Realm of Light (55 page)

He lifted the
sword and started to turn around, but felt a terrible pain plunge through his chest.
Buckling to his knees, he glanced down and saw a hand reaching up from the
chasm. It was a woman’s hand, black with soil and ashes, and it gripped the
long shaft of a spinning distaff that had been thrust through him.

She twisted her
weapon, this symbol of Fate, and Caelan arched back, crying out as the agony
tore the breath from him. The woman came climbing out of the ground in triumph
of her own.

She was emaciated
to the point of being skin and bones. Her hair was tangled in a filthy mat, and
she was crusted with dirt. Her eyes held only destruction.

Twisting the long
distaff, she jerked it from Caelan, and he fell there at the edge of the chasm.
Exoner was still clutched in his fingers, but he could not feel the weapon. Its
song had been silenced. He felt light and strength flowing from his wound like
blood.

The light that had
begun to shine over the city dimmed now as she raised her bloody distaff. It
was as though she sucked all the life from the very air. Everything she gazed
upon withered and died. The ground she stood upon burned with flames. When she
turned her head to look at the screaming people who tried to flee, many of them
fell dead.

Caelan stared up
at her, trying to find one last measure of strength, something in reserve not
yet exhausted and driven from him. He knew her, and her very name was enough to
freeze his bowels.

“Mael,” he
whispered, “bringer of destruction.”

She laughed at
him, and her gaze stole the breath from his lungs so that he gasped helplessly
at her feet.

“Mortal, playing
at godhood,” she said. Her voice rasped out, hoarse and ugly. “Don’t you know
the ancient legends? Have you pathetic mortals forgotten everything? In
defeating Beloth, you have set me free. How will you rid the world of
pestilence and plague? I have only to blow my breath across you to flail the
very skin from your bones.”

As she spoke, she
lifted the distaff over him, ready to plunge it through his heart. Caelan could
feel his blood running beneath him, soaking into the ground. He couldn’t move,
much less meet her attack. Exoner lay under his hand, the blade no longer
shining, as though they were dying together. He gripped the hilt, straining to
lift the sword one last time.

In the distance he
heard female voices lifted in a shrill chant.
“Chiara kula na, “
they
said over and over.
“Chiara kula na! “

A strange wind
rose up, blowing across the square. The hem of Mael’s dirty rags fluttered
against Caelan, and even their touch was like a burning brand pressed into his
skin.

He gritted his
teeth and rolled onto his side, trying one last time to raise himself and
strike. One final blow could take her at the knees and send her toppling back
to whence she came. He strained until his vision danced with black, and the
sword scraped across the ground.

With a laugh, Mael
stamped her foot upon his neck, pinning him. “Die, mortal,” she said. “And so
shall the land die with you!”

Elandra crouched
next to the fallen ruins of the pavilion. She was still dizzy from the lump on
her head and stunned from the spells and dreadful forces that had raged in the
square as Caelan and Beloth fought. Now Caelan lay pinned by the horrifying
Mael herself, and everywhere people were moaning and sinking down in their
tracks, dying already in the goddess’s presence.

She saw Agel fall,
and Iaris. She saw Pier go down, and her father stagger. The Penestricans
scattered like birds, separating to stand next to certain individuals as though
to shield them from harm. The Magria came hurrying toward Elandra herself, but
just then Elandra heard a shrill, warbling, ferocious sound rise into the air.

Goose bumps rose
across her flesh. It was a war cry such as she had never heard before. Who was
making such a noise? Women? But not the Penestricans.

Then the outcry
stopped, and a chant low and fierce started up in its place. Elandra frowned.
She had heard those words before. They were Mahiran words, spoken to her long
ago.

Chiara kula na.
Woman of fire.

She remembered the
legend told to her. She remembered the second destiny foretold to her by the
Magria. Now, at long last, she understood. Rising to her feet, she drew forth
the embroidered pouch that contained her topaz.

The Magria reached
her, gripping her arm in an effort to pull her down. “Stay low,” the Magria
said to her. “I shall try to protect you.”

A cry of agony
wrenched from Caelan’s throat. Elandra whirled and saw Mael plunging her
distaff through him once again.

Mindless fury
possessed Elandra, driving out all fear and caution. Shaking off the Magria’s
grasp, Elandra ran straight at the goddess of death.

“Mael!” she
shouted. “Begone from us! We will not worship you! We will not fear you! We
will not submit to the death you bring!”

The goddess paused
in her torture of Caelan and lifted her deadly gaze to Elandra. Her lips
skimmed back from stained, rotting teeth, and she shouted a curse that buffeted
Elandra.

Staggering to a
halt, Elandra felt her mind go numb. She nearly fell, but the jewel pouch in
her fist was burning her palm even through the cloth. The pain of its heat
restored her wits. Breathing raggedly, she dug the topaz from its pouch.

“Puny mortal!”
Mael shouted. “You can’t—”

Elandra hurled the
topaz at her with all her strength. The jewel struck Mael in the chest.
Explosive flames engulfed her. Screaming horribly, Mael writhed back. She drew
the distaff from Caelan’s body and swung it blindly through the air. The flames
fed on her immortal flesh, so hot and intense that Elandra was forced back.
Unable to breathe the hot, stinking air, Elandra lost her footing and dropped
to her knees, shielding her face with her arms.

Mael’s body burned
to a skeleton, some of the bones shattering from the heat. She dropped the
distaff into the chasm. With a final scream, the goddess toppled over and fell
in also.

The earth shook
and shifted, throwing Elandra flat. A terrible thunderous roar shook the world,
toppling the few remaining walls and buildings into dust, finishing the last of
the city.

Clinging to the
ground that heaved and shifted beneath her, Elandra prayed for mercy. Terrified
that Caelan might also fall into the chasm, she crawled in his direction and
caught him by his sword belt just as he started to slide over.

A bald, burly man
she did not know came running to her aid and helped her drag Caelan to safety
just before the chasm closed.

Elandra clung to
his arm, weeping, not sure whether he lived or died, while the world shook and
thundered.

Demons came
boiling out of hiding, driven forth by the destruction of their sanctuary. The
gloomy veil over the sun dropped away, and sudden dazzling light splashed
across the city. The demons and creatures of shadow screamed and thrashed, many
of them hurling themselves across the square in an effort to reach the
dungeons. But the doorway leading beneath the ground had collapsed, and the
creatures were forced back, wailing as they died in the light.

Finally the
quaking and thunder ceased, leaving only dust and bright sunshine that hurt
Elandra’s eyes. Squinting and slowly realizing that it was over, she dragged
herself up to her knees and looked around.

There was a
strange hush and calm now. The few survivors began to stir, their faces dazed
as they rose and looked and found themselves miraculously alive.

But Caelan did not
stir. He lay there, broken and bleeding upon the paving stones. His eyes were
closed, and his face had no color at all.

The bald man, his
face creased with grief, bowed low. “Caelan,” he said hoarsely, “what have you
done? We are saved.”

Elandra gave a
muffled cry and threw herself across Caelan’s bloody chest, holding him tight,
willing him not to die. Her tears flowed freely, giving vent to unbearable
grief. Could Fate be this cruel, to give him back to her one last impossible
time, only to take him at the very moment of victory? She wept harder, refusing
to let him go.

Then she felt him
draw a long, shuddering breath beneath her cheek. Half disbelieving, she sat up
and stroked his dirty face, heedless of the tears that still streamed down her
face.

“Stay with me,”
Elandra said, rocking back and forth in her grief. She gripped his slack hand
in hers, trying to pour all her will and strength into him. “Please, please,
stay with me now.”

He breathed, but
he did not open his eyes. Losing hope again, she bent low, sobbing anew for
him.

Gentle hands
touched her shoulders, trying to draw her away from him.

She found herself
looking into the grave face of the Magria. The Magria’s blue eyes were soft
with compassion.

“Don’t let him
die!” Elandra pleaded fiercely. “Use your powers and save him. In the name of
the gods, save him!”

But the Magria
reached out and wiped the tears from Elandra’s face with a pure white cloth,
squeezing them into a small stone bowl. “And so shall she weep great tears,”
the Magria chanted, “healing the earth and giving it renewal. As the earth is
furrowed, and new life planted within the womb of the goddess mother, so shall
the rain of healing tears feed and nourish all life.”

Anger burned
across Elandra’s breaking heart. She turned away from the Magria, furious that
the Penestrican was concerned now only with her rituals and ceremonies. Would
no one help Caelan? Were they all going to stand around and let him die?

“Elandra.”

It was Caelan’s
voice that whispered to her, soft and almost inaudible.

She saw him
looking at her. His eyes were no longer blue. Instead they had turned a pale
silvery hue, the color of rain. Yet they held all the love of this brave man’s
heart for her, all his goodness, all the exhaustion to his very soul. He looked
utterly spent, yet he was alive.

Elandra stared at
his wounds and found them gone. Even the blood was dissolving where her tears
had fallen in it. Gasping, she gripped his hand harder.

“Is it a miracle?”
she asked.

He smiled at her.

The bald man
gently pulled Caelan up to sit propped against him, holding him so that those
who were beginning to gather around could see him.

“Orlo,” Caelan
said weakly. “My friend.”

The bald man
gripped Caelan’s shoulders and wept awkwardly.

Elandra heard
rustles around her, and as she glanced around she saw the onlookers kneeling,
one by one, then in twos and threes, then all of them going down on their
knees.

“Caelan, forever!”
called a man.

More took up the
shout. “Caelan! Caelan!”

A Gialtan voice
that sounded suspiciously like Lord Albain’s bellowed, “Elandra!”

More cheers rose
up, and they all began to shout, “Caelan and Elandra! Caelan and Elandra!”

Strength was
seeping back into Caelan’s face. His smile widened as he met her eyes. He
gripped her hand and drew her closer to him.

“Beloved,” he said
in a voice just for her.

She sighed,
allowing herself at last to believe there could be happiness. “It is over,” she
said.

“No,” he told her
lovingly, as the cheers roared on and on and sunlight streamed down upon them,
“it is just beginning.”

And it came to
pass that Caelan and Elandra gathered the survivors unto them like children,
leading them forth to a hill above the sea. There, they established a new city
of strong walls and shining towers, called New Imperia. Scarcely had the
foundations been laid out than did the tribes of Choven come, more walking together
than had ever been seen before. On their shoulders, they bore twin thrones—one
carved from a single massive emerald and one carved from topaz. Singing in
their strange, ancient language, the Choven came in a long processional to
present these magnificent gifts to the new emperor and his empress.

Other gifts came
with the thrones—gifts of stunning jewelry, armor, weapons, gold plates,
goblets, and cutlery, mirrors that reflected the soul or told the future,
warding keys, magical locks, and treasure in such abundance it took the breath
away.

The Choven set to
work building the city, working faster than mere men could dress and position
stone. They designed a palace of stunning architecture, laid out streets,
created parks that left nature undisturbed. No arena for gladiators was built
within New Imperia. The empress established schools for all children. Guild
halls were built to encourage the recovery of trade and economy. The city
bureaucracy was reformed; even the imperial army was reorganized. Treaties with
neighboring lands were examined and improved. The Madruns were hunted down
ruthlessly until none remained within the empire.

To the
Penestricans was given the task of tracking down the Vindicants and purging
away the lovers of darkness within the priesthood. Maelites were condemned
without trial. Word went forth across the empire that all temples built to the
darkness would be pulled down. Cults and blasphemers were rooted out without
mercy so that all lingering traces of shadow might be expunged.

Lea came to New
Imperia as she had promised her brother, but she refused to live inside the
city walls. Instead, a small stone chapel was built for her within the forest.
People troubled in heart, mind, or soul went to her. Children brought her
wounded animals for tending. She received all those in need with kind
tenderness and compassion.

The provinces
arose and sent forth their nobles and warlords, who examined the shunned ruins
of Kostimon’s destroyed city, who saw the rising grandeur of New Imperia, who
heard the accountings, who met their new sovereigns and saw a man with eyes of
silver and a woman with hair like fire, sitting on thrones more magnificent
than imagination. The coronation ceremony was held. Every warlord knelt in
fealty and gave his oath.