With a grimace, her gaze flicked back up to her wound. Her entire shoulder was scarlet now. Blood dripped from her arm and vanished like raindrops between the petals of the roses around her.
It was now or never.
She struck her sword against the stone beside her little pile of kindling.
Nothing happened.
More arrows struck the stone around her, the closest still feet away.
She looked up at the soldiers far above as she raised her sword again.
“Can’t even hit a sitting duck!” she screamed up at them, but she doubted they could hear her. She was feeling strange. Her head felt oddly light.
She brought the sword down again…
…And again…
…And again…
It isn’t going to work, she realized with horror. She was almost out of time. I could burn my arm with the damn things, but now that I need them…
She brought it down once more, and this time, as the blade skidded across the stone, sparks flew. One or two stung her arm again, but the pain felt distant and far away. The others landed amidst the dead and brittle stocks of her kindling and ignited.
Flames roared up before her with alarming speed as the surrounding foliage caught as well, burning as natural green flora never could.
Emily stumbled back along the ledge away from the flames. The air was filled with the deafening roar of screeching bats as the fire raced up the mountainside, following the lengths of vine and consuming everything in its path. The wind that swept between the peaks lifted burning leaves and sent them swirling in every direction, setting more of the hateful vegetation aflame.
Emily made her way slowly down the mountainside, staring up at the growing conflagration above her. Amidst the flames, she could see Marianne and Marcom as they scrambled back up the path and away from the fire that raged ever higher.
“Fuck you, bitch!” Emily shouted at Marianne’s retreating back, and then coughed as she took in a mouthful of smoke and ash.
She sidled along the ledges, never taking her eyes from the raging fire above. Marianne pushed past Marcom on the path. With savage pleasure, Emily made a wish that the sorceress was as flammable as her precious garden.
Between the dancing flames, she saw Marcom turn around, looking down the mountain at her. He was fumbling with something at his belt, but Emily couldn’t see what it was. Then he hurled it out and away from him. She caught just a glimpse of a small black object tumbling into the void, and then it was lost amidst the smoke and ash.
She stepped down onto the next ledge, and a wave of dizziness swept over her. She stumbled and nearly fell. With a moan, she sank down onto the stones and waited for it to subside.
Time passed, but she wasn’t sure how much. The seconds were marked only by the roar of the fire and the howl of the wind.
At last, she slowly lifted her head and looked around. Everything was too bright; the colors of the world were too vibrant. She glanced at the broken end of the arrow that still protruded from her shoulder. Her entire left side was scarlet, as if the jerkin and the chain mail she wore had been painted sloppily by an overeager artist with only the most rudimentary of tools.
Losing too much blood, she thought wonderingly. I’ve been…been to Hellsgate and back…and one little arrow is going to do me in. Jesus.
She wondered if the others had reached the bottom. She wanted to know.
She crawled to the edge of the ledge she was on and looked down. The world spun sickeningly around her, and the sunlight on the surface of the lake made spikes of bright pain lance into her eyes.
Far below, on the rocky shore, she could just make out a cluster of people. They were too far away, and the light was too bright…
She tried to count them, but every time she did, she always came up with one too many.
She lay back against the stone and closed her eyes. The crackling of the fire was nice. It made her think of Christmas storybooks and chestnuts. She smiled.
Chapter Forty-One
She stands on the narrow ledge. At her feet, she sees a body lying slumped and motionless against the stone wall of the cliff. The body wears her armor; her sword is clutched in its hands; it is her face that is still and lifeless beneath the plain dark locks. Ash wafts down from above, powdering the still form with a fine white dust.
She knows that she should be alarmed, but she is not. A calm detachment fills her with a sweet sense of serenity. She feels peace, such as she has never known in her brief life. It is over. Her work is done, her journey completed.
A hand clasps her shoulder—her shoulder—not the one of the dying girl before her, and she turns to see Derek standing beside her. He is clad in armor that is as black as night, and she remembers standing on the battlements watching another knight in black riding toward them through the mists in a dream. That seems like a very long time ago. It feels like something that happened to someone else.
“You’ve done well,” Derek says, and he smiles at her. “I knew you’d find it.”
“Find what?” she asks.
He lets go of her and gestures toward the gleaming lake below them. “The lake, of course.”
“Pretty hard to miss,” she says, following his gaze to the island that lies shrouded in mists of its own at the lake’s distant center. They contemplate it for a long moment, each lost in their own thoughts.
“I found it,” she says at last, and now she does feel something. There is an ache in her chest—a terrible void that cannot be filled. “But I didn’t make it there.”
“That depends,” Derek says, smiling faintly. “You haven’t made it yet, but the wheel is still turning. Look, someone’s coming.”
She looks down, and indeed, someone is coming. Corbbmacc is climbing toward them, not quite running. His handsome face is set in grim lines. Wind whips his hair around his head. His sword thumps against his thigh with a soft chink as he runs, and he looks like a hero Casey would have swooned over in one of her beloved action flicks. A young Harrison Ford, perhaps.
“What is he doing?” Emily asks. She turns and looks up the mountainside, expecting to see Marianne and her soldiers coming. But fires still burn up there, licking at the smoky sky, and there is no sign of anyone at all.
“He’s coming for you,” Derek says.
“Why? It’s over.”
“Maybe…maybe not.”
They stand in silence, watching as Corbbmacc comes ever closer. She can hear the hard, steady rhythm of his breaths. He seems so very much alive to her now, and she wonders that this has never occurred to her before.
“I did what you said,” Emily says, not looking back at Derek. “I made the choice to stay. I did my best.”
“I know.”
Corbbmacc reaches the ledge and hurries toward them, brushing hair out of his sweaty face as he staggers along the path.
“Emily!” he shouts. His voice echoes all around them, bouncing from peak to peak.
That’s what it must sound like to shout into the Grand Canyon, Emily thinks, and then Corbbmacc is kneeling beside the body. He sees the broken fragment of arrow protruding from its shoulder, and the blood that has soaked through the leather of the jerkin and stained the armor. It is a bright, beautiful color. It fills her with wonder.
Corbbmacc swears.
“Emily…Emily? Dammit, answer me!”
He takes her wrist into his hands, searching for a pulse, but Emily knows what he will feel. Her flesh will be cold and loose, just like her mother’s was. He will find no pulse, just as she found none, kneeling beside another lifeless body in a dark hallway of another world.
“Thank God,” Corbbmacc whispers to her surprise. “Hang on, Em. Hang on.”
She watches as he gently lifts the body from the ground and places it over his shoulder, as effortlessly as if it weighs nothing at all.
He moves more cautiously now as he heads back down the path, and almost without realizing that she’s doing it, Emily follows him.
“There’s still time,” Derek says behind her. “If you choose to stay, there will be much left for you to do. Your journey has barely begun, Emily of the Haven.”
“But this isn’t my journey,” she says as they move down onto the next ledge. “It’s yours.”
Derek says nothing for a long time. Finally, she looks back up the path behind her, but he is gone. Only the flames dance, caught in the winds that gust around the peak far above.
She follows Corbbmacc down…and down…
As the shore grows nearer, she can see her friends. Garrett and Mona are sitting with Celine between them. They are all staring up at Corbbmacc as he descends. Michael and Haake are sitting at the water’s edge. Michael is staring into the clear depths as though fascinated by the rainbow of colors that dance on its surface. Gentle waves crash against the sand, covering his feet with clean white foam.
There is another figure, standing apart from the others. He wears a long black cloak, and a cowl is pulled up over his head. His skin is dark—the color of strong, rich coffee. Even from here, she can see the white of his beard and brows. They seem preternaturally bright against the black of his cloak and face.
The wizard, she thinks.
He is watching Corbbmacc’s approach impassively, his hands folded neatly inside his sleeves.
When Corbbmacc is close enough for those below to see what he is carrying, Celine jumps to her feet. Garrett reaches out to hold her back, but she evades him and rushes to the edge of the path.
“S’matter with her!” she shouts up to Corbbmacc, and Emily sees that there are tears glistening in her eyes.
Corbbmacc is panting and does not have the breath to answer. He just makes his way down the last few feet with his burden, and Emily follows.
Celine steps aside for him, and with a soft sigh, Corbbmacc gently lays the body—her body—on the soft sand. Emily stares down at the piteous form and blinks. She is still breathing. She can see the gentle rise and fall of her chest.
“There is still time,” Derek had said.
She looks up to find Corbbmacc and Celine staring at one another. Celine’s eyes are wide, but it is Corbbmacc’s face that surprises her. His cheeks are wet. A look passes between them, and terror seizes Emily, squeezing her heart in an iron fist of despair.
“No!” Emily cries, even though she knows she cannot stop what is going to happen. “No…no…no!”
Celine crouches down beside her body. For a long moment, she looks into Emily’s still face.
“I’m sorry, Em,” she whispers, then reaches out and enfolds her in her arms.
* * *
The whole world was pain.
Emily wanted to scream, but all of her muscles seemed to have seized up. Fire burned in every nerve ending. Her lungs refused to draw air. Her ears were full of the sound of rushing wind, and her whole body felt strangely compressed.
The agony grew, building until she thought that she must surely die. No one could endure such pain and live. This was electrocution. This was drowning. This was torture.
Her throat unlocked, and the scream that had been trapped inside it unfurled. It split the air, and she felt the anguish being released from her on the wings of that sound.
She gasped, swallowing great lungfuls of the fresh, clean air. Her body shook and convulsed, and she could feel the tracks of hot tears burning their way down her cheeks.
Distantly, she heard the sounds of frightened voices around her, but her brain refused to make sense of their words. All she wanted was to curl up and lose herself in the dark…
But there was no darkness. Sunlight clawed at her closed eyelids, and though she tried, she couldn’t bring her knees to her chest; something was preventing her, and that same something was making it hard to breathe.
She opened her eyes, squinting against the bright light that sent white-hot needles through her head. Somewhere close by, there was a terrible screeching cry that sank deep into her marrow and made her stomach roll.
The faces of her friends loomed over her—Mona and Garrett to her right, Corbbmacc and Michael to her left. Their profiles stood in stark contrast against a backdrop of flame and smoke as the fires high above raged on.
But something was wrong.
Where was Celine?
She tried to sit up, but she was weak, and something held her down. She lifted her head, looking down at her body, and fear and realization washed over her.
Celine lay across her chest, her arms wrapped loosely around Emily’s middle. Blood—Emily’s blood—stained her hands, and in one of them she clutched the remains of a broken and bloody arrow. Her hair was entirely white. Fresh lines were etched across her brow and at the corners of her mouth. Her eyes were closed, and she was completely, terribly still.
“No,” Emily croaked. “No…no…no…no…”
Beside her, that terrible screeching grew as Rascal yowled his dismay to the smoke-filled sky above.
With a tremendous effort, she sat up, cradling Celine to her chest. Dizziness washed over her, but she hardly noticed as the world swam in and out of focus before her.
She felt Corbbmacc’s arm encircle her shoulders, and she knew she should be grateful, but there was no room inside her for any other emotion. Her despair was total, and it filled the world as the fire in her veins had a moment before, but this pain was far, far worse.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
Emily didn’t answer. The chant of that single simple negative was filling her mind as she looked down at Celine’s tiny motionless form.
No…no…no…no…
A shadow fell over them, but she didn’t look up. Tears streamed from her eyes, falling with tiny splashes onto Celine’s pale and ancient face.
No…no…no…
A pair of strong arms, clad in black, encircled Celine and gently pried her from Emily’s grasp.
“No!” she cried, clinging to the girl. Who was he to touch Celine? Who was he to take her away?
“Do you want her to die then?” he asked. His voice was deep and musical, underscored with the faintest rasp.
She tore her gaze from Celine and looked up into the wizard’s face.
He was very old. The lines and wrinkles across his face were innumerable. Had she ever seen anyone with hair that white?
She felt a gear slip in her mind, and her thoughts finally processed what he’d said. Could it be? Was there still time to save Celine? Was there any way to save her?
“There is still time,” Derek had said. Still time for her…still time for Celine?
Emily reached for Celine’s wrist, feeling a doubling—tripling—of the world inside her head. This was the mountainside where Corbbmacc had sought her pulse. This was the dark hall where she’d sought her mother’s. This was a sandy shore on the edge of another lake…
She felt a faint flutter beneath her fingers, hardly more than the beat of a moth’s wings. Hope flared in her. She’d trusted the wizard this far…what did they have left to lose?
She let go of Celine, and the old man pulled her away and crouched.
“You,” he said to Garrett. “Hold her up.”
Garrett knelt beside them, putting an arm around Celine’s shoulders, his gaze never leaving the old wizard.
“If she dies,” Garrett said, and his tone was utterly devoid of emotion, “I’m blaming you, old man.”
The wizard did not respond. He produced a large hollow seashell from somewhere within his robes. It was already full of a dark, chalky liquid.
“Back…lean her back…” he demanded, and Garrett obeyed, gently reclining Celine’s body into his lap, holding her as tenderly as he would his own son.
The wizard pressed the shell to Celine’s lips, forcing them apart and making her take the brew it contained.
For a long moment, nothing happened. Emily stared at the girl, hardly daring to hope.
Then Celine’s throat worked, and she was swallowing the potion. Slowly, faint color flooded back into her face, and her breath, nea
rly undetectable a moment before, fell into a steady rhythm.
Rascal’s cries faded, falling first into a low hiss, and then dying away entirely. He stood beside Emily on the sand, his large silver eyes fixed on his mistress.
“There,” the wizard said. “She will live.” He turned and tossed the seashell out over the water. Emily’s eyes followed its arc, watching as it splashed into the lake. For a moment, it was visible on the crest of a wave, and then it was gone, swallowed up by the shimmering depths.
Emily broke away from Corbbmacc and moved to Celine’s side. She took the girl’s warm and tiny hand and stared down into her face. It was as though she were sleeping, but the damage had been done. She no longer resembled the vibrant young girl she’d known at Seven Skies. This was an ancient, wizened crone.
It’s still her, she told herself. Still Celine.
“Will she really be okay?” Corbbmacc asked. He was standing over them now, staring down at Celine where she lay.
“She will live,” the wizard repeated. “And for a time now, she will sleep. She will wake before nightfall, and she will go with the others.”
“The others?” Garrett asked, gently smoothing Celine’s hair back from her face with one of his enormous scaled hands. The gesture, so like that of a solicitous father, brought a sudden lump to Emily’s throat. She looked up into his strange reptilian face and wondered how she had ever found it grotesque. She understood, with aching clarity, how Mona had fallen for the big warrior. It wouldn’t have been so hard.
“With Emily and the boy,” the wizard answered shortly.
“Where are we supposed to go?” Emily asked, her gaze moving back to study the old man. “We’re here now. You brought us here.”
“The three of you must go to the island when you are summoned,” he said, getting slowly back to his feet. His words were punctuated by the snap and crackle of his joints as he moved. “And unless I am very much mistaken, that will be tonight.”
He stared around at them all. “But I forget myself. It has been long and long since I’ve had guests. Come. I have food in the cave. You can eat and rest.” He turned and limped slowly down the beach.
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