His Champion’s instincts directed his mind to focus on the danger that surrounded them, and their lack of escape routes. The secret Cliffdweller tunnels nearby, which had once led beneath the cliffs of Be’uccdha to the freedom of the Plains, were likely collapsed. Whole sections of the cliff face had fallen into the Everlasting Ocean. The sky-mirror held only Be’uccdha Castle safe. Which meant that their only safe exit would be up into the castle again. But Vandal waited there, and Pagan knew his son had murder in his heart.
Lae might rally her Guardsmen, but Vandal’s authority as her husband rivalled her own. Not only that, Vandal was younger, perhaps quicker than his father. If all else failed and Pagan was forced to fight his son, he could not be sure of the outcome, except to be sure that if he died, Lae would also. They might be better taking their chances in the tunnels, hoping they would still lead them onto the Plains where they would only be at the mercy of the Maelstrom, whose vengeance was not premeditated.
Pagan prayed that Barrion had found a passage through the storms to Verdan. Perhaps he and Lae might also reach the sanctuary of the Volcastle where Talis could help him decide how to deal with his son.
These heavy matters pressed against Pagan’s mind, yet while Lae slept in his arms, his heart was lulled into a state of bliss.
She loved him.
The dream that he had carried in his heart for so many years had finally been realised, and should they have only this one day and no more, he would die a happy man.
Yet the thought of Lae’s death saw his arms unconsciously tighten around her, and she murmured again, pressing her soft cheek against his chest, her warm breath stirring his skin to delicious goosebumps. Other parts of him stirred then and he smiled. Perhaps Lae was right. He might not be as old as he’d thought.
It would be an easy matter to waken her, and if her previous ardour was any gauge, soon they would both be rolling amid their fallen clothes, consummating their new-found love. Again. His hand rested close enough to her breast to find its way there, and even thinking such a thing caused him to strengthen towards it, to remember how sweet her mouth had been against his and how her lightest touch had made him tremble.
How tempting to forgo duty and revel in the pleasures they could find with each other. Yet how reckless, when Pagan knew that the longer they remained in one place, the greater their risk of discovery when they finally emerged from the tunnels. Vandal would have Guardsmen searching for them. Perhaps even as far as the Plains.
But instead of waking her, he told himself she would need rest before their journey, which in turn allowed him more time to enjoy the sensation of knowing she was his, that the body draped along his own housed a heart that sang his name, just as the Great Guardian had promised.
Some time later, when he was thinking he really should wake her, she stirred on her own and he took much pleasure in kissing her awake, though not letting his more carnal desires overtake him. ‘You are beautiful when you sleep,’ he said.
‘In the dark?’ she asked, sitting up and pulling her gown around her shoulders, brushing his arm in the process. ‘If you can see me in this light, your vision is indeed remarkable.’ He heard the smile in her voice.
‘I see you with my heart,’ he said.
‘Ahhh.’ She rested her chin on his shoulder. ‘And what does your heart see now?’
‘Your tongue poking out?’
She licked his cheek with it and soon they were kissing again.
‘So, Champion,’ she said when they had stopped to breathe, ‘where do we venture from here? Before I slumbered I was content to remain in this cavern forever, but now my stomach rumbles.’
Pagan laughed and put his arm about her shoulders. ‘If I had slept, I may have dreamt of a plan, yet instead I pondered how lucky I was to be holding you in my arms.’
‘A nobler thought,’ she agreed, ‘but it brings me no breakfast.’
‘The Cliffdweller caves?’ he asked. ‘There may be food —’
He felt her hair on his arm as she shook her head. ‘No. The caves were scavenged when the Cliffdwellers first disappeared and bounty was scarce in the castle. They are long empty now.’
‘I could venture aloft and return with —’
‘As could I,’ she cut in. ‘But we are both in danger. Whoever goes aloft could be killed and the other would starve or emerge later to meet the same fate. We must stay together to protect each other.’
Despite the desperation of their situation, Pagan had to smile. ‘And how will you protect me?’ he asked.
‘I have a blade-sharp tongue, if you recall,’ Lae said, reminding him of the jibe he had thrown at her when they were warring children. ‘Words are my weapons.’
The statement called for a witty rebuttal but Pagan felt himself sobering. ‘Words will not counter the cold steel of a sword,’ he said, and tightened his hold on her shoulders. The mere thought of Lae beneath Vandal’s blade was enough to turn his insides cold. He had thought jealousy the more terrible emotion until now. ‘We must avoid my son at all costs,’ he said. ‘I think we should explore the secret tunnels and find a passage there to the Plains and beyond to the Volcastle.’ Hoping the storm had abated by then.
Lae was silent, then said, ‘I think you are right. I would rather us die in the Maelstrom together than risk you being struck down before my eyes.’
Pagan did not need to say that he felt the same way. ‘And your empty stomach?’
‘What empty stomach?’
Pagan kissed her again. ‘Be careful,’ he warned. ‘If you raise yourself any higher in my esteem I shall think myself unworthy of you.’
‘I am not brave,’ she said. ‘I merely prefer to choose my own method of demise,’ and before he could reply, she kissed him again most thoroughly. ‘I cannot imagine how grief kept me from your arms when I find such solace in them now,’ she said and he felt her fingers warm on his cheek.
Pagan could say nothing. He was too filled with relief and gratitude that the barrier between them was gone. Although, one day he must show her his own memories of Lenid, for there was little chance of retrieving hers from Vandal.
‘Come,’ she said, ‘let us begin our journey.’ She slipped out from under his arm and he heard her shake out the dress she had draped over herself.
He was just turning to rise himself and search out his own clothes, when he heard a muffled cry and a voice that sent icicles of fear into his heart.
‘Did you think I would not find this place when I own her memories?’
Vandal. Pagan turned to the sound even as his hand patted the ground beside him, searching desperately for his sword. He heard Lae struggling and he suddenly stilled, realising a weapon would not save her. She was already under his son’s blade. ‘Beloved,’ he said, ‘do not move.’
‘Very wise,’ Vandal agreed and Pagan fought the darkness to pinpoint the sound, sick with frustration that he had not heard the approach, and now could do nothing but obey. ‘You will remain here until we are gone. If you follow I will kill her immediately.’
‘I will obey,’ Pagan said.
‘When an hour has passed you may come aloft and find your whore in my bedchamber. If she still lives then, you may watch her die.’
Lae made no sound, yet Pagan told himself she was safe. He could smell no blood. ‘I will do exactly as you have told me,’ he said to Vandal.
‘Then we will depart,’ his son replied, and though Pagan ached to say something to Lae, to reassure her of his love at the very least, he knew he must not aggravate Vandal if she was to live.
The soft shuffling of their feet faded and silence descended on the small cavern. Emptiness surrounded Pagan, and fury at his own inadequacies came and went. He should have realised that if Vandal had been inside her mind to steal her memories he would have seen others as well.
Pagan had underestimated his enemy. He could not afford to do that again. Clearly his son wanted maximum pain inflicted. Therefore it would make sense that he would keep Lae ali
ve until Pagan arrived. He must not think about what may be happening to her in the interim or grief would overcome him. Her life now depended on his concentration. He would not leave the cavern until he was sure Vandal was gone. But he would not waste the whole hour waiting either.
In preparation for his departure he quickly donned his clothes and found his sword, strapping it on in the dark. Then, when he had paused and heard no sounds around him, he stepped forward to retrace his steps to the ladder that would return him to the tower, and to Lae.
CHAPTER FIFTY
Glimmer was surrounded by blackness that felt like the cold wings of a predatory bird pressing against her arms and legs, stealing the breath from her chest. There were no beady eyes in her nightmare, but the scraping sensation of thick membrane wings against her flesh was deeply unsettling. A furnace rumbling echoed in her ears and she felt air rushing against her face.
Dawn broke across the curve of the planet and she realised she was flying over a vast ocean — water as far as the eye could see. This was no planet she knew, and she could only imagine it was Magoria, recently inundated by water the Maelstrom had returned from Haddash. There was no point of reference, only endless black fluid reflecting the angry sky above.
‘In this place,’ an unearthly voice said, ‘your powers are no equal to mine.’
Glimmer’s arms were tucked hard against her body, her legs stiffly straight, and still the sensation of the rough wings scraped her skin. She could see the edges of them as they came in and out of her vision.
‘Why do you disturb my dreams?’ she demanded, and heard a whispering sound, as though someone far away was speaking to her — someone outside her dream?
‘To show you how weak you are’ the serpent replied.
‘In the waking world you cannot best me,’ Glimmer assured him. ‘Yet still you try to thwart my purpose. Do you think the stone will save you when the Four Worlds collapse?’
‘Let me show you a feature of interest,’ he said, ignoring her question.
‘I care nothing for this world.’
‘There is no one here that you would save?’
He swooped her down lower, almost to the surface of the water, and between the troughs and valleys of the vast ocean she saw shadows yet to be illuminated by the weak sun of a new day.
‘What is it?’ she asked, then found she needed no answer. Closer to the structure she saw it was a vast bridge rising out of the waves, perhaps attached to two mountain peaks now underwater. Its girders were old and rusted, yet high in its spans sat a platform lined with large cardboard boxes — the kind refrigerators were delivered in.
Glimmer was flown along the edge of the platform so she could look in one box after another. The bundles of rags inside shifted with the wind of her passing, revealing wide terrified eyes and filthy emaciated faces. ‘What is the purpose of this visit?’ she asked.
‘Pain’ the serpent replied, and at the very next box he stopped, leaving Glimmer dangling before its opening. Within, she saw a face from her past. Sarah’s sister Melissa, horribly thin and barely recognisable as the overweight, giggling aunt who had given Glimmer a romance novel as a rite of passage the week she had started her periods. Glimmer had read the novel with her usual detached interest, never imagining she would one day fall in love herself, just as her aunt had predicted, to ‘some man with a wicked glint in his eye’.
‘Melissa,’ she said, and retrieved her hand from her side, stretching it out towards her aunt who came forward at the sound of her name, clutching her rags around her. Glimmer was suddenly hoisted up and her aunt ventured to the edge of her box, straining her neck to see who had called to her.
‘Here,’ Glimmer said and tried to reach down, but the darkness around them rose and a wave broke over the top of the bridge. Melissa was caught leaning out of her box and she was swept into the ocean without a sound. Glimmer, by contrast, began to shout, ‘What have you done? Bring her back!’ Deep in her chest a throbbing had begun, and her throat was tight. Emotion. The more she tried to block it, the more it crept into her heart.
Again the distant murmuring invaded her consciousness but Glimmer was lost in the vision of her aunt flailing weakly against the rough sea and then disappearing into its depths. The ache in her chest intensified.
‘You will die as easily as she did,’ the serpent said.
Glimmer swallowed back the lump in her throat and said, ‘I am stronger than they are. You will not defeat me.’ She twisted in the bony claws to look up into the face of her nemesis. His dark red eyes glowered down at her, but before he could open his jaws and breathe fire over her, she reached up to snatch at his chest where the memory stone was embedded. If she could hold it here, while she dreamt, she may have greater control over it when she touched it in the flesh.
No!’ he roared and dropped her.
Glimmer scrabbled against his hard scales but she could not prise the stone loose. She felt herself falling but fury was strong within her. By force of will she dragged herself back through the screaming void of spirit to where her body lay in Fortress Sh’hale. Her eyes snapped open. Her mother and her beloved stood beside her bed looking down at her. Both were frowning.
‘Magoria is next,’ she told them. ‘The beast is attacking the Verdan Hold.’
‘We thought you were having a nightmare,’ Khatrene said. ‘We were worried.’
Kert’s frown had not abated.
Glimmer reached up and took his hand, felt the force of his presence replacing the strength she had lost. Her skin began to glow but Kert made no sound of pleasure. He merely closed his eyes. Since their privacy had been lost, his sense of propriety had wavered between desperation to touch her and paranoia that Talis was assessing his fitness as a Champion. Glimmer knew the Guardian had no such agenda, but Kert’s emotions were so endearing she was happy to pander to them.
Other matters, however, required forceful direction. ‘The threads of the future changed while I slept,’ she told them both. ‘We must leave for Be’uccdha immediately. There is a convergence. We could lose … something of importance.’
Kert shook his head. ‘You are too weak. We have only just arrived. You need rest.’
‘Now,’ Glimmer replied. Her determined gaze slid to her mother.
‘Come on, Kert,’ Khatrene said, touching his arm. ‘You organise the provisions. I’ll tell Talis.’
Khatrene left them alone and Kert hesitated only a moment longer. ‘Our time is running out,’ he said, and she heard longing — was it love? — in his voice and was torn by it.
‘It will not be so bad,’ she replied.
He looked unconvinced.
‘Just remember whose life you must safeguard.’
Kert, still frowning, nodded in agreement. She opened her hand but he continued to hold it, as though unwilling to lose the connection. Then he released her and as she watched him leave, the ache in her chest returned, only this time it was her beloved she grieved for, not her aunt. The more vivid her emotions became, the less she was able to differentiate between them. Being around Kert was like swimming in an unknown ocean. At times the water was warm and clear and her heart rose and fell with the rhythm of his; yet at other times she felt such confusion that the phrase ‘in over your head’ seemed entirely appropriate. If the threads of the future were accurate, Kert would soon die. She must be ready for that. Must not falter.
Her time of preoccupation with love was ending. Now matters of greater practicality should occupy her mind. Yet she could not help wondering whether there was some destiny in her ‘emotions’ that was linked with her ability to join the Four Worlds — perhaps the reason she had never yet succeeded, though she had lived many lives in the attempt.
She wondered, too, why the talisman had been inert in the serpent’s chest plate. There had been no warmth from it, no glow, as if the serpent had been unable to use it, just as she had been unable to use it until the day she had touched the emotion stream. Could that crisis have been designed to
develop her emotions? Petra’s and Sarah’s deaths had led Vandal to be motivated entirely by emotion, and the threads of the future reflected his greater involvement in the ending of time as a result.
Then there was the mystery of why the Ancients had placed the talisman in the care of Plainsmen in the first place. Was it because they were a volatile, highly emotional race? These were all pieces in a puzzle Glimmer knew she must complete if she was to have any hope of fulfilling her destiny.
But first would come action. She sat up in bed, feeling the weakness in her limbs. The hand Kert had held still felt warm and she placed it over her forehead and used her powers to drain the last whispers of his strength from it.
His touch fortified her. That was a physical fact. There were other facts: in this time and space, with much-weakened powers at her disposal, she could not defeat the serpent. Not while she used so much of her strength to hold the elements from other worlds trapped within Ennae. As Teleqkraal destroyed the remaining anchors, that drain on her strength would only increase.
Worse, Teleqkraal’s possession of the talisman hid him from her sight, though she continued to keep track of his minion. Her only advantage over the beast was that she was the shadow through time; however, Glimmer doubted she would have either the strength or the inclination to use that power on this occasion.
It would be pointless to go forward in time if the serpent was winning. And even back in time, to the right place, might create more problems than it solved. To return to Teleqkraal’s conception appeared logical, yet the ramifications of that act would have to be considered. Destroy the son and who would kill the father? If Teleqkraal had never been born. Kraal would still be inhabiting Mihale’s body, the talisman still in his control. Glimmer had seen enough of that future to know it was not helpful to her cause.
Glimmer in the Maelstrom: Shadow Through Time 3 Page 37