Blue Moon (38 page)

—
Libby. When this is over, I go home.
He said it very, very gently, but it still hurt.
My father is the king. I am his only heir. I must go back and learn to rule my kind.

—
Oh,
she said. The wind made her tears very, very cold.

—
Do not cry,
he pleaded.
We are almost there, and warriors do not cry.
To punctuate his statement, he dove. She reached to loosen her knife and left her hand on its hilt.

They were closing in on the ground.

—
Libby?

—
Yeah?

—
Of all the things in this world, you were my very favorite.

He parted his hands, and she jumped to the ground, running away from him, her dagger and her eyes glittering in the light of the blue moon.

They were well below the upper walls, where the creatures were preparing for battle. They circled around along a narrow cliff edge, the light from the river of magic causing Libby's knife to glow brightly. Above them, she could hear the little monsters yelling back and forth, throwing heavy objects about. She wasn't worried about them, but of the Shadows that could blend into the wall and surprise her before she could stop them.

She noticed a tiny postern gate up ahead. She looked around for Dashiel and, seeing him behind her, made for it.

They neared the gate and dove behind a small wall next to it. Libby looked up as Alex and Zorovin made themselves small enough to fit through the window overhead. They would work their way down.

She and Dashiel crept upward. It was like trying to climb a sand dune in some places. She watched the dog closely, since his senses were still far better than hers. They hid once, in a walled pit that looked like a rejected attempt at a wishing well, while Shadow troops whispered past. They climbed out when it was clear.

Something cold and scaly alighted on her shoulder and placed a cold nose in her ear.

—
The front gate's guarded, but we have found another way in,
Alex said.

She shivered and picked him up off her shoulder. Alex, who had been as large as a ranch house, was now the size of a parrot. She cradled him in both hands, and he waved his wings for balance.

"You look so cute,” she whispered.

—
This way.
His tone was serious.

The opposite way from where the enemy had gone, around the back, was a window positioned over a slope; a silver head peered out for a second before Zorovin lowered a long black rope.

She let Alex go and signaled for Dashiel. They ran, low and silent, Alex telling her when to stop or when to pelt all out or when to sneak. They followed his instructions and reached the rear of the castle. Alex flew onto to the wall.

Dashiel went first, scrambling up the rough surface, the rope tied around his middle. Libby tossed the magic up to Zorovin then followed without incident. Alex in human form soon appeared on the sill, pulling his legs over.

"So, now what?” he asked.

Libby smiled at him, and he touched her cheek. He looked up at his father and dropped his hand away from her. Zorovin's cool gaze drifted to her. Perhaps he saw something in her face, or eyes, because his expression softened a little.

"We must find the Stone,” he said, as if it were not evident.

"I know,” Alex muttered, “but where do we start?"

"The moon? Does it have anything to do with it? Should we go up into the tower?” Libby asked.

Alex shook his head. “No. We should go down, where the magic is."

"A well,” Libby said. “He'll need to put it in a well of magic. It's why the purple magic isn't allowed inside the castle. If purple magic will nullify the Stone..."

Zorovin nodded. “Let us make our way down, then,” he said. He looked at Libby. “You are best qualified to lead the way. Tor'Vanith will take the back."

He stepped out into the hall to look for unwelcome wanderers. She started forward but felt a hand catch hers. She looked back at Alex. He gave her fingers a light squeeze and smiled. She smiled back, some of the dread lifting from her heart, and followed Zorovin.

Rita was waiting for them as they rounded the corner, and Libby's first thought, uncharitably, was If she's dead, why doesn't she stay dead? Nonplussed by her reaction, she tried to make up for it by being immediately friendly. After all, this was her sister, and she loved her.

"Rita? I'm happy to see you, but I'm really curious as to how you got here. And why don't you look like you did a half an hour ago?"

Libby took off her coat and offered it. Dashiel growled.

"Stop that,” she ordered.

"Magic.” Rita answered the question with a delighted smile.

"Libby,” Alex said, taking her arm. “She's dead. She can't feel the cold."

"The dead always want things,” Dashiel added. “Things that you might not want to give, Libby, so stay back."

"Nonsense. She's my sister! Let go, Alex! Dammit! You're not my keeper."

"I had a sister,” Rita said, taking the coat from Libby's still outstretched hand. She smelled it, and smiled before tossing it aside. Libby shivered, but told herself it was because the castle was cold.

"You still do,” Libby said. “Put on the coat, sweetheart. It's cold in here, and you're not really dressed for it."

"I still live, but I do not feel the cold,” she said, and as she spoke, she seemed to fill with awareness, as if she were just realizing these things. She shook her head then grinned. “Dog, is your sense of smell so bad? I am not dead. And Libby, Libby, sister, magic ... oh, the magic is wonderful. If you gave yourself to it, you wouldn't feel the cold, either."

Zorovin sighed. “I tried to tell you,” he said gently, “that magic is transient. Like lightning, it seeks to return to the earth and takes the shortest path through. What you are feeling cannot last."

"But it can,” she said. “You could stay.” She drew closer, put her hand on his chest. “You could be yourself here. You could be whatever you wanted."

"Rita, we have to go,” Libby said. “We have already wasted too much time.

She smiled and stepped out of the way. “You go right ahead,” she said with a smile. “We'll discuss this further very soon, I think."

Dashiel paused and looked up at her. “I liked you better when you were Sierra."

Rita's smile faltered a little. “So did I."

Libby slipped by, and Alex wrapped her back into her coat. She felt confused, in her soul, but she could not straighten it out now.

The walls changed as they proceeded. She had expected rough stone and armor, not linoleum and drywall. She passed by a bank mailboxes, and saw a glass door marked manager.

"Why are we in an apartment building?” she asked.

"And a forest,” Dashiel said, looking at the trees that ranged across the hallway and in front of the elevator.

"Those aren't trees,” Zorovin said as they moved.

Libby's hand itched, and she wrapped it around her knife, drawing it. What she said sounded like gibberish, but Zorovin's eyes lit.

"Nimue,” he whispered.

What she said, she somehow knew, was not a spell so much as a threat. In old elvish she had commanded, “If you do not get out of my way, I will sear the bark from your flesh, and you will walk naked and humanlike through this world until your ignominious death, unmourned and unrooted."

Two of the tree men surged forward, and she raised her knife. Zorovin raised his hands and between them a ball of fire glowed.

"They did not prepare us for anything more than a few stray humans,” Libby heard one tree whisper to another. They backed away, and she pushed the button for the elevator. They stepped in.

"Why are you grinning?” Dashiel asked when the doors shut and they began their descent.

She burst out laughing.

"Petrified wood,” she said, and even Zorovin groaned at the pun.

He took her face in both hands. “Where did you get your eyes?” he asked.

She blinked. “I don't know."

Alex grabbed his father's shoulder. “Don't..."

"She's lying,” Zorovin said, and Libby blushed, because she was.

"Show him,” Alex said. “Please. Like I talk to you and show you things, show him how you got your eyes."

"All right,” she said. She closed her eyes and showed him.

When, in memory, she fainted from the shock of seeing her eyes and came to again, Zorovin was standing in the living room, looking around her life as if what surrounded them was real not just constructs of memory.

"You should never have opened the box,” he said.

"Tell me about it.” She stood up, free from the constraints of the past, released from the headache that had plagued her.

He sat on the table. “I wonder what happened."

"What do you mean?"

"Your eyes...” He held up a hand to stay her I told you. “I mean that you have somehow assumed a place, a spirit, of the woman who first guarded this box. You, in a nearly literal sense, have her eyes. You also seem to have her instincts. You know things that you should not, but she could have taught you. The eyes are her gift to you, to allow you to see easily, to use magic, to do what you have to do to protect the box and its contents."

"You seem to know a lot."

"I'm guessing. But ... that's not the how I was wondering about. I just wondered, in a world without magic, how she managed the spell?"

"An academic question, surely."

"Not so. If things go as we wish, this whole thing will be over. Then, how are you going to get your own eyes back?"

"Father?” Alex appeared and walked right through her to face Zorovin. “We've hit the ground floor."

Zorovin nodded and got to his feet...?

They opened their eyes together, and Zorovin let go of her upper arms. Alex seemed almost determined not to look at her.

She heard her own voice in her head, mingled with another's, almost an echo of the past.

"So, what did you do, while I was gone? Did you build your walls up again to defend yourself from the one person who will never be your adversary?” The woman whose magic she now possessed had said that once, Libby realized, but when she had thought it of Alex, she'd meant it.

She looked away, angry, and stepped forward as the door opened. A voice in her head—Zorovin's this time—whispered gently, with pity,—
It is for the best. You are not ... what you want is not a thing for dragons.

Neither is pity, she thought, but he did not hear her, for she had learned to block him from reading her mind.

The bottom story of the castle was a wide, clear, empty space of stone walls and ceiling. Magic flowed in along canals beneath their feet, and their footsteps made odd ringing sounds on the glass of the floor. A podium of crystal rose out of the center of the floor, and upon it was a box Libby would have known anywhere.

"There's no one around,” Dashiel said. “Can this be so?"

"Let's get this over with,” Alex said, and crossed the expanse.

As they got closer, Libby sensed something was off. The box wasn't quite the right color, she thought, but perhaps her vision was distorted by the shimmering colors below.

Alex reached out to grab the box. The lid flipped open...?

"My son! No!” Zorovin cried, and Alex leaped away from the box. White light shot out and bent slightly, aiming for Libby. She raised her hands as it charged towards her and whispered words under her breath. The light hit her, splashing off a shield, a clear white oval that formed in the air in front of her.

The light disappeared, and she saw that the shield was burned white. She touched it. Not seared, after all, but covered in frost.

"Cool, eh?” Rita asked from the doorway. The elevator slid shut behind her.

"We've been conned,” Alex said. Dashiel whined softly.

"Thank you,” Libby said, since she knew the shield wasn't her doing. Zorovin nodded once, and she gave him an even warmer smile.

"It's coming back to me,” he muttered.

Libby shivered. The blast of cold from the false box had frosted the walls. She could see her breath, and was interested to see that Zorovin's breath flooded out like a heavy fog. They retreated, and she hurried to get to the elevator and call it back down.

The button didn't light when she pressed it. Instead, there was a grinding sound. She felt some dirt hit her head and looked up.

"The ceiling's moving?” Dashiel said.

This comment was followed by a cracking ping.

"And,” Alex added, “the floor's breaking up."

Zorovin's comment was low and vicious-sounding.

"Conned and trapped? No, I will not allow it,” Libby said, crossing the floor with more care, studying the magic beneath.

"Interesting, isn't it?” Rita said.

Alex pushed Dashiel aside and threw his arms straight in front of him, fists together. A bolt shot out of them, hitting the doors to the elevator hard. They ripped apart. He flicked one hand, and they wrenched open, beaten metal protesting.

"And what good did that do you?” Rita asked.

Alex slanted her a dirty look as his father peered up into the shaft.

"The tiles are loose,” Zorovin said, jumping back and knocking the ceiling tile aside.

"Don't worry about me,” Rita said dryly as she grinned and crossed her arms,
I Dream of Jeanie
-like. She nodded her head, and disappeared.

"I don't like that,” Zorovin said.

"Go on up,” Alex told him.

Zorovin nodded, and putting a hand that was slowly becoming a claw on Dashiel's ruff, he morphed into a medium-sized dragon and flew up the shaft.

Alex turned and flung an arm out toward Libby. “Come on."

She had returned to the podium, and was now stepping gingerly over the growing network of cracks.

"I had to make sure it wasn't the real box,” she said. The floor heaved, throwing her forward onto her knees.

He saw what was going to happen as she stopped to try and figure out a better route. He headed for her as she stood again, smiling a little, beginning to make her way back. There was a cracking sound as the floor dissolved around her, leaving her balanced on an island of glass only slightly larger than a dinner plate.