The Night Voice

by Barb Hendee

  Some part of the shadows over there appeared to move, and stone cracked and crumbled under some immense weight.

  Come to me, child . . . daughter . . . sister of the dead. Come finish what I started with your birth. And let it all end!

  • • •

  Magiere choked, opened her eyes wide, and stiffened upright where she sat on the stone slab. She didn’t even know she had drifted off, and she shouldn’t have. She began shaking when she realized all fury and fire had vanished. And the sky was too light.

  She spun where she sat, leaning to look eastward. Dawn had just broken over another line of distant peaks running southward. She looked up to the left, wondering how the mountains could have moved, but there above the foothills was the jagged wall of the Sky-Cutter Range. And when she lowered her eyes . . .

  Leesil was staring at her over his shoulder.

  “What?” he whispered. “What’s wrong?”

  Magiere peered again at those peaks. Once before, in the beginning, she had heard a hissing voice like windblown sand. It had come to her, dragging her on, in the search for the first orb in the Pock Peaks.

  And as then, now all she wanted was to go east.

  “It is time to return,” Ghassan said, rising to his feet. “Any ghul still nearby will not come out while the sun is up. And we need to head west to meet the others.”

  Magiere was still staring at those peaks when someone roughly grabbed the collar of her hauberk. She flinched before looking into Leesil’s bright amber eyes.

  And those eyes narrowed.

  He knew, and still all she wanted was to go . . . east.

  “No!” he whispered at her. “No, not yet.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Although Chap had a notion of the distance from a’Ghràihlôn’na to the north side of the Sky-Cutter Range, he had not seen a map of the region in quite some time. The distance proved farther than he expected. Once the wagon turned off the eastbound road and entered the Slip-Tooth Pass over bare land, he could hardly make out the high range in the distance.

  And the wagon rolled on.

  They traveled mostly by night for Chane’s sake, though now and then some favored hurrying through part of the days as well. During those times, Chane was forced to lie in his dormant state in the wagon’s bed under a canvas.

  Along the way, the land around them grew more desolate.

  They passed through the foothills, and finally one morning, as the sun rose and Chane fell dormant within a tent, Chap made his way up the tallest hillock and then saw that the mountains were nearly upon them.

  “Not far now,” a deep voice said.

  Chap looked back to find that Ore-Locks had followed him, but he returned to eyeing the mountains that appeared to stretch to both horizons. It seemed unbelievable—and daunting—that they would pass beneath those to emerge above the vast Suman desert.

  “Wayfarer has a pot of herbed lentils on,” Ore-Locks said, and after a pause, he added, “When we last came through, we spent so much time searching for an entrance, we nearly ran out of food.”

  Again, Chap craned his neck to study the errant stonewalker.

  What was the point to that last comment? Was Ore-Locks reminding Chap that he had a history with Shade and Chane, or perhaps that those two natural enemies had such as well?

  He and Ore-Locks had never been talkative, but now that Wayfarer was with him again, he spoke mostly with her . . . in their ways.

  Chap turned, trotted past Ore-Locks, and headed down toward camp. Over the long days and nights since leaving the Lhoin’na’s one city, he had not ceased to think on Wayfarer and Osha, wondering about their futures, as well his daughter’s. Clearly, both Wayfarer and Osha felt their time in the eastern elven lands had been cut short, one perhaps silently frustrated and the other perhaps slightly relieved.

  While Chap could not explain why, he felt a nagging doubt. Had it been the right thing to pull Wayfarer and Osha from their time with the Lhoin’na? For those two, something seemed unfinished. He did not know what, but he could not shake this feeling, and it grew stronger instead of fading. He kept such thoughts to himself, uncertain if he should act upon them. Wynn had been promised that Shade would return with Chap and Chane. Magiere had been promised that Wayfarer would return as well. How could such promises be broken?

  After a light meal, everyone rested for the remainder of the day. They packed up as dusk arrived so they would be ready once Chane rose.

  Soon enough, Chane was at the reins, and the wagon rolled onward. Halfway through the night, they reached the end of the Slip-Tooth Pass. It was not gradual. They arrived almost at the very base of a mountain, and the wagon could go no farther.

  “Start unpacking,” Chane ordered, dropping from the wagon’s bench. “We will have to carry what we need in several trips. But there is only one pump cart available inside the entrance to the pass, and we’ll have to pack it carefully.”

  Uncertain what the last part of this meant, Chap jumped down from the wagon’s bed and looked around, at a loss. He saw nothing that resembled an entrance of any kind. Shade came up beside him, and he started in surprise when she touched her nose to his shoulder. He had no time for shock at this physical contact from her when he saw what she shared.

  Image after image flooded through his mind, of Wayfarer in the Lhoin’na forest with the majay-hì and Vreuvillä and then Osha with the Shé’ith trainees. The images ended with three memory-words in Wynn’s voice.

  —Something . . . not . . . finished—

  Chap closed his eyes, realizing Shade had been struggling with the same worries as he had himself.

  New images rose up from her, along with a feeling of sorrow and fear.

  This time, Chap saw image after image of Shade with Wynn, of Wynn petting Shade and mouthing the word “sister.” These were followed by memories of Shade walking beside Wayfarer in the depths of the Lhoin’na forest.

  Chap understood.

  Shade—as well as Wayfarer and Osha—should not go on. They should never have left in the first place and needed to return and finish what had been started for both of the young ones, for Osha to learn his link to the Shé’ith and for Wayfarer to understand her connection to the ways of the Foirfeahkan. Both would probably resist; Shade herself already suffered for knowing she had to return as well rather than rejoin Wynn.

  Chap could think of only one reason why Shade had waited this long; she had expected him, her father, to realize all of this and act upon it. He should have before now, but like her, he had resisted. Now that they had reached the mountains, neither of them could put off what had to be done.

  Promises would have to be broken.

  Osha would be the most difficult to convince, so Chap decided to start with Wayfarer. He went to her as she struggled to pull a spare folded canvas out of the wagon’s back.

  —Put that down . . . and listen—

  She dropped to one knee before him. “What is it?”

  As gently as he could, he called up memory-words in her to explain what had to be. Their time among the Lhoin’na was not yet finished. As little as he understood why, he put his faith in his daughter’s judgment as well as his own intuition in the matter. He had no idea what reaction to expect.

  Wayfarer touched his face with a nod and lifted her head to call out. “Osha . . . please come.”

  The tall young elf stalled and handed off a trunk to Chane. When he came near, he frowned, eyeing Chap first and then Wayfarer with growing suspicion.

  “Do you need help with that canvas?” he asked her.

  Wayfarer shook her head and took a deep breath. “Chap believes that we—you and I and Shade—must now turn back to the Lhoin’na.”

  Osha’s features flattened in shock. At a guess in the dark, he might have paled. Chane dropped a trunk, and even Ore-Locks drew near.

  �
�What?” Chane rasped and glared at Shade. “I promised Wynn to bring you back.” He then turned on Osha. “You are all coming with us. That was the arrangement!”

  Chap choked down an instinctive snarl. He would not demand the talking hide to argue with the vampire again. He was in charge here, and Chane was going to learn that for the last time.

  Before he could take a step, Shade cut in front of him. She went straight to Chane and huffed softly twice. Once again, Chap was disturbed by how deeply his daughter was connected to that undead.

  Chane’s brow still wrinkled in anger at Shade, but before he could speak again . . .

  “She does not want to go,” Wayfarer said, looking to both Shade and Chane. “Chap does not wish us to leave either, but he believes there is more for us among the Lhoin’na. It may even have to do with what must be done . . . for where you are going and why.”

  Chap studied Wayfarer. She seemed so different. How much more had changed in her?

  Osha was less than convinced and, after a voiceless hiss sounding too much like Chane, he stormed off. Wayfarer closed her eyes, dropped her head, and swallowed hard.

  “I will talk to him,” she whispered.

  The girl rose and went off after Osha, and Shade followed her.

  Chap, left alone, looked up into Chane’s seething expression.

  “And it took you all this time to figure this out?” Chane demanded. “I do not believe that.”

  Chap could not restrain a snarl this time, but instead of acting, he looked at Ore-Locks.

  —May I . . . speak . . . through you?—

  Ore-Locks nodded his consent and turned to Chane, repeating what Chap said in memory-words.

  “He did not know whether to counsel us or not,” Ore-Locks told Chane. “Like you, he labored under a promise, unwilling to break it but feeling the need to do so. It was Shade who tipped the balance . . . and made the decision for him.”

  At that, Chane blinked in doubt as he looked off after Wayfarer and Shade. Ore-Locks stepped closer to Chane, and it was clear he now spoke for himself.

  “You, I, and Chap can travel faster on our own,” he said quietly, “but even after we supply the young ones for a return trip, we will have more than we planned to carry on our own. It is time to get started . . . without any more squabbling!”

  With his jaw clenched, Chane looked to Chap one last time. Then he turned away to continue emptying the wagon. Ore-Locks heaved in a deep breath and then exhaled as he too went back to unloading the wagon.

  With that, it was decided.

  Some things were reloaded into the wagon. Once supplies were sorted out, the younger trio had what they would need to return. The chests with the orbs, the heavy canvas, sacks of food, and flasks of water remained piled on the ground.

  Chap had never liked partings that took place in the darkness.

  But he watched as his daughter and Wayfarer climbed into the wagon’s back. Taking the bench, Osha held the reins and said nothing to anyone. Wayfarer looked down at Chap.

  “I will see you again,” she almost whispered in a weak voice. Though she tried to smile, the effort was obvious.

  Osha flicked the reins, turned the wagon north, and never looked back. In some ways, he had been trapped into this choice. It was clear that he wished to return to Wynn, but he would never leave Wayfarer—and Shade—alone in a foreign land.

  It did not take long for the wagon to vanish into the darkness, and once again, Chap found himself alone with a vampire and a dwarven guardian of the honored dead. Chane looked tense and bleak all at once as they turned to preparing their supplies to be hauled into the mountain. Ore-Locks appeared only too willing to assist in moving onward, but they now faced reorganizing supplies for transport.

  First, Chane removed the spare clothing from his pack and filled it with apples and onions. In the end, they stuffed as much of the food supplies as they could into any extra space inside the orb chests. While the thought of this bothered Chap, he refrained from protest. They had to reduce the bulk if not the weight of all they had to carry.

  Still, even with such condensing, there was much for two people to move in one trip.

  Ore-Locks and Chane headed off—heavily burdened—for the first trip.

  Chap stood watch over what remained behind, and he waited for quite a while. Finally, the two men returned, and they managed to carry what was left by tying sacks to each other’s shoulders and slinging flasks of water on top. One chest had already been transported, and two remained. Chap was alarmed that they had left an orb unguarded, and he would not have made such a choice. One of them should have remained behind and the other should have made several trips. However . . . Chane had always been overly cautious in this regard, so somehow, he must have felt the orb was safe.

  Moreover, there was nothing to be done now, and Chap expressing his anger would only delay them further.

  Each of the men hefted a chest, and only then did Chap follow Ore-Locks and Chane up the rocky slope along a winding path and into the dark of the mountain.

  A short ways up, Chane said, “Wait.”

  Setting his chest down briefly, he took out his cold crystal and ignited it, holding it with two fingers of his left hand as he managed to lift the chest again. By the filtered light, Chap saw something glinting beneath his feet, and he looked down. Illuminated fragments of flat rock, which appeared to have been cut from stone, had somehow been pressed into the steep slope.

  Stretching ahead, there were many more.

  Chap followed as Chane and Ore-Locks climbed those ancient steps. Soon the fragments became slightly larger, and Chap noticed they formed two straight lines with open ground in between.

  “It was laid down long ago by my people’s ancestors,” Ore-Locks said quietly.

  The path began to curve and snake. They weaved their way through wind-bent trees, jagged outcrops, and rougher terrain, but the path always continued. Finally, like the Slip-Tooth Pass below, the path of rock fragments simply ended at the crumbled side of a cliff covered in heavy brush.

  Chap looked to Ore-Locks.

  —Where is . . . the entrance?—

  Ore-Locks glanced back, extended a thick finger in his grip on the chest he carried, and pointed toward the brush. He crouched, set down the chest, pulled some of the brush aside, and sidestepped through while pulling the chest along. In the dark, he appeared to pass into the cliffside itself.

  Was this another trick of the stonewalkers?

  Chane dropped to his knees, crawling as he pushed his chest along in front of himself. Halfway into the brush, he paused to look at Chap.

  “Come,” he said.

  Then Chane pushed through and vanished as the brush snapped back into place.

  Chap finally followed but did not see the narrow, downward hole until he had wrestled himself halfway in. By the light of a cold-lamp crystal held by Chane, at first all that Chap could see was the undead’s backside.

  A strange gust of stale air blew over him as they emerged in a more-open area.

  Chane held up the crystal. Ore-Locks stood farther in, and the crystal’s light exposed a stone archway directly above them. They were in a tunnel.

  The ceiling was so low, Chane was not able to straighten up, and he remained buckled over as he lifted his chest.

  “Go on,” he told Ore-Locks, and the dwarf led the way.

  Chap began to wonder how much farther they would go, when finally, Chane emerged into a large open area. Chap followed as Chane glanced back.

  “This was once like the market cavern outside the Cheku’ûn tram station,” he said.

  Chap made out large, dead crystals anchored high on the walls. He remembered the station that he and Chane had visited at Dhredze Seatt. Glowing orange crystals above had offered warmth and light amid booths and tents and the scent of roasting sausages. He could bare
ly picture such in this long-dead place.

  A large archway dominated the chamber’s far side, and there stood Ore-Locks, waiting. It took longer than Chap expected for him and Chane to cross that immense space.

  Ore-Locks led onward again. In the next cavern, Chap found himself before an enormous platform at the chamber’s center. In the back wall was a large tunnel with three lanes of tracks leading into it.

  What troubled him most were the long-dead trams with their lengths of cars stretched out behind them at all the docks. Whatever happened here ages ago, those trams had arrived here and never returned to their origin. And if such were needed to reach the ancient seatt . . .

  “Over here,” Ore-Locks called before Chap could wonder if any of the trams still worked.

  The dwarf led them down the tracks and into the tunnel to find a good-sized cart made of solid metal. Its platform was thick with a high-sided iron storage box on the back end. Perhaps the cart had once been used to service the tunnel and tracks. More notable, it was already loaded with supplies, enough to crowd the cart’s two-man pump.

  Padding closer, Chap spotted a cylindrical dead crystal the size of his own torso secured at the back of the metal box. It was tied on in a series of loops with a thin rope. Without hesitation, Ore-Locks set down his burdens and hurried over. He untied the crystal and walked around to the cart’s front. Chap followed and saw a simpler iron box on the cart’s other end, and there was Ore-Locks relashing the dead crystal.

  Puzzled, Chap could not keep silent.

  —Why . . . the dead . . . crystal—

  Ore-Locks no longer flinched and only frowned at the words popping up in his head.

  “They still absorb and amplify light,” he answered. “Something we discovered on our last visit. Chane?”

  Chane had stowed his chest in the pump cart and stepped forward to hand Ore-Locks a cold-lamp crystal.

  “Step back,” Ore-Locks said, and even he looked away.

  He swiped Chane’s crystal furiously on his pant leg until it was almost too bright to look upon. And he touched it to the larger dead one on the cart’s front.