Healed by Hope (20 page)

54

All through the night, Jord—in the form of Sakuna the mountain eagle—followed the sparkling green trail the
Vijjaadharaa
had left. Eventually, it led to Nirodha, which lay below like a shimmering white blanket. Now it was past dawn, and she still had not caught up with Vedana, the dragon, and the little girl, who was an unwilling passenger.

In her eagle incarnation, Jord could hear Torg and Laylah, who were upon her back, conversing. Both their bodies emanated stunning amounts of heat. And Jord recognized more than ever how attuned the wizard and sorceress were to each other. When she left the Realm of Life and rejoined the
Vijjaadharaa
, she would leave such emotions behind . . . forever. These were her final moments among the living. It made her sad—yet at the same time, relieved. She was tired. Life was hard.

So deep was her muse, Jord failed to notice the great dragon’s approach. Sovaōōa appeared out of nowhere, catching Jord unawares and forcing her to swerve drastically to avoid a crushing blow. This cast Laylah and Torg from her back, and they fell several hundred cubits before striking the hard-packed snow.

But Jord was no longer in a position to help them. Their fates were their own. The Faerie’s final act would be to slay the dragon. She believed she would never see Torg or Laylah again.

Sakuna swept around to face her attacker. Hovering in midair, she breathed in massive gouts of oxygen, inflating her already large body to absurd proportions. In a matter of moments she rivaled the great dragon in size and strength. She had been no match for Bhayatupa, but Sovaōōa was not Bhayatupa. Not even close. This battle would be more evenly matched.

Sovaōōa also hovered. Despite their massive weight, dragons had the magical ability to flitter like hummingbirds. The golden creature stared at Sakuna, as if taking her measure. Then Sovaōōa spoke—and her words filled the Faerie with amazement.

“I know who you are . . . and I have no desire to fight you.”

Though her beak barely moved, Sakuna responded in a voice as loud as the dragon’s. “Nonetheless . . .”

The dragon seemed perplexed. “What have either of us to gain?”

“I know things you do not,” Sakuna said.

“Are you so certain?”

“I am certain that if the boy is to die, you must die first.”

“Who told you that, I wonder?”

“A dear friend.”

“I have no wish to fight,” Sovaōōa said again. “This . . . situation . . . is a
mess
. Please permit me the dishonor of retreat. I promise I will go somewhere deep and dark and never bother you again.”

“If you flee, I will follow.”

“Why?”

“It has been foretold that your death will benefit others.”

“You are not a demon . . . or a dragon. I do not believe you capable of killing a foe that does not fight back.”

“You will fight back . . . enough. It has been foretold.”

Sovaōōa snorted. Crimson flames burst from her nostrils, and then gouts of black smoke. The golden dragon veered to her right and swept toward the west, descending so near to the ground that the tips of her wings stroked the ice on each downstroke. Fast she flew, straight as an arrow toward the foothills of Mahaggata some twenty leagues distant. Sakuna followed, also flying low, but the Faerie—while no match for Bhayatupa in power or speed—proved more than equal to this lesser female. She swept up and over Sovaōōa, cutting off her route to freedom.

Though the dragon was thousands of times larger than a falcon, she had similar midair agility. Sovaōōa turned northward and then arched her back and shot upward, rising skyward like a boulder spewed from the maw of an erupting volcano. Sakuna matched her movements and stayed on her tail, her physically incarnated body imbued with supernatural power. The Faerie felt not just her own magic but the magic of the
Vijjaadharaa
surging through her incarnated sinews, and the power she now wielded was far greater than when she had faced Bhayatupa in the dark skies above Duccarita, the City of Thieves.

Then she had been destined to lose.

Now she was destined to win.

But not without consequences.

The dragon led her upward through the atmosphere, rising almost three leagues above the surface of Nirodha, where it was so cold the viscous liquid coating Sakuna’s eyeballs froze. The air became so thin the dragon finally was forced to level out, soaring at a speed that rivaled the fastest creature to ever fly. Long and far she fled, circling the skies of Nirodha like a golden vulture. Yet Sakuna thrived in the upper heights. The
Vijjaadharaa
dwelt in the empty spaces between the stars, and their proximity filled the Faerie with even more might. In her incarnation as a giant eagle, she came upon the dragon from behind and bit down on the end of her tail, crunching through scale, flesh, and bone. Sovaōōa squealed, spun around in midair, and spat dragon fire at Sakuna’s wings. In response, green energy arose from the eagle’s feathers, shielding her from harm.

Still, Sovaōōa was able to wrestle free from the tearing beak and dive downward like a spear heaved from above. A trail of crimson blood from the wounded tail splashed into Sakuna’s eyes, temporarily blinding her. But the Faerie didn’t need to see to be able to follow. The dragon’s essence was as hot as a fire pit.

From her open beak, Sakuna unleashed an effusion of green energy that rushed forward even faster than their frenetic descent, enveloping the great dragon in superheated flame. The combined strength of a trillion
Vijjaadharaa
joined forces with the Faerie’s own might, unleashing a torrent that might even have been powerful enough to destroy Bhayatupa. Certainly it was powerful enough to slay Sovaōōa. The golden lizard emitted a final scream, curled into a ruined ball, and then burst into multicolored fire.

Like a meteor cast from the heavens, the smoldering carcass of the great dragon fell toward the ground, trailing smoke and debris.

Sakuna followed in its wake.

With no intention of slowing down.

55

AFTER BEING THROWN from Sakuna’s back, Torg and Laylah fell through a cloud of swirling mist. As the hard-packed ice rose up to greet them, Torg attempted to encase Laylah in a ball of blue-green energy. But she was out of his reach. She would live or die of her own accord.

Torg curled into a ball and prepared for impact. When he struck the ice there was a raucous explosion. This stunned Torg for an indeterminable amount of time, but he was otherwise unharmed. His blue power—combined with the green essence of
Vijjaadharaa
that he continued to harbor—was more than enough to protect him. Still, it took him longer than he would have preferred to scramble out of the slippery crater. And when he finally stood and wiped the icy debris from his eyes, Laylah was nowhere to be seen.

Obhasa lay at his feet. Torg plucked the staff off the ice and leaned against it. Then he looked all around, his heart pounding crazily in his chest. He called Laylah’s name, but the vastness of Nirodha consumed his voice. Where could she have gone? It was inconceivable that they had become separated by such a large distance that he could not find her.

Obhasa thrummed in his hand, as if anxiously trying to tell him something. From the beginning, the ivory staff had had a mind of its own, as if it still carried the wise essence of the elephant in its dense fibers.

Torg pointed it outward like a divining rod. Instantly, the staff jerked to the right and vibrated even more violently.

On the northern horizon, it amazed Torg to see a black speck moving along the surface of the ice. Laylah had gone on without him.

He shouted her name and then started to run, his boots punching miniature craters in the crusty surface of Nirodha. Cold air seared his nostrils and lungs, but he did not slow his pace. Other than the snow giants, few two-legged beings could run faster. Surely he could catch her before too long.

However, much like certain areas of his homeland, distances in Nirodha were deceiving, and try as he might Torg could not make up ground as quickly as he would have guessed. If Laylah was aware that he was in pursuit, she didn’t show it. But she seemed to know where she was going. Torg wondered if she knew why she was going there.

What had motivated her to leave without him? Just when he thought she had returned to her former self, Laylah seemed to have turned against him. Were they so close to her child that the boy again was exerting his influence? Only this time from outside the womb?

While still at a full sprint, Torg launched a crackling bolt of power from the rounded head of Obhasa, not to harm her but to attract her attention. The bolt slashed upward and scorched the air above Laylah’s head. But as far as Torg could tell, Laylah did not turn or even slow her pace. Torg was certain she had heard and seen it. Any creature within five leagues would have been alerted. Again he felt anger rising against her. Why was she deserting him at such a critical moment? They needed to face this crisis together.

A flash of white light scorched his eyes, but it did not cause him to slow his pace. Torg ran as fast as a wolf, the great muscles of his legs made tireless by desperation. The ice at his feet sounded like pebbles crunching beneath sollerets. He screamed Laylah’s name as he ran. “Stop! Waaaaait!”

She did not, but neither was she as fast as he. Slowly, surely, her lead began to lessen. Slowly, surely, she became more than just a speck. He could see the sway of her hips beneath the black Tugarian breeches. Even now, he found her sexually attractive.

When the ice gave way, it surprised him. A huge swath collapsed beneath him, and he fell a long way amid a shower of shards. Again he was forced to sheathe his body in protective energy to avoid being injured by the impact. Even then, it knocked him senseless, and he lay still for a while before he was able to rise to his knees and then stand in the base of the newly formed chasm. The Silver Sword remained safely in the scabbard on his back, but Obhasa lay a stone’s throw away, hopping about on the ice. Torg staggered over to his staff and picked it up, hugging it to his chest as if it were his only friend in the world. Then he looked up in amazement. He had fallen at least seventy cubits, and the sides of a crevasse—sheer as the bulwarks of Nissaya—loomed in front and behind him.

Torg was trapped.

And even worse . . . he suspected that Laylah had laid the trap. The flash of white he had seen earlier had been her own magic used to weaken the ice. She had purposely sabotaged his attempt to follow her. Had she also meant to kill him?

Torg pushed that thought away as too insidious to even consider, and then he began to search for a way out of his predicament. The crevasse was only fifty cubits broad and a hundred wide, but there was not a single exit point that offered an easy escape. Somehow Torg would have to find a way to climb out, either by physical strength or magic. The ice looked too slippery to climb. Perhaps he could burn a trench through the northern wall. If so, he could walk out. It was worth a try.

Holding the shaft of his staff in both hands, Torg aimed Obhasa at the northern side and prepared to blast it with his power. He had no idea what might occur. It was possible the ice would crumble violently and collapse upon him, burying him forever. But it still seemed his quickest escape route.

When he heard the thumping noise behind him, Torg smiled and spun about, daring to hope that a remorseful Laylah had returned to rescue him. It was an absurd thought, in some ways. How could she jump down so far with such ease? But for the fraction of a second it took him to turn, he treasured his craving.

Then his smile faded, replaced by bemusement.

Someone had jumped down into the abyss, of that there was no doubt.

But it wasn’t Laylah.

Neither was it a stranger.

56

TO LAYLAH’S SURPRISE, the long fall from Sakuna’s back did not knock her unconscious. On hands and knees, she clambered out of a depression in the ice and then went in search of Torg. Soon after, she found him lying on his side in a depression of his own—with Obhasa nearby. His eyes were closed and he was motionless, but Laylah could sense that he wasn’t seriously harmed. She looked down at him with tenderness, so in love with him that it wrenched her heart. But as she began to reach for him, she froze in place and whimpered.

The boy . . . her son . . . was near. Not so near that she could see him, but close enough to feel him. His power radiated like the rays of the fierce morning sun. Laylah hesitated, her mind a maelstrom of conflicting emotions.

Was she truly prepared to murder her own son? From his birth until now, she had been ready to do just that. Ever since laying eyes on him, she had become convinced that the boy was incurably evil. Call it a mother’s intuition. But when she sensed him now, something deep and primeval opened inside her, causing her to doubt her original assessment. Was it possible that the boy could be rehabilitated? If she hugged him hard enough, loved him long enough . . . might he not . . . see the light?

For the sake of her offspring, she had to give him a chance to prove that he should be allowed to live. It would not take long for her to discern, once and for all, whether he could be salvaged. But if Torg were there with her, would this be possible? Would not the wizard be certain to react before her son could amass more power?

Without further thought, Laylah made the decision to run. All she needed was time . . . just a little time . . . alone with the boy. Of course, it was likely that Vedana also would be there. But Laylah could sense that the demon was no longer in control.

Laylah sprinted away as fast as her exhausted legs could manage. Less than a day before, she had given birth to a baby so enormous it would have killed most women. But Torg had been there to provide healing during the arduous ordeal, and in addition, mending magic had encased the entire sand dune. As a result, she now was relatively strong.

The desire to once again see her newborn son boosted her strength. And so she ran as if a devil chased her.

Eventually, she heard Torg’s cries from far behind, and it wrenched her heart. A part of her wanted nothing more than to turn back and race into his arms. But the mother in her would not permit it. How could she live with herself if she did not give her son at least one chance to prove that he was not the monster she feared he might be?

Torg’s shouts grew louder. A flash of his magic scorched the sky. He was too strong for her to outrun, and she began to realize that he would catch up before she could reach the boy. She would have to do something about it—just slow him down, not harm him. All she needed was a little extra time. Was that so much to ask?

Without breaking stride, Laylah threw her hands behind her back and unleashed a torrent of white magic that flared and then swept sideways in both directions, searing through the ice like boiling water cast onto the surface of a frozen pond. The trap was laid, and Laylah did not believe that Torg would recognize it until it was too late. It would buy her the time she needed. Later, she would apologize to him as often as was necessary to earn his forgiveness.

When the weakened ice broke beneath the Death-Knower’s weight, Laylah heard a crackling explosion. Again a desire to turn back and make sure he was all right struck her. But again her obsession to see the boy overwhelmed her. So she ran on, leaving Torg to his own devices.

“Please be all right!” she found herself screaming to Torg, but the icy winds of Nirodha devoured her voice.

For the most part the wastelands were flat, though there were occasional swells and slopes, mostly consisting of snow piled into drifts that resembled sand dunes. Laylah climbed over several before approaching a wall of ice as tall, though not as sheer, as the first wall of Kamupadana. She struggled up the side, slipping and sliding but slowly making progress. When she finally reached the crest, she gasped. The wall upon which she stood encircled a vast bowl that was far deeper than the surrounding plains. At the base of the bowl, about a league away, Laylah could see three tiny figures.

One of them had to be her son. The second, Vedana? And the third? She didn’t know.

Laylah started down the side of the wall in such a hurry that several times she lost her footing and slid precariously for dozens of cubits before smacking feet-first into lumpy outcroppings. When she finally reached the bottom, she scampered forward, her heart pounding as much from anticipation as from exertion. Though adrenaline fueled her body, she was not immune to exhaustion, especially after everything she had been through the past few months. To make matters worse, it now was past noon—and the bright sun weakened her. Since giving birth, her cyclical nature had returned to normal.

Laylah sucked in huge gulps of air as she ran. Tears streaked her cheeks and froze. The cold air burned the back of her throat. Her thighs felt swollen and numb. Yet she continued forward relentlessly, until the three specks grew larger in her vision and became recognizable as human beings.

One adult and two children, the smallest of which glowed like a blob of molten gold.

Now Laylah was near enough to discern sounds. She could hear the little girl crying, and she recognized Vedana’s raspy voice, which she had grown to despise so deeply. But the other voice was eerily high-pitched. Somehow, her son, though less than a day old, was speaking.

Laylah remembered her words to Torg on the summit of Catu: “Beloved, my baby died
before
my passing. His karma was returned to a
damaged
body.” In a nearly perfect body, Invictus had been insane. How dangerous would his son be in an imperfect one?

Now she was so near that some of the words were audible.

The demon: “Once I’m freed, we can rule together.”

Her son: “Grandmother . . . you are soooo amusing.”

The girl: “I can’t stand it . . . you are too many . . . you’re
scaring
me!”

The demon: “Quit whining, you little brat. Can’t you see I’m busy?” Then, befuddled: “
Who’s
scaring you?”

Her son: “Grandmother . . . don’t you know?”

The girl: “She’s coming back . . . I’m afraid it will
hurt
!”

Amazingly, Laylah approached within a hundred paces before Vedana and her son even noticed her. The demon seemed aghast by her arrival, but the boy began hopping up and down excitedly, spittle flying from his mouth. Then he tore something off his neck and hurled it at Vedana’s feet, where it smote the ice, sizzled, and then sank from sight.

The little girl looked up at Laylah, winced, and then shouted, “She’s coming!”

Laylah ignored her, focusing her attention instead on the demon. “You have no business here,” Laylah said coldly. “Leave us!”

This prompted more cackling from her son, but Vedana was anything but amused.

“
I
have no business here? You stupid . . . little . . .
bitch
. Of all beings that have ever existed, I am the one with business here.”

“This is between me and my son.”

Now the demon laughed. “Your son? Is that who he is? Check again, little bitch. He’s no more your son than I am. Brother is the correct word, as far as you’re concerned.”

“Leave us,” Laylah repeated. “Or I will destroy you.”

Then the boy said something that chilled Laylah’s heart. “Sister, I am so proud of you. You’ve managed to come all this way without my help. You never fail to impress.”

“I want to run away, but I can’t,” the little girl said to Laylah with a sniffle. “They won’t let me.”

“
Who
won’t let you?” Vedana screamed, from off to the side.

“I can,” her son said sanely.

Laylah looked down at him. He was almost as large as the girl, whom Laylah guessed was about ten years old. And though he was naked, he did not appear to be the slightest bit cold. Laylah focused on his brown eyes, attempting to read what lay behind them.

“You can what?” she said.

“I can run away,” he said. “But I shouldn’t need to. Help is on the way.” Then he gestured at the girl. “Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me.”

This staggered Laylah. “Invictus?”

Vedana stomped over next to her. “You’re a quick study, I’ll give you that.” Then the demon’s grandmotherly expression softened. “Maybe
together
we can control him. I don’t mind sharing the power. There’ll be plenty to go around.”

“Grandmother . . .” Laylah’s once-brother, now-son said, rolling his brown eyes.

“Does it hurt to die?” the girl whispered.

“Not as much as it hurts to have your bratty ass spanked,” Vedana snarled. “Keep your mouth shut!” Then she leaned over and whispered conspiratorially in Laylah’s ear. “Remember the amulet . . . how powerful it was and how much it hurt you? Well . . . you just now saw him cast it away, as if it were a trifle. He’s
already
grown beyond it . . . can you believe it? I’ve known creatures that have lived for thousands of years who could not have done such a thing.”

“I’ll have to go soon,” her son said to them both. “My legs aren’t very long. But I’ll be back.”

Laylah edged away from Vedana in disgust. The demon stank.

“Go where?” Laylah said to her son. “And why?”

“Ask her,” the boy said, gesturing again toward the girl.

“Does it hurt to die?” the girl repeated.

“Ema . . . Ema . . .”
the boy said in a mocking tone. “It most certainly does. But what’s a little pain between friends?”