch the spirit stick to make it work.

“Marak asked that I come to you, sir,” Oliver said, pitching his voice like the novice he was supposed to be. If Hester saw through the shaping, Oliver would find out now.

“That was weeks ago. I haven’t heard anything from him in all that time.”

Oliver waited. A novice wouldn’t speak again and certainly wouldn’t risk speaking up against one of the masters.

“Fine. You can come in, but I’m in the middle of a project and you’ll have to wait.”

Hester stepped into the room, disappearing.

Oliver smiled. At least Hester still offered to teach. Few of the council did anymore, making Hester’s willingness unique. Oliver had counted on the fact that he would be available. He had always shown an interest in teaching, dating back to the time when Oliver still struggled to reach the last of the elements.

He waited in the corner of the room, holding his hands at his sides. The stance was an awkward one for him, but he didn’t want to draw any more attention to himself than was necessary.

Hester sat at his desk, making a few quick notes, ignoring the fact that Oliver was even there. Through his robe, he touched the spirit stick, debating whether to attempt to use it on Hester now or if he should wait.

In his time since escaping from the Seat, he hadn’t come across any of the council members. Oliver suspected they knew he had remained in the tower, but none had come after him. That should have given him a warning that there was more going on than even he realized. But he had decided he could no longer wait to find out what he needed. If there was anything to Cheneth’s fears, he needed to discover what it might be.

Hester paused and Oliver wondered if he was going to get up, but then he turned back to the page.

Now was the time. It had to be.

He glanced at the door. If he needed to get free, he would have to reach the door quickly. He tried to gauge the distance to freedom and counted the steps he would have to take. Maybe ten if he hurried. Could he reach it and get down the stairs if the shaping went awry?

Hester stood.

Damn. He’d waited too long. Now he either needed to attempt the shaping or wait for a better time. He had expected Hester to take longer with his work before getting around to him. That would be more in line with what Oliver knew of his patterns.

“Marak sent you for what type of training?” Hester asked.

He was only a few paces away. A shaping built from him, but Oliver didn’t dare try to determine its intent.

The rod in his pocket went cold.

Was Hester attempting some sort of
spirit
shaping? Cheneth had claimed that the rod would keep him safe, but he hadn’t expected any of the council to be able to use spirit.

Hester’s eyes narrowed slightly.

Damn! He had to act now.

Pulling on the shaping, Oliver forced it through the spirit stick and upon Hester.

The shaping settled with resistance.

Oliver pulled on more shaped strength, but mostly on water.

Through the shaping, he detected irritation. Anger. A flash of hatred. Emotions he would never have expected to come from Hester.

Oliver pushed again.

Deeper.

Memories started to drift to the surface. Seeing the tower for the first time, the way the city looked to him, the sense of filth spread all around, the hated people…

Oliver blinked. He’d gone too deep.

There was the memory of steps made through the tower. Of seeing a man, knowing who he was, watching him turn.

Oliver lost the shaping.

This man was not Hester.

“You killed him.”

Hester, or whoever he was, took a step forward, but Oliver released his illusion and pushed back with water.

“Interesting. I had not known that you would have mastered such skill here. You will be an interesting one to study.”

The rod went cold again. Oliver felt
something
attempting to crawl in his mind.

Cheneth had warned him that a strong shaper could overwhelm his ability. He hadn’t expected Hester to be the one to do so. If the imposter managed to complete the shaping, Oliver didn’t know what would happen to him. Maybe nothing, but he wasn’t about to risk it.

Using the sharp edge of water, he sliced through the shaping, driving that wedge through to block this Hester from reaching his ability, praying briefly that he was strong enough to make the shaping work.

When Hester’s eyes widened, Oliver knew it had. Then a shaped illusion failed, and a dark-skinned man stared at him.

The man darted forward, a knife appearing in his hand, likely the same knife he’d seen in his vision, the same knife “Hester” had used to kill the real councilor.

He didn’t have much time.

Using water, he constricted Hester’s heart, reducing blood flow.

Oliver was a healer, but there was a fine line between life and death. Knowing where one ended and the other began gave him the ability to stop Hester, at least for now.

He dropped.

Oliver held on to him, keeping the flow of blood through his heart reduced to a trickle. It was enough to make him lose consciousness, but not enough to kill him.

He didn’t want to kill the man. That might be necessary, but he wasn’t a soldier and wasn’t sure that he would be able to do that even if it
was
necessary. But he had questions. And they could only be answered with the imposter awake.