Cast In Ruin Part 8

Return to the fief. Now.

So much for relief. We have a bit of a situation here, she said as tersely as she could, given that she wasn't actually speaking any of this aloud. I'm leaving the heartland as soon as Sanabalis stops- Stops what?

Whatever the bleeding h.e.l.ls he's doing.

What is he doing? Kaylin-what are you doing?

I'm falling over.

Nightshade had never had a sense of humor. He did, however, have a temper. He also had the universal condescending arrogance of the Immortal everywhere. She felt his frustration and his annoyance.

Tell Lord Sanabalis to stop whatever it is he's doing. Tell him to stop now. There is a danger.

She couldn't even see Sanabalis by this point, and what she'd had of breakfast was threatening to revolt; telling a Dragon Lord-even one as tolerant as Sanabalis-what to do was so far out of the question it hadn't even occurred as a possibility. The frosty and furious arrogance of the Barrani wasn't Kaylin's by birth or inclination.

She started to think as much-saying it was beyond her-but the flow of defensive thought was interrupted by something a lot less pleasant: thunder and the flash of something that looked like black lightning.

She heard Nightshade curse, and she understood the meaning. The syllables themselves were-or would have been in any other circ.u.mstance-a delight of discovery because they were Barrani, and Barrani, to her knowledge, didn't have curse words. But delight at that discovery was swamped by the sudden certainty that the danger that Nightshade feared was about to arrive.

On the heels of Nightshade's sharp word, she felt the pain and the disorientation recede in a rush, as if someone had pulled the plug. That someone was Sanabalis. As the pain and the visual distortion fled, she felt two things: the physical, full-body trembling that was often the result of portal crossing, and the hair-raising, sharp pain that was also the result of strong magic in such proximity.

Her hand was somehow still clasped around the broadest of strokes that comprised Maggaron's name and she blinked rapidly as his multiple wavering images coalesced into a single shape again. She turned, still holding his name, and also holding the sword he had handed into her keeping by the blade, which would have caused any number of sword experts to deafen her in their rush to have her handle it properly. Since it had, in fact, cut her palm, she didn't require this. She set the blade on the ground, and picked it up again by its hilt.

It was, of course, in her off-hand, but at this point, it didn't matter; the hair on the back of her neck was rigid. She was afraid to release Maggaron's name, and that fear was just a bit stronger than her fear of being unarmed. Adjusting the sword, she turned. Oddly enough, her grip on the name itself didn't change at all, even though Maggaron was now behind her. She could see the word; she couldn't see him. This meant something. She wasn't certain what.

At the moment, it didn't matter. She could see a black, amorphous cloud rising-coalescing-in the not-far-enough distance; it was the source of the dark lightning.

Tiamaris roared a warning in all-out Dragon, and Sanabalis roared back. Before Kaylin could speak-or react-at all, Sanabalis lifted her with ease and leaped toward the border, where Tiamaris and Tara were standing. The People had pulled back, and huddled more or less behind them. Kaylin noted that Sanabalis had also picked up Mejrah, who was, in theory, too large and c.u.mbersome to be tossed around like a sack of potatoes.

Maggaron, however, didn't move. Kaylin tried to shout his name, and then, remembering what she held, thought it instead. Maggaron.

No, Chosen.

She cursed him in every language she could-which now included Barrani. Maggaron, cross the border, d.a.m.n you.

It is not safe, Chosen- It's not safe to stand there-you don't understand what that is.

Of all unexpected things, he laughed. It was a wild roar, just slightly quieter than the Dragons' normal speaking voices would have been. "I?" he shouted. "I do not understand what that is?" He swept an arm toward the approaching cloud; as Kaylin watched it, she saw that it was eating the ground it pa.s.sed over.

His laughter grew wilder, and she heard pain break free of amus.e.m.e.nt. "It is the Shadowstorm, Chosen. What do you think I was born for? What do you think the Ascendants are?"

Crazy. She didn't say the word. And then cursed as his laughter deepened. We don't have time for this.

You cannot take the risk of- Yes, d.a.m.n it, I can. She took a deep breath as Sanabalis deposited her more or less on her feet beside the Avatar of the Tower. Tara was glowing. The whole of her form-winged, an echo of Aerians-was made of s.h.i.+ning alabaster. But stone or not, she moved; Tiamaris didn't.

"Tara," he said, speaking in sharp Elantran, "do not risk too much."

"It is a test," was the cool reply, "of the boundaries and the area over which my responsibility lies. Kaylin," she added in a tone of voice that no friendly, itinerant gardener should have been able to use, "bring your follower across the border."

"I'm trying. He's afraid that the Shadow-"

"I am the Tower. I am the border. Bring him; the responsibility will be on my head."

On her head, Kaylin thought, but if she failed-if Maggaron was right-it would be writ in the bodies of the People and the humans who still lived in the fief of Tiamaris. She was willing to take that risk; she'd already attempted to call Maggaron. At Nightshade's insistence she had done that before-to him-and she had felt his counter.

No; it wasn't the same. She had called. She hadn't commanded.

She'd never truly attempted to impose her will on Maggaron in a way that she didn't try to force it on anyone else in her life-by shouting, pleading, swearing, cajoling, even demanding. What the name gave her meant that she could do more.

Would she? If he stood in the streets in the path of a storm that could-if the Dragons were right-literally unmake, re-make, or worse-everything that he was, could she force him to do what she desired?

Maggaron!

He didn't, and wouldn't, move. Everyone was shouting now. Mejrah, in Kaylin's ear, as if volume could compensate for lack of comprehension. Tiamaris was roaring, and if it wasn't in her ear, he was less than ten feet away, so it had the same effect.

Swallowing air and strengthening resolve, Kaylin looked at Maggaron, and his name flashed like lightning or gold. Yes, she thought grimly. Yes, I would. He had given her the ability.

His folly gave her the right. She called his name as if his name were part of her, and she pulled him, focusing all her will on the simple act of motion: his.

It hurt her. It hurt, and she almost stopped. But Maggaron had moved, taking drunken steps toward Kaylin-and, more important, away from the moving cloud.

She heard Nightshade's chuckle as she hesitated. Do you think that power is taken-or practiced-free of cost, little one?

Since the answer was more or less yes, and since he now already knew it, she didn't reply. Instead, she looked at Maggaron and said, Don't make me do this. Please.

She could see his eyes so clearly they might have been inches from her face. If you cannot do even this, Chosen, how will you protect them from me, should the time come?

d.a.m.n you, she thought, hating him for testing her this way. d.a.m.n it, if it comes down to their lives, I can. But this isn't their lives-it's yours. Maggaron, please.

She felt his laughter; it was sharp and unkind. But he wasn't wholly unkind; he did as she all but begged. He walked-quickly-toward where she now stood, his name in her hand. She grimaced, and then, as if letting go of a security blanket, she removed her hand from the rune; it remained in her vision, something Nightshade's name had never done.

Kaylin, Nightshade said. He, too, was laughing. You are far too weak for the power you have been granted. But you will learn.

The first thing Tiamaris did was order a retreat from the edge of the border. Everyone obeyed-and given he spoke Dragon, Kaylin was surprised that the People understood his command. Then again, she didn't understand Dragon, either, and she had. Severn was waiting-always, and in his usual grim silence.

But Severn wasn't looking at Maggaron, although the rest of the People sure as h.e.l.ls were. He was looking at Kaylin. More accurately, he was looking at the sword in her hand. She glanced at it, and her gaze stuck. It had changed shape. The blade was shorter-not long-knife short, but short-sword short; the hilt was practical and almost unadorned. It was straight and it looked-to her eyes-like a normal weapon, except for the obvious runes along the flat.

Her first thought was, I broke it.

Her second thought was, on the other hand, Maggaron. He was watching her, his eyes a flat shade between blue and brown. "Your enemies will not hesitate to do what you could not do."

"If I have to do it, I'll do it."

To say he looked dubious was an understatement. She started to speak, and stopped as Tara touched her shoulder.

"Kaylin," the Avatar said. "Come."

"Where?"

In answer, Tara led her to the edge of the border, which had once again become an invisible, theoretical line across the ground. The storm that she had seen so clearly was still moving, and it moved toward where the People had gathered. Kaylin tried to see not the cloud itself, but what its pa.s.sage left behind; she couldn't. The billowing darkness was too dense.

"What are you doing?" she asked Tara.

"Containing the storm," was the reply. "There is a reason that the Shadowstorms do not leave the fiefs."

"Wait-are you always aware of the storms?"

"No. Not always. But even were I not sensitive to their proximity, I could hardly fail to notice this one." She lifted her arms. Her wings spread and their tips rose, framing her. They also almost knocked Kaylin off her feet.

"Watch," Tara said as Kaylin adjusted both her stance and her distance.

"Watch what?"

"The storm. I do not see as you see, Chosen. I see as a Tower sees. Watch. My Lord watches, as well."

"Not at a very safe distance."

"He is behind the border. The storm will not pa.s.s me."

CHAPTER 6.

The storm drew closer. Kaylin took an involuntary step back, and felt Severn's hand on her shoulder, steadying her. She smiled; he couldn't see it, but it didn't matter; he could feel the hand she lifted and placed over his. The clouds were thick and as they approached, the darkness revealed itself as a gray-green haze. They looked like thunderclouds to Kaylin, although she'd never seen them this close before.

But thunderclouds moving at a distance were impersonal; only the lightning they shed was a danger. These clouds, similar in color, contained a more immediate threat. She had seen the Devourer as a void or a spreading darkness; she saw these clouds as something entirely different. Their moving folds hinted at shapes-both familiar and new-breaking and distorting them before Kaylin could fully catch or name them.

She heard Dragon conversation, but at a remove, as if it were thunder.

Which was strange. She realized this storm and its clouds were silent. Shapes continued to unfurl as they approached Tara, blocking out sunlight and shadowing her white visage. White, pale, it was as giving as stone.

Stone could tell a story if one understood its cracks and the way it wore over time. But this stone was new. Kaylin thought, watching Tara, that it hadn't yet been tested. Or maybe it had, and it had faltered once. As if she could hear the thought, Tara tensed and her wings flexed.

The clouds. .h.i.t then.

All sense that they had anything in common with the storms that occasionally covered the city skies vanished; they battered the air above and in front of the Avatar, stretching and thinning as they did. Stretched and thin, they were blacker, darker; they lost the tantalizing hint of moving forms, and for a moment, became two large hands, fingers pressed and curved against nothing.

The storm roared, as if it were a disembodied dragon; there was both agony and fury in the sound. Through it all, Tara stood like a wall, lifting her chin as she gazed into its heart in defiance.

The heart of the storm gazed back. Kaylin could see its eyes, disembodied but visceral, present. She could see a mouth, made of dense shadow, forming words that she couldn't understand but could almost see.

Tara's response was clearer; it was more solid. Seen more than heard, runes filled the s.p.a.ce between the two: Tower and destroyer. The ground beneath the Tower's feet s.h.i.+fted, cobbles melting and reforming over and over again as the storm sought purchase and Tara defied it. Denied ground, it rose, warping the heavens. Above the storm the sky became what opals might have been if they had been truly repulsive. And cold.

Lightning sheared stone, but this lightning, from that sky, wasn't a flash of white: it was a lance of many colors and those colors bled, like chaos, into the ground itself, defining the hard line of the border in a way that nothing else had. Where the Tower's Avatar stood, the known, the reliable, held sway; where the storm raged, nothing did.

Kaylin looked toward Sanabalis, who hadn't yet gone Dragon, although his eyes were almost red, and his nostrils-in human form-were flared. He'd also managed to singe his beard, something she'd've bet was impossible. "Sanabalis, is this-"

He lifted a hand, swatting her words to one side. Given the color of his eyes, she let them go, and turned, reluctantly, back to the storm. It was screaming.

Severn caught her wrist and yanked her around, stepping to the side to avoid the flailing edge of the sword she hadn't dropped. He pulled her into his arms, her back to his chest, and held her tightly, lowering his jaw until it rested close to her right ear. She knew he was speaking. But she felt his words as a tickle of breath and a sensation; she couldn't hear anything but the sound of the storm itself.

The storm and her own answering cries.

She wanted to run to it. To run into it. Hadn't she done that once, already? Maybe this time, maybe this time, she could travel back to the night that Steffi and Jade had died. And this time, she would be armed. This time she wasn't thirteen. This time she knew what would happen. She could change it. She could unmake it. She could do what she'd failed to do then.

She swallowed her screams, opened her eyes, forced herself to look.

Why doesn't it affect you the same way? she asked Severn in the silence and privacy she almost never used.

I'm not you. She felt his smile. It's almost pa.s.sed, he added, and she opened eyes that she hadn't realized she'd closed. The sky was still the wrong color above the angry ma.s.s of darkness, but the darkness itself was dissipating, and its screams had faded into attenuated cries that still broke the heart.

She preferred multi-eyed demonic heads with obsidian claws and mouths in their b.u.t.t ends.

"When will the sky return to normal?" she asked as Severn released her almost reluctantly and stepped back.

"Normal?" Tara lifted her head, her eyes narrowing briefly. "Ah. Not, I think, anytime soon. It is...a statement, Kaylin."

"Of what?"

"The sky is...off limits? Is that you how say it?"

Kaylin nodded.

"The sky is off limits for my Lord, should he choose to attempt to cross the border in that fas.h.i.+on."

"What will happen to him if he does?"

"No one can say. But we can be certain that something will."

Kaylin hesitated, and then said, "The Shadows aren't fond of the storm, either."

Tara frowned, and then inclined her head, lowering her wings and folding them across her back. Silence descended, and as it did, the wings folded themselves into the shades of brown that were the Avatar's gardening clothing. It was a surprisingly effective indication that the conflict-and its inherent danger-was over. "No," she told Kaylin, her gaze still fixed at a point beyond her own borders, "they are not."

"Then you don't know for certain what might happen."

"No. We know only that there is change, and it is neither predictable nor, in the end, desired by those who have been changed. Our history is...incomplete."

"But I came to you, at your awakening."

"Yes." Tara still spoke in a voice better suited to the height of cold stone fortification than the gardening clothes she wore.

"And I came through the storm."