“It won’t be hard to find someone in the flats who can melt it down for you so you can sell the silver.” That was what she’d planned to do, but it could take considerable time, and they’d need money in the meantime. Neither Kanra nor Ileta had anything.
The driver set his jaw. “Too dangerous,” he said. “If I get caught with stolen goods … Where’d you get it, anyway.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Bryte said. “You won’t get caught. Nobody’s looking for it, I can promise you that.”
“Too much risk,” he said.
Reluctantly Bryte drew from her pocket the matching spoon. “I’ll add this. You’re getting a lot more than the fare is worth, but we’re in a hurry.”
Greedily the man snatched it from her. “Get in,” he told them.
The driver pulled up in front of Master Onigon’s shop, let his fares descend, and took off immediately, in a rush to get to the shop Bryte had pointed out to him and have his stolen silver melted into an untraceable ingot.
Fuming over the need to surrender her treasures to satisfy the driver’s avarice, though at least she still held the valuable saltshaker, Bryte led the way to the moneylender’s shop, explaining that she wanted Master Onigon’s thoughts on where Stethan might be hidden before proceeding to the mound where she hoped to gain entrance to the Dire Realms.
The shop was locked, but when she banged on the door, she heard steps inside, and after a time the bolt unfastened and the door opened.
“Come in, quickly,” Master Onigon said and hustled them in, then shut the door and slid the bolt into place.
“Why’re you locked up?” Bryte asked.
“Peace Officers were sniffing around all day yesterday, and I don’t expect today will be any different,” Master Onigon said, ushering them into his rear room.
“Might,” Bryte said, and gave him a quick summary of the events that had transpired since she had last seen him.
“Let me see the box,” Master Onigon requested when she’d finished.
She handed it to him, and he removed his eye patch and examined the box with the strange-looking eye that the patch hid. Without explanation he handed it back to Bryte and replaced the eye patch. “You’d better hurry with this,” he said. “Go to the mound without further delay.”
“But do you have any idea where we should look for Stethan?” she asked, resisting his effort to herd them all to the door.
“That’s a question to ask the Dire Lord if he admits you again,” was all Master Onigon would say before shooing them back into the street and locking his door behind him.
Puzzled and dismayed by Master Onigon’s attitude, Bryte led the way to the mound, pondering not only Master Onigon’s words but also all the peculiar things that had happened since Oryon had succumbed to Lord Inver’s spell.
Bryte hoped and rather expected that Lina would have escaped and would meet them at the mound. But the mound was empty as usual, its covering of stubbly brush dry and brittle, so that it crunched underfoot.
Ileta stopped halfway. “This place—it terrifies me.”
“It has that effect on people,” Bryte acknowledged. “But it’s where we have to go.”
“I’m not sure I can stand to go on,” Ileta said, bending over and resting her hands on her knees.
“We must,” Kanra said, taking Ileta’s arm. “Bryte says it’s safe.”
“I can do it, then,” Ileta responded. “I trust her.”
Again Bryte wanted to hug her sister for not yielding to the dread that afflicted everyone who tried to climb the mound. They resumed the climb, and when they reached the top, it was Kanra who trembled so badly she could stand only by clinging to Ileta.
Bryte hoped they would not have to wait long before being admitted to the Dire Realms. How did one address a Dire Lord? She tried, “Lord, Dire Lord, we’re here, and we’ve done what you said.”
Nothing happened except that Kanra leaned even more heavily on Ileta. Bryte moved to help Ileta, who was too frail to bear the burden.
“Please let us see you,” Bryte said again. “We have the box, see?” She held it out in the hope that the Dire Lord could see what she was doing. “And Lord Inver’s dead. Please, let us come to you.”
A tremor shook Kanra, her eyes closed then opened. She spoke. “Set the box on the ground.” The voice sounded like Kanra’s, but somehow Bryte knew that someone else—something else—was speaking through her.
Ileta must have realized the same thing. “Is that the Dire Lord?” she asked.
“Don’t know,” Bryte said, hugging the box to her chest. “That’s not the way it’s supposed to work,” she said. “The box is for Oryon.”
“You must put it down. It will reach its rightful owner.” Kanra’s eyes were staring vacantly, and while her lips moved, her facial expression did not change.
Bryte didn’t like the sound of that, didn’t trust whatever was speaking through Kanra. “If you’re the one who gave us the order, let us come to you like you did before.”
“It isn’t necessary this time,” Kanra’s voice said.
“Then send Oryon to us so we know we can trust you.”
“It would do no good to send him to you until the box comes here.”
“This isn’t right,” Ileta murmured.
Bryte acknowledged her sister’s assessment with a nod. “That was not our agreement,” she said. “I won’t give up the box until I know Oryon’s safe and restored.”
Kanra let go of Ileta and lunged for the box. Her fingers only grazed it; Bryte snatched it away and jumped out of Kanra’s reach.
Ileta grabbed Kanra and held her. Kanra did not struggle. She seemed dazed, barely conscious. Still, Bryte regarded her warily, fearful that whatever was using her had not left.
The ground trembled. As before, a chasm opened, the split leaving Bryte on one side and Kanra and Ileta on the other. Fearing being separated from her companions, Bryte measured the width of the opening and leaped.
She barely made it. She landed on her belly and skidded toward the break, her fingers scrabbling in the dirt for something to hold on to.
Ileta released Kanra to grab Bryte. The gap widened. Kanra tumbled in; and Ileta and Bryte slid in after her.
Bryte landed more softly than she’d expected on the same polished onyx floor as before. She looked toward the throne she remembered, expecting to see the Dire Lord seated there. The throne was empty.
Oryon sat hunched on the step to the dais on which the throne was placed, head hanging. He did not look up or acknowledge their arrival.
Bryte was alarmed. What had they done to him?
“Wow! This place …” Ileta looked around, eyes wide, mouth hanging open. “All this is under the mound we climbed? It didn’t look that big.”
At that, Oryon did look up. He gave a bitter laugh. “You’re not under that mound,” he said. “The Dire Realms aren’t underground. They’re in another dimension.”
“But the ground opened, and we fell down,” Ileta said.
“You seemed to do that, but it was an illusion.” That explanation did not come from Oryon but from the Dire Lord as he strode into the room. “You entered a nexus that connects your world with ours,” his booming voice continued, as he positioned himself before them, his large form looming over them, causing Bryte to tremble. Kanra fell over in a faint.
Ileta knelt down beside her and patted her face. Bryte spared them only a glance before peering up at the intimidating figure. “That wasn’t you speaking through Kanra up on the mound, was it?” She asked the question burning in her mind.
He chuckled—a surprising sound from a Dire Lord—and said, “No. It was clever of you to recognize that and refuse to do what the voice asked. You were not expected to be so quick. Not for nothing are you called Bryte.”
“So who was it and what did he want with the box?” she persisted.
“The one who believes himself to be the owner of the box,” the Dire Lord said.
“He means L
ord Inver,” Oryon interpreted in a dull voice.
“But Lord Inver’s dead,” Bryte said. “Lina killed him—in her panther form.” She added the last because at the mention of Lina’s name, Oryon looked up, a spark of interest in his eyes.
“Lord Inver is dead in your world; I sensed his death,” the Dire Lord said. “However, he had powerful allies among the evil Dire Lords, and they have gathered him in. He remains capable of doing much harm both in this realm and in your own. So I regret to say that your task is not yet complete.”
“But that’s not fair,” Bryte protested. “We did what you asked of us. You promised to restore Oryon and let him go if we defeated Lord Inver and recovered this box.” She held the box out to him.
The Dire Lord did not take it. “Precisely,” he said. “I sent you to defeat Lord Inver. He is not defeated. He may be more powerful than ever.”
“If he’s here in the Dire Realms, you can deal with him yourself,” Bryte argued, still holding out the box.
“Young Bryte, there is much you do not understand. I will deal with the lords here who support him. But I must leave Lord Inver to you for reasons I cannot now explain.”
“That’s just fine,” Bryte said angrily. “You can’t explain, but you expect us to go against Lord Inver here in the Dire Realms? I think you’re just trying to weasel out of your bargain with us. Lina was afraid of this. She said she didn’t really think you’d let Oryon go.”
“I said I would return Oryon to your world when you defeated Lord Inver. He has not been defeated. I will keep my bargain, when you keep yours. However, we can do one thing now. Give the box to Oryon.” He beckoned to Oryon, who rose and walked slowly to join them.
Bryte placed the box in his hands.
“You put your soul in this box yourself,” the Dire Lord said when Oryon looked at him questioningly. “You must get it out.”
“How?” The monosyllabic and monotonic question displayed little interest.
“By reversing what you did to get it trapped in there,” the Dire Lord’s answered. “I suggest you get to work on it while I confer with Bryte and her friends.”
While Oryon stared blankly at the box, Kanra regained consciousness, and Ileta helped her to rise.
“Come with me,” The Dire Lord said.
Bryte had taken scant notice of the room beyond its floor and the dais with the Dire Lord’s throne. Now she stared everywhere. The room was a large oval chamber, its walls of the same polished onyx as the floor. Niches held torches that glowed with a bright white light, not a flame but some substance that gave off neither smoke nor heat. It reminded her of her own recently discovered rage-light.
Between the torches were doors, many of them, encircling the room—doors of metal embossed with symbols and scenes that she did not have time to view closely enough to see what they depicted. The Dire Lord led them to one of these doors, giving a helping hand to Kanra, who still seemed weak but gained strength as they walked.
The door swung open as they approached and swung shut on its own after they’d passed through, admitting them to a cozy sitting room with inviting lounge chairs and a table set with a tea service. Only one immense armchair was of sufficient size to accommodate the Dire Lord. He sat in it and waved a hand at the lounge chairs. “Make yourselves comfortable, please.”
Ileta and Kanra sat, obviously relieved to rest in pleasant surroundings. Bryte remained standing, hands on her hips. “What about Oryon? Will he be all right? Why’d you leave him like that? Can he do what you told him to?”
“Oryon is quite a clever lad,” the Dire Lord replied. “I have no doubt that he can, and I hope that he will.”
“Couldn’t you have done it for him?”
“No. Oh, I have the power.” The Dire Lord swung his hooves up onto a hassock. “But his rehabilitation requires that he admit his need and solve his problem on his own. I’m not being cruel, as you believe. I desire his complete restoration, and I will do my part to bring it about, but he must do his or it will not happen. Now, please, be seated, Bryte. Have some tea, and let us talk.”
She moved to stand in front of a chair, but did not sit. “What do we have to talk about?”
The Dire Lord smiled. “Many things,” he said. “What you must do to defeat Lord Inver. Why you are gifted. Why Kanra was seized and used by an evil Dire Lord and how to prevent it from happening again. And why I have set before you such a difficult task. Now please, sit down so that we can begin.”
So. Here I am with the box again. Reverse the process, Lord Claid said. Why? Does it matter?
Funny. I remember being curious about this box from the time Lina and I saw it in the bazaar.
Lina. She didn’t come back with the others. Nobody said why. They said she killed Inver. In her panther form. She ought to have been with them. Would have been, unless she couldn’t come. I should worry about that. Should have asked about it.
Why bother? I don’t care. Not about Lina, not about Lord Inver, not about this stupid box. And not about the things I’ve done, like Lord Claid kept saying I should.
Lord Claid! Lord of what? He’s a Dire Lord, but I don’t know what that really means.
Don’t know by what right he keeps me a prisoner here. Maybe if I solve this puzzle he’ll let me go. Reverse the process, he said. Well, I do remember what I did that opened the box and trapped me. I just recreated the knots carved into the design on it. This one.
But it’s a carving; it can’t be untied. I had string I used to recreate the knot. Don’t have anything here.
Well, actually, I do. That power net Bryte dropped when she got me stuck here. Got it in my pocket. It’s not exactly string, but it’s stringlike before it’s thrown.
Yeah, here it is. I can draw a thread out of it—not all the way, but enough to make a knot.
But to reverse what I did before—that would be untying a knot, not making one. But I have to make one before I can untie it. Well, I’m already caught—making another knot can’t make it any worse.
Let’s see, first I held the string like this and made a loop, and …
There! It’s made, and now I can untie it.
But … No! Lord Inver’s voice! Claid wasn’t lying; Inver is here. But I won’t … I can’t …
Gotta get this knot untied, fast! Fingers feel too big, keep fumbling. Why should I bother? Easier to …
No! I will untie it. There, it’s started. Now … this thread through this loop, and then over, and under again, and …
The knot is out. The box is open. And I …
By the Power-Giver, what have I done?
I killed a child, a young boy. No-o-o-o! I couldn’t have.
But I did. I remember. And I delivered another boy into Lord Inver’s hands. The boy Bryte calls her brother.
How could I? How can I live with myself, knowing what I did?
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
BENEATH BURNING SUNS
Bryte relaxed in the lounge chair digesting Lord Claid’s information. She would probably never fully understand, but she knew now that the magic Lina had told her came from the Power-Giver had its true source in the Dire Realms. The Power-Giver was a conduit, but there were other conduits, some used by the evil Dire Lords. Lord Inver’s power had come from such a source.
Lord Claid could confer power. He offered power to Ileta. She refused, so he settled for placing a star-shaped mark on her forehead. “A sign that you are under my protection,” he said. “No other Dire Lord will dare touch you, though it will not protect you from Lord Inver or any other human, dead or alive.”
Bryte didn’t know if her sister was wise or foolish to refuse power; she only knew she was proud of her.
Kanra accepted a new gift. “Your gift of quenching power in others has served you well,” the Dire Lord had said. “But you need something more, since an evil Dire Lord has spoken through you. I’ll confer on you the ability to shield so another power can’t reach you. You can’t use your gift of suppression at the s
ame time that you use the shielding. But you’ll be able to protect yourself.”
“Can I protect others as well?” Kanra asked.
“I meant the gift for your own protection. However, you may extend it to cover others near you. It is a power that can combine with theirs to strengthen their defenses.”
“I will accept it,” Kanra said.
“And you, Bryte,” the Dire Lord said. “You have discovered two gifts: your special hearing and your rage-light. But you have a third gift, as well. Shall I reveal it to you?”
“Yes, please,” Bryte said eagerly.
“You have the power to fold time, moving it back a few minutes or a few hours. It is dangerous and must be used sparingly. Its use will quickly sap your strength, and any time gained must be repaid. The repayment will not be of your choosing and may have disastrous results. Use the gift only when all else fails, and take the most minuscule fold possible to accomplish your purpose.”
She agreed to follow his instructions. She dared not test the gift; she could only trust that when a desperate need arose, it would be there.
After the discussion of gifts, little remained to be said, and the Lord Claid let them sit in silence for a time, drinking tea, and absorbing all they had learned.
Abruptly he swung his hooves off the hassock and rose. “Oryon has opened the box. We must go to him.”
He led the way back to the oval room. Oryon was still seated on the step to the dais. The box lay beside him, its lid off. His face was hidden in his hands; he did not look up when they came in.
“You are restored,” the Dire Lord said. Bryte couldn’t tell whether it was a statement or a question.
Oryon didn’t answer, did not lift his head.
“It’s a hard thing to face one’s folly,” Lord Claid said. “What’s done cannot be undone. It can only be accepted, learned from, and put behind you.”
“I killed a child,” Oryon said, his voice muffled. “How do I accept that? What can I learn from it?”
“The danger of too much ambition,” the Dire Lord said.
BRYTE'S ASCENT (Arucadi Series Book 8) Page 23