Dusk (29 page)

He pushed farther and crossed chasms.
She saved me,
he thought. He passed through gulfs that would have driven him mad, had he looked or extended his senses to feel them.
She saved me.

And then he found Alishia, cowering behind the remnants of her own intellect.

Is it gone? Is it gone? Am I alone? Will it come back?

Alishia, it’s me.

Has it gone? It’s foul, it smells it hurts, has it gone? Will it come back?

Alishia, Rafe is a good person, he gave out no harm. He has magic in him, real magic!

Not him, it.
It.
Has it gone? Its hurts so much, it burns where it touched me and kills me, kills parts I never knew I had. Has it gone, Trey? Will it come back?
Will it?

Alishia . . .

But he was losing her, she was dispersing and fleeing and hiding again, deeper down than he could ever go. She sounded like a little girl, afraid of the dark and being swallowed by it.

Trey pulled back, reigning in his senses until he was out of her mind and a mere observer again. He saw his own body slumped against the side of the cave, Alishia twitching on his lap, and at least now her eyes were closed.

Perhaps his presence had brought some measure of comfort.

Or maybe now she was dying.

Trey moved away quickly and passed by Rafe, resisting the temptation to reach out. He was terrified of what he would find in a mind such as his. The boy stared into the rain, stretching out his hand now and then to touch the curtain of water dripping down across the cave entrance, testing it, piercing it as if it were a shield between two realities.

Trey moved on, out of the cave and up into the crying sky. He felt an immediate sense of freedom as space grew around him, and as he spun and swooped way above the ground he pushed out his perception, comforted to find that there were no minds nearby. Not human, at least. Skull ravens sat chattering in trees farther up the slope, silenced by his touch. A herd of mountain goats munched wet grass. Nestled against a collapse of boulders far up the hillside, a tumbler quivered and shook in the rain, and Trey steered clear of its multiple captured minds. They were all screaming, and he had no desire to find out why.

He swept back toward Pavisse, passing through small valleys and over low hills, dipping into thickets of trees, finding a few dwellings where families huddled before the fire, hiding from the rain and dark. Some of these minds he touched on briefly, but he found nothing there to interest him. There was little to interest even themselves; they were sad, empty places, bereft of hope, concentrating instead on simple existence. None of them seemed to look farther forward than the next morning, when sheebok would need milking, fields hoeing and planting, ditches clearing, fences repairing . . .

He found the freedom exhilarating, and again he wondered just how far he could project himself like this. Underground there had been miles of solid rock to temper his explorations . . . but he also wondered whether his horizons had been too limited. He had never been tempted to move aboveground to see what it was like, even though perhaps the ability had always been there. As a miner he had often considered journeying topside at some point in his life. But as a fledge taker, he had never been tempted to take full advantage of the opportunities it offered him, other than guilty forays past Sonda’s bedroom window. His boundaries had been too insular, he knew that now. It had taken the disaster of the Nax to open his mind.

And then something appeared in the distance, something more powerful and less human. Trey dropped down near the ground, pulling in his exploratory senses and hiding himself as effectively as a raindrop in the storm. It would take some time for the thing to reach him, so he tasted the rain, felt it hitting the ground and splashing back up, loaded with dust. It was a summer storm, warm and welcome, but it carried taints of autumn, smells of dead leaves and bare trees. Things were changing, and even the rain swore to that.

The thing came closer, and Trey did not have to extend himself to know what it was: a Red Monk. He sensed it in the distance, saw it, heard it, felt its horse’s hooves shake the ground. It rode slouched in its saddle as if injured, but he thought it was probably trying to track, searching for footprints stamped in mud or hoofprints etched in the loam. Trey sank down into the ground, smothering himself in earth, hiding, feeling a slight tremble around him as the horse passed by not far away. He drew himself in, making his mind less than a point, nothing to see. The Monk did not pause. He had not been sensed.

He waited a few minutes before rising into the open once more. The rain was heavier than ever. He had to return to the cave. It was a good distance away, but the Monk would be there before daybreak.

Trey skirted south to make sure he did not pass too close to the Monk. Its mind had seemed foul, and he had no wish to approach touching it with his own. He skimmed low through a valley, into the lake at its base, shifting past fish and other things that swam in its depths, careful not to touch them. The water was black, and deep down it had begun to freeze. There were shapes struggling against the thickening water. Trey went deeper and sensed more things, large and small, frozen solid.

He surfaced and traveled back through the sky. At least there the rain smothered things that should not be.

“NOT FAR,” TREY
said. “An hour, if it rides fast.”

“On our trail?” Kosar asked.

“Perhaps. It was tracking something.”

“We have to go.”

Trey had stood and wrapped Alishia in blankets, wiping tears from her cheeks. He remembered her voice, that sad voice lost in her own mind:
Has it gone, Trey? Will it come back?

“I won’t let it come back,” he whispered, hoping that somewhere she heard his words and hoping they gave comfort.

“What was that?” Hope asked.

Trey glanced at the witch and shook his head, looking away. She frightened him.

Rafe suddenly appeared by his side, standing over him and Alishia. “What’s wrong with her?” he asked. “Did you touch her mind?”

“Hardly. It’s been driven too deep. She’s barely herself anymore.” He glared at Rafe, blaming the farm boy and the magic he had wrought. It had terrified Alishia almost to death. This girl who had read so much and seen so little, exposed suddenly to such an event, driven mad . . .

“Then who was she?” a voice said from back in the cave. Trey turned to see A’Meer sitting up, nursing her head with one hand and her elbow with the other.

“I don’t know,” Trey said, remembering more of his journey, more of what Alishia had been muttering in the deep parts of her mind. “But she’s afraid that something is going to come back.”

“What could that be?” Kosar said. “I don’t know anything of the girl. Is she normal?”

“She’s a librarian,” Trey said. “This is her first time outside Noreela City.”

“Trickery,” Hope said. “For some reason only the girl knows, she’s feigning this sleep. Has she stolen any of your fledge, miner? Is she guiding the Monks to us, even now?”

“No!” Trey said, fear of the witch fueling his anger. “She’s
good.
Something drove her from her own mind, and she’s terrified—”

“So why has it gone now?” A’Meer asked. Everyone turned to look at her. “And where? She’s only been like this since Rafe . . . since he touched me. We all felt what happened then, we all know what it was, but why would that drive the girl to distraction?”

Nobody could answer. The silence in the cave was loaded.

“Well, it scared the shit out of me,” Kosar eventually whispered.

“There was something inside her,” Trey said. “I saw the space it left, the scars on her mind. They were
huge.
”

“Something left her mind when it saw magic,” Hope said, staring at Rafe. “The boy did just what he claimed he couldn’t, and something fled Alishia’s mind.”

“You sound like you blame me,” Rafe said.

“I blame you for never believing.”

“It’s the Mages,” A’Meer said.

Heads turned. Nobody spoke, and the rain provided the counterpoint to their disbelief.

“Perhaps they got wind of what was happening, knew somehow that magic was making a return. They have their spies in the land—they have ever since they left—gathering information, feeding back news, trying to ease their eviction with stories of how the land has been failing ever since. Maybe they heard that the Red Monks were on the move. They have access to things most people do not. Hope, they have your arcane knowledge, and much,
much
more.”

“But they fled northward, way past The Spine,” Kosar said. “It would take a couple of moons to travel that far.”

“As I said, Kosar, they have access to things. Trey, did you have to run across the land just now to report the Monk to us? No. Why would the Mages’ spies have to?”

“But what . . . ?” Kosar said.

A’Meer sat up slowly, wincing as her bruised and battered body protested. “A shade,” she said. “They mastered controlling damaged shades during their reign. Who’s to say they don’t still have a certain influence?”

“But that’s magic,” Hope protested. “There
is
no magic!” She glanced at Rafe as she spoke, then looked away again.

“It doesn’t have to be magic. I received a message from you, remember?”

“That was a skull raven, that was just . . .”

“Communication,” A’Meer finished for her. “We don’t have to understand something for it to be possible. Don’t ascribe anything you don’t understand to magic.”

“But what of Alishia?” Trey asked. “What can we do for her?”

“I don’t know,” A’Meer said, shaking her head. “But we have to assume that the Mages will soon know what the thing in her head saw happen here. And as we all know, they’ll want what Rafe has for themselves.”

“Well, I don’t want it,” Rafe shouted. “They can have it, for all I care!”

“What about her?” Trey asked again. They were ignoring him. Dismissing
her.

“It’s precious, Rafe!” Hope said.

“Who are you people?” Trey asked. Alishia trembled, mumbled something incoherent. “How are you going to help—”

“Who are
you
?” Hope asked. “A fledge miner who’s obviously never been topside before, and a strange woman who may have betrayed us to the Mages.”

“She didn’t betray us! It was what was inside her.”

“Maybe she’s always had it there,” Hope said. “She’s obviously not the person you thought she was.”

“She
helped
me!”

Hope looked down at Alishia where she lay prone on the cave floor. “Let her die.”

“You bitch!” Trey felt the drug still lifting him, trying to tear him away from this scene and carry him up and away, into freedom. But he fought that yearning, looked at Alishia, denying the shred of doubt that Hope’s words had planted in his mind.

“We don’t know who she is,” Hope said. “We don’t know who sent her, why, when, and what she’s going to do next. For that matter, we don’t know
him,
either!” She jabbed her finger at Trey and advanced toward him. He stepped back, frightened of the tattoos seemingly squirming on the witch’s face, bringing her skin alive.

“We have to leave, and soon,” A’Meer said tiredly. “We can talk about this when we’re away, but I’m in no state to take on another Monk.”

“And who are you?” Hope said, turning on the injured woman. “A Shantasi! And they’re about as trustworthy as my own turds! Who’s to say you aren’t here to steal what Rafe has for your slave-kin?”

“She fought a Red Monk so you could get away!” Kosar shouted.

“And beat it?” Hope threw her hands up. “Nobody beats a Red Monk! They let her win to deceive us. They’re probably closing in even now, ready to snuff out the only bit of hope this land has seen for centuries!” She stood at Rafe’s side with her back to him, arms spread, as if to ward off any attack from the others in the cave.

“No, Hope,” Rafe said. His voice was quiet, but it carried the authority of someone far older than he. “No fighting. No arguing. We don’t know one another, but we’re here for a reason.” He closed his eyes, breathed deeply and sighed, a long, heartrending exhalation. “You’re all here for me. And though I never wished it, there’s a part of me that asks that you protect me, as well as you can.”

RAFE HAD BEEN
listening to the arguments: Hope’s paranoia, Trey’s concern for the fallen girl, Kosar the thief siding with the Shantasi warrior who had given them time to escape and almost died in the process.

I cured her,
he thought.
I touched her and drew out the poison from her blood, but through no physical process. The infected blood went nowhere. The poison simply stopped existing.
I
did that.

The rain pummeled down outside, and each impact was a whisper in his ears, more knowledge imparted and facts hacked down and burned; new, terrifying truths rising from the ashes. This simple cave, this depression in the land, was turning into a wonderful place in Rafe’s understanding. It was as if every crack in the wall, every raindrop, every blade of grass bending under a weight of water knew more than he had ever known. There was a power around him, buzzing to break out. It was terrifying but humbling; the power gave itself tentatively, holding back at every step, pleading with him,
Be careful, be careful.
He was terrified of its potential and awed by its intensity.

Now those people in the cave were looking at him, blinking in surprise at what he had said, each thinking themselves right in some small way. And in one way they
were
all right—magic was breathing again, and it was Rafe who gave it breath. But there was so much more they did not know.

“I’m weak,” Rafe said. “I’m eighteen next moon. And I’m a farm boy; I’ve no fighting experience. I’ve never
had
a fight other than with boys in the village. I’d have no idea how to defend myself against a Red Monk, intent on killing me for what’s started inside me.”