Wizard of the Grove (32 page)

“All right.” She picked up the thread of the call. “You needn't shout.”

She checked her shields. They remained strong, for the illusion had taken little power. The centaurs would always be available for questioning, but this summons could end as abruptly as it began and Crystal
needed
to know where it came from. The goddesses would have to wait. She only hoped they would.

Throughout the day, as the mountain terrain grew bleaker, the call grew stronger. At sunset, she walked between towering peaks at the edge of the tree line. With moonrise, she flowed into her owl form and took to the air. It made no difference to the call, it stretched before her, a pathway of power, easy to follow.

Too easy?
she wondered and took a moment to consider the idea that she might be moving into a trap. If the call did come from an ancient relic, this was a very real possibility. The wizards of old had thought as little of each other as they did of the world at large.

But if the call came from something else, if there was a power out there that could speak to hers, surely that was worth the risk? Not the promise perhaps, but the suggestion of companionship and perhaps help.

Yes, she decided, it was.

When her wings began to tire, she found shelter of a sort between two boulders, and, taking back her woman shape, wrapped herself in power and slept for the remainder of the night.

In the morning, with her stomach making imperious demands,
Crystal glared around at the rock and snow and cursed herself for not having taken the time to hunt the night before.

!

She could safely feed off her power for a little time; the peak was no more than half a day away, if she reached it and the call came from farther on she would go back and hunt before continuing.

At midmorning she found a cave. The call came from within.

Long and narrow and twice the height of the wizard who stood just inside its mouth, the cave sloped downward into the mountain. It seemed a natural fissure, rough walled and rubble strewn, but when Crystal laid long fingers against the wall, the power that had formed it in the distant past still echoed faintly in the stone. So the call came from the ancient ones after all. For a long moment she stayed half in, half out of the cave, disappointment warring with curiosity. Then she sighed and stepped forward as curiosity won.

When a sharply angled turn cut off the light spilling in through the cave mouth, patches of lichen dappling the rock began to faintly glow silver-gray, keeping the path from total darkness.

Suddenly, the cave narrowed to a vertical slash leading into the mountain's heart. To follow the call, Crystal would have to slide sideways, her movements confined on either side by the mountain itself. If there was a trap this would be the place to set it. She paused and pushed her hair away from her face. Was curiosity reason enough to attempt such a passage? The call continued to tug at her power and, moistening dry lips, she pushed into the crack.

“As long as I've come this far . . .”

The weight of the mountain flattened her voice, making it small and toneless.

Forty sidling footsteps later, she realized the lichen patches no longer provided the only light. A few steps farther and it had lightened quite definitely to gray. Another step, a struggle around a corner that seemed to clutch at her chest and hips, and the end of the passage was in sight; a pinkish-gray ribbon of light. Heartened, she moved as quickly as she could toward it.

Five steps away, four, and a body blocked her view of the cavern beyond. Lord Death stood where the passage widened, his hands outstretched toward her, his features flickering through a multitude of faces each wearing an identical expression of horror.

Was this a warning, Crystal wondered, biting back a startled shriek. Why did Lord Death block her path and why didn't he speak?

And then he did.

“Free my people,” he pleaded and vanished from her way.

As puzzled by his cryptic utterance as by his appearance, Crystal hesitantly advanced.

The cavern felt enormous after the confinement of the passage, but the opposite wall was actually no more than fifteen feet away. Before she could scan the rest of area, her attention was snagged by the pattern in the stone of the far wall. Set into it were hundreds, maybe thousands, of bones.

“I see,” piped up a shrill voice, “that you admire my map.”

Crouched in the corner where the wall of bones touched one of mere rock, was a twisted and misshapen parody of a man. Its back was humped so high its head appeared to come from the middle of its chest, its arms were too long, its legs too short, and mottled gray skin fell about it in wrinkled folds. Its eyes were black from lid to lid, two vertical slashes served it for a nose, and the mouth that split its face from ear to ear was as empty of teeth as a frog's.

Crystal felt her jaw drop as once again the power that had led her here touched her own. There could be no mistaking the source, not so close. This was what had called her. She stumbled back a step.

“Who?” she managed. “What?”

“It is called a demon,” said Lord Death, now standing at her side, lives still playing across his face, “and it is quite mad.”

“I am sane enough when I choose,” the demon protested, clambering to its feet. “Madness is my escape.”

“You're trapped here?” Crystal asked, trying to make some sense of what was going on.

The demon threw wide its arms. “I am imprisoned here!” it
shrieked. It flung itself forward to land on its knees at Crystal's feet. “I beg of you, free me.”

It smelted of cinnamon, sharp but not unpleasant.

“You have the power. You answered my call. Now you have seen me in my misery. You cannot leave me here.”

Crystal glanced behind her. The narrow entrance to the tunnel was unbarred. She reached out with power. Red and black bands wrapped around and through the stone cocooning the cavern even to the small spring in one corner. Identical bands but black and red cocooned the demon. It was the oldest power she had ever felt.

“How long have you been here?”

“Eternity,” sniffed the demon.

“Six thousand years,” said Lord Death softly. “The wizard Aryalan bound it just to prove she could. Then she left it here.”

“Left me,” agreed the demon. “Bound me and forgot me.” It turned from Crystal, crawled to the wall of bone, and began rubbing up against it.

The bones were not six thousand years old. Although many were yellowish gray with age, many more were still ivory.

The demon chuckled at Crystal's expression. “You like my map?” it asked. “He would not free me when I called to him, but he sent me things to do.”

“Who did?”

“The sunny gold one. With eyes like bits of sky.”

“Kraydak?”

Gray shoulders shrugged. “He never said his name. When there were two powers in the world he was one. Now there is only you.” Its eyes narrowed. “And I do not want more man-things sent. I have finished my map.”

It could have only been Kraydak, Crystal realized, called as she had been. He had refused to free the demon and later amused himself by sending mortals to it and to their deaths.

Raulin and Jago had gotten their map from Kraydak's city governor.

Desperately, Crystal searched the demon's prison for signs of a fresh
kill. Even considering the three days she'd spent in the Mother's house, they could not have been that far ahead of her.

There were no bones except those in the wall. No blood, wet or dry. No bits of . . .

She jumped as the demon took her hand and pulled her forward. Its grasp was cool and dry.

“The bargain,” it whispered to her, “was with the other. But if you free me, you may have the map instead.”

“He said he would free you if you made him the map?”

“Yes, yes, he did.”

“He lied.” No guess but a surety. Kraydak always lied when he could.

The demon began to cry. “I know. Everyone lies to me. But it was all I had to offer him.”

“What does the map show?”

“The way to her hole.” It polished a bit of bone with a flap of skin. “To the Binding One's hidden place.”

The way to Aryalan's tower. Kraydak had offered the demon freedom in exchange for the way to Aryalan's tower. He must have hoped to plunder it but had died before he got the chance.

Crystal reached out and lightly touched the wall.

DEATH!

She jerked her hand away and slowly turned to face the one the voices summoned.

“That which binds the demon in,” Lord Death explained, “binds these mortal lives as well. I cannot take my children home. Free him, Crystal, and free them also.”

She moved carefully away from the wall and looked down at the demon as sternly as she was able. “If I free you, what will you do?”

“Do?” Its mouth worked for a moment but no sound came out. “Do?” it repeated at last. “I shall go home. Go home. HOME!” The last word rose to a howl, a scream of anguish that ran up and down Crystal's spine with razor edges. The sound filled the cavern, thrummed within the rock, and was joined by the cries of the multitude in the wall.

The demon and those trapped with it shrieked out the agony of their long imprisonment.

Deep within Crystal's mind, darkness stirred and wakened. It surged outward, a roaring tide that slammed through shields and over defenses. Nashawryn answered the demon's call. Crystal added her scream to the others as the eldest goddess broke free within her.

B
lackness.

Screaming terror.

Fire in the darkness that gave no light
.

A hundred knives that cut and twisted.

A thousand years of pain.

Driven deep within her own mind by the darkness and the fear, Crystal searched desperately for the core of self that Tayja had shown her. If it still existed, it lay beyond her reach. Nashawryn held sway over all.

Here, the nightmares that had dimmed her childhood.

There, the paralyzing dread of the young adult.

All about her the horror of the woman; madness, the shattering of her soul into a myriad of pieces that could never be joined again, each brittle shard dying cut off from the others.

A hundred voices wept and hers was more than one of them.

The noise pushed her this way and that, adding bits of her to the cacophony every time she tried to resist, moving her closer and closer to the precipice where fear and reality became one and Nashawryn would be all that remained.

And then . . . and then she cried alone.

The blackness trembled.

Crystal forced herself to be still.

Beyond the curtain, something called.

Her nose twitched as she smelled the soft leather of her father's
jerkin. Her fingers curved as they held the silken masses of her mother's hair. She rested for a moment in the memory of their arms.

Then she stepped forward. The blackness tore.

She gathered close the piece of self she had almost forgotten and opened her eyes.

*   *   *

Raulin was just forcing himself around a tight corner in the passage when the howling began. The sound echoed alarmingly within the corridor of rock. He winced, instinctively jerked his head away, and swore as the back of his skull slammed against the rough stone. He felt Jago's hand close on his shoulder, but any words were lost as a woman's screams began to weave a high-pitched descant of terror throughout the continuing howl.

Raulin ripped free of the mountain's grasp, leaving cloth and bits of skin behind, and flung himself down the last few feet of passage and into the cavern.

Crystal.
He'd known it from the moment the screams began, though he didn't know how. Her head was thrown back, the lovely white column of her throat was ridged with strain, her eyes were clenched shut, her hands were fists that beat the air, and her mouth stretched wide to let the sound escape.

He wasn't quite in time to catch her when she crumpled to the ground but reached her side a second later, lifting her thrashing head and shoulders up off the rock and onto his lap. With one arm cradled protectively around her, for her constant movement threatened to throw her free, he reached up with the other and fumbled with the fastenings on his jacket. Her clothing had disappeared when she fell and she needed protection from more than just the winter air. Abrasions, slowly oozing red, already marked the satin skin. He wished he still wore his huge fur overcoat—removed before attempting the narrow passage—for that was more the kind of protection she needed.

The jacket was tight and hard to manage one-handed, harder yet
when arms were full of a beautiful, naked woman who would not hold still, but Raulin managed to drag himself out of it and get the heavy fabric wrapped at least partially around Crystal's body.

On some level, his mind reacted to her desirability. He was only mortal man, after all. But those feelings were deeply buried and he held her as he would have held Jago in the same circumstances.

Her screams had died to whimpers. A trickle of blood, where teeth had scored her lip, trailed across her cheek. The jacket held her arms confined, for which Raulin gave thanks as his ears still rang from the force of one random blow. She kept trying to draw her knees up, to curl into a ball, to hide from whatever had done this.

Every time her knees came up, Raulin pushed them back. She was the stronger, he the more determined, finding what he needed to stop her in the memory of his father who had one day given up, curled into a ball, and while his wife and young sons watched, had died. He murmured soothing things to her, nonsense, bits of lullabies, anything to quiet her, to reach her.

And the howling that had started it all, went on and on.

He turned his head, saw the source, without really registering what he saw, and snapped “Shut up!” at the misshapen thing.

It did.

Now the only screams were Crystal's.

“Crystal?” He caught a flailing hand that had fought out of the jacket to freedom. “Crystal, it's Raulin. I have you. You're safe.”

Suddenly she stilled; her breathing hoarse and labored, her body trembling with tension.

“That's it,” he whispered and stroked her forehead with his cheek for both his hands were full. “Now come back. Come back, Crystal, I have you.”

Her nose wrinkled and the tension went out of the free hand as the fingers curved around something he couldn't see.

“Crystal?”

She sighed, the warm weight of her settled onto his lap, and she opened her eyes.

*   *   *

The howl of loneliness hit Jago like a solid blow. He staggered and would have fallen had the mountain not held him so securely. He clutched at his brother's shoulder, seeking reassurance in that touch, reassurance that the emotions ripping through his head weren't his. When the thousand voices added their pain and the howl became a choir, his hands went to his ears. He saw Raulin throw himself forward and disappear out of the passage. The sound held him pinned and he could not follow. He was left alone with the lament.

Alone.

An eternity alone.

He ground his palms against his head. It made little difference.

Free us. Free us. Free us.

Fear.

The last was a single call, a silver thread running through the tumult. Jago inched himself forward. It was not the best of guides, but it was all he had to follow.

He squeezed around the tight corner, repeating over and over, “I will get to Raulin,” using his brother's name as a talisman against the loneliness. And the fear.

When the passage widened and the mountain no longer supported him, he took only a single step before the howling beat him to his knees.

It went on and on and on and Jago felt an answering scream rising up within him to join it.

Then, just as suddenly as it began, it stopped, and only the silver thread of fear remained.

Crystal. He'd carried a bit of her life and could not mistake it.

He stood, and with one hand against the rock for support—his body still trembled in reaction—he made his way out of the passage and into the cavern.

Raulin knelt in the middle of the floor, his jacket off and wrapped about the wizard who twisted in his grasp. A vaguely manshaped thing
crouched at the junction of two walls, one the bare bones of the mountain the other inlaid with a fantastic pattern of . . . of bone.

“Crystal?”

The screams had died to whimpers and he could hear his brother clearly.

“Crystal, it's Raulin. I have you. You're safe.”

And behind him Jago heard a moan; a soft sound, pain filled.

Slowly, he turned.

An auburn haired man stood staring down at Raulin and Crystal, shoulders slumped in despair. Feeling Jago's gaze, he lifted his head. Surprise replaced the pain in the amber eyes so quickly Jago could not be sure he'd even seen it. Then the despair was gone as well and the new stance denied that it had ever existed. The man smiled slightly.

“Do you not know me, Jago?” he asked. “We were very close once.”

Jago felt his mouth move. It took him a few seconds to manage an audible sound and even then the roar of blood in his ears threatened to drown it out. “Lord Death.”

Lord Death inclined his head. “Our previous encounter seems to have given you something few mortals enjoy, the pleasure of my company.”

There was nothing Jago could reply, so he inclined his head in turn.

Lord Death waved an aristocratic hand toward the center of the cavern. “Your brother is very clever,” he said and to Jago's ears the words came out with an edge. “He appeals to her humanity. Gives her something with which to fight the fear.” The Mother's son grimaced and Jago shuddered, the expression was such a strange mix of sorrow and anger. “It is lucky you arrived when you did.”

Lucky. Jago heard the contradiction between the voice and the words. If Raulin, however he did it, pulled Crystal up out of the fear, then it
was
lucky they'd arrived at the cavern when they did. Lord Death had admitted as much but not with pleasure. No, not with pleasure.

“Crystal?”

Raulin's voice had softened, the tone so different, that both Jago and Lord Death turned.

Lord Death stepped forward, then jerked himself back.

Crystal sighed and-opened her eyes.

*   *   *

Why did father grow that ridiculous mustache?
Crystal wondered as focus returned. Then the face behind the mustache came out of shadow and she smiled and said weakly, “Raulin.”

He returned the smile and stroked damp hair back from her face. “Welcome back.”

“Jago?”

“Uh . . .” Raulin suddenly realized he had no idea if Jago had followed him, remained in the passage, or . . . He began to twist but stopped at the familiar feel of his brother at his back.

“I'm here.” Jago kept his voice low, pitched to reassure, glancing back over his shoulder as he spoke. The features of the dead moved across Lord Death's face and he could get no idea of how the Mother's son felt.
Tread carefully, my brother,
he thought as Raulin shifted Crystal into a more comfortable position on his lap,
there is more here than even you will be able to deal with.

“Are you better now?”

Crystal squeaked as Raulin's grip abruptly tightened. The concerned features of the demon poked into her line of sight.

“You were making a lot of noise,” it accused. “Shrieking. Wailing.”

“What in Chaos' balls is that?” Raulin demanded, trying to shield her body with his own.

“It's a demon.” Crystal pushed against his arms until they relaxed enough to let her breathe. “It's trapped here.”

“Is it dangerous?”

“Maybe,” the demon said cheerfully.

“Jago!”

Jago, his dagger in his hand, took a step toward the demon, putting the point of his knife between it and the two on the floor. “Go on,” he commanded, “get back.”

The demon opened wide its lipless mouth and closed it on the metal.

Startled, Jago snatched the dagger back and stood staring down at the hilt. A thin wisp of smoke was all that remained of the blade.

“Cheap,” muttered the demon and retreated to the corner to sulk.

The brothers exchanged incredulous glances, then looked in unison down at Crystal who had begun to giggle softly.

“I'm sorry,” she sputtered, “only the look on your faces . . .”

The laughter built until her body shook with it and the sound began to take on a hysterical edge.

“Crystal?” Raulin shook her gently, but she continued to laugh although tears ran from her eyes and she trembled uncontrollably. “Crystal!”

Jago dropped to one knee beside them. “Hold her,” he said.

“I
am
holding her.” He fell silent as Jago took the wizard's jaw in one hand, turned her head to face him, and slapped her, hard. Then again.

With a shuddering sob, Crystal buried her face against Raulin's chest, and clung. “I'm sorry,” she said again, her voice even weaker than it had been, but calm. “I don't . . .”

“Shh.” He stroked her back, murmuring the words into her hair. “It's all right. Do you want to get up?”

She shook her head and clung tighter.

Raulin met his brother's eyes.

“Perhaps you'd better go get the packs,” he said softly.

Jago's eyebrows went up.

Raulin glared. “Don't be stupid,” he snarled, his hands continuing to soothe the woman in his arms.

Jago flushed, touched his brother's shoulder in a wordless apology, rose, and slipped silently from the cavern.

*   *   *

They'd left the packs back where the passage had narrowed so suddenly. Their sled, with the bulk of their gear and supplies, they'd had to leave a short distance down the mountain when the way became more rock than snow and the trail too steep to wrestle it farther.

Jago studied what had to be moved; the two packs and both massive fur overcoats plus a pile of assorted hats, scarves, and mittens. The packs would have to be moved one at a time, and perhaps emptied to get them around that tight bit. He rubbed his chin, absently scratching at the golden stubble, and decided that since the packs contained no clothes it might be best if he got the coats through first. He remembered how little Raulin's jacket covered, added how quickly comfort could warm, and recalled the expression on Lord Death's face. Not the despair, the anger that had followed.

“Definitely the coats.” He heaved them up into his arms and turned to face the narrow passage with gritted teeth. At least he had something to take his mind off the fear that being underground always evoked.

Dragging some forty pounds of uncooperative fur through the mountain's heart was among the less enjoyable things he'd done lately, but when Jago reached the cavern and saw the way in which the positions of Raulin and Crystal had subtly shifted while he was gone, he knew he'd made the right decision. Although Raulin would not take advantage—he'd deserved Raulin's anger for implying he would—Jago didn't doubt his brother would be willing to cooperate and this was neither the time nor place.

“Here.” The fur flopped like a live thing to the ground, one arm draping over Crystal's legs. “This'll do you a lot more good than that little jacket.”