Realm of Light

by Deborah Chester

  “Don’t make threats you don’t mean,” he said, holding her fast. “You can’t go back, Majesty. You’ll be lost forever if you do.”

  “This is not the way out.”

  “Legion said it was.”

  She gasped aloud. “You take the word of—of demons? Are you mad?”

  “I sense it is true,” he said.

  She grew very still in his grasp. Hesitantly he released her and stepped back.

  “You sense it,” she said after a moment, disbelief ripe in her voice.

  “Please don’t ask how.”

  “I can’t accept this,” she said, shaking her head. “I can’t accept any of this. I—”

  “Stop it!” he said sharply, afraid she might grow hysterical. “We were supposed to go through the hidden ways with Kostimon. But no matter how fast I hurried, never could I catch up. Some trickery was done to us. We have journeyed for hours, far too long. I think we were never meant to escape this place.”

  She drew in her breath audibly. “You think this is Lord Sien’s revenge?”

  “Yes.”

  “Kostimon might come back. He might search for us.”

  Caelan frowned. “Do you believe he will, Majesty?”

  Her eyes filled with tears that did not fall. Pretense and false hopes leached from her face, leaving her cheeks drawn and pale. She shook her head.

  “The emperor is well on the other side and safe by now,” Caelan said. “Do you honestly think otherwise?”

  She wiped her face. “How could we become lost?”

  “We are in the realm of shadow, where nothing is as it seems. I think we have been walking through an illusion. According to what Legion said, we weren’t supposed to cross the river.”

  “Then we should go back across it.”

  “No,” he said.

  “But—”

  “I will not swim through it again, and you should not.”

  “I can swim—”

  “That isn’t the issue,” he said in exasperation.

  “No, it isn’t,” she snapped. “It’s about your refusal to accept my authority—”

  “Do you want to swim through damnation?” he asked, losing his temper. “That is Aithe, river of the damned! Is it such an insult that I seek to spare you from experiencing thatl Gods, I would not put myself willingly through such horror again, much less you.”

  She blinked at him, looking abashed. “Oh,” she said in a small voice.

  “Majesty,” he said, calming down slightly, “we must do what we can to escape the realm of shadow. While you were under the spell you were safe, but that is no longer the case. I do not think we have much time to find a way out.”

  She sighed. “Very well.”

  “Do I go on?”

  “Yes.”

  Caelan ventured deeper into the passageway. He could almost imagine he heard something breathing ahead of him. It was too close, as yet unseen. New shivers ran through him, and he grew icy cold again.

  When Elandra gripped his cloak from behind, he nearly jumped out of his skin.

  “I am sorry,” she whispered.

  “It’s all right,” he said, although it was all he could do to force himself forward. His sense of danger increased with every passing moment. “Stay close.”

  The fetid smell increased around him, choking his nostrils. He fought the urge to back away from it, his fear sharp in his throat. Once again he stopped, and he knew he could not continue like this.

  “What is it?” she whispered behind him. “What is wrong?”

  He knew of only one way to continue. He had to use severance, and somehow he had to take Elandra with him. If he did not prepare her, she would fight him, yet there was no time for long explanations.

  “Majesty,” he whispered, holding his sword ready against the unseen danger that crept steadily closer.

  “What comes?” she asked. “What do I hear?”

  “I must use my ... powers,” he said carefully, “if we are to get through.”

  She drew back from him with a gasp. Swift as thought he turned on her and gripped her wrist to keep her from fleeing.

  “Trust me, Majesty,” he said urgently. “It is our only chance.”

  She pulled against him. “No, I can’t be a part of this!”

  “Do you want to die here?”

  “No! I—”

  “Have I ever harmed you?”

  She twisted her arm, gasping when he would not let her go. “Please.”

  “Have I ever harmed you?”

  “No.”

  “Then trust me. Do not fight me. Let me ...” He paused and expelled his breath, trying to keep frustration from his voice. “Let me save you.”

  “I don’t know what you are,” she said fearfully. “I will not surrender my soul to—”

  “I don’t ask for your soul,” he broke in. “I don’t even ask for your belief. Just don’t fight me. Let me—”

  A roar echoed through the passageway, drowning out his sentence. Elandra screamed, and Caelan heard the sound of something rushing toward them.

  There was no more time to wait. Caelan wrapped his arm around Elandra and joined them forcibly in sevaisin. He felt her gasp of astonishment. Her sharp flood of fear nearly drowned him. He filled her with all the strength and reassurance he had, making of them one entity, sharing, complete, and whole. Beyond her terror lay the essence of Elandra—warmth and dazzling light, a joyous buoyancy that filled him.

  Sharp claws raked down Caelan’s leg. The pain flashed through him just as he severed, taking Elandra with him deep, deep into the coldness, into the aloneness, into the detached isolation.

  He was not sure if this would work, was not sure if he could use both sides of his gift at the same time. Sevaisin and severance were total opposites. They repelled each other. All his life, they had warred inside him. He struggled constantly to find a balance; most of the time he managed. But now, he went deeper and deeper into severance, praying Elandra was still with him, praying she remained a part of him. He could not hear her, could not feel her now. He was no longer buoyant, but brittle and tight. He dared not break concentration enough to seek her. Either she remained joined with him, or she did not.

  Warding off the demon attacking him, Caelan plunged his sword deep into the creature and at the same time severed its threads of life. Its scream filled the passageway, but Caelan was already shouldering past it.

  The sense of evil continued to intensify. It kept invading his senses despite the protection of severance, threatening to overpower him. He could smell evil, a foul stench of corruption so strong he wanted to gag on it. He could taste it in every breath he drew. He could feel it sliding over his skin, slithering in his hair. He felt oily and unclean. It filled his mind, sliding in through the minute cracks of severance like roots in search of soil.

  He kept striding forward, feeling the resistance growing against him. In severance the passageway was no longer dark but instead lit by an unearthly glow of feeble illumination. He could see a shimmering, opalescent wall before him. It looked like spun glass, faintly colored, and heavily streaked in places where the spell strands were stronger than others. He could see through it, could see the end of the passageway and a vast space beyond.

  Caelan put his hand on the shimmering wall before him. Then he stepped between the strands, feeling the crackling field of energy radiate off each of them. It felt as though the skin were being peeled off his face, yet he went through.

  Evil whispers, uttering words he could not understand, filled his mind as though to drive him mad. Symbols appeared in the air before him, hanging there suspended for a moment only to vanish again. All were dire things, full of danger and evil omen. On some level he understood them and was horrified, yet his thoughts were centered now only on getting through. He understood nothing else, thought of nothing else, felt nothing else.

  With a last little pop of resistance, he stepped through to the other side of the spell barrier and found himself dizzy
and nauseous. Staggering, he hurried to the end of the passageway and came out into the open.

  Overhead stretched a vast darkness unmarked by stars. A cold moon shone down, robed in tatters of cloud.

  They stood on a hillside, looking down at the ruins of a city spread before them. Walls had been pushed over. The stones themselves lay melted into queer rounded shapes. Nothing remained standing. From this vantage point, not even an old pattern of streets could be discerned, so thorough had been the destruction. Here and there the moonlight shone white upon sickly fungus growing along the edge of foundations or fallen pillars. The rest lay obscured beneath a dank, foul-smelling mist that flowed and ebbed like a living creature.

  “Where are we?” Elandra asked in a whisper. “What is this place?”

  Caelan turned his head and saw her standing beside him. She was ghostly pale; shock lay in her face. Only then did he realize that he had lost sevaisin. She was no longer a part of him, but her own separate self again.

  A wave of exhaustion swept over him. His knees nearly buckled, and he braced his hand against the stone cliff at their backs. It looked solid to his eyes; he could not see where they had exited.

  “What have you done?” Elandra demanded. “Where have you brought us? This place ...” Her voice trailed off in revulsion.

  He sighed, sensitive to the maelstrom of emotions inside her, emotions she had not yet acknowledged. Her eyes had begun to flash at him, hurling unspoken accusations.

  Better to avoid that by answering the questions she had asked. Turning his gaze back on the ruins below them, Caelan shivered and said, “It is Vrymai-hon, the city of the shadow gods.”

  Elandra gasped and made a quick little warding gesture.

  No one ever spoke of the ruined city of Beloth and Mael. Such talk was forbidden blasphemy, as forbidden as mention of the River Aithe. Yet throughout the ages, men had not forgotten as they were supposed to. These names were mentioned in secret, fearfully, yet with the excitement of the forbidden. The old legends survived in corners of conversation, in threats spoken sometimes to frighten children, in time of crop failure or drought, in the evenings around campfires after a day of hunting moags or lurkers who had ventured too close to the villages.

  The gods of light had broken this evil city and imprisoned the shadow gods long ago, before the second age of men. Yet Vrymai-hon continued to seep evil into the realm of light, never entirely eradicated. Those who hunted Vrymai-hon never found it, yet here Caelan now stood at its edge. He had not sought it, did not want it. He feared it.

  A light breeze flew his hair back from his face. In the distance, very low, came a moan of sorrow as though the stones themselves wept in desolation.

  The sound made his skin crawl.

  “The Penestricans say that there is much treasure abandoned here,” Elandra said. “Enough to restore a kingdom... perhaps enough to rescue an empire.”

  He heard the ambition in her voice, steeled with desire. She wanted to keep her throne, intended to fight for it. Did she know yet that he wanted it too?

  Thrusting the thought away, Caelan cleared his throat gruffly. “Such gold is tainted.”

  “Gold cannot be tainted,” she retorted.

  “Are you sure?”

  Their eyes met, but hers fell first. “You said we would escape this place. I trusted you, but you ...”

  Her gaze flashed up to his again, then shifted away. “What are you?” she whispered.

  He reached out to her, but she flinched away. He saw her fear then, clawing in her eyes, barely restrained.

  Bitterness surged up inside him. The sweet memory of their brief joining was fading now. He should have prepared her more, should have tried to explain before he swept her away. Yet what good were explanations?

  “Some men call me donare,” he said, ashamed.

  She blinked.

  “Others say I am casna, a devil,” he continued. “What do you say, Majesty?”

  “Your powers,” she said unsteadily. “They are—”

  His emotions overpowered him. Not letting her finish, he knelt and laid both his sword and dagger on the ground between them. The metal blades looked pale and shadowy in the dim light.

  “Caelan,” she said in alarm.

  “I cannot do this,” he said in anguish. “I am not your Majesty’s servant. I am not your protector. I am not your friend. There are no explanations. Do not command them.”

  She stood there, very still, as though startled. Silence fell across them like a heavy cloak. Inside, he could feel his own pulse hammering away. He was wrong to do this. He knew it. But they had joined in sevaisin, and still she refused to understand. She was lying to herself as much as to him. He could not accept that. He was afire, and it was consuming his judgment.

  “Please,” she said, stepping carefully over the weapons to approach him.

  He bowed his head to her, not in obeisance, but because he couldn’t trust himself to look at her.

  Her right hand very lightly touched his head. “I am sorry,” she said softly. “What you did was ... it was not permitted. I know you seek only my safety, but I have seen you exercise the powers of a sorcerer. I have seen you punish Lord Sien. I have seen you walk surrounded in Choven fire, slaying demons. I have seen you worshiped by Legion, horrible creatures under your command. You see the truth of this dreadful place. You walk through it as though you know it well.”

  She withdrew her hand. “You have shocked me. I do not think I can accept what you are, what you do. I—I am confused. My faith did not prepare me for such a moral quandary. You have dared cast a spell over me. I—”

  “What about this kind of spell?” he asked hoarsely.

  Seizing her hand, he pulled her down into his arms and kissed her hard and hungrily. She struggled in his hold at first, stiff with resistance, then she uttered a soft moan and melted against him. Her soft lips opened to his. Flames roared in his ears; he seemed to hear the ringing of a bronze bell from far away.

  Then she was clinging to his cloak with both fists, huddled against his breastplate, while they both gasped for breath. He loosened his hold on her marginally, afraid he might hurt her, yet his heart was thudding with triumph. He wanted to shout in his joy.

  “I love you,” he whispered, bending to kiss her again.

  She pulled her lips away from his with a muffled cry. “Don’t say it!”

  “Why not? It is the truth.” He brushed back her hair tenderly from her face. “You are perfect. Beautiful. I have wanted to hold you in my arms since the first day I saw you in Agel’s workroom.”

  She was trembling in his arms. “Please,” she said breathlessly. “Please, Caelan—”

  “What?” he asked, laughing softly as he nuzzled her cheek and nibbled at the corner of her mouth. Her skin was velvet soft. Her hair smelled of myrrh, ashes, and lavender. He wanted to pick her up and run with lier. He wanted to laugh with her in the sunshine. He wanted to kiss her until she lay soft and pliable beneath him, radiant with love.

  “Caelan,” she said against his lips. She pushed against his embrace, and he released her reluctantly. “Stop. I am dizzy.”

  “Dizzy with love?” he suggested. “Are you afraid of it?”

  “Yes,” she said. Her voice shook.

  His joy crashed around him. Concerned, he sat back on his haunches, letting his hands slide from her shoulders, down her arms until he gripped her fingers. They were icy cold against his.

  “I have tried to put honor above my feelings,” he said. “I have tried to hold back. But what I feel is the truth. It is all I can give you.”

  “You must stop,” she said breathlessly. “This must not happen.”

  “It already has—”

  “No!” She shook her head. “Nothing has happened. Nothing wilt happen.”

  “If you claim you feel nothing for me, then you lie.”

  She drew back, but he would not release her hands.

  “Answer me!” he commanded. “Do you not feel anyth
ing?”

  Her eyes flashed. “Will you force me to lie?”

  “Tell me the truth.”

  She broke free of his hold and scrambled to her feet, retreating swiftly when he followed her. “I cannot say the truth,” she said unsteadily. “You know I cannot. Caelan, he will have you killed when he finds out.”

  And you, Caelan thought to himself, but neither of them said that aloud. He took another half step toward her. “He won’t know—”

  “He will! He always knows.” She turned her face away so that she stood half in moonlight, half in shadow. “Kostimon has mysterious powers too. Knowledge given to him by ...” Her voice trailed off.

  “I know you are his wife,” Caelan said, struggling to voice what he had held back for so long. “I know my feelings for you are forbidden. That’s why I prayed you would not choose me as your protector. Yet what I feel cannot be denied. Elan—”

  “Please don’t say my name here,” she said in sudden panic, rushing to him to press her fingers against his lips. “They don’t know my name yet. Please don’t say it.”

  He took her fingers and kissed them. “I have dreamed of you.

  You are empress, and I am no one, a former slave. Yet in my dreams we have always walked together.”

  “Dreams?” she said in startlement. “You have dreamed of us?”

  “I know you must think I am mad, but even if I die for it, I will not deny my passion.”

  Again he pulled her into his arms and kissed her. This time, shyly, she returned his kiss, then pulled away. “You have said too much. Stop now. We must both stop now.”

  “A condemned man can say all he wants,” Caelan told her thickly.

  He cupped her face in his hands and kissed her deeply, passionately until her breath was his breath and their hearts beat in rhythm. He touched her with sevaisin, rejoining their spirits, their hearts, their minds.

  When they fell apart for breath at last, she was crying.

  Aghast at what he had done, he wiped away her tears with her fingers. They were warm on his skin, and he realized he had let his emotions carry them both too far.

  “Please don’t cry,” he said. “I am sorry. I am sorry.”