Realm of Light (15 page)

When she stumbled,
his arm tightened around her. “I am with you,” he said in reassurance. “I love
you with all my heart and soul. I will find a way to save you.”

“Can you?” she
asked, her voice dragging with weariness and pain. “I do not doubt your
strength or your courage. I know you can do things most men cannot. But can you
save me from this?”

He wanted to shout
aloud in fear and frustration. He wanted to run with her for help, only there
was no help to be found. For the first time in his life he regretted his
expulsion from Rieschelhold. If he had stayed and become a healer, perhaps he
would know what to do.

But if he had
become a healer, he would never have met this woman who now meant everything to
him.

I cannot lose
her,
he prayed.
Please don’t take her from me.

“You are all I
have,” she whispered. “I trust you, my love.”

A few minutes
earlier, her admission of love would have filled him with joy. Now he could
only grieve for her. But he had to stay in control of himself; he couldn’t bear
for her to see the inadequacy and hopelessness he felt.

She had insisted
he tell her only the truth, but he loved her enough to lie. “I will get it
out,” he promised. “As soon as we have shelter from the wind spirits, I will
find a way to save you.”

She gave him a
tremulous smile. “Forgive me?”

Her plea nearly
unmanned him. Raggedly, he said, “Why? What is there to forgive, my love?”

“I should have
obeyed you—”

Without warning,
she sagged against him.

Desperate not to
let her fall, he tightened his hold. “Elandra? Elandra!”

He tipped back her
lolling head, but her eyes were shut. Her face was as gray as death.

Frantic, he
lowered her to the ground and knelt over her. For a moment time froze around
him, and he could only stare. She looked so small, so still in her golden cloak
and hood. He thought she was dead.

Pain lanced his
heart, and he wanted to scream his denial to the heavens.

Then he pulled
back her hood, releasing her hair, which tumbled out in a glorious mass. He
touched her face. How cold it was, as cold as the snow falling on it, yet her
flesh still had the resilience of life. He could feel the light, moist puff of
her breath against his palm.

Air flowed
suddenly back into his lungs. He sent up a quick prayer of relief and gathered
her awkwardly into his arms.

Gloom was
thickening beneath the trees. He hadn’t realized how fast night was coming. In
Imperia, there were hours of twilight and long, splendid sunsets across the
bay. He had forgotten how short were the days in Trau, how quick and final the
night came.

As though in
warning, the wind picked up and set the trees swaying. Their boughs whispered a
sound that set the hairs on the back of his neck prickling. He stumbled
forward, trying to hold onto the fading light by sheer willpower. There had to
be time to reach shelter. There had to be.

It was snowing
harder now, becoming a driving, stinging force at his back that whipped his
cloak. The temperature was falling. Caelan’s breath streamed about his face,
and he felt frozen to the bone. His cloak might be wool, but it was lightweight
cloth, inadequate here. His years in warmer climates must have thinned his
blood, for his hands and feet felt numb already despite the exercise. His face
hurt from the cold. The air he breathed felt knife-sharp.

Do something,
he told himself angrily.
You fool, think of something to save her.

But fear made his wits
fade. He could not think, could not find the answer. This was not something he
could fight with strength and sword. All he had were his gifts of
sevaisin
and
severance.

The venom must be
spreading faster through her body than he expected. If she regained
consciousness, she might not know him. Soon she would not remember she loved
him. The darkness in her would spread until it consumed her.

Then she would be
what Sien, Agel, Paz, and Kostimon had become, a servant of Beloth, turned into
corruption, unable to find her way back to light.

If he
severed
her, it would kill her. What else could be done?

She lay heavy in
his arms as he carried her, stumbling through the undergrowth, now and then
breaking into a run only to slow down to a saner pace.

Time was against
him now. If darkness fell before he found shelter, the wind spirits would kill
them. For Elandra, that might be a mercy.

“No,” he said
aloud, tipping back his head to gulp in more air. Then he began to trot, his
panting hoarse in his ears.

“Hurry. Hurry.”

He found himself
mumbling the word aloud, driving himself on the way Orlo used to drive him
through his drills in the arena. He was strong and fast, former champion of the
games. Now he was a soldier, the elite of Kostimon’s hand-picked Guard. He could
save Elandra. He
must
save her.

It was nearly
dark. The moaning shriek of the wind warned him that danger could strike at any
moment, provided he didn’t freeze first.

He forced himself
to keep going, to not surrender. Not yet, not until every drop of strength
drained from his body, not until the wind spirits found them and shredded them
to bits.

He had promised
Elandra, promised her. He would not give up.

The ground dropped
abruptly before him, and he went stumbling down an embankment before he could
catch himself. He lost his footing and fell, dropping Elandra in the process,
and skidded into a stream with a splash.

The water was so
cold it burned. He floundered upright, cursing himself, and dragged himself
from the water. Staggering like a drunken man, he found Elandra lying in the
snow like a rag doll. It took him three tries before he managed to pick her up
again.

When he
straightened, he was hit by a gust of wind so strong it nearly knocked him
over. For a wild second he thought he’d been attacked by a wind spirit, but it
was only the storm, rising in force now as the blizzard came in. It hurled snow
and stinging sleet into his face, pelting him without mercy. His wet clothing
froze to his skin. He knew they were in grave danger. If he didn’t find shelter
in the next few minutes, they would both die.

The emerald in his
pocket grew suddenly warm. He reached into his pocket, thinking he could thaw
his hand around the stone, and heard the rip of splitting cloth.

The stone fell to
the ground with a thud, landing next to his foot. It had grown larger in that
instant, and was glowing a bright green that cast an eerie lambent light over
the snowy embankment and the dark ribbon of stream at its base.

Caelan stared at
it, and some of his panic cleared momentarily. The stream ... the gully ... he
must be near the ice cave where he and Lea had found the emeralds. While he
would rather go to a different one, he had no time to be choosy. Also, it
seemed his own stone was trying to help him.

He glanced around
and turned north, hurrying along the bottom of the gully, splashing in and out
of the shallow stream as he searched.

Minutes later, he
found the mouth of the cave, halfway up the side of the slope. He paused there,
his hand gripping the edge of the opening, and wondered if he had the courage
to enter what must be Lea’s grave.

“Please,” he
whispered aloud. “Ice spirits... earth spirits... take pity on me. Let me enter
in peace.”

He sniffed for
evidence of a lurker that might be using the cave as a den, but smelled nothing.
Shouting, he picked up a chunk of ice and hurled it inside.

Nothing came
leaping out.

It was safe,
except for memories.

Right now, he
couldn’t afford those.

He hurried back to
where Elandra lay. Half-covered in snow, she hadn’t stirred at all. The emerald,
so large now it would have to be carried with two hands, still cast its light
over her like a protective shield.

He picked her up
and lurched back to the cave, boosting her inside, then climbing in and pulling
her deeper into its shelter. Lastly, he went scrambling back for the emerald.

It was too hot to
hold. He jerked his fingers away, shaking them, and used the hem of his cloak
to gather up the magical stone and carry it to the cave.

The light it cast
turned the ice cave into an eerie place of strange angles and shadows. Caelan
crawled down the long tunnel leading into the small cavern at the back.

Lea had once
played here among the fanciful formations, imagining it to be her palace and
assembling her dolls, bark cups, and playthings.

He saw one of the
cups now, lying on its side on the ground. Breathlessly he picked it up, only
to find it was brittle with age. It crumbled to dust in his fingers.

“Lea,” he
whispered and had to choke back tears.

But it was Elandra
he must care for now. He built a small fire and stripped off her wet gown to
dry. Her cloak remained dry, and he wrapped her in it. A faint glow from inside
her jewel pouch caught his attention. He upended it and shook out the topaz it
contained. The jewel was glowing with a life of its own. It sent out golden
light to mingle with the green coming from the emerald.

Not daring to
touch her stone with his bare hands, Caelan used the pouch to pick it up. He
placed it in her palm and folded her fingers around it, praying the magic in
the topaz would work to counteract the darkness inside her.

She looked so
pale, lying there. Her eyes were sunken and smudged with purple shadows. A tiny
pulse at her temple told him she still lived. Now and then she frowned and
jerked as though in pain. He wanted to cry out each time.

He felt so
helpless, so ignorant. Again and again, he was tempted to
sever
her, but
he dared not take the risk. No matter how much he needed to do something, his
abilities were not the answer to this problem.

“Dear Gault,” he
prayed, “have mercy on this woman. Give her strength to fight the darkness that
assails her. Grant me the means with which to save her.”

He watched her
while his wet clothes slowly dried over the tiny fire. Melting ice overhead
dripped here and there, making him shift positions. Hunger he ignored.
Exhaustion he ignored. He had to keep watch, as though by his will alone he
could make Elandra better.

Finally he slept,
only to awaken with a start deep in the night.

The fire had died
out. It was bitterly cold. By the light of the glowing emerald and topaz he
rekindled the fire, then crept over to Elandra. She felt very cold to his
touch; only her hands were warm from the topaz she held. She still breathed,
lightly but evenly.

He kissed her
forehead and moved away from her. For now, he had done all he could for
Elandra.

Another task lay
before him. It was time to face it. Guilt, no matter how strongly deserved, was
a burden that could grow too heavy for anyone to bear. It was time to hunt the
ghosts and lay the memories to rest.

Turning away from
Elandra, he lit a stick from the fire. Holding it aloft as a torch, he headed
deeper into the cave, in search of his sister’s bones.

At the very rear
of the cave, a folded curtain of stone hung from the ceiling. Some instinct
made Caelan approach it. Putting out his hand, he curled his fingers around the
edge of the curtain and found empty space behind it. A narrow fissure led into
another room beyond the first.

This cave was
sheathed in ice, as cold as the outdoors, and utterly silent as though no
living thing had ever entered it. The moment he set foot in it, something began
to glitter around him, like stars cast down from the night sky. They winked and
twinkled from the ceiling overhead, from the ground before him, from the walls.

Raising his small
torch higher in an effort to see, he realized that these were emeralds embedded
in the ice. Polished and cut like fine jewels, they were reflecting back his
torch.

They were too many
to count. Dazzled by their beauty as well as by the wealth they represented, he
stared at the sight for a moment. With these, he could buy an army of his own.
He could buy the empire itself, if he chose.

When he realized
what he was thinking, Caelan was flooded with shame. He bowed his head and
cursed himself. How could he think of his own ambitions at a time like this? He
might as well be a boy again, full of his own plans and tempted to steal his
little sister’s emeralds to buy a commission in the army.

“No, Caelan.”

Startled, he
glanced up and around but saw no one. He listened a moment. “Elandra?”

She did not
respond.

He stepped back to
the fissure and listened again, feeling he should return to her. She needed him
by her side. He must not linger here.

Anxious now to
finish his search, he crossed the icy cavern, trying to ignore the beauty of
the emeralds as he sought evidence of his sister. Then the feeble torchlight
fell upon a tiny mound of fabric.

Hurrying over to
it, he crouched and picked up the red cloak that Lea had been wearing the last
time he saw her.

Summer moths had
eaten holes in it. A rodent had gnawed away one corner. It was covered with
dust that floated in the air as he shook the cloth.

He half feared he
would find her remains beneath the garment, but there was only the
ice-encrusted floor.

Dropping the
torch, he clutched the cloak in both hands, seeking answers to the questions
that haunted him.

Had she stayed
here in the cave as he had told her? Had she waited until she starved? Or had
she ventured out, trying to follow the stream to E’raumhold? If so, why had she
left her cloak behind? Where had she gone? What had become of her? Had her end
been swift and merciful, or slow torture? At the end, had she still hoped he
would return as promised? Or had she died knowing he betrayed her?