Fold Thunder

by Gregory Ashe

  Chapter Nine

  The road followed the land down toward the river, then north and west, following the curve of the water as the Aiyala swept past them, until even the buildings on the highest hill of Jan-as-Subh were hidden by the rolling landscape. Irwa and Maribah rode hard at first, but after a time they had to rest the horses. They approached a low, stone building outside of the city at a walk.

  “The first way-house,” Irwa said when they drew closer. “We’ve made good time.”

  Maribah shook her head. “There are too many factors; how much could they trace from the gateway I opened, how much of a trail did we leave, how many of them are there, and how many are even looking for us. No way to know—”

  “There’s someone by the way-house,” Irwa cut her off.

  A man, dressed in a traditional Jaecan robe—blue and gold, she could see with the aid of her light-enhancing enchantment—leaned up against the stone building. His eyes followed them as they approached.

  “Where?” Maribah asked, but she stopped her horse. “I don’t see anyone.”

  “No, don’t stop,” Irwa said. Something flickered around his hand—broad trailers of rainbow light visible in the darkness. Irwa knew the cheiron; jan, the fourth gateway of Khaman. She could feel the familiar chaos pouring into the world. “He’s opened a gateway—ride!”

  Irwa kicked her horse, forcing the tired animal to a run, her eyes locked on the man by the way-house. Maribah, however, rode straight for the building, hand moving in the darkness. The strange blast of furnace air surged over Irwa as the strange gateway opened, drying the sweat from her brow in a flash. A column of light shimmered into existence down the length of Maribah’s arm. She threw her hand up and the light streaked out and up, like a shooting star in reverse, lighting up the air until it was as bright as noon-day.

  A wave of blistering heat ripped toward Maribah, setting the grass on fire as it passed. Maribah threw herself to one side and rolled as she hit the ground. The curtain of magic struck the horse and the poor animal burst into flames, screaming and kicking as it fell and died. Irwa pulled her horse to a stop, retching all over herself at the sight of the animal that thrashed even as it crumbled to ash. Irwa turned, trying to focus, to help Maribah.

  The younger woman was on her feet, though, her dark eyes cold and shining in the unnatural light. A lance of water, twisting and translucent, wove its way from the river toward her. The robed man, his dark, curly hair matted with sweat, let loose a volley of long, stabbing lights that flashed through the air toward Maribah.

  She darted to one side again, crying out as one of the bolts struck her arm and sent her tumbling. The water continued to flow forward, slowly pooling into a column. Maribah regained her feet, one arm hanging at her side, and let loose of ball of fire that wailed through the air toward the other man. He threw up his hands and the fire went out, disappearing with a single low hiss, like the sound of a fire being put out.

  “We’re not enemies,” Irwa shouted, wiping the sick from her mouth. “We’re Fourth Corner, give us a chance to talk.” She did not know if she meant what she said. It was all she could think to say, and so she shouted, trying to distract the man.

  He paid her no attention. The column of water had grown arms and legs and something that vaguely resembled a head, and with a great, shuddering slosh it started toward the man. Irwa stopped shouting. It was a construct; Irwa had only seen one once before, and that one had been formed of fire. Only the most skilled Trinic practitioners could produce one.

  “Irwa, get out of here,” Maribah cried, sending a glittering spear of ice hurtling toward the man. It shattered against an invisible barrier. “Run!”

  The man spared a glance for Irwa and made a hooking gesture with one hand. Irwa leaned forward to pull the reins and found her horse frozen in place, unresponsive to her touch. Irwa’s heart pounded. Her mouth was dry. Caught like a rat in a trap.

  The water construct had reached the way-house and swung one large fist down toward the sorcerer. Ripples ran through his invisible barrier, and a cracking noise rang in the air, the only noise aside from the crackle of burning grass and the muffled hepisteis. Maribah threw two darts that glistened strangely in the magical light. The first bounced off the barrier, but the second caught the sorcerer in the shoulder and pinned him against the stone wall.

  Cries of terror came from inside the way-house as the inhabitants awakened. A man with a sword, perhaps a guard, came out from the building wearing only his underclothes. Squinting in the unnatural light, the man caught sight of Irwa on her horse and ran toward her with a shout.

  Irwa wanted to retreat back into the numbness that had accompanied her all night, wanted to silence the old, familiar words that sprang to mind. Terror spurred her to action. Old words, words she had long ago left behind, rose to her lips. She traced cheiron taw, her mind aching as she forced open old gateways. Taw, the second gateway of Khaman. Opening it felt like lifting a mountain. Irwa forced the hepisteis out, one by one. The enchantment holding her horse in place slid away like ice-melt in spring. Another word, spoken more carefully, sent the armed man to the ground, eyes closed in sleep.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the strange water creature boiling, like a pot on a hot stove. Angry jets of steam vented from its sides. With his free hand, the sorcerer held the creature at bay, although to judge by the blood that ran down his side, he did not look like he could keep it up for long.

  Maribah stood dazed, eyes tracking nothing in the air, fingertips quivering as though in movement. She almost looked asleep. The sorcerer, still pinned against the wall, had caught Maribah in a Khaman trap. The old part of Irwa, the part that had once been familiar with practitioner duels, was surprised it had taken this long; a Khaman sorcerer could not compete with a Trinic in elemental sorcery. But we can do nastier things, Irwa thought.

  After a moment, Irwa recognized the enchantment. She spoke a word of breaking, but nothing happened. The sorcerer looked at her, though, his mouth drawing tight. Taw was not strong enough; the sorcerer had opened a higher gateway.

  The heat affecting the water creature subsided for a moment, the great jets of steam fading, as the sorcerer turned his focus to Irwa. She felt her stomach turn over again.

  Help me, Ishahb, she prayed. She traced jal, shivering as rainbow streamers wove themselves around her. Energy, familiar and long-missed, flooded through her for a heartbeat. Then jal snapped shut. Irwa spoke the hepisteis, slamming the pool of energy into a form. She wrestled with the man’s enchantment as though it were a pile of heavy chains. She felt one link of the enchantment give, and another.

  A jet of fire shot toward her. Irwa’s horse startled by the fire, started and broke into a run. Irwa grabbed the reins, trying to stop the horse, but panic had set in. With grim determination, Irwa pushed aside the horse’s uneven pace, the fear, the smell of sick, the horror of the night’s events. She traced taw; jal would not open for her. Words came to her lips and she spoke them. She felt the man’s enchantment shatter with an audible crack in the night air.

  A second crack followed. Irwa turned her horse just in time to see the water creature’s fist land again, splitting the man’s head like a melon against the stone wall. The creature struck again and again, pounding the man against the stone, the crack of breaking bones punctuating the dull thud of the blows, until the man’s body fell to the ground like an empty sack. Maribah knelt on the ground, arms shaking as she held herself up.

  The creature collapsed like a bucketful of water and disappeared into the grass. Slowly the brilliant light began to fade. No one else emerged from the way-house; Irwa imagined the people inside had been terrified into silence, for their screams could no longer be heard. She urged her horse over to Maribah, wrinkling her nose at the smell of burned flesh, and working her way around the small patch of grass that still burned.

  Irwa slid from her saddle and helped the younger woman to her feet. “Get in the saddle,” she said. Maribah’s fa
ce was pale, and her legs barely held her. Irwa practically had to lift the other woman onto her horse. Even then she had to keep one hand on the girl’s leg to keep her from sliding off. Maribah’s head fell, either unconscious or asleep, before they had gone a dozen paces.

  The brilliant light had vanished, but Irwa’s enchantment persisted. Even in the darkness she could see everything. A large swath of grass burned to cinders. The wall of the way-house fractured, a section dented in. The body of the unknown practitioner, nothing more than a mangled lump of flesh and shards of bone. His blood mixing with the ashes to form a black pool around him.

  Irwa walked alongside the horse, keeping Maribah steady, until the first light of dawn. Blessed Ishahb, she began her orisons. I am losing myself. I am becoming who I was before. Death follows me.