The Obsidian Mountain Trilogy

by Mercedes Lackey

  Because of the way Sentarshadeen was built, even now Kellen wasn’t really sure how big the city was, but tonight he knew how many Elves lived here. Hundreds. More than he could count. They filled the entire meadow, all the way back into the trees.

  At the center of the crowd a small open space had been preserved. A large five-sided flat tablet of white stone had been set upon the grass, and a small bronze brazier had been placed atop that for Idalia’s use. The space was ringed with more torches.

  Ashaniel approached them as they reached the edge of the open space, holding a small bundle of dark fabric in her hands. She held it out to Idalia. “Here is the spell-caul for the keystone.”

  Idalia took it and passed it to Kellen, thanking Ashaniel absently. Kellen could tell his sister’s mind was already elsewhere, on the work that was to come.

  Curious, Kellen inspected the bundle in his hands. It was a large square of heavy red silk, embroidered in the same color as the fabric. His fingers tingled as he touched it, and it seemed somehow colder and heavier than it ought to be. Magic. Sewn to the outside was a pair of long tasseled cords, so he could tie the bundle shut once he’d wrapped the keystone in it. He folded the fabric up tightly again and tucked it under one arm.

  Now all that remained was to create the contents.

  He remembered Idalia’s lessons about withdrawing himself from a spell in order to deny his power and energy to a Working. The Book of Sun also spoke of starving the will and refusing consent; Kellen had thought those injunctions related only to making bargains until Idalia explained that all aspects of a spell were in some sense a transaction: giving power to the spells of another, accepting a spell cast upon you (for good or ill), sensing the effects of a spell cast by another. If the Wildmage refused to participate in the transaction, depending on his own power, he could minimize or even negate the power of the spell entirely. All these things were aspects of shielding, and Kellen’s abilities in that area were going to get a serious workout tonight. Maybe he wasn’t such a “nonparticipant” after all; it would take a great effort of will to avoid being drawn into a working this large.

  Idalia stepped into the center of the ring of torches, and as she did, silence spread outward in ripples through the waiting Elves, until the only sound was that of the wind through the trees.

  As Kellen watched, she knelt on the center stone and prepared her spell, piling a few leaves and a sharp knife beside the brazier filled with tinder.

  Then she rose to her feet and began making her Circle, marking it with her staff.

  He knew far more now about the physical components of Wild Magic than he had back when he’d first helped Idalia heal the unicorn colt. A Wildmage’s Circle was an acknowledgment that the world had boundaries, and that the help he or she summoned came into the world the Wildmage knew and served from elsewhere. It also functioned as a reminder that in calling upon the forces of the Wild Magic, the Wildmage was leaving behind the world he or she knew. In Calling Spells, no forces except those the Wildmage had called could enter the Circle; in Finding Spells, it served as a point of departure on the path that would lead the Wildmage to his goal. On those rare and dangerous occasions when the Wildmage was compelling something to appear before him, the Circle served as a beacon to guide it and an enclosure to imprison it, subject to the Wildmage’s will.

  But in Kellen’s experience, the Circle was always invisible except to magical senses, or at most a line scratched in the earth by a stick or a knife.

  This was different.

  Where Idalia walked, a white glow sprang up behind her, a glow as intense as Magelight. And when she had finished, there was a ring of bright white light defining the circle she had marked, its silvery radiance as intense as the noonday sun. Kellen closed his eyes and could still see it through his closed lids.

  All around him the Elves seemed to sigh. They began to sing in a strange unfamiliar tongue, swaying gently as they did, their voices rising in a high sweet chorus that vibrated through Kellen’s body like the carillons of Armethalieh. He felt himself begin to sway as well, felt the song resonate within him, calling to something deep inside him that longed—demanded—to answer it.

  He suddenly realized he couldn’t be here. Not in the middle of the Elves, not standing so close to Idalia’s Circle. Blindly, he turned and pushed his way through the crowd, forcing his way through the unresisting bodies entirely by touch.

  The Elves didn’t seem to notice, but Kellen was gasping for air by the time he reached the edge of the crowd. He looked around—anywhere but at the Circle—breathing deeply and hugging himself tightly to try to shake off the mesmerizing trance state. It felt as if he were trying to force himself awake from the deepest of sleep; he pinched himself—hard—welcoming the sharp immediacy of the pain as something to anchor himself to.

  When he was sure he could resist the lure of the rising power, Kellen looked around. He found he was standing on a small rise among the trees, where he could look down on the ceremony behind him. The Elves still sang, but now the sound was something outside him, separate from him, a thing he could shut out with an effort of will. It was unearthly, the kind of song that no human throats could ever form. Not with harmonies built a hundred choruses deep, and so perfectly attuned that even the thought of discord was impossible.

  The center of the Circle was only a hazy silvery glow, as bright as if the full moon had come to earth, but Kellen did not need to see Idalia to know what she was doing, for most spells of the Wild Magic followed a similar pattern. She would have kindled a fire in the brazier and used it to burn the appropriate herbs and leaves, along with a few drops of her blood. That was the sacrifice of Power Within that linked the Wildmage to the Power Without, like priming a pump—a metaphor Kellen had neither known nor understood until he had seen pumps in Merryvale.

  And somehow the Elves were singing their own power into the spell as well, linking themselves to each other and to Idalia. Kellen could feel that even as he held himself back from it. Unlike the ordinary folk of Armethalieh, who had power, but could neither sense nor use it, though the Elves could not use their power, they not only could sense it, they knew it, intimately and well, and could direct it to the skill of one who could use it.

  The song had begun slowly, a call and response, the melody sweeping around the circle of Elves as the counterpoint followed in its wake. But gradually the counterpoint died away, as more and more voices took up the melody alone, and the melody simplified, until all the voices below sang as one, a single, simple, heart-piercing phrase of unutterable sweetness, repeated over and over in a language Kellen didn’t understand.

  And step by step that song line shortened as well. Three beats, then two, and Kellen felt the spiraling tension coiling upward, demanding release.

  One single note soaring toward the stars, until he thought he would go mad, or the stars themselves would shatter—

  —and then—

  Silence.

  Darkness.

  Release.

  Kellen staggered backward, as if something he’d been pulling against had abruptly disappeared. He realized that the spell was cast, and that now he needed to get down to Idalia. He forced himself to move.

  It was harder, this time, to make his way through the Elves. As Idalia had predicted, they were exhausted by their sacrifice of power to the spell. Some had sat down where they were, others were leaning against the person next to them for support. All of them seemed somehow disoriented, drained. Kellen pushed through them as ruthlessly as he could bring himself to, navigating by the faint steady glow of torchlight ahead of him.

  Idalia was kneeling on the white stone, a dark object a little larger than one of the Elven lanterns between her knees. Though it looked nothing like the usual sort of keystone from the quick glimpse he got of it, there was no denying that was what it was. The object drew him, in the same way that the Elven song had drawn him, but this time he did not resist the pull of it. He entered the circle, not a particle of his
attention on anything but the object, none to spare even for Idalia.

  Hide me! the thing cried out to him. Shelter me, cover me, protect me now!

  Kellen quickly dropped the spell-caul over it, swaddling whatever it was up firmly in the red silk—it was surprisingly heavy for its size—taking care to wind it so deeply in the soft folds that nothing could possibly “leak” out to betray its presence. He finished by tying the tasseled cords firmly around it.

  When he looked up again, Idalia had collapsed completely, lying unconscious on the ground.

  Kellen took a step toward his sister, but he wasn’t quick enough. A male Elf had stepped out of the crowd, stooping and lifting Idalia into his arms as though she weighed nothing at all.

  It was Jermayan.

  The Elf stared challengingly into Kellen’s eyes, as if daring him to object to his presence.

  Now Kellen was torn between duty and duty. He knew that Idalia didn’t want to have anything more to do with Jermayan, but at the moment Idalia was in no condition to complain. Kellen couldn’t carry her and the keystone. And no one else seemed to be in any condition to care for her …

  Before Kellen could think of what to say, Jermayan turned away and began carrying Idalia back in the direction of her and Kellen’s house.

  Kellen clutched the silk-wrapped bundle tighter and followed.

  It looks like they’re well matched in one thing. They’re both about as stubborn as each other, anyway. He sighed. Well, if he wants to do this, and it makes him feel useful … he’s a grown man. I guess he’s a grown man. He looks old enough to make up his own mind about making himself miserable, anyway.

  Though true night had fallen while the keystone was being created, Jermayan had no trouble finding his way along the narrow unlighted paths that lay between the unicorn meadow and Kellen and Idalia’s house, and Kellen found himself having to hurry to keep up with the Elf. If Jermayan had not been dressed entirely in white, it would have been even more difficult.

  “You can slow down, you know,” Kellen finally said, a little breathlessly. “There’s no rush—I don’t think Idalia’s going to wake up anytime soon. And thank you for taking her.”

  Jermayan abruptly slowed, allowing Kellen to catch up with him.

  “No, she is exhausted,” Jermayan said tenderly, gazing down at Idalia’s face, her head cradled protectively against his shoulder. “But I would not wish to place you in the position of having permitted my attentions to your sister, should she learn I have taken this service upon myself.”

  “What you and Idalia do—or don’t do—is between the two of you,” Kellen said hastily. “She wouldn’t listen to me anyway.” And since I didn’t even know I had a sister until Shalkan dumped me at her front door a few moonturns ago, and since she all but told me off for trying to nose in when you first showed up on our doorstep, I’m sure not going to start telling her how to run her life now.

  Jermayan smiled faintly. “Great wisdom in one so young,” he commented.

  “Besides,” Kellen added, after a moment, “what do I know, anyway? Somebody who keeps company with unicorns doesn’t have a right to a lot of opinions about people who—ah—can’t.”

  He thought he heard a faint chuckle from Jermayan, but he couldn’t be sure.

  They continued onward in a more companionable silence until they reached the door. Kellen opened it, and Jermayan carried Idalia inside. Kellen was glad they’d left a couple of the lamps burning; he hadn’t anticipated coming back with so many burdens. He quickly set the wrapped keystone down on the padded bench.

  “Show me to her room, of your grace,” Jermayan said, and Kellen went to open that door in turn.

  Kellen turned back the covers and Jermayan laid Idalia carefully down on the bed, gazing at her for a long moment, his face unreadable. Kellen could feel the tension of things unsaid and emotions denied fill the room like water running into a cup, so intense it made his head hurt.

  “Cover her warmly, and watch over her,” Jermayan said abruptly. “See that she sleeps undisturbed.”

  Jermayan left—not seeming to hurry, in the fashion of Elves, but gone so quickly it would have been easy to imagine he’d never been there at all. Kellen removed Idalia’s sandals—she might be willing to sleep in her clothes, but not in her shoes—then covered her and closed the bedroom door, blowing out the bedside lamps before he left.

  He picked up the keystone and went to his own room, tucking it securely away in his pack, then went to light the lamps outside the door. Elsewhere in the canyon he could see other scattered points of light, as the Elves who had wearily returned to their homes had done the same.

  He built up the fire in the stove and rummaged through the cabinets, setting out a meal for Idalia if she woke up during the night. He realized he was hungry himself—he’d been too excited to eat earlier—and cut himself a slice of cold venison and dried-cherry pie, washing it down with a tankard of cold berry-cider. Eating dispelled the last of the eldritch feeling he’d gotten from being in the meadow, as if a wind had blown him free of cobwebs. And paradoxically, it left him that much more free to worry.

  Now that Idalia’s part was done, the keystone made and charged, his part of the task seemed that much closer to beginning. In a few hours, he and Shalkan and one of the Elves would be on their way, riding into the unknown. Kellen was sure he couldn’t possibly sleep, but it would do no harm to lie down for a few hours …

  “WAKE up, sleepyhead!”

  “What …?”

  Kellen came groggily awake out of muddled dreams, thrashing and struggling. The dreams that had seemed so vivid a moment before dissolved instantly, leaving him blinking in confusion.

  He didn’t remember falling asleep. But the last time he’d looked out the window of his bedroom, the sky had been black. Now the sky was grey-pale, and Idalia was standing over him, wrapped in a violet house robe the color of her eyes. There were dark circles beneath those eyes that were only a shade or two lighter, but otherwise she seemed quite healthy and alert for someone who had been drained to the point of unconsciousness only a few hours ago.

  “Tandarion just came to bring your armor and sword. I’ve made tea. While you eat, I can tell you what to look for and how to trigger the keystone when you reach the Barrier. Then … it’s all up to you, Kellen.”

  Her words brought him fully awake as even a bucket of cold water could not have. Kellen sat up quickly, unable to believe he’d actually fallen asleep. “You know?”

  “More than I did last night. And you’ll learn more on the way. Now come on.”

  She picked up a bundle and tossed it at him—the quilted undertunic for his armor, and the supple leather socks that went beneath the armored boots, and left Kellen alone.

  He carried the bundle off to the water closet—one thing he was going to miss on the road was the convenience of Elven plumbing—and as he washed and dressed, Kellen felt odd memory-echoes of the last time he’d dressed in unfamiliar clothing for a long journey into the unknown. It was not so long ago—little more than a moonturn—that he and Idalia had left the Wildwood heading into Elven lands. But then they’d been heading out of peril into safety—or so they’d thought then. Now Kellen was leaving even Idalia behind, going from the near-safety of Sentarshadeen into—

  —into grave danger indeed.

  Suddenly he knew that, out of the blue, and a chill of apprehension came over him, shaking him to the core and making him shiver.

  This is not a wondertale. It’s dangerous. Really dangerous …

  Suddenly the glorious Elven armor was no longer just something to look good in; it was something to keep him from getting hurt.

  Or killed.

  He sat down at the table in the common room and accepted a cup of tea, though he didn’t think he could eat anything. Idalia produced a comb and began braiding his hair—by now it had grown long enough to make a short club at the back of his neck.

  “You’ll want to wear it this way,” she said. “Ot
herwise your hair will just get caught on the inside of your helmet. Now. Where to go. You’ll be riding north, toward the High Desert. Do you remember that vision you had, the first time you tried scrying?”

  “I don’t think I’ll ever forget it,” Kellen said, with an inward shudder.

  “I’ve been thinking about it, and I’m not sure it was meant to be a representation of an actual event—more the symbolic representation of the damage the Barrier is capable of causing—but I think the place you’re looking for looks something like that, at least in essence, so you should know it when you see it. As for how you’ll be drawn to it, well, the magic that has created the Barrier has imposed a unnatural sort of order on the natural world, and that kind of power leaves footprints of a sort. What you need to look for as you ride is abnormal patterns, things that are orderly in a way that Nature isn’t when left alone. The Barrier is the source, and the closer you get to it, the more abnormalities you’ll see.”

  “Like what?” Kellen asked. Despite his misgivings, the tea had awakened his appetite, and he reached for one of the morning pastries Idalia had set out on a plate on the table.

  “Swirls of birds overhead that are flying in an odd pattern and can’t seem to break out of it. Animals—especially small ones, like mice or squirrels—that are running aimlessly in circles or performing repetitive motions over and over. Swarms of insects, especially noxious ones, or ones that don’t belong. Anything that seems wildly out of place. Anything nasty. Anything rotten, dead, or dying that has no business being there.”

  “But how will I know?” Kellen asked. “I saw new things in the Wildwood every day, and we’re miles to the west of that. I could guess wrong.”

  “That’s what you’ll have Shalkan for. And whoever’s going with you. They’ll know what’s out of place if you don’t: Shalkan, most especially, will be sensitive to the kinds of wrongness that you’re looking for. And trust in the Wild Magic. When you’re not sure, use Finding Spells to show you the way. But be careful about that. Using the Wild Magic may alert Shadow Mountain to your presence, so be sure to move on when you’ve done that.”