The Chaos Curse (23 page)

Cadderly stood tall, arms upraised to the heavens. He, too, was singing, at the top of his lungs, but his voice could hardly be heard above the roar of the wind and thunder from the black clouds, now swarming over the top of the cliff, edging their way toward the desecrated building.

A searing blast of lightning hit the library’s roof. A second followed, then the wind tore in, launching shingles, then joists, to the south, across the mountainside.

More lightning started several small fires. The clouds came low, seemed to hover and gather strength, then a tremendous gust of wind lifted the edge of the roof and ripped it away.

Cadderly cried out with all his strength. He was a direct conduit for the power of Deneir. Through the young priest the god sent his fury, more lightning, more wind. Hie roof was gone.

A solitary figure-it seemed as if one of the gargoyles lining the gutters had come to life-perched on the edge of that roof, shouting curses at Cadderly, invoking its own gods, denizens of the evil lower planes.

But here Cadderly was the stronger, Deneir the strongest by far.

A searing bolt of lightning hit the roof right beside Druzil, igniting a tremendous fire and throwing the imp far away.

“Bene tellemara,” Druzil rasped, clawing his way toward the flames, realizing then that his time on this plane was at its end. He would leave now or be destroyed. He made it to the flames, blasts striking all about him, and uttered an incantation. Then he threw a bag of powder, which he had concocted in the library’s deserted alchemy shop, into the fire.

The flames lifted and danced, blue then white-hot, and Druzil, after shouting one more curse Cadderly’s way, stepped in and was gone.

The storm’s fury intensified, bolt after bolt slamming the stone walls, diminishing their integrity. A darkness, funnel-shaped, reached down from the clouds. The finger of a god, it seemed, reaching down for the desecrated building.

Cadderly cried out, as if in pain, but Danica and the others resisted the urge to run to him, feared the consequences of disturbing what he had begun.

The storm crashed down in full, and the earth itself rolled to life, great waves of ground heaving at the library’s foundation. The northern wall buckled first, fell inward, and, with it gone, both the front and back collapsed. Still the lightning blasted away; still the tornado grabbed at pieces of rubble and lifted them into the air, heaving them, like so much waste, far across the mountainside.

It went on unabated for many minutes, and the soldiers feared the very mountains would fall. Cadderly’s friends knew better, though. They saw in their comrade a resolve and a glory beyond anything they had ever witnessed; they knew Cadderly was with Deneir fully, and that Cadderly’s god would not harm him or them.

Then it was over, suddenly. The clouds broke apart so that shafts of sunlight shone down. One fell over Cadderly, outlining his form in silvery hues so that he seemed much more than a man, much more than a priest.

Danica approached him cautiously, Shayleigh and the dwarves right behind her. “Cadderry?” she whispered.

If he heard her, he did not show it.

“Cadderly?” she asked more loudly. She gave him a shake. Still there was no response. Danica thought she understood. She could appreciate the emotions that must be running through her lover, for he had just destroyed the only home he had ever known.

“Go,” Pikel and Ivan, and even Shayleigh, muttered in unison.

But their sympathy was misplaced, for Cadderly felt no remorse. He remained with his god and was seeing now a new vision, the vision that had haunted his dreams for many years. Without a word of explanation, he moved toward the scarred, rubble-strewn area, his friends in tow. Danica continued to call to him, to shake him, but he could not hear.

The vision was all-encompassing. The young priest remembered the extradimensionai mansion that Aballister had created in Castle Trinity, remembered how he had marveled at how similar were the properties of magically created material.

A specific spot on the ground, a place flat and smooth and devoid of rubble, beckoned to him. That single spot on the ground became the only clear thing Cadderly could see outside of his mind’s eye. He went to it, feeling the power of Deneir keenly, knowing what he must do. He began to sing again, and the notes were much different than those he had used to bring down the Edificant Library. These were sweet and cumulative, a building song with a crescendo that seemed very far away. He sang for minutes that became a half hour, then an hour. The soldiers thought him insane, and Brother Chaunticleer merely shook his head, having no insight as to what his fellow Deneirian might be doing. Danica didn’t know how to react, didn’t know whether to try to stop Cadderly or just to stand back. In the end, she decided to trust her love, and she waited as the hour became two.

Long shadows filtered from the west, and Cadderly continued. Even Ivan and Pikel began to wonder if the storm and the earthquake had broken the man, had reduced him to a babbling idiot.

Danica held her faith, though. She would wait for Cadderly to finish-whatever he was doing-through all the next day if need be, even beyond that. She, all of them, owed the young priest at least that.

As it turned out, Danica did not have to wait through the night. With the western horizon pink with the last moments of the setting sun, Cadderly’s voice lifted suddenly.

Brother Chaunticleer and many of the others ran near him, thinking that something grand was in store.

They were not disappointed. There came a sharp hissing sound, a crackle as if the sky itself were being torn asunder.

Then it appeared, on the ground before Cadderly, rising like a tree growing out of control. It was a tower, a decorated pillar of stone, an aerial buttress. It continued to grow, its tip rising into the air before Cadderly and the astonished onlookers.

Cadderly stopped his singing and fell back, exhausted, to be caught by his friends. The crowd murmured dozens of questions, most prominent among them, “What have you done?”

Danica asked that very question of Cadderly when she looked closely at his face, at the flecks of silver suddenly showing in his tousled brown hair, at the crow’s-feet, the wrinkles that had not been there before, running out about his eyes.

She looked back to the buttress, a tiny portion of the cathedral of which Cadderly had oft spoken, and then back to her love, who had obviously aged with the effort. Danica grew worried, and still more with the serene look that had come over the tired and suddenly not-so-young priest.

Shayleigh had gone to Shilmista, and had come back in high summer to view the progress on Cadderly’s new cathedral. She had expected a virtual army would be hard at work on the place, and was amazed at how few people were actually about, just Cadderly and Danica, Vicero Belago and Brother Chaunticleer, the Bouldershoulders, and a handful of sturdy men from Carradoon.

Progress had been made, though, and Shayleigh realized she should have expected no less. This was a construction of magic, not of physical toil, and it seemed as if Cadderly needed little help. Many areas were clear now of rubble, a tribute to the dwarves and the men from Carradoon, and three of the aerial buttresses were set in a line along the northern edge of what would be the new library. Twenty feet from them, to the south, Cadderly had begun construction on the wall, a delicate-looking structure.

Shayleigh gasped when she saw what the priest was now working on, a huge, arching window of multicolored glass and black iron that would fit into the wall in clear sight of the spaced buttresses. Cadderly paid attention to every detail as he worked over the rough design, flaring the lips of iron symmetrically, forming patterns with varying colors of the pieces of glass.

The elf was a creature of the forests, of the myriad beauties that nature offered and that men could not replicate, but Shayleigh found her heart lifted now, felt her spirit soaring as her imagination pictured this finished cathedral. There were too many fine details, too many intricate designs, for her to even appreciate them. It was like a wide-spreading elm, she thought, and Cadderly was painstakingly placing every individual leaf and twig.

Shayleigh found Danica along the eastern edge of the library’s grounds, intently looking over a pile of parchments. Brother Chaunticleer was close by, singing to his god, calling up spells of preservation and protection as he watched over the piles of artwork and priceless manuscripts that had been brought out of the old library. Belago was close by him, inspecting the piles and singing, too. Apparently the wiry alchemist had at last found his way to a specific religion. And who could blame him? Shayleigh thought, and she smiled as she considered the man. Given the wondrous sights Belago had witnessed, most marvelous among them the construction continuing every day right in front of him, how could he not find his way to Deneir?

Danica’s face brightened when she saw that her friend had returned. They exchanged warm greetings and hugs, and perceptive Shayleigh knew at once that Danica’s smile hid much that was not so bright.

“He does that all day,” the monk offered, pointedly looking to Brother Chaunticleer, though Shayleigh understood she was referring to Cadderly.

Shayleigh, trying to subtly change the subject, looked to the parchments on the ground before Danica.

“Lists,” she explained. “Lists of men and women who will accompany me to Nightglow and the dragon’s treasure. I have already sent emissaries to Shilmisla.”

“I passed them on the trails,” Shayleigh remarked. “They probably have met with King Elbereth already, though I suspect they will tell my king nothing he does not already know.”

“They will invite Shilmista to join the expedition,” Danica said.

“That was expected,” Shayleigh replied with a calm smile. “We understand and appreciate the friendship you and Cadderly have begun.”

Danica nodded and, despite her resolve, could not help but look at her lover at the mention of his name. Cadderly was still full of energy-brimming with energy -as he worked on his vision, but he no longer appeared as a man in his early twenties. Despite the toil, his body had thickened somewhat; his muscles were broader and still strong, but not quite as sharp and hardened as they had once been.

“The construction takes a toll,” Shayleigh remarked.

“The creation,” Danica corrected. She sighed deeply, commanding the elf’s full attention. “It was a choice,” Dantca began, “a choice between Deneir, this course, this purpose that Cadderly has found in his life, and…”

“And Danica,” Shayleigh interjected softly, placing a sympathetic hand on the sitting monk’s shoulder.

“And Danica,” the monk admitted. “A choice between Deneir’s calling and the life that Cadderly, as a man, truly desired.”

Shayleigh looked hard at the monk and knew that Danica truly believed her words. The generous young woman understood that Cadderly had chosen a higher love, a love that no mortal could ever match. There was no jealousy in Danica’s tone, but there was indeed a sadness, a profound pain.

The two sat in silence, watching Cadderly and the dwarves. Ivan and Pikel had marked off another area, and were apparently discussing the next logical step to support the structure’s already-standing towers.

“He will complete the cathedral,” Danica said.

“A new Edificant Library.”

“No,” the monk replied, shaking her head and lifting her almond-shaped eyes to regard Shayleigh. “Cadderly never liked that name, never thought it fitting for a house of the god of literature and art and the god of knowledge. The Spirit Soaring will be the name he gives this cathedral.”

“How long?” Shayleigh asked.

“Cadderly and the dwarves have drawn up the plans,” Danica answered, her voice trailing to a whisper. “Five years.”

“Five years,” Shayleigh echoed quietly, and yet, Danica had pointedly mentioned that Cadderly would live to see the completion. Only five years! “The creation takes from him,” Shayleigh remarked. “It is as if he gives his own being for the cathedral’s materials.”

Exactly, Danica thought, but she had not the strength to answer. Cadderly had discussed it all with her, had told her this was his purpose in life. This cathedral, the Spirit Soaring, would stand for millennia, a tribute to the god he served. He had told her what the price would be, and together they had cried for the life they would not share. Soon after, Danica had bitten hard on her bottom lip and bravely added to Cadderly’s point, telling him that the Spirit Soaring would be a tribute, too, to Cadderly, to the priest who had sacrificed so much.

Cadderly would hear nothing of it. The cathedral was for only the gods, and the fact that he was allowed to construct it was a gift, not a sacrifice.

“He hopes to live long enough to offer one service in the new cathedral,” Danica whispered.

Shayleigh rubbed her hand over Danica’s shoulder, then, stricken mute, she walked away, to speak with Brother Chaunticleer and Vicero Belago. She could hardly believe the young priest’s sacrifice. Humans lived a short enough time, but for one to give back perhaps three-fourths of that span was inconceivable to the long-living elf.

Danica watched Shayleigh for just a few steps, then her eyes inevitably turned back to Cadderly, back to the man she loved, and loved all the more for his determination in following the course his god had shown him. And yet, she found she hated Cadderly, too, hated that she had ever met the man and had given him her heart. When he was gone, and she was still young, how could she love another?