Kalik tore his eyes away from the Stone, watching the young man twist and turn on the dusty earth but making no move to rush to his aid. Instead, he turned to Maeve, his face flushed with fury. “What have ya done ta him?”
“Nothing! I swear!” Maeve watched helplessly as Rahne continued to thrash.
This was not part of the plan. Not at all.
“I don't believe ya,” Kalik said, raising his sword as if to strike her down.
Maeve instinctively raised her hands in defense. “It's true! When we first arrived here, we got headaches too! The Stone … affects some people like that.” She jabbed a finger in Rahne's direction. “I can help him!”
Kalik narrowed his eyes at her. “Why would ya want to do that?”
“Because I'm … not … you.”
Without waiting for his permission, Maeve moved toward the Talon. Before anyone could stop her or even cry out, she'd ascended the ramp. She didn't go far, though; when she reappeared, she was carrying a small brown satchel.
Pushing Kalik's sword-blade to the side with an “Out of my way!”, she walked toward Rahne, whose writhing had diminished, though not by much. She could hear Kalik sputtering and fuming behind her, but ignored him.
“Can ya help him?” said another voice. The fair-haired man, keeping his sword angled toward Davin and Runa's backs, looked down upon Rahne with concern.
“Yes,” she said. “But I need you to hold him still.”
He shot a look at Kalik, who nodded his consent. Davin and Runa, their hands still tied behind them, looked back over their shoulders. Maeve just nodded, a “be ready” gesture she knew Davin understood.
The fair-haired man, having sheathed his sword, grasped Rahne's shoulders in powerful hands, stilling the young man's movements. Rahne was only half-conscious, his breath shallow and the remnants of tears streaking down his face.
Maeve rummaged through the satchel, finding a derma-hypo and an ampoule of pain-blocker. Without these injections, she would never have survived the week leading up to their discovery of the Stone. She hoped Terran medicine would work on Elystran physiology, for Rahne's sake. She could have used her healing ability to help Rahne recover, but her Wielding was not something she was prepared to reveal just yet.
Wait a minute, she mused. Why is Rahne having the same headaches we did? According to Kelia, only women have ever been affected by the Stone. But then, Davin was affected too … She shook her head, tucking it away as something to ponder later. If there was a later.
“Yer wound,” the fair-haired man whispered, staring at the spot on her cheek where Kalik's sword had sliced it. “How –”
“Can't talk now,” she muttered, continuing her search.
“A'right,” he said, bewildered.
“You're Calib,” she said, lowering her own voice.
“Yes. Well, yes and no.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means I'm on your side.”
She found the ampoule, jammed it into the hypo and held it flush against Rahne's neck. Pressing a button on the base, the instrument delivered a healthy dose of pain-blocker into Rahne's bloodstream. The effect was instantaneous; Rahne's breathing became deeper, less labored. Maeve felt his pulse, sensed it slow to a healthier rate.
“Why should I trust you? You're one of them,” Maeve whispered to Calib.
“No. I'm not,” he said matter-of-factly.
It wasn't so much Calib's assertion that convinced her as the seriousness with which he'd said it. Three words that bore no trace whatsoever of the twang he'd spoken with before.
Fark it.
Using her head, Maeve subtly gestured toward the opening to the cave where they'd unearthed the Stone. “When it happens, grab Davin and Runa and hide them in there.”
He nodded without looking where she'd indicated. “When what happens?”
“You'll know.”
Rahne's eyes fluttered open, locking with Maeve's. She squeezed his hand, giving him a telltale raise of her eyebrows. He nodded to her, and to Calib. Making no noise, Rahne lifted the hem of his tunic, removing a small object from his waistband. Maeve took it, making sure to hide it from view.
Maeve felt a presence nearby. A very familiar presence. She reached out with her mind again, seeking the connection.
Are you there?
We here, came the guttural response.
Kalik chose that moment to join them. “Well?” he demanded. “Will he live?”
“He'll live,” she said, rising to her feet. She gripped the pistol with her left hand, ready to draw it at a moment's notice. “I've saved his life. You have the Stone. Now let us go.”
He shook his head. “That wasn't part of the deal. I said I would consider lettin' yer boy go. But you,” his mouth curled into a mirthless smile, “you will die. However, fer savin' Rahne, I'll let ya meet yer end on yer feet. Like a soldier.”
She looked around the company of men, their swords and arrow-tips glinting in the artificial light. Still in its box, the Stone had returned to its dormant state.
Maeve faced Kalik at an angle, her body coiling into a fighting stance. “I was just thinking the same thing about you, arsehole.”
Now, she mentally commanded.
And then all hell broke loose.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Elzaria strode down the path running alongside the River Ix. Safely cocooned within her bubble of pure energy, she made no effort to hurry. None could stand against her.
Since leaving Agrus, her frequent consultations with the Stone had provided her with many images, many possibilities. It had shown her where the alien ship lay and what her brother should do next. Strategies had been formed based on these images, and would hopefully allow them to fulfill their ultimate quest: the total domination of Elystra.
In the back of her mind, she harbored several nagging doubts. For fifteen years, she had been drawing power from her Stone. Why had her visions only started now? She could only surmise that whatever higher power—for what else could it be?—that provided these images and guided her along her path wanted her to succeed, to achieve victory. She'd dismissed the notion that it could be Arantha, as it flew in the face of everything she'd heard about Arantha being a benevolent god, a god that would certainly not condone the mass destruction she'd wrought.
Elzaria cleared the line of flaming crops, emerging onto a long, wide path of empty dirt. One mental command, and the ball of lightning blinked out of existence. She stood, staring up at the high walls of the plateau, half-expecting to feel a sense of home, of belonging. Returning to the place where her mother and countless generations of her ancestors were born and raised, she waited for even the tiniest inkling of familiarity.
But there was nothing. Nothing at all. This was not her home. She had no home.
Atop the plateau and clustered around the entrance, several bow-wielding women clad in leather garb stood, arrows pointed right at her. She waited for them to loose their arrows, ready to create an impenetrable wall of energy at a split-second's notice. For whatever reason, though, the order to fire was not given.
She took a cautious step forward, then another. No barrage of arrows came. Two more steps, and then a deep, rich voice rang out. “Come no further, daughter of Proda.”
A woman in a reddish-brown tunic stepped through the entrance, standing like a sentry in the center of the ramp leading down from the plateau. Her intricately-braided hair fell from the back of her head, and a blazing fire burned in her mud-brown eyes. Elzaria's eyes widened in recognition. She'd seen this woman before. This was their leader, the Elemental Wielder.
Elzaria straightened her spine and splayed her fingers at her sides. She fought to keep her face calm, to hide the roiling emotions doing battle within her. Part of her wanted to explode, to bathe this entire plateau in a deadly blanket of lightning, to annihilate these women who stood between her and her objective.
Deep within her heart, though, something made her hesitate.
When she had first acquired her ability, and with it the power to kill any man who so much as looked sideways at her, it had not earned her their respect. Their fear, yes, but respect? No. Were it not for her brother's leadership and charisma, all of Elystra would unite to destroy her in any way they could. Such was Elystra. But a society of women, living prosperous lives, unseen by the eyes of men for centuries? They had claimed this land as their own, hunting, gathering, farming, crafting. Elzaria could hardly believe such a thing was possible.
Yet here it was, in front of her. A life she could have had, if her ogre of a father hadn't murdered her mother. Her mother … Proda.
“So that was her name,” she said, continuing to cast furtive glances at the armed women who still had her in their sights. She took another step forward.
“I said, come no further,” the leader warned.
Elzaria spread her arms wide, hoping the leader would see it as a gesture of amicability. “What is your name, Wielder?”
The leader drew herself up. “I am Kelia, Protectress of the Ixtrayu.”
“You are even more powerful than I envisioned, Kelia.” Elzaria gestured at the croplands that continued to burn behind her. “I tried to convince my brother, and his generals, that a frontal assault would be futile. Seems I was right.” She shook her head. “So typical of men.”
Kelia, too, took another step forward. Only ten paces separated them now. “Stop, daughter of –”
“Do not refer to me by that name!” she spat. “I am neither my mother's daughter nor my father's! I am Elzaria, and I have come to–”
“I know why you are here.” Kelia furrowed her eyebrows. Sheaths of flame appeared around her hands, like deadly gloves. “And no, you are not your mother's daughter. Despite the awesome power she Wielded, she was gentle of disposition and noble of heart. She would never use her abilities to kill.”
“My mother was weak,” Elzaria seethed, balling her hands into fists. “It would have taken but a fraction of her power to free herself, but instead she let herself be slaughtered like a havsu.”
“Because she wanted you to live.”
Elzaria's eyebrows raised. “Explain.”
“If she'd used her Wielding to escape, it would have killed you inside her womb.” Kelia's voice took on a melancholy tone. “She trusted Arantha would keep you safe.”
At the sound of Arantha's name, Elzaria's anger boiled over. Sparks of energy shot from her body, bathing her skin in a sickly blue aura. “Safe? Safe?! Where was Arantha when my father was beating my brother and me into submission? Where was Arantha when we were sold as slaves to work ourselves to death in the mines?” Her breath became shallow, sharp pangs of rage knifing through her body. “Where was Arantha when I was being raped, over and over again? Where were you?”
All the blood drained from Kelia's face. Her deep brown eyes became hooded, haunted. When she spoke again, her voice was a taut whisper. “I … we didn't know of your existence until now. If we'd known –”
“What?” Elzaria interrupted, the cascade of sparks abating, then dying. “What would you have done? Come and rescue me from that horror? And what of my brother? You have the nerve to stand there, in judgement of me, when you and those who follow you hide for centuries, leaving your unwanted children all over Elystra.”
Their eyes met again. Kelia did not respond.
Elzaria fought back her own tears. She would not show weakness now. Never again. “It is because of him that I still live. Elzor loved me and gave me purpose. Arantha deemed the children of your beloved Proda unworthy of salvation, but Elzor—a boy you would never have allowed inside your perfect little community—refused to accept that. And now,” she spread her hands again, “here we are, on the cusp of immortality.”
Kelia dropped her hands to her sides, the flames fizzling out. Her shoulders slumped, and her face creased in contrition. “It is not perfect,” she said. Elzaria detected sincerity in her voice. “Mistakes … many mistakes have been made. I cannot undo them, any more than I can undo the torments you suffered. All I can do is beg your understanding, on behalf of me and my sisters. Do not compound our blunders by making an even bigger one now.”
For the briefest of moments, Elzaria let her mind wander. She pictured another, happier version of herself, living her days out here, in this remote corner of Elystra. She saw herself, standing atop the plateau, her black hair blowing in the breeze, gazing out upon the fertile fields and green forests, a young girl at her side, hugging her leg. A life of living off the land with a tribe who loved her.
Then she thought of Elzor, who would have died, just another one of hundreds of doomed youths to make their way through the gates of Mogran, never to exit. If she hadn't been with him, that would have been his fate. She would never have known of his existence.
A fist of ice closed over Elzaria's heart, and a fierce scowl erupted on her face. “I curse your god for his mistakes, and for yours. I will not punish you for your ignorance, but I grow weary of this discourse.” Elzaria exhaled, then steeled herself. “Give me the Stone, and I will call off the attack. You and your sisters may yet live to see another dawn.”
“I will not,” Kelia said. “Your heart has been tainted by evil. With one Stone at your disposal, you bring naught but death and destruction. To give you a second Stone would be to make all of Elystra subject to your whims.”
A dark, cold smile curled the corners of Elzaria's mouth. “A second, and a third.”
Kelia's eyes widened.
“That's right. A squadron of my brother's soldiers should be disposing of your alien friends, and seizing their Stone, right about now. Once you're out of the way, our victory will be complete.” She laughed, her cruelest laugh.
Elzaria heard Kelia mutter something that sounded like “Maeve” under her breath before bringing her hands up. Elzaria raised hers as well, but Kelia was faster. With a scream of “No!”, Kelia created a violent gust of wind that blew Elzaria off her feet. She flew backward, flailing her arms, and landed with a splat on the muddy ground.
Kelia descended the stone ramp, palms raised and anger radiating from her in tangible waves. Elzaria had no sooner scrambled to her feet when a thick string of fire burst forth from Kelia's hands, streaming toward her at an incredible speed.
Elzaria, calling upon her own power, constructed an energy barrier a few feet in front of her. The fire hit the blue shield with a whoosh, reflecting off its surface and dissipating into the air.
Elzaria simultaneously dropped the shield and, with her left hand, spewed an arc of lightning toward her foe. Kelia dodged to avoid the strike, attempting to create a fire-shield of her own. The bolt, which Elzaria aimed at Kelia's chest, struck her instead on the shoulder. Kelia shrieked in pain and staggered back a few steps but remained standing.
Kelia cast a glance at the blackened, smoking cloth of her tunic, then turned to Elzaria. Her face was a mask of determination and resolve. There would be no holding back.
Kelia raised her arms again, and Elzaria instinctively erected another shield to block the next attack. It came seconds later, but not from fire or air.
Elzaria gasped as the soil around her, from tiny specks to thick clumps, rose from the ground and spun around her. More earth soon joined the whirlwind, uniting to form a cylinder of mud, closing around her and blocking out both light and air. She fought back a moment of panic as her next few breaths became strained. She clamped her jaw shut to avoid getting any mud in her mouth, but breathing through her nose proved inadequate. Slowly, inexorably, the shroud of mud began to close in. If she could not break free, she would suffocate.
Squeezing her eyes shut, Elzaria crossed her arms in front of her face, using her last vestiges of concentration to center herself, to focus her power, to strike back. She felt the warm, tingly energy cover her like a second skin, protecting her from the viscous, choking mud. Drawing in a deep lungful of air, she threw her arms out. The skintight bubble expanded, vaporizing the deadly blanket. What few parti
cles remained fell harmlessly to the ground.
Kelia gave her no respite. Elzaria had no sooner regained her visibility than she felt her body surrounded by a fist of air that pinned her hands to her sides. Kelia's fingers curled as she lifted her hands upward, and Elzaria felt herself lifting off the ground.
Elzaria's mind raced. Kelia intended to levitate her to a great height and then let her fall. The rain-soaked soil had cushioned her impact before, but a fall from more than twenty feet would cripple her. From more than that, it might kill her.
Again, Elzaria retreated within her mind. If her self-made cocoon could protect her from earth, could it also protect her from air?
As before, she used her energy to disperse the cradle of air holding her aloft. With nothing left to keep her airborne, she tumbled to the ground. She landed on her feet, feeling a stab of agony course through her ankles and up her spine into her brain. The white-hot sear of pain clouded her vision, and she fell to her knees with a shriek, using her hands to keep from falling face-first into the mud.
Elzaria remained in that position, panting, trying in vain to will the pain away. She was losing.
Kelia was too powerful. She had all four elements, a bevy of potential weapons at her disposal. Despite the vast amount of raw energy at her own fingertips, Elzaria's arsenal was limited. This was her first time fighting another Wielder, and it would be her last unless …
Keeping her head down, feigning weakness and fatigue, she withdrew into her own mind again. She had one trick left to play, and perhaps just enough strength to pull it off. It had worked against the Agrusian army. Would it work here?
She heard Kelia's footsteps approach, stopping at a cautious distance. “You are beaten,” Kelia said, as out of breath as she. “The Stone will not be yours, today or any day. Surrender and depart. Do not force me to kill you, daughter of Proda.”
Queens (The Wielders of Arantha Book 2) Page 32