Wit''ch Gate (v5)

  The queen was in the middle of birthing.

  The object roiled on the stone, steaming a noxious green cloud; then damp wings unfolded and claws sprouted as it scrabbled to stand on its own. A new skal’tum was born into the world.

  Above its newborn, the creature hissed, belching out a flurry of suckered tentacles at the lone combatant before it.

  Wennar.

  But the d’warf ignored the looming creature. He was out of reach of its tentacles and had more immediate concerns as he danced with an ax in one hand and a sword in the other.

  A pack of newborn skal’tum surrounded him.

  Dripping with fetid slime, the bony beasts raked at him with claws and hissed like a pit of snakes. His blades bounced off them harmlessly as dark magicks protected their flesh. All he could do was keep them at bay. Newborn skal’tum were impervious to most harm until they had their first kill.

  Behind Wennar, the mul’gothra continued to push more of its abominable children into the world, its belly churning and spasming.

  “Free him,” Elena said, waving an arm to Er’ril and the d’warves. “Get him out of harm’s way.” She pulled her dagger from its sheath.

  Er’ril hesitated for a moment, met her eyes, then nodded. He and the remaining d’warves ran to Wennar’s rescue. Tol’chuk kept to Elena’s side, protecting her back.

  Elena drew a line of fire across each palm with the sharp tip of her silver blade and rallied the magick in both fists. Across the way, the sudden appearance of new foes startled the immature skal’tum. Most scurried away toward their mother, while the few that remained were beaten back by the larger force.

  Free, Wennar sagged toward the ground, but he was caught by two of his fellow d’warves. He was dragged away as Er’ril and the others guarded their retreat.

  Wennar gasped as they returned to Elena’s side. “I didn’t see it until it was too late.”

  Lost to her magicks, Elena barely heard him. Energy surged through her. She stepped forward and raised her arms. Lacing her fingers together, she merged fire and ice, building up the storm between her palms.

  Across the way, the skal’tum regrouped, gaining courage from their numbers. They hissed and clambered. Tiny wings snapped and beat at the air, but they were still too young to fly.

  Elena stepped toward them. “Stay back,” she warned her companions.

  Moving slowly, building her storm to a trembling that raged between her palms, Elena edged closer. Beyond the pregnant mul’gothra, limned in moonlight, Elena saw the outstretched arm of the manticore statue and the shadowy chunk of ebon’stone.

  She almost looked away, but a flash of movement caught her eye. Out on the granite arm, she spotted three other skal’tum, newborns like those huddled under their mother, scrabbling toward the ebon’stone boulder. Curious and concerned, she hesitated, watching.

  The first newborn reached the stone. It appeared frightened, cowering back, but it seemed unable to stop its legs. It reached the stone and with a screech, fell into it, as if diving down a black well, and was gone. She heard its small cry of terror fade away. The others followed.

  Elena’s attention swung back to the mul’gothra. She suddenly understood what the creature was doing here, what they had interrupted. The mul’gothra, when ripe with offspring, must be drawn to this place like a moth to a black flame. They then used this high perch to hatch their foul offspring, feeding them through the Weir to be bent and enslaved to the Dark Lord. Here was the source of the Black Heart’s endless winged armies—the Manticore Gate.

  More than ever, Elena knew it had to be destroyed.

  “What are you waiting for?” Er’ril said behind her, stepping in her direction.

  “Stand back,” she repeated, and pointed her arms at the gathered skal’tum. She bloomed open her fingers and cast out a raging torrent of ice and fire. Lightning crackled, and winds screamed in fury. Elena swept her stormfire across the floor of the tunnel, keeping its focus tight to rip through the extra protections of these newborn demons.

  Deep inside her, she felt her magick strike the gathered skal’tum.

  She sensed their sharp flames of life snuff out, one after the other, buffeted and blown away by the rage of her magick.

  The wit’ch in her sang with each death, much louder than usual, harder to resist, as if the veil had thinned between wit’ch and woman. Elena fought to keep her focus, to maintain her control. But something had changed inside her, something following her intimate sharing with Cho last night. The wit’ch in her had grown stronger, wailing its wild lusts, buffeting against her inner shields.

  Standing in the eye of her raging magicks, Elena again sensed the tenuous connection of all life, especially the ties among those in the room. She felt the flickers of energy from her companions and tasted the raging fire of the mul’gothra.

  Across the tunnel, the wit’ch continued to consume the tiny flames of the newborns—but Elena knew, if left unchecked, the wit’ch would never be satisfied with such a small feast. It wanted to burn all away—not just the mul’gothra, but also her companions. It did not discriminate. It wanted everything, even Elena herself.

  Cringing against such lusts, Elena reined in her magick. Slowly the fire died in her hands. The mad chorus of the wit’ch faded, replaced by the mewling cry of the mul’gothra.

  Elena’s eyes refocused here. She saw the smoldering and burned bodies of the skal’tum. Only a single newborn remained, cowering under the belly of its mother. Its sibilant hiss had turned to a plaintive wail. The mul’gothra lowered itself over its last offspring, continuing a piping mewl of pain and sorrow. It drew its tentacles gently around the newborn and pulled it closer, protecting its child.

  Er’ril stepped to Elena’s side. “Why did you stop? Finish it off.”

  Elena bit her lip, then spoke. “I . . . I can’t.” She had seen the tiny flames of the slain beasts. Life was life—and this mother only wanted to protect its offspring. The mul’gothra here was as much a slave as any other. It did not want to feed its offspring to the Weirgate, but it had no other choice. Dark magick had bent its instincts to this unnatural purpose.

  Stepping toward the monster, Elena waved her hand. “Go! Take your child and leave!”

  The mul’gothra hissed at her motions, cringing down over her child, but when Elena did not attack, it mewled again, frightened and confused.

  Elena waved her arm. “Begone!”

  Thousands of orbed eyes watched her, studying her—then in a flurry of movement, its legs jerked, and the mul’gothra shot out of the tunnel and into the air, carrying the child in its tentacles. Huge wings snapped open to catch the late night’s breezes. It swung once in a tight circle, then shot out over the jagged mountains and was gone.

  “Why did you let it go?” Er’ril asked.

  Elena shook her head. “I needed to.” She moved ahead. “Let’s finish this.”

  As a group, they climbed through the burned remains of the skal’tum and out into the night. Elena took a deep breath, clearing her lungs of the reek of charred flesh. The granite arm of the statue stretched ahead, a wide bridge that led to the massive chunk of ebon’stone resting in its palm.

  Tol’chuk took the lead this time, the Try’sil hammer in hand.

  Elena followed with Er’ril.

  She stared down. The arm’s upper surface was flat and easy to cross. She could only imagine the long litany of horrors that had transpired here. Ahead, Tol’chuk reached the arm’s wrist and paused. Before him lay the stone hand. Clawed fingers circled the ebon’stone like beastly pillars.

  Elena stepped to Tol’chuk’s side. “You can do this.”

  He nodded. “I can.” Then he turned and climbed atop the stone palm, lifting the hammer high. “This is for my father’s spirit!” Tol’chuk slammed the hammer down with all the strength in his og’re shoulders.

  But the blow never struck. The iron head fell into the stone as if the boulder were merely cloud. Tol’chuk, thrown off balance, fell fo
rward and struck the side of the stone. On his knees, he twisted around and lifted his arm. He gripped only the rune-carved handle. The hammer itself was gone.

  Behind her, Wennar fell to the stone and wailed. “The Try’sil!”

  Elena stared at the unharmed stone. What had just happened? The hammer had been used to sculpt the cursed stone. It had been destined to be returned here and free the d’warves from the Dark Lord’s yoke. Why had it failed?

  For just a moment, Elena felt a twinge of suspicion of Tol’chuk. But she forced such thoughts away. It was impossible. The og’re had saved her life many times, had served the Land with all his heart.

  But Wennar did not know Tol’chuk as well. The d’warf burst to his feet, pointing an arm. “You! You did this! You’ve doomed our people just like your cursed ancestor!”

  Tol’chuk covered his face.

  Elena raised an arm between them as Wennar made a lunge toward Tol’chuk. “No! It’s not his fault!”

  “Then whose?” Wennar asked, his face almost purple.

  Er’ril answered, moving to Tol’chuk’s side. “We’re all at fault.”

  Wennar blustered, but Magnam placed a restraining hand on his leader’s arm. “Listen to him.”

  Er’ril turned to face them. “We failed because we’re all victims of prophecy. We assumed we knew their import, but we were all obviously blinded by our own hopes.” He glanced over his shoulder to the chunk of black rock. “I’ve traveled through the Weir before. It’s a lodestone for elemental magick. Anything—objects or people—ripe enough in power will be drawn into its black heart.”

  “The Try’sil . . .” Wennar moaned.

  “It was rich with the wind magick of the elv’in. We should have never let it near the Gate, but we were blinded by our faith in prophecy. And if there is one thing I’ve learned from my brother, placing one’s full faith in prophecy can be damning.”

  Tol’chuk climbed to his feet. “Then what can we do? How do we destroy it?”

  Elena spoke up, her voice full of dread. She glanced to the moon. It was low in the sky, close to setting. “I must consult the Blood Diary. It was Chi who fell into the Weirgates long ago and fused the four into this well of dire magicks. Cho, his sister spirit, may have some answers.”

  Er’ril nodded. “But back well away. I don’t want you or that book near this stone.”

  Without arguing, Elena stepped farther down the wide arm.

  Er’ril positioned a wall of d’warves between her and the ebon’stone boulder. He then joined her as she pulled the book free. Glancing up, she found his eyes on hers. Er’ril reached and clasped his hands over hers as they held the book between them. “You’re trembling,” he whispered.

  “Just the cold.” Elena turned away and tried to pull her hands free.

  But she could not free her hand. The plainsman could turn to stubborn Standish iron when he wanted. “I don’t know what is troubling you, what happened back in that tunnel to frighten you, but know this, Elena. I’m your liegeman. I’ll always be at your side. My strength is yours to call upon.”

  She felt that strength now. The warmth of his palms calmed her trembling. She leaned toward him, and he drew her in, hugging her. “I may not have faith in prophecy,” he whispered into her hair. “But I have faith in you.”

  She fought back tears and huddled in his embrace. After a moment more, she took a deep, centering breath and stood straighter. He let her go, but she still felt his warmth wrapped around her. It was enough.

  She turned away and opened the Blood Diary.

  ER’RIL WATCHED ELENA turn away and clenched a fist, worried for her. Though he did not see her open the book, he knew when its cover had been cracked. A blast of light exploded forth, and Elena flew backward into his arms.

  He held her. Over her shoulder, he watched the flare of light empty out of the pages of the book and shoot skyward. He caught a peek into the Void: stars, and ribbons of glowing gases, and the edge of a blinding sun. Then a cry arose from the swirl of light overhead. It took on the form of a woman sailing high into the air.

  “Chi!” The name was yelled like a striking bell, piercing the night and echoing off the surrounding peaks.

  Holding the book, Elena stepped forward. “Cho! Calm yourself.”

  “I hear him!” Her voice became a wail. “He cries and screams for me.”

  The apparition swept down and along the arm, passing through the line of d’warves. It aimed for the ebon’stone boulder. Tol’chuk stood, raising to his full height, arms up, blocking Cho’s way. But like the d’warves, she swept through his body and into the stone.

  “No!” Elena gasped.

  But the stone had no more effect on Cho than Tol’chuk’s body had. The shining apparition shot out the other side, arced back around, then dove through again and again. “He screams and screams. I must go to him!”

  Cho continued to dart back and forth through the stone, like a glowing will-o’-the-wisp. “I can hear him! He is so close.”

  Elena glanced at the sky. Er’ril knew what held her attention. The moon. It was near to setting. They were about to lose this night.

  “Cho!” Elena called again. “You cannot reach Chi. You have no substance here. Listen to me!”

  The sailing figure sobbed and slowed, hovering above the black stone. “He needs me.”

  Elena passed the Blood Diary to Er’ril. “I must calm her,” she whispered to Er’ril. “Guard the book.”

  Next, she raised her arms. “I know, Cho. I once lost my brother. I understand the pain. But I need your guidance. I am your vessel in this world, your physical connection to this plane.”

  Cho drifted from the rock and settled to the stone palm. One hand reached back and touched the rock, passing through its substance. She was obviously loath to leave her brother’s side. “It is only together that we can free my brother.”

  Elena relaxed. “Exactly. Together.”

  Cho turned in her direction. Eyes full of the Void stared back, cold and with an intelligence unlike any on this world. Then, for the briefest moment, Er’ril saw the flash of something human behind those eyes. It was Fila. The apparition’s lips moved. “No! Elena, no! You must not—”

  Fila vanished, swept back into the Void. Only Cho was there.

  Elena tensed, moving back into Er’ril’s shadow. She glanced at him, confused. What had Fila been warning? she seemed to ask.

  “Together . . .” Cho echoed.

  Er’ril saw some seed of understanding—and terror—dawn in Elena’s eyes. She swung back around as Cho dove forward, sweeping through Tol’chuk, through the d’warves, too fast to follow, like a reflection of moonshine off water.

  “Break the bridge!” Elena yelled. “Close the book!”

  Er’ril attempted to obey, but he was too slow. The spirit struck Elena, folding in, around, and through her. Er’ril was blasted back in a searing explosion of magick. Flying, he landed on his back and slid along the arm, keeping his fingers locked on the Blood Diary.

  He sat up, his eyebrows smoldering from the brush of wit’chfire.

  Down the granite arm, he stared at what remained of Elena. She still stood where she had a moment ago, but all her clothes had been burned from her body. Even her hair had been singed away. She stood naked to the night. From toes to scalp, her skin whorled with crimson magick, a ruby statue sculpted in the shape of woman.

  Slowly, she began to step forward, toward the ebon’stone.

  In her wake, a glowing mist formed, swirling down into the familiar form of the book’s spirit, but it was less distinct, blurring at the edges. “Elena . . .” From the pain in the voice, Er’ril knew it was Fila rather than Cho.

  Er’ril hurried forward.

  The apparition lifted an arm. “No, Er’ril, stay back.” She raised her voice. “All of you. Stand aside. Do not try and stop her! She can kill with a touch.”

  Though Er’ril could easily have walked through Fila’s ghostly image, he held back. “What has
happened to her?”

  “Cho will not be stopped. She has heard her brother’s tortured screams and must go to him.”

  “And Elena?”

  “The girl was right. The only way Cho can effect any change in this plane is through Elena. Cho has merged almost all her spirit into the girl.”

  “Then she’s taken over Elena’s body?”

  “No, Cho is in the Void. Elena still exists somewhere inside there, but the sudden surge of immense energies has unmoored her. She is lost to the desires of Cho, unable to break free, and her body responds. The only question is if Elena’s strong enough to fight back to her own self.”

  Er’ril made a move forward, determined to help.

  “No, Er’ril. Any interference could doom her.”

  Ahead, Er’ril watched Elena pass Tol’chuk and step up to the ebon’stone boulder. She stopped before it, ruby against black stone. Her neck craned, studying the ebon’stone as if she had never seen it before.

  Elena, he prayed, move back.

  Cocking her head, she reached forward.

  “No!” Er’ril yelled. “Elena, stop!”

  Without a look back, she stepped through the Weirgate and vanished.

  23

  STILL DAZED BY Cho’s assault, Elena found herself without any bearing. A part of her, as distant as an echo, felt her body carried forward and through the Weirgate. But it felt unnatural, like a dream after waking, hard to grasp and easily forgotten. Energy of unfathomable depths surged through her. The wit’ch thrummed in every fiber of her body, singing, wailing, crying out. It was a chorus of wild power and passions.

  Her own spirit was but a mote in this frenzied storm.

  Elena resisted the raging current. I must not lose myself. She forced her mind to stop its panicked attempts to fight against the tidal forces inside her. Instead, she pulled herself inward, using the swirl of these foreign energies to draw herself down to a single flickering flame of intense brilliance, a beacon in the dark storm. From this island of security, she fortified herself.