Endless Night

by D. K. Holmberg

  Ciara continued the climb. Pain in her fingers with each movement became a steady throbbing and finally numbness. Blood stained the rock as she climbed, and she ignored it. Once, her foot slipped, but she pressed her grip even more tightly into the rock, and she caught herself.

  Then her hand grabbed an edge. She heaved herself to the top.

  She’d made it. And by herself.

  The draasin was perched on the lip of rock, long tail wrapped around the stone for support. Had Ciara even seen that during her climb? If she had, she might have climbed along the draasin’s tail. But no, that would be cheating in a way.

  “Why are you up here?” she asked the draasin.

  She didn’t expect the elemental to answer. Summoning an elemental was not the same as how she spoke to the lizard. An image came into her mind, one with flashes of orange and reds, bright colors that told Ciara about the way the draasin viewed the world.

  “You came for what you could see?”

  The draasin didn’t answer.

  Ciara stood on the edge of the rock overlooking this part of Rens. She could see the vast expanse of the waste, the rolling sand dunes that marked the edge of Rens and the beginning of the waste. Beyond the dunes was a massive crevasse. And from there… from there, Ciara didn’t know what exactly was out there. The draasin. She’d seen them while trying to survive when she accompanied the lizard. Water, enough for her people to survive. And other lands, perhaps Tsanth.

  The tower of rock was where the nya’shin had always gone to search for water. It was a rite of passage in some ways, marking the transition between those who would be nya’shin and those who would not. Ciara had never made the climb completely on her own. But the view… the view was worth it.

  She looked down from the rock and saw a few people making their way out of the caverns for the day. Even from up here, she recognized the steady beat of Fas’s heart. He must be watching her.

  How would she get down? Normally the nya’shin would bring lengths of rope and rappel down, but she had forgotten. Climbing had been something that she’d done on a whim, and she had come unprepared.

  “Can you fly me down?” she asked the draasin.

  In some ways, she was surprised the draasin had remained overnight, but Ciara had asked if she would. That the elemental had complied was amazing.

  The draasin lowered her head. Ciara took that to mean she agreed and climbed on. The creature jumped and spread her wings, soaring from the top of the rock as she circled down to the ground.

  “I think,” Ciara began, looking around at the faces of the villagers who had come out, many now gaping at the draasin, “I think I need to return to Ter. Will you wait for me?”

  The draasin didn’t answer and didn’t send any images to her. Ciara didn’t know whether that meant she agreed or that she didn’t. Either way, it didn’t matter. If the draasin left, she would be forced to remain with her people. Her father might be able to teach her, though she wondered how much she could actually learn from him. And if he couldn’t teach, she could at least be with her people and perhaps protect them if Tenebeth reached to them again.

  If she went with the draasin, she would face Tenebeth again. That was the reason Olina wanted her to learn. There were others who would fight with her, if only she took the time to understand them. If her father was right, and if this was a war between the elementals, then shouldn’t she help if she could?

  She climbed down and made for Fas. He started away from her before stopping and waiting in the shadows of Nisa Point. Once, she would have assumed he did it simply to avoid the sun, but she had seen the way that Tenebeth used him. Was Fas still tainted, or had her summons—whatever it had done—managed to expel the darkness?

  “You haven’t spoken to me,” she said.

  Fas looked to the ground, his shoulders slumped. “You know what happened.”

  “No. I don’t know what happened. I think I know what happened.”

  “I only wanted to help our people, Ciara. When we were attacked the last time, when the draasin came,” he started, pulling his gaze up and looking over her shoulder at the draasin. “I knew I wasn’t strong enough to do what we needed. I think… I think it sensed that about me. Offered me strength. Power.”

  Ciara looked upon Fas with pity. He had sought strength and he had become so much less than he had been. “He offered me the same, but I refused.”

  “Well, I’m not as strong as you.”

  “You are!” Ciara said, anger rising in her voice. “At least, you were. Refuse him and he can’t take over your mind. Welcome him in, and… and you see what happens.”

  “I thought I was helping our people,” he said again. He finally met her eyes. His brown eyes held sadness behind the hollows. “What will you do now? You ride the draasin. You command it.”

  “I don’t command anything,” Ciara said. “I summon. The draasin answers if she chooses to do so.”

  “That’s still commanding it.”

  Ciara didn’t think they were the same but decided she wouldn’t argue with Fas. She didn’t need to. There was nothing she did that was about control. Even with the one elemental she could speak to, she had no control. She had tried asking—begging even—but that had gotten her nowhere.

  “I need to know if you’re still affected,” she said.

  Fas looked away.

  She slammed her j’na into the ground. A burst of light erupted from it. “I need to know!”

  Fas looked up, meeting her eyes again. “It’s gone. Whatever you did stole away my—”

  “Your what? You think you had power? You were used, Fas. For whatever Tenebeth wanted with you.”

  Fas blinked slowly. “You. It wanted you.”

  She suppressed a shiver. That Tenebeth would chase her to her home, attack those she knew, simply to reach her. Did he really think that would convince her to work with him? Or did he think to use her too?

  Ciara tapped her j’na once more. Another smaller flash of light came from it and she pointed it toward Fas. “My father will watch for his return, Fas. If you welcome him back to the village, I will know.”

  He held her gaze for a moment before looking down.

  Ciara turned away, disgust roiling through her. How could she have ever thought that she wanted to pair with Fas? Even Eshan would have been better.

  Threatening Fas might do no good. She might want to know if he welcomed Tenebeth, but would she? Her father would have to find some way of reaching her. And if the village were attacked again, Ciara would have to convince Cheneth and the shapers to help. She was lucky that nothing more had happened when she came alone. As it was, she had nearly been overwhelmed.

  As she searched for her father, she saw faces she had grown up with. Usa, who had always baked for the entire village. Vend, who helped with the shepa. Old Lyssa, one of the council. Even Damas, once a nya’shin and now nearly as old as her father. All looked at her strangely, almost as if she were an outsider.

  Ciara didn’t realize the reason until she had nearly reached the draasin. She was an outsider to them now. Dressed in clothes and boots of Ter and riding a draasin, she was no more a part of the village than Cheneth would be were he to have come.

  Even if she wanted to remain with the village, she doubted she could.

  Knowing that made her decision easier.

  Her father waited for her near the draasin. Ciara considered who else in the village she might want to see but decided they might not want to see her.

  “You will return to your training?” her father said.

  Training. That wasn’t what she would call it, but if that made her father feel better about where she went, then she would leave it at that. “I will return to Cheneth,” she said. “I can’t stay here any longer.”

  “No, my daughter. You have moved past this home.”

  “You could come. With what we will face, you could help.”

  He smiled sadly and looked upon the draasin. “When Fas fell and you attem
pted the summons, that was the first time I had tried—truly tried—since before you were born. I was ala’shin, but the draasin no longer answered my summons and had not for many years. But you… you are destined to be ala’shin. Perhaps more than that if you really can summon more than the draasin.”

  “I can’t do anything consistently,” she said. “When I try, the summons doesn’t work.”

  “But you reached the draasin.”

  The draasin turned her bright eyes on Ciara. Through the draasin’s sight, she had a sense of the way the draasin saw her, awash in bright red and orange light, almost burning with flames. She blinked, and the vision faded.

  “I reached the draasin this time, Father. But the next? Or the time after that? I might call to earth. Or wind. Or water. And each of them has many ways to answer.”

  Her father tapped his j’na softly on the ground. It made a healthy smack, nothing like the sickly sound that it had when Tenebeth had influenced him. “When I first learned to summon the draasin, I was told that it mattered less about the pattern, less about the sound my j’na made, and more about what I felt inside. The j’na and the pattern only focused that power.” He smiled. “The one who taught me claimed that some could eventually learn to summon without ever touching the j’na to the ground, without ever taking a step in the pattern. All I had to do was focus on the energy that would come from them, and I could unleash it myself.” He tapped his j’na again. “I never managed to learn that technique. None of us did. I do not know if it is even possible, but I think that it must be. And you, my daughter, have the potential to learn it.”

  He pulled her into a hug. He smelled of heat, and sweat, and so much like her father. She would miss him, but he was needed here, with the people, to protect them if Tenebeth came again.

  “You will summon me if he returns,” Ciara said.

  “I will try.”

  She turned to the draasin and fixed an image in her mind of the Ter camp. The barracks, as they called it. The draasin lowered her head, and Ciara climbed onto her back. “Who taught you?” she asked her father.

  Her father hesitated, and a tight expression pulled the corners of his eyes and mouth. “He was a young man, but even then, he understood things that others did not, and he warned us about the war. Without his warning, more of Rens would have fallen. He came from a place he called Hyaln, a place of learning, and he called himself Cheneth.”

  Ciara laughed softly to herself. That explained why Cheneth knew so much about Rens, but why hadn’t he told her he knew her father?

  “Listen to him, Ciara. He might not teach the way that you want, but there are lessons there nonetheless. You can be great. I knew that about you from the very start. Learn what you can. Help your people. All of them.”

  He stretched his hand to her and she took it, squeezing for a long moment. When she released it, she whispered to the draasin, “Let’s return.”

  Then the draasin took to the air.

  Ciara watched as her home became smaller and smaller before finally disappearing from view.

  25

  Oliver

  Since the library in the college remains restricted, I document what I know. If we succeed in stopping Tenebeth, there remains a risk that he will once again return. Others must know of the risk. The college cannot be the keeper of such essential knowledge, though neither can Hyaln.

  —Rolan al’Sand, Enlightened of Hyaln

  Shielding both of them while Oliver carried Hester back to his rooms had been more difficult than he could have imagined. He was forced to add earth to his shapings and keep his focus with water split, partly to continue the squeeze on Hester’s heart to keep him unconscious and partly to create the illusion, this time around them both.

  Inside his room, he relaxed all but the shaping used to constrict the blood flow.

  He had to bind Hester, but how?

  And he needed help. Bringing Yanda into this would be risky, but no more risky than showing her the spirit stick in the first place.

  Wrapping the man in earth—the next strongest element for him—he maintained his connection to water as he hurried into the hall.

  Yanda’s room was three doors down from his. Oliver hurried to it and pounded loudly, praying she would answer.

  When it opened, Yanda stared at him, eyes blank.

  “Yanda,” he whispered, “I need your help—”

  His words cut off as he saw the person behind her.

  Sitting at a table, drumming her long nails in a rhythm that seemed to pull on his senses, was Margo.

  She smiled when she saw him.

  The rod went cold in his pocket.

  Oliver used the same sharp blade of water shaping that he had on Hester, this time honed to an even finer blade, and swept it through her shaping. The cold seeping through the rod stopped. He shifted the shaping, turning it toward Margo.

  She sprang toward him, too fast for him to see. A long blade arced toward him.

  Oliver turned and reached with water and fire toward Margo.

  The shaping was not one that he’d ever practiced, but he had seen how such a shaping could be used and hated that he was forced to turn it on her.

  The blood pulsing through Margo’s veins froze.

  She screamed, a painful, shrill sound that was more like some kind of animal than from any human.

  But she stopped. The knife clattered to the ground harmlessly.

  Oliver stood, panting, afraid to move, afraid that Margo would get up and attack again, but she didn’t. It was a measure of his nerves that he didn’t even dare go check on her.

  Yanda started toward him, the blank stare still plain on her face.

  She had been shaped.

  “Yanda. It’s Oliver. You need to fight whatever she did to you.”

  A shaping built from Yanda with power.

  Oliver used the spirit stick, attempting to layer the shaping on her, but there was resistance.

  He glanced to the ground and saw that Margo still breathed.

  Yanda’s work continued to build. He didn’t know what she would do, but Yanda had more talent in some ways than him. He couldn’t risk her attacking.

  Hating himself for what he had to do, he took the knife from the ground and jammed it into Margo’s heart. The blood that spurted out sickened him. Not the sight of it—as a healer, he had seen enough blood that he no longer struggled with it as he once had—but the fact that blood was spilled by his hand.

  Oliver turned his attention to Yanda.

  She took a breath as if waking from a strange dream. “Oliver?” she asked when she saw him. Then, seeing him crouching in front of Margo, she gasped. “What happened?”

  Yanda hurried forward and placed her hands on the knife, a shaping of water already forming.

  Oliver grabbed her hands and pried them away. “No.”

  “But Oliver, this is one of the council—”

  He shook his head. “No,” he said again, his voice harder this time.

  Yanda sank to the ground. “What happened? Why are you here?”

  “You were shaped. Spirit, I would guess.”

  “If that was spirit, it was nothing like the spirit you shape through the spirit stick.”

  “Hester tried to do the same to me, but the stick blocks it. At least slows it,” he said. “He wasn’t able to get to me.”

  And if they had? Why would they have summoned him before the entire council if a single shaper was capable of attacking like that? What purpose would there be for them to have wanted him there?

  Oliver rolled Margo from side to side. Her lifeless eyes stared straight ahead, looking no different in death than they had in life.

  “Come on,” he said, pulling Yanda to her feet.

  They made it back to his room and he stopped, unable to enter.

  “What is it?” Yanda said.

  “He’s gone.”

  “Who?”

  Oliver staggered into his room, holding a shaping ready, afraid of what mi
ght come at him. Hester, or whoever he was, had already shown himself adept at masking himself, and he could shape without another knowing.

  The room was empty.

  He didn’t know whether to be relieved or frightened.

  “Hester. But not Hester,” he said, quickly explaining what had happened when he went to Hester’s room. “And I brought him back here, bound him in earth, and kept him unconscious with a shaping of water.”

  Only the shaping must have failed.

  Or had he lost focus during Margo’s attack?

  That was more likely. He had barely managed to stop her, and it had taken his full attention to do so. That would have left him distracted and given Hester a chance to recover, probably enough that he could slice through the earth binding him and escape.

  Oliver sighed.

  “What about the others?” Yanda asked.

  “I don’t know. They were all there when I was summoned to the Seat. But they didn’t attack me the same way.”

  “Maybe they were only trying to determine what you knew. Was there something that happened that would make them interested in you?”

  Yanda looked at him with an unreadable expression. Were it anyone else, and especially now, he would question why she asked. But this was Yanda. He had to trust her, didn’t he?

  “I don’t think so,” he said.

  Yanda watched him a moment and then nodded. “We have to notify—”

  “Who?” he asked. “Who is there to notify? If the entire council is in on something, then who do we tell?”

  He threw himself into one of his chairs, fear starting to send his heart fluttering. He hadn’t even been this scared when facing Margo, but now that it was over and he’d begun to think about what had happened, what they might be up against, the uncertainty of who he could trust, he felt overwhelmed and scared.

  “Oh,” Yanda said, covering her mouth.

  “What?”

  “Just what you said, isn’t it?” she asked. “If the whole council is in on this, that means the commander too.”