Bannor rubbed his eyes. His vision cleared slightly. Strange as this woman was, she did appear sincere, and he needed help. All his equipment and weapons were locked away in town.
“Slowly this time, as if this were a normal conversation. I’m Bannor and you are—?”
Wren half smiled. “I’m Wren Kergatha, this is Irodee De’Falcone. We’ve been looking for you. We would have stopped them before they hung you, but Irodee insisted on following me into the jailhouse.” She glanced at the bigger woman. “It took a while to dislodge her posterior from the window.”
Irodee reddened. “Not Irodee’s fault!”
“Later.”
He sat down on the rock as another wave of dizziness hit. “What—why were you there?”
“Getting your equipment.”
Irodee removed a pack and pulled out his traveling items and his hand-axes.
Wren frowned. “Are you all right?”
He put a hand to his head. “Don’t know—I feel—” He tried to continue, but his throat constricted. Dots danced in his vision. His stomach tightened. “Odin, I—”
He sensed Wren and Irodee lowering him to the ground. The view of the forest canted to one side. His heart thundered. Wren’s words distorted, some distinct, others lost in confusion of sound.
“Bannor … backlash … awake…” He felt himself being shaken. Her warm hands pressed against his brow. So strange. I escape the noose, only to die like this. Poor Sarai, I tried—Odin knows, I tried…
A voice rang in his head. He didn’t hear it with his ears so much as feel it. Bannor! The word hummed through him. The Nola is backlashing on you. You have to stay awake! Each utterance came through clear and concise with no slur or accent, too powerful to have issued from human lungs.
Bannor!
Blackness pushed at the edges of his mind’s eye. He saw visions of Sarai’s misty lavender eyes staring into his, the kitten-soft touch of her fingers on his cheek, her breathy elven accent giving grace to guttural human speech. Images of her suffering made him burn like fire.
A sharp pain coursed through the darkness. He experienced a strange duality. The real world, wrapped in a blanket of shimmering colors, the silhouettes of the two women moving around him, their probing fingers a distant tingling. The dreamy illusions swayed and danced like shadows cast from a campfire.
Sorry, Bannor, this is a bit intimate for a stranger, but I need you alive. He felt the words more strongly. A single bright pattern blotted out everything. It pulsed with life, not his but another’s. It swelled until he felt he would burst trying to contain it.
He felt a sharp twisting sensation, and the light vanished. Thoughts—not his own—female. Ishtar, it’s hard enough doing it to myself. He felt a curious warmth spread through him. Come on—respond!
He wanted to rage at her, to demand to know what was happening. Why couldn’t he see? Where had his voice gone?
Sparks flared like traces dislodged by a blacksmith’s hammer striking a molten ingot. Again.
Damn, he’s stubborn. A sharp prickling sensation, then a cascade of flashes.
Everything turned white.
* * *
The worst part of immortality is not boredom. There is always something new to entertain.
No, what makes immortality difficult, is a lack of goals to aspire to.
You can’t kill your chief rivals, they just keep reforming.
Conquering territory and mastering space holds the interest for a few millennia, but even that gets dry after a while. For an immortal to feel true satisfaction, someone is going to have to change the rules. Someday, I shall be that one.
—From the Dedriad, ‘musings of an immortal’.
Chapter Two
« ^ »
Bannor awoke with a start, realizing he was staring into a campfire. He sat up and pushed the blanket into his lap. His temples and stomach ached. His neck felt stiff, and he found it difficult to move without pain.
He rubbed his eyes and looked around. Stars sparkled through ragged holes in the canopy of clouds. The gurgle of a brook nearby accompanied the chirping of night insects. Brisk air brought the scents of burning heatherwood and cooked meat. The need to find Sarai didn’t feel as urgent as before. We’re on our way. Why do I know that?
Irodee sat across from him leaning against a boulder, her ebony hair loose and spilling into her lap. Wren lay next to her, a cloak pulled over her shoulders. The blonde woman’s face looked pale in the orange light. Irodee poked the fire with a branch, the flames reflecting in her dark eyes. The women must have carried him some distance because the trees ringing the grassy clearing were whitebarks and not needleleaf. The only groves of that breed lay a league south of Blackwater.
“Drink.” Irodee handed a clay cup across the fire.
Bannor took it mechanically. As his head cleared, all his senses became sharp and distinct. The cup felt warm, its surface worn and dusty. Steam curled out, carrying the scent of an herbal broth.
He sipped the sweet brew. It tasted of bird-meat and seasonings he assumed were medicinal. After a few more sips, his curiosity about what had happened began to nag. It appeared Irodee wouldn’t provide an answer without prompting. Brushing her hair, she only watched him. Even sitting, she cut an imposing silhouette.
“What happened to me?”
She threw some twigs in the fire. “Wren calls it backlash.”
Bannor watched the slivers of wood contort in the flames, popping and sputtering. “What do you call it?”
“A league’s worth of heavy toting.”
He sighed. Backlash? Backlash from what?
Wren rolled over. Irodee rubbed the woman’s shoulder.
“Wren said you two were looking for me. Why?”
Irodee frowned and threw some more wood into the flames. “Avatar’s servants planned to slave you. We stop them.”
Bannor digested that. Slave? But the slavers took Sarai, not him. What kind of sense did that make? Sarai had told him stories describing the avatars as harbingers of chaos. Why would an avatar want him, as a slave, or otherwise? Until recently, his life had been placid. Five winters ago he’d taken a position with Baron’s scouting corps. He patrolled South Realm’s border valleys to protect the kingdom from vermin like the orcs and goblins. There’d been scuffles and their inevitable scars, but nothing remarkable except for meeting Sarai. That remained a treasured moment.
It brought him back to his original thought. Why would an avatar want him? There must be some reason—and probably a good one. What did Wren and Irodee get out of it?
“Why would this avatar want to enslave me?”
Irodee made a disgusted sound. “Slavery is slavery. You not want to be avatar’s slave, right?”
He shook his head. “But … why?”
“Who cares? Slavery wrong, we stop it. See?”
Bannor saw. The Myrmigyne’s answer was more evasion than solution. Wren must know why the avatars wanted him. It would be a good reason to compel these two to interfere. From the tiny bit he saw of the blonde woman, she was not the type to run around the countryside bestowing random acts of kindness.
“Bannor should sleep. Long run tomorrow before we get horses. Irodee not carry you this time.” Bannor sighed. Perhaps Wren would give him a better explanation. I hope Sarai is all right. Wish I could find out, tell her I’m alive. She must think I’m dead…
He thought it would be hard to fall asleep, but a wave of exhaustion hit him. By the time he’d adjusted his bedroll and made a pillow from a pack and some clothes, his eyelids felt leaden.
A few long breaths and a last glance into the dark serenity of Irodee’s eyes and consciousness faded…
Drifting. Bannor felt an irresistible tugging. Dragged upward, he soared away from the ground. A powerful force propelled him across the sky. He climbed through mists and emerged in an indigo sky dappled with stars.
He noted that all his sensations were muted and distant. He felt the wind chilling his face
as he flashed out over a sea of knotted gray fleece, but the sensation was peculiar-unreal. He marveled at pillars of clouds that rose to support the arch of the heavens. Even the way he saw things seemed fuzzy and less distinct. His heart pounded, but the sensation registered as though not in his body at all.
Dreaming, he told himself. Drawn toward the valley between the rocky fangs of the Marin spur, he descended. Snow crowned the highest outcrops and fog shrouded them in a gauzy cloak. He saw a line of fires at the base of the pass.
He was being sucked toward the flickering lights like a bug caught in a whirlpool. The rocky pass grew, then the details of a long caravan narrowing to a single wagon in their midst. It became dark and the sense of momentum stopped. He tingled all over.
As his vision adjusted, he determined he must now be inside a wagon. A slice of firelight between segments of the tarp gave a sketchy view of the cramped interior cordoned off by rows of metal bars. The malodor of mildew and spoiled straw smelled oddly weak, as if the sense had to travel leagues to reach his brain. In the corner, a single figure lay hugging itself and sobbing softly.
His distant insides tightened and his heart stopped. Sarai! It no longer mattered whether this was a dream or not. Straw blew away to either side as he rushed to her. “Sarai!”
The elf’s lavender eyes went wide, glowing in the darkness. Her mouth opened in a shriek.
“No-No! Sarai, it’s me, Bannor!” He tried to smother her cries with his body. Hugging Sarai’s shuddering form, her skin felt like ice. The woman’s tattered tunic and dress fluttered as though caught in a gale. Her silver hair fanned outward as if she floated underwater.
“Bannor?” Her voice trembled.
“It’s me.” His far away heart thundered. He stroked Sarai’s hair, and sparks danced down the strands like tiny glowbugs. Dipping his face into the curve of her neck, he breathed in her unique fragrance. Her pale flesh glowed as though lit by candles. “I don’t know how, but I’m here. I escaped, and now I’ll free you.”
“It is you! I can tell. Why can’t I see you?”
See me? “I’m right here.” He kissed Sarai, crushing her soft body to his. Since their separation, he’d longed to hold his beloved again.
Sarai’s lithe body shone in the darkness like a beacon. Gasping, she pushed him back. “What’s happening? It’s like I’m full of light!” She held out a glowing hand. Probing, her downy fingers found his face. “My One, you feel as if you’re made of mist. I can’t see you.”
Bannor looked at himself. He saw only a faint outline as if he’d become a chalk drawing. He contained his amazement. “I’ll get you out of here.” Pulling away, he went to the bars. Straw swirled out of his path. Braced, he might be able to snap the thin rusty iron. He gripped the metal. Molten pain shot through his arms.
He snatched his hands back. Red glows throbbed where his palms should be. “Damn!” Dust and splinters of wood spiraled as though caught in whirlwind. He threw himself at the bars.
Agony ripped through him. Bannor hit the frosty ground beside the wagon howling. Dirt, snow and gravel flew all directions, campfires flickered out, and caravan guards screamed warnings. Two men sitting by a nearby fire stiffened and fell over as if turned to stone.
Odin’s beard! I’m a ghost! He righted himself. Sarai yelled his name. Without thinking, he dove back into the wagon. He felt the same excruciating shock as the cold iron tried to suck the life out of him. He held back a curse. The effort made him dizzy.
Bannor swept his betrothed into his arms and comforted her. How could he tell Sarai he’d become a spirit?
Somehow he’d died and now wandered the world as nothing more than a bodiless presence.
A female voice interrupted their embrace. “That’s enough, Bannor. We’ll get her loose soon. We need to leave before we both get killed.”
Sarai yelped. Bannor turned. A red outline shaped like a huge bird of prey hovered nearby. The voice sounded familiar. “Who are you?”
The entity sighed. “It’s Wren. This is simply how I choose to have my astral shape look. Kiss her good-bye. We can’t help Sarai like this.”
“I don’t—”
“Do it!” Flames curled around the image and the debris on the floor smoldered. “The avatars can find us in this state.”
He sensed the urgency in her voice. He kissed Sarai not wanting to part. “I’ll come for you—I promise…”
“Come on.” Something gripped his arm and dragged him skyward. He braced for the searing pain but none came. Clouds whipped past. Wren moved them much faster than when he went on his own. “Passing through iron or silver is deadly while in this state. The lords only know how you survived. Do us both a favor. Don’t do it again!”
He felt silly nodding, not knowing whether she was looking at him. “Yes. What—how—?”
Wren growled. “You’re asking me? It took my mother two seasons to teach me to travel astrally.” They paused high over the sea of clouds. She seemed to be looking around. “Imagine my surprise; I wake up to check you out, and there’s nobody home. Have to get your talent under control before one of your hot-flashes hurts somebody.”
Talent? Could that be what the avatar wanted? “How did you find me?”
Wren snorted and white streaks shot through her outline. “I’m not stupid. Where else would you go?” She kept scanning the heavens. He assumed what she looked for couldn’t be seen in the skies around them.
The pause concerned him. “Why have we stopped?”
“If the avatars detected us I don’t want to lead them to our bodies.”
Bannor strained to grasp what this all meant. “Then we’re not physically here. What I’m seeing is … what?”
“A mental picture; a projection. Because of who we are, our astral-presence is tangible in the real world.”
A sinking feeling hit Bannor. “And probably easily detected.”
The bird image burned brighter. “Exactly.”
She tugged on him again. The sky around them shimmered like a rainbow. The clouds and stars faded to become a gray realm marred by rips of obsidian dotted with colored lights. Odd-shaped islands drifted by like ocean-bound flotsam. Nebulous areas of dark gray boiled in the distance. Occasionally, a bright streak illuminated the roiling masses.
Bannor could see himself again. His skin glowed and he wore his best battle-skins and boots. The war-bow Sarai had made for him rode on his shoulder and his axes lay in their sheaths. Here, Wren appeared as an exotic hawk with flames for feathers and talons of winking diamond.
He struggled to cope with the new environment. In the skies of Titaan, he possessed no body, but he could smell the storm’s aftermath, hear the whistle of frosty night air. Here his form was substance without feeling: no sounds, smells, not even the taste of moisture on his lips.
“I want you to see what’s after you and Sarai. This will keep us from being observed.” She fanned her wings over him. It felt as if a hot desert wind blew in his face. A blue radiance licked around his body.
“What is this place?” He pointed at the rolling chaos in the distance.
“This is the astral realm. Those are ether cyclones. Get caught in one of those and you might never find your body again.”
Bannor’s mind reeled. “Are you sure we’re not dreaming?”
The bird’s eyes gleamed. “I wish we were. Let’s go.” She soared away, pulling Bannor along.
The realm contorted around them. Isles and clouds of matter buzzed past at a phenomenal speed. She slowed, circling and entering an area suffused by a black radiance.
A single titanic figure surrounded by a squirming sea of smaller creatures filled the shadowy zone. An ebony snake with a hood large enough to cast a city into darkness undulated slowly across the astral-scape. Its eyes burned, and its mouth hung agape. Tree-sized fangs dripped green liquid. In each of its scales Bannor saw the images of people in torment. As they watched, the monster struck down into the massed beings around it and came away with a squ
irming bounty of screaming creatures.
Bannor felt his guts churn as the snake masticated its prey and the shrieking dwindled. A new row of scales appeared around the giant entity’s neck, each plate now filled with a writhing victim.
“By Odin, what is that thing?” It felt as if icy hands gripped his insides.
Wren’s bird form dimmed. Her voice sounded hard. “That is the astral presence of Hecate. That is what is after you, Bannor. That mob around her is servants searching for you.”
“Why would that thing want me?”
Her voice dropped. “Your power, Bannor. She wants to absorb you and use your talent to aid her in the conquest of souls.”
The way Wren stressed the word ‘absorb’ made him shudder. By her tone, he guessed she’d once been at the mercy of that monster. “What talent? I’m a woodsman, a border guardian. I’m no mage!”
“You are a savant. Your ability kept you alive at the gallows and took you to Sarai. I’m sure it’s worked other times you’re not aware of. The fact is, you have a power that we can’t let her control.”
“What power?”
Wren countered with a question. “You want Sarai free?”
“Of course!”
“You’ll do what I tell you?”
“How do I know you’re not as bad as she is?”
“Bannor, look at that. I couldn’t be that bad if I tried!”
His mind whirled. The nightmarish apparitions of Hecate loomed behind Wren. If she was telling the truth, these creatures were arrayed against him. He couldn’t protect Sarai from them. He barely escaped from those three ruffians. Wren knew the enemy. She knew about his talent and how to use it. If she was an enemy, he could always rebel against her later. He would need someone like Irodee to help him get Sarai away from those slavers.
“Guess I’ll have to trust you for now.”
The bird bowed, sparks of yellow dancing through its plumage. “Cautious. That’s fair. You’ve seen enough, they probably wouldn’t probe this close to home, but no sense taking chances.” Bannor felt himself pulled back the way they’d come.
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