A School for Sorcery (Arucadi Series Book 6)

by E. Rose Sabin

  But he hadn’t brought her here. She’d searched for him and found him; she’d broken through his wards to get to him.

  Yet she had been here with him, as well. She remembered as though it were a dream waiting here with him through the night, trying vainly to summon the power to turn his spell back on him, to save the school. She recalled the certainty that her power was not great enough, recalled despair changing to hope when she heard—when she’d shouted—when someone—when she attacked Oryon. A vision of devouring flames brought a scream to her throat. She clutched her breast. Her fingers closed around her pendant.

  The crystal in her hand brought to mind the crystal place to which the spell from the Breyadon had carried her. She remembered the crystal sphere she’d seen through the window in the tunnel wall when Aletheia had led her along the paths between the worlds.

  Another alien memory surfaced: of wandering through those paths alone. Alone—and in the company of another. Oryon. Not the Oryon who stood regarding her with a contemptuous look. A second Oryon, tattered and decaying.

  Where were these thoughts coming from? She must be going mad.

  She gripped the pendant more tightly. It seemed to bring strength and stability. She righted herself, faced Oryon. “You will not win!” she told him. “The Breyadon cannot be used for evil.”

  She directed her thoughts to the one who dwelt in the crystal. You said I could come again in time of direst peril. You also said I might not be able to leave. I’ll take the chance. I can’t let Oryon carry out his plan.

  Holding the pendant, she pictured the crystal place with its dancing rainbows, mentally recreated its beauty around her. The red light of the flames softened, the fiery sphere solidified.

  Oryon looked around in bewilderment. “Where are we? What’s happening?” His voice echoed profanely off the faceted crystal all around them.

  And in Tria’s mind a voice said, Welcome back, daughter. Who is this you have brought?

  As Tria prepared her mental response, Oryon stalked around the delicate structure, a dark cloud menacing a rainbow. “What have you done?” he demanded again. “Where’s the school?”

  An impatient and surly young man, spoke the voice. He reminds me of someone I once knew, long ago. His mind is closed to me. I could force it open, but I would prefer, if you will permit it, to see him through your eyes.

  Remembering her previous experience here, she understood what the voice asked of her. She gave her consent and steeled herself for the coming of the burning white light.

  It filled her with a cauterizing pain. The intense heat and light cleansed and purified as it probed. She hid nothing from it, though she was aware that the light would touch only what she permitted.

  The light receded; the voice spoke. Thank you, daughter. You have learned much since our previous meeting. You have found your way through difficult paths, but tortuous ways lie yet before you. I shall think what is to be done with this young man. He will not be receptive to my voice, as you have been.

  Tria could see again. She found Oryon standing in front of her, staring curiously.

  “You went into a trance,” he said. “You’re trying to work some kind of spell, but I won’t let you.” He pointed his wand at her. “I have not lost my power. Take us back to the school or I’ll kill you.”

  She shook her head and would have explained that she was powerless to do as he asked, when his head jerked back and his arms flung out as if to ward off blows. “No!” he shouted. “Get out of my head! You can’t do that!”

  He spun around and with a cry of “Felefor mura-na!” he hurled his wand against the wall.

  A single high note pealed out from the crystal. The rainbows quivered; the walls shattered. Stiletto-sharp slivers of crystal rained down. Oryon cried out and leaped over a jagged crystal barrier. Tria heard his footsteps recede as she crouched with her arms over her head.

  She was rising to follow him when a loud crack heralded another crystal fall directly overhead. Like dozens of knives the shards sliced into her.

  Be comforted, daughter, the voice in her mind soothed. Another will complete what you cannot.

  There was nothing more.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  WAR AND DEATH

  Tria and Rehanne led a weeping Kathyn into the main building. Tria intended to hurry through the classroom section before the bell rang for the next class, find a secluded spot in the parlor, give Kathyn a chance to recover from the news of her twin’s disappearance, and plot what to do about Oryon. But they’d barely got inside the door when the building shook as if struck by a powerful earthquake. Hurled against the wall, they struggled to keep their balance as the floor rocked like the deck of a ship in a storm. The electricity flickered out and an eerie red glow replaced the natural daylight.

  “We’re too late!” Rehanne screamed.

  Students who had gone early into the classrooms spilled out into the hall along with the instructors. They stampeded toward the quadrangle, carrying Tria and her friends along with them.

  On the quadrangle, students huddled in groups, crying and screaming. Over their heads, a dome of fire replaced the sky. Blood-red water spilled from the fountain and flooded the flagstones.

  Coral, hysterical, stumbled into Tria, dug her fingers into Tria’s arms, and screeched, “Do something!” Rehanne embraced her and pulled her away. Coral quieted, and Tria guessed Rehanne was using her power to shield the empath from the panic surrounding her. Stung by Coral’s plea, Tria cast about for something she could do.

  Only one thing came to mind. She launched her power upward at the mantle of flame and tried to blast a hole in it but failed. Desperate, she drew the flame toward her, brought it funneling down around her. Heat struck, and unbearable pain. She fell screaming into the consuming flames. She felt her flesh burning, melting, and at the same time a terrible, desolate cold filled her and darkness swallowed her.

  Light returned. Her eyes opened. She gazed into Verin’s worried face. The fire had not killed her; she had only fainted. She was lying where she had fallen, but the ground beneath her was solid and unmoving, and ordinary daylight shone around her. Hushed voices replaced the cries of panic.

  Verin helped her sit up. Coral clasped her hand. “You did it!” Awe and admiration filled her voice.

  All around, the muted murmurs gave way to shouts of thanks and wild applause. She heard the noise through a cloud of confusion, of conflicting memories swirling through her mind.

  Rehanne knelt beside her. “Tria, you were wonderful! Drawing all that fire into yourself! I thought—we all thought—you’d be burned to a cinder, but the flames simply vanished. Your pretty green blouse isn’t even scorched. How did you do it?”

  “Such power!” Nubba loomed over her, her round face beaming. “It’s like I always said, nobody can equal Tria for talent.”

  “The net’s gone!” a triumphant voice shouted from the direction of the garden gate.

  Britnor stepped up beside Nubba, a broad smile transforming his usually somber face. “Wonder where old Oryon’s hiding, now that you’ve defeated him so soundly?”

  The words pierced Tria’s lingering mental fog. She scrambled to her feet. Kathyn moved in to offer a supporting hand, but Tria shook it off. “Help,” she gasped. “Got to help her.”

  Rehanne stood in front of her. “Help who? What are you talking about?”

  No time to explain. Tria dodged aside. “Come on,” she called to Rehanne as she sprinted toward the faculty residence hall.

  “Petra,” she shouted, catching sight of her classmate. “Where’s Aletheia?”

  “I haven’t seen her,” came the puzzled answer.

  “Help me find her,” Tria ordered. She dashed into the hall and headed toward Aletheia’s apartment calling for the Transdimensional Studies mistress.

  “She isn’t here.” Stopped by the soft voice, Tria saw Mistress Blake coming toward her. “May I help you?”

  “I’ve got to find Aletheia. She ha
s to open a door for me so I can get to … to …” She stopped in confusion. Why did she have to find Aletheia? What had put this sudden compulsion into her mind? She only knew that she was being given credit for something someone else had done, someone who was in terrible danger. Chills like daggers stabbed into her back.

  Mistress Blake caught hold of Tria’s hands, raised them, looked at her fingers, and nodded as though the examination had answered a question. “You are being summoned. You must go.”

  Tria pivoted at the sound of footsteps behind her, hoping to see Aletheia. But it was Petra, with Rehanne and Kathyn following her. “Aletheia’s not outside,” Petra said.

  “We’ll have to do it without her.” Tria turned back to Mistress Blake. “Can you help us, Mistress?”

  “I don’t have Aletheia’s gift,” Mistress Blake said. “But I can lend strength to you and Petra. You’ve both studied under Aletheia. You have the knowledge and power to open a door.”

  Tria gazed at Petra. “We’ve got to get to the passage Aletheia took us through the day she left Irel in the world where time runs backward. We have to hurry. It’s urgent. I can’t explain.”

  Wide-eyed, Petra stared back at her. “I’ve never opened a door.”

  “But you have the talent. Come on. We’ve got to do it.” Tria reached for Petra’s hand.

  Mistress Blake held Tria’s other hand. “Everyone who’s willing to help, form a circle,” she ordered.

  Rehanne joined hands with Mistress Blake.

  “You can count me in,” Kathyn said. “Anything to save Kress.” She took Rehanne’s other hand and reached for Petra’s.

  Verin stepped up and took Kathyn’s hand and Petra’s. Tria was glad to see her; she had not known the healer had followed them in.

  Tria concentrated as Aletheia had taught. A wave of weakness washed over her. Her mind faltered. Blackness closed in around her. She felt she was fading away, dissolving into nothingness.

  From somewhere, a surge of power revived her. Her mind snapped back to its task.

  A small black speck floated in the center of their circle. The keyhole! Tria aimed her power at the speck and felt other flows of power join hers. The speck grew, became a gaping black hole. Tria closed her eyes and stepped toward it, pulling the others with her. She could see nothing. She stumbled blindly through an intense cold that felt like death. “The wall!” someone said. “She’s opened it!”

  She didn’t stop to wonder what was meant. The impulse that guided her tottering steps forced her onward, her flagging strength sustained by her companions’ power. She moved as in a dream, hardly aware of those with her, hands grown too numb to feel their touch, ears only dimly receiving the sound of their voices.

  She stopped. Someone cried out. The icy cold grew more intense. Her limbs stiffened. She could not move; she could do nothing more than lean on supporting arms.

  “She’s dead.” Verin’s voice spoke the first words Tria heard clearly. “That piece of crystal pierced her heart.”

  Gentle hands turned Tria around and led her away. “No one should have to see her own death,” Mistress Blake spoke beside her. “Here, this is yours now.” A chain was slipped over her head, and the familiar weight of the crystal pendant fell against her breast. “And you must wear this.” A ring was slid onto her finger. Wonderingly she lifted her hand. An orange light shone through her darkness, the gem of Headmistress’s ring became visible, and by its reflected gleams she saw her companions.

  Kathyn’s face was pale and streaked with tears. Petra looked stunned. Verin wore a grim expression, and her hands were stained with blood. Rehanne slumped against the tunnel wall, and Tria wondered if she was going to faint.

  Only Mistress Blake seemed unaffected. “Rest a bit,” she said to Tria. “Let your strength come back.”

  “My strength? Is it mine—or hers?” Tria did not need to ask what the others had seen. Memories flooded into her—from the original Tria and her other shadow selves.

  She was only a reflection. How could she live, when the real Tria was dead?

  “All that was hers is yours,” Mistress Blake answered. “The reflection has become the reality.”

  “Then I … I have to do what she … Oryon! Was he—”

  “He was not there. We found only his wand, broken into three pieces.”

  “We’ve got to find him.” Tria urged her feet into motion. “Come on,” she called to the others. “He can’t have gone far.”

  Tria guessed where Oryon would have gone. She remembered the mysterious barrier she had encountered in her previous foray through the tunnels, the barrier behind which she had seen the panther that could only have been Lina. And where Lina had been, it was likely that Wilce and Gray would be, and possibly Kress as well. And, of course, their keepers, the Dire Women. Oryon would seek help from those who had been supplying him with the power he needed to carry out his plans. He had broken faith with them because he thought he could get what he wanted from the Breyadon’s secret knowledge, but since that plan had failed, he would attempt to reestablish his agreement with the Dire Women. She could not tell where in the tunnel she was or in which direction the barrier lay. Nor did she know how to get through it if she found it. But she did not share these doubts with the others. They were already badly shaken; how far would they follow her if they knew she was lost?

  The tunnel was cold, the light dim. Its walls remained opaque, giving no clue about whether she was in a section she had passed through before. With nothing to guide her, she could only march onward with a pretense of confidence and hope the others would not guess her true state of mind.

  She wished she knew what had happened to her host in the crystal palace, whether its destruction had killed him or freed him. If only he were here to act as her guide … She sent out a mental call, but he did not answer. Again and again her mind broadcast the vain plea as the tunnel wound on and led them nowhere.

  “What’s that?”

  Rehanne’s question startled Tria, brought her to a stop. Rehanne stepped to her side and pointed to a black heap lying in shadow against the tunnel wall. It looked like a pile of rags. In her preoccupation, Tria would have passed by without noticing it. But any object in the otherwise empty corridor merited investigation. She and Rehanne approached it cautiously while the others hovered behind them.

  At the fetid smell that rose from it, Rehanne stepped back, gagging. “Something dead,” she said.

  Tria gasped and knelt beside it. Gingerly she reached to touch it, turn it over. She flinched at the feel of rotting flesh on bony arm. He could not be alive.

  A shallow, rasping breath told her he was. “It’s Oryon,” she said. “Not the Oryon we’re looking for. A shadow Oryon. I met him when I—when one of me—was lost in here. In fact—” She looked around, knowing what she’d see close by. Before she could catch more than a glimpse of brown skirt, Mistress Blake interposed herself between the other crumpled figure and Tria.

  “That one is dead,” the woman said. “Don’t look at it, Tria.”

  Tria shuddered and turned her gaze back to the piteous wreck at her feet. “I thought he’d died, too. I should have realized he hadn’t. He’s good. If he had gone back into Oryon, he would have drawn Oryon from his evil course. But how he can live in this condition, I don’t understand.”

  Mistress Blake knelt beside her and looked on the ravaged figure. “Oryon won’t let him die,” she said. “He doesn’t want him back. Verin,” she motioned to the healer, “Can you relieve his suffering?”

  Tria gave up her place to Verin. The healer eased the pitiable form into a more comfortable position and with no sign of repugnance ran her hands over the tortured body. “Not much I can do,” she said, shaking her head. “By all rights he shouldn’t be alive. This is no more than a breathing corpse. If we could find a way to release him, it would be a kindness.”

  “And it might stop the real Oryon,” Petra said. “All of us together ought to be able to break whatever link Oryon
is using to keep him alive.”

  “I don’t like the idea of using power to kill, but in this case …” Rehanne’s voice trailed off as she gazed with pity on the near-corpse.

  “Let’s do it and get on with our search for the real Oryon,” Kathyn said, her impatience showing that she was less moved by this shadow Oryon’s plight than she was concerned about her twin.

  “No! Wait!” Tria grabbed Petra’s arm. “What was that you said about a link?”

  “Why, that if Oryon is keeping him alive as Mistress Blake said, he must have some kind of link to him. Isn’t that right, Mistress Blake?”

  “A tenuous one, but, yes, something through which he channels just enough vital force to prevent death.”

  “We’ve got to keep him alive,” Tria said. “If we find and follow that link, it will lead us to Oryon.”

  Mistress Blake nodded slowly. “It’s possible,” she agreed.

  “Good.” Tria saw clearly what must be done. “Verin, you stay here with him and use every bit of skill you have to help him live. Petra, you stay with her so if anything happens to the rest of us, you can get her back. Everyone else, come with me.”

  No one questioned her orders. Even Mistress Blake seemed willing to let Tria take the lead.

  “Rehanne,” she went on, “you can get into people’s minds. Try to get into his and find that thread. Kathyn, lend her power if her own isn’t enough.”

  Rehanne’s brow furrowed in concentration. Without speaking, she reached for Kathyn’s hand. The tunnel was silent except for the shadow Oryon’s labored breathing. When Tria thought she could bear the wait no longer, Rehanne said, “I have it.”

  Hand in hand with Kathyn, she moved forward. Tria followed, relieved to be moving away from the near-dead Oryon and the corpse of her alternate self. Mistress Blake fell into step beside her.

  The trek was maddeningly slow. Several times Rehanne halted to search again for that tenuous thread. “It’s like trying to follow a single strand of spiderweb,” she explained. “It’s nearly impossible to see, and it’s too fragile to touch.”