Lokant (35 page)

Aysun tumbled along,
his soul protesting vehemently as the two parts of his mind were
spread across two worlds. He was Aysun, standing in Rheas’s parlour
before the fire, and he was also Prink, tumbling out of control
through the Sanfaer house in Waeverleyne.

If Prink didn’t get
control of himself soon, they were going to crash into a wall.

Use those bloody
wings!
he roared.

Shout less.
Prink arrested his headlong flight inches before the far wall of
Aysun’s kitchen. He banked sharply and flew back into the middle of
the room, his mind ablaze with indignation.

‘Sorry,’ Aysun said. He
wasn’t sure whether his physical lips moved as he said it; was he
speaking the words aloud, or only to Prink? No way to tell.

He forgot Prink when he
noticed the state of the kitchen. The first thing Prink’s
surprisingly impressive vision centred on was a stack of washing-up
lying next to the beautiful big, stone sink he had built for Ynara.
The woman was obsessive about leaving the kitchen tidy when she
went to bed, but those dishes looked as though they’d been there
for longer than a few hours.

He nudged Prink to make
a circuit of the room, noting that the surfaces were gathering dust
- something else Ynara hated. A cup rested on the table, full of an
unidentifiable liquid that was covered in a layer of mould.

They made a tour of the
rest of the house, and what he saw heightened his anxiety beyond
anything he’d known since Llandry was carried home, her small body
a mess of blood. Everywhere were signs that Ynara hadn’t been home
in a while. He knew her habits so well, he couldn’t believe that
she’d simply become sloppy in the time since he’d left.

Something big had to
have happened. Something bad, to have kept her away from her home
for days at a time, without warning him first and without taking
his voice box device with her.

Back to the
portal,
he told Prink. The irilapter dithered, attracted by
some passing fragrance. Merciless, he used his anger to drive the
creature on, back to the kitchen, through the gate that still
hovered in the air.

Back in Rheas’s house,
he wrenched his consciousness free of Prink’s, ignoring the flash
of pain that sliced through his skull. He crossed to the chair in
which Rheas still sat, his fists instinctively clenching. He felt
like striking the old man.

‘What was that
about?’

Rheas had the cheek to
offer him an innocent look in response. ‘What?’

‘That was completely
unnecessary. I could have gone through the gate myself and achieved
the same. What game are you playing?’

Rheas chuckled.
‘Couldn’t miss an opportunity to teach you a lesson, boy.’

‘
What
lesson?’

Rheas sighed.
‘Apparently it failed.’

‘And how in the blazes
is it possible to open a gate from here right into my kitchen?’
Sorcs couldn’t simply pick a location to gate to, that he knew. A
gate opening in the Uppers would appear in the corresponding
location in the adjacent realm. That meant... ‘You’ve been living
practically on top of our house all these years? And you never said
anything? Never even told me you were
alive?’

‘We’ve discussed all
this.’ Rheas didn’t look at his son.

Aysun struggled to keep
his temper in check. He could beat his father senseless, and he
felt so sorely tempted, but he wouldn’t be able to live with
himself afterwards.

The old man wasn’t
worth it.

‘Something’s wrong,’ he
said instead. ‘I have to get home.’

‘You were planning to
tell us, weren’t you Ays? Not thinking of ditching your old buddies
again, surely?’ Rufin wandered in, slouching as if he didn’t know
the meaning of the word
urgency.

‘Someone’s got to stay
with that kid.’ Aysun jerked his thumb at the door, beyond which
Orillin still frolicked with Graaf.

‘I’m not a nursery
maid,’ Rufin growled. ‘I’m perishing with boredom up here. What did
you need me for anyway?’

‘You’re a crack shot,
Ruf.’

‘Sure,’ he grinned.
‘Soon as I have anything to fire at, that is.’

‘Fine,’ Aysun snapped.
‘I don’t have time for this. Eyas will stay. You and me are going
back.’

Rufin touched two
fingers to his forehead in a facetious salute. ‘Cap’n.’

***

Minchu. Do you remember
how you reached out to Isand, when she was still in her grave? I
need you to do that now. Look for your mother.

Llandry obeyed
Pensould’s instruction without hesitation, anchoring her mind to
Ynara’s essence. Instantly her delicate senses were overwhelmed
with the wrongness in this fragile body. Bones were broken
throughout her mother’s frame; her beautiful skin was torn and
ruptured and bleeding. There was so much blood, seeping away as
Mamma lay white and still.

She was really dying,
her life seeping out as Llandry watched. She could feel the
life-energy fading second by second. The realisation smote her
hard, closing her throat and filling her eyes with blinding
tears.

Pensould, she’s almost
gone! Hurry, faster, please...

You must stay calm.
Above all, you must remain rational. We are going to use our own
life-energy to restore hers, do you understand me? She is draykoni
in large part; it will work. But you must not go too far. If you
allow your emotions to rule you, your father may have to bury you
both. Do you understand?

Llandry nodded
frantically, consumed by her urgency.
Yes, yes. Now please, help
her.

Then follow my
lead.
Llandry watched in her mind’s eye as Pensould cocooned
Ynara in a soft blanket of his own energy. He steadily increased
the flow until the life-force surrounded Ynara in a ceaseless,
whirling current.

And yours,
heart-of-mine.

Llandry gulped down her
panic and obeyed, letting her own energy stream out of her to join
the river that supported her mother. Soon the flow grew so bright
that she could hardly focus her mind on it.

Good.
Pensould’s
thoughts shifted as he redirected the current. It streamed into
Ynara, mingling with her fading energy, reinforcing her life.
Pensould directed the healing force first at Ynara’s heart,
stabilising its slow, irregular rhythm. Next he turned his
attention to the lungs filling with blood and water; he purged
them, searing away the choking fluids. Ynara’s breathing
cleared.

But Llandry was
beginning to feel the pressure. It started as a crushing tiredness
that hit her all at once, draining her strength. Holding herself
upright became too much; she dropped to the floor.

Hold on! There is much
yet to be done.

The blood that seeped
away internally, drop by drop, slowed as Pensould strove to rebuild
Ynara’s broken internal functions. He too was flagging now, his own
life-energy burning lower the longer the healing went on.

Llandry’s world shrank
down to the simple task of drawing breath. One after another, in
and out... even drawing in air came to seem almost impossible, but
she hung on, grimly determined to last as long as her mother
needed.

Pensould’s voice broke
in on her suffering, his words weak and hard to hear.
I can’t -
stop the bleeding, entirely. The damage is too much. We are spent.
Time to withdraw.

No! Finish it.

I dare not -

Llandry gritted her
teeth and reached deeper, finding new stores of energy inside
herself. She didn’t question where they came from; she merely
thrust them at Pensould, willing him to continue.

Please!

With a cry of anguish,
Pensould did as she directed. Her mother’s wounds began to close,
bones began to knit, but so slowly, not fast enough...

Llandry hung on until
she truly couldn’t breathe. Her exhausted body lacked the energy to
operate itself. The last thing she heard as her eyes closed was the
sound of Pensould cursing.

***

Aysun had never run so
fast in his life. The distance from his home to the city’s main
infirmary was not inconsiderable, but he never hesitated. Ignoring
Rufin’s gasped protests stuttering on from behind him, he powered
on.

It had taken no time at
all to learn what had happened. The minute he emerged from his
house, a neighbour had descended on him in a flurry of wings and
excitement. She had badly garbled the recent events in her haste,
but he had understood enough.

It took twenty minutes
of hard running to reach the infirmary’s gates. He didn’t pause to
explain his errand to the desk clerk; he merely gasped his wife’s
name.

The clerk’s eyes
widened. ‘Second floor. Room thirty-two.’

Aysun ran on. He
skipped the new-built elevator in favour of the stairs. At last he
burst into room thirty-two, limbs burning and chest heaving, with
Rufin not far behind.

He found two beds, both
containing a wan and still occupant. One of them was Ynara, her
normally vibrant skin drained of colour and her eyes closed.

In the other bed lay
his daughter, her state alarmingly similar.

Pensould sat in a chair
beside Llandry’s bed, holding one of her limp hands in his own. He
too looked drained, dark circles staining the stark white skin
beneath eyes that stood out harshly in his exhausted face.

‘
What happened?’
The words came out louder than Aysun intended.

‘We did a healing,’
Pensould said. His voice was weak and he struggled to breathe
properly. ‘She went too far. I warned her, but...’ He shook his
head. He was gripping Llandry’s hand hard, Aysun noticed, his
knuckles white with effort. It was as if he intended to hold
Llandry to life by sheer force of will.

Perhaps that was
exactly what he was doing.

‘Are they...?’ Aysun
couldn’t say the words.

‘They’re both alive.
But their - our - life-energy was used up in fixing, and mending,
and - and -’ He paused to breathe, slow, laboured breaths drawn
with a struggle. ‘They - have not enough left for consciousness.
Maybe not enough to live.’

For a moment Aysun said
nothing, merely gulped in air. For once, Rufin had no facetious
comment to make. He stared at the two still forms, mute.

‘What can I do?’ Aysun
said, when he had breath enough for speech.

‘Nothing,’ Pensould
returned dully. Then his eyes sharpened and he gazed keenly at
Aysun. ‘Or perhaps...’ His gaze flicked to Rufin. ‘Him I cannot
use, but you! Yes, it makes sense. Draykoni at heart, both of you.
Of course you would be, it is why she is one of us...’

The man rambled, his
utterances incoherent and nonsensical to Aysun. Frustration flooded
him. His wife and daughter needed help; Pensould merely sounded
insane.

‘Pensould. If you have
a way to help them, then please.
Get on with it
.’

‘It might be enough.’
The words were rasped, spoken by a soul pushed almost beyond
endurance. Pensould lunged at him suddenly, and Aysun jumped as the
man’s free hand fastened around his wrist, hard.

‘What -’ Aysun had no
time to say anything else. He felt
pulled,
all his strength
and vitality suddenly sucked out of him with a force that drove him
to his knees. Pensould’s grip on his arm
hurt,
so much he
feared the man might break the bone, but Aysun hadn’t the breath to
object. Now he understood how Pensould had felt moments before.
Breathing was enough of a challenge; talking could wait.

He didn’t understand
what was happening. He heard Rufin curse behind him and then the
gunman’s hands were pulling at him, dragging him away from
Pensould.

‘
Stop it,’
he
managed. ‘Leave me - be -’ Rufin swore again and backed away.
Whatever Pensould was doing escaped him, but that he meant to help
Ynara and Llandry was sufficient. Aysun endured.

‘Enough,’ gasped
Pensould at last. The dragging sensation stopped and the terrible
grip on his wrist eased. Aysun tried to get to his feet, but his
legs gave way and he dropped.

Rufin caught him and
hauled him up. ‘There there, old man. You’re all right.’

Was he? It was hard to
tell. He was still breathing, at any rate. That was a good
start.

Pensould, however,
looked ready to die where he sat. If he had been exhausted before,
he now looked... there wasn’t a word for it. For an instant Aysun
feared he
was
dead, but his chest still rose and fell.

Then his eyes opened
and he actually smiled.

‘Look,’ he said, his
eyes moving to Llandry’s face.

Aysun looked. She still
lay unmoving. He tried to convince himself that her face held more
colour, but he couldn’t really see any difference. And Ynara was
the same.

‘What?’

‘They’re stabilising.
Energy regenerating... faster.’

‘You’re using yourself
up,’ Aysun said bluntly. ‘You’d better stop. It’s not helping.’

‘My fault,’ whispered
Pensould. ‘I woke them up. Never meant for her to be hurt. Either
of them. I have to... fix it...’ His eyes glazed over and his body
swayed.

‘You might want to lie
down -’ Aysun made a lunge for him, or tried to, but his weakened
body didn’t react. Pensould slithered out of his chair onto the
floor and passed out.

Rufin swore, using all
his best curse-words. ‘Something wrong with the air in here or
what?’ He laid Aysun on the floor and stuffed a jacket under his
head. ‘Sorry, man. I’m getting out of here before I, too, pull a
pansy fainting routine.’ Aysun distantly heard the door open and
shut and Rufin’s heavy booted tread faded down the corridor.

Sleeping was such a
wonderful idea. He couldn’t think of a better one just then, so he
slept.

***

Avane Desandry’s house
was small and unimpressive. Limbane hastened up to her front door,
feeling harried and grouchy. It had taken far too long to find his
way through this realm’s muddle of bureaucracy to learn her
address. He didn’t know how Krays had discovered the identities of
the other two draykoni hereditaries, but the rogue Lokant had been
ahead of Limbane every step of the way so far. Limbane had worked
fast, but he feared he hadn’t been fast enough.