Black Dawn

by L. J. Smith

  “Besides, we’ve seen what he can do,” a big man said roughly. “He’s a Wild Power, all right. The blue fire is in his blood. He’s learned to use it too early, though; he can’t control it. See?”

  He grabbed a small arm—the left one—and held it up. It was twisted somehow, the fingers clawed and stiff, immobile.

  The little boy tried to pull his hand away, but he was too weak. The adults ignored him.

  “The king wants us to find spells to hold the power in,” the woman said. “Or he’ll damage himself permanently.”

  “Not to mention damaging us,” the rough man said, and laughed harshly.

  The little boy sat stiff and motionless as they handled him like a doll. His golden eyes were dry and his small jaw was clenched with the effort not to give in to tears.

  That’s awful, Maggie said indignantly, aiming her thought at the Delos of the present. It’s a terrible way to grow up. Wasn’t there anybody who cared about you? Your father?

  Go away, he said. I don’t need your sympathy.

  And your arm, Maggie said, ignoring the cold emptiness of his thought. Is that what happens to it when you use the blue fire?

  He didn’t answer, not in a thought directed at her. But another memory flashed in the facets of a crystal, and Maggie found herself drawn into it.

  She saw a five-year-old Delos with his arm wrapped in what looked like splints or a brace. As she looked at it, she knew it wasn’t just a brace. It was made of spells and wards to confine the blue fire.

  “This is it,” the woman who had spoken before was saying to the circle of men. “We can control him completely.”

  “Are you sure? You witches are careless sometimes. You’re sure he can’t use it at all now?” The man who said it was tall, with a chilly, austere face—and yellow eyes like Delos’s.

  Your father, Maggie said wonderingly to Delos. And his name was . . . Tormentil? But . . . She couldn’t go on, but she was thinking that he didn’t look much like a loving father. He seemed just like the others.

  “Until I remove the wards, he can’t use it at all. I’m sure, majesty.” The woman said the last word in an everyday tone, but Maggie felt a little shock. Hearing somebody get called majesty—it made him more of a king, somehow.

  “The longer they’re left on, the weaker he’ll be,” the woman continued. “And he can’t take them off himself. But I can, at any time—”

  “And then he’ll still be useful as a weapon?”

  “Yes. But blood has to run before he can use the blue fire.”

  The king said brusquely, “Show me.”

  The woman murmured a few words and stripped the brace off the boy’s arm. She took a knife from her belt and with a quick, casual motion, like Maggie’s grandmother gutting a salmon, opened a gash on his wrist.

  Five-year-old Delos didn’t flinch or make a sound. His golden eyes were fixed on his father’s face as blood dripped onto the floor.

  “I don’t think this is a good idea,” the old teacher said. “The blue fire isn’t meant to be used like this, and it damages his arm every time he does it—”

  “Now,” the king interrupted, ignoring him and speaking to the child for the first time. “Show me how strong you are, son. Turn the blue fire on . . .” He glanced up deliberately at the teacher. “Let’s say—him.”

  “Majesty!” The old man gasped, backing against the wall.

  The golden eyes were wide and afraid.

  “Do it!” the king said sharply, and when the little boy shook his head mutely, he closed his hand on one small shoulder. Maggie could see his fingers tighten painfully. “Do what I tell you. Now!  ”

  Delos turned his wide golden eyes on the old man, who was now shrinking and babbling, his trembling hands held up as if to ward off a blow.

  The king changed his grip, lifted the boy’s arm.

  “Now, brat! Now!  ”

  Blue fire erupted. It poured in a continuous stream like the water from a high-power fire hose. It struck the old man and spread-eagled him against the wall, his eyes and mouth open with horror. And then there was no old man. There was only a shadowy silhouette made of ashes.

  “Interesting,” the king said, dropping the boy’s arm. His anger had disappeared as quickly as it had come. “Actually, I thought there would be more power. I thought it might take out the wall.”

  “Give him time.” The woman’s voice was slightly thick, and she was swallowing over and over.

  “Well, no matter what, he’ll be useful.” The king turned to look at the others in the room. “Remember—all of you. A time of darkness is coming. The end of the millennium means the end of the world. But whatever happens outside, this kingdom is going to survive.”

  Throughout all of this, the little boy sat and stared at the place where the old man had been. His eyes were wide, the pupils huge and fixed. His face was white, but without expression.

  Maggie struggled to breathe.

  That’s—that’s the most terrible thing I’ve ever seen. She could hardly get the words of her thought out. They made you kill your teacher—he made you do it. Your father. She didn’t know what to say. She turned blindly, trying to find Delos himself in this strange landscape, trying to talk to him directly. She wanted to look at him, to hold him. To comfort him. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry you had to grow up like that.

  Don’t be stupid, he said. I grew up to be strong. That’s what counts.

  You grew up without anyone loving you, Maggie said.

  He sent a thought like ice. Love is for weak people. It’s a delusion. And it can be deadly.

  Maggie didn’t know how to answer. She wanted to shake him. All that stuff about the end of the millennium and the end of the world—what did that mean?

  Exactly what it sounded like, Delos said briefly. The prophecies are coming true. The world of humans is about to end in blood and darkness. And then the Night People are going to rule again.

  And that’s why they turned a five-year-old into a lethal weapon? Maggie wondered. The thought wasn’t for Delos, but she could feel that he heard it.

  I am what I was meant to be, he said. And I don’t want to be anything else.

  Are you sure? Maggie looked around. Although she couldn’t have described what she was doing, she knew what it was. She was looking for something . . . something to prove to him . . .

  A scene flashed in the crystal.

  The boy Delos was eight. He stood in front of a pile of boulders, rocks the size of small cars. His father stood behind him.

  “Now!”

  As soon as the king spoke, the boy lifted his arm. Blue fire flashed. A boulder exploded, disintegrating into atoms.

  “Again!”

  Another rock shattered.

  “More power! You’re not trying. You’re useless!”

  The entire pile of boulders exploded. The blue fire kept streaming, taking out a stand of trees behind the boulders and crashing into the side of a mountain. It chewed through the rock, melting shale and granite like a flamethrower burning a wooden door.

  The king smiled cruelly and slapped his son on the back.

  “That’s better.”

  No. That’s horrible, Maggie told Delos. That’s wrong. This is what it should be like.

  And she sent to him images of her own family. Not that the Neelys were anything special. They were like anybody. They had fights, some of them pretty bad. But there were lots of good times, too, and that was what she showed him. She showed him her life . . . herself.

  Laughing as her father frantically blew on a flaming marshmallow on some long-past camping trip. Smelling turpentine and watching magical colors unfold on canvas as her mother painted. Perching dangerously on the handlebars of a bike while Miles pedaled behind her, then shrieking all the way down a hill. Waking up to a rough warm tongue licking her face, opening one eye to see Jake the Great Dane panting happily. Blowing out candles at a birthday party. Ambushing Miles from her doorway with a heavy-duty water rifle
. . .

  Who is that? Delos asked. He had been thawing; Maggie could feel it. There were so many things in the memories that were strange to him: yellow sunshine, modern houses, bicycles, machinery—but she could feel interest and wonder stir in him at the people.

  Until now, when she was showing him a sixteen-year-old Miles, a Miles who looked pretty much like the Miles of today.

  That’s Miles. He’s my brother. He’s eighteen and he just started college. Maggie paused, trying to feel what Delos was thinking. He’s the reason I’m here. He got involved with this girl called Sylvia—I think she’s a witch. And then he disappeared. I went to see Sylvia, and the next thing I know I’m waking up in a slave-trader’s cart. In a place I never knew existed.

  Delos said, I see.

  Delos, do you know him? Have you seen him before? Maggie tried to keep the question calm. She would have thought she could see anything that Delos was thinking, that it would all be reflected in the crystals around her, that there was nothing he could hide. But now suddenly she wasn’t sure.

  It’s best for you to leave that alone, Delos said.

  I can’t, Maggie snapped back. He’s my brother! If he’s in trouble I have to find him—I have to help him. That’s what I’ve been trying to explain to you. We help each other.

  Delos said, Why?

  Because we do. Because that’s what people are supposed to do. And even you know that, somewhere down deep. You were trying to help me in my dream—

  She could feel him pull away. Your dreams are just your fantasies.

  Maggie said flatly, No. Not this one. I had it before I met you.

  She could remember more of it now. Here in his mind the details were coming to her, all the things that had been unclear before. And there was only one thing to do.

  She showed it to Delos.

  The mist, the figure appearing, calling her name. The wonder and joy in his face when he caught sight of her. The way his hands closed on her shoulders, so gently, and the look of inexpressible tenderness in his eyes.

  And then—I remember! Maggie said. You told me to look for a pass, underneath a rock that looked like a wave about to break. You told me to get away from here, to escape. And then . . .

  She remembered what had happened then, and faltered.

  And then he had kissed her.

  She could feel it again, his breath a soft warmth on her cheek, and then the touch of his lips, just as soft. There had been so much in that kiss, so much of himself revealed. It had been almost shy in its gentleness, but charged with a terrible passion, as if he had known it was the last kiss they would ever share.

  It was . . . so sad, Maggie said, faltering again. Not from embarrassment, but because she was suddenly filled with an intensity of emotion that frightened her. I don’t know what it meant, but it was so sad. . . .

  Then, belatedly, she realized what was happening with Delos.

  He was agitated. Violently agitated. The crystal world around Maggie was trembling with denial and fury—and fear.

  That wasn’t me. I’m not like that, he said in a voice that was like a sword made of ice.

  It was, she said, not harshly but quietly. I don’t understand it, but it really was you. I don’t understand any of this. But there’s a connection between us. Look what’s happening to us right now. Is this normal? Do you people always fall into each other’s minds?

  Get out! The words were a shout that echoed around Maggie from every surface. She could feel his anger; it was huge, violent, like a primal storm. And she could feel the terror that was underneath it, and hear the word that he was thinking and didn’t want to think, that he was trying to bury and run away from.

  Soulmates. That was the word. Maggie could sense what it meant. Two people connected, bound to each other forever, soul to soul, in a way that even death couldn’t break. Two souls that were destined for each other.

  It’s a lie, Delos said fiercely. I don’t believe in souls. I don’t love anyone. And I don’t have any feelings!

  And then the world broke apart.

  That was what it felt like. Suddenly, all around Maggie, the crystals were shattering and fracturing. Pieces were falling with the musical sound of ice. Nothing was stable, everything was turning to chaos.

  And then, so abruptly that she lost her breath, she was out of his mind.

  She was sitting on the ground in a small cave lit only by a dancing, flickering flame. Shadows wavered on the walls and ceiling. She was in her own body, and Delos was holding her in his arms.

  But even as she realized it, he pulled away and stood up. Even in the dimness she could see that his face was pale, his eyes fixed.

  As she got to her feet, she could see something else, too. It was strange, but their minds were still connected, even though he’d thrown her out of his world.

  And what she saw . . . was herself. Herself through his eyes.

  She saw someone who wasn’t at all the frail blond princess type, not a bit languid and perfect and artificial. She saw a sturdy, rosy-brown girl with a straight gaze. A girl with autumn-colored hair, warm and vivid and real, and sorrel-colored eyes. It was the eyes that caught her attention: there was a clarity and honesty in them, a depth and spaciousness that made mere prettiness seem cheap.

  Maggie caught her breath. Do I look like that? she wondered dizzily. I can’t. I’d have noticed in the mirror.

  But it was how he saw her. In his eyes, she was the only vibrant, living thing in a cold world of black and white. And she could feel the connection between them tightening, drawing him toward her even as he tried to pull farther away.

  “No.” His voice was a bare whisper in the cave. “I’m not bound to you. I don’t love you.”

  “Delos—”

  “I don’t love anyone. I don’t have feelings.”

  Maggie shook her head wordlessly. She didn’t have to speak, anyway. All the time he was telling her how much he didn’t love her, he was moving closer to her, fighting it every inch.

  “You mean nothing to me,” he raged through clenched teeth. “Nothing!”

  And then his face was inches away from hers, and she could see the flame burning in his golden eyes.

  “Nothing,” he whispered, and then his lips touched hers.

  CHAPTER 10

  But at the instant that would have made it a kiss, Delos pulled away. Maggie felt the brush of his warm lips and then cold air as he jerked back.

  “No,” he said. “No.” She could see the clash of fear and anger in his eyes, and she could see it suddenly resolve itself as the pain grew unbearable. He shuddered once, and then all the turmoil vanished, as if it were being swept aside by a giant hand. It left only icy determination in its wake.

  “That’s not going to help,” Maggie said. “I don’t even understand why you want to be this way, but you can’t just squash everything down—”

  “Listen,” he said in a clipped, taut voice. “You said that in your dream I told you to go away. Well, I’m telling you the same thing now. Go away and don’t ever come back. I never want to see your face again.”

  “Oh, fine.” Maggie was trembling herself with frustration. She’d had it; she’d finally reached the limit of her patience with him. There was so much bitterness in his face, so much pain, but it was clear he wasn’t going to let anyone help.

  “I mean it. And you don’t know how much of a concession it is. I’m letting you go. You’re not just an escaped slave, you’re an escaped slave who knows about the pass in the mountains. The penalty for that is death.”

  “So kill me,” Maggie said. It was a stupid thing to say and she knew it. He was dangerous—and the master of that blue fire. He could do it at the turn of an eyelash. But she was feeling stupid and reckless. Her fists were clenched.

  “I’m telling you to leave,” he said. “And I’ll tell you something else. You wanted to know what happened to your brother.”

  Maggie went still. There was something different about him suddenly. He loo
ked like somebody about to strike a blow. His body was tense and his eyes were burning gold like twin flames.

  “Well, here it is,” he said. “Your brother is dead. I killed him.”

  It was a blow. Maggie felt as if she’d been hit. Shock spread through her body and left her tingling with adrenaline. At the same time she felt strangely weak, as if her legs didn’t want to hold her up any longer.

  But she didn’t believe it. She couldn’t believe it, not just like that.

  She opened her mouth and dragged in a breath to speak—and froze.

  Somewhere outside the cave a voice was calling. Maggie couldn’t make out the words, but it was a girl’s voice. And it was close . . . and coming closer.

  Delos’s head whipped around to look at the entrance of the cave. Then, before Maggie could say anything, he was moving.

  He took one step to the wall and blew out the flame of the little stone lamp. Instantly, the cave was plunged into darkness. Maggie hadn’t realized how little light came from the entrance crack—almost none at all.

  No, she thought. Less light is coming through than before. It’s getting dark.

  Oh, God, she thought. Cady.

  I just walked off and left her there. What’s wrong with me? I forgot all about her—I didn’t even think. . . .

  “Where are you going?” Delos whispered harshly.

  Maggie paused in mid rush and looked at him wildly. Or looked toward him, actually, because now she couldn’t see anything but darkness against paler darkness.

  “To Cady,” she said, distracted and frantic, clutching the water bag she’d grabbed. “I left her down there. Anything could have happened by now.”

  “You can’t go outside,” he said. “That’s the hunting party I came with. If they catch you I won’t be able to help—”

  “I don’t care!” Maggie’s words tumbled over his. “A minute ago you never wanted to see me again. Oh, God, I left her. How could I do that?”

  “It hasn’t been that long,” he hissed impatiently. “An hour or so.” Vaguely, Maggie realized that he must be right. It seemed like a hundred years since she had climbed up to his ledge, but actually everything had happened quickly after that.