by Cas Peace
Cal’s expletive drew her attention away from the man in her arms. Raising her eyes, she saw him staring at the portway in anger.
“What is it?” Her voice betrayed her fear. Rienne was no Artesan; she didn’t understand the power the two men possessed.
“It’s resisting. I used the right sequence but it won’t close.”
“Perhaps you forgot something … ?”
“No. There’s something wrong.”
Rienne was about to speak again when Taran’s body suddenly bucked. She gave a shocked gasp and clutched at his arms.
“Cal … !”
“Sod it. Maybe I’m being too subtle. He’s always telling me I’m being too subtle … ”
“Will you hurry up? I can’t hold him much longer.”
Taran’s moans were increasing in pitch and Rienne suddenly remembered their neighbors. She’d left the cellar door open; what if one of them heard something and came to investigate …
“Cover your ears, Rienne. This might make a bit of noise.”
“No, Cal. Remember what Taran said … ” But she was too late. Too late even to cover her ears. She didn’t see what Cal did but there was a grating squeal and suddenly pressure was building in her head, wind rushing across her face. The pressure became unbearable and she opened her mouth to scream.
Then the portway vanished and the cellar was clear.
She sagged with relief and Cal sank to the floor. There was a moment of blessed silence before a rasping groan dragged their attention back to Taran.
“What’s wrong with him?” asked Cal, his dark gaze traveling over Taran’s many wounds.
Rienne didn’t bother speculating, her priorities lay elsewhere. “Help me get him upstairs. I can’t do anything for him down here.”
Cal took Taran’s shoulders and Rienne grabbed his feet. Together they just managed to lift the Journeyman’s dead weight. As his body came up, there was a metallic clang and Rienne saw a glittering rod roll across the floor. The sound made her jump and Cal frowned at the thing, clearly not liking the look of it.
“What in the Void is that?”
“I don’t know and I don’t care,” she gasped. “Get up those stairs Cal, before my strength gives out.”
They struggled up the narrow stairs, barely managing to carry Taran to his bed in the little front room. The Journeyman’s body was jerking, he was radiating heat and his skin was sheened in sweat.
They laid him down and Cal stood helplessly, staring at his Master’s writhing body. “Don’t stand there,” snapped Rienne. “Get me some hot water and my medicine bag.”
By the time Cal returned, she’d removed Taran’s filthy, blood-stained clothing. It was as she’d thought; his wounds were not life-threatening. The convulsions, however, alarmed her because she could see no reason for them.
Grabbing her bag, she fumbled through it and emptied the contents of a herb pouch into the hot water Cal had brought. Then she used the infusion to sponge Taran’s body. He still showed no signs of waking and his moans were growing louder. Cal stared at her in confusion.
A louder groan escaped Taran and Cal gasped.
“What’s happening? Why won’t he wake?”
Despite her experience and talents, Rienne could only shake her head.
Suddenly, Taran’s body thrashed, nearly casting him to the floor. Cal threw his arms across his Master’s body, desperately trying to pin him to the bed.
“Help me, Rienne,” he urged. He failed to subdue the frantic movements. Taran’s violent lunging dislodged Cal’s hold and he had to grapple for the cartwheeling arms. “Please, Rienne, do something.”
Although she was nowhere near as strong as her lover, Rienne had dealt with delirious patients before. Swiftly gathering the folds of the rumpled coverlet, she threw it over Taran’s body. Together, she and Cal just managed to secure his jerking arms within its clinging folds. They wrapped him, kneeling on either side, securing the coverlet tightly.
Another raw groan escaped Taran’s throat. It was a dreadful sound filled with deep distress, and it tore at Rienne’s heart.
Cal gave a whimper of fear. “You must have some idea of what’s happening to him. Isn’t there anything you can do?”
Rienne stared at her lover, gray eyes wide. “I don’t think this has a physical cause, Cal. I only deal with the body, not the mind. Isn’t that your territory? Can’t you … get inside him somehow, see what he’s seeing?”
Cal shook his head. “I’m only an Apprentice, Rienne, I’m not that skilled. I can hear him if he speaks to me, but I can’t reach out to him. Gods, I feel so useless!”
They both watched with growing fear as perspiration continued to drench Taran’s body. Without releasing the coverlet, Rienne used the herb water to cool his face but nothing she did calmed the thrashing. His wounds were being aggravated by the jerking but there was nothing she could do about it.
She frowned. Taran’s breathing was becoming ragged and his skin had turned gray. Cal had also noticed and he stared at her. She met his anguished eyes, seeing the blood drain from his face.
“What’s happening? He’s getting worse. Is he going to … ?”
Suddenly, Taran screamed. The raw sound echoed about the chamber and Rienne’s blood froze. Tension abruptly dropped from Taran’s muscles and his body collapsed as if boneless.
Cal leaped to his feet, his eyes wild. “What the … ? Why has it stopped? Rienne, is he alright? He isn’t moving. Rienne!”
“Shut up, Cal, let me concentrate.”
Carefully, aware that her hands were trembling, she placed two fingers on the artery in Taran’s neck. Relief washed through her when she felt a faint and frenetic pulse. Nodding to reassure Cal, she took up the herb-infused cloth, sincerely hoping the pungent smell would revive the stricken man.
The silence was loud in the small chamber and Rienne prayed none of their neighbors had heard Taran’s cries. She was well aware of the villagers’ suspicions and knew that arousing their anger could have serious consequences.
Cal was hovering in concern and she glanced up at him. “It’s alright, Cal. His heartbeat’s beginning to slow. I think he’s coming out of it.”
Cal’s breath hissed through clenched teeth. He slumped to the bed and passed a hand across his brow, brushing lank hair from his eyes. Rienne saw he had been sweating almost as much as the Journeyman. Anxiously, they both watched Taran’s face as their friend struggled slowly back to consciousness.
+ + + + +
Saner images began to displace the madness in Taran’s mind. He had remembered red eyes boring into his and a numbing heat pervaded his every sense, as if his body had been scorched. The fire threatened to overwhelm him again, tip him back into the nightmare of his desperate escape. Then coolness touched his brow, soothing his aching mind, and relief washed through him.
He could feel smooth sheets beneath him and thought he was in his own bed. He forced his sore eyes open. The room was dimly lit but familiar. He was in his own house, in his own bed, and he could even tell that his wounds had been tended.
A figure was stooping over him, holding a damp cloth. Taran saw it was Cal, and his dark-skinned Apprentice’s face was lined with worry.
Taran tried his voice. “Cal?”
It came out more like a croak than a name. He tried to moisten his lips with no success.
“Taran?” said Cal. “Oh, thank the gods. We thought we’d lost you. Do you want some water?”
Without waiting for an answer, he slipped an arm beneath Taran’s shoulders and raised him just enough to sip at the cool water in the cup he held. It was steeped in herbs and Taran really hoped that some of them would dull the dreadful throbbing in his head. He drank gratefully and Cal gently laid him down. Then he strode to the door and Taran heard him calling for Rienne.
The healer entered through a glimpse of firelight, dark hair falling about her shoulders. She bent forward and placed a cool hand on Taran’s brow, smoothing back his hair.
Taran felt weak, quite unequal to the task of explaining himself, but they deserved no less. They had both tried to dissuade him from going into Andaryon, and now they had probably saved his life.
That thought brought horrific memories flooding back and he turned his eyes to the ceiling, his face burning with shame.
“Gods, but I’m a fool,” he groaned. Cal snorted and Taran glanced at him. “I wish I’d taken your advice. I never should have gone.”
Cal frowned and Taran paused before adding, “Cal, I killed someone.”
He heard Rienne gasp. Cal’s dark eyes widened and he slumped to the bed, staring in disbelief.
“How the hell did that happen?”
Taran saw Rienne retreat to the foot of the bed. The healer looked anxious. She might be confident and knowledgeable when dealing with medical matters, but she was shy and uncomfortable when out of her depth.
He tried to reassure her with a smile but her expression didn’t lighten. As he pushed himself higher on his pillows, Taran took a steadying breath, trying to force down the humiliation he felt. So much for reversing his run of bad luck, he thought. Now he was a killer as well as a failure.
He forced himself to tell his tale, beginning from when he had found himself alone among the parched Andaryan hills. Cal and Rienne listened, sympathy and horror in their eyes, not even interrupting when he described the noble’s killing. But when he related the tangwyr’s attack and his desperate use of the Staff, Cal gasped in understanding.
“So that’s why I have the ancestor of all headaches. I thought it couldn’t just be the effort of bringing you through the Veils.”
Panic engulfed Taran. “You did remember how to close the portway, didn’t you?”
Cal nodded. “Of course I did, I followed the procedure you showed me. But … it didn’t work quite right. There was … resistance.”
“Resistance?” Taran felt himself go cold. What lengths might the noble’s companions have gone to in order to find him?
“Don’t worry, I handled it,” said Cal. Taran shot him a look and he added, “No, it’s alright. Really. I dealt with it. But … there might be a problem.”
“What problem?”
“Well … you brought something back with you.”
Taran groaned, guessing what it was. “Oh gods, it’s the Staff. Where is it?”
“Still in the cellar. I didn’t like the look of it but we had our hands full trying to stop you battering yourself to death. It was all we could do to get you up the stairs, so we left it. Why did you bring it back?”
Taran flushed, shamed by the terror he had inflicted on his friends. His many previous incompetent attempts at furthering his knowledge were humiliating enough, but none was as destructive as this.
He tried to force down a tide of self-blame but couldn’t escape the fact that he had killed an Andaryan noble. No doubt the man’s retinue would call it murder, and they would seek vengeance. That, coupled with Taran’s theft—however unintentional—of a weapon the Andaryans would surely want back, meant this situation was far from resolved.
In his fear, he ignored Cal’s perfectly reasonable question.
“Did you lock the cellar door?”
Cal nodded. “I never leave it, you know that.”
There was nothing Taran could do right now. He was weak, he was sore. “I’m not up to dealing with it now,” he sighed, “I need to sleep. Maybe I’ll feel stronger when I wake. We’ll open a new portway, send the thing back. I don’t want it here any longer than necessary.”
+ + + + +
Rienne watched Taran close his eyes and sink back onto the pillows. Glancing at Cal, she left him sitting on the edge of the bed.
She left the sleeping room, moving through the cottage until she reached the cellar door. There was more to this than Taran had said, she was sure. Something in his eyes … It was fear, she realized, and felt herself go cold.
Standing in front of the cellar’s wooden door, she regarded the lock as if it might undo itself. She trusted Cal, yet couldn’t resist giving the lock a tug. It was firmly secured, as he had said.
Reassured by that if by nothing else, she returned to the warmth of the living room fire and sat staring into the flames.
Chapter Five
When Taran next awoke, it was daylight. Tentatively, he moved his limbs, relieved to discover only the soreness of his wounds and the aches to be expected after the previous day’s exertions. This was a good sign, so he decided to try his powers by reaching out to Cal. Gently, he gathered his will and released a quiet call.
Instantly, he wished he hadn’t. White-hot slivers of fire licked his brain and he gasped in shock. Had the Staff done permanent damage?
However, the experiment was obviously successful because he could hear someone thundering down the stairs. Cal burst into the room and, despite his pain, Taran couldn’t help but smile. Cal had dashed from his bed, totally naked.
“Taran, what is it? You sounded like you were in pain … ?”
Taran hastened to reassure his Apprentice even though he felt far from happy about his condition.
“Sorry Cal, I didn’t mean to startle you. I was testing myself, but I’m obviously not recovered yet. Sorry.”
He was sorrier still when a sleepy Rienne came into the room, a blanket clutched around her body against the early chill. Her soft gray eyes were full of anxiety, but when she realized it was a false alarm, she gave Taran a reproachful look and dragged Cal back to bed. Taran sighed and lay back, wondering how long it would be before his mind recovered. He didn’t dare think it might not.
Such depressing thoughts eventually forced him to rise. He couldn’t go back to sleep and tossing in his bed did him no good. He dressed, his muscles stiff and sore, and left his room. As he crossed the living space, he lit a taper from the banked fire. He approached the cellar door, seeing with satisfaction that it was securely locked. Taking the key from around his neck, he unlocked the door and descended the steps. A musty smell hit his nostrils. He touched the taper to a lamp resting on a nearby shelf and held it up, illuminating the center of the floor.
There lay the abandoned Staff. Setting the lamp down, Taran crouched to examine it.
Even in the warm lamp light there was something cold and vicious about it. His skin crept as he remembered the deadly energy that had flashed from its tip. Memories of blue-green light flared before his eyes and gooseflesh rose on his skin. How had it been made, he wondered? More importantly, why? He felt sure the noble’s challenge had something to do this terrible object, yet what he had hoped to accomplish, Taran had no idea. He knew that the Staff was a metaphysical instrument, some kind of amplifier of metaforce, but whether it had uses beyond the offensive, he couldn’t tell. He had never heard or read of anything like it before.
He stared—had light just rippled down its surface? Or had his hand trembled, causing the lamp to flare? Suddenly, he didn’t want to be here, squatting next to this deadly weapon. He straightened and extinguished the lamp. As he climbed the stairs, he resisted the impulse to run.
+ + + + +
Nearly a week passed before Taran felt strong enough to attempt the Staff’s return, despite his growing sense of urgency. Badly frightened by his first painful attempt to use power, he waited two days before accessing his metaforce again. To his great relief, the pain was significantly less. Even so, he waited another day before believing his sore brain had returned to normal. His confidence was only restored after two more days of careful experimentation.
He knew Cal was relieved to see he’d recovered; his Apprentice had been hovering around him even more than Rienne did. Now the two of them stood side-by-side in the cellar, preparing to open another portway.
Despite the risks of opening a breach in the Veils in a populated area, Taran felt safe building the portway in the cellar. He was hidden from prying eyes and the cellar’s thi
ck stone walls and deliberately concave floor helped contain the small leakage of Earth element he wasn’t yet strong enough to control.
The Staff still lay in the center of the floor. Taran didn’t want to touch it again and he had forbidden Cal to do so. His intention was to raise Earth force directly under the Staff and form the portway with the weapon already inside. Once the Veils were breached, he would use his metaforce to push it through to Andaryon. He did worry that it might damage whoever picked it up, but he forced himself to ignore his conscience. He had to get rid of the Staff.
Now the two men stood side-by-side, eyes closed and arms outstretched, palms facing downward to direct the flow of metaforce into the rock of the floor. Quieting his mind, Taran felt deep within until he could access his psyche. Its familiarity surrounded him, flooding him with metaforce.
Turning his attention to Cal, Taran could feel him doing the same. Cal was slower, less confident, but his strength was growing. Soon he was ready and Taran felt him give control of his power to his mentor.
Linked to Cal, Taran isolated the areas of their psyches that were attuned to the element of Earth. His senses sank into the rock beneath his feet, calling to the forces buried there. With a thrill that never failed to move him, he felt the weighty rise as the primal element responded to his call. Trying not to lose concentration, he drew it into the shallow depression in the floor. Slowly, as he called for more power, sluggish tendrils of Earth force began to lick at his feet.
Opening his eyes, he nodded to Cal. It was his Apprentice’s task to mold this energy into a spherical portway, but it had to be done slowly and carefully so no gaps appeared in the construction.
When Cal had completed the portway, he opened his eyes, looking to Taran for approval. Forming portways was his latest achievement and he was proud of his new ability.
Taran smiled. “Well done, Cal.”
He anchored the structure within the substance of the Veils so it would remain firm. Pushing aside the slight headache he always felt when expending power, he drew a breath and prepared to activate the portway.