by Licia Troisi
“Now give me the stone,” the half-elf hissed.
The guardian burst into laughter, raised a finger, and flung Nihal halfway across the room. “Did you really think you were a match for a guardian?” he said, rising calmly to his feet. “In any case, you won. My little game is over. It’s such a shame, too. I was just starting to have fun.” He extended his hand. The stone hovered from the altar into his palm.
He gestured to Nihal to come for the stone.
“You’ve earned it,” said Tareph. “Don’t forget this battle when you’re standing face-to-face with the Tyrant. He, too, will hold something capable of making you his slave. But in order to survive, and for the sake of all those you love and of every living creature on this world, you will have to coldly carry out your duty.” He placed the stone in her hand. Nihal gazed down at it.
“Well then?” the guardian said. “Weren’t you in a hurry? Your friend awaits you. He’s surrounded by enemies, his strength fading, two miles from here. My stone will lead you there.”
Nihal looked at him with gratitude.
“Do what you must do,” he said, smiling for the first time without any spite.
Nihal recited the sacred incantation and set the seventh stone in its niche. The world around her swirled in a vortex until she was standing alone on bare rock, the sanctuary gone. She’d have thought it all a dream if it hadn’t been for the seventh stone, gleaming in its place beside the others.
With the amulet to lead the way, Nihal took off at a sprint.
Sennar, meanwhile, was carrying out his duty in grand fashion. As soon as Nihal had left, he’d begun firing colorful flashes into the air to draw the enemies toward him—and away from Nihal.
In an instant, the trees around him burst apart and a horde of Fammin emerged. Ten of them, at least.
Too many for him to handle.
He petrified as many as he could with his first spell and conjured up a force field to trap some of the others. Three Fammin remained—still, too many to handle—but at least he had a shot.
He fought with his sword, while simultaneously defending himself with a smaller force field and launching an attack spell whenever possible. Reciting several spells simultaneously was no easy task, and before long, he felt his energy waning.
Focusing only on the battle at hand, the sorcerer banished all extraneous thought from his mind. Remorse, pain, even the rage he’d felt at the battle’s outset dissipated. He managed to slay one of the Fammin. Still, two remained, and the force field entrapping several of the other beasts gave its first signs of weakening. Just then a bright green flash filled the dark, and the two remaining enemies toppled to the earth.
“Sennar!”
Before he collapsed from exhaustion, the sorcerer saw Nihal running toward him, sword in hand. He could hear the clamor of clashing swords, the sound of a blade piercing flesh, and, at last, a heavy thud.
“We have to get out of here! Do you think you can run?”
Sennar nodded and Nihal passed her arm around his back and helped him to his feet.
“They’ve seen you, now. We can’t let them live,” said Sennar, as he rose.
Just then, the force field shattered. The Fammin who’d been trapped inside rushed out, howling with rage.
Nihal and Sennar took off running through the trees. They could hear the enemy at their heels. A shower of arrows rained down on them. Sennar strained to conjure a force field, but his powers were all but sapped.
They zigzagged through the forest, stumbling over branches, rising back up again. Even as their legs started to give way beneath them, they pushed onward, but the enemy was rapidly gaining ground. Just then, Nihal felt Sennar convulse and fall limply to the earth, moaning with pain.
She stopped and spun around. Nihal gasped with horror. Lodged in the sorcerer’s leg was a long lance, pierced through from end to end. Blood poured forth from the wound and trickled down the rock’s surface, while Sennar writhed in torture.
Nihal lifted him from the ground and began dragging him forward.
“Don’t give in, Sennar! We have to keep moving!” she shouted, as tears streamed down her cheeks.
Sennar grimaced with pain and once again slumped to the earth. “Leave me,” he murmured.
Nihal glanced back and saw the dark figures of their enemies approaching. Only one hope remained: the Flying Spell. She’d never tried it before, but there was no time to debate.
She closed her eyes and repeated the spell she’d heard Sennar use in the past, trying to focus on a place nearby where they could take refuge. All that came to mind was the sanctuary. It wasn’t far off, and there they might be safe. She summoned every ounce of concentration, calling upon the power of the talisman. In an instant, they vanished from the enemy’s sight.
33
The Truth
Nihal could hear nothing but Sennar’s heavy breathing. All else was silent. She lay a few moments with her eyes closed, terrified of what she might see if she opened them: the Fammin closing in on them, dwarves lunging forward with their swords.
When at last she raised her eyelids, she found the spell had transported them to the entrance above the sanctuary. But there was no time to celebrate her success. Sennar lay beside her on the ground, one hand gripping the lance lodged in his leg, and she knew every moment was precious.
“Ok, up we go! It’s safe here. We’re at the sanctuary,” she said, and began dragging him.
The sorcerer swallowed back a cry of pain and curled his lips into a strained smile. “Look at you, a tried-and-true sorceress,” he whispered.
Nihal said nothing, helping him down into the sanctuary. Before climbing in herself, Nihal snapped a few branches off a nearby tree and covered the entrance, camouflaging it in case the enemy passed through the area. Then she pulled out the amulet and used it to light the way.
Sennar’s pain was far greater than he let on. Nihal reassured and encouraged him, but the sorcerer had the terrible suspicion that the wound he’d received was beyond treatment.
“Did you get the stone?” he asked, breathless.
Nihal nodded.
“Was it difficult?”
“Don’t waste your energy speaking. You’re injured.”
Sennar could feel the air thinning around him. “It’s just a scratch,” he lied.
As he stared ahead, the outlines of objects grew hazy and seemed to melt into the darkness. He was dying, but he wasn’t afraid. Only the thought of leaving Nihal on her own, now when she most needed him, and without having kept his promise to Ondine, brought him suffering.
“Just hold out a little longer,” Nihal went on repeating, “we’re almost at the room where I found the stone.” But her voice was a distant echo in his ears.
Just before dying, Laio had said it felt as if he were on the verge of falling asleep. It was true, it was just like drifting off. Even the pain was subsiding. All perception was blurring into nothingness, and consciousness was fading.
“Alright, just a bit farther. We’re almost there. I’ll take care of you, and you’ll be back on your feet in no time, you’ll see,” Nihal encouraged him.
Sennar no longer had the strength to respond. He could hear her sobbing quietly, feel her squeezing him tighter and tighter. “Don’t cry,” he whispered, the words rising as if from an abyss.
“We’re here!” she shouted as they stepped into the room. They had only the gleaming amulet to light their surroundings, and its faint glow was insufficient. Nihal conjured a small flame in her palm, set Sennar down on the altar, and looked closely at the gash in his leg. First things first. The lance had to come out.
She touched her fingers to his neck and sighed with relief when she felt a pulse. It wasn’t too late. Sennar was gasping mutely for air, his forehead bathed in a cold sweat.
“I’ve never been much of a sorceress, but this
one I can heal with ease,” she whispered in his ear, praying that the sacred ground beneath her would lend her strength.
Sennar opened his eyes. They weren’t aimed at her, but seemed to be following the fleeting figures of a distant dream. “I made a promise. …” he muttered.
“Shhh. Don’t talk. I’ll take care of you,” Nihal broke in, pressing a finger to his lips.
“When I was down in the belly of the sea, I made a promise.”
Nihal examined the lance, trying to find the least painful way to extract it from Sennar’s leg. The moment she touched it, Sennar groaned with discomfort.
“I promised that I would love you.”
Nihal let go and lowered her face toward Sennar’s.
“Because I’ve always loved you and I’ve never told you before.”
“Don’t—”
“I’ve loved you since the day I won the dagger from you on the terrace in Salazar, and now I’m dying.”
“You’re not going to die. Don’t even think it!” she said. But Sennar’s eyelids had already fallen.
Nihal’s heart beat wildly. She gripped the lance and, with a deep breath, yanked it from the wound. Sennar’s sharp cry split the room in two.
Nihal began muttering the words of the most powerful healing spell she knew. By now, Sennar was hardly breathing. When she touched her fingers again to his neck, she felt his heart beating slowly, faintly. Undaunted, she pushed on.
Nihal refused to give in, treating him with one healing spell after another all through the night. She even tried enchantments she’d never attempted before but that she’d heard Sennar use in the past. Not once did she stop to rest, nor was she discouraged when the wound showed no signs of improvement. For the first time in her life, she was fighting with her entire soul and all the courage in her bones.
Little by little, the bleeding ceased and blood dried over the wound. Sennar’s breathing picked up, returning to its regular rhythm. By morning, his cheeks were gaining color and his pain seemed to have diminished. Nihal took a break and wiped the sweat from her brow. She was exhausted, but Sennar was getting better. Perhaps her efforts had not been in vain, after all.
Nihal climbed back out and wandered the sanctuary’s surroundings in search of medicinal herbs. She could still remember a few of the plants that Laio had used when she’d injured her shoulder. Furtively, she scoured the area, finding two of the plants, slightly wilted but better than nothing. She even came across a small running brook. The water was muddy, but Nihal paid no mind and filled the flask she’d brought along with her.
When she returned and found the fronds and branches still covering the tunnel’s entrance, she let out a sigh of relief. At least no one had paid Sennar a visit in her absence.
The sorcerer was stretched out across the altar. He was breathing normally again and his heartbeat was strong and steady. Nihal checked his leg. The lance had cracked through the bone, and Sennar had lost a great deal of blood, but the wound did not seem fatal.
Nihal lit a small fire and used it to heat the water. Then she formed a paste from the herbs she’d gathered and spread it over the laceration. Sennar sighed in relief.
She went on treating him until he drifted off to sleep. Only then did she allow herself some rest, and in her sleep she dreamed of Sennar, and of her childhood in Salazar.
When she woke, it was to the sound of feet booming on the ground above her. She snapped to attention and drew her sword. But then the footsteps trailed off and her nerves settled. As she regained her calm, she glanced over at the altar and saw Sennar lying there with his eyes open. She sprang to her feet. “Sennar!” she shouted.
The sorcerer turned toward her and smiled weakly.
Nihal ran over and wrapped him in her arms. “Sennar, I thought you were going to die! ”
“Me too,” he said.
Nihal tended to him without pause for the rest of the day. Sennar was still feeling frail, but at least the pain in his leg had passed. It was as if the limb had fallen asleep. Glancing down at the wound, he saw just how ugly the gash was, though he agreed with Nihal that it wasn’t fatal.
“You’ve been truly amazing,” he said to her, smiling. “I think your real strength is with magic, not with the sword.”
She laughed under her breath and went on reciting the healing spell.
So, Sennar reflected, his fatal hour had not yet come. He had no memory at all of when Nihal had dragged him down into the sanctuary. He recalled only an immense pain and a feeling of certain death.
The evening passed pleasantly. They ate, talked, and laughed, exhilarated at having escaped such a close call.
It wasn’t until their third day down in the sanctuary that Sennar all of a sudden remembered. After years of silence and self-denial, years in which he’d given up all hope of being loved in return, he’d finally found the courage to confess. He’d kept the promise he’d made to Ondine in parting, but he’d only done so because he’d assumed he was dying. He felt like a complete fool. He wished there were a spell to travel back in time, to erase his pathetic confession from all history.
All that day, as Nihal treated him, as they ate, as they chatted of nothing and everything, the thought tormented him, until at last, when evening came and they were seated by the fire, shadows flickering across the walls, he decided to speak. He was feeling better, ready for whatever emotion came next, even if it meant hearing her say that he was a great friend, but that no one could ever take the place of Fen in her heart.
“About what happened that night I was wounded,” Sennar began, taking advantage of a lull in the conversation, but when he saw Nihal’s cheeks flush, his courage quickly fled. “Well … I just wanted to … to clear up …” Again, he went silent.
Nihal averted her eyes.
“When I told you that … I mean, when I told you … that thing … I was a bit out of it,” he said, at last. “I, yes, I didn’t know what I was saying. … I was delirious. … I’m sorry. Just forget what I said that night,” he muttered, staring off into the fire.
When he looked up again, Nihal was there in front of him, closer than ever.
“It’s something I’ve been wanting to tell you for a long time,” he confessed to her then, watching as a tear slid down her cheek. “From the day we first met, even. But I never should have told you, at least not in the way I did. I’m sorry. Just pretend I never said it.”
Nihal’s face was an inch from his own, her blue hair brushing against his forehead. Sennar lowered his eyes.
“Look at me,” she whispered.
He looked up. Nihal pressed even closer, until their lips touched. And for a moment, she stayed there like that. Then she drew back.
“I feel that way about you, too, Sennar. And I want to be with you,” she said.
Sennar took her face in his hands and kissed her. And as they kissed, it felt as if he were dissolving into her, so long had he dreamed of that moment.
When she’d pressed her lips to Sennar’s, Nihal’s thoughts had drifted to the only other time she’d kissed someone in her life—Fen, in Thoolan’s sanctuary. But with Sennar it was different. It was real.
And as they kissed, it seemed to her at once new and foreign, yet ancient and familiar. Nihal knew exactly how to respond, as if the touch of Sennar’s lips had awoken some spirit that had long been dormant within her. It could only have ever been Sennar, that much she knew. Without even realizing it, Nihal suddenly found herself lying atop the altar, Sennar beside her, their lips locked in an endless kiss. She heard a faint cry of pain and remembered his injured leg.
“I’m sorry, I—” she began.
“Everything’s just fine,” Sennar cut in, pressing his lips again to hers.
It was then that Nihal remembered how Aires had responded when asked how a person could ever know if she’d found her true path. It’s hard to explain. It wa
s as if one day the truth just revealed itself to me. And it was so clear. … There was no way to deny it. That’s how Nihal now felt. The truth was there before her, in all its remarkable plainness. To accept it was as natural as ever. It was all clear now, all of it imbued with new meaning: the journey, the anguish, the search.
She felt Sennar wrap his arms around her waist, and Nihal fell naturally into his longing embrace. It was as if her body was no longer her own. She felt changed, as if some part of her she’d kept hidden had suddenly been set free. Beneath Sennar’s touch, her skin was reborn, her body molded anew. He was bringing her back to life. The longer his hands lingered over her, the stronger she felt the bond growing between her and her own soul. And when at last she revealed her body, she knew her own nudity was a precious gift, for Sennar had given it to her.
With their touch alone, they said all they’d been wanting to say for so many years—that they were one and the same, inseparable, that they’d never again be alone, for they were each other’s. And in the end, for the first time in her life, Nihal felt she was herself and only herself, completely, truly. Her search had come to an end.
For a couple of days, Nihal let everything go. By day, she took care of Sennar, never once worrying that her meager abilities as a sorceress might be poorly matched with such a grave wound. As far as she was concerned, there were no enemies up above, no mission to complete. For her, the little cave contained the entire world.
Which is why, when the echoing of footsteps on the ceiling became more frequent, and the sound of chattering voices stirred above their heads, she took no note.
“It will be a while before I can walk again,” said Sennar on their sixth day down in the sanctuary.
“We’ll just have to be patient,” said Nihal, untroubled. “I know I’m not exactly a top-notch sorceress, but I’m working hard.”