The Mountains Rise (37 page)

“It does matter! You’d be alive
.”

He sighed, “My life, for the past five years, has not been one worth living. Surviving
to live another five, without hope or love, friendship or family, isn’t worth it.”

“Look at me, Daniel,” she said fiercely. “I don’t car
e. You do whatever it takes—e
ven if that means surviving only to suffer. Do it for me, even if you don’t care
about yourself.” Her eyes were brimming over.

“Survive to suffer?” he replied, smiling mildly. “That doesn’t sound quite right.
Mother always told me that when you loved someone you should want what’s best for
them.”

“I’m not your mother, Daniel. She’s a better woman than I am. Mine may be a twisted
form of love, but it’s all I’ve got to offer. You live and suffer, and do it so that
I won’t be miserable thinking you’re dead.”

He started laughing. Their situation was so miserable,
warped
, and hopeless that he couldn’t help but laugh. “Fine,” he told her, “I’ll take the
high road and try to survive, just for your sake.”

“Don’t try, do it!” She poked him hard in the chest.

“So what were these sources of help you mentioned?”

“The woman, Lyra…, whatever her name was, the one
who
loves you,” said Kate.

“Lyralliantha,” he corrected absently. “She doesn’t love me, Kate. They aren’t capable
of it.”

“Why did she arrange this visit for you then?” she countered.

“I’m not really sure,” he mused, “but knowing her kind
,
it was probably just another experiment.”

“You said she wasn’t happy about you having to fight when you return,” she reminded
him.

“That’s true,” he admitted.

“Well for whatever reason it is, if she has some cause to want you alive, she may
help you,” said Kate. “You just need to make sure you take advantage of it.”

“I have to fight alone.”

She let out an exasperated growl, “Uhhhrrrggg! Men!
There are more ways to help you than fighting beside you! She’s
one of them, she has resources
and knowledge. What if she could give you a better weapon, or teach you someth
ing? What about information; a
nything that might improve your chances.”

“Well, that may be…”

“Don’t forget!” she insisted. “Talk to her, ask her for help. If she’s as cold as
you say
,
she might not think to offer. Get whatever help you can.”

“You realize I’ll be winning just so she can keep me as a pet?” he asked.

“I don’t care,” she said, standing now and smoothing her skirt. She had a collection
of grass and leaves in her hair and stuck to her clothing.

He took
to
his feet as well, “I don’t want to go.”

“Then don’t.”

“If I stay
,
they’ll kill me. Maybe not today, or tomorrow, but I can’t escape it,” he touched
the necklace at his throat.

“Then go back and win,” she told him. “Live for me, and if you ever get to come back
again, I won’t tell you no, even if I’m ninety.”

“What if Seth is still alive at ninety?” he asked, grinning.

“He’d just have to
deal with it,” she answered. “…t
hough I’d probably still feel bad about it.”

“Don’t,” said Daniel.

“Why not?”

“Because he has you. He’s had you these past few years
,
and he’s got you for all the years to come. I will only ever have these few minutes—and
maybe those five or ten minutes at age ninety,” although his words ended in a joke
,
there was no laughter in his eyes.

They held each other then, a long embrace in the morning sun, while his horse cropped
the grass by the edge of the river. Neither of them wanted to let go, and they kissed
once more before parting. There were no more words, other than ‘farewell’, and they
were both loathe to say it.

Silence, but for the
rustling
of leaves in the wind, was their only goodbye as they walked, each
alone on their separate paths.

No one tried to interfere with his return. Unlike his first ride into the deep woods
,
he wasn’t pursued or harassed
,
although one of the wardens did follow him at a respectful distance. He rode to
Ellentrea first, returning the horse before taking the few things he had packed into
its saddlebags and heading back to the place that was now his only home.

It was almost an hour’s walk to get there from Ellentrea, but he didn’t mind. A calm
had come over him when he first stepped into the shadows of the deep woods. The great
trees on either side seemed to watch him as he passed, but he was used to that feeling.

His life was complete
,
and he had come full circle. There was much that could have gone better regarding
his trip to see his family, but that was past now. He had made his goodbyes and said
his farewells. Seth and Kate had each other, and his parents would survive, perhaps
even prosper now that they had a grandchild to raise.

One more fight
,
and then I can rest,
he thought.

“Live for me,”
came the memory of Kate’s words.

“Easier said than done,” he told the ghost in his heart.

Lyralliantha was there when he got back to the platform that served as his dwelling.
She said nothing at first
,
but he detected a hint of something in her aura.
Impatience? Anxiety? How long has she been waiting for me here,
wondered Tyrion.

“You look—the same,” he told her honestly. It was the truth
,
but it didn’t encompass the reality. Lyralliantha did indeed look the same, which
meant she was stunning. Seeing her after a short separation sharpened his awareness
of just how breathtakingly beautiful the cool She’Har woman was. Delicate features,
blue eyes, and silver hair only served to highlight the bewitching shape that moved
beneath her gown.

And inside that chest beats a heart colder than ice.
She was the living opposite of Catherine Sayer. Where Kate was full of fire and
passion, Lyralliantha was cold reason and cruel beauty.

Fire and ice,
he observed mentally.
What a perfect
metaphor for the two of them
.

Her aura reflected disappointment at his words, but it was followed quickly by a flare
of interest and curiosity. “You look different. Your hair is changed,” she replied.

“Mother gave me a haircut,” he replied.

“She is the one you were dancing with?”

The question took him by surprise.
Dancing?
Then he remembered the first vision he had shown her
was
of his family when his mother had taught him to dance while his father played for
them.
She doesn’t forget much,
he noted.

“Yes,” he agreed, “She’s the one
who
was teaching me to dance.”

“How did she receive you? Were you taught anything new?” continued Lyralliantha.

“Nothing that will keep me alive,” he said shortly.

A faint crease appeared in her forehead. “You are angry.” It was a statement, not
a question.

Tyrion took a deep breath, “I’m frustrated, but it isn’t you. Things didn’t go as
well as I thought they would.”

“Was the man, your father, was he still there?”

“Yes, he was there, and still healthy—well mostly healthy,” he answered, remembering
the beating.

“Will you show me?” She had moved closer to his gear
,
and her hand touched the cittern.

“I don’t need to play music to show you,” he responded.

Lyralliantha tilted her head slightly, as if that would make his statement easier
to understand. The gesture reminded him of Lacy, and he was forced to stifle a laugh.

“I don’t want to see just the images,” she said slowly. “When you played music
,
your emotions were clearer. I want to see and
feel
what you felt while you were with them.”

“No,” he said, refusing. “I’m tired of being studied.” He might be a slave, but
she couldn’t have that, not by force or command anyway.
“Don’t make your choices out of fear,”
his father had said.

“I only wish to understand,” she said quietly.

He had no doubt she was sincere, but he wasn’t feeling particularly charitable, then
an idea struck him. “How long until I have to fight?”

“It could be as soon as next week,” she replied, “unless you need more time.”

“You can delay it?” He hadn’t realized that was a possibility.

“I could ask for a month, perhaps,” she answered, “if you wish to stay with me a while
beforehand.” Her aura showed a strange sense of longing.

What does she want?
He wondered.
More time to study me, I suppose.
“I will take that month, and I will share the memory and the feelings of my visit,
if you will give me something in return,” he told her.

“If it is in my power to give,” she said without reservation.

“Teach me how to spellweave,” he said immediately. “Then I might have a chance against
this
Krytek they want me to fight.”

Her face registered surprise, “It is not possible to teach. A human cannot learn
it.”

“You’ve told me that you are human, mostly, and yet you can,” he countered.

She shook her head, “It is something built within the seed mind. The genes for magic
are part of the human body, but the mechanism for creating spellweaving is within
the seed mind.”

“Mechanism?” he said. Was she implying that she had some sort of machine
inside
her?

“Yes. The desire and the aythar come from my human body, but it must pass through
the seed mind, there it is formalized into what we call a ‘spellweaving’,” she told
him.

“Show me,” he said.

“It will do you no good. Why do you wish to see this?”

“I want to win. Any knowledge or understanding of how your magic works might improve
my chances,” he replied.

“You cannot win,” she reaffirmed.

“I’ll be the judge of that,” he said irritably. “What else would you do with me for
a month anyway?”

Lyralliantha opened her mouth
,
but paused before replying. After a second she said, “You will play for me, and
show me your memories?”

“Yes.”

“You will play every day?”
she
insisted
.

“Every evening
for an hour,” he clarified, “but you in turn will spend part of each day showing
me how your spellweaving works.”

“Agreed,” she said.

“Can we start now?” he asked.

“If you wish,” she replied. “What do you wish to know first?”

Tyrion thought for a moment. “C
ould you create something first;
s
omething simple and persistent, so that I can examine it at length
?
”

“All spellweavings are persistent
. They endure independent of the passage of time,” she answered
,
and then her fingers moved, trailing complex figures of pure aythar. Tendril-like
lines of power extended and shot upward, intertwining and weaving in and out. They
met fifteen feet above their heads and then moved out and down to the corners of Tyrion’s
platform before rising again.

They continued to weave, back and forth until a dome shaped canopy had formed above
them, supported by four pillars that had the appearance of vine-wrapped saplings.
The roof of the canopy itself was an intricate structure of leaves and branches.
When she finished
,
the entire thing looked solid and real, although his magesight told him it was composed
of nothing but pure aythar.

“This is what you consider simple?” he questioned.

Lyralliantha tilted her head before replying, “Spellweaving
is
simple for us to accomplish. I merely provide the aythar and the command
,
and the seed-mind produces that which is desired.” A normal human might have shrugged
before giving that answer, but as usual her non-verbal cues were off-kilter.

Tyrion refined his focus, trying to see what the spellweaving was composed of. In
his magesight it appeared to be an impossibly complex snarl of lines, but as he looked
closer
,
he realized that those lines consisted of something yet smaller. Tiny hexagons,
linked and folded together
,
formed
long strands of aythar that were then spun together to form the actual shapes that
she had wanted.

The intricacy of it took his breath away.
How could anyone create such a tangled conglomerate of tiny shapes while at the same
time spinning them out into tangled vines to
form
such an object? It’s impossible.
He knew then, with a sinking feeling in his stomach, that her words had been true.
No human could accomplish this. I
t was beyond the scope of what a living mind could do.

“It’s made of incredibly tiny six-sided figures,” he muttered aloud. “All touching
each other and forming still larger shapes.”

Lyralliantha raised an eyebrow, “You can see that?”

“Yes, but it isn’t easy. They’re smaller than dust, smaller than…” he stopped. He
couldn’t think of anything that he could see with his physical eyesight that was that
small. Tyrion felt her
watching
him then, studying him with new intensity. That roused his attention
,
and he refocused, turning his thoughts back to her. “You can’t see it,” he said
with sudden intuition.

“No one can,” she replied. “We know that the structure is composed of linked hexagons
only because we are born with the knowledge
.”

That made no sense to him.
How can they create something they can’t fully perceive?
He mulled it over for a minute but was unable to come to any reasonable conclusion
,
so he shelved that question for the present and asked a different question. “Why
did you make it like this?”

“In the past I’ve observed you forming your temporary shields when it rains. I thought
you might find this useful, though I will remove it if you prefer,” she answered.

“
It will be handy,” he observed. “How long will it last?”

“Until I dismantle it.”

She hadn’t understood his question properly. “No, I mean, if you just leave it alone,
how long will it last?”

“Forever,” she said.

“Do you mean months or years? Surely it couldn’t be longer than that.”

“I meant what I said, Tyrion. It will last until it is taken apart or destroyed.
Left
undisturbed
,
it will outlast the world itself,” she explained.

He realized his mouth had fallen open. Tyrion had thought that magic was temporary
by its very nature. Nothing he had created lasted more than a few hours. Using lines
and shapes to strengthen his visualization sometimes enabled one of his constructions
to last longer
, but
there was still nothing remotely permanent about his magic.

Another thought came to him, “So, why isn’t the world littered with forgotten spellweavings?”

“Those made to last, like this one, we take apart when we no longer need them. Those
created with the intention of being temporary, like battle weavings, are designed
to unravel when the one who made them releases the control point,” she answered.

“Control point?”

She nodded, “Usually the point still in contact with the caster. Observe.” Moving
her fingers
,
another spellweave snaked forth and whipped across the intervening space. Tyrion
suppressed his reflexive desire to dodge or avoid the obvious attack and held himself
still. In the space of a few seconds it had wrapped itself entirely around him.
The end remained in Lyralliantha’s hand.

Gesturing with her free hand she pointed at it, “The control point is here.”

Tyrion was feeling uncomfortably claustrophobic within the tight coils
,
but he ignored his discomfort
. “So, if you release that,
it will come apart?”

“Even so,” she replied.

“What if it is severed beyond that point, say a foot or two from your hand?”

“Only another spellweave could cut it.”

He stared at her. He had long since measured his strength against hers, as well as
every other person he had encountered since he had begun fighting in the arena. He
knew he was twice as strong as most of the She’Har and sometimes even more when compared
to the other humans. It made no sense that they could create something he couldn’t
cut.