They crouched down, huddling together and covering their heads as the ground shook insistently and the fire-shielded house began collapsing all around them.
"No!" Elelar screamed as the cavern shook wildly and rocks fell all around her. "Not again!"
The walls of the cavern groaned hideously, terrifying her. She scrambled to her hands and knees and stared in horrified fascination as a deafening, indescribable sound intensified along the far wall of the cavern... and then a river of lava broke through the wall, which began collapsing with chaotic violence.
Screaming in mindless panic, Elelar begged Dar to help her as she tried to save herself from certain death.
Tansen hauled himself to his feet the moment the ground stopped heaving, then launched himself in the general direction of several stunned assassins.
Then a sound that terrified every shallah in Sileria made him freeze in his tracks as his blood ran cold.
"Avalanche!"
Mirabar slowly rose to her feet, with Faradar's help, and surveyed the wreckage around her.
"Sirana, are you hurt? Is the baby all right?"
"I think so," Mirabar panted. "I mean, I think the baby's fine. I think... Are you hurt?"
"No, I'm fine. But this house isn't safe, sirana. What should we..." Faradar went still. "What's that noise?"
Mirabar wanted to weep as she heard a terrible, ear-shattering rumble which she'd feared her whole life, accompanied by the warning shout, "Avalanche!"
"Tansen!" She ran to the door, but it had collapsed during the earthquake and was now impassable.
Come to me...
"Is he alive?" she begged, pushing futilely at the tumbled stone and crumbled mortar blocking her escape.
Only you can protect her...
"Tansen!" she screamed.
"Sirana, this house will collapse if there's another tremor."
You must come...
"Dar have mercy," Mirabar wept.
This is your destiny. Your duty. This is what you were chosen for.
"He's alive," she promised herself. "He's alive, I know he's alive."
"Of course he is," Faradar said firmly.
Mirabar closed her eyes. Tansen was too hard to kill for a mere battle, earthquake, and avalanche combined to finish him off. "Oh, Dar, please let him live. If You don't, I will kill the Yahrdan myself as vengeance for his death, do You hear me?"
Now... the Beckoner prodded.
She looked at the window, their only possible means of escape now. "If assassins kill me the moment I leave this house," she warned the Beckoner, "my destiny won't matter, will it?"
The ground started shaking again, and the roof overhead—or what remained of it—groaned alarmingly.
"All I know, sirana," said Faradar, "is that we'll die if we stay in here."
"I want to go ashore!" Ronall said insistently. "I want to go ashore now!"
The Lascari boat heaved and rolled on the wildly rocking sea.
"We don't know where Searlon is, and we don't know if Tansen's plans are succeeding." The grim assassin at his side frowned in thought as he clung to a rope tied to the mast. "At least here, on a good boat, no one can approach without our knowledge."
"After we've drowned, that will be a great comfort to me!" Ronall shouted above the roar of the angry sea.
A huge wave washed across the deck, silencing them for a moment. When he was able to breathe and see again, Ronall glanced over to where Zarien, still a little disoriented from his accident, sat huddled on deck, also clinging to a rope. His relatives tended him conscientiously and were clearly concerned about him, yet they made no effort to bring the boy out of his increasingly dark, withdrawn mood. They might not be shunning him in the usual sense of the word, but Ronall could understand why Zarien had protested when Najdan had presented (and then harshly insisted upon) this plan. The family's attitude to the boy suggested he had some hideous, contagious disease that revolted them all.
Ronall had felt like the diseased, revolting one among his own family often enough to have tremendous sympathy for the boy; particularly since Zarien was blameless for the circumstances which had made him violate his people's rigid sea-bound traditions.
The boy's awkward misery now strengthened Ronall's determination. "Linyan!" he shouted. "Don't you think we'd be safer ashore?"
Najdan gave him an impatient look. "They don't ever go ashore."
"'We,'" Ronall clarified to Linyan, "meaning me, Zarien, and the assassin."
Linyan pointed landward, where burning boulders were flying out of the volcano, visible even at this distance. "With the destroyer goddess determined to kill every drylander in Sileria, what makes you think you'd be spared once you were ashore?"
"She seems likely to kill everyone at sea, too," Ronall argued. "At least on shore, we might be able to run away."
"And straight into the arms of the assassin hunting my grandson?"
"I thought he wasn't your grandson anymore?" Ronall snapped.
Linyan looked sad. "No, he's not. He can't be. He made his choice—"
"Choice? What choice? He was killed by a dragonfish, you bigoted old—"
"We are protecting him now!" Linyan's sea-drenched face blazed with defensive anger. "We have always protected our own when they are threatened by you people! When Zarien's mother—"
"Do you want praise for helping an innocent boy from your own family? Do you think that makes you—"
"This is our way!" Linyan shouted. "This has always been the way of the sea-bound!"
"Since the world seems to be coming to an end," Ronall shouted back, "maybe tonight would be a good time to change your ways!"
"This bickering is pointless!" Najdan barked at them both.
"I agree," Ronall said. "Let's take the boy ashore."
"No." Linyan shook his head. "We'll go farther out to sea."
"How much farther?" Ronall asked.
"We can probably ride out more earthquakes safely if we're well away from the shore," Linyan said.
"Probably?" Ronall repeated, far from satisfied. "Probably?"
"Survival on shore isn't a certainty right now, either," Najdan said, gazing at the distant volcano.
"If another earthquake came while we were trying to navigate through all those crippled boats and sailing so close to the rocks..." Linyan shook his head. "No, it's not safe, toren. Not right now. Not with the sea so violent tonight."
Ronall looked out across the black, roiling water. Many other boats were doing what Linyan advised. Beneath the impenetrable black of the ash-dark night sky, torches blazed on hundreds of boats as far as the eye could see, and virtually all the vessels which were still seaworthy were sailing away from shore, bobbing on the tormented waves.
"Why are they all here?" Ronall wondered. He turned to Linyan. "Why are you here?"
"We felt we must come," was the answer.
"Like the pilgrims at Darshon," Ronall said wearily. "Did Dar bring everyone here just to watch Her tear Herself apart?"
Najdan announced, "We'll go farther out to sea for now."
As the boat rose dramatically and then dropped sickeningly, Ronall wanted to vomit again, but his stomach was empty. He gave Najdan a pained look.
To his surprise, Najdan added, "I hate the sea, toren. I assure you I'll reconsider as soon as I deem it wise."
"Tansen! You're alive!"
"So are you," Tansen replied to the shallaheen who cheered this discovery. "Find out who's confirmed dead and who's missing, then organize two search parties to find the missing. Post new sentries. Then I'll need runners who can go round up reinforcements before we make our move against Verlon."
Tired, bloody, and relieved to be alive, Tansen automatically reeled off post-battle orders as he passed through the exhausted but exhilarated men with long, fast strides. He was heading back to the house where he'd left Mirabar before the battle had become wild with confusion from the earthquake, the aftershocks, and the avalanche. Mercifully, the deadly assault of rock a
nd debris had swept down a north-facing slope and fallen well away from the village. Even better, he'd just been informed that it had killed two waterlords who had been participating in the attack from a safe distance. That knowledge made Tansen feel tolerant about the dust which the event added to the ash-thick air.
It had been a long, difficult, chaotic battle, and it was very late now. Perhaps even close to dawn. He looked up as he approached the main square of Gamalan. If not for the lights from Darshon's summit, he suspected this would be the darkest night which had ever fallen upon Sileria. After a brief respite, ash once again fluttered thickly upon them now, reducing visibility, clogging the air, powdering everyone's hair, and dirtying their clothes.
Tansen passed the ancient village well and saw that Mirabar's fire was still blazing there. She'd need to douse it so the men could draw water. He approached the house where he'd left her, peering through the falling ash...
His heart stopped. The house was a collapsed heap of burning rubble now. "Mirabar!"
"Tansen, no!"
He fought the hands pulling at him as he tried to go to her, to the tumbled stone and mortar that hid her body. "No!"
"She's alive!" someone screamed at him. "Stop it! She's not in there!"
Panting hard and almost dizzy from the roaring of his own blood, Tansen tried to focus.
Faradar shouted right into his face, "She's not in there!"
He seized the maid's shoulders. "Where is she?"
"I don't know, but—"
He shook her. "Where is she?"
Someone hit him. "Stop it, Tansen!"
He removed his hands from Faradar and tried to pull himself together. "Where is she?" he asked more rationally.
"She escaped and went into the woods." Faradar pointed. "There." When he moved to follow, she said, "No! Wait!"
"What?" he snapped.
"Her vision—"
"She had a vision?"
Faradar nodded. "She told me to tell you the Beckoner was leading her to Torena Elelar."
"Now?"
"That's what she said." Faradar impatiently brushed dusty hair away from her smudged face. "I wanted to go with her, but she said the attackers wouldn't kill me—an unarmed woman—and so I had to stay behind to tell you where she'd gone."
"Where?"
Faradar again pointed. "Into the woods. In search of the torena."
"That's it?" Tansen demanded. "That's all you know?"
"It's all she knew." Faradar sounded upset and defensive. "And she was in quite a hurry."
Tansen again looked in the direction Faradar had pointed. Then he lifted his gaze higher, to where Darshon loomed in its fiery fury. "I'll have to track her."
"I'm coming with you," Faradar said.
"You won't be able to keep up."
"I'll keep up or die trying."
Tansen supposed he understood what Radyan saw in her, but he warned, "I'll leave you behind rather than slow down for you."
"Of course," she agreed. "But the torena will need me if she... if she..."
"Pack some supplies for us," Tansen said. "We may be going all the way to Darshon." He glanced at the burning well and added, "No wonder Mirabar forgot about that."
"We'll need torches," Faradar murmured.
"Yes. We'll leave as soon as I've given everyone their orders." With the Lironi alliance reestablished, the dreary remains of the village in shattered ruins, and the well now inaccessible, there was no reason for anyone to stay here. He'd order the clans to abandon Gamalan and rally with reinforcements elsewhere in the eastern mountains.
He accomplished his tasks quickly, his mind distracted with fear for Mirabar pursuing Cheylan alone in this dark war-torn terrain, and with dread for Zarien, probably still at sea during these earthquakes.
Tansen reminded himself that Najdan would give his life to keep Zarien safe. Besides, Zarien had a destiny which both Dar and Sharifar wanted fulfilled. Surely they wouldn't let the boy die now?
"I'm ready to leave, siran," Faradar said, rejoining him after she'd gathered supplies and prepared herself for a hard trek.
Tansen nodded, soon finished giving the men instructions, then took a torch and said to Faradar, "Show me exactly where she went into the woods."
What she showed him, in the flickering light of their torches, was not encouraging. Alone in the night, without food or water, Mirabar had headed up a steep, rocky path going west. His heart flooded with renewed fear as he wondered how far ahead of them she was.
Focus on the task at hand.
Once people moved into his heart, even a shatai had trouble keeping a cool head.
Zarien sat huddled on deck, soaking wet, miserable, and wishing he had never come back to sea. He wished Sharifar had simply let the dragonfish have him the night he died.
The secret his family had kept from him all his life was bad enough. The thought of telling it to Tansen, though...
I can't. I just can't.
He remembered the night he learned Tansen had betrayed Dulien.
"He was a waterlord, Zarien."
"But don't you... Doesn't..."
"They all have to die," Tansen said. "Or be driven out of Sileria."
Yes, Tansen wanted to kill all the waterlords. He didn't want any to remain alive in Sileria. Everyone knew that about him.
What'll I do?
He couldn't tell Tansen.
But how could he keep this a secret?
He couldn't. Not for long. He already knew that.
At first, he'd just been shocked. Stunned. Even convinced it was a mistake. A lie. A dream.
And now... Now he could think only about what Tansen would say, what Tansen would do.
Nobody hated waterlords the way Tansen did.
Zarien ignored Ronall, who tried to speak to him, and looked out across the violent sea where hundreds of torches blazed, tiny dots of glowing gold under the dark menace of the ash-filled sky.
He suddenly wished the sea would swallow him before he had to face Tansen again.
Mirabar was thirsty and exhausted, in no condition for this kind of trek by day, let alone by night.
The dark was clinging to the sky for such a long time. Would morning never come?
She stopped walking and sat on a fallen, drought-withered tree trunk.
Come.
"I need to rest," she insisted.
Fiery pain shot through her, an Otherworldly punishment for her weakness, her disobedience.
Only you can protect her.
"How much farther?" she asked wearily, rising to her feet.
You must come...
Hating Dar and the Beckoner with all her heart, Mirabar began plodding forward again. Her tormentor was little more than an elusive glowing figure far ahead of her, relentlessly leading her over ancient, rocky, quake-damaged goat paths, taking her west through the dark, treacherous mountains. Darshon loomed directly overhead; they were now very close to the sacred mountain's slopes. The dancing lights and colored clouds at its peak—even the noisy explosions of flaming rock and showering lava from the caldera—looked dim in the dirty air, though huge and terrifying from this perspective.
Surely the sky shouldn't still be dark? Mirabar had a good sense of the passage of time and felt disoriented by the never-ending night. It wasn't right. A faint, eerie glow in the thickly black sky east of here seemed to promise dawn—had seemed to promise it for some time now—but it still didn't come.
Ash flew into her eyes, stinging for a moment. Then she realized. "Morning won't come, will it?" she muttered. "That's not night covering the sky. That's ash and smoke and volcano dust."
The Beckoner didn't answer. Of course.
An eerie, obscure grayness spread slowly across the land as she continued her journey, but it was nothing like sunlight. Nothing like any day she had ever seen in her life. Visibility improved slightly, but not enough to make this trek notably less hazardous. Since starting out, she'd left occasional signs for Tansen to follow, hoping he would
try to track her. But now that she knew he wouldn't have sunlight to help him, she was afraid he might not see her markers.
She grew weak and light-headed, and the ever-present cool glow in her belly turned into an insistent throb.
"I have to have water," she told the Beckoner. "Now. I can't go on like this."
There is water.
"Where?"
Here...
"Where?" she demanded.
Glowing more faintly now, he led her off the path and over an enormous pile of jagged, tumbled rocks. She followed him into a narrow crevice with sheer stone walls so close together it was as if someone had sliced open a cliff but forgotten to push the two halves apart.
That was when she heard it: the faint, sweet music of running water. Her womb responded convulsively, startling her.
She entered a tiny clearing, covered in ash, which ended in a cliff face concealed by the crevice she had just come through.
The Beckoner floated over to a low, shadowed hole in this hidden wall, then disappeared, as if melting into the rock. Mirabar hesitated, then followed him by going through the hole in the rockface.
She entered a cave. A tunnel, really. Probably carved by old lava flows from Mount Darshon.
Mirabar stumbled on the uneven floor, unable to see anything in here except the Beckoner himself. She grew nervous as he drew her deeper and deeper into the oppressively dark, dank tunnel.
"This isn't safe," she said, thinking of the earthquakes. But he ignored her, and the distant sound of running water lured her onward, a temptation she couldn't resist, a necessity which was close to breaking her.
The tunnel split and divided into several other tunnels, which also split and divided. Mirabar blew torchlight into life at the entrance to every tunnel the Beckoner chose, knowing she'd never find her way back out without them if he, as was his custom, suddenly abandoned her.
Finally, when she was disoriented but fairly sure she was far inside the belly of a mountain, the faint and alluring trickle she'd been hearing turned into the promising babble of a stream flowing over rocks. Even as she heard it, the powerful life inside her womb reacted violently.
The Destroyer Goddess Page 41