The Shining Falcon

Chapter XLIX Power Play

Trapped, chained, wings pinned closely to his sides, the anguished falcon strained against his bindings, aching for the sky, staring painfully up at that endless, dizzying sweep of blue, at that open freedom he could never reach—

And then, all at once, it happened! Miraculously, the iron chains were falling away from him, and he was free, peel Breathless, bewildered, trembling with joy, the falcon leaped into the air on fiercely outstretched wings, soaring up and up and up.

But something was wrong. The fierce blue sky was turning overcast, grey as grief. And something was striking his upturned face—rain? Warm, salty rain? Confused, he felt his wings begin to falter… And now the sky was fading… and he was—

He was awake, and Finist, man, not falcon, and the warm, salty rain wasn't rain at all, but tears—

Who would be weeping for him? Surely not Ljuba! Finist blinked, trying to clear his hazy vision. As his senses returned, he froze, staring up in sheer, stunned wonder.

Oh kind, merciful, wonderful Heaven, could it be? These were Maria's tears! She was here, his dearest, somehow she was here!

«Maria…» Finist gasped.

But before he could say anything more, before he could see more than the very first, faint dawnings of joy on her face, she was turning wildly from him, staring with horror.

Ljuba stood in the doorway—a fierce-eyed Ljuba gathering Power to her to strike Maria down.

How could she know about— Aie, no time for questions! «Ljuba, stop!» Finist shouted, or tried to shout, struggling to get to his feet and— Oh, damn, damn, he didn't have the strength. He wasn't going to be able to stop Ljuba in time, and Maria was going to be slain right before his helpless eyes.

«No!»

There wasn't time for finesse. Finist abandoned the fragile physical, and desperately threw all the essence of his will at his cousin even as she struck. Power flared dazzlingly—there was a soundless, agonizing rending of reality about them—

And the world of flesh-and-blood was gone. Around them was… nothing.

Nearly nothing. There was no sense of hot or cold here, no clearly defined up or down, there was only a featureless, boundless blue-grey haze—a haze that fairly glowed with Power. And after a second of confusion, the prince realized with a surge of triumph what had happened. This place had nothing to do with any of the Realms of Flesh or Spirit:

We've thrown ourselves onto a plane of pure energy, of pure magic!

Granted, he could still kill himself here; though he had left his physical self somewhere back in reality, he was still linked to it, and there was always the chance he would exhaust that weakened body beyond the point of recovery.

It's worth the risk, thought Finist, drawing Power to him.

This time, he knew with a little shock of horror, it couldn't be a case of merely stopping his cousin. This time there could be no reprieves. After all the years of forgive and forgive, this time only one of them could survive.

Oh, my cousin! It was a cry of silent pain.

Ljuba struggled to get herself back under control. God, that had been a shock! First to find Finist conscious—and frighteningly coherent, too—then to be hurled roughly out of herself and dumped in this… wherever it was, at the mercy of her almost certainly vengeful cousin—

Akh, wait. This place had a strangeness to it, a tingling, electric strangeness that meant they could only have fallen onto a plane of pure magic.

Oh, Finist, you fool! I may be a weaker magician than you in the real world. But here, with Power all around me, I am truly your equal!

With that, she seized magic from the richness all about her, glorying in the ease of it, and hurled it at her cousin in a wild, raw, deadly wave of Power.

Off balance, Finist barely managed to defend himself against the savage attack that had plainly been meant to slay his mind and leave his body helpless. Of course, he thought, she still needs my body as her puppet. Staggering beneath the dizzying impact of that arcane wave, he sighed with relief to feel it striking, recoiling, breaking apart against the psychic wall he'd hastily hurled together.

Ljuba, too, was staggering, dazed by the backlash of unspent force.

Now's your chance! Finist shouted to himself. But he couldn't strike to kill‑curse him for a fool, he couldn't! Even knowing what she was, even knowing what she'd meant to do—he couldn't block the memory of the past. There she lingered in his mind, not the ruthless, lovely woman-who-was, but the girl-who'd-been, the girl he had been too young to know how to help, child‑Ljuba, unloved and so alone…

You idiot, forget your misplaced pity! She's a traitor to the crown; she tried to break your mind. She tried to kill Maria! Will you let her escape?

Shaking, Finist pulled Power to him, all the wild, terrible Power his being could control, and hurled it at Ljuba in one blazing, deadly spear-But the memory of a smooth golden form, warm and radiant in candlelight… the thought of that perfect form lying torn and broken in death…

And even as he hurled that blazing Power, Finist cried out in despair and cast it wide.

As the terrifying force engulfed her, burning, a horrified Ljuba had only time enough to think, I'm dead! But then that force had hurtled by and burst apart, to leave her untouched, and she nearly laughed in her shaken relief. You can't kill me, can you, cousin? You're not quite free of my potion's control yet! While I…

She stared fiercely at him where he sagged, drained, exhausted, and knew that now he was hers.

Yes, and yet… did she really have to destroy him? Ljuba blinked, astonished to once again feel that sudden, unwanted twinge of… love?

Oh, no, not here, not now! It was a silent scream of rage. There's no time for this!

She'd strike him now, mind to mind, conquer him withy out the need for potions or foolish iron pins. She would use this Power to burn out his will and make Finist and Kirtesk her own.

Then, without warning, the blue-grey haze of this plane was swirling up about her, as though it were Earthly fog seized by a terrible wind—but there couldn't be any wind, not in this place of Not-Quite-Real—sweeping over her in glowing waves. Surrounded by the wild, silent whirlings of Power, she couldn't see or hear or feel—she was alone in nothingness.

Finist! What have you done to me?

What was happening? One moment Maria had been in Finist's bed‑chamber, seeing Ljuba about to strike, sure that she was going to die, the next moment Finist had been struggling to his feet, magic swirling wildly about him. Though his body hadn't moved from the bedside, she had still felt him leaving the physical, leaving her, as surely as she'd felt his emotions when the silver chain had been binding them together. She remembered screaming out:

«No, I can't lose you, not so soon!»

Then, too anguished to think clearly, she had thrown the entire force of her love and longing and despair after him, sensing her mind brushing his just for an instant before a terrible pressure seemed to rend body and spirit apart—

And was this death, this strange blue-grey, swirling fog? Surely not. Because, even though she didn't seem to have a proper body, even though she didn't seem to be breathing, she could still feel, she could still hear, she was still she, Maria Danilovna!

Caught in a fresh surge of panic, she glanced wildly around, trying to orient herself. But there weren't any landmarks here. There didn't seem to be anything here, save this eerie fog—

All right. Maria forced herself sternly away from hysteria. If I'm not dead, this must be one of those bizarre magical Realms Finist once mentioned when he—

Finist! Even as she thought that name, the haze about her seemed to clear, and Maria stared in disbelief. «Finist!» Without air to breathe, there couldn't be any sound, but he heard her. Without solid ground beneath her feet, she shouldn't have been able to run to him, but she did—right into his arms. And how wonderful was that embrace, strangely weightless though it was!

«Oh, Finist, my love!» This must be some sort of magical nonvocal speech, she decided, then stopped worrying about it altogether as their lips met in a quick, frantic kiss. Then Finist was drawing back, eyes anguished. «Maria, forgive me, I didn't stop to think‑I didn't mean to pull you here after me!»

«No," Maria protested, «it wasn't you. I did it. Truly. I knew you were leaving your body behind, for my sake. And—and I couldn't bear to think I might be losing you a second time, and — "

«Maria, do you know what you're saying?»

«That… we are attuned?» She stared up at him in dawning comprehension. «That's it, isn't it? Even without the magic of the necklace, we're still attuned.» Maria heard the nervous delight quivering in her words. «I mean, for such a thing as this to happen — "

«Yes, of course, love—but I've got to get you out of here before Ljuba senses you!»

Shaking, Maria felt the prince making a heroic effort to control his magic, heedless of the damage he might be doing to his weakened body. She knew with him that it was going to work after all, she felt with him the proper psychic tingle that was magic stirring through him…

But as quickly as it had come, the Power had drained away again, and Finist was left sagging in Maria's arms. For a moment, Maria found herself sharing his storm of emotions, feeling his fear for her, his despair, his aching weariness—Akh, Finist, my poor dear! — and with it, a tangle of something else, a darkness composed of grief and shame and… lust?

Not for myself, I hope—not like this, anyhow, so very mixed up with guilt and hatred.

And then she tensed, staring.

«No. " Maria wasn't sure whether she'd groaned that aloud or not. But there before her was the object of Finist's hatred:

Ljuba. Ljuba, whose only lust was for power. Ljuba who, untouched by fever-weakness, meant to destroy her cousin. Maria knew it, saw it, felt it.

But what could she do? Ljuba was drawing the raw stuff of magic about her and it was flaring brighter, a deadly aura encircling the sorceress. Her long, golden hair stirred and crackled eerily in that place where there was no wind, no sound; her eyes blazed till they were no longer merely human.

Beside her, Maria could feel Finist trying to gather Power to him, but she knew with a dreadful sort of calm that he could never control it in time, not drained as he was. Ljuba would win, and Finist would die—no, worse, his mind would die, and the empty shell of his body live on—

«I won't let it happen!'' The cry burst from her, tearing through the wild tangle of her emotions, Finist's emotions. «Ljuba, I won't let you do this!»

Her fierce, despairing gaze locked with the sorcerous stare. There was a sharp, dizzying sense of impact, almost as though she'd struck Ljuba a physical blow. Then—a rational corner of Maria's mind insisted that what happened next could only have been caused by that continued link with Finist and the Power around him. And yet surely the force of the love and hope and fear she felt for him was more powerful than any magic. For in that next, stunned instant, Maria found herself looking past the mere chance of luck that was Ljuba's outer beauty, past the confusion that was Finist's love and hatred, looking more deeply and more truly than ever she'd seen anyone before. And what Maria saw: Oh, the poor thing!

Far worse than simple physical abuse was the total lack of love. There was a girl who knew she bore the seeds of darkness in her, yet had no way to fight them, who cried and cried for help, but silently, always silently, because she knew there was no one to aid her, no one to care, no one to trust—

But at last young Ljuba had learned to build a wall about herself and call it strength. She had come to accept the dark within, to welcome it, come to lust for power and for Power, the only things sure never to betray her, the only dungs without the weaknesses that were love or trust or pity‑Maria couldn't stand any more. Blinking back stunned tears, she cried out, «Oh, my dear, no! It isn't like that!» And accidentally, in all innocence, she showed Ljuba to Ljuba.

What was happening? There'd been that sudden locking of their glances, startling but not alarming, though Maria had astonished Ljuba by the force of that magicless will. But now, before Ljuba could even begin to resist, the images were here, flooding over her, overwhelming her, drowning her, the images of herself—

No, not me! I was never like that!

—images of the inner Ljuba, the secret self she'd thought safely locked away since childhood, the piteous, shrivelled being with all her weaknesses, all her fears, so helpless, so lost, so afraid…

There was no eluding mat merciless flood of truth… Finist: She had tried to believe she loved him, but it wasn't love, she didn't really understand love. It had been a hunger for dominance, no more, a hunger for power…

And what's wrong with that? she thought defiantly. Kings have ruled with less.

But the images were still flooding her mind, sharper, clearer images from deeper within herself… And all at once Ljuba was seeing not that crippled, love-starved child, but the thing she'd deliberately become, the cold-hearted, empty creature—

The pathetic creature! The laughable creature, unable to love, unable to trust, unable to feel anything save lust and hate and fear.

Stop it! Please, please, stop it!

Ljuba fought to flee the torment of her own mind, but there was no escaping that prison, and so she found instead the very heart of her fear, found the forest there within her, there with all its ancient, terrible Power, the forest that hated her, had always hated her! It was mocking her with a bitter, deadly wit, calling:

Traitor! You would have slain your kin! You would have murdered your prince!

Aie, this was Maria's fault. If only she could find the girl, kill her, this torture would stop, and she'd be in control again and all would be well—

But the forest's cry was continuing savagely, Traitor, you've lost! It's over and you've lost—

—and she couldn't think, she couldn't act, she could only scream out:

«No, no, you don't understand! I — "

But still it continued, shouting at her, taunting her in her own voice:

Traitor—hopeless, loveless, soulless traitor!

«No! Please!»

Traitor! her own voice screamed. Traitor!

Semyon was before her, echoing, Traitor! the entire court was watching her, echoing, Traitor! and most terribly Erema, who'd died for her, was with them, the nameless man in the forest who'd died for her was with them, all of them crying, Traitor! and there was no escape from them, no escape—

What inner horror could Ljuba be seeing? Maria had sparked it‑in all innocence, Finist was sure. Overwhelmed by the Power she didn't know how to control, she had turned Ljuba's vision inward, though Finist knew from Maria's very plain bewilderment that she hadn't the faintest idea what she had done.

As Ljuba shrank back into herself, wild-eyed, Finist felt a sudden, wonderful surge of returning strength. His cousin had just lost her last, tenuous psychic hold over him.

Finist knew what he must do.

Grimly shutting his mind to pity, Finist steeled himself to strip away Ljuba's Power and return her to the real world, and a traitor's fate. Arm protectively about Maria, the prince focused all his restored will and called himself, his love, and his cousin back to the room they'd left. The blue-grey fog agreeably parted and faded…

It wasn't as easy as it should have been. For an instant that seemed to drag into forever, there was nothing about them, and he couldn't seem to find the right path, or any path at all.

Then the familiar lines of his bed‑chamber were reforming about them, and Finist gave an unashamed sigh of relief. Abruptly returned to mortal solidity and a body that was still weak from illness, the prince staggered, only the residue of the other plane's magic keeping him upright. He felt Maria, who, poor love, must be nearly as dizzy as he, make a valiant attempt to steady him. For a moment, linked in that afterglow of the magical plane's Power, their minds touched, warm, loving…

Yes, but Ljuba—

Desperate with terror, Ljuba huddled against a wall, staring at him as though he were her death. Drawing the magical residue about himself, enhancing his own depleted strength as best he could, Finist gently pulled free from Maria, physically, psychically, and reached out for his cousin. What must be, must be.

But before Finist could even touch Ljuba, she screamed: the sound of it rang with the anguish of a lost, lost soul.

They were back, they were back, and Finist was coming towards her, shouting without words, Traitor! Traitor! Didn't Maria hear him? Didn't anyone hear him? Traitor! Traitor! Oh, God, and it was true—all her plans, all her hopes and schemes, had come down to this. When Finist reached her, when he touched her, her fate would be sealed, she would be lost, forever lost—

Ljuba screamed and, screaming, tried to flee. But Finist blocked her path, shouting in his silent rage, Traitor, traitor! She couldn't let him touch her, she had to escape, but there was no escape! No escape save one—

«Ljuba!»

Just as he touched her, just as his hand closed about her arm, she changed. There was a dizzying blurring of shape, a wild stirring of feathers and a rush of wings, and all at once there was no Ljuba, nothing but a crow flapping frantically away, nothing but an empty caftan falling to the floor.

Somewhere deep in the forest, strange beings stirred. Somewhere deep in the forest, the leshy laughed softly to himself and whispered, «Meet your fate, oh forest-foe!»

«Finist… ?»

The prince came back to himself with a start, realizing belatedly that he had tried to follow the crow. He stood at the window, staring after her. Swallowing convulsively, he glanced down at his hands, trembling with shock there on the sill, and clenched them about the smooth stone to try to stop their shaking.

«Finist? Please, Finist, what is it? What happened?»

Slowly and painfully as an old man, the prince turned from the window. «Ljuba's gone.»

«Well, yes, I saw her fly. But — "

«You don't understand, love. She's gone forever.» For a moment he couldn't continue. «Ljuba… broke. She took her guilt upon her before she could be formally accused. And she—she not only took her avian shape, she sealed herself into it. Maria, I felt it happen!»

«I don't — "

He couldn't hide his shuddering. «It‑it's the fate of the royal traitor, to be bird forever, body and—and mind.» Finist saw the dawning of comprehending horror on Maria's face, and gasped, «You understand! Oh, Maria, she will never, never return!»

She said nothing, only watched him, her face pale as death. And Finist broke, and flung his arms about her, and clung to her as though he'd never let her go again.

At last the shock wore off. Finist pulled free enough to look down at Maria and smile, a touch uneasily.

«Forgive me. I didn't mean to…»

«You—you don't hate me?»

«Hate you!» He drew back even more, staring. «Dear God, Maria, no! Why should I — "

«Ljuba… It was my doing. Her‑collapse, I mean.»

«Nonsense.»

«It was! I—I don't know what happened, I don't even know what I did!»

«You showed her the truth, that's all," said Finist, very gently. «You simply showed her the truth. You… did what I would have had to do.»

«But — "

«Maria, love, believe me, you did nothing wrong! What happened to my cousin was inevitable.» For all his attempts at calm, Finist couldn't keep a faint tremor out of his voice. «You see, love, if she hadn't d-doomed herself, it would have fallen to me as prince and magician to—to destroy her.»

«Oh, Finist, no!» Maria looked up at him with anguished eyes. «And you loved her, didn't you?»

«No. I… No," said Finist after a moment, truthfully. «No, I never really did.» He shook his head impatiently. «It's you I love, Maria, never doubt that. It's you I love.»

What if she didn't believe that? What if he had frightened her away? Suddenly terrified, Finist stared into her eyes. But what he saw there was warmth—wonderful, reassuring warmth. And the prince let out his breath in a long, happy sigh.

«So. There are a good many things that must be done, to undo what — " He stopped short, reluctant to mention Ljuba's name. Ah, it was going to take a long time for healing. «What was done," Finist finished firmly.

«Akh, yes.» Maria understood. «The first thing to do, I would think, is to restore poor boyar Semyon to his proper place.»

«Indeed! And then get word to Stargorod and your father that you're alive and quite safe.»

«Yes, thank you!»

«Mm, and perhaps I can find a way to coax the man to Kirtesk. I can always use someone of his integrity at my court. Even if he does insist that I'm a child of the Devil!''

«And Vasilissa… ?»

«I'd like to see her again, too. Love, I just might be able to help her. Strengthen her mind, I mean, with healing magic.»

Maria's eyes shone with startled joy. «I never thought— Finist, could you?»

«I can at least try. Akh, but we're leaving out the most important task of all!»

She blinked. «What's that?»

«My dear Maria, my poor people have been living in desperate anticipation of a royal wedding for a good long time!» His breath caught in his throat. «We can hardly disappoint them, can we?»

To his relief and delight, she didn't pull away, but moved comfortably into the crook of his arm, fitting there as neatly as though she'd always belonged there. «Indeed we cannot," Maria said, and smiled.