The crack had been the sound of Air's breastbone shattering. The impact with that huge rock had caused far more damage than either of them had realised. How she had flown all this time with such an injury, was a subject at which he would later marvel, but at that time, all he could do was watch in abject horror as his sleek, strong, faithful friend flipped over and plummeted from the sky that had always been her element.
Air's breastbone, the deep keel onto which all her powerful flight muscles were anchored, had simply disintegrated, sending shards into her heart and lungs and out through her skin. Her wings flapped loosely, caught by the wind, but were unable to support her substantial weight. Loric hated that, as if death were mocking the abilities she had honed in life.
She dropped like a stone. Breaking through the clouds, she tumbled from the grey shroud, dragging wisps of vapour in her wake, heading for a large expanse of water a lake, perhaps an inland sea, Loric wasn’t sure. He followed her down, diving to accompany her as she fell. He saw her pale moonlit shadow unfurl its wings to embrace her. He saw the shocking plume of water as she finally struck the surface. Cold spray showered across his body making him shiver, a million droplets joining his unrestrained tears.
When the water settled back to its slow, steady swell, there was no trace of the body. Air was gone.
Chapter 24
It was a bit disorientating, teleportation. When Eilidh had asked Prince Garald about transportation for her group to their calculated location, she had been thinking along the lines of a flight of dragons – there being no handy Corridor exit in the middle of nowhere. They had two in their party, of course: bronze Brash and silver Callie, but they couldn't take everybody by themselves. However, when it came down to it, Prince Garald's personal Enforcer guard spoke up with an alternative suggestion.
“I can teleport you all anywhere you want to go.”
“I thought you could only teleport somewhere you'd already been?” Eilidh wondered. “So you have a fixed image in your mind.”
“We don't reveal the extent of our powers to just anybody, you know,” the Enforcer admonished her.
“That's reasonable,” Eilidh agreed.
“The truth is, you are correct for all but the most Gifted and skilled of Enforcers. Lucky for you, I happen to be one of them.”
“Luck's got nothing to do with it,” argued the Prince Regent. “I don't hire just anybody as my personal guards, you know!”
The Enforcer bowed. “Yes, Your Grace.” That startled Eilidh for a moment. She and her friends had become so familiar with Prince Garald and so used to the free run of his castle, that she tended to forget just how powerful and influential this man was. With Merlyon gone, Avidon allied with the enemy, both Keothara and Baltacha overrun, and most of the rest of Mythallen inaccessible, Shakaran was the most important city in Mythallen. The last bastion of freedom. Moreover, with Garald's father, the king, incapacitated by illness, the Prince Regent was effectively the ruler of the entire continent in all non-magical matters. Seeing a powerful Enforcer bow low to him was a sobering reminder of the company she was keeping. But the need for that hospitality was at an end. She was about to leave to conclude her quest, and one way or another, this was it: the end. Either Niltsiar would win, in which case Eilidh would be dead along with countless others, or she would defeat Niltsiar in which case...in which case...
...Eilidh suddenly realised she hadn't thought beyond that moment. Suppose she did win? What then? She supposed that if she were successful, the bards would sing her story and it would end with Niltsiar's defeat. That's how stories went: they began, they had a middle and then they reached the end. But people's lives didn't work like that. The only beginning was birth; the only ending was death. Everything in between was just moment after moment, choice after choice, consequence after consequence. Eilidh's life, she hoped, would continue beyond the moment at which the bards used the words `THE END`, but what shape would it take? Where would she live, for a start, given that she was now homeless? And she wasn't alone. How many people had died that the bards' story would never tell? How many injured, scarred, crippled, blinded? With Baltacha, the Breadbasket of Mythallen, fallen to the enemy, how many would starve? How many were, like her, homeless refugees? The numbers were incalculable. Innumerable individual lives, each with their own story forever untold.
Not for the first time, Eilidh asked the gods, “Why me?” But the only response was silence. She would find no answers that way. If she wanted answers, she would have to carve them out for herself.
“So what do you need, in order to teleport us?” Eilidh asked the Enforcer. It would certainly save time. For speed of travel, it was tough to beat instantaneous. “Just show me the location on your m ap and I can visualise you all standing there. I use my magic to invoke the possibility that you really are there. Then give reality a twist and I make the improbable a certainty, and,” he snapped his fingers, “there you are. A perfect application of quantum metachanics.”
Eilidh was fascinated. She’d never heard teleportation described in those terms before. Like most of quantum metachanic theory, it sounded like nonsense, but it had been proven to work again and again. Her understanding was limited, but for now, the application was all that mattered to Eilidh.
The Enforcer's Catalyst partner spoke up then, “How many of you are there?”
Eilidh thought about it for a moment and then answered, “Ten.”
The Catalyst whistled. “Ten teleportations!" He said. "That's a lot of Life Granting I've got to do!”
“Do you want a hand?” Eilidh offered, actually quite eager to help – she'd never taken part in a group teleportation spell before. “Thanks, but no, I've got it covered. So long as this one,” he prodded th e Enforcer with his staff, “doesn't expect me to perform any miracles for a while afterwards. Honestly, he's all `Grant me Life, Grant me Life, Restore me, Restore me`, but when does he spare a thought for his poor Catalyst? I'm good, but my Life Store only stretches so far before I need to recharge in sunlight. And I mean, look at me!” He indicated his own face. “As pale as my robes. Does it look like I've seen much sun lately? You wouldn't think it'd be that difficult down here in Southern Shakaran, I mean it's not exactly the icy hills of Avidon out there. But with him it's just take, take, take!” He prodded the Enforcer on each `take`.
At first, Eilidh was astonished at such disrespect for a powerful Enforcer, even if it was from his Catalyst upon whom he obviously depended, but then she began to suspect that there was perhaps a bit more to their relationship than just Mage-Catalyst.
With her unorthodox transportation organised, the Catalyst excused herself and went to her room to prepare for the road.
* * * * * Eilidh was just about ready when her door burst open. She screamed as some kind of shiny blue creature rushed at her with a sword...but it was only a flushed Princess Mystaya, fresh from a sparring session, dressed in a royal blue satin dress that billowed out around her as she charged at Eilidh.
Blue dress, red face.
She pushed Eilidh hard enough to cause the Catalyst to fall backwards onto the bed. Hands on hips, the dark haired Lavender Rose glared at her.
“Well?” she demanded. “Well what?”
“Well when were you going to tell me? Were you going to tell me at all?”
“Tell you what?” Mystaya rolled her eyes. “That you're leaving, of course! It's only good luck that I ran into my father and he told me. We're supposed to be friends, Eilidh! You're going off on your top secret quest, and I'm here in the only city left standing in this gods forsaken war! Anything could happen to either of us and you weren't even going to say goodbye?”
Eilidh flushed. Mystaya was right. It had never even occurred to her. Her lack of social skills had never bothered her in the past. They bothered her now.
“I'm sorry,” she said, weakly, regaining her feet and embracing her friend. “I should have found you the moment I left your father.” “It's OK,” Mystaya said. “I forgive you.”
When she broke the hug, Eilidh could see there were tears in her eyes. She only realised they were in hers, too, when Mystaya reached out and wiped them from her cheeks.
“I wish I could stay,” Eilidh offered.
“You know what you always say about wishes,” Mystaya replied.
Eilidh nodded, not knowing what to say.
Suddenly, the princess broke down and sat in a crumpled blue heap on the bed, head in her hands. Eilidh sat beside her and put a comforting arm around her. “What if we don't win?” she sobbed, her voice muffled in Eilidh's shoulder. “What if we can't stop her? What if the chaos monsters keep coming and coming and coming, and never ever stop?” She pulled away slightly to look at her friend. “What will become of us, Eilidh? What will happen to us? What will happen to me?”
Eilidh's own tears, wiped away only a moment ago were quickly replaced.
“It's selfish, I know, but can't help it: I'm scared, Eilidh!”
“It's not selfish,” Eilidh assured her. “It's natural. I'm scared, too. But you’re tough. I’ve seen you fight. How many times have your fought off chaos creatures inside these very walls?” “When I’m fighting, my training takes over,” the princess told her, “but all the waiting around gives me too much time to think, to worry.” Mystaya sniffled, trying to regain control. Voice still quavering, she tried to explain her fears. “It’s this feeling of helplessness I can’t stand. Always before, no matter how bad things got, Ialways felt I had some degree of control, but now…” She broke off for a moment. “Sure, I can kill a few monsters, but that doesn’t really change anything, does it?” She finished.
“No,” Eilidh admitted, “it doesn’t. Believe me, you’re not alone in your feelings. Hannah met a Techmage,” she continued, “who’s apparently got a stash of weapons that he’s planning to use against the monsters. But no matter how many weapons he has, given that they seem to have an endless supply of replacements…”
“...Even if he can kill monsters by the hundreds, he’s not really any better off than me, killing them off a handful at a time,” Mystaya concluded.
“No, he’s not. It’s not the answer. I don’t know what the answer is, but that’s not it. I don’t know what the answer isfor you, either,” Eilidh admitted, cursing her lack of experience at comforting friends. “You’re listening, Eilidh,” Mystaya told her. “That’s enough. I can't talk like this in front of my father - or anyone else either because they'd tell him! My father has to be strong for the people and I have to be strong for him. But I'm not strong enough for this, Eilidh!” she sobbed. “I'm not!”
“Ssshhh,” Eilidh soothed. “It's alright. Hey, you were strong enough for Vorden when he kidnapped you.” “That was different,” Mystaya objected, but the memory did help her recover slightly, sniffing back her tears and wiping her eyes. “Even then I always knew my father would save me. Even if I couldn’t kill the bastard myself, I knew Father would turn the world upside down and inside out if that's what it took to rescue me. He'd do something, send someone that Vorden didn't expect and they would save me.”
“And he did,” Eilidh reminded her. “He sent us.”
Mystaya shook her head. “No, he sent you. He chose you and you saved me. Don't underestimate your own importance, Eilidh.”
“I couldn't have done it without my friends,” Eilidh disputed.
“And my father couldn't run this city without his guards and his advisors, his warriors and his wizards, his blacksmiths and his tailors, his servants and his cook-”
“-or his daughter?” Eilidh suggested. “Maybe,” Mystaya allowed, “but there's only one Prince Regent. And there's only one you. You are a unique person, Eilidh,” she said, firmly gripping the Catalyst's hands in hers and smiling determinedly. “Don't lose sight of that. Not for an instant. What's that appellation of yours again?”
“Du y Kharia the Chosen One.” “There, you see? It's all about you. Sure, you need help, but in the end, this whole thing: it's all abou t you.” She was fully composed again now - back tobeing herself. “And you know what else I think?” Eilidh shook her head.“Whoever it was who chose you, I think they did a great job.”
Eilidh blinked. “The Chosen One. I've never thought of it like that before.”
“In that case,” said Mystaya standing up and pulling Eilidh up with her. “I've given you something new to think about.” They shared another hug, then, after which Mystaya picked up Eilidh's pack and helped her put it on her shoulders. Unseen by Eilidh, the princess took a small item out of her purse and slipped it into her friend's pack. Handing her friend her staff, she said, “All ready, then?”
“As I'll ever be,” Eilidh smiled.
“Go on, then,” encouraged the Lavender Rose, holding the door open. “Thanks for listening - you're a good friend.”
“A good friend who didn't say goodbye,” Eilidh reminded her. The princess nodded. “A misdemeanour I'm going to reciprocate, I'm afraid. Much as I'd like to see you off, I'd better stay here and freshen up a bit. I can't let anyone see that I've been crying. Mind if I borrow some of your makeup?”
“Help yourself I don't think I'll be needing it for a while.” They exchanged smiles, but there were no more words as Eilidh turned and walked down the hallway, and Mystaya closed the door.
* * * * *
A few paces down the corridor, a familiar cheery voice said, “She's right, you know!” Eilidh laughed, removed her backpack and took out a green teapot with a purple handle, red spout and bright orange lid. Immediately after she put it on the ground, it disappeared and in its place, stood a tall, handsome man of indeterminate age. He was dressed in a white silk shirt, which billowed out of the sleeves of his red velvet jacket. A pair of blue-green, silk breeches and purple hose covered his legs. His clashing ensemble was finished off with a pair of black shoes and a brown hat, sitting on his own short brown hair. At a movement of his left hand, a bright orange silk handkerchief fluttered down from nowhere, which he caught, deftly.
“I was wondering when you'd show up again,” Eilidh said.
“You're not surprised, then?” Kismet looked slightly crestfallen at that.
“Not in the slightest. Sorry.” “Egad! I must be slipping!” His diary appeared in front of him, flicked through its own blank pages and then a pen began to write an entry in invisible ink, naturally. “Must find out about those Dramatic Entrance Refresher Courses I've heard about. Sink me, but it's embarrassing! I don't know how I shall ever cope. Hmmm,” he mused as the pen made another invisible entry on another blank page. “Maybe I should book myself into rehab while I'm at it!” The diary and pen vanished once more.
“How did you get in my bag this time?” Eilidh asked, putting her backpack back on.
“Mystaya was kind enough to lend a hand.”
“That's interesting. I would have thought I would have noticed if she'd had a teapot shoved under her skirt.”
Kismet's eyes widened at that notion. “Egad! The very idea!” he gasped, bringing his orange silk up to his face. “What do you think I am? Some kind of peeping Tom? I was in her purse!”
“Let me guess: bright orange paperweight.”
Kismet looked shocked. “You guessed!” “You see, that's your problem, Kismet. You need to learn a few new tricks.”
“Well excuse me, dear girl, but whatever happened to tried and tested?”
Eilidh shrugged. “It gets old.”
“Well in that case, O Esteemed Leader, I'll be sure to have some new tricks ready by the time we meet again. You never know,” he winked, “I might just surprise you.”
“You’re not sticking around, then?”
“Not this time,” he replied, and then he caught Eilidh's startled expression. “What's that look about?” he asked.
Eilidh shook her head, and waved a hand, dismissively. “Sorry, no, nothing really. It's just that I think that's the first time you've ever given me a straight answer to a question.”
Kismet shrugged. “Maybe it depends on the quest
ion, but if it'll make you feel better, I could say something really cryptic, if you'd like.”
Eilidh decided to humour him. She was more convinced than ever that Kismet made a lot of sense, or would do if only she had the right translation.
“She's right, you know,” Kismet intoned.
“You said that before,” Eilidh complained.
“Ah, but this time I said it cryptically.” Eilidh just laughed. She had learned that it was pointless to get annoyed with this strange individual like yelling at a rain cloud because she was getting wet. Rain clouds rained - it's what they did. Kismet had taught her the value of being herself and who better to teach that lesson than he who never once shied away from being anything other than Kismet?
“I suppose the universe would implode if you explained that,” Eilidh ventured.
Kismet nodded. “Something like that,” he said, wearing the closest to a serious expression the Catalyst had ever seen on his face. “But Mystaya’s right, you know - it's all about you, Du y Kharia.”
“And that's all I'm getting, is it?” Eilidh asked, flippantly. K ismet nodded, “Yep,” he said, as a pocket watch appeared in the air. “Egad! Is that the time? Curiouser and curiouser!” The watch vanished and suddenly he was a flurry of activity. “I'm late, I'm late for a very important date!” He stepped forward, grabbed Eilidh's hand and shook it so vigorously she was afraid it might come off. Then with a doff of the hat, he said, “Gotta go, kid! You know how it is - train to catch! Byeeee!”
“A what to catch?” Eilidh asked, but Kismet just dashed down the corridor, Eilidh chasing after him. “Kismet, wait!” she giggled. “What-”
Kismet ran through a door to an adjoining passageway, and Eilidh did the same. “-is a train?” she finished. But the passage was empty.
* * * * *
So, thanks to teleportation, she had arrived at last, and after her disorientation wore off, she led the others in a short walk to their final destination. Now before them was the greatest whirling Maelstrom of high purity Life any of them had ever seen; a hundred times bigger and brighter than any Life Eddy. It was like standing at the leading edge of a citywide colourful tornado. There could be no doubt about it: This was the Inter-Realm Gateway and inside, in the eye of the storm they would find their goal:
Choice (Majaos Book 3) Page 30