Darkstone

by D. Jordan Redhawk

  Anders scowled at her. “This is your doing.” He pointed a finger at her. “She’s ruining everything because of you.” He cupped both hands in front of him, a ball of electrical energy sparking and growing in his palms, a grim smile growing on his face. “Now this will only hurt for a moment, more’s the pity.”

  “I think not.” A warm hand settled on Naomi’s shoulder, easing her away from her opponent. Naomi turned to see her mother, glowing golden as she took Naomi’s place before Anders.

  Laughing, Anders bounced the ball of crackling electricity in one hand. “Well, Inanna! Had I known she was one of yours, I would have introduced myself much sooner.” He waggled a finger at Naomi, clicking his tongue.

  “Hence the reason you weren’t informed.” Inanna smiled at her former protégé. “We have much to talk about, you and I.” She gestured off stage with an elegant wave. “Shall we?”

  Anders shook his head, confidence in his stance. “I’ll warn you, I’m not the weakling I used to be, Inanna. The years have given me strength and purpose. Perhaps we can talk later. I’m busy at the moment.” He stepped sideways, either to circle Inanna or to simply bypass her, grimacing as she blocked his path.

  “I think now would be better.” She reached toward him, the glow about her becoming blindingly brilliant.

  * * *

  Something was off, more than just the fact that she wasn’t following Anders’s plan. There was an odd quality in the air that Joram couldn’t quite identify as she sang Naomi’s ballad. Joram scanned the theater for its source, noting the audience’s attention to something behind and to her left. Knowing Anders was in that stage wing, Joram glanced quickly over her shoulder, half-expecting to see him bearing down upon her with murder in his eye. Her voice wavered at the sight of not just Anders but two women confronting him.

  She took the mic in hand and turned slightly to keep an eye on the encounter, still singing. One of them was Naomi, and Joram’s heart stabbed her, making her voice tremble. She had Naomi’s knife. Naomi was defenseless. The other woman was one Joram had never seen before. She’d interjected herself between Anders and Naomi, her radiant gown drawing the available light. Naomi stepped backward as the woman reached for Anders. The air between them flashed bright and hot. Joram felt the shimmer of the phenomenon across the sensations she manipulated as the crowd vocalized their amazement at the sight. The light disappeared as quickly as it had come, leaving behind a dark spot on the stage that slowly returned to normal. Naomi stood alone, staring with every other witness at the glaring empty space.

  The spell wavered with fresh wonderment. Ever the performer Joram forged onward with her song, gathering their amazement, forcing the audience to refocus themselves upon her. She took their awe and delight at the unscheduled disappearing act, folding it into the already heavy mass of flowing emotion, strengthening it.

  Naomi turned to stare at her.

  Why didn’t she go when I told her to? Joram couldn’t worry about it, not now. The song was almost over, the door soon to open. Though she’d wanted Naomi far away from here, she allowed herself to experience the pride and love she held in her heart, expressed it through her music. Naomi had stayed to protect her, had even attempted to confront Anders. That kind of loyalty was a gift and Joram, who’d had too much experience in challenging her patron, knew well the strength of will such an action required. She waved Naomi closer, pleased when her friend closed the distance between them.

  Turning back to the audience, Joram sang the final chorus of Naomi’s ballad.

  “My heart has turned to stone.

  “Take my hand.”

  Naomi reached out, linking their hands as Joram pulled her near. Joram delighted in the wholeness she felt in her heart. It felt…familiar somehow though she couldn’t recall a situation in her waking life where she’d felt such comfort before. Seizing the pleasure, she reflected it back to the crowd, enrapturing them.

  “Please help me to understand.

  “Soften the steel, reforge my heart.”

  Joram stared into Naomi’s eyes, seeing the love there. “I need you,” she whispered into the microphone. As the lights dimmed onstage, she leaned over and kissed Naomi.

  * * *

  Enveloped by Joram’s arms, cocooned by the rich depth of her magnified emotions, Naomi lost herself in their kiss. It blunted the sharp worry for her mother, the equally strong concern for Rebecca somewhere in the balcony, and sublimated her sense of guilt for not having had the strength to stop the ritual.

  The ritual.

  Naomi pulled out of the haze that was Joram’s love for her, returning from the stupor to discover her hands buried in Joram’s hair and Joram caressing her back. For an instant their eyes met and Naomi was startled to see not only love but an openness she’d never before witnessed in Joram’s gaze. Unable to help herself, she smiled.

  Joram smiled back. “I need you,” she repeated, her voice loud in the silence.

  Silence? Naomi remembered that they stood center stage in front of several thousand witnesses. She looked over her shoulder. Though Naomi felt as if she’d been kissing Joram forever, it appeared that mere seconds had passed since the end of the song. Joram released her hold just enough to allow Naomi to turn, keeping one arm draped across the small of her back.

  Stage lights that had dimmed at the end of the song remained low as the theater lights came up, revealing the air thick with butterflies. The audience, once hyped and ready to kill, now blinked sluggish at the miracle. Smiles developed, laughter started and soon a rumble of exclamations grew to fill the room. The butterflies startled at the cacophony, rising into the air to flutter en masse between the audience and the rafters.

  “They’re not disappearing.” Naomi took her eyes off them long enough to glance at Joram’s profile. “Last time they disappeared.”

  “Last time I didn’t realize what I was doing.” Joram turned to her.

  “What changed?”

  Joram winked. “I applied a little more focus.”

  Naomi grinned and wrapped her arms about Joram’s waist.

  Someone in the audience held up a lighter, soon followed by another and another. Joram laughed, releasing Naomi as she dug a lighter from her pocket and struck it to sparks. The flame wavered as she held her hand high. “Isn’t it a little late for this?” she asked the audience. “Song’s over.”

  “It’s never over!” someone yelled back, receiving whistles and a roar of approval.

  Laughing, Joram waved her lighter back and forth in a slow arc as the crowd followed suit.

  Naomi squinted up into the balcony. She saw Rebecca, lighter in hand, waving furiously at her. Giddy with adrenaline and the overwhelming relief that the world had continued onward, Naomi waved back. She stared out at the sea of faces and lighters, swaying gently as Joram moved her arm side to side. The light was growing, brightening her view of the audience. Her exhilaration faded as lighters extinguished and facial expressions faded from happiness to confusion and surprise. The light became stronger, causing the crowd to narrow their eyes and raise hands to shelter them. A sense of foreboding filled her as her shadow lengthened, a strip of darkness reaching across the floor for the exit. She looked over her shoulder at the stage.

  Behind Rand’s drum set was a huge screen where images had been projected during the concert. Now it burned with a harsh radiant light similar to the one that had taken Inanna and Anders from the stage. Is that Mama? Or him? A vertical black line grew from the center of the screen outward, bisecting it. The blackness grew thicker, widened with a ripping, creaking sound that echoed throughout the theater.

  The crowd’s panic rubbed raw against Naomi’s nerves, spiking her anxiety to unmanageable levels. She felt faint with the conflicting messages her hormones had been giving her for the last five minutes. Fight, relief, love, lust, awe. The verbal hubbub deafened her as thousands of people all attempted to flee the theater.

  Joram held up a hand and shouted into the microphone. “Ho
ld!”

  Having already given themselves over to her at the beginning of the concert, everyone stopped in place. They fought their natural instincts, obeying her command. The creaking grew louder as the crack widened. Naomi tore her gaze away from it to look at Joram.

  Calm and smiling, Joram had dropped her lighter onto the stage. She held her hand up, supplicating the terrified audience. “Nuh vex yuh! Truss me!” She gestured to the strangeness occurring onstage behind her. “I don’t know what’s on the other side, but we’re stronger together. Please stay with me! Let’s do this together.”

  Still enthralled, the audience shuffled back to their places, a mixture of fear and enchantment on their expressions.

  “That’s better.” Joram turned to face the oncoming storm, microphone in hand. She glanced at Naomi. “Time to get back to work.” She placed the microphone in the stand, retrieving the piccolo once again from her back pocket. Taking a deep breath, she began a new song, a different one that seemed to rollick through the shimmering air. There were hints of the ballad in its notes as well as influences from American Indian and Celtic music, the three distinct types of music easily blended by Joram’s skill.

  Shards of green light shot from the center of the widening black strip, piercing the air with the thick scents of spring. Naomi was reminded of her home in May, the air crackling with chillness in the morning and warming as the day grew longer, the rich aroma of fertile loam, coniferous trees and water. As Joram played, Naomi heard the burble of a fast-moving creek beneath the music. Despite her trepidation, she smiled as Joram blended the added sounds into her impromptu composition.

  The vast door widened, the green light casting eerie shadows. The rift between the dimensions stood tall, the top disappearing into the rafters. This wasn’t a door so much as an ever-broadening gap between existences. Hundreds of the butterflies streamed past overhead, gratefully fluttering into the dense forest canopy that became visible through the brightness, though many remained behind to dance around Joram and Naomi or tease the audience.

  Six tall figures dashed from the verdancy, three to either side of the stage, their lanky height overshadowed by the still opening door. Each wore varying colored robes in an odd style with bits of silver chain mail flashing from beneath the layers of cloth. Though armored, they didn’t appear armed as they stood in a half circle with their palms out toward the crowd.

  Naomi swallowed, recognizing Nathan’s people. Were they extending a magical shield? If she concentrated she thought she could see a ripple in the air around the newcomers. Should I approach, tell them about the one they left behind so long ago?

  The sound of many feet marching in unison overcame her consideration. A row of four columns exited the rift, each column bearing six warriors. As they stepped onto the stage, they dispersed in a well-executed maneuver that created a second wall behind the magic casters. Both men and women, the warriors studied the whispering audience through slits in their helmets, safe behind stately shields. To Naomi’s practiced anthropological eye, she noted the resemblance between these shields and those found among tribesmen the world over—long ovals with fascinating silver engravings on their faces.

  She shivered, pulling her gaze from the designs. She’d read that elves had created such patterns to ensnare the minds of their opponents and Nathan had once confirmed that. Glancing at the crowd, she frowned. None seemed entranced by the newcomers. They whispered and murmured curiously among themselves, their fears eased by Joram’s piccolo. Naomi shot a sharp look at her friend’s profile and then at the elven troops amassing onstage. Joram watched the oncoming procession, eyes as green as the lush vegetation beyond the door and sparkling in welcome joy with which she imbued her song. Just how strong is she?

  The elves remained on guard, none advancing. Behind them the luminance strengthened again, a scintillant radiance that evoked memories of golden sunlight dappling through the trees. Two brilliant white horses emerged, each bearing a rider who appeared even more regal and self-possessed than the beings already present. Both were without armor, haughty with confidence in their peoples’ abilities to protect them. The woman looked enough like Inanna to make Naomi blink, the only differences being a lighter complexion and sky-blue eyes. The man could have been a twin to Nathan with the sharp planes of his face and his silver hair.

  He dismounted, handing the reins of his mount to the woman. Without a word he came forth through the warriors, stopping center stage, flanked by his spell casters as he stared at Joram.

  When he held up his hand, Joram stopped playing. She glanced at Naomi. “Here goes.” She took a step forward.

  Sudden terror seized Naomi’s chest, whether due to the end of the music or her knowledge of elven prejudices toward humans. She scrabbled for air, wondering where it had all gone. There’d been so much of it only moments ago. Grabbing Joram’s hand, she stopped her friend, her not-quite-lover. “You can’t,” she panted.

  The vulnerability was still in Joram’s eyes, coupled with a depth of strength that confused Naomi. Joram smiled, bringing their joined hands up to her lips. “I have to. You know that.”

  Naomi darted a glance at the elven man watching them with an inscrutable expression. “Not alone. Never alone. I promise.”

  Joram’s smile widened at Naomi’s declaration. She kissed Naomi’s knuckles. “Then nuh linger, mi empress. Yuh nuh know I Obeah Ooman?”

  A surprise chuckle forced its way past Naomi’s fear. “Yes. I know you are.” As Joram turned back to the tableau behind her, Naomi straightened and set her shoulders back. If the world was going to end, best get it over with now.

  * * *

  Joram and Naomi approached the elves with measured steps, hands entwined. Though still sensitive to the swirl of emotions sharing the air with her conjured butterflies, Joram felt the edginess of anxiety. Was that hers? Naomi’s? She eyed the strange people she approached. Perhaps the feelings came from them. They’d felt the powers growing on their side of the door, knew someone attempted to breach the barrier and had amassed fighters to defend what they saw as an incursion. They were their world’s version of Naomi and her monastery.

  She closed the distance, seeing a shimmer in the air around the first row of lightly armored people. Elves, her mind supplied. They’re fucking elves! This close she studied their slender builds, the cutting planes of their cheeks, the slightly pointed ears. Looking through the rippling sensation was similar to peering through a plate of nineteenth century glass full of warps and imperfections. Their leader held up his hand and Joram stopped short of the odd shield. He spoke, his voice the musical sound of nature distilled into language. A burble of answering delight filled Joram’s chest at the sound of it. She didn’t understand him and didn’t care, too busy committing his voice to memory to use in a future song. Eagerness flushed doubt from her system. A new world, new music. If she survived this night, she had a stupendous opportunity to learn—no, to create so much more. Shaking her head, she tamped down her joyous speculation. Now ain’t the time, ooman.

  The frown on the man’s face foretold forbidding violence when she failed to respond to his words. Regardless of the evident threat, he didn’t seem overtly angry, just annoyed with being ignored. Joram cocked her head in thought. With the bone structure like that it would be easy for humans to misunderstand elven expressions, read negativity into this somberness. Naomi squeezed her hand and she glanced aside. Her friend seemed to have followed her train of thought, her expression one of cautious recommendation.

  Searching for something to bridge this impasse, Joram looked down at their joined hands and then to the piccolo she still held. She felt the slow smile on her face, a puckish glee building in her chest. Anders had given her this instrument—her first—when he’d found her so long ago in that drainpipe. That had been the reason she’d had Chloe bring it to her before the final encore. She’d wanted to stick it to Anders as she followed through with her promise on her own terms, using his tools against him. What bett
er way to finish the job?

  She released Naomi, holding the piccolo in both hands as she offered it to the strange apparition glaring at her.

  His pale eyes narrowed, flickering between her and the gift, searching for a trap. He spoke again, this time to one of the spell casters beside him.

  Joram felt a tingling wave flow through her. A hot sensation built in the small of her back, developing from discomfort into real pain. With a hiss, she flinched away from the pain and reached back to dislodge Naomi’s knife from where she’d tucked it, letting it clatter to the floor. Behind her the crowd grumbled discontent while the metal smoked.

  “You have weapon,” the man intoned, his words heavily accented in a manner Joram had never heard before. Unrelenting pressure began to build in her head, a different sort of pain building as she reached up to massage her temples, the piccolo still in one hand.

  Naomi scooped the weapon up despite its heat, holding it by the antlered hilt. “A gift!” She turned it in her hands, holding it hilt first toward the elf, heedless as the blade vesicated her skin.

  “Gift?” He stared as she held out her trembling hand. He gave the others a crisp order.

  The pressure in Joram’s head dissipated along with the magic that had caused it. Concerned, she grabbed Naomi’s wrist, mentally stumbling as she sent concentrated soothing waves over her hand. The skin had stopped blistering, but Joram couldn’t tell if her untrained abilities eased the pain. Her magical talent was innate and necessitated music. She’d had no true training in any other applications than bludgeoning open this door for Anders.

  The elf arched an eyebrow at Joram. He slowly reached through the wavering shield, bypassing the knife to caress Naomi’s wrist. Joram watched as Naomi’s skin settled, the blisters fading along with the angry red color. When the healing was complete, he gently took the blade from her, examining it. “Where get this?” he demanded of Joram.

  Joram opened her mouth to answer but closed it. It hadn’t been hers to begin with. She looked at Naomi.