“Has the beast reestablished connection to prehistoric times?” he growled, his voice unnaturally thin.
“We have to get Rol off the Path.” I quickened my paces and tried to get Bren’s attention. “If he stays on much longer, he will die.”
Bren’s response was firm and direct. “It’s his choice.”
“Then let me die,” Rol said as loudly as he could. I heard him lurch, recover, and make his steps even once again. “I will make this journey or perish in the attempt.”
Around us, the snake-rot grew thicker. Shiny black masses of wriggling, hissing, living decay. The stench made my eyes water. My knees wobbled. I had to sheathe my sword to contend with my own growing weakness. In minutes, my thoughts started to spin.
One foot, the next foot, take a step. I chanted to myself to keep me walking. My pack seemed to grow in size and weight.
Bren’s sword light blazed and drove the rot back. I blinked. Had I been asleep on my feet? I felt like I was going to faint. From somewhere in the darkness behind me, Rol vomited, then growled his frustration as the snake-rot consumed his leavings.
“I think I see where it goes,” Bren gasped from in front. “And it’s almost at the end, near the barrier and the entrance to the Sacred Lands.”
Before he could say it, an image from my dreams burst into my mind.
A village, burning… Witches running, screaming, fighting—fighting Nire.
Sparks flying from Nire’s fingertips, making Shadows, raining death on all who opposed her…
“The Arthurian Sanctuary,” I said as I dragged myself forward and stopped beside Bren.
He nodded as Rol staggered up, almost fell, then used his hammer to push away from the Path’s wall. His lips pressed into a tight line, Bren raised his sword and sliced at the Path.
Nothing happened.
He tried again, swore, then took my hand. Feebly, I drew my own blade and poured my magic into the weapon.
We brought the swords down, silver and gold magic intertwined, and punched a tiny hole in the Path’s skin of energy.
Rol wobbled and barely caught himself. My training master was fading fast.
Bren sensed the desperate situation, as did his crow-brother, who flew to Rol, chittering and squawking. Once more, Bren urged me to aim my sword, and we stabbed at the Path. Stabbed and sawed and stabbed and sawed. Slow progress. Inches at a time.
Bren was holding me up now.
We stabbed again.
Rol bellowed, lifted his hammer to help and almost struck Bren’s crow-brother. Rol cursed and pulled the hammer over his shoulder, then collapsed. As he fell, he brought the heavy head down across both of our blades.
My sword bucked in my hand. Pain flared in my wrists. I yelled as the blade dropped beside Bren’s, and a yawning rent opened in the Path.
Rol managed to fall through the tear, taking his hammer with him.
“Come on,” Bren said, pulling me through the opening even as he spoke.
We fell out of the Path into dew-soaked dirt, beneath the light of only moon and stars. As I tumbled forward, I caught a brief image of Bren’s crow-brother flying over huge plants all around us. Cultivated plants, pruned and trimmed, lining what appeared to be well-tended, deeply furrowed paths.
I shivered and groaned. From somewhere, Rol groaned back. Bren only cursed as he tried to hoist himself up. For a moment I heard nothing but our sounds and rasping breath.
Then an eerie singing rose to fill the night.
***
Chapter Thirteen
The weird song surrounding us made me shiver. I ground my teeth even as my sword still vibrated and my wrists ached from the force of Rol’s hammer against Jazz’s blade and mine. I was face down in moist earth and spit dirt from my mouth. My crow-brother landed on my back and pecked my head.
“Knock it off,” I growled.
The crow-brother pecked me again and swore in some ancient language I barely understood.
Jazz groaned. “I think Rol broke all of my fingers. And that noise!”
“It’s the enchantresses singing. Block them out.” I rolled over, pulled off my pack, and checked to be sure the two books Dralz had saved were okay. They were. Which was more than I could say for us. Taking a hammer blow from Rol—even glancing—would be enough to kill most people.
Somehow I managed to push myself to my knees and then my feet. The back of my head still ached from the wood that had slammed into my head during the explosion. My palm was numb from the cut during the binding ceremony with the hags. But I put all that aside, even the pain in my arms from Rol’s hammer.
My crow-brother settled on my left shoulder and kept quiet for once. I’d had plenty of practice blocking out klatchKoven singing, so I used that experience to keep the enchantresses out of my head. Not totally, but enough that they weren’t making me do anything stupid.
The song shifted. More voices joined in, and these were definitely male.
Jazz got to her feet looking like somebody had slapped her. “This place. I’ve seen it in my nightmares. And that singing sounds like men. Dozens of voices trying to strengthen the spelled music.”
“Whatever,” I said. “They won’t be singing for long.”
In the moonlight Rol staggered and shook his head. He raised his hammer and his muscles bulged with the movement. He shook his head again and his chest rose and fell as he took a deep breath. “As you would say, Your Highness,” he said to me. “I believe we have some ‘ass to kick.’’’
I grinned and was relieved to see Rol standing straight and proud. The snake-rot hadn’t done him in. He was practically his old self again, and he was ignoring all the noise, just like me.
Jazz bent down and picked up one of her swords, or what was left of it. Rol’s powerful down-sweep with the hammer had shattered the blade. She sighed and gave it a look of longing. “I really liked this old sword. I’ve had it since Rol first trained me in the art of swordwork.” She tossed it aside and patted the sword on her other side and her jaw tightened in the moonlight. “But I’ve still got this one and it will do.”
I looked at my own weapon. I was the Shadowalker, and my blade had so much magic that the hammer hadn’t made a dent in it.
The eerie singing continued as the stench of that gross snake-like rot swept over me, and I glanced back at the Path. The hole we’d made was so huge I wasn’t sure we’d be able to repair it.
“We can try,” Jazz said as if reading my mind.
We approached it and she drew her other sword. The gaping maw belched icy air, and the stink coming from it seemed to double.
As of one mind, she ran the broad side of her sword down one side of the hole, and I slid mine down the other side. Our silver and gold energy flowed and, for a moment, tried to come together like a net of power. I thought the sides of the hole were going to seal, but the magic slid away and the gap opened wider than ever.
My crow-brother gave a massive squawk of frustration and took off.
“Try again,” Jazz urged. “If we leave it like this, the Path might collapse.”
I raised my blade and doubled my concentration. For a long, horrible second or two, I felt like I was back in the training barn trying to make that damned sawhorse disappear. My thoughts wouldn’t come together. I couldn’t focus.
But Jazz was right beside me.
The sight of her, the feel of her magic flowing out across that rip helped me pull it together. My own magic ran through my blade in a rush, joined hers, knitted together—and fell to nothing.
The hole tore a little wider. Why hadn’t I paid more attention to my oldeMagic lessons? Would they have helped me now?
“You did the best you could,” Jazz said, once more making me wonder if she could read my mind, like she had when I first came to L.O.S.T., before I learned to block her from my thoughts. “We did the best we could.”
The singing got so loud that the hair on the back of my neck started to crawl.
“Great.” Jazz st
ill clenched her sword in her right hand and ran her left up and down her old Shadow wound. “Now that rot might get loose, and we might get stuck in this jungle place forever.”
I shifted my pack and kept my sword unsheathed, too. What could I say? If we did, we did. At least, like Rol said, we’d kick some ass first. This wasn’t going to be easy going no matter how we looked at it. And we had no choice but to go forward.
Into what?
The unearthly singing continued, but then I heard something much worse. The sound of children crying.
Jazz’s eyes got wide. I couldn’t tell for sure in the moonlight, but I thought she’d gone all pale. Her hands started to shake, and she rubbed her fingers. Beside me, Rol growled low in his throat.
“Are you all right?” I asked Jazz.
“My nightmare.” She looked at the towering plants, then she looked sick.
“If he has hurt the youngling, I will slaughter the monster twice over,” Rol growled.
I started forward. “That’s my job, remember?” I’d made a deal with the hags, and I was going to make sure that little red freak paid for killing Acaw, Dralz, and everyone else he’d murdered in L.O.S.T.
For the first time I got a really good look at what was ahead of us. The plant jungle, yeah. But more than that. From what I could see in the moon and starlight, a huge tower stood on top of a grassy hill. A black speck circled the tower, and I knew it was my crow-brother, showing the way. Down in my gut, I felt a pull up the hill. OldeMagic, from the hags. The tower—did we need to be there? It looked like it was straight out of a medieval castle, but something nudged the back of my mind.
“It’s the Tor,” I said. “From the King Arthur stories.”
“They weren’t stories.” Jazz tipped her head back as she looked up at the tower. “It’s a powerful place, full of its own oldeMagic. We need to get to the top, because I think that’s where the real crying is coming from. It’s just being magnified into these plants by a spell.”
“No way.” I shook my head. “It’s all around us. The crying’s got to be coming from nearby, somewhere in this plant jungle.”
In the distance, my crow-brother shrieked, a nervous edge to the call.
Jazz put her hand on my arm and looked me in the eye. Tears coursed down her cheeks, but she looked more angry than afraid. “The plants are a maze designed to trap us and leave us lost and vulnerable. I know. I’ve tried to find my way through them every night for months now.” She nodded to the tower. “The Circle witches have to be in there. It’s the only thing that makes sense.”
I let out a breath. Rol grunted. It was hard for both of us not to believe our ears, but I trusted Jazz, and I knew Rol did, too. The kid-crying was just another trick, another spell. It would be hard not to go hacking through that jungle to find my brother, but we’d do this Jazz’s way first. My crow-brother and that weird sensation from the oldeMagic seemed to agree.
The singing became more and more irritating as we wound through the plants, ignoring the sobs and cries as we headed up, up, up. About halfway there, we came to a path that looked like it had been dug about four inches into the ground. Around us grew even more huge plants, but these appeared to be pruned and well-kept. Still, something about them was menacing. Did plants have eyes? Could they watch us?
The path led us upward toward the tower that seemed to be a part of the hill itself. Part of the tower rushed down the side of the hill, while the other section looked like it was buried inside the ground.
I plunged forward, the singing and the sound of children crying growing louder, and the bushes around us getting taller. I heard the rustling of plants and soft footsteps from behind as Rol and Jazz followed. The smell of roses and other flowers was strong, but there was something evil in the air.
Pretty soon the Enchantresses’ song started getting to me, especially with all those extra voices. Jazz was right. Men were singing, too, and the more I listened, the more all the voices sounded familiar. I stumbled, shaking my head to get them out. At the same time I was getting really frustrated. We were climbing, but it didn’t seem like we were getting anywhere. When the path split off in two directions, I paused for a second and went to the left. I heard sounds behind me, so I figured Jazz and Rol were still following.
I gripped my sword tighter. We were probably walking straight into a trap, but we were prepared, swords and hammer at the ready. We were going to find that freaking Erlking and he was going to eat metal.
The path branched off again and this time I turned to the right, which took me closer to the top of the Tor. The sound of heavy breathing came from behind. I hadn’t thought Jazz was that out of shape, and certainly not Rol.
I tossed a look over my shoulder.
My crow-brother shrieked.
Something rammed into me so hard it knocked a shout from my mouth and my breath from my chest.
I slammed face-first onto the path.
In the distance I heard Jazz scream.
A giant weight pinned me to the earth. I couldn’t move. My breath came in short pants and my face burned where it had struck the path. I struggled to move, but I couldn’t even lift my little finger. I tried to shout, but my mouth wouldn’t work.
My sword sheath dug into my leg. Swishing noises surrounded me and there was a smell like mint and thyme. Someone ripped the pack off my back. Robes swirled in front of my face as my sword was jerked from my hand. It was hard to tell in only moonlight, but I could swear the robes were red.
My arms got pulled back. The next thing I knew my wrists were bound tight. It didn’t feel like rope. It sizzled, as if I was bound with magic.
“Idiotic bird,” said a familiar voice. I heard flapping, the empty swish of blade meeting air, and my crow-brother’s triumphant, taunting caw as he flew out of reach.
The thudding of my heart increased and my pissed-off meter rose to level ten. I tried to use my mind to cast a spell, but it was no good without my hands or my sword. I’d always used my sword for my magic, and now I was handicapped without it.
Pain lanced my injured skull and my eyes watered as I was yanked up by my hair until I was on my knees.
And found myself looking straight into the swirling gray eyes of the Dana’Kell priest, Quinn. He was crouched in front of me so that we were nose-to-nose, crow-scratches visible on his forehead.
Nice one, crow-brother.
Even with blood swelling on his forehead, Quinn gave a nasty smile.
No! I yelled in my head, but no words would come from my mouth. I’d known he was dirty. I’d tried to tell Jazz. We should have let the klatchKoven eat every last one of the Dana’Kell.
Quinn’s features hardened. “Time for you to join the other stone-bearers and finish the Circle.” He had hold of the two books from my pack. “Perfect,” he murmured as he stared at them.
Someone from behind me, tall and strong, probably another Dana’Kell priest, took me by the shoulders and jerked me from my knees to my feet. My legs were frozen stiff and I would have fallen if whoever it was didn’t have a good grip on me. Quinn rose from where he’d been crouched in front of me, the ancient books clasped to his chest with one arm, my sword in his free hand. He turned over the sword to a Dana’Kell priest who moved up beside him and bowed from his shoulders as he accepted it.
When the other priest backed away, Quinn circled one hand in the air and red ropes of magic snaked from his fingers and wrapped around my upper body. The ropes glowed in the near darkness, lighting up Quinn’s features, making him look grotesque.
After I was bound he circled his hand again and my body suddenly went limp and I could feel and move again. It took me a moment to steady myself. “Jerk,” I got out through clenched teeth. At the same time I kicked back with one foot. My boot connected with something hard, like bone. A shout of pain and I had the momentary satisfaction of injuring one of my captors.
Then someone behind me knocked me upside the head so hard I literally saw stars and my knees nearly gave out. Oka
y, enough with the head. I’d get even with the freaks. I just had to figure out how.
“Hold your tongue and come this way.” Clutching the books, Quinn turned and started up the path I’d been taking.
I shook my head, trying to shake away the pain, but only made it worse. I managed to move my feet and follow him. My wrists were securely tied behind me. Not that it mattered since the glowing red ropes had my whole arms immobilized from my chest to my hips.
“All this time you’ve been working with the Erlking,” I stated. “That’s how he got into L.O.S.T. the last time, after we warded that cave. All this, after we gave you sanctuary and everything else we did for you.”
Quinn didn’t bother to look back at me. “If it were not for you and Queen Jasmina, we would not have been able to prepare for this most important night of all nights. Beltane.” I heard the evil smile in his voice. “You were so kind to keep the klatchKoven from eating my priests and me.”
We were climbing higher and higher up the Tor and the sound of crying children was becoming louder with every step I took.
Finally, we reached the top of the grassy hill so that we were facing a doorway into the granite tower. To my left I saw a red glow coming up the rise and then I recognized Jazz, bound exactly like I was, only she was thrown over the shoulder of one of the Dana’Kell. She was struggling and saying words I never thought I’d hear coming from her mouth. I almost smiled.
Our eyes met, but only for a fraction of a second.
“That’s what was wrong in L.O.S.T. when we left,” she said, sounding miserable and furious. “Everyone was there, but I didn’t see the priests!”
I was shoved from behind again, toward the stone steps that no doubt led to the top of the tower.
“Climb or bleed,” Quinn ordered.
I took the steps two at a time, and the priest carrying Jazz was right behind me. With every step, I got madder. Somehow I was going to get us free, and kick some serious Dana’Kell ass.
L.O.S.T. Trilogy Box Set Page 62