The party perched at the last step, unable to proceed into the grand room since the chamber had no floor. Instead the placid surface of the lake reflected the dark chandeliers and faded frescoes in its black mirror. Here the lake claimed the rest of the castle.
Two torches marked where the staircase entered the waters. Their flaming light failed to reach the far side of the huge room. It was as if only the lake lay beyond this last step.
Elena stared out across the dark surface. “How do we proceed from here?” she asked. “What am I supposed to do?”
Cassa Dar waddled over to her. One of her boys, naked this time, trailed behind her. When she reached Elena’s side, she pulled the child up in front of her. “I have tried to send my children after the Try’sil. I know where it’s hidden. Using their small hands, it took me nearly a century to clear the debris and discover the route to the cavern where the Try’sil lay lost. But only living hands can grasp its handle and carry it forth.”
“So are you saying someone has to go down there?” Er’ril asked.
The d’warf woman nodded. Her eyes settled on Elena.
“Me?” Elena asked, her voice high with shock.
“Yes,” she answered, placing a hand on the swamp boy. “One of my children will guide you.”
“But how am I to breathe? Or even see through this murk?”
“Let me show you. I’ve had hundreds of winters to practice.” She waved her boy into the waters. Without hesitating, he simply walked down the steps into the lake. “Come closer,” Cassa Dar urged. “Come see.”
They all knelt by the water’s edge. Deeper in the lake, the figure of the naked boy glowed in the depths. His flesh shone with a soft green phosphorescence, the same hue as some of the glowing mosses seen on their travels here.
“Now watch!” Cassa Dar said. “It took me many winters to crossbreed a type of coastal air bladder with some of the local molds. I then built one of my children from it.” She waved her arm across the water.
As they watched, lit by the mold light, the boy’s skin began to bubble. From his pores, air flowed out. After a few moments, the agitation of bubbles cleared, and the boy stood in a clear pocket of air.
Mycelle glanced to the swamp wit’ch. “Can you expand that bubble enough to allow someone to travel with the boy?”
“Not before now,” Cassa Dar said and turned to Elena. “I did not have enough magick. But in Shadowbrook, I sensed your raw power and suspected you might have the magick to accomplish it.”
“What am I supposed to do?” Elena asked. “I have the barest control of my magicks.”
“Skill is not what I ask. I need only your raw energy to fuel my creation.” She waved her hand over the water, and the boy climbed back out, dripping wet, unchilled by the dank waters.
“And how do I empower your creation?” Elena asked.
Cassa Dar nodded toward the boy. “He needs your blood.”
“Now wait,” Er’ril said. “I’ve heard just about enough of this nonsense. Even if what you say is true, I won’t have Elena climbing into the depths of this lake for a hammer. And if you think—”
Elena ignored him. “How do I give the boy my blood?”
“Nick your palm and grasp his hand in your own. I’ll do the rest.”
Elena remembered sharing her blood with both Uncle Bol and Er’ril when they were injured. Cassa Dar was not asking her to manipulate her magick, simply share its power, as she had done with the injured men. She nodded at the d’warf woman’s words and drew her wit’ch’s dagger. Its silver blade shone bright in the torchlight.
Er’ril suddenly grasped her wrist. “I can’t let you risk yourself like this.”
Mycelle stood at Er’ril’s shoulders. “Perhaps the plainsman is right. This sounds more dangerous than it’s worth.”
Elena stared both of them down and yanked her arm from Er’ril’s grasp. “I will take that responsibility,” she said, using Mycelle’s earlier words. She placed the tip of her knife to her left palm and dragged a line across it. Blood welled blacker than her ruby skin.
She turned. The naked boy had come beside her and had his tiny hand raised up toward hers. Elena instinctively reached to accept the offered palm, but then she hesitated. She stared into the boy’s face and realized this was the boy who had accosted her on the streets of Shadowbrook: same mud-colored hair; same small, slightly pugged nose. She recalled the last time she shook hands with the little urchin.
“I won’t hurt you this time,” he said, noticing her hesitation. “I promise.”
Elena was suddenly unsure. Whom should she trust? Should she listen to Er’ril and Mycelle? Or should she trust this wit’ch who had taught her a new side of her magick? She stared into the boy’s eyes for a heartbeat, then gripped his hand with her bloody one.
She would trust herself.
ER’RIL WATCHED AS Elena shivered in the knee-deep waters. She had stripped down to her undergarments and waited as Cassa Dar finished her preparations. As Er’ril studied the girl, he sensed it was more than the cold waters that rattled her teeth, but his further protests against this endeavor had only firmed Elena’s resolve to attempt it, and now his words only fell on deaf ears.
“It’ll be cold at first,” the swamp wit’ch explained to her as she stood beside the girl in the waters, “but once you’re submerged and the bubble envelops you, you’ll warm up.”
Elena nodded.
“As you walk the stair, keep close to the boy and keep a firm hand on his fingers.” Cassa Dar reached and clasped her own hand around the joined fingers of the boy and the girl. “Never let go.”
The d’warf woman studied Elena for a moment more, then slowly passed her hands over the boy’s naked flesh. Where her wrinkled palms touched, the boy’s skin burst with sharp light. She nodded at this result. “More than enough power,” she mumbled. “And with only a few drops of your blood.” She straightened and backed from the waters. “No wonder the Black Heart fears you.”
“Sh-should I go now?” Elena asked as Cassa Dar stepped from the waters.
“Yes, child. Proceed slowly. Give the air bubble time to grow strong around you.”
Elena’s eyes met Er’ril’s for a moment. He could see the fear in her gaze and knew her vulnerable. He sensed if he pushed hard right now she would fold to his wishes. He opened his mouth to do just that, but his heart would not let him. He stepped closer to the waters. “Be careful, Elena. I know you can do this.”
She smiled weakly at him. A mixture of pride and determination firmed her stance. She straightened her shoulders and, with the boy guiding her, she moved down the stairs into the deeper waters.
Now it was Er’ril’s turn to shiver as he watched the lake swallow her away. He had to hold himself back from diving in and pulling her back into the air and light. His hand had closed to a tight fist.
“She’ll be fine,” Mycelle said at his shoulder, but her voice quavered, betraying her worry.
From where he sat beside Er’ril, Fardale nosed Er’ril’s fist. The wolf sought reassurance, too.
Er’ril let his hand relax and found his fingers working through Fardale’s fur. “Elena can do this,” he repeated.
He watched the boy’s light flare brighter in the waters. From the depths, the silent tableau of boy and girl glowed like the lamplit stage of a mummer’s act. Elena fought to keep beside the swamp child. The buoyancy of the water did not seem to affect the boy. He simply stood on the step as if no water eddied around him, whereas Elena, using the boy’s arm as an anchor, struggled to keep her footing.
Suddenly the bubbles again burst forth from the boy and swallowed the scene away in a flurry of phosphorescent froth. Er’ril held his breath until the bubbling cleared and he saw Elena. A huge pocket of air encased the pair now, lit from within by the boy’s glow. No longer buoyed by the waters, Elena stood on her own feet on the steps, hand in hand with the boy. Though she was soaking wet and obviously shaken, Er’ril could see the relief on her face.
Cassa Dar’s magick was working.
“It’s hard and takes all my concentration,” the d’warf said as she knelt at the water’s edge. “But her power is rich and malleable. We will succeed.”
Elena raised her face and stared up at them from the water’s depths and waved. Er’ril and Mycelle returned her salute.
With their acknowledgment, Elena followed the boy down the steps and off into the waters. Soon their progress across the room was only evident as a fading glow on the surface of the waters.
Then that, too, was gone.
AS ELENA WALKED with the boy, the wall of water around them distorted the surroundings of the submerged castle. It was like staring at the world through a carnival mirror, she thought. As fish would dart up, their features would swell large in the curve of the bubble’s walls. Huge eyes would stare back at her, then in a flick of tail, vanish.
Though a trace of fear still ran through her blood, a sense of wonder also thrilled in her. She was strolling through the bottom of a lake. Who else ever had a chance to do such a thing?
Her mouth gaped as she studied the ruins of the castle. With the stairs draped in algae and moss, she had to mind her footing, but her eyes were constantly drawn to the preserved remains of Castle Drakk. Tapestries still hung on the walls, billowing slightly at their passage. Ornate oil lamps hung from chains, home to tiny creatures that ducked into hiding as they passed. Carved pine tables marked landings, their wood preserved for centuries in the brackish waters. Some furniture fell apart as their pocket of air pushed back the waters, the old pieces unable to stand on their own any longer.
Just when her fears had faded to a vague sense of worry, she came upon her first skull. The flesh had long been nibbled away by the denizens of the lake, leaving the white bone bright against the green kelp draped on the stair. She gasped and raised a hand to her throat to stifle back a scream.
“You’re hurting my hand,” the boy said from beside Elena.
Thankful for the distraction, Elena tore her eyes from the horrible sight to look to the boy. “I’m sorry,” she said, and loosened her hold from its terror-tight grip.
“There’ll be more,” the swamp child said. “The assassins put up a fierce fight to keep their castle.” Suddenly the boy pointed to an eel as long as four men as it writhed past their bubble. “Look. It’s pretty!”
His boyish exuberance startled Elena. Cassa Dar had explained to her that the children she created were more than just moss golems. Though they were forged to her will and could not disobey, they also had a rudimentary intelligence that flavored their behavior. The swamp wit’ch could direct them and communicate through them, but her actions were shaded by the creations’ own personalities.
“Cassa, if you can hear me,” Elena said, “how much farther?”
The boy turned his small face up to her. “She says it’s a long ways yet.” The boy picked at his nose as he spoke. “We have to switch to a different staircase soon. Then it’s a straight climb to the cellars.” He examined his finger to investigate the success of his mining, then leaned over to wash his finger in the waters beyond the bubble’s wall.
Elena winced as his finger pierced the bubble. She feared that breaking the seal would somehow disrupt the spell, but nothing happened. The magick sustained the bubble.
He licked his finger dry. “We’ll leave the tower stair farther down and cross the castle proper to reach the back stair to the basements.” He began to hum a tune as he continued down the wet stairs.
Suddenly a huge dark form passed overhead. It trailed tentacles as thick around as her own thigh. She shied down away from it, but it shot past with a flurry of suckers and limbs.
“Owww! Don’t be such a scaredy-puss,” the boy scolded. “She won’t let any of the boogies get us.”
Elena swallowed hard and nodded. She had to fight to loosen her grip again.
“Over there,” he said sourly, pointing to a doorway at the next landing. “We have to leave here, cross through the servants’ hall, pass the kitchens to the main hall, then follow it to the main stair. And I’m getting hungry. Do you have any cake?”
“No, I’m afraid not,” Elena said, feeling less and less sure of her guide. “Maybe when we’re done.”
“I like mine with dollops of cream,” he confided to her as if this were of utmost secrecy.
With this revelation, he led her through the landing’s doorway and into the main body of the castle. As they progressed, Elena was glad she had a guide. Castle Drakk was a stone maze of rooms, halls, and cubbyholes. Alone, she would have been lost among these many twists and turns.
While walking, Elena kept her eyes from the growing number of piled bones, both human and otherwise. It was not just ordinary beasts that had assaulted the ancient castle. She passed one especially large skull whose shape she recognized and gave it a wide berth. A shiver passed through her. She recalled her own battles with the winged dreadlords of the Black Heart. The name skal’tum still gave her nightmares.
She hurried past, glad this battle was long dead.
By the time they reached the huge main hall, the boy’s constant humming began to grate on Elena. “Cassa, must the boy do this?” she asked the empty air.
The boy glanced up to her and stuck his tongue out at her. “You didn’t have to tell on me.” He sighed loudly and bunched his shoulders, sulking, but at least he was silent.
She followed him to the back staircase. The way from here descended into a deep darkness. The black waters seemed to suck greedily at the boy’s moss light.
The boy turned to her. “Do we really have to go down there?”
She squeezed his hand and nodded. “Yes, we do.”
THE BLOOD HUNTER heard a whisper of echoed voices pass through the waters. He paused and cocked his head, straining for its source. For some time now, Torwren had been lost in the tangle of halls and rooms of the castle, unsure of how to reach the tower stairs. Backtracking and pushing through debris had eaten up volumes of precious time.
Then he had heard the voices and begun to follow, hoping that these voices were echoing down from above and could be used to track his way through the castle. Still, the acoustics under the water played a thousand tricks on his stone ears. He could not be certain he was going in the right direction as he followed the voices, his only clue in this sunken maze.
Soon he spotted a narrow staircase ahead, and his heart thrilled. Here must be the tower steps. As if to confirm his suspicions, voices and snatches of words again reached him.
He grinned in the dark water, scaring away a large lake trout that had investigated too closely. Surely he had reached the tower! He forced his legs to move, again feeling the growing torpidity in his stone skin. He had not fed now in over two days, and the ebon’stone had again grown hungry and sluggish. Still, he did not let this disturb him. He would soon feast on the heart of the wit’ch and regain his strength back a hundredfold.
Grinning, he pushed through the portal that opened onto the stairs, but when he discovered where the steps led, the smile crashed from his face. The narrow staircase wound down, not up. This was not the tower stair. Consternation stopped his feet. This was the wrong direction.
Then again the voices reached him. He swung his head. There was no mistaking the source in such close quarters. The smattering of conversation arose from below. His eyes squinted at the dark descent. Was he picking up a trace of light flowing from far below? He took a step toward it, then stopped again.
He did not have time for curiosity. The wit’ch lay in the tower above. He did not have the luxury to investigate the oddities of this drowned castle. He took a step back, but deep inside him, something fought with renewed vigor.
Down . . . down . . . down, this strange compulsion urged. Again a picture of some vague treasure flashed across his vision. It seemed to be some weapon—no, some trophy. A flood of desire surged through him, urging him to seek this treasure.
He shook his head. The wit’ch was his goal, not s
ome buried treasure. Yet, still, he could not retreat from the stair. It was not the stiffening stone that trapped him, but indecision. Maybe he didn’t have to fight this strange compulsion. Maybe both goals could be met. Whoever was speaking from below might know the way to the tower. And if not, his skin was starved for blood, and it would be good to feed before confronting the wit’ch. Both curiosity and hunger could be slaked by what lay below.
His decision made, the blood hunter began his descent down the stair. Deep inside him, something howled with glee.
ELENA HAD TO move with delicate care. She no longer stared through the bubble’s wall but kept her eyes on the rubble that lay strewn across the cellar floor. Its algae-slick surface sought to betray her footing with every step. She could not risk a fall and lose her handhold on the boy. If the bubble should break, she sensed the weight of the deep water would crush her instantly.
So she and the boy carefully picked their way across the jumble of boulders and bricks. The source of the strewn rubble soon became clear. The far wall of the cellar chamber had been exploded by some ancient force. The stone and brick lay ripped open to reveal the black caverns beyond.
“Just a little ways,” the boy directed. “Into the caves and down a level is the chamber where the Try’sil lies.”
She nodded. The two of them helped each other through the burst wall. Just as they stepped into the caves, the boy suddenly glanced over his shoulder, back into the cellar. His next words drove Elena’s heart to her throat. “Something comes,” he said. “Hurry!”
The boy sped into the deeper caverns. Lest she lose her grip on the child, Elena had no choice but to follow. “Wait! What is it?” she hissed at him, fear keeping her voice low but urgent.
“She’s not sure,” the boy said, referring to Cassa Dar. “This deep, she can’t sense that well. She’s tiring and needs all her concentration to keep the magick working.” He yanked on her arm to urge her faster. “For her to sniff it, whatever it is must be close to us.”
Wit'ch Storm Page 51