Upon reaching the grass, he turned to his right and settled to the ground. The grass was wet from the fog. It soaked through her dress as she sat between her father’s legs and leaned back against him. He kept his arms around her the whole time and never said a word.
When she stopped whimpering, she became aware of sounds coming from the cave. The explosions continued, just like her boulder fragmenting into little shards. She also heard the sound of swords coming together, and a battle scream. It sounded like T’Kato. She didn’t even have the energy to sit up, but the tears slowed to a stop with her curiosity piqued and turning quickly to alarm. She was the first to speak.
“What is that? There was no one there when we left the cave. Is that a battle?” she asked, still leaning against her father’s chest and completely uncaring that her backside was as wet as if she had sat in a river.
“Yes,” he answered in his deep voice. She felt it rumble through his chest, and despite her heartache, it made her smile. She’d forgotten how his voice felt. She basked in it a moment before what he said registered. She sat up and turned around.
“Yes, it’s a battle?” she asked.
He nodded.
“But—how is that possible? The cave was empty.”
He pulled himself up and brought a knee to his chest, meeting her eyes. “What you hear are the sounds of battle around your sleeping body. There is no one in the cave, but T’Kato, Hadril, Graylin—they all fight to protect you and the flute.”
“What?” Kayla surged to her feet. “I have to go help them. I can’t be here now.” In a panic, she turned toward the cave. Her father’s hand around her arm stopped her.
“Wait,” he said. “You need rest more than they need you. You will be useless to them if you go back now. Besides, there may be another way.” He looked at the cave, then, seeming to make up his mind, his chin firmed and he walked ahead of her. “Come. Let’s help how we can.”
Kayla was confused, but she followed. In barely a moment, they were back in the cave and looking at the water. She could see the battle in the reflection of the silvery liquid.
“This place,” her father said, “Is the borderland between asleep and awake. It is the one place where we can make a difference and still let your body rest. You’ve already seen that you can use the power of the flute here, and though its use may require a bit more sleep on your part, you would need much, much more rest if you awaken yourself right now. Using the flute there would drain you.”
She started to object.
“Trust me,” he said, his eyes the deepest blue she had ever seen, and so sincere. How could she not trust him? She nodded. “Now look,” he said, pointing to the water. The boxcar raced down the path, the shadow weavers zipping in and out, keeping up with the boxcar no matter how fast it went. An arrow shot out of the distance and embedded in the side of the cart that carried her sleeping body, and that was when she realized it wasn’t the first. Arrows covered the wagon, making it look like a square porcupine with wheels. T’Kato was on his horse, engaging the Ne’Goi whenever he could catch them. That was the sound of clashing swords she’d heard, and also his battle scream, she realized as he shouted again, which startled a Ne’Goi and stopped its shadowy zipping long enough for T’Kato to engage it.
T’Kato killed him in moments. And that made her realize something else.
As strong as their magic was, these people were not immortal.
They could be killed.
Graylin had a bow and was rather adept with it, she discovered as he released an arrow toward seemingly empty space, only to strike home as one of the female Ne’Goi appeared there at the exact moment as his arrow. The woman flew backwards and hit the dirt with a thud Kayla could hear through the dream water. For a moment, the Ne’Goi struggled to breathe, blood gurgling in her throat and leaking out the corner of her mouth, and then her arms relaxed, her eyes staring into the empty sky.
She was dead. How Graylin had done that, Kayla had no idea, but the man was brilliant with a bow.
Hadril threw out small bottles that broke upon hitting the rocky ground. Some of them sent up gasses that stopped the shadow weavers, leaving them confused and wandering. Other potions created small pools of acid that ate anyone who stepped into them. Those were rather gruesome, and Kayla shivered. Another potion transformed the people who were caught in its cloud, making them into harmless creatures like deer, squirrels, and rabbits. It must have frustrated them terribly, and if the situation weren’t so dire, Kayla would have laughed. Instead, she turned to her father.
“What can I do?” she asked, determined to help.
“Do you remember how you picked up those stonefish spines and killed the Ne’Goi you confronted in the glade?” he asked, his eyes peering intently into her face.
“How did you . . .” she started, but then she knew. Of course he had been watching her. What father wouldn’t, if he had the chance? She shook her head, then changed her words. “Okay. I remember. What do I do?”
“The Ne’Goi are immune to magical attacks. You saw that. They eat magic. That is their purpose. They are a vacuum that powers itself on the magic of others. The more magic you toss at them, the stronger they become.”
“Then how do I fight them?” She threw her arms out with irritation. “The flute is magic, and it’s the only weapon I have.”
“You’re not understanding,” he said, a little of his own frustration showing. “Think of the spines, Kayla. The Ne’Goi tried to eat the flute’s magic, but you turned it and sent the spines into his body. They cannot defend themselves against physical attacks. Look at what your friends are doing. They do not use magic to fight them. They use physical things. Potions. Arrows. Swords. Use your magic to create weapons. Do you understand?”
“I think so,” she said, though she didn’t. What was there to use in that rocky wasteland?
And then she understood. It was a rocky wasteland. Grinning, Kayla stepped to the water’s edge, not quite in it, but as close as she could get. She didn’t have the flute with her, but she could feel its power pulling, and she reached out a hand and pulled back. The flute answered her call in an instant and her hair flared around her, the blue glow that always accompanied the power surrounding her.
Kayla now understood why her father wanted her to work from this side. The power of the flute in this dreamland was so much stronger than in the real world. She may have to reach between worlds to make it work, but the flute had power enough to do so. And this time, Brant came along with it.
He spun to life, the sharp elemental force of his whirlwind as strong as a tornado. She didn’t have to tell him what to do. As soon as he saw the Ne’Goi, he began annihilating their numbers, tearing them apart with his power. She couldn’t watch. These people may be her enemies, but they were still people, and seeing the man she’d loved for most of her life destroy them as if they were nothing more than a piece of paper was hard to take.
Instead, she focused on picking up rocks. At first she tried throwing them at the shadow weavers, but the Ne’Goi were so fast they were gone before the rock was anywhere near them. Instead, her earlier tantrum inspired her, and as soon as a shadow weaver was anywhere near a floating rock, she made it explode, sending the shards toward them. That proved much more successful, as it’s a lot harder to escape an exploding cloud of stone than it is a single rock.
The only problem—there were a lot of shadow weavers. It seemed that for every one they killed, two more took their place. Graylin, Hadril, and T’Kato did their best, but they were going to lose. It was becoming obvious.
Kayla turned to her father. “What more can I do? They’re winning!”
He looked at her with sad eyes. “I don’t know, Kayla. I wish I had an answer for you.”
Kayla stomped her foot in frustration and the ground near the boxcar surged, throwing a shadow weaver who’d been about to climb in the back off his feet. Surprised by this effect, she stomped both her feet and saw several of the Ne’Goi stumbl
e.
The boxcar approached a steep valley, the vertical stone leading to more rock above. This gave Kayla to an idea, but she’d have to be careful to time it right. If not, she’d kill the people she considered her friends.
As soon as the boxcar entered the valley, Kayla focused on the stone just behind them and jumped up and down as hard as she could. The stone shook, but did nothing more than that for several seconds. Then, just as the shadow weavers followed and began running along the vertical walls, sheets of rock began to fall. Whooping at her success, Kayla focused her energy wherever the Ne’Goi happened to be and created a huge avalanche of stone that followed close behind the boxcar. She could see Hadril and Graylin’s eyes as big as eggs as they raced ahead of the stone. Of course they would have no idea what was happening, since her body still lay asleep in their boxcar, but she was doing what she could to save their lives.
And then Brant got involved in the game. An ear-splitting grin seemed to permanently slash across his face. By now, Brant was taller than the highest building she had ever seen. His head was even with the top of the ravine. He pulled the Ne’Goi off the walls and threw them into the path of the falling rocks so they were sure to be buried. It didn’t seem fair, but Kayla couldn’t afford to care at the moment. She was protecting people that were like family.
The boxcar raced out the other side of the ravine and drew to a skidding stop, the wheels locking into place as Jayden grabbed a bag, leaped from the driver’s seat, and ran to the Ne’Goi. Kayla noticed a jeweled sheath at his side. Her sheath. The sheath her father had given her with the knife. The one T’Kato had asked to take for a while, and had yet to return.
“Jayden Hancock, you get back here!” Hadril yelled. The boy ignored him and ran to the shadow weavers—what few remained after the disaster in the ravine—and spoke to one of them, who stopped long enough to talk. The man grinned and clapped a hand on Jayden’s shoulders, then yelled, “It looks like we have a new recruit!” The shadow weavers surrounded the boy, all welcoming him as if he had just joined a club.
In the meantime, Hadril, Graylin, and T’Kato were doing all in their power to unlock the brakes that had been pulled so hard, they were nearly glued to the boxcar. Seeing their plight, Kayla sent an icy breath of air, shrinking the metal so the brakes popped back into place.
Surprised, but taking it in stride, the men got back on the wagon and took off, the Ne’Goi letting them go for now. They’d gained a new recruit and lost hundreds of men in this battle. They could have easily pursued, but instead, they looked to the sky, took Jayden by the arms, and, leaping upwards, they disappeared.
Chapter Thirty-Five
The flight to Devil’s Mount took most of the night and a portion of the day. C’Tan and Kardon slept strapped to their dragons and awoke with the sun’s light just above Karsholm. They veered south toward Javak and the mountains, and dove into the first of a series of caverns that were the mouths of fissures running through the entire mountain chain.
The wind streaked past as they rode, C’Tan’s hair streaming behind her, free, as she wished so much to be—and then they swung beneath the lip of the cavern and descended into the bowels of the mountain. When the path became too narrow to fly safely, the great black beasts landed. Once C’Tan and Kardon got their legs steady beneath them, they took a deep breath and began.
“I’ll take this wall. You take the one behind me,” C’Tan demanded. Kardon, even less talkative than usual, nodded and moved to the opposite wall like a man much younger than his years. C’Tan went to the wall in front of her, placed her hands on its surface, then sank them elbow-deep and began to work her magic. She called fire to her and the heat rose toward her hands, making the room warmer than its normal cooled state. In a few minutes, she was sweating, but the magma listened to her commands. Go to the academy. Fill the empty places and send the intruders into the light.
The magma sent its response with pleasure and moved onward in the direction of the school.
Assured that the job was begun, C’Tan spun and went back to her dragon. Kardon was already there, waiting for her. “Finished?” she asked. He nodded. “Then on to the next,” she said, turning the dragon back the direction they had come and taking flight. It was going to be a long day, but if all went according to plan, the school should be vacant and destroyed by the next morning, and she would finally have a chance to retrieve two of the keystones—and capture Ember at long last.
That thought kept her happy for quite some time.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Ember wasn’t sure why Mahal had been missing all morning and now was suddenly back, but there he was in all his god-like glory. Ember’s bed disappeared to be replaced by a table groaning with food, three chairs set around its edges. Mahal walked around the table and stood with a hand on the back of one of the chairs.
“Come in, come in!” he said, sweeping his arm with a grand gesture toward the other two chairs. “Come enjoy the food of the gods. Or the food of the Guardians. However you want to say it. Goodness, you even get to enjoy it with one of the Guardians.” Mahal chuckled at his own joke, though Ember didn’t think it was really all that funny, especially considering how pale DeMunth had suddenly gone at Mahal’s words.
“You . . . you’re . . .” DeMunth stammered, his knees collapsing beneath him as he knelt on the stone floor before the Guardian.
“The great Mahal, yes,” the white Guardian said before sitting. He began to serve himself, then gestured with his fork toward DeMunth. “You got our gift, I see.” When DeMunth stared at him, he pointed at DeMunth’s face with his other hand, which held a knife. “The tongue. The armor healed your tongue?”
DeMunth nodded slowly, still kneeling in place, then, seeming to come to himself, he leaned forward and placed his forehead on the ground, his arms stretched out before him.
Mahal stopped eating when he saw DeMunth’s actions and stood, suddenly the regal Guardian Ember had expected him to be and rarely saw. His voice echoed through the cavern as if it sang along with his words. “DeMunth, arise. I do not require the veneration my brother does. I was once a man, just as you, until my Father raised me up to something more. There is no need to bow before me. Now come. Join me at this feast before I send you on your errands.”
DeMunth’s head slowly rose, then he sat up, but stayed on his knees, examining the Guardian for a long moment before he pulled himself to his feet. Ember sighed with relief when he stepped forward, pulled a chair out from the table, and sat across from Mahal. Ember threw herself into the other chair and grabbed whatever was in front of her before passing it on to DeMunth. Her stomach growled loudly. She had no idea how long it had been since she’d eaten. The night before, she remembered well, but without any way to tell time, she didn’t know if it had been mere hours or near a day. Her body rebelled at the lapse.
When she’d taken from every plate and passed it on, she dug in, then stopped chewing almost immediately as the most amazing flavors danced across her tongue. Food of the Guardians, for sure. She’d never tasted anything like it and didn’t want to swallow for fear she’d never taste it again, but unless she wanted to gag or start drooling over her plate, she had no choice. She swallowed slowly and took another bite of something different. Sweet and tart and cool, she devoured a kind of fruit she had never before encountered.
For the next little while, Ember thought about nothing but food as she sampled all the flavors Mahal had set before her. It was a feast that surpassed even that of the night before, and all the energy she had expended in walking through stone and battling with Brendae and DeMunth was replenished. She felt like a new woman—changed somehow.
When she was so full she thought she would explode if she ate one more bite, the table disappeared as if it were mist. Ember and DeMunth looked at each other, and it suddenly dawned on her how amazing this meal must have been for him. He said he was twenty-two, and had told her once he’d lost his tongue when he was seventeen, just a year older than she was
now. That meant he’d been without a tongue for five years. He hadn’t tasted anything he ate in all that time. She could hardly imagine what it must have been like.
They all stood, and the chairs and utensils in their hands turned to mist that settled into the ground and disappeared. Ember found herself oddly quiet as Mahal put his arm around DeMunth and took him around the room, teaching him about the keystones and how they had been formed from this place. Then Mahal reached down to pick up the pieces that had fallen after the Armor of Light was taken from the vein of yellow sapphire that arched across the room. He glanced at DeMunth, his mouth twisted in concentration as he looked him up and down. “There was one thing we neglected to create when we made the Armor of Light. Something my brother Sha’iim has bemoaned since the creation of the net that encircles Rasann. We gave you a breastplate, to guard your most vulnerable parts. A helm, that you might never lose your head. Gauntlets, shin guards, leg and arm guards, and even gave you a sword. But never did it occur to us that you might need a shield.”
Mahal tossed all but the largest piece of rubble back to the ground, then took that piece in his hands and pulled. Ember felt that pull deep in her bones as he tugged not just at the physical stone, but somehow dipped into life itself to create. She watched, entranced, as the fist-sized piece of golden stone was stretched and molded and thinned until Mahal held in his hands a large, round shield, the crest of Sha’iim emblazoned on its surface in white light. When it was done, Mahal turned it around to look at the crest, and Ember could see two loops inside that looked a perfect fit for DeMunth’s arm and hand.
Mahal nodded once, then thrust it at the wide-eyed DeMunth, the shield seeming to bond to his arm without him ever sliding his hand through the loops. The silver-tongued man lifted the shield as if it were weightless, the sword appearing suddenly in his other hand. He began to glow brightly, so bright that Ember blinked away the tears that sprang to her eyes, but she refused to shut them. DeMunth was beautiful. He’d always been beautiful, but since the Armor of Light had begun to grow, he had become beautiful the way a dragon was beautiful, in an untouchable, majestic sort of way. It made Ember’s heart ache, though she still felt the chain that bound them. Instead of waning with his growing power, their bond waxed stronger.
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