Her mother would not look away from Rockingham. “We were wed on a midsummer’s eve. We promised to share the rest of our lives together. But then one winter, shortly after you were born, he tried to forge a pact with coastlanders. He broke the mer’ai code of silence.” A pang of anger etched her mother’s features.
“I could not help myself,” Rockingham explained softly. “I was so tired of our isolation. The world beyond the waves was so vast and varied. I wanted to bring these gifts back to the mer’ai . . . back to my newborn daughter.”
Sy-wen listened to his words and found her own heart responding. His descriptions sounded so much like her own cravings for new horizons, new experiences. She remembered the silent pull the coastlines had once had for her, too, when she and Conch used to sneak off and explore the Archipelago. Had she acquired this strange yearning from her father? “What went wrong?” she asked.
Rockingham looked down, silent.
Her mother answered. “Dragon blood proved too rich a prize to the lan’dwellers. Dragons were slaughtered, and for such a crime, the code was exact. As punishment, your father was to have been killed.” Suddenly her mother’s voice cracked, and tears flowed. “But I couldn’t allow it. As an elder, I begged the older punishment instead: Banishment from the Deep.”
Rockingham took her mother’s hand and held it between his own. “But such a gift was no kindness.” The man glanced up at Linora. “At first, I tried to live with my punishment. I wandered the coasts and islands until the webbing between my fingers dried and flaked away. Soon I walked like any other lan’dweller. Over time, I learned I could survive without the mer’ai.” Her father turned back to her mother, pulling Linora’s fingers to his lips. “But I could not survive without you. You were an ache in my heart. The ocean waves whispered your name to me every night. Rain on the water tinkled with your laughter. I should have left the coasts, but my heart bound me.”
He lowered Linora’s hands to his lap, and his voice grew husky. “One day, staring out at the seas from a high bluff, the pain was too great. I could stand it no more and sought to end my banishment.” Tears traced down his face as he looked into Linora’s eyes. “I stepped off the cliff.”
Sy-wen spoke, shocked. “You sought to end your own life?”
Silently, her mother pulled Rockingham into her embrace as he dissolved into sobs. Her mother rocked him. Cradling the sobbing man, Linora held him until his wracking breaths slowed.
Rockingham continued, speaking between gasps. “But . . . but there was an evil festering in secret along the coast. It sensed my despair and was drawn to it. By forsaking my own life, I exposed myself to its corruption. It d-did things to me, horrible things. Its only kindness was in binding my old memories of you in stone. That pain was finally gone, but so was the man you loved. I became only half a man. What I did afterward . . .” He pushed from Linora’s embrace, facing her. “Conch . . . all the others . . . Can you ever forgive me?”
She melted toward him. “I can only love you. It was the evil that is to blame, not you.” She kissed him on the lips, then pulled slightly back. “Now that I’ve found you again, I will never let you leave my side.”
Her mother’s words only caused the man further pain. “It cannot be, my love,” he said. “I am dead. I know this. I can feel it in my flesh.” He nodded toward where the stone rested on the deck. “Only the magick in the ebon’stone holds me here.”
“Then we will keep the foul thing safe.”
Rockingham shook his head slowly. “No. The stone also binds me to the evil. The rush of old memories broke its cursed hold, but as long as it exists, they can always draw me back again, enslave me. It must somehow be destroyed. Only then will I be free.”
“No! I cannot allow it!”
Rockingham smiled sadly. He touched her cheek. “Do you seek to keep me alive no matter the cost, as you did once before?”
Sy-wen saw her mother wilt. She crossed and wrapped her mother in her arms. Linora trembled in her grip. “Hush, Mother, you know he’s right.” The decision was not as hard for Sy-wen. She could not fathom that this man was her father. Kast was correct. To her, he was still a stranger. Sy-wen raised her eyes to the man. “How do we destroy it?”
His voice became hopeless. “I don’t know.”
“I do!” Elena’s stern voice drew all their gazes. Sy-wen saw hatred burning in her eyes. Just as with Sy-wen, these newest revelations had failed to sway the wit’ch’s heart. Elena saw only the murderer of her family. The wit’ch held no qualms about severing the man’s ties to this world. Elena nodded to Tol’chuk and the rune-carved weapon he bore. “The Try’sil hammer can smash ebon’stone.”
Rockingham pushed to his feet. With hope in his eyes, he faced the wrath of the wit’ch. “I know of no way back to grace in your eyes. But please, if it’s in your power, free me.”
Sy-wen saw how Elena hesitated. Was the wit’ch’s hatred so deep that she would balk at even granting this final plea for death?
Flint spoke at her shoulder. “We must be quick. The skal’tum have only been spooked by the loss of the Dark Lord’s presence here. But in the skies, they already gather again. I think they mean to strike.”
Rockingham still looked with strained hope at Elena, his eyes pleading. “Do this . . . And if I am able, I will find a way to help you here.”
“What? By betraying us?” Elena said coldly.
Wounded, Rockingham remained silent, eyes cast down.
Sy-wen turned from where she knelt with her mother. “Let my father go, Elena. Please.” Sy-wen turned and found Rockingham’s grateful eyes upon her. “I don’t know this man’s true heart any better than you do, but I know my mother’s. Let the man who my mother married on a midsummer’s eve die in peace.”
Elena hesitated, staring fixedly at her; then slowly the woman’s shoulders relaxed. Wordlessly, she waved Tol’chuk forward. “Do it.”
Rockingham seemed to shrink in relief. Linora pushed free of her daughter’s embrace and climbed to her feet. Sobbing, she drew her lover into her arms. “Let me hold you. I want you with me for every last breath.”
He drew her tight.
From over her mother’s shoulders, Sy-wen met her father’s eyes. He smiled sadly at her. Father and daughter. Two strangers.
Tears rose in Sy-wen’s eyes, and her legs were suddenly weak. “Father.” She moaned the word so softly that only her own heart heard. She slid toward the deck with grief, but Kast was there to catch her. His arms were always there.
Before she could even lean into the Bloodrider’s warmth, a sudden thunderous crack exploded from nearby. Sy-wen jumped, glancing to where the og’re was bent over his hammer. He swung the weapon again, and the fist of ebon’stone was ground to dust under the magickal hammerhead.
Sy-wen swung her eyes toward her mother. Linora still held Rockingham in her embrace, but from the way his head lay slack on her shoulder, he was clearly gone.
“Mother . . . ?”
Linora suddenly shuddered. A scintillating fog blew forth from Rockingham and passed through her mother’s form. She let the dead man slip from her arms, then swung around. The glowing mist swirled tighter to form a vague resemblance of the golem. He raised a hand toward Linora, but his fingers passed through her cheek.
“Good-bye, my love,” she whispered to the spirit.
The ghostly form stared a moment more, then turned to face the wit’ch.
ELENA SCOWLED AT the shade wavering before her. Even just the wispy outline of the murderer set her blood afire. Coldfire danced over her ripe fist. The mark of the Rose was now entirely masked behind spates of blue flame. Her shoulders trembled as the man’s ghostly eyes focused on her.
When he spoke, his words were as insubstantial as his form, whispers from another world. “Thank you,” he said. “There are no words to beg your forgiveness nor acts that can wipe away my atrocities, but as I promised, I will seek an ally to help you in the fight to come.”
“I ask no b
oon of you,” she said with ice in her voice. “Only that you truly leave this world and never return again.”
The shade bowed his head. “So be it. But as I leave, I will still seek the shade of this watery wood and attempt to pry him from his eternal slumber.”
Elena did not understand any of this nonsense. She waved her fist of coldfire at the shade, but her fist passed through him with no effect. “Go then. Do not sully these decks with your presence any longer.”
The shade bowed his ghostly head. His form began to dissipate, fraying at the edges in swirls of mist and roiling tendrils of glowing fog. Suddenly, though, the ghost of her parent’s murderer grew more solid for a few breaths. “One last word, Elena.”
She shuddered. Just her name on his tongue rippled disgust through her body. “Begone, demon!”
But the ghost persisted, his voice just a hushed trace sounding from much farther off. “You must know . . . The plainsman, Er’ril . . . he lives.”
Elena gasped. The blue flames flared brighter, then died away. A part of her quailed. Er’ril’s death had almost torn her apart; it had taken all her strength to accept his loss—and now to think he might still be alive. She could not handle such a loss twice. Elena reached a hand and fingered the strip of singed red leather braided into her hair. “H-he lives?”
The ghost wavered before her, fading away. “He is a captive of the darkmages on A’loa Glen. In two nights, when the moon ripens full, they will use his blood to destroy the book. You must hurry.”
The shade again began to mist away into nothingness. Elena reached with both hands toward the fading spirit, trying to gather its glowing remnants back into the semblance of a man. He must not leave yet.
As her hands wove through his ghostly substance, her pale right hand vanished when it drifted through a small cloud of scintillating mist. Elena yanked her arm back as if stung, expecting some last bit of malice on the shade’s part. Instead, as her limb pulled free, her hand returned, now aglow with a familiar rosy azure.
She raised the hand before her. Her palm and fingers were as insubstantial as Rockingham’s shade. She could see the scurry of her companions through her palm. Elena had momentarily forgotten Aunt Fila’s earlier lesson. Spirit light! When last with Fila, Elena had ignited this same magick while venturing too near the spirit world.
“Ghostfire,” Elena mumbled, naming the magick now imbued in her right hand. She raised her left hand still swirling with the ruby stain of coldfire and clenched her two fists. “Both spirit and stone,” she said, bringing her two fists together, one ghostly, one solid. Whether the shade of Rockingham spoke truthfully or not, Elena knew that if Er’ril still lived, she would tear down the towers of A’loa Glen to free him.
A strangled voice drew her attention back to the decks. “Elena?”
Lowering her hands, she saw Joach staring at her with his mouth hanging open. Tol’chuk and Meric stood at his shoulder, equally shocked. Elena glanced around the deck. Other eyes were also fixed on her. “What?”
Joach stumbled a step toward her. “Y-you’re gone. I see your clothes, but your body’s vanished.”
Elena glanced down at herself. Not again. She remembered when last she had touched spirit light. Her flesh had become invisible to the eyes of others. Only her clothes had remained visible.
Flint neared her, walking in a slow circle around her, studying her. Still, he kept a wary eye on the skies. The flock of skal’tum had gathered just at the lake’s edge, but the pale cloud now swept slowly back toward the ship, circling in a closing spiral toward the boat. “Perhaps it would be best if you disrobed, Elena. If invisible, you might survive the coming attack.” His voice sagged with a note of hopelessness. “Afterward, you could perhaps still join up with the Dre’rendi fleet south of here.”
“No! I will not sit idle while the rest fight and die,” she insisted. Elena raised her hand and studied her insubstantial right fist. From her first dalliance with this ghost magick, Elena had learned to mask a dagger held in her palm by flaring out her magick. But what if the opposite was also true? Elena willed the rosy glow to draw inward, rather than flow outward. She drew the magick of her ghostfire down to a small bright ember in the center of her palm, draining it from her blood and body. As she worked, her fingers grew more solid. Elena could no longer see through them.
Joach’s voice again gasped out. “El, I can see you again!”
Elena ignored her brother. She must not break her concentration—not yet. Clenching her teeth, she bound the well of ghostfire in place, tying off the font of power until she was ready to release it again. Once done, Elena raised her face to the others. She knew they could all see her. She returned their stares, her gaze fierce. If the shade spoke truthfully—that Er’ril might still be alive—she would let nothing stand between her and the plainsman.
The pounding of the bone drums suddenly crashed into a thunderous cacophony. “The skal’tum strike!” Flint called from the starboard rail. “Ready yourselves!”
A flurry of activity burst across the deck. Tol’chuk swung the d’warf hammer to his shoulder and joined Flint at the rail. Joach and Meric posted themselves on the opposite rail. Even Mama Freda had abandoned the galley, leaving her brewing elixirs to the boy Tok’s care. She bore some strange weapon in her hands: a long slender pipe into which she fed a feathered dart.
“Poison from the Yrendl jungles,” she explained. “It will kill even these beasts if I can pierce their hides.”
Elena did not argue against the old woman arming herself. Every means of exacting death would be needed this night. They must survive until dawn, when the sun’s light would weaken the dark protections of the demons.
A throat cleared nearby, drawing her attention. She found Kast and Sy-wen standing ready. Kast spoke. “Should we call the dragon?”
“On my signal.” Elena raised her arm and faced the swarm of skal’tum. They now encircled the boat, sweeping toward them from all directions, low over the water but unfortunately not low enough for the surviving seadragons to reach them.
The ship grew hushed around Elena. No one spoke any further words. Only the beat of the bone drums disturbed the night. Still, Elena waited. She wanted the sudden appearance of Ragnar’k to startle the forefront of the legion, to perhaps cast them in disarray for a few critical moments.
As she held her breath, arm raised, Elena’s heart quailed at the sheer numbers they faced. Everywhere she looked demons flapped and glided toward their lone boat. She fought against the hopelessness of their cause. Even if she should live, how many on board would die?
Suddenly a shivering scream of rage burst from the countless throats of the beasts.
Elena could delay no longer. Let the slaughter begin! She began to swing her arm down, but her limb was blocked by the hand of one of the zo’ol.
“Wait!” he snapped and nodded toward the seas. “Something else comes!”
Elena twisted out of his grip. How much worse could this night grow? She stared at the leading edge of the skal’tum assault. They were only a stone’s throw from the ship.
Then the world suddenly exploded around them.
All across the lake, a tangle of weeds burst out from the water, snaking far into the air, twice the height of the forest’s towering trees. Twisting vines and coiled branches snatched the skal’tum from the skies, grabbing wing and limb, pulling the beasts under the lake. Nearer at hand, whipping roots and leafy snarls thrust up and ripped into the approaching flock. A few beasts managed to scrabble as close as the rail, but even these were quickly yanked away by snags of vines.
Elena stared at the decimation. It was as if the Pale Stallion had become trapped in a whirlwind of pale wings and frothing weed.
“It’s the sargassum!” Flint called above the screams of the skal’tum.
The war raged around the boat. One skal’tum, crazed with fear, crashed into an unfurled sail, ensnaring itself in rigging and sailcloth. Its thrashing tore loose the sail, and the beast topp
led into the sea in a net of its own making. That was the closest to the boat any of the skal’tum managed to get.
And as quickly as it started, it was over.
In the moonlight, the writhing red weed slowly subsided, sinking back into the sea, dragging the last of the demons down with it. None of the skal’tum had escaped its fury. Soon the lake was clear. Even the dead dragons had been whisked away.
No one spoke, just stared, too stunned.
Across the lake, a scatter of living seadragons and their riders emerged warily from the depths where they had retreated earlier. With the moon and stars so bright, Elena could easily spot the dragonriders’ amazed expressions.
Around the ship, there was no sign of the night’s carnage. The waters lay quiet and pristine. “It’s over,” Elena sighed.
Flint limped over to her. “But why did the sargassum intervene?”
In her heart, Elena knew the answer. She glanced across the faces of her companions. All would live to see the dawn. Turning away, Elena stared across the lake, leaning both hands upon the rail. Tears of relief flowed from sore eyes. Alone, she whispered words she had not thought she could ever speak, words for the murderer of her parents. “I forgive you.”
With her words, a scintillation of lights swirled up from the depths of the dark sea, like fireflies on a midsummer’s eve.
Elena felt a presence appear beside her. It was Linora. The woman rested her hand on Elena’s. “Thank you,” Linora murmured to her.
Across the sea, the sparks of spirit light spread and faded until only the moon and stars were reflected on the lake’s mirrored surface.
Book Five
TIDES OF WAR
21
ER’RIL AWOKE IN his dark cell on the last day of his life. Though there was no window to indicate the sun’s rising, Er’ril knew dawn had come. After five centuries of living, the movement of the sun had ingrained itself into his bones.
Wit'ch War (v5) Page 45