CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Kayla shivered and pulled her damp woolen cloak closer about her shoulders. It did no good, but instinct made her try. She trudged down the tube of air that carved itself out of the ocean’s bottom, feet dragging and sinking into the sand with a light swish. What had begun as an exciting adventure, a journey to the home of her father, had lost its excitement and interest for her not even thirty minutes into it. There was nowhere to go but onward, and she was sick of even the glimmer of faint blue light that guided her steps. She was about to fall to the creamy sand and refuse to take even one more step when T’Kato called a halt.
“Hold up, Kayla. Let’s rest for a bit.” He dropped the satchels and squatted down. Kayla didn’t have a bag to drop, thankfully or regretfully—she hadn’t decided which yet, but she did collapse to the sand, her knees giving completely out about halfway down. At that moment she couldn’t have cared less; she was too grateful for the break. She only wished she could stop her chattering teeth and trembling hands. Her fingernails were turning a faint blue, or so she thought. It was hard to tell, with the dim sapphire-tinted light that sifted through the water surrounding them.
She pulled her knees to her chest and wrapped the cloak around her legs, trying to trap even a marginal amount of body heat in the closed wool. It helped a little, and the shaking in her hands seemed to decrease.
Sarali squatted by her then, her hand outstretched. “Eat a bit o’ this, lass. Tisn’t much, but it will be strengthenin’ ye a wee bit, though the taste leaves much to be desired.”
Kayla reluctantly took the soggy-looking mess Sarali held out and sniffed. It didn’t smell any better than it looked—oats, nuts, and berries pressed into bars, now more resembling a badly-made bowl of porridge than anything else, and if there was anything Kayla hated, it was porridge. Still . . . it was food, and she had eaten nothing in who knew how long. She had lost track of the hours in this dark and never-ending tunnel. She took a tentative bite, chewed slowly, and had to agree with Sarali. It certainly didn’t taste good—soggy oats with all sweetness washed away, and only the nuts and berries to give it any flavor. She ate it anyway and had to admit that she did feel better with something in her belly, a bit more energized, though not quite ready to move. She wasn’t sure if she’d ever be ready to move again, she was so tired.
“Sip this,” T’Kato said, handing her a small cup. Kayla almost spilled it with a sneeze. It smelled awful. Vile. She tried to give the cup back to T’Kato, shaking her head, but he pushed it back. “It’s not as bad as it smells. It will warm you up, trust me.“ He helped lift the cup to her lips. She tried to take just a teeny amount, but T’Kato tipped the cup, and Kayla’s face would have been washed with the mixture if she had not opened her mouth and gulped it down. The mixture burned all the way. Even when she stopped drinking, her mouth burned. Tears sprang to her eyes, and she couldn’t close her mouth with the fire that seemed to be pouring from it. Finally she caught her breath enough to gasp, “What are you trying to do, poison me? What’s in that?”
T’Kato smiled. “It’s a chili drink my people favor, made from certain warming herbs and hot peppers. It’s not much for flavor when you drink it straight like this, I know, but it will keep you warm and stop those shivers.“
It wasn’t exactly the way she had wanted to warm up and was nothing compared to a cozy fire and bear skin rug, but it would do under the circumstances—though she couldn’t quite bring herself to thank the man. He had tricked her, after all, asking her to trust him. She’d think twice before doing that again.
Kayla leaned her head on her knees and closed her eyes to rest for a moment. It was hard to comprehend all that had transpired in the past three days. The emotion and longing that swept over her was like nothing she had known before. Tears leaked down between her knees, and she tried to hide the sniffles. It was childish to cry like this. She knew it, but could not stop the stream of tears. All she wanted at that moment was to be held in Brant’s arms, or to feel the warmth of her mother’s smile. She didn’t even know if either of them was still alive, and not knowing was hardest of all.
What if Brant had died from his fall? What if C’Tan discovered her mother’s identity? What if, what if, what if . . . it circled in her mind like a vulture, but no matter how she tried, she could not seem to shake the questions or the feelings that attacked her in waves.
Kayla felt a hand on her shoulder, a small hand, light and petite. Sarali, she knew, though she did not look up from her huddled misery. Somehow the cat woman seemed to know her feelings and sat beside her, not saying a word, slowly caressing her back, up and down, up and down, like Kayla’s mother used to do at bedtime. It was soothing, comforting in a way no words could have been. It pulled her mind from her troubles and sent her drifting into sleep.
Dreams hit Kayla with force. Some part of her knew she was sitting huddled in the sand, with Sarali at her side, but her mind and heart left that misery to speed ahead and down the tunnel that protected them from C’Tan.
Kayla’s dream-self twisted through the worm-like tunnels, left, then right, then left again until it flew with the speed of an eagle. In an instant she was at a large cavern made of water, but domed and smooth as if made from rock, and in that room stood a man.
Her heart leaped as she saw him, for his was a face she had known in her dreams for ten years. He stood tall and straight, with hair that fell past his shoulders in dark, wavy rings. His face was long and clean-shaven, with a sharp chin and nose.
It was his eyes that drew her most: crystalline blue, more pure than water from a birthing spring. His eyes stared through her as he stood in the center of the cavern as if waiting for her, which seemed strange, even in her dream state. How could he be waiting if she was dreaming?
“Hello, Kayla,” he said. Startled, her shoulders twitched in her sleeping body.
“Hello, Father,” she responded, guarded, but longing to run to him, to let him take all the pain away and make it better . . . but she knew it could not be. Her heart ached to admit it, but he had never taken away the pain before—why would he start now?
“I know why you are here, and I wish I could help, but there is danger behind you and danger ahead. You cannot come here, Kayla. You must go back to your own people.” His face barely showed emotion, though his eyes reached out to her.
“But . . . you are my people, Father! I have nowhere else to turn!”
“You are my seed, Kayla, and you are my family, but my people do not accept that bond. To them you are impure, made worse by my sin of wedding a human,” he answered, lips twitching in irony.“Love matters not to them, only honor and duty. There are many places you can go—but not here.”
“But I want to be with you!” A petulant tone crept into her voice.
“And I you, but your coming will destroy my people. You must not come.”
“What? How could I—” she started, and then it hit her.
C’Tan. The woman would not give up until she had the flute, if she had to destroy everything in her way to get it.
Kayla’s eyes teared. Was there no place she could go that was safe? No one who could teach her the secrets of the flute? No way to protect herself or hide the instrument that now called death down upon her?
Her mind raced, but she said nothing.
“You understand, I see. There is no place that is safe for you, Kayla. No place to hide, except in havens of strong magic. They interfere with C’Tan’s ability to sense you and the flute. But there are few havens left within our world, and she knows most of their secrets.
“That flute has been in the hands of my people for generations,” he continued, “and there is much anger over it now being in the hands of a human, half-evahn or not. If you come to us, not only will you bring C’Tan down upon us, but the evahn people will do everything they must in order to recover the flute. Find another way, child.”
“Another way? Where, Father? Where else can I go? T’Kato says nobody knows more about the flute than
you do. How can I research without books or scrolls? How can I learn without a teacher? Please, Father, it is your job, your responsibility to look out for me. Don’t you think you owe me that after all these years?”
Felandian’s eyes were sad. Kayla could see her words hurt, though he knew the truth of them. He shook his head.
“If I could be there in person, I would. You are my blood, and I would never have left you if the need had not been tremendous. My father is dying, and the care and guiding of my people has fallen to me. I cannot even leave long enough to teach you in person. For now, we may only speak in your dreams, but I shall do that as often as I can.
“Find the flute’s home—its birthplace—and you will find your answers. The flute can teach you as no human can. Trust it, Kayla, more than you trust any person or thing, and it will never lead you wrong. Do you hear me, daughter? Trust the flute!” he emphasized each word, his eyes drilling into hers.
“I’m not letting it out of my sight, Father, but how can I find its birthplace? Does anyone know where it came from?”
“The Guardians know, but they won’t be able to help right now. They’re preoccupied with the wolfchild,” he answered.
“The wolfchild? He has come?” Her heart pounded in her chest. Kayla was beginning to wonder if the wolfchild was the player of which T’Kato spoke. She felt a compulsion to find him, though her heart battled with her head. She knew she needed the boy, but she wanted to be the player. She was the player, she told herself again.
Felandian grinned. “Not he. She. The wolfchild is a female, not much younger than you.” Kayla was floored. A female? And young? She’d always imagined an elderly male, many years trained in music and magic to take possession of the instrument. How could someone so young know how to use it? She took a deep breath and tried to set that aside to ponder later.
“Tell me where to go, Father,” she said, putting her trust in this man who had left her ten years before.
He was quiet for a long while, chewing on his lip as he pondered her question. “It is rumored—rumored, mind you—that the flute was birthed in the mountains behind the city of Javak, but I can be no more specific than that. It is a beginning.”
“Javak? The city of magic?” she asked, and he nodded. “That’s a long way, Father. How do I get there with C’Tan following me through the magic of the flute?”
“You must find a way to hide the flute from her, Kayla, though I cannot say more than that. Ask the flute.”
“Ask the flute? But—” Kayla stopped as a look of alarm crossed her father’s face. He stared into the distance behind her, his brows narrowing in concentration. His eyes widened in surprise.
“You must go now,” he said, fear tightening him like a drum.
“But—” she objected.
“Kayla, I’ll see you again. Go. Go!” he yelled, then added the one phrase that gave impetus to her departure. “C’Tan comes,” he whispered.
Kayla didn’t even say good-bye. She jerked awake at his last phrase and did not even have time to think about what she had just dreamed, for she could hear in the distance the sound of a horse racing through the tunnel. She scrambled to her feet and awakened her companions, who had both fallen asleep in the sand.
“Get up! Get up! We’ve got to go,” she yelled, shaking T’Kato and then Sarali, running back and forth between the two of them until they were alert enough to hear. It took more time than they could afford.
The pounding of hooves increased. Kayla looked down the tunnel and could see a speck of black that grew larger with each passing second.
“Wha . . . what?” T’Kato finally mumbled, turning over in alarm.
“C’Tan is coming! We’ve got to go!”
“That’s imposs . . .” The tattooed man’s voice faded as he listened to the rhythm of the stallion’s hooves digging at the sand. He scrambled up and took the two bags over his shoulder in one toss, then started to run. Sarali was at his side, Kayla lagging behind, all of them running for their lives once again as C’Tan pounded down the trail.
“How did she find us?” Kayla shouted.
“She must have found the entrance to the tunnel,” Sarali called over her shoulder. “It wasn’t too far from where we went in the water.”
“I thought you said dragons don’t do well in water,” Kayla said again, projecting her voice ahead of her.
“They don’t,” Sarali answered. “Somehow she’s coerced her mount down here, but chances are he’s not happy about it. We may be able to use that somehow.”
“There’s not much I can do here, Kayla,” T’Kato called out to her. “See if there’s anything you can do with that flute of yours. She’s already found us, and the flute is awake to your touch, so use it.”
“Me?” she squeaked.
“Who else is there? I certainly don’t play, and I don’t think Sarali ever got good enough to do anything with it, so it’s up to you to save us this time.”
Kayla didn’t respond. It was up to her to save them? How? She didn’t know how to fight, not much more than a little wrestling and archery. Her mind churned with fear as the hoofbeats grew ever louder behind them. She didn’t know what made the flute work. When she desired something strongly as she played, it had come to pass. Was it her will? Or the wish? Or the tune she happened to play? She was not sure, and didn’t have time to puzzle it out.
The tunnel ahead of them still had no end in sight, and C’Tan was gaining fast, so Kayla did the only thing she could think of.
She stopped and turned.
Kayla faced her enemy as C’Tan raced toward her. She scrambled in her waistband for the flute she had tucked away so carefully before. Despite the cold water and air, despite the hard conditions here, the flute was warm in her hands with not a scratch on it. Kayla put the flute to her lips . . .
And froze.
What could she play? What did she plan to do? Kayla had no idea. Her mind was completely blank, and C’Tan drew closer by the second. She couldn’t collapse the tunnel because then they would be washed away. She wasn’t sure if she could, anyway, with the strength of the magic that held it open. She had nothing with which to make a wall, nothing to shoot at her enemy. All she had around her was water, cold, and air, and what could she do with that?
Her mind spun, faster and faster, panic setting in as her heart pounded against her chest like a woodpecker. Water. What could she do with water?
And then she knew.
Kayla smiled to herself and began to play a soft, slow melody, a song about the river that her mother had sung to her as a child, pulling the water into her music and closing her eyes to block out the distraction of the mage bearing down on her with her charging stallion. Water and cold and air. Water and cold and air.
Kayla tugged at the water, thickening it like clay, then pulled it in to form a wall across the tunnel. She opened an eye and was amazed to see a shimmering wall of water in front of her. She stopped playing for just a second, the surprise making her breathless. The water began to fall. Kayla started the melody where she left off and strengthened the water before her, thickening it inch by inch. First it was finger-thick, then wrist, elbow and shoulder. When the water was as wide as she was tall, she knew it was thick enough.
The song changed, a breathy whisper of sound, like the wind over the mountains picking up the old and ice of the snowy peaks. There were no mountains here beneath the sea, but the ocean, the water, the depths themselves where sunlight barely reached, were cold enough to turn her fingers blue. If she could concentrate that cold into this place, the water would solidify. It might be enough to hold C’Tan for a time.
Kayla pulled the cold together into a ball in front of her. It became almost painful, and it was all she could do to keep her teeth from chattering. She stepped back and opened her eyes once more to watch the process as she continued to play.
There, floating before her, was a writhing, white ball of ice that pulled the moisture and cold from the air. Kayla pushed it forwa
rd with her will and embedded it into the center of the shimmering water.
The ice crystals spread.
Snapping crackles sounded from the water as the ice expanded to form a huge wall of transparent water. It was as if a six-foot glass pane had sprung between Kayla and C’Tan, and it was none too soon.
C’Tan’s midnight stallion reared up and dumped his mistress in the sand. The woman sat pummeling the ground in frustration, and Kayla could hear the screams of rage even through the thick ice between them. In that instant, the picture of the beautiful blonde woman changed. It was as though a blanket dropped, exposing a beast. Instead of luxurious hair that caressed her shoulders and a face that seemed to be made of silk and dew, C’Tan was bald and scarred as if she had been burned by flame. She was two sides of the moon—one bright and lovely, the other dark and loathsome.
Illusion. C’Tan carried with her a vain illusion of beauty.
She was hideous.
The scars flared across her cheek to curl around one of her glaring eyes, like a red flame licking at her skull, almost as if it had been shaped to that form by a magical hand. Kayla stared at the woman as she changed before her eyes.
C’Tan ran at the wall then, pounding the ice with her fists, nearly foaming with fury. She stepped back and blasted fireballs at the wall, but Kayla kept playing, strengthening the ice with her will. Blast after fiery blast pummeled the ice, but it would not budge. Kayla asked it not to, and it stayed, becoming steel-like. The wall would not move unless Kayla willed it so, and she would not. C’Tan bombarded the wall with fire, alternating between great gouts of flame and surging balls time after time, but the wall held strong. Kayla could still see C’Tan clearly, and though the scarred woman was tiring, there was no surrender in her.
For just a moment Kayla felt sorry for C’Tan. What desperate need drove her for the flute? Surely it could not be power alone that pushed her like this. There had to be something more, but what, Kayla could not even hope to imagine. In that moment she could no longer stand to look at the face of her enemy, which was desperate with wrath and anguish.
She turned her back and walked ahead, meeting T’Kato and Sarali. They had stopped to watch as Kayla built the wall of ice to protect them, ice that did not melt nor burst, ice as strong as steel. Their eyes showed awe, but Kayla did not revel in it. She was pondering the questions in her mind and the strangeness of the dream of her father.
“Shall we go on to the evahn, then, lass?” Sarali asked, but Kayla shook her head.
“No, Sari. The answers don’t lie with the evahn,” she answered, still lost in her own thoughts.
Sarali looked surprised, but took the change in stride. “Where, then, would ye wish to go?” Kayla looked behind her at the woman still trying to burst through the icy wall. Her thoughts solidified, just as the ice had, and she turned back to her friends, for friends they were, having given up the comfort of their own lives to aid her. She smiled at them, despite the muffled curses coming from behind her.
“Javak, Sarali.” Kayla hoped she’d find what she needed there. She would know soon, one way or the other, and hoped she could avoid the wolfchild in her search for the flute’s birthplace. There was still too much to do, and she needed the flute to do it.
Sarali looked at T’Kato. He shrugged. Together, the three moved away from the still-howling C’Tan and toward the answers they sought—the answers that lay in Javak.
The Sapphire Flute: Book 1 of The Wolfchild Saga Page 36