The Armor of Light

by Karen E. Hoover

  The guard’s smile was scary—the bared teeth of a predator. “Your father wants to marry me, see. All these years of working and being together, and he finally wants to tie the knot. You won’t be able to get away with these games of yours once I’m in charge.” She squeezed Ember’s arm hard. “Why do you keep the girl from us? You know what the Mistress wants. We’re supposed to be a team, and yet you shut us out of your practice rooms and now hide her away. Where is the girl, Lily?” She shook Ember with that question, and took a moment for Ember to get past the fear and found words to answer.

  “I don’t know, Brendae. I haven’t seen her since she ran away from you at the dining hall yesterday. She disappeared, just like you two did from guarding the door.” Brendae looked slightly guilty at that, then stood taller.

  “You know as well as I do that the Mistress called us away. Our discussions with her always leave me in a somewhat pained state, especially when she is angry, and she was very, very angry—all because of you. How can we convert the girl to our side if we don’t get a chance to be with her? Are you trying to keep her to yourself and get all the glory?”

  Ember went with it as best she could. “Why would I do that? Do you really think I want C’Tan’s attention on me?” She snorted. “Far from it. If I can find the girl, you’ll get your chance. She seems to have hidden somewhere. Are you sure you haven’t given something away? You know she’s terrified of you.”

  Brendae snarled. “And well she should be.”

  “Not if you’re trying to gain her trust,” Ember said. “Try being a little nicer. And smile a bit. I promise, your face won’t split.” She patted Brendae on the cheek and pulled free of her grasp. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a wolfchild to find.” Ember moved away from Brendae and hoped she wouldn’t grab her again. It was terrifying turning her back on a woman she very well knew to be her enemy, but to keep up the appearance of being Lily, she had no choice. It was the kind of thing Lily would do.

  Ember swam to the edge of the pool, gathered up her towel and clothes, and headed to the dressing room. She dried off as best she could, braiding her hair and tying the end off with a leather cord someone had left in the room before her, hoping the whole time that Brendae wouldn’t follow her.

  She pulled on her underthings, slipped on the dull gray robe, and stepped out of the room. She headed for the door, passing several girls on their way to the bathing pools who stopped, their eyes following her as she walked by. It wasn’t until most of the room had stopped and looked at her oddly that Ember realized her gray robe had turned pristine white. She sighed.

  One of the girls ran over to the doorway and beckoned to someone, probably a guard, and pointed in Ember’s direction just as a voice shouted from the pools. “Hey!” Ember didn’t have to turn and look. She knew it was Brendae.

  She wasn’t going to let anything come of that. She ran straight at the granite wall of the bathing room and hit it like a diver doing a belly flop in the water. She’d forgotten that granite was more solid than the crystal structure. There was a moment of pain, much like that of hitting the water stomach first, but she quickly recovered and moved on, though much more slowly than through the more refined crystal. Silence gathered around her. Here there was no one to watch her, no guards to run from. She didn’t know of anyone else who could walk through stone—certainly none of the guards. They didn’t have magic.

  She waded through the rock like it was mud and eventually reached out with a magical hook and grasped the crystalline sphere once again. She popped through the wall and threw herself on the bed, grateful she’d gotten her bath, and she still had her toothbrush and powder with her. She took a moment to change her face back to her own and sighed with relief. It always felt strange to be someone else, like squeezing into clothes two sizes too small.

  Ember looked around for some water, but found none. She growled in frustration, then tucked the toothbrush and toothpaste in the pockets of her robe and determined to use them later.

  Mahal was still gone and Ember’s stomach was beginning to growl. Had he decided to leave her to her own devices? To let her face consequences alone? She certainly hoped not. She lay back on the bed and rested her eyes, trying to plan how she would handle this if Mahal did not return.

  She hadn’t even gotten past the image of showing up in Ezeker’s office to explain what happened when an abrasive, bell-like tone resonated throughout the chamber. Ember sat up, cringing at the discordance it created clear to her bones. She was just starting to relax and wonder what in the world the sound was when it struck again. And again. And again. Faster and faster, the strikes came until she could stand it no longer. She slapped her hands over her ears, but still felt the vibrations like a ripple from foot to head.

  Curiosity got the best of her and she stepped through the nearest wall, making her way in the direction of the noise. Not directly toward it, but in the general direction. When she knew she was close, she circled around the stone and came out of the wall about thirty feet down the pathway from where a shining man struck chunks of rock from the wall with his sword.

  Even buried in stone, Demunth had found her again.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  The dark hours swept by much faster than she wanted with such a dreaded act in front of her. She would have had the night last forever if it were in her power.

  As soon as the sky began to brighten and Kayla no longer needed the fire to see, she began her preparations. She couldn’t put Brant’s funeral bier just anywhere. It needed to be somewhere special, and so she spent time in the earliest hours of morning finding just the perfect spot.

  She found it almost immediately. Just inside the tree line on the eastern side of the meadow was a small glade full of wildflowers of all kinds. The smell was heady, and though she knew Brant would be unable to smell the flowers, any who came to visit him would be comforted and uplifted by their fragrance. She would place the bier here, directly in the center.

  The decision made, she went back to Brant’s body and picked up the flute. This time she felt the iciness of his body without even touching it. She reached out to his arm to find it frozen solid, though his color remained perfectly normal. Surprised, she looked at the flute and wondered. Was this its way of apologizing for being unable to save him? Was that why it pulsed so strangely the night before, creating a slow freeze that left his color normal so he looked almost alive?

  She didn’t know, and it didn’t matter, really, but one thing it did accomplish—she no longer wanted to destroy the flute. A small measure of love toward the instrument was restored. She brought her mouth close to the instrument, but instead of playing she whispered two simple words. “I’m sorry.” The flute glowed as if it heard her and Kayla felt warmth settle in her heart, even if just for a moment.

  Setting aside her questions for the moment, she went back to the glade, stood at the edge of the trees, and began to play. She closed her eyes and visualized what she wanted—a long rectangle about two and a half feet high, made of clear ice. She poured her heart into the music, but kept the image in her mind, frozen as solid as that which she tried to create.

  Somehow she knew when it was done. She finished her song and opened her eyes. The bier was exactly how she had envisioned it. Once again, she wished for a cloak, or some kind of padding to put beneath Brant so he wouldn’t look quite so stark against the ice.

  As if the flute read her mind, Kayla felt its power come to life. A blue mist covered the bier, then solidified into what looked like sapphire-colored velvet. A blanket, padding for her love to lie upon.

  Tears sprang to her eyes at the gift the flute gave her and Brant, but she blinked them away. She couldn’t afford to fall apart yet. There was still too much to do. Kayla made her way back to Brant. There was no way through this next part besides sheer physical effort. She heard a sound to her left and looked up in surprise. The horses! She had completely forgotten about their horses. They could do the work for which she didn’t have the
strength. She probably could have used the flute, but she didn’t want to waste the power on something so unimportant. She needed to save it to create Brant’s casket.

  Nearly sobbing with relief, Kayla saddled up both horses and brought them near Brant’s body. During the dark of night, she had taken rope and scraps of blanket and made a framed sling, tying it all directly to the blanket on which Brant already rested. Now she took those long poles and tied them to the stirrups. When she was sure Brant was secure, she took the reins and led the horses to the bier. The most challenging part was yet to come in getting him from the sling to the bier.

  Thankfully, the horses held very still as she untied Brant’s upper half and tipped the device upward. He began to slide head first toward the bier. She untied everything but his feet, leaving the ropes around his ankles trailing off the end so she could hold on to him. She clucked her tongue, and the horses moved forward slowly until Brant’s head was just where she wanted it. She halted the horses, then tipped the frame again and ordered the horses backwards. She backed up with them, letting go of the rope around his ankles, and at last he was free of the sling and resting on his bier. The blue cloth wasn’t even out of place. It seemed a miracle.

  Kayla removed the sling from the horses’ saddles and took the animals back out to the meadow, hobbling them near some clover they were likely to enjoy.

  Once again, Kayla entered the glade, and her breath stopped for a moment upon seeing the ghost of Brant looking at his body resting upon the blue cloth. He glanced up at her entrance. “Is that how I looked? Really?”

  She nodded slowly. “For the most part. Usually you’ve got more color, but the cold—” her voice wouldn’t continue beyond that. Seeing the two of them, both the same man, one physical, the other spirit, and knowing the one she could speak to would never be able to touch her again was almost more than she could bear. Her vision swam and she blinked away the tears, putting a lid on her emotions, much like she would a top on a kettle. It may boil over later, but not now. She couldn’t afford it now.

  Instead, she got back to work. She took Brant’s sword belt from the ground and pulled the blade from the scabbard. She moved to Brant’s side and lifted his hands, clasped at his chest, as best she could to put the hilt beneath them.

  “Wait,” he said, looking at her across his body.

  “What? Why?” Staring at his face with his body laying at her waist was just so odd.

  “You keep the sword. A gift. I’ll never use it again.” Brant put his spirit hand over his physical ones. “I’ll leave this instead.”

  Mist swirled in ropes down his frozen body, blue sparkles permeating its length. Then it solidified into an icy sword, pommel beneath his hands as if he had died with it there.

  Kayla stopped breathing for a moment. It was exquisite. Much more beautiful than his own sword would have been, and now she had something of his to keep, something he had held each and every day as he practiced. Now she couldn’t hold back the tears that had been threatening all morning, and they streamed down her face like rain on a window.

  “It’s . . . stunning,” she choked out.

  “I know,” he said, grinning his usual cocky grin. “A lot better than my real sword, since people are going to be seeing me for eternity. One has to think about appearances.” He posed, his nose in the air for a moment before he winked at her.

  Kayla laughed. A true laugh, carefree for just a moment as the old Brant was reflected in his ghostly image. She wiped the tears from her face and, setting the scabbard back in the grass and flowers, retrieved the flute.

  “Well, shall we finish this?” she asked.

  Both somber now, he nodded. “Yes. It’s time.” He backed away from the bier, clasped his hands before him, and waited.

  Kayla took a deep breath to steady herself, then played. It was similar to the song she had played the night before. Soft and slow, her shared memories with Brant spun out with her breath, and with it came the icy cold that built the dome. She kept her eyes open this time, watching as layer upon layer of frozen water grew over his body, cloudy and creating mist in the early autumn air. It curled away like smoke from a giant pipe, covering the grass and wildflowers and even the trees. It covered Brant’s spirit and she would have lost his position entirely if not for the faint blue glow that gave him away.

  After a while, the mist blew away and the icy dome cover began to grow clear. When Kayla could see Brant’s body through the lid, she concentrated on making it harder and so cold that neither heat nor sunlight could melt it. She truly meant for his casket to last forever, like the legends she’d heard of the ends of Rasann, where great chunks of land were made entirely of ice that never melted.

  This would be her final farewell gift to Brant and the best apology she could give to his family. He may not be home, but he was in a beautifully tranquil spot where his parents, his brothers, their children, and grandchildren and great-grandchildren could come to see him for generations to come. And she would be sure to spread the tales of Brant Domanta far and wide. He would forever be her hero, if nothing else.

  Kayla finished her song on a soft and low note, letting it trail into frail echoes that sounded off the rocky walls in the distance. The flute still clung to her lip. She couldn’t let it come down, for to do so would mean Brant was truly gone.

  “Kayla,” she heard his voice whisper. “It is done. Let me go,” he said from just beside her.

  She could say nothing, could only bow her head and let the tears fall silently.

  “Kayla,” he whispered again, and she felt his icy breath of touch trail down her arm. “Let the flute down. It is done. You did a beautiful job—everything I could have asked for. Now, take care of yourself. I’m a part of the flute now, remember? I’m not going anywhere.”

  Even that reminder didn’t ease the ache in her heart, in her very soul. Brant was gone, and it was again her fault. When would she ever learn? If she had just insisted that Jihong stay behind in the water kingdom, Brant would never have been harmed. She knew Jihong was—evil, and yet she said nothing. When would she be strong enough to stand for what she knew to be right?

  Lowering the flute, she slowly straightened. Now. The time was now. She nodded to Brant, then turned to retrieve the horses and her things. T’Kato was sure to be wondering about her and Brant by now. It was time to return to the village and be on her way. She still needed to find the Wolfchild.

  A flickering figure appeared at the edge of the trees and zipped toward her. The figure was dark, like a shadow come to life, but it made her sick to look at it—nauseated from the movement and from the sense of emptiness that emanated from it. It felt like a void, a black hole, hungry for anything magical. Sensitive because of her recent commitment to fight wrong, she felt the depravity, the lightlessness within this being. Whether man or woman she could not tell, only that it was full of a corrupton so sinister, she could not name it, and that it was after the flute.

  She put the flute back to her lips and played a single long and shrieking note. Brant immediately appeared once more, but this time he glowed a brilliant blue and had muscles as big as T’Kato’s. For a moment he looked pretty normal, but then he raised his hands, and the entire bottom half of him turned into a whirlwind that raced toward the shadowy figure. They collided, and Brant’s color faded just a bit as it flowed into the darkness. She remembered the conversation she’d overheard the day before, and suddenly she knew what this was.

  A shadow weaver.

  Panicked, Kayla began to play, hoping to aid Brant in his battle with the ominous being. The blue power that sparked to life around her began to streak toward the darkness, but it grew in size and seemed to become stronger.

  She stopped playing. This creature ate magic like it was supper. She could not afford to feed it more power under any circumstances, but especially when it fought Brant.

  She watched in helpless silence as the two tore through the trees and out into the meadow. She wondered if the shadow we
aver would as easily absorb a stone or a spear as it did magic.

  And then she had an idea.

  Racing out into the meadow, she watched as the shadow weaver zipped this way and that, trying to get around Brant and to her and the flute, but Brant met it at every turn. Knowing the being was distracted for the moment, she stood at the edge of the meadow, put the flute to her lips, and played.

  The power streaked toward the being again, but at the last second, she turned it—she didn’t know how—and she took up the stonefish spines that had paralyzed her and Brant the night before, thrusting them into the shadow weaver’s back.

  A piercing scream echoed across the meadow and the creature fell face down into the grass, unable to stop the momentum that threw him forward, for she could see a bearded face and muscular torso. It was indeed a he and not an it.

  As soon as he was on the ground, she raced to Brant, who now looked more inhuman than human. His features had sharpened and his muscles bulged beyond human ability, but as she approached, he softened, the whirlwind that swirled beneath him stopped, and he met her halfway. He looked like himself once more, though he was slightly transparent.

  “That thing nearly drained me of everything. I can stay but a moment. Get your things, take the horses, and ride like the wind. Get back to T’Kato and tell him what you saw here. Tell him the flute recognized these beings. Tell him the Ne’Goi have returned.” He faded with each word, and by the time he finished, his voice floated on the wind and he was gone.

  She followed his instructions, running to the horses, grateful she had packed the early that morning so everything was ready to go. She stopped to pick up Brant’s sword at the edge of his glade. With one final look at his icy tomb, she tied the reins of Brant’s horse to a hook at the back of her saddle, mounted the horse, and kicked it with a loud “Hyah!”

  Startled, the mare lurched forward, pulling Brant’s horse with her. The saddle moved for just a second until the stallion caught up with the mare. In all likelihood, he could probably have passed her, but he followed well, and in a very short time Kayla barreled out of the tree line and straight toward Hadril’s wagon.