But there was no holding back that endless tide of men. Driven by fire and fear of the attacking wizards, they scrabbled over one another like ants. They overran the defenders with sheer numbers. For every man of Bear who fell, four of Aare’s soldiers dropped. But they kept coming.
Soka’s strength began to flag. His sword windmilled and seemed to strike flesh with every cut. He slipped in churning red mud. Someone kicked him, flipping him over. He heard bones cracking, feeling the pain only dimly. He rolled before the blade split him in two. He fetched up against the base of the tower and leaped to his feet. His ribs shrilled with agony. It was hard to catch his breath. The pain cut through the haze clouding his senses. He clung to it. It felt right. Deserved.
His attacker crouched. The soldier was grinning, the tip of his sword winding slowly back and forth like a cobra.
“Can’t run, ganyik. Ain’t nowhere to hide. Are you ready to dance with Cateel?”
Something appeared over Cateel’s shoulder. A glimmer, a flash, like moonlight on the ocean. Soka froze, his eyes narrowing. Cateel chose that moment to lunge. Something caught him around the head. He jerked like a rag doll, his neck snapping as gouges erupted on his forehead. He was tossed aside, landing in a broken heap. Soka straightened, captured by the silver eyes boring into him. The rest of the nokula rippled into view. Soka gulped hard, his eyes wandering over the thick slab shoulders, spined back, and six-inch claws dripping blood.
It thrust its head forward on its sinewy neck, its jaws gaping wide. Hot breath brushed across Soka’s cheeks. He drew back, pressing against the wooden tower. The beast’s tongue unfurled slowly, a flat, tapered streak of white. It whispered across Soka’s lips, tasting. Soka watched the dagger teeth hovering only an inch from his eye. Then abruptly the nokula drew away. Its muzzle opened wider in what Soka could have sworn was a grin. Then it whirled and bounded away with a flick of its stumpy tail.
Soka stared after it, fear clamping around his bowels. What was happening? He shook his head and straightened. He staggered in a circle, astonished. Aare’s soldiers continued to fling themselves over the wall. But fewer made it into the bailey. Many were being torn limb from limb by invisible claws, gutted with a single swipe of a powerful paw. By the Lady’s Light—the nokulas were . . . helping.
Soka smiled. And then his mind went blank and pain was forgotten as another of Aare’s soldiers swung at him. He blocked the cut, stepping under it and letting the other man’s sword slide down his to stick in the ground. He thrust his palm against the man’s throat. The soldier wobbled backwards, choking. Soka yanked his dagger free and drove it into the soldier’s chest. He crowed triumph at the way the man slid to the ground, the primitive beast inside clawing free. And then there were more men and he was killing them and killing them. . . . Every one wore the face of Aare. Every scream he heard was Metyein’s agonized last cry. Every blow he struck was for vengeance.
Chapter 42
Something was wrong. Reisil stared at the spell taking shape in her hands. It was nearly there. Near to becoming the spell that the copicatl had shown her. Something was wrong with it. She could feel it. But what? And what role did Juhrnus play in healing Mysane Kosk? He crouched outside the shields, watching her with that birdlike curiosity that seemed neither frightened nor urgent. Esper remained perched on his shoulders, untainted by the warping magic of Mysane Kosk. How was that possible? She had no idea. And no time to sort it out.
Reisil tore her gaze away from him and examined her creation. She ran her fingers over it, feeling the connections between the rinda, feeling the way the magic in them wove together. What was wrong with it?
Slow realization seeped through her anxiety and exhaustion. The spell-shape had been given to her by Ilhuicatl. It was supposed to save Cemanahuatl. He didn’t care about the nokulas. He didn’t care about Mysane Kosk or even Kodu Riik. They weren’t his responsibility. For whatever reason, the nahuallis couldn’t create the spell, or they couldn’t deliver it. Reisil jerked her head in an angry refusal. Neither would she. She’d promised.
She closed her eyes, drawing a calming breath. Her hands were shaking from the effort of molding the moon rinda. Though they had bent more easily to her will than she expected, still it had taken an enormous flow of energy to meld them. Time was running out. If she failed, if she was too late . . . She looked at Yohuac and Baku. They stood still as statues. Yohuac’s feet were braced wide and Baku’s tail curled tightly around the small of the straining man’s back. Yohuac gripped Baku’s neck ridges. The tendons stood out on his hands. His face was a mask of concentration.
They were stretched tight. Nearly past their limits. If she used Ilhuicatl’s spell, it might very well save Kodu Riik. But the nokulas would die. She was certain of it. If she tried something else and it failed or she wasn’t ready in time, then Cemanahuatl and Kodu Riik would be lost too.
She didn’t have to consider. She was supposed to protect them. She had told them she would. Her fingers began to work, pulling apart the spell. It took nearly as much energy as building it.
She set the rinda before her, her brows furrowing. Hurry . . . hurry . . . hurry! Fear twisted her mind. Her thoughts whirled, unable to settle on anything. Stop it. Get hold of yourself. Think.
She picked up one of the moon rinda, feeling the power coursing through them, the way they called to each other. They were malleable in a way. They wanted a shape, a purpose. Reisil caught her breath and stiffened. An idea slid through the depths of her mind. She snatched at it. It flittered away. She took a breath, relaxing her shoulders. Another breath. Deep in, deep out. Yes!
They were malleable. Their shape could be bent. And it could be added to. The nokulas and Mysane Kosk were proof that the nahualli rinda could be combined with something else. She thought of the wards she’d made by infusing her will into common words. All she had to do was decide what she wanted and bend the rinda to do it, adding what she needed in common language. A part of her snorted sardonically—all she had to do. Easy as climbing a mountain without clothing or shoes. But she’d done that too.
There was no time to waste. There was no time to be careful. She was about to reach for her magic when she glanced at Juhrnus. She froze. He had a role here too. She thought of the way the mist responded to his song, and the balanced structure of the rinda inside him. And the way Esper remained unchanged. And she remembered the Silence.
“Help me,” she said. “Sing.”
He nodded as if he’d been waiting for her signal, and began. The song was not the same as before. It rode the range from high to low. The melody did not repeat, but wound on, ever changing.
It wasn’t merely sound. Reisil could feel a power in the song, like rinda. It was tangible. It spun through the shields protecting Reisil. She reached out and touched it, held it. She smiled. She pulled her magic into herself, dropping all her barriers. It blasted into her with a shocking force, amplified by Juhrnus’s song. She rocked backwards. Her head banged against the shield. Then she convulsed forward, her muscles spasming. She shuddered and quaked. Her hair waved in the air on an invisible wind. It crackled and sparked.
She didn’t wait to gain control. She grabbed up the first of the moon rinda and fitted it with another. She knew their essences. They each contained an elemental fragment of life: fire of love for a child, passion for a lover, hatred, want, hope, fear, pain, need, rage, joy, bliss, quiet, guilt, greed, isolation, grief, home, and triumph. These were the seeds. Now she had to grow the vines to make the sculpture.
She wrapped her hand in the web of the song, letting it course through her fingers. She fed her power into each joining, muttering all the while. Keep the nokulas safe . . . bind the wizards’ spell . . . circulate the magic back to Cemanahuatl . . . find a balance. . . . The words slurred together. Images of her friends, of Kodu Riik and Cemanahuatl, collected in her mind like drifting leaves. So many memories. So many wonders and losses. So much joy. So much sadness. Tears dripped down her cheeks and onto her fingers.
She didn’t dare brush them away. The torrent poured through her.
She felt the attack on Mysane Kosk. It was muffled and far away, but the maelstrom around them sped up, burgeoning hotly, pushing outward. Reisil sucked in a gasping breath. Almost done. Almost—
Done.
She stared down into her lap, at the sculpture she’d created. It didn’t look like anything. It was knobby and sharp, smooth and silken. There was a wildness to it, and a liquid quality, as if it were moving. Reisil bent close. There were words etched into the silver surface. Keep the nokulas safe . . . bind the wizards’ spell . . . circulate the magic back to Cemanahuatl . . . find a balance. . . . They scrolled over the skin, like the spells written into the cages that had held Baku and the plague-healers. She smoothed her fingers over the surface, feeling a fluidity, like the sound of the song. And she felt the rightness of it. She looked up at Juhrnus. He was watching her. He had stopped singing, and the silence was complete.
She pushed herself upright, her legs stiff and aching. She limped to the edge of the shield, looking through at the hole in the center of the rinda spiral from which gushed the lifeblood of Cemanahuatl. To insert it, she would need to leave the shield. Juhrnus could put it in, but it was going to take more than that. She’d realized it only in creating the sculpture. All those emotions came from life. The nahualli rinda were drawn to life. It was going to take life to unlock the spell. Which was not going to make anyone else happy.
She looked at Baku and Yohuac. They were watching her intently. Yohuac’s face was gaunt, but hopeful. Reisil steeled herself. This was not going to be easy. They’d fight hard.
~It’s time for you to go now. All of you. The rest I have to do alone.
She wasn’t prepared for Baku’s reaction. He snarled and snapped at her. At the same moment, a wave of crashing fury swamped her mind. It drove her to her knees. Then as suddenly he attacked, he pulled back. Reisil staggered up, trembling and swaying. She had a sense of the two of them talking together. Yohuac’s face darkened and his gold eyes flared brilliantly.
~He says we will not go until you are safe, Baku declared defiantly, the tip of his tail flicking back and forth.
~I’m not going to be safe, Reisil said bluntly.
This time she was ready for Baku’s reaction. The surge of his anger was deeper than the ocean and bleaker than a winter night in the icy north. And inside it was Yohuac, his love, his fear, his anguish. Reisil squeezed her eyes shut, holding firm to her walls. She daren’t let them in; she daren’t feel their hunger.
~You must go. I must stay. There is no time to debate.
~We will not leave you.
There was no arguing with that unyielding stubborness. She didn’t know what would happen when she set the spell, but she could not wait any longer.
~All right. Do what you have to. But don’t get in my way.
She snatched up the spell-sculpture and strode toward the shield. Before she got there, Baku’s tail snaked around her. She stopped and looked at him.
~Let me go. This must be done.
~You cannot. Kodu Riik needs you. For healing, for the nokulas. They will need you if they are to be accepted in Kodu Riik. I have done what the Lady called me to do. Once he is gone . . . Let me be the one.
Reisil hesitated. She did not want to die. But she was ready to do so for Kodu Riik and Cemanahuatl. That was what being ahalad-kaaslane meant—sacrifice. Baku was ahalad-kaaslane. But could she send him to his death? It seemed so much harder than going herself.
~I am the wiser choice.
Reisil nodded at last, aware of the speeding time. The nahuallis would be trying to destroy Ti’Omoru. He took the spell-sculpture delicately in his mouth. Reisil showed him what he had to do. It wasn’t much. She could speak the necessary words.
~Let us move near the hole.
She waited for Baku to pass the message to Yohuac, who nodded understanding. His expression was stoic. Under the mask he wore, his heart had to be breaking. She settled her hand over his again.
~Are you ready? Baku asked.
Reisil didn’t let herself think. She called up her magic to take up the burden of holding the shields. She nodded. Baku withdrew and she let her magic go. It flowed like water rushing from a broken dam. She didn’t have the strength to temper it. The shields blazed. Reisil blinked and squinted, hardly able to see. She felt Baku scooting forward and she shuffled along beside him, letting him guide the way.
She knew when they stood beside the hole. It was like being continuously struck by lightning. She wanted to melt into it. She looked down into the shining darkness: the heart of the magical well. It pulled at her. Mesmerizing. She leaned her forehead and hands against the shields, starting to pull in her magic. She wanted—she needed—to touch it.
Suddenly Baku’s tail whipped around, knocking her to the side. At the same moment, Yohuac reached for her, yanking her over Baku’s back. She lay there a second, her ribs bellowing as she drank in air. The flow of her power faltered. The shields flickered and shrank. Quickly she bolstered them, sliding to her feet and settling her hand on Baku’s neck.
~Go quickly.
She curled her fingers, pressing hard against Baku’s neck. In the flash of a moment, she dropped her barriers, letting him know how much he’d come to mean to her. She felt the warm rush of his gratitude and the deep reservoir of emotion he held for her. She caught her breath. Her throat knotted.
~Farewell.
With that, Baku suddenly glowed incandescently and slid out of the shields as if they weren’t even there. Reisil squinted against the flare of light as nahualli rinda clustered around him like flies on spilled honey. Baku began to move arthritically, as if he’d aged. His hide glistened white and silver beneath the gathering rinda. He lowered his head, gently setting the spell-sculpture in the hole. It revolved and floated, as if it were looking for the proper fit. Reisil sighed. Almost there.
Suddenly, she became aware of an odd feeling. Like a puff of hot air in a cold room. She frowned. The feeling . . . it was like a wave growing far out on the ocean. What . . . ? And then she knew.
She watched frantically as the spell-sculpture bob-bled and rose and then settled slowly, oh, so slowly, down into the well. Riesil held her breath, her heart thundering. Hurry! Hurry! She silently urged the spell. Lower and lower. Almost there. Almost—
There was a soft snick! like a key turning in a lock. At that moment, Baku limped heavily over the hole, hiding the well and the spell-sculpture from view.
Quickly Reisil spoke the words to activate the spell.
“Let life guard life. Let the flood rise and fall. Let the wheel turn. Let balance find a way.”
The words were mute in the smothering silence. For a moment Reisil thought they’d failed.
Suddenly Baku shattered like glass. Nahualli rinda clung to the fragments as they rose on a stuttering whirlwind. The spell-sculpture began to turn, slowly at first, then spinning faster until it looked like a silver flame. There was a pulling sensation, like the turn of tide.
And the hole . . . widened.
Reisil stared in horrified shock. By the Lady! She’d made it worse! She pressed her fists against her mouth. Her stomach clenched and she fought the urge to retch.
But as she watched, the magic spilling out of the hole began to turn in a spiral instead of gushing like a volcano. And inside it . . . Reisil clapped and grinned so hard her face hurt. Inside a new spiral began. But this one was upside down. It sank down through the first one until its pointed tip was centered around the spinning silver spell that Reisil had made. The spiral above it remained steady.
Now the clusters of rinda and the fragments of Baku began to fall, funneling downward. They glimmered with a blue light that seemed to coalesce as it descended. Reisil felt a wash of silk over her inner senses. Baku. The clot of blue light and rinda spun downward through the spell-sculpture and disappeared. Reisil watched, waiting. That feeling of something rising was growing stronger.
Then something hit from below. The ground jumped. Reisil clutched Yohuac for balance. The nahuallis had tried to destroy Ti’Omoru. But they’d failed. The sculpture continued to spin.
It was working! Reisil put her arm around Yohuac, hugging him hard. It was going to work. The nokulas would be safe, and Cemanahuatl would get the return of its magic.
Already she could feel the change. She could see the milky-white fog surrounding them begin to shred. And she could hear. Juhrnus was singing. It sounded like a dirge. Reisil swallowed, looking up at Yohuac. Tears streaked his face. She looked away.
“May the Lady bless him. May She hold him in Her heart.”
A strange feeling of warm hands on her shoulders made Reisil start. She glanced sharply over her shoulder, but there was nothing there. She frowned, shifting uneasily. The feeling did not leave.
~You have done well, ahalad-kaaslane. I wish I could reward you as you deserve, but the gift you crave is not mine to give. But know I am proud. And if you have need, come to this place and I will hear. Though I may not return to Kodu Riik, I will always watch. I will always guard.
Then the pressure of the invisible hands was suddenly gone. But as the Lady’s voice faded, the talisman Reisil wore around her neck flared warmly, sending a joyous glow through her. She pressed her hand over it in wonder. The Lady was not gone. Kodu Riik was not abandoned.
She glanced at Yohuac. He wore a blank expression, as if poleaxed. Reisil knew the Lady had spoken to him. She turned to look at Juhrnus. He stood still, staring upward at nothing. There was a blissful expression on his face. He stroked Esper and the sisalik crooned.
“It’s really going to work,” she murmured, still hardly able to believe they’d done it, and before the nahuallis or the wizards or the Scallacians could stop them.
Soon a magical balance would be established. Magic would circulate between Kodu Riik and Cemanahuatl, bringing rinda to the nokulas to feed them. The nokulas would always have a home. The wizards would still covet it, but the nokulas could defend themselves. She’d help them.
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