Emergence (Book 2) (2 page)

Donovan smiled. "Prove your worth and your devotion to me and kill her."

"No!" The inhuman wail preceded Grumnlin into the room. He threw himself at Donovan but Teeva intercepted him. "No kill!"

Donovan wrinkled his nose at the crone's pet before pulling his attention back to the priestess. "Use whatever manner you see fit."

"Not," Grumnlin screeched. "Not, pretty witch."

"If that thing interferes, send it with her to the veil." Donovan cupped her face and brought her eyes back
to him. "Do we need to discuss this further?"

"No, Lord."

Grumnlin growled, twisting in Teeva's grip, arms flailing in an attempt to break free and reach Donovan. Teeva held up her hand. The pulse of her magic slithered under Donovan's skin and his breath caught in pleasure. The crone's creature froze, unable to move, its round, dirt-smeared face twisted into a snarl.

"Come, little man," Teeva said, and turned from Donovan to take Grumnlin's hand. "Let us walk one last time among the trees, and I will show you wonders you have never seen."

His face smoothed as Teeva guided him out of the hut with a backwards glance at Donovan. She smiled. "With the nightfall, Lord."

CHAPTER TWO

Memories returned like shards of glass swathed in swirls of red and black light. Sharp
and painful, spinning around Ciara unbidden, they haunted her even when she tried to ignore them. Which she desperately wanted to do. Even here, sheltered in Galys Auld under the watchful eyes of the elders of the Greensward, the shadows on her heart threatened to overwhelm her. She had as little desire to remember what she had done, as she did to venture near her magic. Her earth magic felt bruised and battered, as fragmented as her memories. And her other power--

Ciara shuddered.

There had been a moment in the battle with the old woman when Ciara had tasted the exhilaration of omnipotence. She had come very close to losing herself to it, and becoming exactly what Donovan and the woman wanted. Without knowing how to control Andrakaos, Ciara would not have been able to stop them from using her to do their bidding.

Had it not been for Bolin's intervention they would have succeeded. Ciara didn't know what he had done, or how, only that he had stood against all of them at one point, and she had hated him for it. She had tried to kill him. Worse than anything else, she had wanted to.

Ciara stared at the water dancing in the fountain in the center of the square, watching the light sparkle across the drops as they cascaded down. Bolin would be smart not to come back to Galys Auld, to leave Ciara there and never lay eyes on her again. Twice she had turned against him without meaning to. Both times he had been doing nothing more than trying to protect her. Though he claimed to be hard to kill, Ciara didn't want to be the one to prove him wrong.

She reached absently to her throat. Her fingers brushed only the phantom warmth of her aunt's pendant: the only keepsake
Ciara had left, and she had given it to Bolin for reasons she still couldn't fathom.

"May I join you?"

Ciara looked up, squinting against the late afternoon sun to find Nialyne standing there. The Galysian elder seemed ever near. In fact, for the first week of Ciara's recovery Nialyne never left her side. Not unless Master Healer Konly was available to take her spot. The two of them fussed over Ciara as though she were some fragile thing that might shatter in the slightest breeze.

"Of course," Ciara said, scooting over to make room for Nialyne on the bench.

"You look lost in thought," Nialyne said, lowering herself gracefully to sit beside Ciara.

"I'm beginning to remember things, though I really wish I wouldn't," Ciara said. She slid a guarded look the elder's way. They hadn't talked much about what had happened prior to Bolin bringing Ciara to the Greensward. All of their conversations had been the kind you have when you're dancing around a subject you want to avoid at all costs. "Did Bolin tell you what happened?"

"Some, but not all."

Ciara looked down at her hands, fiddling with a loose string on the cuff of her dress.

Once upon a time her life had been simple. Her days had been spent practicing the healing arts with her aunt Meriol by her side. Or helping Findley with his horses. She had made a point of staying far away from the other power she possessed because it terrified everyone around her. Then, on a whim, the Goddess had snatched it all away.

"Sometimes, talking about things helps us make sense of them," Nialyne said. "But you needn't share anything with me that you would rather not."

"I tried to kill him," Ciara said in a rush without looking up. "Bolin, that is. Did you know that? It wasn't the first time either. I think he must truly hate me. How could he not when I've caused him nothing but trouble?"

Nialyne reached over and took her hand. "Bolin does not hate you, child. You must put such thoughts from your mind. He cares for you very deeply."

Ciara snorted and Nialyne raised a delicate brow.

"I'm sorry. I just..." Ciara shook her head and stared at the fountain again. "He made a promise to my aunt to see me safe, or I'm sure he would have long since gone his own way. I'm a duty to him. Nothing more."

"He is a difficult man to know," Nialyne said. "Even as a child he kept himself closed to all but a few, and those few had to work to get in."

"You've known him a long time then?"

"Oh yes," Nialyne said, and smiled at the memory. "He was raised here, brought to me as a babe-in-arms."

"Oh." Ciara tugged at her lower lip with her teeth. "Soooo..." She dragged the word out, debating the wisdom of asking the question that had been begging an answer she wouldn't get from Bolin. "Is the Goddess really his mother?"

"It is rumored."

Ciara frowned. "Now you sound just like him."

"I didn't mean to," Nialyne said. "Bolin was brought here by the sisters of the Isle. They never said who his parents were, though they never disputed the claims that the Sciath na Duinne were her children. I was asked to raise him, train him in the proper use of his gift, and prepare him for service to the Emperor."

"The old woman we fought...she called him nephew."

"Did she?" Nialyne appeared to consider that for a moment. "Then I suppose that is our answer."

Ciara's face crinkled in thought. "So you're saying that old woman is the Goddess's sister? How is any of that even possible? I mean, the Goddess is--you know." Ciara twirled a hand in the air. "Out there somewhere."

"The Goddess did not always reside in the ethereal. For many centuries she walked this earth as any of us do. Granted, that was ages past, long before even the days of the Elder Priests." Nialyne gave Ciara a curious look. "I would have thought one of your calling would have been instructed in the lore of the Goddess."

"I'm sure my mother and aunt tried to instruct me," Ciara said. "But I was never a very good student. I probably heard the tales a hundred times but very little of it has stuck with me. I always had other things I wanted to be doing, like helping Findley with the horses."

"And being angry at the Goddess?"

Ciara bit the inside of her cheek.
"Did Bolin tell you that?"

"He did not need to. For the first several days you were in my care your thoughts wandered and you gave voice to them frequently," Nialyne said, and though she may have disapproved of what those thoughts were, it didn't come
through in her tone. "Konly and I spent some time guiding you from the veil. Much of what Bolin left unsaid in his telling of events, we found there. You were lost in such a tangle that for a time we feared we would not be able to bring you back."

"I think there was a time I didn't want to come back," Ciara said, her voice soft.

"We feared as much," Nialyne said. "Bolin in particular. I do not think I have ever seen him so troubled. He had already pushed himself beyond his limits, and he doesn't make the best patient as it is. For a time we worried we would lose you both."

"I'm sorry I caused you so much trouble. I wish there was something I could do to make it up to you."

"Heal, child. That is all we ask." Nialyne reached up and tucked a strand of Ciara's hair back into its wayward braid. "If you feel up to it, you could give Konly a hand. She has missed having another healer to work beside her."

"And then what? I mean, I don't know what I'm supposed to do now, or where I'm supposed to go. I don't even have a home to go back to." The words caught in Ciara's throat. "Everything is such a mess."

"You cannot undo what is done," Nialyne said. "I do not know what the future holds for you, but I will do all I can to help you along your path. You have great power, child. These things we cannot always choose for ourselves, but we must be willing to face the responsibility they bring. When you are ready, I will teach you how to use your power wisely and not to fear it."

Ciara couldn't contain the shudder that ran through her at the thought.

Nialyne squeezed her hand. "When you are ready. Not before."

***

Bolin wrinkled his nose and sniffed. A half moon cycle had passed since their battle with the crone, and he doubted he would find much in the ruins of her cavern. He held onto a fool's hope of finding at least one body. The crone's or Donovan's, didn't much matter. Both would have made life almost wonderful. None kept it far too complicated.

How any of them had made it out of that chamber alive still remained a mystery. Granted, Ciara lacked the training and focus her power required, but they had all underestimated her. She could have killed them without much effort had she known how. Thank the Goddess Ciara had turned the bulk of her rage and frustration on the crone. If nothing else, that one should be greatly weakened. Which made Bolin's priority finding and killing her before
she could regain her strength.

As for Donovan--Ciara had protected him. Well, in fairness, Ciara's
power
had protected him. Donovan, loose in the world, would be a bigger threat than the crone. He would never stop hunting Ciara. By now he had to know Bolin had taken her to the Greensward. Her safety there would last only until Donovan found a way to successfully breach the borders.

Good luck to him on that venture. The wards that protected Galys Auld were a natural thing. Rising up out of the earth, they defined the Greensward's borders and guarded it against intruders. No one could pass through them without their knowledge and consent, and the knowledge and consent of the Galysian elders as well. The elders of Galys Auld were born to their position, powerful mages all, their magic tied to the land. Bolin, having spent a great deal of his youth in the Greensward, had never once been challenged by the wards. Not until he had taken Ciara over the border.

He marveled they had allowed her to pass at all. Perhaps Nialyne had a hand in it. Or maybe the wards took pity on Ciara because, like Bolin, she had been one step away from death and in the company of a Galysian scouting party. Still, they had snapped shut around Ciara as soon as she crossed the border. It sent a ripple of dissent through the Galysian elders. Nialyne, bless her soul, had been able to calm them until Bolin regained enough strength to face the council himself. That took the better part of three days. Ciara had come closer to killing him than she would ever know.

Bolin shoved a leaning timber onto its side with his foot. The swamp had already begun to reclaim the skeleton of the crone's chamber. Some of the larger pieces had sunk into the soft ground, while clinging moss and vines began to work at the rest. There were no clues to be found among the piles of debris as to the fate of his enemies. He walked the circumference of the ruins one more time, opening himself to any stray currents of magic that still lingered. As he made for the remains of the archway leading out a strange sensation flitted past. A vague whiff of odd magic th
at tickled his subconscious like the odor of some foreign food he had tasted once but couldn't quite recall. It brought Bolin to a sudden halt. He tried focusing on it but found the more attention he paid it, the harder it became to pinpoint. As he moved forward down the short corridor leading out into the swamp, the trace reappeared, then faded.

Sandeen flicked an ear back to acknowledge his rider's approach, but something in the trees had the grey stallion's attention. Even when Bolin gathered up the reins, the horse didn't turn to look at him. Bolin stroked the deep chest as he followed Sandeen's gaze. The stallion radiated curiosity, not worry, but Bolin and Sandeen didn't always agree on what warranted concern.

Leaving the horse, Bolin skirted a tangled mass of blackened roots that had long ago failed to keep purchase in the soft ground. He slipped through the tall grass with barely a sound, making a wide circle out from his original position. Bolin eased a dagger out of its sheath, muscles tense, every sense alert. Grumbling and snorting reached his ears before he laid eyes on his quarry, perched on a rock, knees hugged to his chest.

"Hello, Grumnlin," Bolin said softly from behind him.

The little man shrieked in surprise and tumbled off the rock. He spun to face Bolin, eyes narrowed, brandishing a short knife that looked more like a letter opener than a weapon. "You."

"Put that away before you hurt yourself," Bolin said.

Grumnlin gestured at the naked blade in Bolin's hand. "You first."