Faelost Page 10

  “He's part orc himself, you know. Was part orc.” I tried not to let my voice trail off as a vision of my dying friend galloped through my head. “Damn it, can't remember what relative Shan told me, what degree of grandparent, but the Goldtrees have orc blood. Foxfire clan. Was considered a dirty family secret, but Daelis decided to embrace it after the whole Jarrah nightmare. I'm sorry about what happened to your family. I'm–”

  Feet scraped across the stone floor as the Sibyl returned with a tea tray. Marita rose and went to her side to help with the tray. She set it on the floor between the pillows while the Sibyl hovered above.

  The mismatched cups steamed with a pungent concoction I didn't recognize. Each cup held several twigs and an assortment of leaves. The scent rising within the steam was herbal, somewhat reminiscent of the eucalyptus groves that grew along the Celadon Coast of the Jade Realm. I picked up a cup and stared into it. I wasn't about to drink the concoction, but I wasn't sure how to keep the Sibyl unaware of that.

  Iefyr winked at me and let his tea dribble onto his woolen scarf. Good idea, I'd do the same. I'd have a wet scarf, but the heathered wool was dark and absorbent enough to keep a liquid stain from being obvious. I wasn't sure what the others could do to hide their full cups, but at least two of us could fake it.

  The Sibyl spread her arms and fanned her iridescent wings. A long croak escaped from her throat before she said, “Drink. Drink and be refreshed.”

  While the Sybil's eyes were closed, Marita's fingertips passed over the rim of her cup, then over Ragan's. The liquid level dropped a fraction. That left only Nador without an easy method of disposing of the tea. I watched her for only a moment before I realized that wasn't true. She had a wide-mouthed canteen tucked against her side and she dripped a little tea into it every time she lowered her cup.

  The Sibyl spun a circle. She planted her feet shoulder-width apart and pointed at the wall on the opposite side of the fountain. “Air dragons, water dragons, dragonbound live too short. Dragons of the sun, dragons of the moon, dragons of fire and smoldering ore, dragonbound live too long. Dragons go north, dragons go far, and ash kindles beneath their talons. Child of shadow, child of sword, child of flame, child of moonlight, protectors of the realms and all within its depths and shores, the future has come to me. I invoke the shadows. Things to come must be stopped. I have stopped them. Swords fall into the dust. You die now and the future is safe for the lightbound shadows.”

  Serida shrieked and scurried away from my lap. Her scream grew louder as she dodged the Sibyl's stomping feet. Her tiny jaws snapped at the Sibyl's ankle and refused to release.

  I sprang to my feet and drew my sword. My companions stayed seated as if in a daze. What was happening? Why was I the only one reacting?

  “Die now, die now, hearts stop, and die now. Light and shadow, shadow and light. Can't be stopped now. The world casts shadows and the shadows cast the world.” The Sibyl pressed her palms together and her wings rattled. “Do not resist the call of death, child. You were never meant for this world. You are only an echo, and neither an echo nor a dragonbound child can truly be free, save in silent death.”

  Serida's tail coiled as she scurried up the Sibyl's robe. Her toothless jaws bit the Sibyl's neck viciously enough to draw blood, but the Sibyl continued to smile.

  “I'm not going to die because some madwoman thinks it's a good idea,” I said. I knocked Ragan's thigh with the side of my boot. “Wake up, damn it.”

  “Can't wake up, won't wake up. The power is in the scent. Doesn't effect the dragonbound. Doesn't effect the one who could undo everything. It is a sorrowful inconvenience. Die anyway.” The Sibyl bared her teeth and dagger-like claws sprouted from her fingers. Her fangs elongated and her cataract-clouded eyes cleared to smoldering orange. “Well intended, child, but you belong to Death.”

  Serida sprang onto my back as I lunged for the Sibyl. The Fae woman wailed and opened my left cheek with a curved claw. She readied to strike again, but my sword met her neck and removed her head from her stooped shoulders. Her body staggered back and forth and her wings continued to rattle for several seconds, but then her knees gave way and the Sibyl's body joined her head on the floor.

  A gray mist drifted through the air as the bookshelves evaporated one by one. Soon all that was left was a round pit, a decaying fountain, and five cracked cups of rancid tea. The cleanliness, the shelves, the pillows . . . it was an illusion, all of it was an illusion. The only real things were us and the body on the black stone floor.

  I grabbed the tea cups and dumped them into the decrepit fountain, along with Iefyr's scarf and my own. If it was scent that had thrown my companions into this glossy-eyed daze, I needed to remove the scent. I slipped Nador's canteen out of the crook of her arm and added it to the refuse in the fountain.

  Ragan shook his head and blinked several times. “Sorry, must've dozed off.” His eyes darted between the headless Sibyl and me. “What the ungodly hell, Tessen?”

  The others rubbed their temples or looked around the hovel in confusion. Thick clouds of dust swirled in the sparse light and the mingled stenches of mold and rot emanated from every slimy crack and crevice.

  I used a handkerchief to wipe blood from Serida's face and neck. “Short version, the smell of the tea entranced you guys. Not me for some reason, something about it not affecting dragonbound. She was spouting nonsense about shadows and intended on killing us, but I killed her first. Everything disappeared when she died, so I guess it was all an illusion she created, probably for her own comfort. I think she was just a lonely old woman whose mind couldn't handle our interruption. That makes me feel bad about killing her, but it was her or us.”

  Ragan stood and laid his hand heavy on my shoulder. “I remember now, but it's kinda like a dream. You did great. If you did what you had to do, you shouldn't feel bad about it. At least not for long. We've gotta get out of this hole. Now. Can't breathe in here.”

  We helped the other three to their feet and left the decapitated Sibyl behind. Ragan's words didn't take the sting away, and I wondered who the crone might have been before her obligations to her order left her a homicidal hermit. Was she kind once, was she stern, was she rebellious? Did she love the children she was obligated to bear or did she only see them as her duty? Do they know where she is now? Will they ever know or care how she died? Will anyone?

  Shan and Rose were sitting next to the murky pond when we emerged from the boulder, which was now just as white and gray as the rest. The glass scarab door was gone, replaced by a rotting wooden plank on a single creaky hinge. The pond fish were now drab instead of rainbow-hued and a few dead ones rotted in the brown scum that festered along the black stonework walls.

  Shan's eyebrow arched as he looked up at us. “What happened? This place just got intensely ugly.”

  “All fake. Let's go,” I said as I adjusted Saragon's saddle. Serida hopped in her crate and trilled. I gave her a couple bruised cherries and a grasshopper. It wasn't a feast, but it had to taste better than crone blood.

  “Go where?” Ragan asked. “We're not any more sure of where we're at than before we went in there.”

  I shrugged. “North, I guess. She said something about dragonbound escaping to the north, just before she tried to kill me.”

  Marita held up her hands, her eyes closed. “Wait a moment. Just a few minutes. I'm still . . . I'm still disoriented. Let me do a quick clearing ritual for the deceased. I can't blame her for what she tried to do, not in her circumstances.”

  “Yeah, fine,” Ragan said. He adjusted Sprite's saddle as he looked longingly at the pond. “Damn, do I wish that water was clean. Was making me thirsty and now it's filth. Stinks to high hell, too. Vultures picking at the rot over on the other side.”

  “Please do it fast,” Iefyr said, rocking from foot to foot. He shivered and pulled a knit hat over his long red hair. He replaced the scarf I discarded in the hovel with a wider, warmer blue one and I felt a little less guilty about taking the origin
al from him. I didn't have an extra for myself, so I hoped it wouldn't get too cold before we found a less aggressive and more authentic shelter.

  Marita retrieved several objects from her saddlebags before approaching the door. She lined up a gray and brown feather, an oil vial, and an herb bundle on the threshold. She paced several small circles while flicking a green fabric fan through the air.

  “Vile spirits, be gone. Feather of the owl, guide this Sibyl's spirit back to the light. Do not punish her for reacting to a world she no longer understands. Rosemary and sage and lavender, purify this place. Bring clarity to the confusion and allow the trees to grow in peace. Oil of peppermint, allow for alertness in any other unfortunate souls who may become caught in the trap that brought us to this desert.” Marita knelt at the threshold. She placed the herbs on top of the feather, then anointed them with a few drops of oil. She snapped her fingers and a spark ignited the bundle. She fanned the flames as they burned a brilliant shade of green. “I release this place from the loneliness of the dead and send the Sibyl's spirit to those who once cared for her and those who will care for her. This place is now just a place.”

  Marita arched her back and held the fan to the sky. “Spirits of the world and Lady of Light, guide us to safety. Help us find what we seek so we may return safely home.”

  The flame flared, then extinguished. Marita covered the smoldering remnants with silt before standing. She brushed her knees and smiled. “All right, let's get the hell out of here. North did you say? We'll go north.”

  Chapter 14

  “Do you think she's the one who brought us here?” I asked Shan as we walked together over a field of loose pebbles. The ground here was too unstable to ride the horses, so we were forced to walk them. It was tedious, but at least the landscape was different now that the spherical boulders were an hour behind us. The horizon was still flat, though, and there was no sign we'd be reaching anywhere hospitable with what little remaining sunlight we had left.

  “Who?” Shan startled and shook his head, then continued staring off to the right. I saw nothing but a flat expanse of gray.

  “The Sibyl. Do you think she brought us here?”

  “No, I doubt it. I think she was a delusional old woman who saw us as a threat to her solitude. Sad, huh?”

  “Quite.” I nearly kicked the pebbles, but decided better of it. Nador wasn't far in front of me and I didn't want to hit her.

  Pebbles, pebbles, more pebbles. They slid under our feet and made it difficult to balance. I was hungry, but I didn't want to get into my food stash until we stopped, and even then I wouldn't be able to eat enough to satisfy my hunger. Not until we were somewhere with game to hunt or fish to catch or roots to gnaw on, anything. Anything but this barren waste and these damnable rocks.

  “You're quite good at this saving lives thing, you know.” Shan clicked his tongue at Lumin, who scurried across his shoulders and down his arm to snatch the dark blue beetle he held in his palm.

  “I wish I didn't have to be. I'd rather be back in Jadeshire, making gaudy baubles and tableware for aristocrats. This is ridiculous. Ragan's up at the front of the line singing and he sounds like a stepped-on cat fighting with a harbor seal. That's how ridiculous this is.” I sighed and stretched my neck from side to side. “This is your fault and I want to go home.”

  Shan snorted and nearly stumbled into me. “Oh, come on. You know you still would've come with me even if I hadn't given you Serida. You still would've saved our family from the guards. You still would be here right now, regardless of your ownership by a teeny tiny kitten of a dragon.”

  “Yeah, you're right,” I admitted. The temperature was sinking toward unpleasantly chilly and I hoped we'd come across something to burn for a campfire soon. The last thing I wanted was to snuggle up with any of my companions for warmth. Shan clearly didn't share my hesitation in the matter. He'd been exchanging tiny smiles with Marita all afternoon. I didn't care. If he wanted Marita and she wanted him, they could have each other. She wasn't my type, anyway. I didn't know if I even had a type.

  “You would have gone anywhere if it meant keeping me safe,” Shan whispered. He and Marita glanced at each other again. She turned completely around to smile at him and tripped into her horse.

  “Eyes on the path, deary,” Nador grumbled.

  “You know me too well,” I said.

  “Of course I do. Don't remember my life before you.” Shan elbowed my side and nodded toward Marita. “She's not going to like me once she knows me, once she sees what was done to me.”

  “Sure she will. She's got spells inked in her own skin. She may be a good match for you.”

  “Shut up and walk, little boys,” Nador said. She clearly was not enjoying her position halfway between Marita and Shan in the line. The shortness of her legs compared to the rest of ours only added to her frustration. I couldn't imagine it being easy having to take twice as many steps to cover the same distance.

  “We'd get there faster if you'd start running so we could stop shuffling,” Shan said. He narrowed his eyes and smirked. “Would you like one of us to carry you on our shoulders? Iefyr maybe?”

  “Huh?” Iefyr grunted, but didn't turn around.

  “Rude, Shan,” I said.

  “Quite.” Nador growled. Her silver ponytail bobbed as she quickened her pace. “Lord Goldtree is jealous that his little brother saved lives while he sat and played with shadows like a useless twit.”

  Ragan abruptly stopped. He handed Sprite's reigns to Rose and backtracked to stand in front of Nador. She put her hands on her hips and looked up at him expectantly.

  Ragan looked directly at Shan as he said, “No, Nador. Don't you accuse him of that. He's seen things, had to do things that you'd better wish you never have to. He watched his friend get killed by cave monsters and there wasn't a damned thing he could do to save her. He killed to save his parents and sister. He was maimed and tortured by his own grandmother and survived with his heart broken and his strength intact. He tried to ease another tortured child into the afterlife to release her from a short life of agony. He still gets lost in the dark sometimes, but his light is bright enough to scare away any abyss. Don't you dare call him useless and jealous. Don't. Never.”

  Shan's knees gave way and he sat cross-legged on the pebbles. He hung his head and buried his face in his palms.

  “We didn't tell you any of that.” I set my hand on Shan's shoulder and he reached up to hold it. “How did you know? Who told you?”

  The pebbles grated together as Ragan walked around Nador. He crouched and ran his fingertips across Shan's nape. “I'm afraid I haven't been completely honest with you. The reason I knew you were the one with the dragon eggs was because your mother told me herself. I met with your parents and Duke Goldtree about six weeks ago. Your mother told me what happened to you, at least as much as she knew. She entrusted your safety to me, even back before what happened to the Duke. I've always been fond of you, Shannon. I'm gonna try my damnedest not to let you down.”

  “But you already have. I loved you like you were my own father and you left me. I can't figure out how to forgive you.” Shan's lips barely moved as he whispered. He lowered his hands to the ground and plunged his fingers into the pebbles. “I can't even forgive myself. Not for anything I've done.”

  “You'll figure that one out.” Ragan leaned forward until his forehead contacted Shan's. “Hey, you forgave Daelis, right? Maybe there's a little hope for me yet, somewhere lost in this gods-forsaken wasteland. Might there be, Shannon?”

  Shan rolled his head to the side until it rested on Ragan's shoulder. “I fade with the light, Ragan, and the sun is nearly lost to the horizon. I'll give you today, and maybe tomorrow, but only because there is grass beneath my hand. See? We're nearly somewhere.” Shan raised his right hand and revealed three green blades, one between each of his fingers. He showed them to Lumin, who sniffed at them and growled. “I can breathe where there is green. Green grows hope. It keeps my heart beating
and helps me remember who I am.”

  “I worry about you,” Ragan said. He stood and offered Shan his hand. “Let's see if we can walk just a little further. We're all beat, but I'd rather sleep on grass than rocks so a little more distance is doable, don't you think?”

  Shan moved past Ragan to take Marita's reaching hand. They walked side by side, sometimes touching and sometimes not, for an hour or two after the moon rose and the dew slickened the pebbles. We did find grass, a narrow strip of it fringing a trickle of a stream. It was there that we stopped for the night. No one kept watch as we slept. Exhaustion and confusion had robbed us of our vigilance and stripped us of all care about the dangers of the night.

  Chapter 15

  I dreamed I played a silver harp in the middle of a grain field. Gnomes scurried about, harvesting amaranth stalks by hand and balancing baskets upon their rounded midsections. Occasionally a horn sounded, and the gnomes stopped to blow their prominent noses into purple and yellow handkerchiefs. I played the harp with ease. My raw fingertips bled upon the strings, but there was no pain. I was confused about this even in the dream. I was a viol player, and had never touched a harp.

  A flock of ducks flew toward me from the mountain-studded horizon. They transformed into green-headed dragons as they passed over my head. The steam emanating from their nostrils froze into snow. The gnomes set down their baskets to twirl and dance in the flurries. The faster they spun, the thicker the snow fell. The dragons circled and transformed again, this time into doves. Sleet fell from their beating wings.

  The tone of the harp changed and my attention switched from the doves to my fingers. Thorns had grown from the harp strings and several of my fingers were stripped of flesh right down to smooth, white bone. I withdrew my hands, but the music continued. Bloodied tears dripped from my eyes and stained the white scarf draped around my neck. Blood fell from my fingers and wicked across the gathering snow.