Empyrion I: The Search for Fierra (65 page)

“Calin,” Treet huffed, his stomach turning itself inside out. “You're going to be all right. He … he's gone.”

She opened her eyes slowly, and from her unfocused stare Treet knew that she could not see him. “Hold … me,” she whispered airily. Her larynx had been crushed, or torn apart. “S-s-o … da-ark…”

Treet drew her close, cradling her head against his chest. “You'll feel better in a moment,” he told her, hating the lie. “Just rest.”

Calin's lips parted in the gesture of a smile. “Nho,” she wheezed. “Nho … came … back.”

“That's good,” he soothed. “Now rest.”

She swallowed, pain convulsing her features. When she opened her eyes again, Treet saw the effort it had cost her. Still, she struggled to speak.

“What is it?” He put his ear to her lips.

“Ahh … I am … magician again …” She sighed, so lightly that Treet thought she had fallen asleep. When he looked he saw the empty, upward gaze, her dark eyes clouding with death.

Treet closed her eyes
and kissed Calin's forehead, smoothing her tangled hair from her face. He sat for a long time, cradling the body, rocking back and forth, oblivious to the tears streaming down his face, murmuring, incoherent in his grief.

Slowly the warmth seeped from the body; Calin's limbs grew cold, and at last Treet let her go. He laid her gently down, pulling his jacket around her to hide the thickening stain on her clothes. “I'm … Calin, I'm sorry …” he told her, lifting his face to the sky. “So sorry … I should have known … seen … protected you. I'm sorry. Forgive me, Calin.”

Time passed—how much time he did not know. But his shadow stretched long when he finally raised his head and looked around at the vacant hills, thinking, I can't leave her here like this. I have to bury her.

Where? He had no tool to dig a grave—only his bare hands, and the turf was too thick, too dense. He turned his eyes toward Dome. Then, carefully gathering the body into his arms, Treet stood and began to walk.

Night
was far gone by the time Treet reached Dome. All the muscles in his back and legs had long ago twisted into throbbing knots, but he had walked on, ignoring the pain, his senses numb, heeding only the stubborn will to put one foot in front of the other and move on.

The sun had set in a ghostly yellow fireball, tinting the Western sky briefly before night extinguished the golden glow and plunged the lonely hills into darkness. Dome loomed larger with every aching step, the conical peaks and bulging humps holding the sky's last light long after the sun had sunk beyond the hills. Now its hulking mass brooded in the dark, except where starlight glinted cold from the planes of the crystal shell.

At the foot of Dome's foremost cluster, where the fibersteel and crystal sank into the earth, Treet lay Calin's body down. The grass grew long around Dome, and the earth was soft. Treet pulled, and the stiff grass came up by the roots, dragging large, heavy clods with it. He cleared an oblong swath and dug his fingers into the soil, smelling the deep, rich scent.

The stars bled dim light over him. With nightfall a haze had crept into the upper atmosphere, casting a pall over heaven's face. With his fingers he gouged out a shallow depression, scooping the earth away in clumps. His fingernails tore and bled, but he toiled on until he had carved a rough grave beneath Dome's roots.

He slid Calin's body into the grave, knelt over it, and, placing a hand against her cold cheek one last time, said good-bye. He started crying again as he heaped dirt over the body, watching her pale, smooth flesh disappear under the dark earth. When he had finished, he replaced the grass atop the mound and stood, brushing the dirt from his hands and knees.

He turned to go, but felt that there ought to be some sort of ceremony; some words, at least, should be said. He stared at the rude mound, but could think of nothing suitable to say—until it occurred to him to recite the benediction Talus had given him.

Raising his face to the dim stars, he imagined the magician's spirit hovering nearby. He said: “Follow the light that is in you, Calin. May the Protector watch over you, the Sustainer keep you, the Comforter give you rest. Go in peace.” After a moment he added, “Infinite Father, receive this one into your care.”

He turned away and began walking around Dome's vast perimeter.

Dawn found him standing at the edge of the canopy formed by the superstructure supporting the landing field. He entered, moving among the heavy fibersteel pylons as through a dark forest of smooth, branchless trees. As he came near the place where the doors opened into Dome's Archives, he halted. The air held the retchingly sweet odor of decay, and as the light grew stronger he saw a grisly sight: two semi-decomposed corpses lying where they'd fallen a few meters from the door.

The events of that hectic day flooded back as Treet remembered their harried departure from Dome and the ensuing firefight. The moldering corpses offered a stark reminder, as had Calin's death, of the seriousness of his task.

Treet swallowed hard and moved toward the doors. He searched for and found the code lock with which he was to signal Tvrdy, but the mechanism had been blasted. Nothing remained but a scorched spot where the fibersteel had bubbled. There was no way to signal Tvrdy—if Tvrdy still lived and waited for his return, which he had begun to doubt. How would he get in?

He stepped to the great doors and saw that his entrance was provided: a third corpse lay pinched between the doors. The wretch had fallen on the grooved track, and the closing doors had crushed him. But not completely. The body had jammed the track as the doors ground shut, leaving a crack half-a-body wide.

Treet grimaced as he stepped over the corpse and wedged himself into the crevice. Darkness and panic swooped over him. His mind filled with doubt. What if Jamrog's men were waiting for him inside? What if Tvrdy had lied? What if he and his men had all been captured and executed?

He fought down the fear, and in a moment the darkness cleared and he saw himself standing poised on an imaginary line. He gritted his teeth and took one last look at the narrow band of blue sky and green hills glimpsed from under the landing platform.

“Now it begins,” he told himself. Then, squeezing through the narrow way, he disappeared inside.

• Copyright Page
  
• Other Books
  
• Title Page
  
  • Forward to the 2011 electronic edition
    
  • Epigraph
    
• The Search for Fierra
  
  • PRELUDE
    
  • ONE
    
  • TWO
    
  • THREE
    
  • FOUR
    
  • FIVE
    
  • SIX
    
  • SEVEN
    
  • EIGHT
    
  • NINE
    
  • TEN
    
  • ELEVEN
    
  • TWELVE
    
  • THIRTEEN
    
  • FOURTEEN
    
  • FIFTEEN
    
  • SIXTEEN
    
  • SEVENTEEN
    
  • EIGHTEEN
    
  • NINETEEN
    
  • TWENTY
    
  • TWENTY-ONE
    
  • TWENTY-TWO
    
  • TWENTY-THREE
    
  • TWENTY-FOUR
    
  • TWENTY-FIVE
    
  • TWENTY-SIX
    
  • TWENTY-SEVEN
    
  • TWENTY-EIGHT
    
  • TWENTY-NINE
    
  • THIRTY
    
  • THIRTY-ONE
    
  • THIRTY-TWO
    
  • THIRTY-THREE
    
  • THIRTY-FOUR
    
  • THIRTY-FIVE
    
  • THIRTY-SIX
    
  • THIRTY-SEVEN
    
  • THIRTY-EIGHT
    
  • THIRTY-NINE
    
  • FORTY
    
  • FORTY-ONE
    
  • FORTY-TWO
    
  • FORTY-THREE
    
  • FORTY-FOUR
    
  • FORTY-FIVE
    
  • FORTY-SIX
    
  • FORTY-SEVEN
    
  • FORTY-EIGHT
    
  • FORTY-NINE
    
  • FIFTY
    
  • FIFTY-ONE
    
  • FIFTY-TWO
    
  • FIFTY-THREE
    
  • FIFTY-FOUR
    
  • FIFTY-FIVE
    
  • FIFTY-SIX
    
  • FIFTY-SEVEN
    
  • FIFTY-EIGHT
    
  • FIFTY-NINE
    
  • SIXTY
    
  • SIXTY-ONE
    
  • SIXTY-TWO
    
  • SIXTY-THREE
    
  • SIXTY-FOUR
    
  • SIXTY-FIVE
    
  • SIXTY-SIX
    
  • SIXTY-SEVEN