The Sage seemed to consider it for a time. When he fixed his unmoving stare on the wounded warrior in his lonely alcove, Kole thought he might kill him with little more than a thought, or a wave of his hand. That he might banish him with some strange and unknown magic back to whatever realm he had called him out of.
“The Shadow Kings are after the same thing you are, Reyna,” the Sage said. “The same thing we all are.”
“They are not of this world,” Kole said, shaking his head.
“No,” the Sage allowed. “All the same …”
Kole closed his eyes to keep from passing out. It was all he could do to keep his blade lit. His veins burned, and where the fire normally warmed him and gave him strength, now it only stung. He was utterly spent. He needed the sun. He needed something with which to replenish his stores. He needed rest.
“Where are my friends?” Kole asked, keeping his eyes squeezed shut. “They beat you. That much is clear. Drove you from the flats like rats smoked from a nest. How many of them did you kill?”
He didn’t know the reason for the silence that followed, but feared to.
“None of them,” Myriel answered for the Sage. She sounded bitter, and the Shadow laughed again. The blue warrior hissed at her, an animal sound, and the other quieted. “The Witch’s servants didn’t fare as well.”
Kole had seen Cress crushed by the red demon in the cavern beneath the ice. He wondered if the others had all been killed: Tundra, Gwenithil and Pirrahn.
“The queen is alive,” Kole said, a slow smile spreading across his face.
When he turned back to the Eastern Dark, his eyes slid toward the red sash at his waist. It was torn, and Kole felt the stump of his right hand—rather, where his right hand had been—pulsing.
The Sage saw the look and offered a nod that only called up an acid disgust in Kole’s throat. An image of his mother came up unbidden, and Kole sighed, knowing he would die before he got any of the answers that began gnawing at the back of his skull, trying to force their way in. Trying to keep him from leaping toward a sure death.
He had always been too stubborn to listen to his better judgment. Why start now?
The Sage’s violet eyes flashed and began to change as Kole made his fatal decision. Ignoring the pain that was sure to come, he put what fire he could into his Everwood blade and made for him, hoping only that he could see a moment of fear, if nothing else, in the Sage’s eyes before he died.
Instead, he fell to his knees, the Everwood falling with a hiss and clatter on the frozen floor and going out with a foamy complaint. Kole felt his veins constricting. Where before his body felt hot enough to hurt, now he was cold, and growing colder. He fell forward, catching himself on one outstretched palm as the stump of his right hand rang painfully against the melted floor.
His vision began to cloud, and blackness closed in at the edges. Then it stopped, and he looked up to see the Sage standing over him. His eyes had changed from purple to amber, and now switched back, like cooling coals. His hand glowed, and Kole realized what had happened to him as he felt his heart begin to flood his veins with its fire once more.
“We will not fight, you and I,” the Sage said. “Not now. I asked you a question before. What was it?”
Kole swallowed. His mouth leaked drool, and his skin couldn’t work up the heat to burn it up. He wiped at it with the bandaged stump and saw the Sage’s eyes track it once more. He could have sworn he saw something like pity in the look, but dismissed it.
“You asked me if I was alive,” Kole said. His voice was hoarse.
“And are you alive?”
Kole glared at him. He caught sight of his own reflection in the thin film of water beneath him. “Close enough to it,” he sighed, hating the self-pity that entered his tone.
“Why do you think that is?”
“Because you have something in mind,” Kole said in a growl. “As you always do. As you always have. Plans set upon plans, and none of them coming out well for any of us.” When he looked up at the Sage again, he must have put more fire into the look than he realized. The Eastern Dark raised his eyebrows and took a small slide backward. He still held one hand out toward Kole, a ward against another attack.
He needn’t worry. Kole knew that if he tried to call up his fire again, he would fall into a sleep he wouldn’t wake from.
As his anger faded, Kole looked at the man before him. He looked into his eyes, trying to see him for what he truly was, or what Kole had always imagined him to be. He was a far cry from the old man they had seen at Center, when he had arrived unbidden and taken control of the King of Ember. He was even farther from the image of the red-eyed, shadow-sewn sorcerer Mother Ninyeva had described when she had told them all tales of the First Keeper, the Ember that had first drawn this one’s wandering eyes.
The feeling was difficult to trace, and took its time worming its way through Kole’s mind. Finally, it came to the fore, and Kole was surprised to feel the truth of it.
He was disappointed.
Here stood the enemy of the Emberfolk. The enemy of the world. His enemy, or so he had always believed. He knew the Eastern Dark—Ray Valour, as Queen Elanil called him—was a man made of goals and vain desires just like any other, albeit older. He knew he had his reasons for hunting the others of his kind, and though he was loath to admit it, Kole knew that his own journey, and that of the Ember king the Sage had taken body and soul, was not so very different.
Kole had long wanted the Sages dead. Just as T’Alon had. Just as the Eastern Dark did.
“What is it, then?” Kole asked, his curiosity starting to get the better of him now that his anger had run its course. Perhaps it ran on his fire, or alongside it. Perhaps he was simply tired, and beyond the point of caring.
There was another reason. The Eastern Dark seemed to sense it, watching Kole closely, carefully, measuring him.
“What are you looking for?” the Sage asked him. He lowered his hand to his side, and Kole stood on wavering legs. He stood slowly, feeling the kiss of the shadows at his back. The chamber had darkened, and the Sage lit his palms like amber lanterns for them to see by.
“How did you learn it?” Kole asked him. He nodded at his hand. “The control. If you had that, how did you let the queen beat you? Or was it Linn?”
The Eastern Dark frowned, and then his look shifted, softening at the edges. One eye changed back to the orange Kole had seen before.
“I have made a bargain,” the Sage said.
“You are a thief.”
“Believe what you will,” the Sage said, his eye changing back. “I have little power left of my own. Enough to do one thing, and one thing only. You will be glad that I have Rane along with us before the end.”
Kole only stared at him. He felt like checking the reactions of the others, as if they were comrades. Mortals, at least. Beings separate from the would-be god who stood before them, who had been reduced in ways Kole could only guess at, but could see as clearly as the night stars that winked beyond the opening at his back.
“You need our help, Reyna,” the Sage said, not mincing words. He took a confident step forward and Kole took one back. “It will be easier if I show you.”
He reached forward and let the glow fade from his hand. He stretched it out, fingers parting.
“I’ve enough bite to give you a wound to match the one I’ve been granted today,” Kole warned. But the Sage just stepped forward. He moved faster than Kole could react in his tired state, and his palm struck him on the brow hard enough to push his head back.
Kole tried to struggle, but before the thought could reach his limbs, his arms went slack and his legs went stiff. His head tilted back, his eyes staring up at the slick and sloped ceiling, the edges of T’Alon Rane’s fingers making up the borders of his sight.
The scene of the now was swept away, and Kole was dropped into
a void of endless black. He thought he was in another realm, but as they raced, deeper and deeper, he saw shapes moving at the edges. They were great shapes, full of mass, and when they passed, he could feel the weight of the realm moving aside to admit them.
Water. The sea. They were in the sea, deep below the frozen waves.
The vision took him up, and his eyes stung as he saw the light playing through the sheets of blue-and-white ice above. He passed through it as if it wasn’t there. As if he was a ghost. He passed through walls of Nevermelt as easily as if they were made of the stuff of dreams. He passed suits of armor ringed with gold and decorated with jewels of every color, shape and shimmering cut. There were leather-bound tomes sitting on oaken shelves, unused forges set into the bedrock of the mountain’s base, where the bowels of the crystal palace joined up with the land on the edge of the sea that had once crashed upon its perfect walls.
Kole thought he would be lost forever, exploring endless rooms and halls lit by blue candles set in ornate iron sconces.
And then they came to it. He saw the Sage beside him, standing in a circular room made of carven stone with a beam of light streaming in from above. No. Not the Sage.
T’Alon stood in his black and red-tipped armor. In this place, his flowing red sash had not been ripped. Kole raised his hand and saw that it was whole, and the Ember king’s eyes went from hard to soft seeing him thus.
“Rane …” Kole said. The Ember king nodded at him and then behind him, and Kole turned to look.
The Eastern Dark stood before the dais in the center of the room. Atop it, there was an armored form lit by the filtered light. He had golden hair and lashes long enough for poems. He looked untouched by time.
The Sage was different here, and Kole surmised that this was his true form. He was taller than T’Alon, though softer. His skin was pale, and he could see the veins beneath it. His hair was long, dark and swayed like oil, and his clothing was rich and old. Older than the Valley. Old as an immortal’s memories.
He was intent on the resting form on the granite slab before them.
“Prince Galeveth,” he said. “The object of our doom.”
Kole tried to speak again. His mouth moved, but the words came out warped.
“No need,” the Eastern Dark said without turning. “One more thing to see.”
The room spun and Kole lost all orientation once more. He was cast into a swirling ether of chaos, until he found himself looking down at his hands, which rested on a ledge made of Nevermelt. He stood, shaking, and saw the Sage standing before him, out on the very tip of the half-formed bridge.
There was a chasm before him. At first, Kole thought the distant walls were made of Nevermelt as well, but the motion he had at first taken for light playing across the cut surface revealed itself as splashing foam and rushing water. It was the ocean, held back by an incredible force.
There was something in the center of the pit, and Kole had to squint to see it. The Eastern Dark stepped aside, his purple eyes standing out starkly in the dream. He extended a hand toward the spot where Kole was looking, and Kole wandered forward, head leaning, eyes straining.
There was a speck of black hovering just out of reach, beyond the bridge where the two of them stood. Three—he could feel T’Alon’s eyes on his back. It looked like a black fly, or a mote of soot kicked up in the wind, but the longer Kole looked, the more he recognized the blurred edges and the pulsing core.
“What … is …”
Kole’s words came out slowly, like milk wading through honey.
He gasped without meaning to and fell. The icy cave came rushing back, and Kole retched, spilling his meager guts into the puddle at his knees.
“What …” He choked and wiped the spittle from his bottom lip. “What is it?”
“Power,” the Eastern Dark said, his voice grave. “Immeasurable power. Power that cannot be controlled. It is a key that will open a door to the World Apart. Not a rift. Not a tear. A doorway, and one that our world cannot suffer to be left ajar.”
Kole shook his head. He cast about, looking for T’Alon.
“He is here,” the Sage tried to assure him. “He is close.” He tapped the side of his head, and Kole thought he saw a copper glimmer in his violet eyes.
“You have my attention,” Kole said.
Myriel stepped forward and knelt before Kole. She placed her hand on his shoulder and when he met her red eyes—the burned and scarred half of her face looking even more painful this close—he saw raw emotion. Earnest intent. Even need.
“The Witch has called to the World Apart,” she said. “To my world, and it has answered. She has courted a power she does not understand—”
“You all did,” Kole said quickly, brushing her hand aside. He looked accusingly at the Eastern Dark. “You courted this power together. It was you. It was the Sages who called to the World Apart, brought it here in the first place.”
“We were misled,” the Eastern Dark said. “We were lied to. Tricked.”
“How sorry,” Kole said. “How sorry we all feel for you. My people and me. The Emberfolk. The Rivermen. The Gray people who fled the stone towers in the east. The Willows and the Raiths and all those who live beneath the emerald branches at Center. How sorry we feel for your folly, and all the … frustration it has caused you.”
It was a long time before the Sage answered. He sat, cross-legged, and Kole saw the Shadow girl appear as if conjured, twining her arms about his armored shoulders, her eyes roving over Kole as if considering him.
“Did you truly think I would join you?” Kole asked, his voice rising. He sounded like a child and didn’t care. “You? You are my enemy, Ray Valour.” For once, Kole said the name. He said it with all the venom he could muster. It tasted right. “You, who called this darkness in the first place.” The Sage opened his mouth to answer, but Kole wouldn’t have it. “You went searching for power. You!”
“We all did,” Valour admitted. “And we have carried our sins—”
“Most of you to your graves,” Kole spat. He nodded at the Sage. “Rane did his part in putting a good number of your brethren down. I’ve tried to pick up where he left off. It’s just what you wanted. You have your victory, Valour. Here, at the end of the world, you have it in sight. All that stands in your way are the last Embers, and a girl with the power of your former brother. Don’t sit here and tell me you’re here to save the world. Not truly. You’re here to save yourself.”
Valour watched him as if he were watching a brittle burning log on a nighttime fire. Patient. Inevitable. Kole pursed his lips.
“My brothers, sisters and I,” Valour started, his eyes switching between Kole’s, “were marked by the World Apart. The fault lies with many, and many are dead. The Sage of Center whose essence was bound to that brilliant blade you crossed paths with not long ago. He knew it. He tried to sever it by stowing himself away. The Red Fox, Pevah—all the names your grandfather wore in the deserts of the west—knew his end was at hand, and that it was needed. Even Uhtren knew it. It’s why he withdrew, locked himself away in a red-topped citadel above the farthest Valley.”
The Sage’s face took on a grim look. “I took on the burden the rest would not,” he said. “I took on the sins they would not. The sins that would make up for the first. We were tricked, Reyna. I was tricked, and in my greed and my folly, I made it easy. I never knew that the World Apart had an intent behind it, or a force within it, pulling the strings, casting lines. I never knew until it was too late, and when I did, I knew they had to die. Those who couldn’t rid themselves of its touch.”
Kole watched him closely.
“You Landkist are pale candles, some brighter than others. Some bright enough to be torches, but we Sages were lit beacons, shining across the stars. So long as those beacons are lit, the Convergence is inevitable. It would have been a long way off. Perhaps long enough for me t
o find a way to stop it.” He sighed and looked out of the cave mouth. “Alas, it has come to this. The princess—the queen—is too far gone. She has accelerated it. This I have shown you. Kole.” He let his eyes bore into Kole’s own. “She has to die, and before it’s too late. You have chosen the wrong side.”
Kole swallowed. He ignored Myriel’s pleading look and sat up straighter, bracing one hand on his knee and resting his bound wound against the plates of his black armor, scored with a hundred silver scars and gashes.
“You hunted us,” Kole said, his voice barely rising above a whisper. “You drove us from the sands and into the Valley core.”
“I have made many mistakes,” Valour said through gritted teeth. “I thought to—”
“You thought to survive the coming darkness,” Kole said. “You sought to use us—the Embers—as your wards against the doom you called.”
“I thought to make you strong in that Valley. I did.”
“We died in that Valley,” Kole said.
The Eastern Dark actually laughed at that, and Kole was too taken aback to respond.
“Your folk were doing plenty of dying—and plenty of killing—long before the Dark Kind came,” he said. “The Valley Wars were some of the bloodiest I’ve observed, and I have lived a long time. It still shocks me to see you standing alongside one of the Rockbled. More Embers have been crushed by their hurled stones than currently stand in the world.”
Kole swallowed. “Things change.”
“Yes,” Valour said. “Yes, they do. Which brings us to the present.” He leaned back, his posture mirroring Kole’s own. “I was wrong to think I could stop the World Apart because I didn’t understand it. I didn’t understand what drove it. You see, Reyna,” he looked to Myriel, “it was not I who rang the bell. It was I—me and my kind—who was discovered. Power attracts power, after all. Like a moth to flame. Like a mantis to a firefly. The past is gone. Let it die. A new nightmare is coming. Unless we can stop it.”
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