Journey into the Void

by Margaret Weis

  Ulaf put his hands on the door, chanting the magic. He’d cast his spell by the time she paused for breath.

  “Sorry about your door,” he told her.

  Ulaf smashed apart the wood, leapt through the remnants.

  “Ulaf! Thank the gods!”

  “Is that you, my lord?” Ulaf asked uncertainly. The voice was so weak and altered that he barely recognized it. He couldn’t see anything in the pitch-dark room. “Are you all right? Wait—I’ll fetch a light.”

  He swung around to grab a lantern, found one thrust into his hands. The Grandmother stood right behind him.

  “Shouldn’t you be with Bashae?” Ulaf asked her.

  “Bashae wants to talk to him,” the Grandmother said firmly.

  “I’m not sure—” Ulaf began.

  “Bashae’s dying,” said the Grandmother, her voice creaking. “He wants to talk to Baron Shadamehr.”

  Ulaf did not know what to say, and so said nothing. Taking the lantern from her, he entered the storage room. He flashed the light around, searching among the crates and barrels, casks and bottles.

  “My lord?”

  “Here,” said Shadamehr.

  Ulaf followed the sound of his voice. He found Shadamehr resting against a wooden beam, Alise cradled in his arms.

  Ulaf gasped softly at the sight.

  The baron’s eyes were dark and shadowed, his cheeks sunken, his skin ashen. He glanced up at Ulaf, then looked back down at Alise, who lay limp and motionless in his arms. Her head rested on his breast, her vibrant red hair covered her face. She stirred suddenly, her body twitched and she cried out incoherent words. Shadamehr gently smoothed the rampant curls, murmuring softly, soothing her.

  Hastily Ulaf set down the lantern, knelt at the baron’s side. “My lord! What happened? Are you all right? What’s wrong with Alise?”

  In answer to his last question, Shadamehr wordlessly drew back her sweat-damp red hair. The lanternlight illuminated her face.

  The Grandmother sucked in a hissing breath.

  “Gods have mercy,” Ulaf whispered.

  “What’s ails her?” the Grandmother asked.

  “Void magic,” said Ulaf quietly. “The Void demands a toll of the person who uses it, although I’ve never seen anything this bad. She must have cast a powerful spell.”

  “She did,” said Shadamehr bitterly. “She gave her life in exchange for mine.”

  “I know the spell,” said Ulaf. “At least, I know of it.”

  “You can help her,” Shadamehr said. “You can heal her.”

  “I’m sorry—”

  “You have to!” Shadamehr cried harshly. He grabbed hold of Ulaf’s arm, squeezed it painfully. “You must, damn you! You can’t let her die!”

  “My lord, there’s nothing…I can’t…” Ulaf faltered. He sighed deeply. “There is nothing I can do. Nothing anyone can do, my lord. The gift of healing comes from the gods, and they will not bestow that gift on any who practices the magic of pain and destruction.”

  “Not even if it is used for good?” Shadamehr demanded angrily.

  “Not even then, my lord.”

  Alise cried out, her body twisted and writhed. Her fists clenched spasmodically.

  Shadamehr clasped her tightly, bent his head over her.

  “Baron Shadamehr?” Jessan’s urgent voice came from the door. “Bashae needs to talk to you.”

  “Not now!” Shadamehr said impatiently.

  “You should go to him. The pecwae is dying,” said Ulaf.

  Shadamehr stared at Ulaf, then over at Jessan, who shook his head in grim confirmation.

  “A Vrykyl,” Ulaf said. “There was a fight…”

  “Oh, gods!” Shadamehr said, closing his eyes. “What have I done?”

  “He saved the Sovereign Stone,” said Jessan, his voice gruff. “He is desperate to talk to you, my lord. Will you come?”

  Shadamehr looked down helplessly at Alise.

  “I will stay with her,” offered the Grandmother, adding bluntly, “I have said my good-byes to my grandson.”

  “Yes,” said Shadamehr, his heart wrenched with pain and pity. “I will come.”

  He laid Alise gently down on the floor and wrapped her warmly in her cloak. Painfully, he staggered to his feet. Ulaf saw the blood that covered Shadamehr’s shirt.

  “My lord, what—”

  “Not now!” Shadamehr gasped. He grimaced in pain. “Here, young man, give me your shoulder to lean on.”

  Jessan put his strong arm around the baron, aided his weak steps. Ulaf hurried around to the other side, and, between them, they helped Shadamehr from the storage room. Glancing behind, Ulaf saw that the Grandmother had her stones out and was placing them at various points over Alise’s shivering body.

  “Should I run for the healers?” Maudie asked, all in a twitter.

  “No!” said Ulaf sharply. “The last thing we need now are Temple magi poking about.”

  Alise was already considered an outlaw by the Church, for she had been an Inquisitor who had left the holy orders without bothering to tell anyone she was leaving. If they found out that she’d been using Void magic, they would immediately place her under arrest. They would heal her, but only to make certain she was well enough to face her executioner.

  “Are you sure?” Maudie persisted, staring at Shadamehr. “He looks to be in a bad way.”

  “Do you know what we need, Maudie?” said Ulaf. “Hot water. That’s what you can do. Go fetch some boiling water. We need lots of it. Buckets.”

  “Well…” said Maudie hesitantly.

  “Hurry, woman!” Ulaf ordered, his tone stern. “There’s no time to waste!”

  “I’ll just go put the kettle on.” She headed for the kitchen, and they could hear the banging and clattering of iron pots.

  Bashae lay on the floor in front of the fire. He appeared to be resting easy, no longer suffering. His face was smooth, free of pain. His skin was so pale as to be translucent, his eyes were clear. A single stone, a bright, glittering ruby, lay on his chest.

  Jessan eased Shadamehr down, so he could kneel on the floor beside the pecwae.

  “Ulaf,” said Shadamehr, “has everything been done for him?”

  “The Grandmother used her magic on him, my lord,” said Ulaf.

  “But is that enough? These folk remedies of hers—”

  “My lord, I am a child in magic, compared to the Grandmother,” said Ulaf. “His injuries are severe. He should have died of them instantly. The fact that he is still alive to speak to you is a testament to her skill and her faith.”

  “You have the Sovereign Stone?” Bashae asked Ulaf. “You have it safe?”

  He could not speak above a whisper, but his words were distinct, his tone, calm.

  “I do, Bashae,” said Ulaf. He drew out the knapsack, held it for the pecwae to see.

  Bashae’s gaze shifted to Shadamehr.

  “I asked you once before to take the Sovereign Stone, my lord. You said that the knight had given it to me and that I should keep it.” Bashae gave a little shrug. “I would, but I don’t think it would go with me to my sleep world. My sleep world is a very peaceful place. They won’t want it there.”

  “I will take the Sovereign Stone, Bashae,” said Shadamehr. He reached out for the knapsack, held it fast. “I will fulfill the knight’s quest. I should have done so in the first place. If I had—” He shook his head, unable to go on.

  “Come closer,” said Bashae, “and I will tell you the secret of the knapsack. It’s magical, you know.” Motioning Shadamehr near, Bashae whispered the secret that the knight had told him. “The Stone is hidden by magic. Speak the name of the knight’s wife, and you will see it. The name is ‘Adele.’”

  “I understand,” said Shadamehr. “And I am sorry that I did not take on this burden sooner,” he added remorsefully. “I might have spared you this.”

  “It was better that I had it,” said Bashae. “If you’d taken it with you, the Vrykyl in the palace w
ould have found it.”

  “That is true,” said Shadamehr. “I hadn’t thought of that.” He managed a wan smile. “You have done your part, Bashae. Go to your sleep world with the knowledge that you are a true hero.”

  “Jessan said that, too,” said Bashae, and his dimming eyes went to his friend. “Tell me again, Jessan.”

  “You will be buried in the mound with the Trevinici warriors,” said Jessan, who knelt at his friend’s side, held his frail hand in his strong one. “No other pecwae has ever been so honored.”

  Bashae gazed at him, never taking his eyes from him.

  “Your body will be carried by the bravest warriors in the village in a grand procession,” Jessan continued. “You will be laid to rest in a place of honor beside the knight, Lord Gustav.”

  “I like that. No other pecwae…ever so honored. Good-bye, Jessan,” Bashae whispered. “I’m glad you found your name. Defender. I’m sorry I made fun of it. It’s not very exciting—not like Ale Guzzler—but it suits you.”

  Jessan held his friend’s hand tightly. Drawing in a deep breath, he said, “Ever after, when a Trevinici warrior is in need, your spirit will rise to come do battle along with the spirits of the other heroes.”

  Bashae smiled. “I hope…I’m not in the way.”

  He gave a little sigh. His body stiffened, then relaxed. The hand that Jessan held went limp. The bright life drained from the pecwae’s eyes.

  Ulaf bent over the pecwae, listened for the beating of the heart, then gently passed his hand over the staring eyes.

  “Bashae is gone,” he said quietly.

  SHADAMEHR SLUMPED DOWN IN ONE OF THE CHAIRS, RESTED HIS head on his arms. He had another farewell to say, this one that would tear out his heart, leaving bleak emptiness, guilt, and bitter regret. Floundering in that dark water, he felt himself caught in a deadly riptide dragging him under. He lacked the energy to fight. It seemed easier simply to give up and let the dark water close over his head.

  He stared with envy at Bashae’s corpse, at the face smoothed of all pain and worry. Shadamehr longed to find that same blessed peace, but could not afford the luxury. He had made a promise to Alise, a promise to Bashae. He had the Sovereign Stone. The responsibility had been passed to him, and he had to decide what to do with it.

  The Council of Dominion Lords had been disbanded by order of the new Regent.

  That collection of doddering old fools wouldn’t be able to do anything anyway, Shadamehr thought, then reproached himself. He could not very well blame them for not bringing in fresh young blood. He had been offered the chance, and he had carelessly tossed it away.

  The Lord of the Void and his armies of fiendish taan were setting up camp outside the city of New Vinnengael. The king was a Vrykyl in a child’s body, a Vrykyl who had murdered both the king—a dear friend—and his innocent son in order to steal the throne. Shadamehr knew the truth, but how was he to convince anyone? He was a wanted man, who had dared lay hands on the young king. There was undoubtedly a death sentence on his head, for the Vrykyl would have sent out the order that he be slain on sight.

  And in just a few moments, he would have to bid good-bye to Alise—the woman he’d loved for years, the only woman he could ever love.

  “I don’t have the strength,” he said despondently. “I can’t do it. Bashae…Alise, you put your trust in the wrong person. You’ve paid for it with your lives. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know where to go….”

  “Shadamehr!”

  He reared up his head, opened his eyes. Ulaf stood beside him, shaking his arm.

  “I’m sorry to wake you,” he began.

  “I wasn’t asleep,” said Shadamehr.

  “My lord,” said Ulaf, “it’s Alise.”

  Shadamehr blenched. He had to be strong. He owed her that much. “Is it time?” he asked.

  “I think you should come,” Ulaf answered quietly.

  Shadamehr pushed himself up from the table. He refused Ulaf’s help, made his way on his own. He was growing stronger. The horrors of the Void remained, floating atop the dark water with the rest of the wreckage of his life, but his body’s strength was returning. He entered the storage room, noticing, as he did so, that Ulaf hung back.

  Making his way among the barrels and crates to where he’d left Alise, he saw a very strange sight.

  Alise seemed to have been swallowed by a circus tent.

  Spread over her shoulders and torso was a mass of gaily colored cloth decorated with stones and bells. Shadamehr had some vague recollection of having seen this before and then, looking at the Grandmother, he remembered. The Grandmother had removed her bell-ringing, stone-clicking skirt and draped it over Alise’s body.

  Shadamehr wondered if it was some pecwae ritual for the dead or if the Grandmother had gone mad, her mind overthrown by the death of her grandson. Holding fast to his own sanity with both hands, Shadamehr didn’t think he could cope with this.

  He could not see Alise’s face, which was shrouded with her own shimmering hair. She was no longer in pain. Her body was relaxed, the limbs still and calm. It seemed that she slumbered, and he was thankful that he would be able to remember her this way.

  He knelt down beside her. Lifting her hand, he brought it to his lips. “Farewell, my love—”

  The Grandmother reached out, drew Alise’s disheveled hair back from her face.

  Shadamehr gasped.

  Alise’s face was smooth, unscarred. At the Grandmother’s touch, Alise opened her eyes. Seeing Shadamehr, she smiled drowsily, then closed her eyes and sank back into sleep.

  “You did this!” he exclaimed, staring at the Grandmother, whose nut-wrinkled face was suddenly the most beautiful face in all of Loerem.

  The Grandmother shook her head and shrugged. “Perhaps I helped. But the gods did the work.” She sighed, then looked up to ask quietly, “Bashae?”

  “He has gone, Grandmother. I am so sorry.” Shadamehr exhibited the knapsack. “He gave me the Sovereign Stone. I will see to it that his quest is fulfilled. I made him that promise.”

  She nodded and fussed about with the skirt, smoothing the folds, rearranging some of the stones. She was clad only in a chemise that was frayed and worn. The bells of the skirt jingled faintly.

  “She will sleep a long time,” said the Grandmother. “When she wakes, she will be good as ever.” She looked back at Shadamehr, bright eyes glittering in the lanternlight. “She loves you very much.”

  “And I love her,” said Shadamehr, keeping hold of Alise’s hand, as if he would never let go.

  The Grandmother held up two clenched fists. “Two lodestones,” she said. “They both have powerful attraction, but put them together and what happens?” The two fists bounced apart. “The gods mean them always to be separate.”

  “I’ve never had much use for the gods,” said Shadamehr. He ran his hand through Alise’s sweat-damp curls.

  “You should.” The Grandmother grunted. With a deft movement, she plucked the skirt off Alise and slid it back on, dropping it down over her head. She gave a wriggle, and the skirt settled atop her bony hips, fell in folds around her legs, bells clanging wildly. “The gods brought her back.”

  “But the gods didn’t bring back Bashae,” said Shadamehr. “You asked the gods to heal him, and they refused.”

  The Grandmother said nothing. Her hands darted to her face, made a swipe at her eyes.

  “Why aren’t you angry about that?” Shadamehr demanded. “The gods saved this woman, a stranger to you, and they took Bashae, your grandson. Why don’t you rage and shout, scream at them until your voice stuns the heavens?”

  “I miss him,” she said simply. Her face told of her grief and anguish, but her voice was calm, almost serene. “I have buried all my children and many of my grandchildren. Bashae was my favorite of them all. He was so young, his life barely started. That was why I asked the gods to bring him back. I even asked them to take me instead. I had thought I was to be the one to die on this journey. Here
, in my sleep city. But”—she shrugged, and the bells rang softly—“the gods decided otherwise.

  “A newborn baby screams and cries when it comes into this world. It wails on seeing the light. If you gave the babe a choice, he would go back into the warm, safe darkness. Yet, we say that life is a gift.” The Grandmother shook her head. “Perhaps death is a greater gift. Like that baby, we are afraid to leave what we know.”

  Shadamehr said nothing, for he did not want to argue with her. In his opinion, the gods—if there were gods—were capricious and callous, acting on whim.

  The Grandmother smacked him on the forehead with the palm of her hand.

  “What was that for?” Shadamehr asked, startled.

  “You are a spoiled child, Baron Shadamehr,” said the Grandmother sternly. “You have been given everything you want, and yet you roll around in the dirt shrieking and wailing and kicking your heels for more. I don’t know why the gods put up with you.”

  She shoved past him, her stones clicking and bells jangling. Pausing at the door to the storage room, she looked back at him. “They must love you very much.”

  Shadamehr had his doubts about that, and, for the moment, he didn’t care. The gods loved Alise, as he did, and that was all he needed to know. He lifted her in his arms, held her close, reveling in the renewed warmth that flowed through her body.

  “My lord,” said Ulaf, coming to crouch down beside him. “We must—”

  “She’s going to live!” said Shadamehr, hugging Alise close.

  She murmured in her sleep and nestled near him—an action she would never have taken if she were conscious.