Ice, Iron and Gold

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Ice, Iron and Gold Page 42

by S. M. Stirling


  I do trust you, Wythen. And I need for you to trust me. I want you to recite the spell that lays a spirit to rest.

  No! she thought wildly.

  Please. I don't ask this lightly, Wythen. It's what I truly, desperately want.

  Narvik sensed her sad acceptance. The moment approached and he could feel Wythen's resolve wavering. Please! he said. And with a sense of utter desolation, Wythen complied.

  The thing danced around him. It had the form of an old woman, but the eyes could never have been human; they were like windows into nothingness, an oblivion that pulled into a bottomless hunger.

  Navila stopped her capering and stood before Wythen, her arms reaching for her.

  Give it to me, she demanded. Give me life!

  But wait. The girl was weak-willed, never knowing her own mind from day to day. She might decide to lay Narvik to rest. That wouldn't do at all, now would it? Navila decided to make sure. She reached for Wythen. And was blocked!

  What's this? She probed the solid barrier that stopped her. You!

  Narvik! In her servant's body.

  How dare you? she screamed. .

  Navila reached out and to Narvik's utter shock yanked him from Wythen's body as easily as pulling the skin off a boiled root, flinging him hard against the edge of the circle.

  Narvik cringed back from it, burnt with an icy draining.

  Wythen staggered as she felt his pain. Her mouth shocked open in an O of agony, but her hands went up in the last gesture and she breathed the words that would lay her love to rest.

  Navila felt herself fading, drawn beyond the living world. She knew what waited for her; knew very well, and how it would greet her after the long, long wait past the appointed hour. With a shriek of hatred she turned and launched herself at Wythen. Reaching out with the last of her strength, she caught hold of Wythen's heart.

  Narvik heard the last word of the spell. Blood burst from Wythen's eyes and mouth and fingernails. Her heart beat once, and stopped.

  Wythen opened her eyes on darkness; the pain was gone, and she felt so calm that her wonder at it was mild. In the distance was a light; a swelling star casting flickering curls of gold around it. She started walking towards it, faster and faster; her calmness blossomed into joy, joy that was also deep contentment.

  "Wait!" a voice called.

  She ignored it. There were others calling to her from ahead now.

  "Come back."

  "I don't want to come back," she said. Reluctantly, she slowed, turning to look over her shoulder.

  "There's so much you have left to do. So much life has to offer you."

  "No," she said, frowning. "I've done terrible things I don't want to hurt people anymore. It's best I don't go back. Leave me alone."

  "You've never hurt anyone, Wythen. It was the old woman. You don't deserve to die for her crimes. Please, come back."

  "But it was I who killed you, my hands, I saw them . . ."

  My hands, but not my will within the hands.

  "Thank you," she whispered, stepping forward, moving quickly again.

  "Don't leave me!" Narvik begged. "You can't leave me like this."

  Wythen stopped. He was right.

  There seemed to be no space between decision and action here, no hesitation—as if to recognize the right was to do it. The light receded from her, growing smaller and smaller.

  Darkness fell.

  When she opened her eyes, Narvik was seated beside her, transparent as a reflection on still water. He smiled and took his hand from her brow; a touch so faint she was only conscious of it when it was removed, like a whisper of wind on a calm day.

  Wythen licked dry lips and tried to rise. She came to one elbow with an effort that made her moan in pain. One look around and she let herself collapse again.

  "The lines are ruined," she said in despair. Darkened, blurred.

  Narvik laughed.

  "Wythen," he said, leaning over her. "You couldn't feed a kitten milk now, much less raise the dead." He smiled with amusement and tenderness. "Go home. Sleep."

  "Oh. But you'll have to wait for . . ."

  "Next year?" He shrugged. "What's a year, to a ghost?"

  "I'll take good care of Parney," she promised weakly. "And when the time comes I'll leave without a fuss."

  "When the time comes," he said leaning over her, "I shall bind you to me with the strongest bonds I can weave." He kissed her on the lips.

  I felt that! she thought. Then realized what he'd said, and stared.

  He laughed.

  "You shall have a place, and friends all around you and a warm hearth in winter"

  "And . . . you?" she asked.

  Narvik stroked the curls back from her high forehead.

  "And me most of all," he promised.

  THE END

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