Shards of Time

  “I hope we never do again, talí,” Seregil said, putting an arm around Alec’s waist.

  “Me, too. And thank you.”

  “What for?”

  “For not making a fuss about me going back in.”

  Seregil just tightened his arm around Alec. Alec didn’t need to know what it cost him to watch him disappear time and again where Seregil could not follow.

  Encumbered as he was with bag and bird, Alec leaned his head against Seregil’s for a moment, murmuring, “Aishutal, Seregil talí.”

  “I love you, too, beloved Alec.” Seregil was surprised at how tight his throat suddenly felt.

  They continued on in silence until the moment when the curve of Seregil’s arm was suddenly empty. Thrown off balance by Alec’s sudden disappearance, he staggered a little, almost tripping over the startled chicken, which hadn’t made the journey after all.

  “Damnation!” he snarled, chasing it down the bank as it flapped away. He caught it at last and tucked it under his arm, then went back to Mika’s rock and sat down to keep watch for Alec.

  Alec turned around to find Seregil—and the chicken—gone. The road was nothing more than a grassy track along the bank and the stars were gone. He walked up the rise again and looked out over the landscape. In this light it didn’t look much different than it had a few minutes ago with Seregil. Mika’s mute little friend was probably out there, tending his ghostly sheep.

  It was too far to walk to Zikara from here, but perhaps he could get a look at Menosi as it had been. He started up the river trail toward where the camp would be, but he hadn’t gone far when the stars were back and Seregil was waving to him from atop the rock. The chicken was on the ground in front of him, head tucked under her wing, apparently unharmed.

  “I don’t understand,” said Alec, walking up to join Seregil. “Why is it different here than in the palace?”

  “That’s a question for Thero.” Seregil scooped up the sleepy hen and they walked back to camp and Thero’s tent. Micum and Mika were there with the wizard and looked up in surprise as Seregil and Alec came in.

  “It didn’t work,” Seregil said, handing Thero the hen. “Alec got in and out like Mika did, but the chicken didn’t.”

  “So I see.” Thero examined the bird closely, then gave it to Mika to carry back to the poulterer. “Well, that answers that question. Only a dra’gorgos can drag another living thing across.”

  “That doesn’t do us much good,” said Micum, lighting his pipe from the lantern. “If we wear our amulets they can’t touch us, and if we take them off, the monsters kill us.”

  “Precisely.” Thero sighed. “So there is a portal by the river.”

  “There is, but it’s different,” Alec told him. “I didn’t see a portal, I was just suddenly on the other side, and it was the same place, rather than transporting me like the portals in the palace do. I just walked in and back out again. I wanted to go up to the city but I came out by the river before I could get there.”

  “Very strange.” Thero went to the desk and unrolled a map he’d made of the palace and surrounding area. He’d marked portals found around the palace in blue ink. Now he dipped his pen and made a wavy blue line beside the river. “What Alec has found so far are like rents in time. But this? Perhaps it’s more a thin place in the fabric, as it were?” He looked down at it for a moment, then found a caliper and used it to draw a circle on the map with the town at the center and the farthest portal at the palace marking the circumference. The others gathered around to watch. The place by the river was outside the circle.

  “What does that tell you?” asked Micum, puffing away on his pipe.

  “I’m not sure, because my measurements are not precise.”

  “May I?” Seregil took the caliper and used it to draw another circle with the oracle’s cave as the center. This time the circle encompassed the palace, the river, and the tower with room to spare all around. “This is where the seals would have been. It seems more likely they’d be at the center of things.”

  “You’re right,” said Thero. “And the river is quite far away, compared with the palace. It’s as if the other plane overlays our own, like a veil, only we can’t see it.”

  “And yet the tower is completely gone,” Alec pointed out. “Everything else is sort of mirrored, but the tower is gone.”

  “That must have been the point,” said Seregil. “The rest of the countryside got caught in the storm, but the tower was the crucial part that had to be locked completely away. It’s the dyrmagnos’s retreat. Maybe that’s where she holed up when Nhandi found out what she really was. Nhandi and her army—if she had one—couldn’t get in, so she and Khazireen did the only thing they could.”

  “Got rid of her, tower and all,” said Micum. “That was quite a trick. Too bad they had to destroy the countryside along with it.”

  “Trapped, not destroyed,” said Thero. “I’m sure it would have been kinder if they’d just killed all those people, rather than condemning them to that place with her.”

  “What about the palace, though?” asked Alec. “It wasn’t destroyed, or transported or whatever you want to call it. But there are still portals there that carry me off to the area around the town.”

  “Perhaps Nhandi and Khazireen protected it from the worst of things,” said Thero.

  “It seems Rhazat had her revenge on Nhandi if she’s wearing her enemy’s skin,” Seregil noted with distaste. “Have you ever heard of any necromancy like that, Thero?”

  The wizard nodded grimly. “Yes.”

  “And?”

  Thero glanced out the tent flap to make sure Mika wasn’t listening outside. “She must have skinned Nhandi—alive.”

  Micum lowered his pipe. “Maker’s Mercy. Do you think she and Khazireen knew what the dyrmagnos might do?”

  “Why do you think he killed himself?” said Seregil. “The way the skull is positioned—it’s like he’s keeping watch for her even now. Perhaps that’s what the ghost is doing there.”

  “For a thousand years,” Thero said softly.

  RHAZAT seemed to be biding her time, and that worried Klia. She was allowed to wander at will, so she filled her pockets with food every morning and set off in a different direction. She’d briefly considered stealing a horse from the stable, but when she went to lead one out of the stall, it hissed at her in a horrid, unnatural way that made the hairs on her arms rise. She’d backed hastily away and struck off on foot.

  Over the next week she chose a new direction and followed it until half of her carefully rationed food was gone, then returned by a slightly different route. If more food was available, she’d repeat the reconnoiter until the light failed. Some paths brought her full-circle back to Zikara before she had changed direction. Others stretched on, past the point she could go with the amount of food she could carry. It was very disconcerting, but underscored the magical nature of the place.

  Although her days seemed to revolve around food and its rationing, it was only with an effort that she could eat at all, given the awful doubt Rhazat had planted in her mind. She wasn’t ready to die yet, though, so she did her best not to think about it, and ate as sparingly as she could and still keep up her strength. She was losing weight quickly. Her clothes were loose on her already slim frame, and she’d taken her belt in two notches.

  She’d easily found her way back to the cave with the mysterious stone; the dyrmagnos had no reason to hide it, since apparently only Klia could disturb it. She avoided it at first, but as day bled into indistinguishable grey day, she found herself there studying the cave drawings, hideous as they were, for some sort of guidance. There didn’t seem to be any pattern, just the work of a dark mind.

  The glowing black opal enticed her with its offer of possible escape. It would be easy. She folded her arms tightly across her chest, so strong was the pull. Suddenly the light blurred as the tears came. Sinking to her knees, she buried her face in her hands and wept—for Thero, for her unborn daughter, for
herself, and for sheer despair and frustration and the oppressive uncertainty of what the dyrmagnos meant to do with her. How long had she been here? A week? Two? She’d lost all track.

  “Please Illior, patron of Kouros and nightrunners; please Sakor of the Flame and battle—help me. I wasn’t meant to die like this!” Reaching into her coat, she took out the sharpened gorget and knelt there in the black opal’s light, testing the sharp edge with her thumb. The shining golden blade was shaped like Illior’s Moon. With her other hand she found the large artery that ran beside her throat. The pulse throbbed solidly against her fingers, proof that she was not yet a ghost in this awful landscape.

  It would be so easy.

  Eia nyis, ashkira, a woman’s voice whispered to her, and Klia felt a hand cover hers holding the blade. Eia nistha. The accent was strange but Klia recognized the Aurënfaie words: Not today, warrior. Not today. It was the same voice that had screamed something about “skin” the day Rhazat had tortured Mika here.

  “Nhandi?” Who else could it be, in this place?

  Kamar yosi eyír, ashkira. I am with you, warrior.

  “Eyíra rili?” she whispered.

  Es rili. Kamar sika es rili … It tapered off in a sigh.

  “You want your skin?” Klia shivered at the implication of that. “Aubus ei nathama, Khirsalä!” Tell me what to do, Honored Ancestor.

  No reply came, but the touch on her hand lingered a moment longer. Klia put the blade away and wiped her eyes.

  Not today.

  Trudging from the cave, she struck out upriver again, hoping to stumble across the portal that Mika had found, when she suddenly had the distinct impression of someone looking at her. Turning, she saw someone following her at a distance from the direction of the town. It appeared to be a man, and she breathed a sigh of relief that it wasn’t a dra’gorgos on the hunt for her. Just a townsperson.

  She continued on for a few yards, then felt that warning prickle between her shoulder blades. Looking back again, she saw that the man was coming after her at a run. She’d never seen any local person running. He was dressed in the usual drab clothing and a head rag, but as he came closer, she recognized his long, loping gait.

  It was Alec.

  Praying it wasn’t one of Rhazat’s cruel illusions, Klia ran to meet him and they fell into each other’s arms and clung to each other for a moment. Klia was the first to step back. Alec’s eyes were the same clear, dark blue as ever, and he was carrying a pack that probably held food, but she couldn’t afford to rule out dra’gorgos possession just yet. Zella had taught her that.

  “Thank the Maker, I didn’t think I’d ever find you!” he exclaimed. “I’ve been skulking around the town and tower almost every day for a week—anytime I could find my way in. You’re a hard person to track down.”

  She let out a shaky laugh, thinking of how close she’d just come to cutting her throat. “I’ve been exploring, too. How is Mika? Did he find his way back?”

  “He did, and he brought back word from you about Zella and magic and the dyrmagnos. He’s safe in camp with Thero and the others.”

  “His arm?”

  “Mending again. He’s a tough little fellow.”

  “And intelligent. But it’s not safe for you to be here,” Klia told him, continuing on the way she’d been going. “He told you that the amulets Thero made don’t work here, didn’t he? Rhazat is likely to send her creatures hunting me at any moment.”

  “I know. I’ve had a few close calls but I’ve had Illior’s luck.”

  “Is that food in that bag?”

  “Yes.”

  “Please, I need to eat something that doesn’t come from here.”

  Alec glanced nervously in the direction of the town as he opened the pack. Inside were fresh bread, venison jerky, turnips, and cheese. She ripped a chunk from the bread and took a piece of jerky.

  “Bilairy’s Balls, that tastes good!” she said through a mouthful. Alec offered her a slice of turnip and she bit into it. Sweet earthy juices bathed her tongue. Rhazat hadn’t offered her anything so humble, or so welcome.

  “You’re thinner,” Alec noted. “How do you feel?”

  “Trapped,” she replied honestly. She’d looked at her reflection in the gorget; she knew she was slowly starving to death. Alec was showing signs of wear, too. His body was thinner, the bones in his face more prominent.

  “Do you know how to get to the cave where the Great Seal is?” he asked.

  “Is that what it is? Yes, up in the hills behind the tower. There’s a road and a side trail. It’s not hidden.”

  “Is it guarded?”

  “It doesn’t appear to be. I’ve been there on my own and no one tried to stop me.”

  “That’s good to know.”

  “What are you and the others planning?”

  “To get you out of here and seal up the other side again.”

  “How?”

  “Thero said I’m not to say more than I have to, in case Rhazat catches you talking to me. You can’t tell her what you don’t know.”

  Klia nodded. It was a good decision.

  “We need to go,” said Alec. “You can eat as we walk.”

  Sharing cheese and bread as they went, they continued upriver.

  “It can’t be far now,” he told her, but he looked oddly apprehensive.

  “What is it, Alec?”

  “I’ve got to warn you: I tried to bring Thero in and it didn’t work.”

  Klia’s heart sank. “Does he know why?”

  “We think Mika and I can pass through because we both died and came back. It’s like the demon in Sedge said to Seregil: only the dead can walk with the dead.”

  “I understand. Let’s just take it one step at a time.” She ate another slice of turnip.

  He looked sidelong at her, clearly uncomfortable, then asked, “Are you really pregnant with Thero’s child?”

  She choked and spat out a mouthful of turnip. “How do you know that?”

  “Mika heard Rhazat say so.”

  “Damnation! So Thero knows, too?”

  “Yes.”

  Klia rubbed her eyes. “I didn’t want him to. It will only make it harder if I can’t get back to him.”

  “You are going to get back to him. We’re going to find a way. Please, don’t give up hope.”

  “I think the ghost of the Hierophant Nhandi just told me the same.”

  “Mika heard someone in his head crying out about skin.”

  “That was her. What do you think it means?”

  “Thero thinks—well, that the dyrmagnos is wearing Nhandi’s skin as a disguise.”

  The turnip she was chewing lost its savor. “Sakor’s Flame.”

  Like a hound seeking a scent, Alec intently scanned the landscape around them as they went along and at last took her hand. “There, just off the road. Hold tight and stay with me. If—”

  “If it doesn’t work?”

  “I’ll come back for you as many times as it takes.”

  “It was hard enough for you to find me this time. Listen, I’ll go to the cave each day if I can. Look for me there.”

  “I will. Now hurry!”

  “Alec, wait. I have to say something, in case you don’t find me again. Let me speak.” Klia took a deep breath. “If this doesn’t work, if you can’t get me out, know that I will never give Rhazat what she wants. Never. Tell Thero that, and that I love him.” She showed him the sharpened gorget. “Tell him I won’t suffer.”

  Alec nodded solemnly. “I will. Now come on!”

  Just as with Mika, Klia couldn’t see the opening, but trusted Alec to guide her.

  “Now!” he shouted as he tightened his grip on her hand.

  And then he was gone and Klia was alone by the river.

  Hope, Alec had said. As she turned and began the long walk back to the tower, she had a hard time conjuring any of that.

  Alec came out once again in the long corridor in the palace. He could still feel the warmth
of Klia’s palm on his skin, but he was alone. It hadn’t worked. He leaned against the wall in a shaft of waning sunlight, feeling sick in the pit of his stomach. It wasn’t nausea; it was dread.

  Know that I will never give Rhazat what she wants. Never.

  Alec knew she’d make good on that, too.

  At camp Thero’s tent was empty, and so was his own. Asking after the others, a woman pointed him down to the river, where Micum and Mika were fishing with borrowed poles. They were laughing together, and half a dozen sleek trout lay shining on the grass behind them.

  Alec’s face must have told the tale; Micum took one look at him and the merriment fled from his eyes.

  “You didn’t find Klia again, did you?” asked Mika.

  “Where are Thero and Seregil?” Alec asked, avoiding the question for now.

  “They’re up at the oracle’s cave,” said Micum. “Thero’s working out how to set the seal on this side.”

  “Guess I’ll go see how they’re making out.”

  “Tell them we’re having fish for supper!” Mika called after him.

  Alec rode to the caves and found Cynril and Thero’s horse still tethered at the edge of the grove. Handing Windrunner’s reins to one of the guards, he made his way through the chambers to the third cave.

  He found Seregil and Thero among the dripstone formations, looking at Khazireen’s skull by the light of one of Thero’s hovering orbs. Alec splashed across to join them.

  Thero looked up expectantly, then his face fell. “You found her, didn’t you?”

  “She’s alive, Thero.”

  “But you can’t get her out.”

  “No. It was just like when I tried to take you in.”

  “I see.” For the briefest of instants Thero’s face was suffused with desperation, but immediately his expression hardened back into the usual mask of scholarly concentration.

  “She told me to tell you that she’ll never give in to Rhazat. She said that—” Alec paused, thinking of the sharpened gorget. “She said to tell you that.”

  “Of course she won’t give in,” said Thero.

  “But she’s well?” asked Seregil.

  Alec swallowed, wanting badly to lie. “She’s thin, and she’s hungry. She ate most of what I brought in with me. But she wouldn’t have lasted this long if she didn’t have something to eat there.”