Belladonna

  She walked beneath the merciless sun, walked along the banks of that simmering river, walked through the fog and the bitter rain. Her heart poured out Dark purity, and Ephemera manifested everything that came from that heart.

  And all the dark things that had once wanted nothing more than to chew up the Light and spit it out now huddled in their mounds, in their caves, in their houses—and shivered in fear.

  “They went home,” Michael muttered as he made his way down to the sandbox. “They all went home. Lady of Light, my thanks for small favors.” And it was a small favor, since they were all coming back tomorrow to finish the work.

  He stepped into the part of the box that held the gravel, set a little clutch of violets on the sand, then sat down on the bench.

  Those women were ferocious when they set their minds to a task. It scared him a little to see how well Caitlin Marie fit in with Nadia and Lynnea. And Aunt Brighid, whom he’d always thought of as a formidable woman, didn’t seem intimidating at all compared with those two.

  “They mean well. It’s a small comfort to my aching body, but they mean well.” He took out his whistle and sighed. “Just you and me tonight, wild child. Sebastian is done in, so I sent him on home.” And part of that decision was the growing doubt that their efforts were making any difference. “If you could take that little clutch of flowers to the same place you took the basket, I’ll play a little while and then we’ll all get some rest.”

  He waited. Felt nothing.

  “Wild child?”

  Ephemera finally answered his call, but the world wasn’t happy. He couldn’t prove it, but he suspected that the Dark currents in all parts of the world were a little swollen, and little bits of unhappiness were occurring to a lot of people—a lost brooch, a broken dish, a missing toy. Each thing wasn’t more than an extra drop of unhappiness, but all those extra drops eventually could change the tone of a family or a village.

  “You can do this, wild child. I know you can.”

  Gone. A flurry of notes that sounded in his mind like a child blaming him for some unhappiness, and Ephemera was gone.

  He could think of one reason why the world would be unhappy with him. “Did something happen when you took the basket?”

  No response. He couldn’t even do that much.

  The violets looked sad in the waning light. A lover’s token, rejected before it was received.

  Since he was playing for no one but himself, he played the music he called “Glorianna’s Light.” Then he played the music of love. The music that remembered the touch of her hand, the feel of her lips, the wonder of being inside her.

  Tears slipped down his face, and his heart ached with the remembering, but he kept playing.

  And never noticed when the little clutch of violets disappeared.

  She picked up the little clutch of violets and felt the resonances that had names, faces, memories. Pretty little flowers with savage hooks that dug in and dug in until she wept from the pain of remembering those names, those faces. Screamed out the agony of wanting to touch those names, those faces.

  Don’t belong there. Not anymore.

  But the hooks dug in, dug in, dug in. And from the thin threads that were anchored in another landscape, Light flowed.

  World? It whispered. World? Is there Light?

  Chapter Thirty-six

  World? It whispered. World? Is there Light?

  Ephemera flowed through the currents of the Island in the Mist. It did not listen to the Eater of the World. Would not listen. But the question, flowing from the currents in the forbidden part of itself, brought it back to the sandbox where the Music played with it every day.

  A heart wish had flowed out of the forbidden place. Her heart wish. But the Music did not answer, did not ask the world to send the proper answer. The Music was still learning to be Guide. Maybe the Music did not know?

  She had been the last one at the school who had talked to it, had played with it and helped it shape itself. Who had understood how to be Guide to the World. Unlike the others before her, when the Dark Ones had come, she had listened to it when it tried to save her. It had found Light, and she had followed.

  It had found Light. And she had followed.

  A break in the trees where a person could stand and see the moon shining over the lake. And there was the resonance called Sebastian painting a dark-haired woman who wore a gown that looked as substantial as moonbeams.

  “This is where you belong,” he said. “This is where you should be.”

  “I can’t.”

  “You can,” the lover said as his arms wrapped protectively around her. “I traveled a long way to find the treasure in my heart. Don’t ask me to let it go.”

  She felt him fade away, but the resonance that was Sebastian was still there, as strong as memories, as full of promise as a sunrise. And then…

  Mist. And music. The bright notes of the whistle made her smile, and the drum heated her blood until her heart pounded with the rhythm.

  The music dimmed, as if someone had shut a door, and she stood outside in the mist. His arms closed around her, pulling her back against the warmth of his chest.

  She heard the drum in the beat of his heart, knew the bright notes of the whistle would be in his voice, in his laugh.

  “I can hear the music,” she said. “I can hear the music inside you.”

  The music flowed over her skin, sang in her blood, rang in the scarred hollow of her chest. She swallowed and tasted tears—and didn’t know if they were her own or someone else’s.

  Better to sleep. Just sleep. The music was a good dream. She could follow that dream and slip away forever.

  Except the Light was pouring out of the music, feeding the starved currents of this landscape. Waking the predators.

  She rolled onto her side and forced gummy eyes open to look in the direction of the fountain.

  Then she scrambled to her feet and stumbled toward the fountain and the patch of ground glowing with Light.

  “No,” she moaned when she saw the heart’s hope growing out of the sand. “Oh, no.”

  The size of the plant was stunning enough, but it was the flowers that made the heart ache in wonder. They ranged from white as pure as hope to the deep red of passion.

  The Warrior of Light must drink from the Dark Cup. She remembered that now—remembered what she had done. The Warrior of Light must drink from the Dark Cup, and turn away from the Light forever. But the Light rang in her now. Rang, sang, pulled with the need to put two halves back together to make a whole.

  Here here here, Ephemera called. This way.

  She looked around. Her old garden. At the school. The one she had escaped from when the Dark Guides had tried to seal her in. Ephemera had come to her that day, too.

  Heart’s wish! This way!

  “Pushy little world,” she muttered.

  She felt the change inside her. Had felt it starting when the resonances and memories set their hooks into her savaged heart. A tiny flicker of Light that held a promise. And music.

  Just a step would take her between here and there. But…where? She was no longer sure who she was or where she truly belonged.

  She stared at the heart’s hope—and remembered two men in a dream.

  “Take it back,” she said firmly. “Take the heart’s hope back where you found it.”

  Heart’s wish. Ephemera sounded wistful.

  “When the heart’s hope is back where it belongs, I’ll go where you need me to go.”

  Yes yes yes!

  The heart’s hope disappeared, leaving only a square of sand in a nimbus of Light.

  Something tugged at her from the access point Ephemera had created. Pulled at her.

  She had a sudden image of a stretchy band pulled to its fullest. A big ball of Light was at one end; she was at the other. When the band snapped back…

  “Guardians and Guides, this is going to hurt.”

  She hesitated. Pain in staying, pain in going.

&nbs
p; But something made her hesitate.

  In Ephemera, there were few secrets of the heart. And even that heart couldn’t remain hidden now. Not from her.

  She walked back to the ragged blanket she had found somewhere, then pressed her fingers against the ground beneath one corner.

  Ephemera, hear me.

  Assured that the world would obey, she walked back to the square of sand and took the step between here and there.

  Light!

  Barely more than a flicker now, but reason enough to race ahead of whatever else might want to destroy that flicker.

  Then It hesitated. There had been a place in the landscape that had been so Dark it had not quite existed with the rest of the school. Her lair.

  But It did not feel that Dark anymore, and when It approached, It discovered the walls had been torn down, the fountain shattered. Nothing there now but an empty, broken place.

  Changing back to human form, It approached the only thing of interest that had been left behind: a ragged blanket. Crouching, It fingered the material. Scratchy but warm—and more than It had now.

  It started to grab the blanket, then froze as It felt the resonance beneath the material.

  It lifted the corner—and stared for a long time. Then It scooped up the prize and the blanket, and hurried back to the walled garden It had made into a lair. There, It carefully unwrapped the prize and stared at it some more.

  What had been in Belladonna’s heart when she had commanded the world to do this? Had this been left as a punishment—or a gift?

  Didn’t matter. What mattered was that she had left behind a flicker that could feed the Light.

  After selecting the most protected spot in Its garden, the Eater of the World planted the tiny heart’s hope.

  They stood outside Shaney’s Tavern, the music pouring out of the open doors behind them. He wrapped his arms around her and held her against his chest.

  “Stay with me,” he said. “My heart’s hope lies with you, Glorianna Belladonna. Stay—”

  A scuffling sound in his bedroom broke the dream. He lay awake, alert. Then he almost drowned in the sound that flooded through him.

  “Magician?”

  A rough, rusty voice. He barely heard it above the jagged pieces of song trying to fit together. Crashing. Screaming. Dark tones and Light. A song of terrible beauty grating against so much hope.

  He pushed himself up on one elbow and stared at the shadowy figure standing at the foot of his bed. “Glorianna?”

  “I heard the music. I heard the music in your heart.”

  Then she swooned, and he leaped out of bed to catch her, to hold her as he sank to his knees. Even in the moonlight coming in the window, she looked dirty and bruised and half starved. And she was the most wonderful thing he had ever seen.

  “You’ll be all right, darling,” he said, rocking her. “You’re home now. You’ll be all right.”

  She stirred a little.

  “Glorianna? Come on now, darling. Don’t be doing this to me.”

  “Don’t tell Lee,” she mumbled.

  “What?” He stopped rocking and looked down at her.

  “He gets upset when I faint. Don’t tell him.”

  He laughed—and then he cried. Then he picked her up and tucked her into bed with him. And hoped he wasn’t dreaming.

  Chapter Thirty-seven

  Sebastian burst into the kitchen, jolting Michael’s groggy wakefulness.

  Despite waking up again and again to reassure himself that he hadn’t been dreaming, he hadn’t wanted to sleep a minute longer this morning. On the other hand, he wanted to sleep for a week.

  “What happened?” Sebastian asked, his voice as tense as his body. “The heart’s hope is gone. Glorianna’s Light is gone!”

  “Not gone, exactly,” Michael said, trying to get his eyes to focus. “Just transplanted, in a manner of speaking. Want some koffee?”

  “Not if you’re making it.”

  “Fine, then. Do it yourself.” Which, all things considered, was a better idea.

  Wishing he’d had a little more time to prepare for this, he leaned against the kitchen table and scrubbed his hands over his face. Once Sebastian got the koffee started, he said, “It’s good you’re here today.”

  “I’ve been here every day, Magician,” Sebastian replied, still sounding tense.

  “I know you have. I know.” He paused, needing to get the words right. “There’s always one that’s harder than the rest when they’re taken from you. One that has meant more to your hopes and dreams. One you love just a little more.”

  Sebastian watched him and said nothing.

  “Let me show you Glorianna’s Light.”

  They left the kitchen and went around the side of the house. And saw her walking back from the walled garden. She hadn’t been ready to go inside, but she had wanted to stand at the gate. So he’d gone inside to start breakfast—and hoped she would still be on the island when he put the meal on the table.

  Sebastian stood there, frozen, just staring at her.

  “Threat and promise is what you called me,” Michael said quietly. “I made good on the threat. Together, Justice Maker, we made good on the promise.” He watched her move toward them. Saw her hesitate. “She took back her Light, and she came back to us. But she’s two halves of a whole, and it’s not a smooth fit anymore.”

  “Glorianna,” Sebastian whispered. “Glorianna.”

  “She might always be two halves that don’t quite fit together to make a whole.”

  He watched the words finally take hold. Those sharp green eyes studied him. “In clear words, Magician.”

  “Love isn’t just something you feel. It’s something you do. I love her, so I’m staying.” Michael smiled. “After all, my heart’s hope lies with Glorianna Belladonna. But she’s changed, Sebastian. Nothing will be the same as it was.”

  Now Sebastian smiled. “This is Ephemera, Magician. Nothing is ever the same as it was.”

  Michael watched Sebastian race across the lawn and sweep his cousin into his arms. Good music. Strong music. And one or two of those jagged edges inside Glorianna were smoothed out a little more just by Sebastian’s presence.

  It would be all right. She would be all right.

  As he turned to go back inside to make breakfast for the three of them, a movement caught his eye.

  There, sheltered by the quartz-veined granite that stood for his home landscape, was a clutch of violets.

  “Thanks, wild child.”

  He grinned as he went back in the house. Then he sang as he worked. And he heard the music of her—the dark tones and the light—ring out over the island.

  They would be all right, he thought as he put the meal on the table a moment before Glorianna and Sebastian walked through the door. It would take time, but they would be all right.

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Rage stormed through her landscapes. Raindrops, thick as pus and stinking of decayed dreams, splatted on ground cracked by desperation. Death rollers choked and drowned when freshwater ponds suddenly changed to the boiling mud of fury—or were frozen by bone-chilling indifference. Bonelovers, pouring out of their mounds in search of prey, found themselves swimming in the acid of disappointment, and even as they climbed over each other in their desperation to get back to safety, the acid ate through their carapaces, dissolving their bodies as they crawled. The Wizards’ Hall was now an island trapped by a piece of sea, and the Dark Guides, who had relished being the whispers that had dimmed the Light in people’s hearts, now prowled the corridors throughout the nights, haunted by the voices of men calling for help, calling for mercy. Just calling. The voices of doomed men, already dead. And in the morning, when there was a morning, the Dark Guides would gather and look at the empty places at the tables. When they checked the rooms of those missing companions, they would find the carpets soaked with seawater—and there would be more voices in the night, calling. Just calling.

  She walked these landscapes, fold
ing them into each other, turning them into mazes that celebrated her Dark purity, altering them into labyrinths that offered no peace, no comfort. Those things did not exist in her world. She created out of the brutal beauty that came from the undiluted feelings that lived in the dark side of the human heart. She was sublime madness, magnificent rage, divine indifference.

  As the weeks passed, the Light, that part of herself that had been called Glorianna, became nothing more than a wispy dream of a fading memory, a sometimes-aching scar.

  Here, now, there was Belladonna.

  Only Belladonna.

  Chapter Thirty-two

  The land bloomed with the promise of spring, but winter still lived in Michael’s heart.

  He’d kept his promise—for the most part. He’d learned from Nadia how to take that step between here and there so that he could use the access points in his little piece of the garden to reach his landscapes instead of traveling like he used to. He considered the rest of the walled garden on the Island in the Mist another place in his circuit and wandered the paths, playing the songs he heard in each access point to a landscape. Shoring up the bedrock, that’s all he was doing, but the tunes were starting to shift nonetheless. Maybe they were meant to, but he would hold on to them for as long as he could.

  He spent a day on each circuit within the walled garden. But he never stepped beyond that. Never went past the gate and up to the house that was now his—the home he had yearned for. Still yearned for. Nadia grew impatient with him sometimes because of it, but his self-imposed exile was the only reason Lee could tolerate dealing with him when they had to meet for business.