Healed by Hope (18 page)

A blob of golden energy as hot as magma sprang from her abdomen and splashed Torg in the face. This cast him backward, and he landed on his rump. But his own blue-green magic dissolved the gold—and he picked up Obhasa and regained his footing.

Laylah remained suspended in the air, but now she squirmed like a wounded spider. The golden light that erupted from the flesh of her belly dueled with Torg’s blue-green magic and her own white magic, but the gold seemed stronger.

Torg pushed forward and again pressed his hands against her stomach, attempting to uncover the extent of the malice that thrived within her. If given enough time, he believed he could pinpoint the damage to the unborn child and repair it, healing both the boy and the mother. Torg tried to concentrate, but the cacophonic whirlwind surrounding the sorceress was too frenetic to allow it.

Then he felt a strange sensation, as if a rodent were crawling up his leg, and suddenly Burly was standing upon his shoulders. The enchanter wrapped his arms around Torg’s head from behind and pressed his small hands against Torg’s temples. Soothing warmth caressed Torg’s skull, and all went quiet in his mind. Suddenly, his concentration intensified, and he was able, psychically, to see inside Laylah’s flesh.

Where the baby lay within her womb, golden energy raged like a maelstrom. The ferocity of it stunned Torg—but that was not the worst of it. Torg saw clearly that the unborn child’s brain was damaged. Powerful yet insane, the boy squirmed and writhed within Laylah’s belly as erratically as a wounded heart.

Torg pressed the head of Obhasa against the fabric of her clothes just about her navel. Blue-green fire penetrated her flesh and worked its way inward, seeking out and then devouring the ravaged cells.

For a moment, Torg believed he might be able to heal the illness that pervaded the child. But even as his hopes increased, Laylah screamed again, and a flood of red blood blew out from between her legs and showered Torg’s face.

This horrified him, and in his confusion he heard Burly shouting, “The baby’s coming. Torg . . . you must
kill
it!”

As if in response to the enchanter’s warning, Laylah’s clothes caught fire and incinerated, exposing her now-naked body. Torg gasped. He could see the baby’s head—impossibly huge—already forcing its way out. More blood splashed on Torg. Gallons, it seemed. It was ripping Laylah apart.

Using all his skills as a healer, Torg ignored Burly’s pleas and instead concentrated his efforts on the damage being caused to Laylah’s body. Where her flesh shredded and tore, he sent beams of healing fire. But it was difficult to keep pace with the baby’s emergence. Torg could see that the boy already was as large as a toddler.

And his eyes were open—and wild.

Suddenly, the boy slipped free, reminding Torg of the way a camel gives birth. Torg would have tried to catch the newborn, but he was too busy repairing the damage to Laylah’s flesh. The boy—covered with blood and fluids—spilled onto the sand with a thud. Then he began to cry.

Still suspended in the air, Laylah came awake.

Her eyes sprang open in a panic.

Laylah stared at Torg and then twisted around to look down at the child. Try as she might, she did not seem able to put her feet on the ground and stand normally. But neither did it appear that the birth had mortally wounded her. In fact, she bore no injuries at all. With a final fantastic surge of magic, Torg had healed the damage even as it had occurred.

The newborn meant little to Torg. Laylah’s welfare was all that mattered. But Burly and Nimm came forward and knelt beside the boy, who was longer and thicker than the enchanter and at least three times as large as a Tugarian newborn. To Torg’s amazement the blood and fluids were gone, incinerated either by Torg’s magic or the child’s. The boy sat straight up, his neck already strong enough to support his large skull, and he looked around with an eerie intelligence and an expression of distaste. Burly appeared afraid to even touch him, but Nimm crawled toward him on hands and knees, with a lack of fear born of childish curiosity. Then she reached out and took one of his hands.

When she did, the boy wailed.

As if in response, the entire dune began to tremble, giving birth to tiny avalanches that tumbled down both sides.

“Torg . . . let me down,” Laylah said weakly. Then with as much strength as she could muster: “Vedana is coming . . . for
him
!”

Torg swung about and scanned the sky. The magical shield he had used to create
Thānam Vejjakammassa
remained secure. “She can’t get to us,” he said, trying to reassure her. Then he grasped Laylah’s ankles and guided her to the ground.

This time when he touched her, she was not revolted.

And finally, she was able to stand, though her legs were trembling, and she was sweating profusely. After the violent birth that had just occurred, it amazed Torg that she was even conscious.
Thānam Vejjakammassa
had kept her alive, and his magic had kept her body whole. In some ways it was as if the birth had never occurred.

Laylah dropped to her knees next to the boy and attempted to scoop him up in her arms. Torg crouched beside her to help but suddenly found that he was kneeling not on white sand but above a smoky hole that opened into a black abyss. The texture of the surface was wet and spongy, and Torg sank slowly into it. The baby already was buried to his chest, and Nimm and Burly were flopping around like fish trapped in a mud hole. Even Obhasa was being consumed.

“Someone help . . .” Laylah muttered. “
Someone
help. She’s coming . . .
They’re
coming.”

That is when the cackling began. And then a mountainous shape, golden and glowing, burst upward from the hole with the force of an eruption. Something leathery struck Torg under his chin so hard he squealed, and he tumbled halfway down the side of the dune, where he lay in a heap, too stunned to move. Strong hands grasped each of his biceps and lifted him to his feet. Aya and Gutta stood beside him, and both were pointing skyward.

“Lord, a dragon has come—from beneath the ground,” Aya shouted.

Torg looked up in amazement. A golden dragon—not nearly as large as Bhayatupa had been, but enormous nonetheless—circled the sky just beneath the roof of the blue-green dome of magic. Riding on the base of its neck was Vedana, and the demon held the baby in her arms.

Suddenly, the dragon twisted and spiraled downward. Torg was convinced it would crash into the sand in a deadly explosion of scale and gore. Instead, it slipped gracefully through the black hole and disappeared.

As if in response, the magical dome winked out.

Torg stood silently for a moment, his mouth agape, but then he climbed up the dune in search of Laylah and was relieved to find that Tugars and Vasi masters surrounded her. Laylah was crying softly but appeared to be physically intact. Torg raced to her and took her in his arms, and when he did, she relaxed and looked into his eyes, her coherence returned.

“She has him,” Laylah said.

Torg started to respond, but a nearby shriek startled him. He looked up to see Ura scrambling on the sand where the black hole had been. “Where is Nimm?” And then: “She’s gone!”

Torg realized that Ura was right—Nimm
was
gone. But the little girl wasn’t the only one missing. Burly appeared to have vanished as well.

49

WHEN THEY RE-EMERGED into a moonlit sky, the contrast was almost blinding compared to their brief sojourn through the Realm of Undeath. Burly found himself clinging to the dragon’s lumpy spine just a stone’s throw from the base of the neck, where he could see the demon sitting, her gnarled hands gripping the newborn baby. Burly looked to his left and then right, the titanic sweeps of the beast’s wings mesmerizing him. He had seen dragons before but had never been nearly so close to one. To witness such a combination of power and grace was astounding. For a while the enchanter could do nothing but gape.

As small as he was, the chances of being detected were slim. Besides, Vedana was otherwise preoccupied, shrieking and cackling in obnoxious triumph. “I did it, Sovaōōa! My plan worked to perfection.” Burly had no idea how the ancient beast was reacting to the demon’s rants. The dragon’s head was so far away it was shrouded in darkness.

For reasons Burly could not discern, the baby was resting quietly in the demon’s arms, his head cast over her shoulder as if Vedana were burping him. It amazed Burly that the newborn wasn’t throwing a fit—but whatever the reasons, it didn’t really matter. Burly was certain that the baby must be destroyed. If not, Triken would fall.

“I know you,” Burly whispered. “You are like your father, and no good can come of your existence. It is my duty to remove you from the world.”

Like an insect crawling up the back plate of a heavily armored warrior, Burly crept along the dragon’s spine. If he could get close enough before Vedana detected his presence, he could strike at the baby’s exposed head with his wand and blow the skull apart. After that, whatever happened would happen. His own demise would be well worth the cost, if it meant that the son of Invictus also perished.

The baby watched him silently. Burly could make out his face and also a portion of his abnormally long neck. Burly saw a flash—like light reflecting off a piece of jewelry—and realized that something had been wrapped around the newborn’s throat. What it might be was beyond Burly’s comprehension, but he didn’t care. Only one purpose remained to him: Vanquish the monster before it had time to grow into a creature too dangerous for anyone or anything to destroy.

Now he was only a short distance away. If he had been built like Torg, he would have been already close enough to reach out and strike. The baby continued to watch him with what resembled amusement, making no attempt to warn Vedana of his approach.

Maybe I look more like a toy than a threat,
Burly thought.
If so, he’s about to find out otherwise.

Just when it appeared Burly might be able to strike the boy up close with the full extent of his power, the dragon suddenly arched her back and scratched at her side with her left hind leg. The unexpected movement caught Burly unawares, and he was cast sideways. Only the dragon’s wide girth prevented him from falling. Burly caught hold of a golden scale, though in doing so he lost his grip on his wand and watched it tumble downward into darkness.

Burly moaned. He was not like Torg, who was dangerous whether or not he wielded Obhasa. Without his wand, Burly’s magic was weakened—and he now doubted he had the strength to kill the boy, much less do battle with the demon and dragon.

“Something’s on me . . . it itches!” he heard the dragon shriek, and then Vedana responded, “What are you talking about?
Where
?”

“On my side . . . it’s under a scale.”

At first, Burly assumed the dragon was referring to him. Only, he wasn’t under a scale and never had been. Though the rushing wind threatened to blow him into oblivion, Burly still managed to look around to see if he could see anything out of the usual. Sure enough, not ten Gillygaloo paces from where he clung to the dragon’s side, Burly saw movement. Nestled beneath a scale, with only her head exposed, was the little girl who had been standing at the crest of the dune when the dragon first appeared. Somehow she must have become entangled in the dragon as it rose from the black hole that had connected the Realm of Undeath to the Realm of Life. If the girl were discovered, she would be doomed.

Without his wand he could not kill the boy, but perhaps he could perform a good deed before his long life ended. Burly pried apart a scale and slid inside, purposely leaving his head exposed.

“It itches!” the dragon shrieked again, scratching with her hind leg like a dog trying to dislodge a tick.

Vedana secured the baby to a protruding vertebra with a length of cord and then scampered down the dragon’s side with the deftness of a spider, her glowing eyes looking this way and that. The girl seemed not to notice the demon, so Burly climbed from beneath the scale and made a lot of noise.

“Come no closer,
malina amanussa
(foul demon), or I will smite thee,” Burly shouted. “Flee back to your dark realm and haunt the living no longer.”

Vedana stopped a few paces short and stared at Burly with perplexity. “Who are you, and how came you here? Peta didn’t say anything about
this.
”

Though the demon appeared to be having no problem clinging to the dragon’s side, the rushing winds tossed Burly to-and-fro. “I am Burly Boulogne, an enchanter of great renown!” he managed to say. “Prepare to meet your doom.”

At first Vedana looked around suspiciously, as if she believed that more than just a lone and apparently weaponless Gillygaloo was there to assault her. But when she saw nothing else, she laughed wickedly.

“Little fool! Don’t you know me? I am Vedana, mother of all demons. I made the dragons
and
the Gillygaloos. All magic came from me. You are but a trifle.”

Burly couldn’t allow Vedana to sense that he was afraid. “Demons are liars—and worse! You have always taken too much credit. The Gillygaloos are far too grand to have been created by the likes of you.”

Meanwhile, the dragon was continuing her shrilled complaining. “Vedana, have you found it?”

Vedana cackled. “Relax, Sovaōōa. I have found it, though it is tiny and insignificant.”

“I don’t care what it is . . . just get it off me.”

Vedana smiled and turned back to Burly. “Sorry, but you heard the lady.”

Retaining her hold on the dragon with just her bare feet, Vedana raised her gnarled hands and assaulted Burly with sizzling bolts of crimson flame from her upraised palms. Burly was only able to use one of his hands, but he somehow managed to conjure a weak shield that deflected the bolts enough to survive the assault. Even so, he was too weak to attempt a counter-attack, and when Vedana struck again, his tiny body was torn away from the scale.

With arms and legs spread wide, Burly Boulogne plunged downward. The night swallowed him.

NIMM NEVER SAW Burly. When she turned in the direction the dragon was flying, the blasting winds caused her eyes to flood with tears, effectively blinding her. But she was able to see the fire that sprang from Vedana, and she also felt its ferocious heat. The little girl cried out and then nestled even deeper beneath the scale, flattening her body and becoming motionless. Being in confined places always had comforted her and made her sleepy, and the exotic odor of the dragon’s flesh added to the intoxication. Despite her terror, Nimm gave in to exhaustion.

But before she slept, she stared one more time at the green sparkles that emanated from her body. The sparkles did not rest. Instead, they gushed from her and formed a trail behind the dragon that was leagues in length.