"Ari, please."
The Shaman's hands were beneath the lizard's jaw. A chin started to form. A Fey chin complete with birthmark. Nicholas smiled to see it. Arianna hated that birthmark.
The eyes were bulging. The body was rigid. He wasn't sure it was breathing.
Then the Shaman cried out. She turned toward him, her eyes blind. "Nicholas— she said, and fell across Arianna.
He didn't know what it was, but he did know he didn't have time to help her. He had to save his daughter first.
He shoved the Shaman off her, and moved his hands to Ari's chin. He couldn't look at the Shaman. He concentrated on skin, on turning scales into smooth skin, on turning a lizard's features into his daughter.
"Please," he whispered, and this time he wasn't speaking to his daughter; he was talking to the Holy One for the first time in years, hoping his voice would reach God's Ear. "Please, don't let her die. I'll do anything. Please."
And all the while he talked, his fingers moved, skin formed, and his daughter's half-lizard body remained still.
FIFTY-SIX
She was working on Arianna, guiding the Shift, feeling the body beneath her fingers flow and change. Nicholas was worried — the only time he seemed to feel any fear was for his daughter — and he wasn't working quite as efficiently as he should. The Shaman hoped he understood the need to work quickly.
She was working on Arianna — and trying not to think of the causes of this, not yet — concerned that the Black King had taken Ari from her own body to somewhere else — perhaps imprisoned her in his — when the Shaman felt the odd dizziness that usually preceded a Vision.
"Nicholas — " she warned —
And then the world Shifted. She Saw the palace: Alexander's rooms, only they weren't Alexander's any more. The furniture was no longer dusty, the balcony doors, though closed, had the look of recent use. A food tray sat on one of the tables.
Rugad stood in the center of the room, his finger in the ear of the golem. Sebastian.
It lived, and she hadn't realized it.
A thread of fear ran along her back.
The magick in this place was very, very powerful.
Gift was very, very powerful.
Light was pouring through the cracks in the golem's face, pouring out of his mouth, his eyes, his ears. Rugad's eyes were glazed, blank. He was gone, too.
What was happening? Arianna wasn't with him. Was this a future Vision? It had the feeling of a now Vision. Were they both inside the golem?
And the golem was about to explode.
She went toward it, even though she had no real form. Perhaps she could see them in its light-filled eyes. But as she got close, the golem raised its unencumbered hand. She looked up, and saw a shadow against the ceiling.
Someone else.
Someone with Vision.
Someone on the Isle?
Gift?
"Child," she said, not certain if she was talking to Gift or to the golem itself.
Or to Arianna, if she were trapped inside.
The light grew brighter.
The golem said something she didn't understand, and then smiled. The Black King fell backward, smashing a chair, the sound echoing through the room. There would be guards here soon.
And it was so far away.
She could do nothing.
She peered at Rugad's face. It was empty.
Empty.
She turned to the golem. It was smiling, but tears were running down the cracks on its cheeks. It knew what it was doing.
It knew.
It saw her, spoke again —
And shattered.
The rock sprayed everywhere. Instinctively, she ducked.
And the world shifted again.
She was dying outside the cavern door, a burn mark on her chest. Above her, one of the Islanders' holy swords stuck out of a rock. She tried to sit up, tried to reach Gift. He had to know how to use the Place of Power. That was her only mistake.
Her biggest mistake.
She thought of him, wishing her Link with him was stronger —
And the world shifted a third time.
She saw Rugad's grandson Bridge, Jewel's brother, in Nye, sitting in one of those banker's chairs, talking with his advisors.
"Maybe he died there," Bridge said.
She surfaced for a moment, felt the drool on her lips and chin, felt the ground digging into her chest. Nicholas was sitting beside Arianna, murmuring words the Shaman couldn't quite hear. She tried to sit up —
And saw blood. Rivers of it, flowing all over the Isle. Bodies lying in the streets, and Fey circling, circling, like demented animals.
A woman sat on the Black Throne.
No, a man.
A woman.
The images flashed, changing as something else changed.
And then everything stopped.
Two Enchanters stood in the Place of Power, near a fountain, about to put their hands in the water.
Two Enchanters.
Only one would live.
Around her, the Powers floated, circling and laughing. She couldn't see their faces. She couldn't see their bodies. She could only feel them, and hear the laughter. It was loud, but not as loud as the voice:
This is not your Place, it said. Turn back.
Turn back.
"I can't," she said. "I have changed my allegiance."
You don't know what your allegiance is to, the voice said.
But she did.
She did.
Her allegiance was to that man who huddled over his daughter. That man who tried to save a girl's life. Her allegiance was to that man and one of his children.
Only the Shaman didn't know which one.
"Help us," she said.
What do you think we're doing? the voice said, as the Vision let her go.
VENGEANCE
FIFTY-SEVEN
Rugad soared through the air. He felt vulnerable, more exposed than he had ever been. Nothing protected him, not his guards, not his troops, not even his body. He was merely a blip of light traveling through space
The beginnings of the explosion had dislodged his body. It fell backward, shattering a chair. Its eyes were open, blank, and no expression crossed its face as it fell. The sound of the shattered chair would bring someone quickly. He had to get back to himself before anyone arrived. The essence, the soul, searched for a warm, inviting host. His own body might be too far away.
Or too empty.
He dove.
Behind him, the golem's explosion rang throughout the room.
He touched his shoulder, crawled up his own face, across the craggy skin, the high cheekbones, and pressed against the eye. All of this happened so fast, and yet it seemed so slow. But the bits of rock from the golem's explosion weren't even airborne yet. Rugad had to be slightly out of time, a phenomenon he'd heard about but never felt, something that usually only Shamans achieved.
The eye's liquid layer was a barrier. He could feel it, slimy against his imaginary fingers. The rocks overhead were reflected in the eye's shiny surface. He crawled along the side of the face, and slipped into the ear.
And suddenly, he was inside himself.
His back ached, his head ached, and the pain in his throat from his wound was intense. He looked out his eyes and saw the rocks coming down toward him.
He tucked into a fetal position, protecting his head as he did so, and the rocks pelted him. Dozens of them, large and small, stinging and slamming into him. The jar on his hip shattered, and with a cry, his voice floated free.
The rocks landed all around him, sounding like hail.
The doors to the balcony burst open. The guards he had placed outside hurried in. The suite's main door opened as well, and the remaining guards came inside. They crouched around him, pushing rock off him, helping him sit up.
He hated seeming so vulnerable.
Hated it.
He shook them off, despite the pain. A small drop of blood flowed into his e
ye. He probably had a cut on his forehead.
More guards entered the room. He had posted twenty guards around the suite, and they all seemed to have come inside.
"I suppose you all designated new guards to watch the hallway?" he snapped, hating the way his voice was barely more than a whisper. His old voice had not lodged within his throat. It was gone.
He spoke with the raspy voice the Healers had given him.
No one moved.
"I'm fine," he said again. "Now get out of here."
Ten of the guards left, returning to their posts. The other ten remained, huddled around him, taking his air.
He stood on his own. He had a powerful headache. Clouds of dust were floating in the room. Rubble was everywhere. Rocks on tables, on chairs, on the floor.
"Where's the boy?" Blade asked. She was close to Rugad, eyes wild.
"It was no boy," Rugad said. "It was a golem."
Her eyes narrowed. "You knew that."
He nodded.
Then she smiled. He liked her. Even if her guards lacked some of the discipline he wanted.
"Gather up this mess and dispose of it. Don't put the pieces in the same place," Rugad said. "The creature has already reassembled once. We don't need it to reassemble again."
"As you wish," Blade said.
Rugad brushed the dust from his hair. He was slightly dizzy, whether from the fall or the blood loss, he didn't know. He was still weak from the first injury the golem, the girl, and the Islander King had inflicted on him.
He had had enough. They had bested him twice and in different ways.
They would not best him again.
"Send for my generals. Have them meet me in the Audience Room," Rugad said to Blade.
"Would you like a Healer?"
No sense in letting the wounds fester. And he didn't know what would happen if the rock of the golem got inside him. Would it make the wounds worse?
"Yes, send one down to the Audience Room as well." Then he stepped across the rubble, away from the shattered chair, and out of the suite.
There was nothing he could do about his voice. Once gone, he could not recapture it.
All he could hope for was that someone else would not take it.
And they wouldn't, if no one knew it was missing.
The hallway's air was clear. Except for the guards at either end, it was empty.
He had been easy on these Islanders, even though they had forced him to destroy a whole troop of his, even though they had cost him his son and his granddaughter. His great-grandchildren fought him, and he couldn't have that, not for the future of the Fey, and not for the Black Blood.
He had to take care of it, and he had to do so now. If he waited too long, his grandson Bridge would think something wrong and attempt to come here on his own.
This Isle would eat Bridge alive. Bridge was barely capable of running Nye.
And there had been peace in Nye for twenty years.
Rugad had allowed too much to slide past him. He needed to take care of all the business.
His great-granddaughter was showing him that.
As he passed the guards on the stairs, he touched one on the shoulder. "Send Wisdom to the Audience Chamber. I also want seven Foot Soldiers to meet me there, and I want a Lamplighter."
"Aye, sir," the guard said, bowing his head and running down the stairs before Rugad.
Rugad followed more slowly. He resisted the urge to use the railing, and he made himself take deep breaths. A half second more and he would have been dead. Destroyed inside the golem, unable to protect himself against the pain of the explosion.
Or would he?
The golem didn't die the first time it exploded.
Perhaps it didn't die the second time, either.
Not that it mattered. If no one knew where the rubble was, no one could resurrect it.
He smiled for the first time since he had returned to his own body. Now he only had four Islanders to deal with: the Shaman, the King, and his own great-grandchildren.
By the end, the Shaman and the King would be dead, and the great-grandchildren would belong to Rugad, body and soul.
FIFTY-EIGHT
Luke crouched low as he crossed the open expanse of field. He tried to keep his eye on the guards near the house and the guards near the barn. He figured if he couldn't see them, they couldn't see him.
He hoped that was right.
He kept his face in shadow as best he could. His skin was so fair that it reflected light, despite the dirt he had coated himself with. Fortunately, there was no moon tonight. It was one of the darkest nights in his memory.
His feet shushed against the ground. His breath was coming in small rasps. He was trying to be as quiet as he could, and so each noise he made seemed louder than it normally was.
He wasn't going to get captured by Fey again.
He wasn't.
And no one else would, either.
He would free the prisoners in that barn — if, indeed, there were prisoners inside — even if he had to take on the guards himself.
He knew that wasn't entirely wise, but he saw no other choice. The Fey were unpredictable, and they worked fast. By the time he could put a rescue team together, the Fey might have done something with the prisoners.
He was halfway across the field now. Voices echoed in the darkness. He stopped and slowly sank into a crouch. From that position, as low as he could get without actually sitting and losing mobility, he scanned the area. The guards in front of the house were talking in Fey.
He still couldn't see the guards around the barn.
He assumed the guards he heard were the ones by the house, but sound played tricks on nights like this. He made himself look at all parts of the field. He wanted to get this over with as quickly as possinle, but it would do no good if he moved too fast and got caught.
Better to take his time.
Better to be sure.
Over his left shoulder, he could see the field that he had just walked. If someone were looking, they would see the slight damage from his feet. But only if they looked for it.
That pleased him. He hadn't forgotten how to move surrepitiously through a field. Who'd have thought that boyhood skills would come in so handy?
Then he made himself scan all the way across again. The guards near the house were still talking. The guards near the barn still weren't visible. He moved slowly enough so that he glimpsed the field in front of him before he looks over his right shoulder.
One of the hay bales before him rustled. He froze. The Fey weren't all tall and slender. Some could turn themselves into animals. Others could be small sparks on the wind.
And some were small enough to hide in hay bales.
His mouth was dry.
It would take so little to catch him here. One small mistake on his part.
But he couldn't imagine Fey in every noise. If he did, he wouldn't try anything.
What he needed was a story. If he were caught, he needed something to tell them. Perhaps he could try to pass himself off as one of those Fey who could make themselves look like Islanders.
Doppelgängers.
It was too dark for the Fey to see his eyes, and Scavenger had said that only the eyes revealed a Doppelgänger. Luke knew enough about Fey systems to bluff. And maybe if he bluffed, he would be able to get away.
The thought soothed him. He had a plan now, even if he were captured.
He stared again at that hay bale, but it didn't rustle. The field was quiet, except for the faint hum of the night: the familiar chirp of the crickets, the regular soft noises of a breeze-filled field. He continued scanning until he looked behind him again.
Nothing.
And the Fey near the house were laughing.
He took a deep breath and continued. As he passed the noisy hay bale, he shot a look at it. Nothing was out of place. If someone hid in it, he would be able to tell.
He was safe, so far.
The farther toward the barn he went,
the less he could see the Fey guarding the house. They were still talking and laughing, though. They had to feel pretty secure to do that. Scavenger said that most Fey guards were stoic unless they were certain there was no danger.
Luke smiled.
Little did they know.
He reached the end of the field.
The two guards in front of the barn were silent. They stood very straight, staring before them at nothing. If he hadn't known better, he would have thought they were asleep on their feet.
But he couldn't tell if they were silent because they felt his presence or because they had no choice. The barn doors were huge, and they really couldn't talk to each other without shouting.
He smiled again.
Fey clearly weren't farmers. If they were, they would have known there were a dozen ways to enter a barn. People — and animals — didn't go in just by the front doors
He wove around to the side. The wood was pretty good here, and he bit his lower lip as he moved. He hoped that Antoni hadn't just recently rebuilt the barn. If that were the case, Luke might have to find another way in.
But in the back, he found what he was looking for: a rotted board that was half peeled away. He wondered if an animal had done it, and if so, what kind. This sort of barn rarely held anything more than shelter for foxes or other small animals. The chickens and gardens were on the other side of the house. Horses were usually too big for other animals to concern themselves with.
There was a small dug-out area beneath the rotted board. He would have to slide through sideways. He glanced around him, saw nothing, and then crawled into the hole.
He slid and caught the faint scent of dog as he did so. Fur clung to parts of the board in front of him, and tickled his nose as he went through. His shoulders fit, but his leg banged against the barn's wooden side as he kept moving. It was hard to push himself and fit through at the same time.
Still, he made it all the way in, and sat for a moment, catching his breath. The darkness was complete in here. He had to wait until his eyes adjusted.
The barn smelled odd. He had never been in a barn that smelled like this. Most barns smelled of horseflesh, if the farmer was lucky enough to own a horse, or of cows if he had cattle, or of hay and grains if he didn't keep animals inside.
The Resistance: The Fourth Book of the Fey (Fey Series) Page 35