Stones: Theory (Stones #4) (25 page)

But time is short.

Ryzaard is moving fast.

Yarah senses a shift in his attention. He’s dealing with the pain faster than she or Matt expected. Too fast. If she doesn’t find what she’s looking for, it will turn into a battle of Stone Holders, and Ryzaard will have the advantage.

Then the realization hits her. Back in the real world, her and Matt are sitting on the floor only a few feet from Ryzaard. She doesn’t want to think about what will happen if he attacks them before they are ready.

The pictures fly by, random images arranged in random order from the vaults of Ryzaard’s memory.

Another shift in Ryzaard’s mental state. As fast as she is moving, it isn’t fast enough.

Ryzaard has almost recovered.

Yarah stops and stares at the two Stones in her hand in all their radiant splendor. In her own mind, she creates an image of the target. Jessica. It draws Yarah in a blur past memory after memory before grinding to a stop squarely in front of the one she’s been searching for.

Yarah reaches out and accesses the bundle of memory floating a few inches away. She instantly sees it through Ryzaard’s eyes. Jessica asleep on the motel bed. Ryzaard’s hand seizes her shoulder. A flash of light.

Jessica is enveloped in a bubble of energy, lying on a floor next to a massive column the color of jade-green.

Yarah instantly recognizes Jhata’s world.

There’s more. Ryzaard is talking to Jhata. His eyes drift down to tiny pieces of green on a table. It’s a matter of supreme importance.

Just a few more seconds and Yarah can grasp it all.

But a sudden shift inside Ryzaard’s mind hits her like an earthquake. She senses a clarity of thought that hadn’t been there a few seconds ago. It takes a herculean effort to let go of the memory and jump to the surface away from Matt and Ryzaard.

In an instant, Yarah is back in her body. Her eyes snap open. Matt sits beside her, head bowed, still in the lotus position. He’s completely exposed, with no protective field, no access to his Stone. Ryzaard is on his feet. Fire burns in his eyes as he lunges at Matt. Ragged tongues of energy burst out of his palms. They move as if in slow motion across five meters of empty space.

Yarah keeps control of Matt’s Stone and becomes a blur.

Jumping between Ryzaard and Matt, she throws her arms out to either side. A veneer of translucent white energy, as thin as butterfly wings, fans out from her hands.

Ryzaard’s power burst breaks against it and disintegrates without a trace. He lunges again and ejects another barrage of purple fire.

Matt’s head still hangs down beside Yarah.

With the heels of her hands together, she rams them forward. An arc of white light forms between her fingers into a ball, breaks free and shoots at Ryzaard. It meets the purple fire head on, swallows it and flows toward Ryzaard’s chest.

A thick protective bubble coalesces around him. The white ball collides with its surface, causing a deep curvature that bends inward until it makes contact with Ryzaard’s body. The signature of pain streaks across his face. He staggers back and slams into a window. The thick glass shatters with the impact, and Ryzaard breaks through and falls out of sight.

The nearly silent whistle of projectiles slicing through the air behind her catches Yarah’s attention. She swings away from the window to face a mass of men in black armor emerging from the top of the spiral staircase, like a horde of army ants pouring out of their hole. A fine mist of pulse bullets flies at her and Matt. With childlike curiosity, she watches them approach. Waving her hand, she instantly throws up a thin transparent screen the color of gold. As she waits, the black projectiles break against it and disintegrate into gray dust.

Her mind races. Matt still sits in the lotus position on the floor, head bowed and eyes closed.

Moving like a black ooze, the soldiers fan out into battle formation. Some hide behind priceless sculptures and set up cannons on tripods. Others hug the floor with laser rifles close to their chests. Yarah’s eye zooms in on the sonic grenades they rip from their belts. All of them are preparing for a full assault.

The seed of an idea begins to form in her mind.

Without waiting for it to fully mature, her hand drops down. A blue film of protective energy flows out of her Stone onto Matt’s head and over his body. She holds its shape in her mind like a holo, every particle and frequency under effortless control.

I wonder if I can fly?

Yarah jumps forward through the golden screen still hanging between her and the soldiers. The warmth of its surface wraps like a soft blanket around her shoulders so that it extends from head to foot. Hanging in the air of the open room, she flies forward, arms extending out in the shape of a T.

A hail of laser cannon blasts and pulse projectiles jumps up from the soldiers to meet her as she circles them. It all breaks harmlessly against the delicate lace of the gold wrapping that envelopes her. The men clench their jaws and fire as she studies their faces and brushes through their minds.

Here and there, a priceless piece of marble sculpture is touched by a laser tongue of fire and shatters into white powder.

Hovering near the ceiling like a golden butterfly, Yarah brings her hands together. The air folds and waves around her like a mirage. Then she lets her hands fall apart. In the silence that enfolds them all, a harmonic wave starts as a low hum and gradually grows in crescendo. Visible ripples roll out from Yarah’s fingers.

As the wave passes over them, guns and armor vibrate like fine crystal and collapse into black ash. The remaining sculptures shatter and crumble into fragments of stone and metal. Around the floor, windows turn white with spider web fractures and explode out. An excruciating tone resonates through the bodies of the combat troops. Writhing in pain, they try to block the sonic blast by bringing hands up to their heads. Blood flows from their ears and eyes.

All of them collapse to the floor.

Yarah drops down at Matt’s side. He still sits motionless, eyes closed, face drooping down. Resisting the temptation to hold on to the power of his Stone, Yarah kneels beside him and releases her control of it. As its energy drains out, she is left limp and tired.

Matt’s eyes flip open and he immediately glances at the spot where Ryzaard had been lying.

“Where is he?” Matt jumps to his feet.

“I blew him out the window,” Yarah says.

Matt scans the carnage in the room.

A draft of cool night air comes in through the shattered windows. Priceless artifacts lie in piles of rubble and dust across the floor. A light haze of smoke snakes through the room. Dozens of combat troops groan and crawl aimlessly, deaf and blind.

Matt’s eyes open wide. “Amazing. You did all this?”

Yarah nods. “I couldn’t help it. They were shooting at us. I had so much power with your Stone and mine together. It wasn’t hard.”

“Did you find out where Jessica is?”

“Yes.” Yarah has an apologetic look on her face. “On Jhata’s world. Ryzaard took her there.” Her eyes travel beyond Matt to the shattered window behind him. “We better leave soon. He’ll be coming back any second.”

“Let’s go.” Matt grabs his backpack.

“Where to?”

Matt kneels down in front of Yarah. “Do you have Alexa’s exact position?”

Yarah closes her eyes for an instant and flips them open. “Only a couple of blocks away. In a hotel.”

“Good.” Matt reaches down and takes the closed cloaking box out of her hand. “Take us there.” He works a fingernail under the lip of the lid and flips it up.

Both of their Stones go dead.

“How?” Yarah looks at the black rock in her hand.

Matt grins. “The old-fashioned way.” They take off running across the floor to the open fire escape.

J
essica floats in a multicolored dreamscape amid fluffy clouds and brilliant sunlight. Spheres of soft light, most of them larger than her body, bob up and down in a gentle sea of warm mist. She turns onto her stomach and moves her arms in a vague swimming motion. Muted voices draw her up through a sea of pinks and yellows. The smells of vanilla and roses waft by as she moves higher.

The sky turns darker the higher she goes. At first it’s violet. Then it moves to dark purple on its way to black. The air takes on a harsh, cold edge. She tries to move away, to swim back down to the comfortable zone just below, but the currents pull her higher until she’s overcome with chills. Pinpricks of light break through the darkness. The voices grow louder. She can hear them distinctly, but the language is unintelligible.

Streaks of jagged light rip through the blackness. Snippets of faces appear above her. Long dark hair. Brown skin. Deep green eyes. Long flowing robes wrap around lithe bodies. Human.

Biting pain stabs through her legs below the knees.

Jessica tries to move, to get up, but too many hands hold her down. A warm, metallic liquid touches her lips. Bitterness floods her mouth and flows down her throat. She fights back, trying to spit it out, but the liquid keeps coming, and she has to swallow, or drown.

Why are they trying to kill me?

She picks a woman’s voice out of the chaos of voices above her. It sounds familiar. Though she can’t understand the language, it’s clear the voice is shouting commands to the others. A hot cloth wraps around her ankles, burning skin, ripping it away.

Jessica opens her throat to scream and imagines the look of bare bones on her feet.

She has to leave, to get back to Matt. Using all her strength, she raises her upper body, but the multitude of hands pushes her back down. The woman whose voice she knows appears overhead, staring down with gentle eyes.

“H
old her down,” Saatuk says. “I need to give her more of the
drangee
leaves.” She turns and dips her fingers in a shallow bow filled with green paste.

“Why did you bring her out of the dreams?” Kutaas asks. “You saw the fear in her eyes. She thinks we’re trying to kill her.”

Saatuk adjusts the dark cloth covering the young woman’s feet and ankles. “Her fevers are too high. She needs the
kumpaas
juice to bring it down. Don’t worry. The fevers are a sign the wounds are healing.” She bends down over the young woman and gently puts a palm on her forehead. Then she paints a thick green line of
drangee
across her lower lip.

The young woman’s eyes dart around the ring of faces staring at her. After a few seconds, her eyes roll back up into her head, the lids drop down, and her body goes limp.

They stretch her arms and legs out on the floor.

A tall young man walks through the early morning air and into the open door of the hut. He pushes through the crowd surrounding the woman laid out on the floor. When he finally makes it to the inner circle, he looks down at Saatuk.

Saatuk brushes her long gray hair aside and looks up through emerald eyes.

“What is it?”

The young man bows his head with respect. “You have been summoned to the Ring. They are waiting.”

The others exchange looks and back away.

“Then I will go.” She turns to her husband and hands the bowl of
drangee
leaves to him. “Watch over her, Kutaas. Do not be afraid.”