Mirayla squeezed his hand. "What is it?"
"Father's down below, just like I feared." Cree opened the door. "It's this way."
He had hoped the lower halls of Torol House would be deserted, and he was not disappointed. The halls were well lit, for once, but empty. He counted under his breath. "Five, six." He stopped in front of the seventh door, shaking as faded memories surged out of the darkness. "Seventh door on the right," he whispered and laid his hand against the smooth wood. He lost himself in the past, remembering Sarana dragging him down the hall, his own screams lost in the combined sounds of the mage's chants and the victim's cries of fear and pain. A hand touched his arm, and he flinched.
"They're only memories, Cree," Mirayla said. "They can't hurt you."
He patted her hand and wiped tears from his eyes. "I know." His voice was hoarse. "But that doesn't make them hurt any less."
Mirayla wrapped her arms around him. "We'll help you, Cree. This time, you aren't alone."
Cree crushed her to him. "I don't think I could have done this alone."
Benjamin cleared his throat. "You won't have to worry if we don't get moving. Someone's bound to come down the hall. We've been lucky but --"
Cree let Mirayla go and with a sigh, he turned the doorknob, revealing a set of stairs leading down into darkness. "This way." Without waiting, he plunged down the stairs into the murky gloom below.
"Your father didn't know this was here?" Benjamin squinted and wrinkled his nose at the stench. "How could he have missed this?"
"He never cared to explore the house. There's another level below this one, too, but it floods."
"What was this place, Cree?"
He took Mirayla's hand and kissed it. "I don't know. It's older than the city itself, though. Father's up ahead." He dropped her hand and started down the corridor. Foolishly, Cree had hoped time would have changed the chambers for the better; instead they were worse than he remembered. The stench of decay was sickening. From somewhere ahead, came pitiful moans and cries. He swallowed and pushed his disgust to the back of his mind. An archway loomed ahead, and he froze.
"Cree?"
He didn't hear Mirayla, instead he heard a child's screams, his screams. He closed his eyes and forced himself forward. Faded wisps of old magic teased his mind, and again, he felt the bonds on his wrists, the fire coursing through his body, the sudden stab of pain as his mind was invaded. He dropped to his knees, trembling. "I can't do this," he gasped.
Mirayla knelt next to him. "You can." She held out her hand. "Come on, I'll help you, and Benjamin will help, too."
"Aye, Mac Torol." The blacksmith looped his arm through Cree's. "Come on."
He stood on shaky legs and started forward again, at last passing through the arch to the place of his nightmares. The room had only changed for the worse. More rings littered the floor, and more lines had been etched into the stone. Tremors shook Cree's body at the sight of those lines, and they writhed in recognition. The stone table was black with dried blood. Shelves covered the walls on either side of the entrance and were filled with jars of powders and liquids. Three closed doors were on the opposite side of the room, and even without opening them, Cree knew his father was in the center one.
Benjamin turned a complete circle and laid a hand on his sword. "What is this place?" He stepped backwards, his boot stopping a hairs breadth from one of the etchings.
Cree pulled the blacksmith back. "Don't step on the lines." He pointed to the faint lines burned into the stone. Taking care to stay to the outer edge of the room, Cree made his way to the doors and stopped, just a few paces away. Even though the room was cool, sweat beaded his forehead.
Mirayla followed his gaze. "What's the matter?"
"I don't remember the words."
"What words?"
"To open the doors." He nodded to the center one. "Father's in there."
Benjamin eyed the door. "It's wood. We could just break down."
Cree shook his head. "No, you have to have the word. Without it, the door stays shut. There's no sound behind those doors, no light --" He started shaking then.
Mirayla slipped her hand into his. "Is it that you don't remember? Or that you don't want to remember?"
He took several slow breaths. "Both," he whispered.
She squeezed his hand. "I can help you. I'll pad the memories like Cali did. I won't let you lose yourself."
"You will?"
She nodded, then took his other hand and touched his mind. "Just let yourself go. Let yourself remember." Staring into her eyes, he relaxed. The shaking stopped. His breathing slowed. His eyes slid closed, and he remembered.
He knelt on the cold floor with his arms tied to the rings in the floor. The ropes burned the raw skin under them, but he had long ago learned not to struggle. Struggling only made the pain worse. He faced the table tonight, which meant he would have to watch. His stomach churned, and he suppressed the urge to retch. Behind him he heard the mage shuffling towards the doors. Soon he would hear the words to open them. He closed his eyes. His shoulders ached. His back stung from the beating he had taken.
Sarana hissed behind him and intoned the first word. "Crailte." The first door unlocked. "Reault." The second door opened. "Amearn." The third opened, and Sarana led his first victim towards the stone table, a little girl, wide-eyed, hollow-cheeked. He strained against the ropes and cried out. A child, not a child . . .
The memory faded away, leaving behind only vague hints of what had happened, and the knowledge he'd wanted. The words. He shook, and his breathing quickened.
"Enough." Mirayla touched his cheeks. "No more. You have what you need."
He wanted to collapse there and weep for all the poor souls who had lost their lives on the table behind him. Instead, he thought of his father, still alive, and inched his way to the doors. He leaned against the middle door and pushed a bit of power toward the lock. Cali's lessons had taught him magic should never be painful, but this magic hurt. His head pounded, and even his hands ached. "Reault," he whispered. The lock clicked and the door swung open.
Light fell on the two figures inside. One was Reorden, dirty, hollow-cheeked, but still very much alive.
"Father?"
Reorden blinked, his eyes no longer accustomed to the faint light. "Ellery? How did you get here?"
Cree stepped into the room and helped his father to his feet. "Not now, we have to leave."
"But Delwyn." Reorden stared down at the other form, emaciated almost beyond recognition. "I think he's dying. You can't leave him."
"Delwyn?" Cree knelt at his brother's side. At his touch, Delwyn opened soulless eyes.
"Ellery? That can't be you."
Cree managed a smile. "It is. We have to get you and Father out of here, before anyone finds us."
"Son, how are you going to get us out? Surely not through the city."
Cree chuckled. "The same way we got in. Benjamin, can you carry my brother?"
The blacksmith nodded. "Of course." He lifted Delwyn as if he were a child. Cree winced at his brother's skeletal limbs and turned back to his father. "Are there others?"
Reorden blinked as if not quite understanding the words. "Most of the household staff, but I don't know --"
Cree reached for the first door and ground his teeth against the pain. "Crailte." He pushed the door open and started toward the third. The hairs on the back of his neck rose, and he turned toward the center of the room. Around the rings, the lines shimmered and writhed, forming a distinct pattern. "Go! Benjamin, you and Mirayla know the way. Take them and go!"
"No!" Mirayla moved to stand next to him. "I'm not leaving without you!"
"Please!" His mind burned with the first touches of pain. The twisted, discordant voice of the magic called him. He took a step forward, and with an effort turned back to Mirayla. "Go!" He pushed her towards Reorden.
She shook her head. "No! Benjamin, you go! Take them and --" Footsteps sounded in the hallway, and a column of light for
med about the pattern on the floor.
"Too late," Cree whispered and backed towards the doors behind him.
"Indeed," Sarana said as the light faded. "Too late. Too late for all of you." He laughed.
"Let them go!" Cree swallowed, forcing his fear back to the pit of his stomach. "It's me you want." He glanced at Benjamin and Mirayla, all hope fading from his heart. "Please, just let them go."
Sarana laughed again and stepped from his circle. "No, Ellery, I want you all. Your brother's power. Your father's will. And this young lady's love." He grinned and regarded Cree. "Do you think she'll still love you when you help destroy her soul?"
He shook his head. "No more, Sarana. You can't control me, and you'll have no one else."
"No one else? You forget where you are, Ellery?" Sarana moved towards Cree, a cross between rage and ecstasy on his face. "But then, you always were stubborn."
Cree inched away. "Let them go," he pleaded, not expecting his plea to be answered.
"I don't think so. Do you remember fire, Ellery?" Sarana gestured. "Do you remember pain, and the power it gives?" Ropes formed in his hands.
Cree backed away, shaking his head. Fear knotted his stomach and weakened his knees. "No more," he whispered.
Sarana moved towards him. "A pity. You had such great potential. Very clever of you to ride straight to me." He twisted the rope in his hands. "Now come, we've work to do." When Cree paused, he turned back, and his tone sharpened. "Now!"
Away from Cali, his mind was open to the mage, and he was unable resist the mental commands. His legs moved against his will, one step, then another. He struggled, trying to escape the silent call, but he could not. His foot touched one of the lines, and it flared into being, flooding him with power. He screamed. The pain was incredible, and he sank to his knees, never feeling the ropes slip around his wrists and pull tight. His mind was on fire, and nothing could stop the pain, or Sarana's subtle intrusions.
"What have you done to him?" Reorden's voiced echoed in the pain, but Cree did not care. He would be lost soon, too lost to help himself or anyone else.
"I'm only using your son's natural talents, Reorden, a pity he never told you. He's been here hundreds of time, in that very spot-"
"You twisted his natural talents until he feared what he was, and left him unable to control his own powers." Mirayla's voice cut through the haze of pain, calling to him and erasing the pain. In desperation, he pushed against Sarana's mind and struggled against the ropes.
"No, my dear child, he came quite willingly." Sarana tightened his hold on Cree's mind. "He's only forgotten all that I taught him. You will show him the way back."
Cree's vision darkened as the pain consumed him again. He fought for consciousness, fought to keep his mind his own, knowing that if he failed, Mirayla would lie on the table. He swallowed hard and strained against the ropes. He could not let her die, even if he had to trade his life for hers. "When the pain is too great to bear, Cree," Cali had said, "reach within, find your center again. There is strength in pain, and there is power. Use that. Use your fear, your anger, you needn't be a slave to your emotions." He forced a breath into his lungs, closed his eyes, and drove his awareness deep within. Light burned at the core of his being, and he touched it. Its stillness spread though him, numbing the pain. He touched the ropes with his mind, and they fell away. Below him, the lines of power cracked and smoke rose from the fissures. "No more, Sarana." His voice was hoarse, but steady.
The mage turned, surprise contorting his features into a horrific mask. "Learn your place, boy." His hands balled into fists, and took a step towards Cree.
Cree stood and stumbled towards Mirayla. "I have," he said calmly. "And it's not with you."
"Do you think you are simply going to walk away?" Sarana's voice held an edge of panic.
Cree took Mirayla's hand, fighting to keep himself standing, to keep his vision clear. "I'm going to try."
The mage laughed. "You always were a fool, Ellery." He rubbed his hands together. "Which one of you should I take first?"
"You seem to have forgotten that we outnumber you." Benjamin took a threatening step forward with Delwyn still in his arms.
"But I far overpower you. Which of you can stand against me?" No one answered. "None of you, that's right." His eyes fell on Mirayla. "Come here, girl."
She moved closer to Cree. "No." She lifted her chin in defiance.
"I see." The mage eyed them thoughtfully for a moment. "Then perhaps I'll eliminate the weakest of you first." He crooked a finger, and Cree took a stumbling step forward. "I know you can't resist, Ellery."
"Let him go, Mage." Benjamin growled and laid Delwyn on the floor. "Take me instead."
Cree closed his eyes and pushed the mage from his mind. "He'll have no one!" Now free, he turned angry eyes towards the mage.
Sarana took a step backwards, fear flashing across his face. "You can't stand against me, Ellery."
"I can." Reaching within, he summoned his anger, fear, and hate, and molded it into a ball. It sat in his hands, pulsing. He looked across at Sarana, who seemed to have shrunk, and his fear faded away. "No one." He flung the ball at the mage.
Sarana's hands came up, and he backed away. The sudden drain of energy brought bile to Cree's throat, and he sagged against Mirayla. The mage laughed and Cree's heart sank. The attack had done nothing more than anger him. The room pulsed with power. On the floor, the lines writhed into being, twisting as the mage called on their power.
Cree's hair stood on end. He closed his eyes and waited for the end. When the pain did not come, he opened them again. Power sat in Sarana's hands, and an evil smile snake across his face. The blast wasn't meant for him. He cast furtive glances at his father, Benjamin, Mirayla, and then back to Sarana. Below the mage, the lines stopped writhing, and the energy in his hands grew brighter. Cree watched, horrified as the power left Sarana's hands and sped towards Mirayla.
"No!" Without thinking, he pushed Mirayla behind him and flung himself in the path of the blast. The force sent him flying against the wall. The air was knocked from his lungs. Tiny fingers of pain spread over his body. His chest hurt, and he couldn't breathe. Gasping, he struggled to sit. A second blast cracked his head against the wall and burned his face and eyes. His vision darkened. The room spun. He coughed and tasted blood. He tried to force his legs to move, but he could not feel them anymore. Far away, he heard his name, but he closed his eyes and leaned against the wall, too weak to even struggle towards the sound. The stone beneath his cheek was cool, and darkness lingered at the edge of his vision, promising an end to pain. Distantly, he knew another blast was coming. He felt the power coursing through the floor, but the darkness was close. He reached for it. He coughed again, and the energy struck, sending him into oblivion.
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Chapter Twenty-Three
He floated in darkness. A light burned ahead of him, but he was tired, too tired to do more than drift. He closed his gritty eyes. Somewhere far away he heard crying and steel ringing against steel. Once, he even thought he heard his name, but he shook his head and let himself float.
When he opened his eyes again, the light was closer, and he could see a person shimmering in its depths. He tried to back away, but his body was heavy and cumbersome. Fascinated, Cree studied the man, a young man, by all appearances. Yet, to Cree, he felt ancient. The light faded when the man approached. His face was smooth and angular, and his eyes were dark and sympathetic. His smile radiated warmth. "Come, Cree Lin, it is time to go." The voice was soft and gentle.
Cree glanced at the blank darkness around him. "Go where?"
The man pointed to a faint speck of light. "There. Into the light."
"Into the light?" The words nagged at Cree's memory. "Am I dead? What about Mirayla, Benjamin, Father, my --"
"They are safe. And no, you aren't dead, yet." The man smiled, a sweet, sad smile. "But your time has come, Cree Lin. You've run out of chances."
"Chances?"
The man sighed. "You were given a second chance. A chance to put your life together and live up to your potential, but you realized, too late, what that potential was." He shook his head. "I am sorry. But now, come, it is time to go."
Cree shook his head and managed to back away. "I can't. I want to go back."
The man laughed. "For eight years you have longed for death. You have prayed for fire to consume you in your dreams. You have prayed for the world to swallow you, to forget that Cree Lin was ever a part of it. And now, with your body broken and bleeding, you want to live?" He sighed. "There is no life left for you there."
"Are you a god then, that you can make such decisions?"
"Not a god, only a guide." He held out his hand. "Now come, and I will lead --"
Cree turned away from the guide. "I'm going back!"
"You cannot go back." The guide's voice was calm. "There is no path from here."
"Then take me back."
The guide shook his head. "I cannot. As I have already said, your time has come."
Cree hung his head. "Then I die a failure."
"No, Cree Lin, you do not." The guide stepped forward and lifted Cree's chin to gaze into his eyes. "You die a hero."
Cree stared into the bottomless depths of the guide's eyes, losing himself. He had thought his whole life pointless, worthless, and yet, in the eyes of the guide, he saw the truth. He had not been a failure, and his life, though worthless in his own eyes, had touched so many others: Mirayla, Benjamin, the Leyloni, Cali, all touched in some way by him. He lowered his eyes. "I've been selfish. I never realized --"
"Selfish, yes. Look at me, Cree Lin. You were given great gifts, and you have used them as best you can. But you were also given great trials, and in the face of those trials, selfishness is to be expected."
Cree tried to lower his eyes again, but the guide held his gaze fast. "I have done nothing," he whispered, still unconvinced.
"Nothing?" The guide chuckled. "I would not say that. You have brought pride to the Leyloni. Rekindled your father's love. Touched Mirayla's heart, and succeeded in redeeming one who was lost. Your final sacrifice will save lives, many lives. Those are great accomplishments, Cree Lin." He smiled, a smile full of warmth and love. "Your death --"
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