About Glimmer in the Maelstrom: Shadow Through Time 3
The Maelstrom is building – inexorable, relentless, causing destruction and death on an unprecedented scale, pouring elements from one realm into another – and the only hope for humanity, the young Glimmer, has strayed far from her destiny to unite the Four Worlds. An accidental touch of the Plainsman Memory Stone infects her with emotions and she abducts the coldest of the nobles, Kert Sh’hale, taking him to the Fireworld of Haddash where her clumsy seduction allows the Serpent of Death to escape.
On our world, Pagan’s son Vandal has grown into a young man, bitter at his father for abandoning him to return to Ennae. When tragedy steals Vandal’s future, his bitterness becomes deadly and he follows his father through the Sacred Pool, intent on destroying the one thing Pagan loves most.
While Glimmer must give up everything she holds dear to fight the Serpent and secure a future from the remnants of mankind; Vandal hunts his father’s betrothed, Lae; and the Maelstrom draws closer …
The final instalment of the Shadow Through Time trilogy is pure magic. A sumptuous conclusion to a feast of fantasy.
Contents
About Glimer in the Maelstrom: Shadow Through Time 3
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four
Chapter Forty-Five
Chapter Forty-Six
Chapter Forty-Seven
Chapter Forty-Eight
Chapter Forty-Nine
Chapter Fifty
Chapter Fifty-One
Chapter Fifty-Two
Chapter Fifty-Three
Chapter Fifty-Four
Chapter Fifty-Five
Chapter Fifty-Six
Chapter Fifty-Seven
Chapter Fifty-Eight
Chapter Fifty-Nine
Chapter Sixty
Chapter Sixty-One
Chapter Sixty-Two
Chapter Sixty-Three
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
Destiny of the Light
Daughter of the Dark
About Louise Cusack
Copyright
This book and the series are dedicated to my mother who loved me no matter what.
PROLOGUE
‘I’m leaving … the district,’ Father Karl said, standing on the top step, not quite on the verandah.
Sarah McGuire clutched a tea towel in her hands, nodding, her attention fixed on the weighty gold ring on the middle finger of his left hand, which was clasped with his right in front of an immaculate black suit. The obsidian inset in his ring glowed, even now in the deep of night. It fascinated her. Particularly when she was drunk.
‘I won’t be back,’ he said in his deep, layered voice.
Sarah said nothing. Around them on the verandah, night insects buzzed and she could hear soft music — a cat food jingle — drifting up the hallway behind her.
‘Please tell Vandal for me,’ he added. ‘I don’t want to drag him away from his school work.’
They both knew her son was watching television but Sarah nodded and kept staring at the ring, trying to ignore what Father Karl had just said. I won’t be back. Better to concentrate on how secure she felt in his presence, how calm and purposeful Vandal was when he was around. If she could hold onto that and stay ‘in the moment’ she might get through this visit. Except, she wasn’t drunk enough yet to silence the voice of truth, and it was intent on projecting ahead.
Another man abandoning you, Sarah. First your lover, now your colleague. It won’t be long before your son does the same. Then you’ll be completely alone. And why are they leaving, Sarah? Is it because there’s something wrong with you? Something repellent?
‘The Church will send a replacement,’ Father Karl said. ‘But I’m not sure when. These are troubled times. If you could manage the funerals by yourself until then …’
‘This isn’t the first time Katanga’s been without a priest,’ Sarah replied, finding her voice at last. ‘Melissa will help me.’
A low rumble started in the floorboards beneath her rubber thongs, and Sarah dropped her tea towel and fumbled for the verandah railing at her side. She clung to it as the earthquake rocked the ground, pitching pot plants off their stand and onto the timber decking. Cool dirt fell across her feet. The windows behind her rattled and the hallway light flickered.
Then silence. As though someone had thrown a switch, it was over. The hall light again illuminated the verandah with its steady glow, and in the sudden quiet Sarah heard her own breathing, harsh in her ears.
‘Mum!’ Vandal bellowed from inside.
‘Fine … I’m fine,’ she called back. ‘Just fixing the pot plants.’
‘Okay.’ Fainter, as though his attention was already returning to the television.
‘So lovely that your sister is being helpful,’ Father Karl said, as though nothing had happened.
Sarah looked up then and met his volcanic black eyes — eyes that glowed like his ring — and his face disturbed her. Not handsome. Striking. She’d known him for two months and every time she looked at him it took her by surprise. The second thing she registered was the fact that he hadn’t moved. While she’d clutched at the railing, he’d continued to stand on the top step, hands clasped before him. Grace under pressure.
Melissa thought he was husband material and would be disappointed that Sarah hadn’t managed to snag him, but Sarah was immune. In fact, the idea that she might love anyone else again was so ludicrous she wanted to laugh. Hysterically.
‘Look after yourself, Sarah,’ he said.
She shrugged. That didn’t seem important any more. ‘Will you write?’ she asked, for Vandal’s sake. The priest was the only one who paid the boy any attention.
Father Karl shook his head. ‘I’m cutting my ties and starting a whole new life. It will be solitary. Not what I’m used to. But if I don’t immerse myself in it, I may not succeed.’
Sarah couldn’t even drum up the energy to despair for her son. ‘I wish I could start a whole new life,’ she said, thinking how nice it would be to escape, to retreat to a monastery and let the world go on without her.
‘You have Vandal,’ Father Karl said.
‘I’ll be the best mother I can.’
He smiled, polite enough to pretend that was a positive statement. ‘I’m sure if Vandal avoids the same … entanglements as his father, he’ll do fine.’
Sarah frowned. ‘You think a woman will steal him away from me? He’s thirteen.’
‘No one knows what the future will bring,’ Father Karl said, but oddly; his tone made Sarah think he did know. Was he withholding something? About Vandal? Surely the boy hadn’t told him about the Earthworld of Ennae. No, they’d both be in the loony bin if he had.
A sharp gust of wind came from nowhere and rattled the timber shutters behind her. Sarah shuddered.
Father Karl opened his hands. ‘The weather is so unpredictable,’ he said, as though the wind had illustrated his point. ‘I’d better go.’
Sarah was back to nodding. ‘Storms,’ she said, but had no feeling of apprehension for herself. The highset timber Queenslander she’d inherited from her parents had recently been fitted with steel cable reinforcing, like a giant’s fishing net thrown over the roof and secured into the ground. Her funeral home on the other side of the house was steel frame bolted onto concrete. Both guaranteed to withstand tornadoes — a new and terrifyingly frequent phenomenon in a region that had previously been lucky to see one cyclone a year. ‘Better not be caught out in the open,’ she said.
Father Karl smiled again and Sarah saw his extra set of canines. A double dose of carnivore genes, she’d joked when they’d first met, the same week …
She’d been running on adrenalin then, crying jags and bursts of physical activity. Now all she had left was numbness and a dull ache in her chest that only vodka anaesthetised.
‘Remember what I said, Sarah. Like father like son. You have to protect Vandal from himself.’ He held out his hand and Sarah shook it. Hot. His skin was always hot. Then he turned and went down the stairs, his movements so fluid he appeared to be floating. She narrowed her eyes and mentally counted how many drinks she’d had.
‘Have a happy life,’ she said, almost to herself, as he went past the limit of the faint hallway light and was lost in the shadows of a moonless evening. Emotion stirred inside her and she held her breath, wondering whether she was going to cry, whether she had the energy to cry. And into the sudden stillness came a soft rustling sound, quite unlike the crunching of footsteps on dry grass. More like … slithering.
She leant down to retrieve the tea towel from where she’d dropped it. Came up dizzy. ‘I need another drink.’
CHAPTER ONE
Talis of the House of Guardians severed his ethereal connection with the Earthworld of Ennae, rechannelling into his body the power he had projected to open the way between the worlds. The Column of Light he had created blinked out and a crashing roar echoed outwards, marking the closure. It was quickly absorbed by the thick cloud of the Airworld of Atheyre.
He blinked to accustom his eyes to the dimmer light and saw that where the column had touched the soft mist-like surface of Atheyre, there now lay an unconscious old Plainsman. Beside him was an ancient thong necklet, and threaded onto that necklet was the memory stone, the symbol of Plainsman leadership, the reason Talis’s sovereign had ordered him to use his Guardian power to open the way between the worlds.
It was done. Talis dropped his arms, exhausted by the strain of the rite.
‘I have it,’ his young king Mihale said softly, plucking the necklet off its airy cushion, ignoring the Plainsman whom Talis now crouched to inspect. Khatrene, who was The Light of Ennae and Mihale’s royal sister, came swiftly to Talis’s side and he felt restored by her nearness.
‘Can you help him?’ she asked Talis.
‘I will try.’
Talis took calming breaths to centre his power, so newly taxed by the Rite of Opening, while Khatrene touched the side of the Plainsman’s withered throat with a gentle hand. Her long snow hair brushed the old man’s chest, and though Talis should have concentrated on his task, instead he felt himself cast back in time. In the days after Khatrene had returned to Ennae from her exile on Magoria, he had been wounded protecting her and she had touched him just as she now touched the Plainsman. What an anguish of desire that gentle touch had brought him, for he had feared that she would never return his love. Worse anguish had followed, watching her marry then bear another man’s child, but in the end Talis’s steadfast love had won her heart and now the pain of his longing was only a distant memory.
‘Beloved?’ she whispered. ‘Are you ill?’
Talis shook his head and remembered his task. ‘Distracted,’ he told her and smiled in reassurance. Then he closed his eyes, the better to focus healing power through his hand which now rested on the Plainsman’s forehead.
‘Who is he?’ she whispered, her voice still low as though in deference to the old man’s condition. ‘I thought we’d met all of Noorinya’s tribe, but I don’t know this Plainsman.’
‘Nor do I.’ Through his hand, Talis had located the thread of life to which the old man clung. It was thin. In more fortuitous circumstances he would gift the Plainsman a portion of his own vitality to aid his healing. But he was weakened by the rite he had just performed and constrained by his king’s demand that a further rite be instigated to return them to their homeworld of Ennae. Talis was unsure whether the Plainsman stone would have the power to transfer three people — four people now — back through the void. But he knew there would be less chance if he squandered any more of his power on healing.
‘Forget the Plainsman,’ Mihale said, and Talis opened his eyes to find his young king tying the necklet around his throat. ‘He’s probably dead. We should return to Ennae, now that we have the means.’
‘He’s not dead,’ Khatrene snapped, turning to face her twin.
Talis winced at her tone. No one else spoke to their king as his sister did, but the Guardian understood her anger. He himself was surprised at the King’s callous dismissal of another man’s life, even a Plainsman. This was not the Mihale he remembered. Had the young king’s death and subsequent revival in the Airworld changed his basic nature?
‘And you might not care about him but I owe these people my life,’ Khatrene added. ‘Plainsmen hid me from Djahr, the man you married me to, when he came after me to cut his baby from my belly.’
‘The Dark is dead,’ Mihale replied, pointing to the seeing-storm they had looked through to witness the ending of their mortal enemy’s life. It was quiescent now, another cloud among many, but with a word it could show them any world, anyone. ‘The threat to our family is over,’ he said. ‘We are safe to return to Ennae, and we are going now. Talis!’
Khatrene was suddenly still. ‘Why are you wearing the stone?’ she asked.
Talis had been wondering the same thing.
‘It belongs to me now,’ Mihale said softly, and Talis felt hairs rise on his arms.
But disquiet or no, Talis knew his duty. ‘Majesty,’ he said, leaving the Plainsman to Khatrene.
‘Open the way,’ Mihale instructed. ‘I will use the stone to get us back.’
Talis flicked a glance at his beloved who was frowning at her brother. ‘You will use it?’ she asked.
‘Proceed,’ Mihale demanded.
Talis painstakingly retraced the circle he needed, this time around the four of them, digging a trench with his hand in the spongy surface of this world. Inside the circle he raised his tired arms and invoked the rite. ‘I am the light that warms the tunnel. I am the door that opens the way.’ He searched the void with his mind but felt no jolt within himself to indicate that his sending had touched Ennae. It had been difficult enough on the previous occasion. This time it appeared impossible.
Minutes passed and Talis’s arms ached.
‘The way is not opening,’ Mihale said.
‘What did you expect?’ Khatrene snapped back. ‘Talis needs the stone.’
‘I will make it work,’ Mihale told her. Then to Talis, ‘Tell me how is it done.’
‘Majesty,’ Talis said, his arms still raised to seek a passage for them, ‘I belie
ve one needs only the will. It is the intent that fires the stone’s power.’ Minutes ticked by as Talis struggled without success to open the way. ‘Perhaps it is my weakness —’ he began, but Khatrene interrupted.
‘No it’s not.’ She turned on her brother. ‘What’s going on? You want to go back. We all want to go back. God knows I’m sick of feeling like I’m living inside a bag of cotton wool balls.’ She waved an arm at their surrounds. ‘And my daughter is on Ennae. I want to see her. But how can I if you won’t give Talis the stone?’
Silence.
Talis dropped his trembling arms and looked to his king who stood staring at nothing. ‘Majesty, I will return it immediately we arrive back,’ he said, wondering if his king imagined he would steal it or lose it. Had Mihale lost his memories of Talis’s good service? Or was there another reason he felt mistrust of his sister’s Champion?
Khatrene’s voice was far from soft. ‘Give him the goddamned stone!’
Talis felt real concern then. His beloved’s temper could be volatile and the years she had spent on the illusion world of Magoria with its liberation of women and democracy had made her cynical about the role of monarchy in their society, though she was a princess herself. The twins had been prone to argument as children and apparently still were, but provoking Mihale’s temper could put Talis in the shaky position of needing to choose between his king and his beloved, between duty and love.
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