The Door Into Shadow totf-2

by Диана Дуэйн

  This particular range had hardly been in the game long enough to prove its worth as a move. Understandably, the huge nonconsciousness wondered idly — as the Sun went down again — why this area was suddenly such a cause for concern. .

  Segnbora breathed stone deeply and strove to remember herself. There was something lulling for a Dragon in this perception of stone, as there was for humans in the presence of the Sea: It was both the call of an ancient birthplace and the restful comfort of the last Shore. (Herewiss?) she said, singing a chord of quandary around his name. (Here,) his answer came back, darkness answering dark-ness.

  She couldn't feel him except indirectly. He had chosen to leave his physical imagery behind for the time being, and was manifesting himself only as a mobile but greatly restrained stress in the stone, staying quite still until he got his bearings. Khavrinen was evident too, seeming like the potential energy which that stress would release when it moved. (I feel you. Aren't you coming in?)

  (I am in,) she sang, delighted by the truth of it. (I'm outside, too. Both at once. I can feel you inside me; you're like a muscle strain. And I can feel the other side of the world from here. What do you feel?)

  (Granite, mostly. Marble. Iron — that's the mines.) He paused to feel around. (They haven't come near the great

  lodes, even after centuries of work. I'll have to tell Eftgan where the good metal is. .) He trailed off, sounding uneasy. Segnbora felt what Herewiss felt and found everything much as it had been when Hasai had done the first survey; but the assessment didn't satisfy her. (I need more precision. I'm going to narrow down a good deal and make this perception clearer. Will the valley and ten miles on all sides be suffi-cient?)

  (Those were the boundaries that Hasai was using. Yes.) She felt closely into the valley floor itself for ten or twelve miles down, absorbing and including into herself the sensa-tions of pressures and unreleased strains, strata trying to shear upward or sink down.

  Whole mountains she embraced as if with encircling wings: Aulys, Houndstooth, Eisargir and Adine, then east to White-stack, Esa and Mirit, south to Ela and Fyfel, west to Mesthyn, Teleist and the Orakhmene range. They were a restless arm-ful. Rooted they might be, but they were alive as trees— shifting, trembling, pushing.

  The whole Highpeak region, far into the unnamed south, was shivering, about to bolt like a nervous horse. The cause of its nervousness was at the heart of her perception. With ruthless diligence she absorbed it all, missing no detail: the vertical faults lying stitched across the valley in a row, south to north, angry and frightened. The treacherous lateral fault, its line running from the pass between Adine and Eisargir into the valley, through Barachael and out the narrow gate to lower land. And under it all, the old dark sink of negative energies. (I see it,) Herewiss said, his thought thick with revulsion. She caught a quick taste of his perception. It was rather differ-ent from hers, and primarily concerned with the Shadow's influence. He felt it everywhere, particularly in the lateral fault, where the accumulated hatred made it appear to crouch and glare like a cornered rat. It knew who he was, what he had come for, and the whole valley trembled with its malice. Segnbora trembled too, revolted and suddenly afraid. They were fools to try to tamper with this dynamism, so delicately balanced that a talon's weight applied to the wrong spot might bring down mountains. The Dweller-at-the-Howe had been wise to forbid the Dragons from delving here. Worse, she could feel the murky sink of hatred swell, growing aware of their presence.

  (Herewiss!) she said. He didn't answer, and she began to grow angry, the Fire burning hotter in her throat. He was so damn sure of himself! (Herewiss!) (What do you want?) he snapped.

  Her othersenses told her that he was as angry as she was, and the knowledge enraged her further. (Don't meddle!) he said. {I'm in the middle of a wreaking, and if you distract rne—)

  Typically, he was paying no attention to her; he was sunk in his own concerns. (Your wreaking has barely begun. I'm not distracting and you know it. Listen, I'm Precinct-trained, and—)

  (They don't know everything in the Precincts,) he said, bitter and superior. There was a touch of jealousy in his mind, too, which caused her to start. Jealousy. . didn't that mean something specific in this situation?

  She brushed away the irrelevant thought — doubtless it was the maundering of some mdaha long dead and out of touch with life. Herewiss had slighted her, and her patience was wearing thin.

  (Do you want my aid or not?) she demanded. (Not particularly, no! I have more than enough Power to handle this business myself, and you know it! I thought you might have appreciated the kindness I was doing you by let-ting you come along on a wreaking, but I see it was wasted.) He was a stress in the darkness, one1 close to release, spite-ful and certain of his own utter potency. The burning began to swell in her throat, and sweet it was to let the passions rise. She had been patient long enough.

  The forefingers of her wings — the terrible black diamond razors that could tear even Dragonmail — cocked forward and down at him. (Little man,) she said, (it's time you found out what you have been toying with!)

  Slowly she bent down, waiting for him, to attack, her. She savored, the moments, wondering how she would finish him.

  A quick slash? A forepaw brought smashing down? A breath of her fire? But he wasn't physical now. He dwelt in the stone as she did, and the stress he wore as form began to warp and change. He was lifting up Khavrinen to kill her. Let him try, the fool! she thought.

  The mdaha who had spoken before now cried out again. . something unintelligible about not seeing, about a pres-ence creeping up from behind, about an ambush.. Segnbora snarled at the interruption, a sound that woke rumblings in the stone. She arched herself upward to come crashing down on the pitiful little weapon raised against her—

  — and then she understood, she saw, As she watched in horror, the darkness in the stone drew together to one spot. At the lateral fault it stood, staring at her. Dracon though she was — immense, terrible — she aban-doned her pounce and crouched down like a bird under a serpent's eye.

  The Shadow smiled at her, baleful, and waited. Herewiss didn't waste his opportunity. Swollen with rage, he towered over her in the stone with Khavrinen upraised, ready to destroy her. (Come on!) he cried in an ecstasy of fury. (Stop me, if you're such a power! Try to stop me!)

  Segnbora didn't answer. It was impossible to look away from the one Whose essence lay concentrated in the fault, waiting for Herewiss to strike and bring the valley down around their ears.

  Herewiss's rage didn't diminish. He merely lowered Khav-rinen a bit to savor her fear, to prolong the sweet conflict— and in that moment abruptly felt what she did. Immediately his tone changed. (Beware! We have company!)

  It flowed out into the stone again, surrounding him, unwill-ing to give up such a splendid tool. Segnbora felt Herewiss founder and go down, and couldn't stir so much as a thought to help him. The Shadow was after her too, flowing into the dark, places in, her soul that had

  belonged to It since she was very small. Relentlessly, It inflamed them all: her anger at a life that, didn't go exactly as she wished; her old feelings of impotence and insignificance., . She fought, back. If she lei It, it would, enter her and cause

  her to trigger the fault, which in turn would bury the valley, killing her friends and enemies alike. That couldn't be al-lowed. Desperately, she thought of Lang, of Eftgan — lovers who had taught her laughter. She pictured Freelorn, beautiful Freelorn, who demanded so much and gave so much in return. . She wasn't alone!

  The realization was dangerous. Her opponent changed its tactics from persuasion to direct attack: a blast of hatred and pain that would have killed her in a second had she been in her own body. Fortunately, she was not. She pulled her Dra-con-self closer about her, wearing it like mail. Hatred, even the vast hatred of an embittered God, meant little to a Dragon who had experienced the Immanence from the inside, with all its joys and rages regarding all things mortal and divine.

  And as for th
e pain, Segnbora simply opened herself to it as a Dragon would. She spread her wings wide and took it all, drank it like Sunfire, made it hers as she had made the stone and the mountains hers. She was not its tool. (Herewiss!)

  A tide of blackness was almost all she could perceive of Its attack against him. Within it, however, she saw something moving — a disembodied force, the essence of Khavrinen and the Power it focused, slashing the dark into ribbons. Always the Shadow resealed Itself, but always the fierce blueness pushed It aside again, widening the breach for the man who fought his way upward out of the Shadow's heart.

  I'm Hers, not Yours! he gasped, forcing the darkness aside and pushing himself higher into the stone. And even for Her, I'm not a thing to be used! ('Berend?) (Here!)

  With terrible abruptness, both attacks ceased. Segnbora reeled.

  (Pull yourself together!) Herewiss shouted at her instantly. (It can't get us to trigger the fault, but It'll be glad to do that Itself!)

  So It was doing. Segnbora could see all Its power, all Its hate, flowing back into the lateral fault — concentrating, burn-ing, stinging the stone

  into the beginnings of movement. A low rumble spread through the strata. There was one spot in

  particular, a thousand feet or so south of Barachael, that was almost ready to fracture. In a matter of seconds its stone would reduce itself to powder with explosive force, releasing the vertical faults on either side of it.

  (There!) she cried, and as she did the Shadow poured Itself fully into that spot, an irresistible blast of destruction—

  — but Herewiss was already there, dwelling in the stone, being it, holding it together. It was granite and marble, but he was diamond,

  unshatterable by Goddess or Shadow — for the moment.

  (I'll hold it!) he said, the thought tasting of gritted teeth. (You distract It!)

  With what? she thought, fumbling desperately for an idea. Distant as if one of the mdeihei sang it, seemingly irrelevant, a scrap of verse spoke itself in her. No shadow so deep that light cannot sound it, no hatred so hard that love cannot loose it— Beor-gan's old ballad, the alliterative one. It told how she had taken the Shadow within herself, and her courage had defeated It. She had drained Its power so that her daughter could chal-lenge the Shadow in her turn and slay It. And that gave Segn-bora a mad, dangerous idea. .

  Though still wearing her Dracon-self, Segnbora brought her human nature to bear as strongly as she could, and began exposing her dark

  file:///G|/rah/Diane%20Duane%20-%20Tales%20Of%20The%20Five%2002%20-%20The%20Door%20Into%20Shadow.htm (104 of 155) note 15

  sides to the Shadow's influence. Intent on Herewiss, It perceived only an augmentation of Its power in the area, and therefore let her darknesses gather from It and grow, becoming small likenesses of Itself. Sensing a chance to turn her vulnerabilities into weapons, she missed not a one of them: hatreds, petty jealousies, desires gone sour, procrasti-nations; laziness that would let others languish in pain while she lay idle; envy that smiled at the misfortunes of her peers. It was a disgusting collection, but in itself presented no dan-ger. Loss of a sense of sickness — acceptance of the state — that was to be feared. And that was creeping up on her fast. .

  As swiftly as she dared, Segnbora slipped close to the Shadow and let loose her tarnished parts. They melded with It, becoming part of Its substance. Terrible power rushed through them and back into her. She dared not fight it, lest she betray her presence.

  As she had become Dracon, and as Dracon had become stone, she now became the Shadow.

  Mortal, and therefore limited even out of her body, Segn-bora could contain only a small part of Its being in herself. . but it was enough. In a sickening flash she experienced the incalculable rage of One Who had possessed Godhead and for jealousy's sake had then thrown it away. She also experienced pain: an anguish deeply colored with blame for the Goddess Who had let the pain happen—

  There was no time to look further. Segnbora didn't speak, didn't even truly think, but merely held her control as best she could and looked at the painful memories, living inside the old story, wordlessly recreating it with a Dragon's immediacy and a storyteller's skill. It was an easy story to tell. She knew it by heart. It was the same story she had dreamed that night in the old Hold: the story of the Maiden, of Death, and of Her children, the Two, Who had loved one another.

  The hatred that was the rest of herself still strove without pause to destroy Herewiss — but It did so a little less vehe-mently. It was distracted by old memories. Gradually, the story changed, becoming less a narrative and more an invita-tion.

  Do You remember how it was? The two of You loving outside the constraints of existence, taking eons to learn and love one another's infinite depths? Do You remember the divine passionA how Your loving invented time and space — a place to love and explore together, in all the bodies that ever lived? Do You remember the Loved, and how there was always One Who understood? Your sister, Your brother, Your beloved … 0 remember!

  It was in Nhaired she sang now, as if weaving a spell, silently recalling the Song of the Lost. Normally that Song was never voiced except during the Dreadnights, in the depths of the Silent Precincts, to beseech the Shadow to remember Its an-cient joy and be merciful to the world. Segnbora sang it now without the fearful intonations the Rodmistresses used, but winding poignant Dracon motifs of compassion and forgive-ness around the words. She was calling to herself as much as to the other. Vile though her darknesses were, they were rooted in light, just as the Shadow's malice was founded in the pain of Its ancient loss, the memory of love discarded forever. If it could not be saved, neither could she. .

  The Shadow held still in the stone, Its malice wavering, half forgotten. A hasty flicker of perception stolen through It showed Herewiss, hanging on in the stone, shuddering with pity and also with fear for her. No one had ever before been so foolhardy as to sing the Song of the Lost in first person, and tempt the Shadow. But he didn't waste more than one shudder. He began examining the strata around him, and found the spot where the Shadow's consciousness had rooted Itself most concretely into the stone.

  But yet will come that time when Time is done, the world begun again, aright, she sang, pouring herself into the promise. And once again We shall be as We were—

  She drew away, singing. The Shadow surrounded her, tow-ering above, about to drown her in deadly consummation. Without warning Khavrinen's essence flicked through the earth like a white-hot thought burning through a brain. In-stantly it severed the linkage of the Shadow's consciousness to the stone.

  There was only one wild shriek of rage and betrayal before the dark presence faded, temporarily banished, but that cry

  was enough. All around Herewiss an unstoppable tremor stirred in the stone. As if that weren't enough, an ominous copper)' feeling with

  an aftertaste of blood began sliding through Segnbora1 s self. The Moon was eclipsing.

  (Goddess! Herewiss, get out of there. We have to get back to our bodies or you won't be able to control this!)

  (Right,) Herewiss said, sounding abstracted. Khavrinen swept again and again through the bedrock, and its unseen Fire wavered with Herewiss''s alarm as he tried to cut himself loose from, his empathy with the stone. (I seem to have gotten kind of attached, you go ahead—)

  (Are you crazy? This is your wreaking and I'm stuck in it!) Precious seconds were slipping1 by. Herewiss laid about harder and harder' with Khavrinen, and didn't move. (Dam-mit! My own Fire won't cut my own Fire—)

  (Watch out!) Segnbora said. Furiously, she whipped down one wing at the stone, a wing lipped with the black razor —

  diamond that was Skadhwe. Through fathoms of marble and granite it sliced, the shadow of a shadow, until it reached the rock under Herewiss.

  He shot upward and out of the strata, free. Shrugging off her Dracon-self, she followed him up and out of the empa-thy— They broke the surface of the valley, gasped for the dear familiarity of breath like swimmers down too long, and beg
an running up the air in frantic haste. The Moon's face, full now, was stained half red against the early evening sky. The stain grew larger as they raced for the tower window with the light in it. Under them, red fire dove and swooped about the valley, driving massed darknesses before it. They

  spared the sight hardly a glance and dove through the tower wall. Segnbora threw herself down on the cot where her body lay— and hit

  her head.

  No, that's just the usual headache. Up, get up! Freelorn was shaking her, worsening the agony of pins and needles that transfixed every bone and muscle she owned.

  Herewiss was already up, sagging against the window. With Freelorn's help, she staggered over to join him. Segnbora was temporarily blind, but the othersight was working. Above the valley the Moon's whiteness had diminished to a thin desper-ate sliver, struggling with the creeping darkness as if with a poison, and foredoomed to lose.

  The corroded copper taste was as hot in Segnbora's mouth as if she had been struck there. The Chaelonde seemed to run with blood. Below them the lateral fault burned through stone and earth, moving. Sai khas-Barachael began to shake beneath their feet.

  "Put your scales on," Herewiss whispered, grabbing one of her hands in a grip like a vise, and with the other drawing Khavrinen. Segnbora stumbled and fell down into herself, into the cave where Hasai waited with wings outspread in alarm. There was no time for the usual courtesies. Segnbora matched him size for size, flung his wings about her as she had wrapped herself in his shadow before, and became him.

  As the sensation of the stone in the valley became plain again, the mdeihei cried out in a song of terrible alarm. "Shut

  up, the lot of you!" she shouted in Dracon, and once more gathered the whole valley within the span of her wings, feeling it all. The pain struck her immediately as the lateral fault came alive inside her, a black-hot line of agony running from chest to shoulder and up her left wing like a heart seizure. Her outer body gasped and clutched at the sill, missed it, and thumped down to her knees with a jolt. Inside, no less clearly, she felt the heave and stutter of the faults as they tried to move, attempting to foul Herewiss's game before it was