Dhiammara

18 The Way Through the Stone

The eerie darkness pressed close around Aurian, dimming even her Mage’s sight.—She could hear nothing save the boom and hiss of surf on rocks, somewhere below her and off to her left. Carefully, she altered her path away from the sound, away from where she guessed the cliff edge must be. Shia accompanied her on that side, but that was no guarantee that the Mage might not miss her in the dark and go hurtling to her doom.

When she could feel that she had started to climb, Aurian knelt for a moment and touched the ground around her feet. When her fingers encountered short, soft turf instead of the tough and wiry dune grass she knew she had reached the hallow.

The Mage was uneasy. She had never known her night vision to fail like this before, yet in this place she was utterly blind. From the thunder of the surf there must be a stiff wind blowing in from the sea—indeed, she had felt its cold pressure on her left cheek all the way here—yet in this place not a breath of air stirred against her face. Well, what did you expect? she told herself irritably. You always suspected that this was one of the Gateways, where the barrier between the worlds grows thin and fragile—and that’s exactly what you want and need. This strangeness only proves that you were right.

“Aurian, I can’t come any further.” Shia’s mental tones were taut with distress. “The magic—I have never felt anything like this. It forms a barrier I cannot pass.”

“Don’t worry,” Aurian told her friend. “Where I’m going you couldn’t follow in any case. Just stay there, if you will, and watch for my return.”

“If you do return,” the great cat muttered direfully. “You don’t need me to tell you that this is an act of utter folly.”

“You’re right,” Aurian told her briskly, “I don’t. I already know that—but this is something I must do, Shia. One way or another, I have to see him again. Take care, my friend—I’ll see you soon.” With these parting words, Aurian put all thoughts of her companions firmly from her mind. Right now she must concentrate all her energies on the journey before her.

As she began to climb the steep slope of the knoll, the feeling of unease grew into fear, and finally to stark terror that became worse with every step she took. Soon she found herself beginning to tremble. Her heart raced, and her mouth became dry. “It’s nothing but a cheap trick, to guard the Gateway,” the Mage told herself firmly. She put forth all her power to shield herself and clamped down firmly on the fear. Gradually, she brought the incipient panic under control, then banished it altogether.

Aurian reached the broad, level plateau where the monolith stood, and located the great stone by touch alone. As her fingers met the icy surface, the terror lashed out at her again, multiplied a hundredfold, but this time she was ready. Snatching the Staff of Earth from her belt, she raised it as if to block a physical blow—and cried out as a sharp, sizzling shock of energy ran up through her fingers. It was as if the Staff itself had turned on her and stung her. Suddenly the wood felt slick to the touch. There was a brief writhing sensation as though the serpents had come alive beneath her hand—and the Artifact slipped from the Mage’s fingers to fall to the turf at her feet.—Aurian’s dismay had left her wide open to the terror of the Gateway. It hit her like a corrosive blast that gnawed at her will and her courage, driving her back down from the top of the mound, away from the stone. But her fear of losing the Staff was greater than any dread projected by some external, unknown force. The reeling Mage recovered herself and shored up her fragile shield with a desperate effort of self-mastery. Fighting her way back uphill against the barrier of fear was like trying to push against a hurricane, but inch by inch she crept forward until the Staff was within her reach once more.—The Mage hesitated, her fingers almost touching the wood. Tonight was the first time she had tried to wield the Staff since she had misused its powers beneath the Academy. Was the Artifact now protesting her claim to it? Would it reject her outright? She took hold of the Staff and almost wept with relief to feel a muted thrum of power vibrating through her hand. Though it was not the usual, welcoming leap of energy, it should be enough.. ..

As Aurian merged her own magic with that of the Staff, the Artifact blossomed with an emerald flare, sending the shadow of the stone flashing across the plateau. Its power shielded her and reflected the fear back to its source.—Aurian’s night vision suddenly returned and the stars appeared, sparkling in the deep blue canopy above.

“First blood to me, I think,” the Mage muttered grimly. With a sigh of relief she allowed the flames to die from the smooth dark wood with its twining serpents.

“Are you sure you should continue?” Shia’s voice sounded sharply in the Mage’s mind. “Is it not too risky, to undertake this journey when you are uncertain of the Staff?”

Aurian shuddered to hear her own inner fears voiced by the perceptive cat. “I don’t have any choice,” she replied. Quickly, before she had time for more second thoughts, she found a place near the stone where the turf was sufficiently smooth and level to make a comfortable resting place. She lay down on her back with the Staff resting on her breast, her hands clasped tightly around its smooth-worn wood. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply, willing herself to relax.

After a time, the Mage felt her inner form become discrete from her corporeal shell. She sat up and opened her eyes. There was no trace of the starry night above her. Instead the entire knoll was bathed in an eerie amber glow that seemed to emanate from the pillar itself. Aurian stood up, still clasping the Staff, whose earthly form had also been discarded. Without glancing back at the body she had left behind, she made her way to the tall standing stone. It was cold to the touch, though not unpleasantly so, and the power that emanated from it sent a thrilling tingle through her hand and arm. As the Mage exerted her will the stone beneath her hand vanished, leaving a dark, narrow doorway in the face of the monolith. Holding tightly to the Staff of Earth she stepped inside, and as she did so the doorway vanished behind her, cutting off all trace of the amber light outside.

Aurian found herself in a narrow tunnel with a low roof that came dangerously close to brushing the top of her head. The walls were featureless black rock, but a faint silver light came from the floor, that was coated with glimmering dust the texture of fine ash. It stirred in clouds about her feet as she moved, sheathing her boots in a skin of starlight.

Sword at her belt, Staff in hand, Aurian moved forward cautiously. After a while, the tunnel grew progressively narrower, until pale light shining through a slim crack finally marked its end. Turning sideways, the Mage slipped through, stepping out into an alien and colorless world. The light was dim and opalescent. Soft grey moss carpeted the ground, and vision was limited by a pale mist that swirled and swelled in an unnerving fashion, though there was not a breath of wind. The depth of silence was sinister and profound.—Aurian grasped the Staff of Earth more tightly and stepped forward. The mist swirled aside, revealing a patch of dark grey turf. She took one step forward, then another—and suddenly her way was blocked by a tall, darkly shrouded figure.

“You know this is forbidden, Mage.”

“I don’t think so,” Aurian told Death flatly. “I have a right. I have passed through one of the Gates of Power, and you cannot turn me back. Besides, you are holding someone who should not be here.”

“No one who comes to this place believes they should be here.”

Aurian curbed her impatience and bit back her anger. “I’m not speaking of belief. I’m speaking of injustice. How can you possibly justify keeping Anvar here?”

The Specter’s voice rang out, chilling and harsh. “I am Death. I justify nothing, and none can gainsay me.”

Fear clawed at the Mage’s heart like a living, feral creature trapped within her. To bolster her courage, she thought of Anvar, alone and lost in this dread place. Death was silent now, awaiting her reply—or her retreat. “True,”

Aurian told him. “No one may gainsay you—even a Mage would be a fool to try.—But surely, a Mage may ask?”

“Temeritous Mage!” The Specter laughed out loud. “Now it comes. I must encourage her effrontery or live forever with my curiosity. Very well, so be it. And what, exactly, would you ask of me?”

Aurian bowed to him. “Two things, in truth. Anvar you already know about; the other matter is also of vital importance—perhaps as much to you as it is to me and the world from which I came. I want to know how this exchange took place between Forral and Anvar, and also, what happened to Vannor, who came here and was snatched away again. Was it Eliseth? Did she use the Caldron of Rebirth?—Is she using it still? If you would permit me, I would like to look into the Well of Souls, and find out what she is doing now.”

Death was silent a moment. “I admit that the Mage-woman Eliseth is involved, but as for the rest . . . You ask much, O Mage,” he said at last.

“Surely this situation must be causing you a fair amount of difficulty?” the Mage suggested tentatively. “People coming here to be reborn, then being snatched away again before they have the chance to reach the Well. People getting into the wrong bodies ... If Eliseth is not stopped, where will it end?”

“This I can not deny.” The Specter seemed to be unbending a little, and for the first time, Aurian dared to hope. “Would that the Caldron were lost again, or even unmade ...”

“Or brought to you?” Aurian put in quietly.

The Specter’s head came up sharply. “Brought to me?”

Aurian nodded. “It’s the only way you’d gain true peace of mind. Otherwise, it will keep turning up across the centuries, and you’ll constantly wonder where, and when, and in whose hands it will appear next.”

“You would swear to this?” Death demanded. “If I help you to regain the Caldron, you will give it to me?” Though she had heard both his anger and his mocking laughter, it was the first time that Aurian had heard genuine eagerness in his cold, unemotional voice.

“Release Anvar, too, and I’ll swear.” She was unable to keep her voice steady.—Death sighed. “Aurian, you do realize that even if I let Anvar go back with you, he must go as a disembodied spirit? Even one with your powers could not see him, or speak to him, in the mundane world. Without the grail he cannot return to his own body—and even then, he may be forced to dispute ownership with the present occupant.”

“But he’d be willing to take the risk, I’ll wager,” Aurian insisted.

“To be with you, my love? I would risk anything.” Anvar, who had been wandering disconsolately over the rolling hills, had come to this place with no idea what had drawn him there, but as soon as he heard Aurian’s voice, everything fell into place. Instinctively, he had sensed his love’s closeness—her very presence had summoned him to her side.

Aurian looked at him, her heart brimming over in her eyes. “What kept you?” she said dryly. With a hoarse, inarticulate cry that held all his past fears and present loneliness, all his love and joy, Anvar threw his arms around her.—It was difficult to embrace Within the realms of Death. Even though he knew he held Aurian, though she was right there in his arms, Anvar could feel nothing.—Just to have her there with him felt wonderful, nonetheless. “I didn’t know how I’d ever find you again,” he whispered into her hair.

“You might have spared yourself the worry.” Death’s sardonic tones cut into the moment. “It seems that not even I can keep the pair of you apart for any length of time. Remember, this is not the first occasion one of you has ventured into my realm in search of the other.”

Aurian faced Death squarely, though Anvar kept an unrepentant arm around her shoulders. “True enough,” she said. “You must be sick of the sight of us by now.”

“Very cunning, Mage—but it will not work,” the Specter replied sternly, and with rising anger. “On the contrary, I do not see enough of you. You come, you go. You have no regard whatever for the sanctity of my office and my realm. I would see you—both of you—come here, remain here, and pass through the Well of Souls to be reborn like any natural beings. Then I might, perhaps, recover some peace and order within my kingdom.”

With an effort Death mastered himself, and when next he spoke, his voice was calm again. “But this one last time, my children, I will let you pass.” Bowing low, he gestured toward the path they were to take. “The Well of Souls is there, Mage. See what you will, then take your lover and depart.” With that, he disappeared.

“That was a sudden change of heart.” Anvar glowered suspiciously at the spot the Specter had just vacated.

“Too damn sudden for me.” Aurian, too, was frowning. “All this sweetness and cooperation strike me as not only out of character, but just a bit too easy....”

Anvar felt a frisson of unease. “We’d better not waste time,” he said hastily.

“Let’s see whatever you want to see, then maybe we can get out of here before he changes his mind.”

“And springs his trap,” Aurian finished the thought for him. As Anvar looked at her his heart was kindled with a blaze of courage, confidence, and joy.

“Gods, but I’ve missed you,” he said softly.

“And I you.” The Mage took his hand and clasped it tightly. “Come on, let’s go—and as we walk you can tell me how you managed to get into this mess,” she added soberly.

Hand in hand with Anvar, Aurian entered the sacred grove and bowed to the trees, who stood aside to let the Mages pass. Within moments they came to the clearing where the Well of Souls lay cradled in its bed of soft, deep moss.

“Will you watch over me?” the Mage asked Anvar softly. “I don’t want to go falling in—who knows where I might end up.”

“Or as what,” said Anvar soberly. “Don’t worry, I won’t let you go.”

“Keep a sharp lookout for Death, too. He’s up to something, I’m sure of it....” She knelt reverently on the pool’s cushioned brink and laid the Staff down on the moss beside her. Lowering her head, she peered down into the infinite starry depths. Great spears of light lanced up from the surface, dazzling the Mage’s eyes. When her vision cleared, the galaxies within the pool were whirling; spinning, in a maelstrom of streaked light. Biting her lip with concentration, Aurian dipped a finger into the Well of Souls and bent her thoughts upon her enemy....

The winged priest lay twisted on the floor of the Temple precincts, a long spear transfixed through his heart. Eliseth knelt over him, the grail clutched in her hands. “He’s dead all right.” She smiled up in satisfaction at the winged warrior who stood over her, wiping the blood from his hands. “Nice work, my Lord Sunfeather. He won’t have known what hit him. Now, for the second part of our plan—if you would just pull out the spear first.” She gave a short and mirthless laugh. “I doubt if even the Caldron of Rebirth could keep him alive very long with a spear stuck through his heart....”

The winged man planted a booted foot on the High Priest’s chest and wrenched the bloody spear loose with a vicious twist. “And get rid of the accursed thing,” Eliseth hissed at him. “When Skua returns he won’t have any memory of what happened, but we might find that a little difficult to explain.”

Quickly, the Magewoman poured water from the chalice into the gaping hole in Skua’s chest, and watched with satisfaction as the mangled flesh and splintered ribs began to piece themselves together again. She was accustomed now to the fact that the grail’s magic took a few minutes to work, and sat back on her heels to await the outcome with confidence. “There,” she said with great satisfaction. “Skua is ours. Now that I’ve brought him back with the Caldron, I can control his every move—and he’ll never know a thing about it.”

“He was ours in any case,” Sunfeather grumbled. “I don’t see why it was necessary to go through all this—I don’t think ...”

“I told you before—leave the thinking to me!” Eliseth snapped, with a flash of irritation. A plague on this innocent who lacked the subtlety for intrigue!—This thickheaded warrior might know military strategy but he had absolutely no feel for the finer nuances of plot and counterplot!

Seeing Sunfeather frown, the Magewoman reined in her temper. “I already explained,” she said with labored patience. “Skua was getting too many ideas of his own about what the Gods wanted and didn’t want. He was beginning to actually believe those powers he’s been using are his own—a gift from Yinze.—The Father of Skies, indeed,” she snorted. “In whose name he would eventually have betrayed us both. Well, we’ll have no more of that!”

The Skyman looked doubtful. “You think he would have betrayed me?” he asked.

“I know he would have betrayed you, you idiot. He was already trying to persuade me that he could handle things, and we didn’t need you to command the Syntagma.” Eliseth glanced up shrewdly at the warrior. “And if he was conspiring with me against you, it’s almost a certainty that he was plotting with you against me.”

“Nay, Lady—there was never any suggestion ...” But Sunfeather could not quite meet her eyes, and Eliseth knew, with malicious glee, that her words had hit their target, and she’d been right about Skua all along.

Sunfeather was scowling and shuffling his feet—just like a young lad caught out in mischief, the Magewoman thought. “And what about me?” he demanded sulkily. “What if you decide that I am a danger to your plans? Do you intend the same dire fate for me?”

“You?” said Eliseth dismissively. She turned away from him and back to Skua, who was beginning to stir and groan. “You won’t betray me, Lord Sunfeather.—You have more sense—and you’ve just had a demonstration of exactly what will happen to you if you try.”

Aurian, looking at the scene through the Well’s clear, glassy surface, saw the High Priest open his eyes. She remembered Skua—a malign, ambitious, treacherous piece of work if ever there was one. Though these developments boded ill, and she viewed them with grave concern, she was spitefully glad that a nemesis such as Eliseth had been wished upon the base perfidious, self-serving ...

“Aaaah . . .” Skua opened his eyes. “In the name of Yinze, what happened to me?”

“Hush, High Priest,” Eliseth soothed him. “You were taken ill—I have warned you often of the dangers of overextending yourself in your zeal.” She laid a hand on his arm. “We must take better care of you—you are far too valuable to be allowed to jeopardize your health in this fashion.”

“I’m fine, I’m fine—just help me up. That is, if you please, Lady.”

“I’ll do it.” Sunfeather extended a brawny arm and hoisted Skua to his feet.

“Now, High Priest, you must rest,” the Weather-Mage insisted, swirling the remains of the water in the grail. “There will be time enough later for you to tell me how went the meeting between your courier and the Queen-Regent of the Khazalim....”

“What?” Aurian gasped in shock. “Where in the name of all the Gods does Sara fit in with this particular vipers’ nest?”

“Sara?” Anvar leaned over the Mage’s shoulder to look into the pool. “She’s viper enough to fit right in with the worst of them. What are they sayi.. .”

“Now, I have you both at last! And this time you will be reborn!”

Aurian caught a glimpse of the Specter’s dark, looming figure, then she felt Anvar stagger against her, pushing her off balance, down toward the surface of the Well.

The Mage got one flailing hand deep into the moss beside the brink. Clenching her fingers, she hung on with all her strength and braced herself, giving Anvar a split second to get his legs beneath him and hurl himself to one side.—Then Aurian saw movement from the corner of her eye. The Staff of Earth, dislodged by their struggles, was rolling into the pool. She made a desperate grab with her free hand. Her fingers brushed the Staff even as it splashed into the Well and she clamped them tight around the very end of the serpent-carved shaft. But the Well clung to the Staff of Earth, holding it tightly and sucking it deeper beneath the surface. Leaning perilously out over the waters, Aurian held on until she thought her arm would tear loose from its socket. She was damned if she’d let go of the Artifact. Once it vanished into the Well of Souls it could end up on one of a million worlds and would be lost forever.

Anvar, she was half-aware, was on his feet now, confronting the dark and eldritch figure of the Specter, putting himself between the Mage and Death.—Aurian had no attention to spare them, however—her entire being was focused on maintaining her hold on the Staff of Earth. And as she looked back into the pool she saw two things happen, so close together that she could never, afterward, decide which had come first.

Beneath the rippling surface of the pool, the outline of the Staff began to alter. The two carved serpents, their jaws still conjoined about the great green stone that held the powers of the Artifact, began to take on vivid color, one patterned in brilliant red and silver, the other green and gold.—One of them stirred—a flick of the tail, no more—then the other began to writhe, and untwine itself from around the wooden shaft. Aurian’s jaw dropped open. The Well of Souls had brought the Serpents of the High Magic to life!—One by one, the snakes wriggled loose and dropped away from the Staff, the red serpent still bearing the green crystal in its jaws. The Mage was left holding a plain stick of lifeless wood, that slid from the water so easily that she almost overbalanced. The stone that held the Staff’s powers was lost to her, held by the serpent that had swum, with its mate, far out in the center of the pool, where she could not reach it. Side by side, the snakes reared up their heads and defied her, their cold gazes sharp with a mocking glitter. Clearly, this was another test—if the Mage could not take back the stone, she would have lost the Staff for good.

So aghast was Aurian that she almost missed the other threat. But some instinctive sense of warning drew her eyes away from the living serpents, and down into the pool toward the vision of her nemesis. Eliseth, ignoring the puzzled stares of the two Skyfolk, was staring into the grail, her silver eyes ablaze with rage and hatred. “Aurian,” she said, her voice hard and intense with loathing. “So, you have returned at last. But you’ve returned too late!”

Aurian gasped. The Staff! It had reached out through the medium of the Well to touch its fellow-Artifact. And seemingly, the water in the chalice was showing Eliseth as clear a picture of her foe as the Mage was seeing in the pool Between the Worlds. Inwardly, Aurian groaned. Right now, when she must focus her wits and her will on the recovery and restoration of the Staff, this was one distraction she could well have done without. She looked at Eliseth, her gaze like ice and whetted steel. “Too late, perhaps, to prevent your mischief,” she said in biting tones, “but not too late to put an end to it!”

Eliseth threw back her head and laughed. “It will take more than your empty bragging to do that, but feel very welcome to try! The first day we met I punished you for defying me, and I look forward to doing it again—I have been waiting to crush you for a long age now.” Her eyes flashed. “Your day is done, Aurian—you are too soft of heart to prevail. Your pitiful, pathetic attachments to the Mortals will weaken and betray you for the last time, if you dare encounter me!” Quick as a whiplash, Eliseth made a stabbing gesture at the grail she held—and suddenly the Mage’s vision of her enemy vanished as a film of ice streaked across the surface of the Well of Souls, solidifying rapidly from the center toward the brink.

As ice began to form around them the serpents streaked toward the pool’s edge, a hairbreadth ahead of the lethal crust that was congealing around them, threatening to trap their bodies in a cold, crystalline tomb. Thinking quickly, Aurian stretched out her arms to the threatened creatures, as far as she could reach. The intense chill rising from the surface of the Well burned her hands with a cruel, bone-deep ache, yet she held firm until the threatened creatures could reach her.

Rearing from the pool, the serpents reached toward her, but the Mage drew back slightly—just out of their reach. “First, give me the stone,” she ordered sternly. With a savage hiss, the red snake dropped the precious crystal into the palm of her outstretched hand. As Aurian extended her arms again, each serpent fastened its coils around one of her wrists and she leapt to her feet, lifting them out of danger. The power of the Staff enveloped her, running into her from the crystal in her hand. A surge of even greater power came from the Serpents of the High Magic, in a surge of ecstatic elation that nearly knocked her off her feet as she raised her snake-twined arms above her head, crying aloud in joy and triumph.

The serpents hissed in warning. Aurian spun. Behind her the towering figure of Death stood over Anvar, who was doubled over on the ground in agony, his mouth distorted in a silent scream. “A soul in torment,” the Specter hissed. “An unpleasant sight, is it not?”

A cold, sick feeling of dread washed over Aurian. Slowly, she lowered her arms. “Let him go,” she said evenly. “Your quarrel is not with Anvar.”

“You are wrong. My quarrel is with the two of you. I am done with humoring you and your recalcitrant paramours, Mage. You will go into the well. Both of you.—Now.”

Aurian stooped to pick up the inanimate shaft of the Staff of Earth. Though it would be no defense whatsoever against Death, it made her feel better to have some kind of weapon in her hand. “If you do this, you will lose the Serpents of the High Magic,” Aurian threatened, desperate enough to clutch at any straw. “I have claimed them, they have come to me, and there’s nothing you can do to stop me taking them back with me to my own world.”

“You will do as you must—it changes nothing. You will return to your own body, from whence you came. Anvar will be reborn.” Death shrugged. “Say your farewells to one another. It may be long indeed ere you meet again on any world.” So saying, the Specter seized hold of Anvar and lifted him to his feet with one hand. A single shove sent him staggering to the brink of the Well of Souls. “Aurian . . .” he shouted despairingly, and flung out an arm toward her as he fell.

“No!” Aurian cried. Even as Anvar plunged into the water she dived forward and caught hold of his outstretched hand. Then the waters closed over Aurian’s head as the two Mages fell together, whirling down and down into starry infinity.