Island of Glass

by Nora Roberts

  When the worlds still, she remembered. And so it had.

  Then a deer leaped over the path, a bird took wing. The standard on the palace waved in the breeze.

  At the end of the path, she thought, lay the end of the journey.

  She leaped down, continued the climb.

  The path wound, and a little stream bubbled beside it. Water spilled over rock, tumbled into a small pool where the deer drank.

  “I ran this far last night,” she told the others. “Part of me wanted to keep going up, but something just told me not yet. I stopped by that pool, the water so clear I could see my reflection, and the moon’s.”

  “Let’s hope we get up there, get this done before you see the moon again and go furry.”

  Riley shook her head at Sawyer. “Last night was the third night here. But I’d sure as hell like to get it done before dark.”

  She fell companionably into step with him. “I was thinking about Malmon.”

  “Gone and no regrets.”

  “That’s something I was thinking about. She chose him, lured him, seduced him, and turned him into a demon. One who worshipped her. He didn’t just kill for her, he very likely saved her life, at the very least nursed her until she got herself back.”

  “And?”

  “She did nothing to save him. Because he meant nothing to her. Look, he was a bastard when he was human, as evil and twisted as they come, but she ended that human life. As somebody who knows about change, I’m telling you that change had to be agony.”

  “Hard to wring out any sympathy there.”

  “With you,” Riley agreed. “The thing is, she didn’t have to change him to get what she wanted out of him.”

  Sawyer stopped, narrowed his eyes. “I hadn’t thought of that, but you’re right. One hundred percent.”

  “She did it for fun. And when he failed, even after he saved her miserable existence, he was just a kind of diversion. Yeah, he tried to kill me, but she sent him in to pave the way for her. And after all that, bang, you’re dead. Thanks to you. Odds are she could’ve given him what Doyle has, instead it’s over like a fingersnap for him. And she doesn’t care.”

  “You thought she would?”

  “I’m saying if she didn’t give him a thought—someone—something that fed her, nursed her, did her bidding, worshipped her, fucking died for her, she sure as hell doesn’t care about any living thing. Dark or light.”

  “I could’ve killed him if he’d still been human, but not the way I did. I couldn’t have just . . . not if he’d been human.”

  “I know.” Riley gave him an elbow jab. “That’s why we’re the good guys.”

  A few paces ahead on the rugged path, Annika began to sing.

  “And that,” Sawyer said.

  “And that.”

  They climbed while the sun wheeled past noon with the stream rising with the path. Quick, frothy waterfalls poured over ledges of rock, but nothing came to drink. No bird soared overhead or darted through the trees.

  Riley scented nothing but the water, the earth, the trees, her companions.

  When the worlds still—she thought again.

  Then there was . . . something. Something old, potent, alive. But not human, not beast, not fowl, not of the earth.

  “There’s something—”

  But Sasha had already stopped, was reaching for Bran’s hand as he reached for hers.

  “Do you feel it?” Sasha’s words were barely a whisper over the music of the water.

  “Power,” Bran said. “Waiting.” Bran glanced back at the others. “Let me have a look first.”

  But Sawyer shook his head. “All for one, man. That’s how it is.”

  Doyle’s sword slithered out of its sheath. “Together.”

  And together they crested the high hill.

  There the path ended, and there stood the stones, a perfect circle, graduated in size from one on each side no higher than Riley’s waist to the king stone, taller than two men.

  They stood, quiet gray, under the strong afternoon sun, swimming in a shallow sea of mist.

  “Not as massive as Stonehenge, but more symmetrical,” Riley observed. “I bet when I measure them, each set is precisely the same in height and width, and an exact ratio.”

  The archaeologist led the way, moved straight up, laid a hand on a stone. Pulled it back. “Did you hear that?”

  “It . . . grumbled,” Sawyer said.

  “No, it sang!”

  “Annika’s closer. More a hum, right?” Riley asked. “And it gave me a little jolt. Not painful, more like: Think about it.”

  “Here stand the guardians, placed here by the first.” Sasha held her hands out to the circle. “The circle, the dance, the source. Light and dark, as one must have the other. Morning sun and dark of moon. Joy and sorrow, life and death. Here is truth. And from it springs the tree, and beneath the tree the sword. Walk through, and wake the sword.”

  She lifted her face. “Oh, I can barely breathe. It’s so strong, so beautiful. Walk through!”

  Bran walked between the stones. They hummed, soft and quiet, the sound building when each of the others walked in, stood with him.

  Light lanced out of the sky, struck the two smallest stones. Like a chain of fire, light streamed around the circle, struck the king stone. Voices rose like the wind in one strong, soaring note. The stones pulsed with it, shined silver with it. The mist burned away, revealed the ground of glass.

  As the stones quieted, the sun showered over the hundreds of bare branches of a great tree that stood alone. Beneath it sheltered a gray spear of stone with a naked sword carved on its surface.

  “Looks like step two.” Because her skin still quivered, Riley cleared her throat, sucked in a breath, then started across the circle to once again walk between the stones.

  “Of the stone.” Riley walked around it, crouched in front of it. “Any idea how to get it out?”

  “Reach in. Wake it. Free it. It’s all I know,” Sasha told her.

  Riley straightened, stepped back. “Doyle makes the most sense. Agreed?”

  That got nods all around.

  Doyle studied the carving. A bit smaller, slimmer than his own, but a fine-looking blade with a simple, unadorned hilt. He gathered his faith, his trust, his hope, reached for it. Hit solid stone.

  “I feel nothing. Should I? Only that it’s not for me to take it.”

  “Then Bran. I’m sorry,” Annika said quickly.

  “No need.” Doyle stepped back. “Your go, brother.”

  Bran laid his hand on top of the stone, used what he was to try to feel through it. Shook his head. “Like a locked door,” he murmured, skimmed his hand down, laid it over the carved hilt. “Or a power sleeping.”

  “Well, it needs to wake the hell up. Maybe there’s a code or a pattern. Maybe some sort of incantation. We just need to figure it out. Give me a minute to . . .”

  Riley ran her hand down, fingers tracing the carving for a clue.

  The stone trembled, sang in a sound like rising joy. When shocked, she pulled back her hand, she held the sword.

  “Oh, shit.”

  Immediately she swung to Doyle, held it out.

  “It’s not mine.” He wondered if she felt the light beating around her. “It’s yours.”

  “What am I supposed to—”

  It all but leaped in her hand. Against her closed fist the rough stone hilt began to change, to smooth. Light streaked up the blade so she instinctively lifted it up to protect the others.

  The sun struck it, searing. Before her stunned eyes the stone became clear polished glass.

  “Did everybody see that?” Her heart thudded, her ears rang as she lowered the sword. And still its power raced up her arm, through her body. “It’s glass.”

  “Like the palace.” Sawyer reached out, ran a finger over the flat of the blade. “You’ve got a magickal glass sword, Riley.”

  “It sparkles,” Annika murmured. “And makes rainbows.”

&
nbsp; “And holds power. Can you feel it?” Bran asked her.

  “Oh, damn skippy. It’s like the stars. There’s a pulse in it. And it . . . it feels like mine, but let’s be practical. I’m no swordsman. I know the basics, but that’s it. I’d love to nail Nerezza with it, but I’m going to need a lot of training.”

  Sasha gripped Riley’s shoulder. “She’s coming.”

  Doyle ranged himself beside Riley. “Learn fast,” he told her, and drew his sword.

  She came with a swarm, turned day to night.

  Riley shifted the sword to her left hand—she’d need to get a lot closer for it to do any good—and pulled her gun.

  They spilled out of the sky, slithered and shambled out of the trees, dark, twisted things with snapping fangs, swiping claws.

  Bolts and beams and bullets struck against the dark. Shrieks tore the air as light exploded.

  On the beast mangled by Doyle’s sword, Nerezza rode with them, pure madness now, her beauty gone, her hair a tangle, wild gray snakes, her eyes sunken, burning black.

  Her lightning crashed with Bran’s, and the aftershocks knocked Riley off her feet. Something crawled burning over her boot. Even as she jerked back, Annika turned it to ash. Firing, firing, Riley flipped to her feet. Almost without thought, she slashed with the sword. The thing she cleaved screamed, vanished in a flare of light.

  She felt the pump of power now, the thrill of it, and slashed, struck, jabbed, hacking her way through a swarm.

  “I need to get closer. I can do it, I can take her. Can you get me up there, behind her?”

  Sawyer shook his head. “Trying to bring her ride down, but these things block it. They keep coming.”

  He slapped in another clip, and Riley saw blood dripping down his hand.

  “We need cover. We need to—”

  “Die here!” Nerezza screamed. “Die here, and I feed on your power. All that you are is mine. This world, and all die with you.”

  She shot down flame. Annika deflected the first, but the second ball exploded in front of her, sent her flying back. Sawyer rushed to her as one of Sasha’s bolts killed the creature before its sharp wing scored Annika’s face.

  “Into the circle. Lure her into the circle,” Sasha shouted. “I think— Bran!”

  “Yes, yes. The power. I’ll draw her in.”

  “Leave that to me. What’s she going to do?” Doyle demanded. “Kill me? Keep her off Riley.” He fought his way closer to the circle, managed to turn to meet Riley’s eye. “This isn’t Malmon. Aim for the heart. Drive her to me, push her to me. Some magick wouldn’t hurt.”

  “You’ll have it.” Bran hurtled lightning at Nerezza’s flank. “Keep the pressure on her.”

  “She’ll go for Doyle.” Teeth gritted, Riley fired. “Once she sees he’s alone.”

  “But he’s not alone,” Sasha reminded her.

  Bran leaped on one of the stones, hurled a vial of light. As it exploded, the Cerberus screamed in pain. The slash of its tail missed Bran by inches as he jumped clear. But the maneuver turned Nerezza toward Doyle in the heart of the stone circle.

  “Immortal. Burn and bleed.”

  He rolled away from the fire, jumped clear of that lashing tail. Closer, he thought. Just a little closer.

  “Bitch,” he called back. “This time I’ll cut out your heart. Sword to sword. God to god!”

  “You are no god.” When she swooped, he struck, but her quick turn had him slicing the side of her beast. The sword he’d carried for centuries snapped in two like a toy. “And that is no sword.”

  Bran threw lightning to draw her off as Doyle pulled his knife. As he pivoted, the Cerberus clawed his back, struck him down.

  The others rushed toward the circle. As the blood of an immortal, a guardian stained the glass, light burst like a bomb. It sent Riley sprawling, had her ears thundering, her breath lost. Through the haze she saw Bran struggling to his knees, heard Sawyer cursing. And saw Doyle unarmed, alone.

  Overhead Nerezza laughed. “Can you grow your head back, immortal?”

  She dived, a sword raised over her head.

  Like Bran, Riley struggled to her knees, knew she’d never make it. “Doyle!”

  When he turned his head, she saw the pain in his eyes, the regret. “Bullshit on that. Catch!”

  She threw the sword, and all her faith.

  He lifted his hand, closed his fist around the hilt. With a warrior’s cry, he sprang up, whirled away from Nerezza’s sword. He drove the Sword of Glass through her heart.

  She didn’t scream. The beast beneath her, all those that flew or crawled sizzled away like water in the sun or melted like ugly chalk drawings in the rain.

  Day burst back to life.

  She fell into the circle, the mother of lies, eyes glazed with fear and madness.

  “I am a god.” She croaked it out as her hair thinned, as her flesh shriveled.

  Doyle gripped the sword in both hands. “You’re nothing.” And plunged it into her heart again.

  The blood bubbled black. Her fingers became bones that clacked together. “I want. I want.” Black eyes wheeled as the flesh of the face flaked away.

  Doyle gripped Riley’s hand when she limped to him. Looked around once as the others, bruised, burned, bloody, came with her. “We ended you.”

  She withered to bone without a sound, and the bone went to ash.

  “She can’t come back?” Annika hugged close to Sawyer. “She’s gone?”

  “Look.” Bran gestured.

  The hundreds of branches of the tree leafed out green, bloomed with fruit and flowers. The air, so full of the sounds of battle only moments before, now sang with birds and breezes. A doe wandered out of the woods to crop at the grass.

  The stones stood silver and shining on the hill of Glass. The king stone bore the guardians’ coat of arms.

  “Good answer.” Then Sawyer dropped to his knees. “Sorry. Ow.”

  “Let’s have a look. We’ll do what we can here,” Bran added, “then—”

  “We’ve only to ask,” Sasha remembered. “I’m asking for us to be brought back. If we’ve done what we were meant to do.”

  “You really think they’re just going to— Oh,” Riley said as she found herself, and the others, standing at the start of the path. “Excellent.”

  They began to limp and wince their way toward the palace.

  “We couldn’t just wish to be healed?” Annika wondered.

  “People should see their warriors. They should see what it costs to stand for the light,” Doyle told her, and put an arm around her to support her. “To do what’s needed.”

  They wept, and they cheered as the six passed by. And wept and cheered all the way to the doors of the palace where the goddesses waited.

  “We will tend you now.” Celene stepped forward, raised her voice. “Tonight, there will be celebration. Tonight is for music and dancing, for wine, for joy. Tonight is now and forevermore, the Night of the Guardians.”

  “I’m going to bleed all over the floor,” Sawyer began.

  Luna stroked his wounded arm. “You will not. Come now to be tended and fed and bathed and rested. We are your servants today.”

  It wasn’t so bad having a goddess as a servant. At least not when, Riley decided, it included luxuriating in a sunken tub full of hot water that a pretty young maid scented with jasmine. Or having every ache in your tired body rubbed out with oil.

  She didn’t even mind—too much—putting the dress on again. Not when she had permission to explore, take samples. Some stones, some scrapings, a little dirt, some sand. A couple of flowers she’d never seen before.

  When she rushed into the sitting room to find the others, she was all but flying. “You won’t believe what I’ve seen. They have chickens that lay colored eggs. I saw a baby dragon—the adults prefer caves. A freaking baby dragon.”

  She grabbed a bottle, poured a glass not caring what it might be.

  “And the library in this place? It makes yours look
like the book turnstile at a gas station, Bran. Every book ever written, in every language. I mean freaking Hogwarts doesn’t have what they have.”

  She gulped down what proved to be wine. “And their society? No war, not since that whole uprising with the Bay of Sighs—which, by the way, is back. People like their work, whatever they choose. Farmers farm, weavers weave, bakers bake. If they need to cut a tree, they plant another. Always. And— What?”

  “We got around some, too,” Sawyer told her. “Annika got to swim with some merpeople in the Bay of Sighs. Sasha’s done half a million sketches. Bran, he’s been holed up with other magic types.”

  “We went up,” Bran told her, “consecrated the ground within the circle.”

  “Doyle’s been busy, too.” Sasha continued to sketch.

  “Yeah? With what?”

  “Nothing much.”

  Sasha lifted her head, stared holes through him.

  “Fine. All right.” He stood up, pulled something out of his pocket. “I got this.”

  Riley stared, dumbfounded, at the ring. The pure white stone sat in a simple band. Its brilliance needed no adornment.

  “You don’t like fuss,” he said.

  “No, I don’t. But how did you . . .”

  “Just ask, right? I just asked if there were any jewelers, and I had about a hundred rings pushed at me.”

  “Sasha and I helped from there,” Annika told her. “Because it was confusing.”

  “I don’t happen to have any money on me that works around here anyway. And they didn’t want any. But . . .”

  “He had in his pocket a pipe—a musical pipe—he made as a boy,” Annika said helpfully. “He traded.”

  “That’s . . . Jeez, that’s sweet.”

  “It gets sweeter,” Sasha told Riley. “He asked Bran to engrave it.”

  “Engraved.” Riley snatched the ring from Doyle’s hand, turned it to look inside the band. “Ma Faol.” Her throat simply closed as her heart leaped into it. All she could do was look at him.

  He took the ring back. “Are you going to give me your hand?”

  “Damn right I am.”

  “It’s called the Stone of Glass. I don’t know what the hell it actually is.”

  “I’ll be finding out.” It astonished her that her eyes stung, that she had to fight back tears. “And I can tell everybody you’re a cheap bastard, and it’s glass.”

  “Bet you would.” He slid it on her finger. “You’re stuck now.”

  Annika applauded. “Kiss her, Doyle! You need to kiss her now.”