by Karen Chance
But instead of plunging to the depths, I landed in the middle of a dry as dust plain, with a mass of horses charging toward me, their numbers so huge that they shook the ground like an earthquake. The sight was terrifying, but the sound—the sound was horrible, so loud that I couldn’t think, so loud that I couldn’t breathe. I scrambled to my feet, preparing to run—
“Lady!” Rhea said, as I hit the side of the stairwell face first, and gripped the chilly stones in confusion.
I couldn’t answer her. I didn’t know where I was or who I was. Because the images weren’t just images anymore, not even realistic ones. They were me. I was living every scene that tore through me, as if it was something out of my own life.
One minute, I was a kid, running through a vineyard, my toes delighting in the cool, loamy soil beneath them, while the sunlight filtered through the vines to dapple my face; the next I was staring in disbelief at my brother, who had just shoved a knife into my belly over a woman, the pain of betrayal even worse than the physical anguish; the next I was a young man trying to impress a girl and ride an unruly horse, only to land on my ass while they both sniggered at me.
I tried to break free of what was starting to feel less like a trickle and more like a flood, using the brief moment of calm to pull back into myself. For an instant, I almost succeeded, coming around long enough to feel the rough surface of the wall underneath my fingertips, and to dig into it until they bled. It wasn’t enough.
The flood caught me, and I was swept away, into an abyss of memory and emotion.
I was a medieval knight jousting in a tiltyard, getting struck in the face and thrown from my horse with a mortal wound; I was a sailor’s wife, waiting with a heavy heart for a lover who was overdue, a hand on my pregnant belly; I was a guard at court, watching a nobleman’s son dance and flirt with the girl he was supposed to marry, while knowing I’d have him in my bed again that night.
And they just kept coming, like a vast ocean beating against me, ungovernable, implacable, merciless.
I was a woman caught by a witch catcher, a smile breaking over my face because he’d made a mistake this time and gotten the real thing; I was a sailor being beaten for some infraction, each heavy stroke of the lash making me more certain that they intended to flay me alive; I was a slave standing over the body of my master, a bloody cudgel in my hand, knowing this meant my death but laughing nonetheless, laughing until I couldn’t breathe; I was a father, my heart welling with pride at seeing a son come home from war, wreathed in glory; I was a mother, falling at the feet of a soldier who had informed me that mine never would . . .
And on and on and on. I’d never felt anything like it. I was sobbing, screaming, laughing, all at the same time, sounding and probably looking like a madwoman, but I couldn’t help it. For a moment, I was mad, drowning under more emotions than anyone could process, than anyone could bear.
And then it got worse.
“Lady! Lady!” Rhea said, and grabbed my arm.
I think she was trying to shift me out, because a tendril of the Pythian power swirled around me for a second, and the room briefly went fuzzy. But it broke a second later, dumping me back against the wall, which was bad. But her grip on my arm was worse—way worse.
It should have helped to ground me, and not just because it was the touch of a friend. But because a Pythia draws strength from her court, which acts the same as a witch’s coven. And, right then, Rhea was the only member of mine around.
But instead, it did the opposite, sending a surge of power through me so strong that it made me gasp, and it felt like the room breathed in along with me. The last, stubborn display cases, dark until now, suddenly lit up, their light eclipsing everything else. And if I’d thought the images were a flood before, I’d been wrong, so very, very wrong.
That had been a river, rushing against its banks, while this—
This was the ocean.
All of which poured into me at once.
I was a goldsmith, huddled in my basement, making fake jewels out of crystal and pigment, hoping to save my business; I was a smuggler, lantern in hand, dragging a boatload of wine onto a windswept beach; I was a thief, surprising the mistress of the house in the arms of her lover, and taking her jewel chest in return for my silence; I was a naked child, standing in the street as they piled my family’s bodies on a wagon, while a bird-faced man painted a red cross on our door—
The flood sped up, drowning me in memory, sending my body thrashing against the stones. Rhea screamed, yelling her head off for help that no one could give me. Because I wasn’t one person anymore, a small figure huddled against a wall. I was everyone, everywhere, to the point that I thought my head would explode.
I was a highwayman, dying in a puddle of blood, because milady had had a pistol in her purse; I was a grandfather, walking out into the winter’s night, because there were children in the house and there wasn’t food enough for all; I was a gambler, tossing the dice one last time, for a pot that would make or break me; I was an old woman, slipping a young girl a sachet of powders, to rid herself of the pregnancy that no one could know about; I was a slave, diving underwater for pearls, and bursting through the surf clutching one the size of my thumb, the reward for which would free me—
“Lady! Lady!” Rhea was shaking me now, but it didn’t matter. The last few cases were finally switching on, but it wasn’t just light that spilled out of them, it was horrors.
I was a corpse, stirring at the sound of a necromancer’s call, thrashing against the shroud that imprisoned me; I was a demon, wailing and pounding on the prismatic jewel that had somehow trapped me: I was a god, staring down at a field of fleeing humans, and crushing them under my sole like ants. And laughing, laughing all the while, because what did they matter? What did any of them matter?
Whole worlds opened up before me, in an endless line, like two mirrors facing each other, reflecting infinity. And then I was that infinity, passing beyond the human realm and into something else, something other. I was anywhere and everywhere, seeing through a thousand eyes, a million, all of them.
I heard Rhea release me and run up the stairs for help; I heard boots pounding down again, a moment later; felt strong arms lifting me. But I couldn’t see them. I couldn’t see anything.
My eyes were full of stars.
Chapter Twenty-Three
“Is your life always like this?”
I blinked my way back to consciousness in confusion, since I didn’t remember losing it. But I guessed I must have. Weak daylight was filtering through the sheers in what looked like Rhea’s room rather than mine. It was spring in Britain, if an early and unenthusiastic one, but the thin light was enough to show me Gertie, sitting at my bedside on the chair from the vanity, sipping tea and looking composed.
Which was more than I was.
I groaned and put a hand to my head, where it felt like I had the mother of all hangovers. And the grandmother and great-grandmother as well, I thought, trying to take stock. Which was a little difficult with bleary eyes, stomach cramps and nausea. God, so much nausea!
Which was probably why, when I tried to move, it felt like the bed moved with me.I lay there for a moment, trying to remember if they had waterbeds in this era, and deciding that probably not. Considering everything, I supposed I should have felt lucky that my head hadn’t detonated all over Gertie’s basement, but I didn’t. No, lucky was not how I would describe my mood.
“Would you like some breakfast?” Gertie added cheerily, and I hurked and thought about throwing up some more.
“I’ll take that as a no,” she said, and drank tea.
After a while, the room stopped spinning, my stomach settled down a bit, and the tea started to sound good. I must have indicated that somehow, because Gertie walked over to the vanity, which was now serving as a tea caddy, and poured me a cup. I sat up, feeling terrifyingly weak and helpless, like a newborn kitten. I even paused halfway through the motion, to see if my body had any more surprises, but it
seemed to have settled down—for now.
I took the tea, leaned back against the headboard, and drank it.
The Brits were right; it was oddly soothing. Especially when I didn’t try to think about anything in particular. I didn’t try to think at all. After a while, the warm, milky tea and the silence had me feeling a bit better.
Gertie seemed to realize that, too, because she finished her tea and sat her cup back in its saucer with a snick. I didn’t know how she managed to convey so much with so little, but it was perfectly clear that she was now ready to hear my explanation. Which would have been great if I’d had one.
“Your acolyte and I had an interesting talk,” she informed me, when I just sat there.
“Oh?”
“Yes, oh.” She looked at me sternly. “Is there a reason that your heir cannot shift?”
“What?” I said, caught off guard, because that wasn’t the question I was expecting.
And, apparently, that wasn’t the answer that Gertie was.
“You are at war,” she told me flatly. “Not just your world, or your era, but you, personally. Almost every time I see you, you are in the middle of a crisis—”
“That’s not true,” I protested. The last month had been pretty calm, if you didn’t count the last few days. But that comment had apparently not required an answer, because she was still talking.
“—hauling demon lords around the time line, trying to restore the soul of your lover—”
“That was one time.”
“—or fighting ancient gods—”
“I provided more of an assist there.”
“—or dueling rogue acolytes who had acquired far more power than anyone should wield!”
“You told me to deal with that,” I pointed out. “I dealt with it.”
“I didn’t tell you to almost die in the process!” she said severely. “What if you had, hm? If you had lost that duel, who would have taken over then?”
I leaned my pounding noggin’ back against the headboard, which didn’t help. It wasn’t the nice, padded, modern kind of accessory, but the hard, suffering-is-good-for-the-soul Victorian type, so it offered basically zero comfort. Kind of like Gertie, who was looking at me expectantly.
“You know the problem,” I said irritably. “I’ve told you before. Agnes’s acolytes were turned by the gods, and I had to destroy them—”
“All of them?” she demanded. “From her entire reign?”
“No, just the last group, but that included her heir—”
“Then what about the others? She must have had dozens of acolytes over the years. You could contact them—”
“We did. Or, rather, Hilde did—”
“Hilde?”
I stopped. Damn. I hadn’t told Gertie that her sister had joined my court, although that wasn’t my idea. Hildegarde had suggested it, after I caught her skulking around the last time we were here, making sure that Gertie didn’t see her. I wasn’t sure what the problem was, but had gotten the impression that the girls had been rivals back in the day, and Hilde wasn’t sure how she’d take the news.
Which didn’t make a lot of sense to me, or apparently, to Gertie, who was looking vastly relieved. “Well, at least you have some competent help,” she said. “Why not make her your heir, at least until you can sort out a suitable one?”
“I have a suitable one,” I said, frowning. “And Hilde can’t do the job—”
“I assure you, she can. And quite well, too.”
“I’m not talking about her skills. I’m talking about her age.”
“Her age?” It was Gertie’s turn to frown. “Just how old is she?”
“Old enough.”
I didn’t elaborate, because technically, Gertie and I weren’t supposed to be talking about the future, or really at all. Gertie was helping to train me, which I really appreciated since my predecessor had died before she could do anything except wish me luck. But I still had to be careful about what I told her.
You never knew what could influence a decision, even subconsciously.
But this was Gertie, so of course I didn’t get away with it. “Well, you have to find someone—”
“I have someone—”
“—competent, at the very least. What about those other acolytes? The ones you said that my sister found for you?”
“Also too old. They’re all friends of hers. And channeling the Pythian power for any length of time at their age, especially in the amounts that I’ve been using, would kill them.”
“The middle-aged ones, then!” Gertie was looking exasperated. “You are at war. You must have an heir!”
“An heir I can trust,” I snapped, because my head felt like it was about to crack open, and she wouldn’t drop it already. Why she was going on about this now, when we had more pressing matters to discuss, I didn’t know. But clearly, she thought this was paramount.
And maybe she was right. I didn’t like to face up to my own mortality any better than the next person, but facts were facts. No insurance company on Earth would cover me.
But picking the wrong heir could be worse than having none at all, as Agnes had found out to her—and everybody else’s—peril. Not only had dear Myra poisoned the boss, but she’d joined the other side in the war and almost handed them a victory. And had come very close to killing me as a chaser.
I couldn’t afford to make the same mistake.
“And why wouldn’t you trust them?” Gertie demanded, giving me no rest. “They haven’t turned traitor—”
“They haven’t had a chance! That doesn’t mean the gods haven’t been talking to them, too, offering them who knows what to change sides. The acolytes gave up the Pythian power when they left court, so right now, they’re harmless. But if I give it back—”
“And if you don’t? What’s the plan then?”
“You know the plan. You’ve met the plan—”
“Yes,” Gertie said dryly. “I have.”
She was clearly not impressed. And all of a sudden, I felt a surge of protectiveness for Rhea so strong it surprised me. Although maybe it shouldn’t have.
I was in her room, and in what looked to be her nightgown, too. She must have taken care of me after I passed out on the stairs and the war mages brought me back up here. And considering that the other pillow was indented, she’d probably slept by my side, too.
She took care of everybody she met, despite nobody ever taking care of her.
Maybe it was time that changed.
“Rhea is an excellent heir,” I told Gertie, in a voice that said I was done discussing it.
Unfortunately, Gertie tended to be tone deaf when it wasn’t information she wanted.
“She’s not even an excellent acolyte,” she retorted. “She couldn’t move you—in a spatial shift, I might add, the easiest kind—from the basement up to here!”
“She tried!”
“Yes, and she failed. Which is my point. The court has always required shifting as a prerequisite for training, as almost everything else we do is built on it or utilizes it. She cannot shift to the past if she cannot shift at all. She cannot track down rogue mages attempting time travel—”
“I get it.”
“—or protect herself whilst in battle. Even an acolyte can be overcome if she is trapped in one place for too long. All an enemy has to do—”
“I said, I get it!”
“—is to wait her out, until her stamina wanes and she can no longer channel the Pythian power. Not to mention that shifting is also a significant part of most of our offensive strategies as well—”
“Damn it, Gertie! I said—”
“That you ‘get it,’ which I assume means that you understand. But you don’t. Otherwise,
you would never have elevated her to a position she cannot handle in the first place.”
I got up, because shaky or not, I needed to move. And because my nice, hot cup of tea had disappeared. Probably why I felt a little warmer at my core, and why my limb
s were shaking a bit less. I went over to the vanity and poured myself a refill.
“Rhea has been a huge help to me,” I said. “She was the first one to give me a brief about the Pythian Court, how it’s supposed to run, its history—”
“Then make her your historian.”
“—not to mention helping with the initiates before Hilde and the other acolytes came on board, when I had no idea what I was doing—”
“Then make her the manager of your creche!”
I turned from the tea tray to meet angry eyes, and doubted that mine were any milder. “She saved my life in the conflict with Jo; she might have saved the whole damned timeline! If that’s not a good enough reason to be the heir, I don’t know what is!”
Jo, the last of the rogue acolytes, had been going toe to toe with me in a duel, and I honestly don’t know who would have prevailed. But Rhea, with exactly zero control over the Pythian power and thereby vulnerable as all hell, had nonetheless shown up to challenge her, a fully trained acolyte. Thus, distracting her and giving me a chance to end things.
Whatever Rhea lacked, it wasn’t courage.
“None of which makes her capable of doing the job,” Gertie said, undeterred. “I understand that you are fond of the girl, although she seems a bit erratic to me—”
“She’s been through a lot.”
“Haven’t we all?” It was dry. “But that does not make her any more capable. I cannot believe my sister, of all people, would allow you to elevate someone to a position they simply cannot do. What was she thinking?”
“She was thinking that Rhea has the skill, she just has a mental block against using it.”
“Then she’s useless—”
I glared.
“—as a replacement for you. You know she is.”
“I know her background—and her heart! There’s no one better. She just needs some—”
I stopped, halfway through the thought, which was the same one I’d had last night.
“Needs some what?” Gertie demanded.
“Time,” I said slowly. “Which isn’t something we have, in my era, but you—”