So many rules. He couldn’t breathe. Each breath, every heartbeat threatened to throw some vital balance out of sync.
Bannor sank to his knees. Even though the Garmtur’s power flashed and sizzled through his body, he felt weak. A throbbing pounded in his temples worse than ever.
Wren crawled out of the water coughing. “About Ishtar-damned time,” she wheezed, rubbing her neck.
He felt frozen and isolated. No one should have the burden of this incredible power. It felt as if he’d stopped breathing. How could he go on living, knowing this horrible immensity lurked inside of him?
The savant’s eyes were on him. “What’s the matter, Bannor? You did it.”
Bannor held his arms up so that he could see Wren framed between them. He let out his breath slow and careful. “Wren, I can see myself.”
* * *
There was once a time when I looked in a mirror and thought myself so ugly that I despaired. My vanity became so focused that I spent more than a dozen cycles shaping and refining the appearance of my physical form until even my eyes were pleased with the perfection I had wrought.
It was then I realized that despite the fact that my semblance pleased my eyes, I still hated what I was…
—From the Dedriad, ‘musings of an immortal’.
Chapter Thirty-Three
« ^ »
Bannor knelt in the grass a few paces from the pond. He didn’t know how much time passed, or even if time continued to move. He sensed Wren and Sarai staring at him. For the moment, they didn’t matter. His body felt like a bowstring, his muscles achingly taut. It seemed as if the forces of the universe had wrapped him in a cocoon.
Bannor’s heart labored and his stomach churned. With a single tug on a tracery he had destroyed Nystruul the avatar. In the instant of the evil creature’s destruction Bannor had felt subtle balances shift, vital lines of cosmic symmetry attenuating; ready to snap. The house of cards had vibrated but held.
One instant away from total annihilation. His mind whirled back over the dozens of times he’d thoughtlessly just wished for something.
A fist twisted in his gut. He wanted to be ill.
When Wren told him about his Nola, he’d unconsciously clung to the idea that power was freedom, the ability to do greater and grander things. He saw his foolishness now with a frightening clarity. No greater millstone could have been put around any man’s neck. Best that he rip out his own Nola to save the lives of countless others.
Rules, so many rules.
To do that would be like trying to light a room with darkness. To remove the Nola, he needed to use it. As the power dissipated, its ability to neutralize itself would fade. Possibilities flickered through his consciousness. He saw the energy dividing repeatedly, growing smaller and smaller but never actually becoming zero.
What did infinity divided infinitely equal?
Wren’s voice shattered his concentration. “It’s a paradox, Bannor. It has no answer.”
He blinked and stared at Wren. The air around her glowed and shifted, patterns in the wind, the life forces of trees, animals, and insects. Everywhere he looked—traceries. Wren looked wet and bedraggled. A bright spider web of lines connected her to the sky and ground. She still glowed with that strange white light. Her intense blue eyes drilled through him.
Bannor clenched his fists and looked away. He glanced at Sarai who stared at him with bright lavender eyes. His mate smiled. In his new sight, she was more beautiful than ever. Delicate filigrees of dazzling silver connected her to the stone. It permeated her body, looking how he would imagine strains of music would appear if they were visible. He wanted to touch Sarai but couldn’t without disturbing a balance. What if it was the wrong one?
His hands shook. “You almost killed us all, Wren. The chance you took…”
Wren snorted and rolled her eyes. “Oh, now he wakes up.” She shook her head. “I’ve been having panic attacks for a tenday trying to get you to understand!” She reached for his shoulder. “Now, maybe we—”
“Don’t touch me,” he snapped. “I understand—okay?”
She froze, hand hovering over his arm. “What’s wrong?”
“Wrong? Don’t you know? You talked me into opening this damned window of yours—” He stopped himself. As his emotions rose, he saw lines growing hot, parities shifting. He closed his eyes and swallowed. “It’s open, Wren, all the damned way. Blasted lines are everywhere. I can’t even—” He forced his voice to a whisper. “I can’t even move. Everything feels ready to fly apart.”
Wren’s eyes widened. She spread her fingers and made a staying gesture. “Whoa, Bannor, ease down.”
He gritted his teeth. Even talking put a perceivable stress on the environment. “That’s what I’m trying to do. I got rid of Nystruul. Now, I’m trying to keep us from joining him in the hereafter.”
Sarai looked at Bannor. “Mine.” She reached out.
“Don’t touch him.” Wren stepped over and grabbed Sarai’s hand. “Wait.”
Sarai frowned, but obeyed.
Wren spoke slowly. “Listen carefully, Bannor.”
He simply stared; there was nothing else to do.
“You’ve gone too deep into your control tracery. You have to pull back.”
Even though he felt like screaming, he kept his voice low. “Wren, climbing a tree is easy. It’s coming down that’s hard.” He swallowed. “Can’t blasted see where you’re going.” Bannor held his breath. “Tallest damned tree I’ve ever shinnied up. Don’t think we want to find out what’ll happen if I fall off.”
“No, we don’t,” she replied, then shivered. “Calm. Close your eyes and think of your tracery again.”
“That’s how I got into this mess!”
“Bannor,” she gritted, eyes narrowed. “This is not a good time to argue with me.”
“Tracery,” he muttered. He imaged the pulsing symbol for his self in his mind. The key to the lock of his Nola. If only he’d never found it. “Got it.”
“We’re going to shrink it, Bannor. Imagine it getting farther and farther away.” She swallowed. “Gently, not too fast. Compress it. Push it down. Feel the power subsiding, dwindling in the distance.”
He pushed against the Nola in his mind. The power resisted like a creature that didn’t want to be caged.
“It won’t go, damn it. It’s not working!”
Wren wiped a now sweaty brow. “Bannor, be easy. Go slow, one step at a time.” She took a breath. When she spoke again her voice was level and firm. “I won’t come in your head and fix it this time. You have to do this for yourself. Listen carefully.”
He nodded. Even that small movement seemed too much.
“Bannor, I want you shut out everything except what I’m telling you, all right? Focus on what I tell you. Imagine your tracery again. Nod when you have it.”
Bannor concentrated on slowing his heart. Blocking out the dizziness, he closed his eyes and imagined blackness, listening only to the soothing lilt of Wren’s voice. He formed the pattern in his mind and nodded his readiness.
“Good.” Bannor sensed Wren marshalling her composure. More than anybody, she knew what would happen if he lost control of the Garmtur. “Relax as much as possible. Focus your attention inward. The battle is entirely inside you. Your Nola is incredibly alive. It’s a mean little brat and it likes to play tricks. You must be stronger than it is. I want you to imagine a pair of strong hands and a box. When I tell you, you’re going use those hands to shove the pattern into the box. Nod when you’re ready to continue.”
Bannor put the images in his mind. Hands sheathed in mail. Blocky fingers able to crush and tear if need be. He refused to be controlled by Wren, Sarai, and especially by his own power.
He indicated readiness.
“Good, take a deep breath, like you were preparing to lift a big weight.”
The cool air burned in his chest. His insides tingled. He poised himself.
“Ready.”
“Keep th
e picture focused. I’m with you. Stay strong. I’ve seen it happen to other savants. It’s only a matter of getting closure.” She paused. “I’m going to count backward from three. Each step, push harder. On zero, I want that Nola in a box and locked down. Hear me?”
He nodded. Bannor envisioned the armored hands wrapped around the tracery of his Nola. This would be the hardest struggle of his life.
“Three,” Wren said.
Bannor clamped down, imagining gauntlets squeezing hard on his slippery Nola. It writhed under his grasp, trying to wriggle between his mental fingers.
An ache stabbed in his temple.
He ignored it and pushed harder.
Bannor gritted his teeth. The pain grew worse as the Nola resisted his efforts to compress it. He took quick breaths and heaved harder. The tracery shrank. So slow, could he keep up the pressure long enough?
“Two.”
Half way there now. A throbbing pounded in his temples. His heart labored. He clenched his fists. The Nola twisted in his mental grip as if trying to brace against the last little bit of squeeze.
“Almost there, Bannor,” Wren said. “I can feel it. Keep going, don’t give up.”
His mind burned like his chest did on marathon run. The pain made it harder to concentrate. He felt himself slipping. The Nola shoved back feeling as if it would expand to twice its previous size if he let go. Have to do it. I let loose now, no telling what will happen.
He formed a fist and gripped it with the other hand. His arms shook. It was like a game of mercy. Two men struggling with their fingers laced, trying to bend the other’s wrists back and make them give in.
“One.”
Bannor spoke through gritted teeth. “It’s not going, Wren!”
Wren gripped his face, her eyes burning into his. “What’s the matter, Sproutboy, can’t tie your own boots without me?”
His brother’s nickname on her lips was like a slap in the face. Wren had looked in his memories! She lied about not touching his private thoughts! Damn her. Damn the avatars for putting him in this situation.
Angry heat seared through Bannor. He shoved with all his strength. Imagining his fingers wrapped around Nystruul’s throat; squeezing the non-life from the creature that had caused them so much fear and pain.
The Garmtur shuddered under his burst of anger. It began giving ground. Already the short burst of strength waned. He put his remaining strength into an all or nothing effort. Either it worked or his Garmtur would break free and do whatever havoc it might.
Massing all of his emotions and letting them explode into a single concerted attack, Bannor slammed all of his will against the stubborn Nola. The assault drove it back.
It reeled at the edge of Bannor’s mental cage, clinging like a man holding on in a gale. It tried to claw out again but Bannor gave one last shout of effort.
The Garmtur vanished within.
He clamped the lid down tight and fell to his knees.
The world turned shades of brown and gray. He became aware of Wren stroking his brow. She spoke, but he didn’t hear the words, only the thunder of his heart in his ears.
It took a while to catch his breath. Sarai clutched his arm, looking frightened. He guessed even in her fuzzy state of mind she had sensed the tremendous danger they’d been in.
“Odin,” he gasped. “It—it almost—didn’t work.”
“It’s like breaking a horse,” Wren told him. “It’s hardest the first time.”
“First time?” He groaned. “Wren, I don’t want there to be a second time!” He shuddered thinking of the disaster he’d averted.
“What, Bannor, you expect us to walk off this planet?”
His voice had a raw edge. “I can’t do it. You know I can’t.”
Wren sighed. “Later, Bannor, calm down.” She patted his shoulder. “We’re not in that big of a hurry. You just dealt Hecate a severe blow.” She glanced to the pile of dust that was Nystruul’s remains. “Two decades of fighting, I never just squished an avatar like that. They’ll consider carefully before sending another one.”
“I don’t think I could do that again.”
Wren’s features hardened. She flicked a strand of damp hair out of her face. “They don’t know that. As far as those bastards are concerned we let them think you can do it a dozen times a day—and will, if they keep bothering you.”
Bannor closed his eyes. He felt so weary. He could feel Sarai’s cheek pressed against his arm. “Wren, what do we do now?”
“Getting clean and warm might be a start.”
“I don’t mean—”
“Bannor, let’s not try to solve all our problems at once.” He opened his eyes and watched as Wren stood, put her hands behind her back, and started pacing. “We have a lot to deal with here. There’s finding a way home, there’s Irodee and Laramis who no doubt are frantically searching for us, your Nola being more out of control than I ever imagined, Sarai isn’t herself anymore and—” she stopped and fixed him with glare and gestured to herself with a glowing hand. “Let’s not forget the little halo you gave me back on the beach. Now, I can get a job being someone’s night lamp.” She made an angry gesture toward the sky. Wren turned her back and looked at the little pond. “Those are only the problems I can think of this instant. Give me time; I’ll come up with more. So, we’ll take them slow in the most convenient order. Okay?”
Bannor nodded at put an arm around Sarai. His mate stared at Wren as if the glowing savant scared her.
“Wren?”
“Yeah?”
“Can we get out of this? I mean get to someplace safe and have a normal life again?”
The savant snorted. “That’s the trick Bannor, isn’t it? Life can be real finicky that way.” She sighed, her shoulders heaving. “Who’s to say what’s normal anymore?”
* * *
Despair is an emotion that many immortals will not admit to experiencing.
Of course, few of us will admit to having tried to commit suicide either.
Imagine having the power to do almost anything, but two of those things are dying and getting the attention of the creatures that gave you life…
—From the Dedriad, ‘musings of an immortal’.
Chapter Thirty-Four
« ^ »
Bannor sat in the doorway—his arms wrapped around his knees, staring toward the pond. The morning sun shone gold reflections on the ripples left by stub-beaks bobbing in the shallows. Sarai’s powers had erected their cone-shaped structure in a matter of moments. Inside was a place for a fire pit and a hole in the ceiling to vent the smoke.
They’d spent the night hungry because neither he nor Wren felt lively enough to go hunting without the benefit of a bow. Sarai appeared to need neither sleep nor food. While she still seemed to understand their instructions, she refused to travel more than a few dozen paces from him.
In a way, Bannor was glad. What if she ran off? Sarai had become animal-like in her simplicity. It frightened him. What if she stayed this way forever?
His head still throbbed from his efforts of the afternoon before. Total exhaustion had made him sleep through the late afternoon until daybreak. Apparently, whatever ordeal Wren had faced drained her equally. She still lay on the mud-house floor near the fire, head in the cradle of her arms.
The white glow still surrounded her.
What had he done to her?
A movement made him look over. Sarai knelt by some flowers growing by the tree-break and sniffed the blooms. Her silvery hair fluttered in the morning breeze. She was so in tune with the land that he needed to search to find her even when she stood out in the open. She was like forest spirit now.
In his summers as a woodsman, he’d only caught a glimpse of a wood nymph once. That visionary creature was no more captivating than his enchanted gray-elven mate. He rarely stopped to consider his luck that such a woman felt for him. It made him ache inside to think of their recent arguing. The last moments of his time with the Sarai he loved had b
een spent in fear, chased by Nystruul. Now, she was like a child.
Sarai walked to him and knelt. She smiled and sniffed the bloom, then held it out to him. “Pretty. Ours.”
Despite the sense of melancholy spreading through him, Bannor smiled and took the flower. He examined the damp triple layer of triangular petals that began black at the center ‘eye’, faded to blue, then yellow and ended in red tips.
At home, they called flowers like these ‘spear-blossoms’ for the petal’s resemblance to a ceremonial spearhead dipped in blood. The flower and the name were symbolic for good and bad things. Things that didn’t matter here in this distant place. He found it odd that this far off world shared so much in common with home.
Bannor sniffed the dewy redolence of the bloom. The heavy and faintly sweet scent reminded him of hard candy.
“Thank you,” he said, putting the bloom down by his side. He held his arms out to her.
“Mine,” Sarai said, wrapping her arms around his neck. She leaned her head against his shoulder.
“Sarai.”
She met his gaze.
“You understand me, right?”
She nodded.
“Why don’t you talk to me more?”
Sarai frowned and closed her eyes. She touched one temple with a finger. “Fuzzy. Words—hard.” She must have read something in his expression because her eyes widened. A frightened look crossed her features. “Same.” She put a hand over her heart. Her voice rose. “Same here.”
He must have not looked convinced. She leaned over and kissed him passionately. It was a little girl’s kiss. A child playing at being an adult, desperately afraid of being found out and trying to make up the difference in fervor.
He held Sarai tight. Her scent, the fragrance of the Sarai he remembered had changed. It smelled heavier, salty like the soil and stone she was a part of now. It didn’t matter. That’s what Sarai told him. Love makes the things we don’t like trivial. He wouldn’t give up on her.
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