Darknesses (46 page)

A
lucius
stood in front of the window,
a place where he had often found himself
standing over the past days, looking out into the late afternoon, squinting to
see against the white disc of the sun. At least a week had gone by, perhaps
longer, with sessions two and three times a day with the soarer. He had gone
back to wearing his uniform, except for the outer tunic. Although it was an
illusion, he knew, he felt less helpless in the uniform than he had in the
gown—which the soarers had left for him to sleep in.

It
had taken three days before he had really been able to see the next lower level
of threads, and five before he could do so with any degree of ease—and that was
just for his own lifethread. Then he had been forced to try to discern the
threads woven into the lifethread of the soarer. That alone would have
convinced him of the earnestness of the soarers, because it implied a certain
degree of trust. Even so, he had to wonder.

No
matter how he had questioned the soarer, he had gotten no answers about her. He
had no idea how many soarers remained or what the relationship between sanders
and soarers might be, whether the sanders were another people or more like
nightsheep to the soarers. He had not seen or sensed another soarer—even from a
distance, but he had no idea if that might be because of the amber walls of the
tower. When he had opened the window and used his Talent-senses, he had felt
nothing but emptiness.

The
soarer kept telling him that he had greater strength than did either the
soarers or the ifrits. Yet both had been more than able to handle him.
Still…what choice did he have?

You always have choices.
The soarer appeared in the
late-afternoon sunlight that angled through the window.

“Not
good ones,” Alucius turned as he spoke. “And poor choices are only good for
creating the illusion of choice.”

Not all choices are as poor as they first appear. Some choices
look good, but in time prove far less wise.

“That’s
if you are a soarer and have lived many years and seen far more than a poor
herder and officer of the Northern Guard.”

You are not poor as either.
The soarer lifted her hands
slightly. She held a scrat, loosely. The reddish brown rodent looked up at
Alucius, its black eyes wide, but other than twitching its whiskers, and
looking quickly from side to side, it did not move.

Alucius
had never been able to get within yards of one of the skittish little
creatures, yet it sat in the palm of the soarer’s hand, quiet, unafraid, and
looking curiously at Alucius.

Do not move closer. Use your Talent to study its lifethread. Do
not touch the thread with your Talent. It is frail compared to you.

Alucius
accepted the unnecessary warning and set to study the small animal. The scrat’s
threads were thinner—and finer—than the threads composing Alucius’s lifethread,
or those of the soarer.

Observe the nodes, those points where the threads twist together.

Nodes?
Even as he questioned, Alucius tried to find the nodes in the threads of the
scrat, which remained calmly observing him.

Wherever there are threads, of any sort, there are nodes. Where
there are nodes, there is weakness.

“Weakness.
But they are stronger there.”

That is only a seeming.

Alucius
concentrated on the nodes, seeking one of the largest. Still, it looked
stronger than any of the woven threads.

Before
he could speak, the soarer did.
Watch closely.

Alucius
observed as a thin line of golden green extended from the soarer to the scrat,
as that golden green probe slipped around one of the largest nodes, just where
the lifethread left the body of the rodent itself. Then the probe branched into
multiple fingers, and each finger
twisted
. The
threads separated into a spray of loosely connected lines, fading even as
Alucius watched.

The
scrat collapsed.

Alucius
gaped. The soarer had just killed the scrat.

No! Watch!

He
continued to watch. This time, the golden green probe gathered the individual
threads that Alucius could barely perceive and twisted them back together, in
what Alucius could only have called a tighter weave.

After
a moment, the scrat shivered and looked up, its eyes bright.

“You…killed
it, and then brought it back to life.”

No. It only seemed so. A body does not die in the instant a
lifethread is severed or changed. Shortly, and swiftly, but not
instantaneously. If the damage is repaired quickly, no lasting harm is done.
You will learn to do this.

Alucius
almost protested, then thought, “You cannot kill, but you wish me to learn how
to do both?”

It is the beginning of what you need to know to defeat the
ifrits.

The
beginning? Just the beginning?

Yes.

The
room dropped into dusk as the sun slipped beneath the dark stone ramparts to
the west of the tower.

You have much to learn, yet, and little time. Do not worry about
the scrat. I will guide you, and it will not be harmed so long as you are deft
and gentle.

“But
it would be dangerous to practice this on people or larger animals?”

It is dangerous for the scrat, but there is no other way, not in
time.

Alucius
looked at the bright-eyed rodent, looking at him, almost trustingly. He looked
away, not wanting to meet the rodent’s eyes, even knowing that his reluctance
was irrational. He’d killed hundreds, and he was worried about a scrat?

It is good that you are, but you must try.

After
a moment, Alucius asked, “How do I start?”

You saw. Try to do the same.

Slowly,
Alucius attempted to fashion the same sort of green golden probe, then have it
enfold the major node before trying to split it into separate fingers.

He
killed the scrat four times, and each time the soarer revived it.

Enough. You are too tired to continue. Still, you think in terms of
force.

“This
wouldn’t do anything to one of those ifrits,” Alucius protested, trying to keep
anger and frustration out of his voice and being.

It would. Consider what would happen if all your Talent were
focused on one small point in a node. Or, if you used your Talent to deflect
another’s thrust.
With the hint of a nod, the soarer turned and departed
with the scrat.

Alucius
stood at the window of the darkened tower room for a long time. Then he turned
and studied the door. The door was bolted from the outside. Within a few days
of regaining his strength, he had discovered that, but he had not found a way
to unbolt it.

Perhaps
what the soarer had showed him might work.

He
visualized a long thin golden probe, sliding under the thinnest of openings
between the bottom of the door and the green floor tiles.

Alucius
smiled as he could sense the thin probe slipping up to the silver metal bolt,
where he wrapped it around the protrusion at one end. Then, he tried to tug on
the bolt, to slide it back out. Nothing happened. It felt as though the metal
were greased and his Talent-probe kept slipping off the bolt.

He
tried to make his probe with rougher edges, and greater strength. That didn’t
work either. Then he tried to make it sticky, like drying honey, as he pulled.

That
worked.

He
pushed the door open and stepped out into a circular room—a landing of sorts,
except he saw no stairs. Directly before him on the far side of the landing was
a square opening in the green floor tiles. Alucius stepped forward, carefully,
looking down the long shaft. In the darkness he could see little, but with his
Talent he felt that the shaft descended at least fifty yards, and rose another
ten or fifteen yards. He turned, carefully, and surveyed the landing.

Besides
the door to his room—or cell—there were two other doors, both closed. Only his
door had a bolt on it, and that bolt felt much newer. Had it been added just
for him? He pressed the lever on the door to the left and opened it. The room
was empty. Although there was no furniture and no dust, it felt as though it
had not been used in years, perhaps longer.

Alucius
closed the door and opened the other door, wondering if it might be the top of
a staircase, but it was also an empty room. Unlike the other two rooms, it had
the square mirror built into the floor—but no furniture. Leaving the door open,
Alucius walked to the mirror, studying it.

He
could definitely feel the golden thread beneath it—that and the darkness
beyond. He could certainly leave.

And
then what? The only places he knew he could reach were where the two ifrits
waited.

Alucius
took a deep breath, recalling once more his grandsire’s advice about not acting
until he knew what to do. After a long moment, he walked around the mirror to
the window, identical to the one in his room. The view was the same.

He
turned and walked out of the room, stopping on the landing outside and looking
at the space that was at the top of the access shaft, smiling ruefully. There
was no way to climb down the shaft. The tower had certainly been built for
soarers, because there weren’t any stairs. Except for the mirror, he was still
trapped, and given where the mirror led, it was better to wait than strike out
blindly. The last times he’d done that, he’d paid dearly.

With
a deep breath, he went back into his room.

He
did leave the door ajar.

A
nother
week passed,
and the soarer never said a word about the open or unlocked
door. During that time, in his efforts to learn to handle threads, Alucius
managed to kill several scrats, a grayjay, and a sandsnake. The soarer
patiently revived them. In the end, Alucius finally grasped the techniques and
actually managed to unlock the thread nodes and revive the sandsnake and the
last scrat on his own. And without a word of comment, the soarer departed.

The
following morning, she appeared with his breakfast.

As
Alucius ate, she offered nothing until he was almost finished.

The ifrits are working on building another portal. You are
fortunate that such work takes much time.

“I’m
fortunate. What about you?”

There are not many of us.
A burst of dry humor infused the
thought.
You have already discovered that the tower is
mostly empty, have you not?

Alucius
took a last swallow of the ale. “You know that.”

Most of the city is as well. That is why you see little from the
window.

“But
you keep me here.”

It will not be that long, if you will learn. Follow me.

Alucius
followed the soarer out of his room, onto the landing, and into the empty room
with the silver mirror set into the floor.

Now…you must learn to use your knowledge.

Alucius
thought he had been. He paused. “Wait a moment. The Tables are set into the
ground. But this mirror—it’s in a tower, and it’s not connected to the ground.”

It is linked to the nodes of the world. Use your Talent.

Alucius
concentrated. As he did, he became aware that the entire tower, indeed, the
entire city, was linked deep into the world, in a fashion that was similar to
that of the Tables, yet without the pinkish purpleness.

Now…you must face what defeated you.

A
line of purplish Talent flared toward him, and Alucius raised a line of
darkness. While the darkness held, the force pushed him backward.

Deflect when you can.

A
second line of force struck, but Alucius countered, using his own Talent, more
like a sabre, and parried the attack.

For
a short while, less than a quarter of a glass, he practiced against the lines
and darts of purpleness thrown by the soarer.

Enough. The greatest danger comes not from a single ifrit.

Alucius
tightened his lips as the all-too-familiar crimson mist rose from the mirror
and formed into a pair of sinuous crimson arms that reached toward him.
Instinctively, he raised the darkness of lifeforce, around which the arms
undulated.

The
nodes! Where were the nodes? As he dodged the probing arms, one of them brushed
his elbow.

“Oh!”
The pain was a line of excruciating fire. He jumped back, aware that he was
trapped almost against the wall.

You will not die, but you may wish you had if you cannot halt
them.

“Thank
you,” mumbled Alucius, throwing up darkness as a momentary barrier, his
Talent-senses trying to find where the crimson mist-arms had the nodes—or if
they did.

There
were thick places that might be nodes. Alucius probed with his Talent, circling
and ducking, but the thickened nodes felt like armor. He had to jump sideways,
but, again one of the arms brushed his knee. The slash of fire numbed his lower
right leg, and he stumbled and fell. To avoid the probing tentacles, he had to
roll across the corner of the mirror, and another wave of pain—this one cold
chill—stabbed through his shoulder.

Focus your probe! Tightly!

That
was easy enough for the soarer to say.

Still,
Alucius tried to concentrate his Talent-force into a narrow tip that lanced at
a node.

Abruptly,
the arm below the node disintegrated into a spray of threads that vanished.

So
did Alucius’s smile as the other arm slashed into his left hand, leaving it
numb.

Alucius
tried to stand, but he was moving slowly, with his right leg, left shoulder,
and hand all numb. Desperately, he focused another line of golden green Talent
at the larger node on the longer remaining arm.

It,
too, vanished in a spray of threads. Then both arms, and the ruby mists began
to dissipate.

Alucius
stood back, unsteadily. He was panting heavily. His undergarments were soaked,
and sweat was pouring down his forehead. The numbness remained in his leg, hand,
and shoulder.

That is enough for this day.
The soarer turned, as if to
depart.

Alucius
could sense a weariness in the soarer, and he had to wonder if the exercise
were a drain on her.

How long…

Until you can stop the arms before they near you. In facing the
ifrits, if an arm even touches you, they will possess you—or kill you. Pain is
the most I can do, but I use it because your body is still part animal, and you
will not understand, deep within yourself, the dangers without pain. We wish it
were otherwise.

Alucius
couldn’t help but feel partly insulted. Yet he had the feeling she was right.
He hadn’t really learned from his grandsire until he had been hurt. Before the
soarer left, he asked the other question he had been pondering, especially
after seeing the access shaft, “When this is all over…will I be able to
soar…like you do?”

In some places, but those places are not where you might wish to
be seen.
Humor—impish humor—overlaid the words.

“Why?”

The
soarer did not answer, but a sense of impatience issued forth.

Alucius
considered. He still had too much of a tendency to blurt out questions with the
soarer. He hadn’t done that in years. Why was he doing it with the soarer?
Because she reminded him of his grandsire? And because he was again acting like
a child?

“Is
it because it would require using the energy of lifeforces, and because I’m
larger and heavier than you are, and the only places where lifeforces are
concentrated enough is in towns and cities?”

That is part of the difficulty.
The impatience had
vanished.
The other part is that using Talent to soar takes
your own lifeforce and energy if there are not enough other lifethreads near.
Unless you are in a place such as here or unless you act like the dark ifrits.

Alucius
frowned. “You soar here, and yet there is little—”

You could soar here as well. The hidden city was built to tap the
lifeforce of the world itself. You already sensed that.

“I
could?” He paused. “Wait a moment. You told me that—”

Worlds are also alive—if they have life within and upon them. It
takes great strength to reach deeply enough into the heart of a world to tap
those threads. We could not do that now. In the end, after the ifrits have
feasted on all the life-forms, they will tap the world itself and use its
strength to drive a conduit to other worlds. But they must have many ifrits in
their own bodies upon the next world before they can do such.

“They
would leave the entire world…dead?”

We have told you that. More than once.

“I’m
sorry. It takes some getting used to.”

The
soarer glided out of the room and toward the shaft.

Alucius
limped after her.

You can practice soaring here…but do not try the shaft yet.

Alucius
watched as she soared to the shaft and descended, a glimpse of golden green
that vanished below.

He
could soar? How?

She
had said that it required linking to lifethreads, but there were none in the
tower but his own. For a time, he studied the very tower itself, until he could
make out the web of golden green threads that infused the walls and
floors—indeed everything.

He
glanced down. His boots were a good third of a yard off the tiles.

So
surprised was he that he lost his linkage and dropped to the tiles. His boots
hit with a heavy thud, and he staggered on his still-numb leg, trying to keep
from tottering toward the darkness of the shaft. He straightened with relief.

He
could see why she’d suggested not trying the access shaft. Still, he could
practice that as well. Any new skill might help.

He
slowly limped back to his room. Later, after the numbness and the tiredness passed,
he would try again.