Fold Thunder

by Gregory Ashe

Chapter Forty

  The flames raced toward Irwa. She stumbled back, falling into the hallway. The flames flared and filled the doorway. They vanished after a moment, but the fire had already caught on the wooden frame. Smoke filled the air. Footsteps sounded behind Irwa.

  She turned her head. Fina stood there, a small child in her arms, her face slack as she stared at the burning wall. “What’s going on here?” she asked. “Hynnar said there’d be no trouble.” She took a step toward the flames, then glanced down at the child.

  Irwa did not spare her a second glance. She was up on her feet tracing cheiron taw, hepisteis tumbling from her lips as she entered. The chaotic energy slipped away, unformed; Maribah was gone, the window shutters still flapping in the wake of her departure. Irwa bent over Hynnar. His chest rose slightly, and he coughed in the smoky air. She grabbed his arms and struggled to pull him toward the doorway. Heat scorched her back through the thin fabric of her dress. The flames were spreading faster than she had expected.

  It took her too long to drag the huge man halfway across the room. The crackle of fire, and the heat pressing against her back, told her that the flames were continuing to spread. She set Hynnar down. Maribah could be back at any moment; she might be waiting outside, waiting to pick Irwa off with a blazing ball of fire, with a bolt of lightning, with . . . The list was too long. Taking time to put out the fire might be exactly what Maribah wanted.

  Irwa had no choice, though; the heat from the flames was too intense, and she could get no closer to the door. She focused, opening cheiron taw again, forcing the energy through hepisteis to smother the fires. The flames flickered, and the heat diminished, but the fire did not go out.

  Ishahb take her, Irwa thought. Whatever Maribah had done, the flames were not natural, and Maribah’s skill with the elements meant that Irwa had little chance of extinguishing the fire—not without wearing herself out completely.

  Still, Irwa’s gateway had diminished the heat somewhat. Bending over, Irwa hooked her arms under Hynnar’s and pulled again. If his back had been injured when Maribah attacked him, then he could be a cripple; Wasa, the old man who had taken care of the chapel in Lajil, had fallen from a ladder and could not walk after that. Wasa, Irwa thought. I’m losing my mind thinking about him right now. She gasped as they passed through the flaming doorway. The air, hot as a furnace, seared her lungs. Then they were through, tumbling across the hall into the next room.

  The fire had spread across almost half of the house. There was no sign of Fina. Irwa sucked in the relatively cooler air in the empty room, already exhausted. The heat from the flames, though, told her she did not have time to rest.

  Resuming her grip on Hynnar, Irwa tugged him back into the hallway, murmuring the hepisteis that would keep the fire from burning them, channeling the power first through cheiron awa, then, when the sleeve of her dress began to smolder, through taw. The door was closer; Irwa could feel the cool air from outside, but it only served to fan the enchanted flames. For the last few steps Irwa forced power through jal; the cheiron came easily now, after practicing in the valley, but it made her knees buckle as the energy poured through her. Vaguely, Irwa remembered a time when she had never used a cheiron lower than jal.

  The sudden change in temperature called her back. They were outside. Irwa glanced over her shoulder, looking for Maribah. The woman was nowhere in sight, but that meant nothing. Irwa could practically feel the ball of fire whistling toward her. She kept dragging Hynnar, though. Step by step across the yard. Irwa found she did not care much about what Maribah did right then; she just wanted to get Hynnar to safety.

  She hit the wooden slats of the fence and stopped, gently laying Hynnar down. He still breathed, but quick, shallow breaths, and his eyes were closed. What did she do to him? Looking at Hynnar made Irwa angry, a white-hot fury that made her rage at the dar-molk’s estate look like shadows. Ishahb burn you, Maribah, she thought. He didn’t do anything to you.

  Irwa stood and found Fina only a few feet away, child still clasped in her arms. “He going to be ok?” Fina asked.

  “I don’t know,” Irwa said. “I don’t even know what happened. Can you keep him safe here, for a while?”

  Fina glanced at the house, now a blazing ruin, and grinned harshly. “Oh, aye, I’ll keep him safe and sound out here. Not a problem. Me and the babe, we’ll watch him.”

  Irwa untied her coin purse and handed it to the woman. “Find an inn, hire someone to carry him there—gently—and then get a healer for him. I’ll get you more coin. But take care of him until I get back.”

  “You going to find who did this to him?”

  Irwa nodded; her mouth felt dry, but fear was a distant second to the anger raging inside her, a counterpoint to the inferno that blazed within the house. Fina returned the nod, then slipped the purse down her shirt and started yelling in Sinian. A growing crowd was assembled beyond the fence, watching the home burn, and a few of them answered her before a stout man trotted off.

  Irwa had already put them out of her mind, although Hynnar still hovered there with her, his rough features, the permanent smirk, but she tried not to think about him. It made her want to cry, and that was a weakness she could not indulge.

  Unthinking in her anger, Irwa spoke the hepisteis that would shroud her in illusion, drawing cheiron jan without even realizing. The fourth cheiron blazed power, wrapping her in coruscating shell of rainbow light for a half a heartbeat. The gateway came easily, more easily than it had in years. The web of illusion, powered by jan, distorted the world slightly, as though seen through a haze of heat, but no one—practitioner or normal—would sense her.

  She wove through the crowd, people parting around her as the magic plucked at their minds, causing them to ignore her presence even as she jostled them. Then she was clear of the crowd, and Irwa ran toward the Blade of Truth. There was only one place she knew that Maribah frequented, but even if the woman were not there, Irwa had another debt to settle as well.

  The city was a blur around her—in part due to the sheltering magic, in part because Irwa found herself panting for breath and forcing herself to run farther, until she thought her heart would burst. People parted around her, ripples moving out through the crowd from her passage, but no one seemed to notice. She crossed the massive plaza where the Blade of Woe intersected, and she climbed the great stairs to the upper quadrants, legs burning with every step.

  Betrayed. The thought hammered at her as she ran, keeping pace with her pounding heart. Orn betrayed me, with his father’s help. Maribah betrayed me. Brech betrayed me. She could not get Orn’s face out of her mind, the desperation in his voice, a mirror image of the desperation that Isol had shown. She did not want to believe it, but it had happened. Orn had lured her away at the very moment Hynnar needed her—the way she had needed him in Meik’s camp. And now he might be dying. She did not let herself think about that.

  Or maybe Maribah just followed me after I left the castle. The realization left her stunned. Brech was certainly unhappy, if she overheard Hynnar, if she had been eavesdropping . . . Perhaps Orn had simply been a coincidence, looking for her after she left his father. If so, then Ishahb had decided her fate, and Hynnar’s, by making Orn’s timing so terrible. It was impossible to know. Maribah would have the answer.

  The walls of the palace rose before her. Irwa ran through the gates, past unseeing guards, across the courtyard. One man hauling a stack of firewood almost stepped into her path, but drew back at the last minute, flinching at the stroke of the gateway. A moment later Irwa was past, and he continued on, unaware of her.

  She pushed open the doors of the castle and entered. The entry hall was empty, all the way up to third floor. Irwa started up the steps at a walk. She could run no further.

  The faintest shimmer in the air, almost invisible against the distortion of her own illusion, was all the warning Irwa had. She threw herself sideways, over the stone balustrade. The fall was short; she had not made it up more than ten steps. As she
hit the ground, Irwa heard a roar, and a wave of heat passed above her head.

  Irwa got to her feet, grateful that the illusion still held. Whoever had attacked had been guessing; the gray stone steps were blackened from flames, from the first landing all the way to the ground. A heartbeat longer and Irwa would have been a charred body—the illusion would do nothing against reality.

  Above her, Irwa heard the scrape of leather on stone echo through the empty hall. Maribah fluttered down from an unseen ledge above the third floor landing. The air rippled around her, like water under a bug. Without a sound, Maribah reached the upper landing.

  “I know you’re down there,” she said. “I can hear your heart beating from here. It’s one of the subtler Trinic tools—we don’t have many that are subtle—and very helpful against Khaman disguises.” After a pause, she said, “You’re not dead, or I’d be able to see what was left of you.”

  Irwa did not know if Maribah was telling the truth about hearing her heartbeat—the illusion should have prevented that, but Trinic sorcerers had all sorts of nasty tricks that worked differently than other schools. Ingenuity from limitations, Irwa thought. The other schools thought Helging was limiting his reach, but we didn’t realize how long that reach could be.

  If Maribah could hear her, she still could not pinpoint Irwa’s location. The slender young woman’s eyes followed the winding staircase, as though watching for any disturbance that might reveal Irwa’s location. It was a vain hope; the illusion, powered by cheiron jan, would compensate for even major changes—such as throwing open the doors to the castle. The guards would not have realized when they closed behind her.

  As her heart slowed, Irwa felt the pain begin in her shoulder and arm where she had hit the tile floor. She reached up, tenderly probing the wound while keeping her eyes on Maribah. Nothing broken, Irwa thought. I hope.

  Maribah traced a cheiron in the air. Even from a distance, Irwa could feel the raging heat of the Trinic gateway. The air pressed in against Irwa, as though forced down by some great weight, and cracks spread along the tiles of the floor with popping noises that sounded strangely distant through the thick air. Irwa pressed her lips shut, struggling to keep from having her breath forced out of her. Just as Irwa thought she could withstand the pressure no more, the pressure vanished. A heartbeat later the air turned to water.

  Showy. Irwa’s first thought as she stared at the display of raw power. Showy, but effective. Water filled the entry hall, from the floor all the way to the ceiling three stories above her. The light from the arrow slits illuminated only small patches. Irwa could not see Maribah anywhere, and already the breath burned in her lungs. She kicked, swimming to the heavy doors. Bracing herself against the wall, Irwa tugged on the handle. The door did not move. The water’s too heavy, Irwa thought. Panic bubbled up inside her.

  She launched herself up, swimming up the center of the hall, past the staircases. The air in her longs was like lead; all she wanted was to exhale, but Irwa knew that was death. The upper landing came into view. Irwa could not see Maribah anywhere. Where is she?

  She had enough breath for a quick spell, a few words was all. I can’t change water to air, Irwa thought. Ishahb bless me, I can’t even conjure water half the times I try. Irwa kicked again, swimming up, praying that enough of the water had drained from the arrow slits that she could find air at the top of the hall.

  With a thud, her head hit the ceiling in the dark water. Everything went red and then black. Irwa let out a gasp, then clamped her mouth shut as water rushed in. The water had not drained at all; it went right up to the stone ceiling. Irwa felt herself losing consciousness. She would exhale soon, whether she wanted to or not.

  Then she saw Maribah, the woman’s pale skin shining through the water. The ledge, Irwa remembered. Maribah’s chest rose and fell easily as the woman continued to breathe, doubtless using some sort of Trinic enchantment. Irwa prepared the hepisteis she would need. She could not focus enough to form anything more complex than cheiron awa. Rainbow light sparked and died in the water. She spoke the words. They drifted away, bubbles in the still water.

  Maribah’s head flipped up at the noise, but it was too late. The spell caught her. She let out a scream, but Irwa could barely hear her.

  With a final gasp, Irwa’s body betrayed her, and she breathed in. Salty water flooded her body. She was dying.

  Then, impossibly, Irwa felt her face break the surface of the water. Her nose scraped against the rough stone of the ceiling. She sucked in air, coughing and choking and thrashing as her body tried to fight the water itself.

  The ceiling rose above her as the water continued to recede. Air, life, rushed into her lungs as she coughed out the water. The ledge where Maribah had crouched, empty now, passed by her as the water receded. Maribah was nowhere to be seen again. Irwa’s gateway had been a cheap trick, a child’s effort—it would make the other woman think she was choking, but only for a few heartbeats. Long enough, though, that Maribah had let her own enchantment collapse and the water had begun to empty.

  Irwa struck the stone balustrade hard. The water continued to pour out of the building, flooding into the hallways and emptying from the arrow slits. Irwa hung there, feet dangling into the air, as the hall finally emptied. She pulled herself over the railing and landed on the stone steps, a few feet from the second landing. Another set of coughs ripped through her as water continued to try to escape her lungs.

  Trying to suppress the coughs, Irwa pulled herself back to the stone rail and glanced down. Maribah crouched the bottom of the hall, vomiting onto the broken tiles. Irwa pulled herself up, gathering her strength. Her illusion had fallen in those last panicked moments, when she had been sure she was drowning. Now she formed cheiron jan. It did not come as easily as it had, but she forced it open, and power flooded her as she reformed the illusion around her.

  By the time Irwa finished, Maribah had regained her feet. The younger woman sprang into the air, a cheiron carrying her up effortlessly toward the highest landing. Brech’s study.

  Irwa did not wait for Maribah to reach the door. She struck, drawing on cheiron jan again and letting the hepisteis flow from her tongue. She wrapped the enchantment around Maribah. A spell that would trap the young woman in her own mind for days, unless Irwa released her sooner.

  The enchantment slid around Maribah, magic setting hooks into the woman’s mind. Maribah fluttered in the air for a moment as she struggled to hold the spell. One hand disappeared within the dark red dress. Then, with a snap, Irwa’s spell cracked. A parakein, Irwa realized. Ishahb bless me, she has a parakein. Then the backlash flung Irwa against the wall so hard that her head bounced.

  Pain blossomed in Irwa’s head, but she forced herself to stay conscious. Maribah resumed her flight and landed on the balcony above Irwa. She crouched and turned, her eyes meeting Irwa’s. She can see me, Irwa thought.