Heart of Light (58 page)

ACCEPTING THE CALL

They came tumbling in a confused group into a large
chamber that glowed and sparkled as if each of the walls were diamond encrusted. Facing them was a statue of the most beautiful woman that Kitwana had ever seen. She was sculpted so that she could be every woman of every race on Earth. Turning one way made her look white, and another African. And yet another other, she had different faces. Every woman that Kitwana had ever seen was there, in that one statue, which stood giving an impression of utter serenity.

One of its eyes was empty. From the other, a red ruby glowed—the Heart of Light.

A feeling of awe like the belief and magic of centuries gathered around it. In the air, golden motes of power flew. As soon as they approached, the glow increased, till it filled the whole chamber in warm, reddish light.

“Kitwana,” a voice said. It was a woman's voice, but it was not a sound. Rather, it echoed deeply within the head.

He looked up, wondering if everyone else was hearing it, but since everyone's head lifted at the same time, he assumed they had.

“Kitwana, I am glad you are come home, with a bride, to inherit your father's work, in the fullness of time.”

“But . . . I didn't bring a bride,” he said. “Mrs. Oldhall is Mr. Nigel Oldhall's wife.”

“Is this true?” the voice resounded.

“No,” Nigel said, almost barely a whisper. “My wife by contract, but not in truth. I would be a horrible husband to her. Emily, you are free to be happy.”

“But,” Emily said, “my father gave me to you.”

“Ah,” the avatar said. “But did you give yourself?”

“I—” Emily blushed. She looked at Nigel. “No.”

“Then you are free to bestow yourself, in any way you wish. I command it, I who am older than any of the gods of mankind.”

Emily blushed, but when Kitwana extended his hands, she put hers tentatively in his.

“You will stay here and tend these sacred caves,” the avatar said. “And learn the way to keep things as they have been throughout the millennia. And you,” a look at Nassira, “and you, daughter of the Masai, you have served me well. You may now go and help the men on their mission.”

“But my father!” Nassira said. “Our cows.”

The statue—without moving—gave the impression of smiling.

“It is your choice, Nassira. Of all here, you have the most to lose by going on with your mission. I know that among your people, girls marry young and that you are your father's only daughter.”

“I can chose?” she asked.

“Yes. You may go on with the mission or go home to your father, where you'll find a husband with whom you'll stand as equals. A worthy son-in-law for your father, your husband will never try to crush you and will always understand that you are worthy of all respect. Engai will give you cows. But if your sense of duty leads you on this adventure . . .”

“No,” Nassira said in a shout that seemed to surprise her. “No. I have served enough. Now I will live.” She hesitated. “Sayo?”

“He will be waiting. Peter Farewell.”

Peter had been standing at the back, slouching slightly as he still felt weak from his wounds. He walked forward slowly, his stride a shadow of his normal confident step. “Yes?”

“You were hurt and you hurt in turn. But I think you've learned the world is not yours to make over, and the injustice done to you, though great, is not the end of all. Your becoming a dragon is a gift, however the rest of the world views it. That gift will allow you to find the Soul of Fire for me. To find it and recover it and bring it back to me. Will you do that for me, Peter Farewell?”

“There are other men, lady,” Peter said in a low voice. “Real men, not dragons, of resource and ability. Men who've never killed in pursuit of a misguided scheme. Men who never fooled themselves into believing they can save the world.”

“Ah, but Peter, those men don't know the evil of which they're capable yet, so they cannot be trusted to know the limits of their own good. You have hit bottom, Peter Farewell, and you have skimmed the heart of darkness. Come into the light now and be my champion. Soul of Fire, too, was touched by the depths of evil. Let it, like you, come back into my light.”

There was a long silence, while the rosy glow of the ruby bathed them all. Kitwana felt as if the light were warm water pouring on abraded flesh. So was the light to the spirit and soul.

They all must have felt the same, because Emily gave a little sob beside Kitwana, and her eyes were full of tears—though she didn't look unhappy. And from behind, Peter, too, sobbed, and answered, shakily, “Yes, I will do that. Or I will try. But I am an odd champion for any holy cause.”

“I trust you, Peter Farewell. I, who has seen the millennia and men pass, have faith in you. You will make me proud. Nigel Oldhall?”

“Yes?” Nigel asked, almost surprised.

“You will take the Heart of Light. You will take it with you and keep it safe, till both jewels can be returned to me in safety. As you kept Nassira safe on your journey, you will keep this part of me safe—until both the rubies are returned to me and kept here, where I can then keep them safe.”

But,” Nigel said. “But if I do that, won't the world splinter?”

“No, because the jewel will not be out of my control. You are my champion and working for me, carrying my jewel. You can remove it because through you I'll still be holding it.”

“But I'm not strong. Or resourceful.”

“You defeated the Hyena Men's spirit-bind. You saved a child. You have killed a lion. And you brought Nassira here safely. I choose you, Nigel Oldhall.”

At the last words, the ruby dropped and floated as if on unseen currents of air to land in Nigel's hand.

THE ATTACK

As they emerged, dazed, into the light outside,
Kitwana heard his father call. “Come quickly, the soldiers are here.”

Unaware of what soldiers his father might be speaking, Kitwana rushed forward. Outside the hut he stopped.

There were little red rugs in the air, everywhere, and on the rugs were Red Coats holding powersticks. Kitwana felt the other ones come up behind him. The rugs were landing on fields and among surprised-looking cows.

“Here,” Nigel said, extending the ruby to Kitwana. “You know how, in its light, you feel the truth? Perhaps . . .”

Kitwana understood. Taking the ruby he held it high above his head, its light bathing the mountain and painting the hazy clouds that wreathed the peak a rosy red. But nothing changed and the rugs kept on floating ever nearer, till it was clear how many people were on them.

“Hundreds.” Kitwana heard his own voice. “Hundreds of them.” The hand with which he held the ruby trembled. From the corner of his eye, he saw Nassira grab a lance. Peter held tight a powerstick, found who knew where.

And atop the rug landing nearest them, with a soft thud on the field at Samson's feet, sat none other than Carew Oldhall, with a bloodred bandage around his torso.

Kitwana started to put the ruby away, and behind him Nigel exclaimed. Nassira, too, said, in a tone of dismay, “He can't be alive.” Peter Farewell drew a sharp breath as though something pained him.

“An invulnerability spell, I'm sure,” Peter said. “They eat at your soul, but they will keep you alive. And Carew has no soul.” Peter lifted his powerstick to Carew's face.

But Wamungunda stepped forward, standing in front of Carew, effectively protecting him from attack.

“What do you wish, sir?” he asked.

Carew glared at him. He pointed at Kitwana. “I want the queen of England's ruby, which was stolen by these savages.” He looked at the men behind him. “Seize it.”

Kitwana felt a sudden need to reach for a power-stick himself, but how could he kill hundreds of Red Coats with one powerstick? “You can't have the ruby,” he said tiredly. “If you take the ruby, reality will dissolve. It's not—”

“Now,” Carew said, pointing his powerstick at Kitwana. “Give it to me now, or I shall fire.”

“Just shoot me,” Nigel said, stepping from behind Kitwana. “You know it's me you wish to shoot.”

But Kitwana's father just looked serenely at Carew aiming his powerstick, then back at Kitwana, and said in his atrocious accent, “Kitwana, the man needs the ruby. Give it him?”

Kitwana blinked. This was the same father who had warned him that the world would splinter and reality stop to exist should the ruby fall into the wrong hands. He looked at Wamungunda blankly. “Just . . . give it?”

“Yes. Give it. You have it. He wants it. Give it.”

There were many things that Kitwana could say to his father, the most important of them being that Wamungunda didn't understand the world. If he gave the ruby to Carew, he'd only be ensuring that Carew killed him immediately after. Which meant Kitwana would die just ahead of the rest of the universe. And all of this would have been in vain. He couldn't let Emily die. He couldn't let the one he loved most disappear.

But all of this, all of the arguments he could make, sounded much like the arguments he'd given his father as to why a certain despot needed killing, years ago. They sounded like the arguments he'd advanced to himself about why Peter Farewell must die.

Kitwana knew two things. His father didn't want the universe to end, and his father had lived with the ruby for far longer than Kitwana could imagine. And presumably had heard the experience of those before him.

That meant that he must know something Kitwana didn't.

Those three steps toward Carew, who closed the distance between them in an impatient stride, were the longest of Kitwana's life, punctuated with questions and visceral fears.

What if Wamungunda in fact knew nothing and was only going on the reflexes of a lifetime? What if it all went wrong? What if these were the last seconds of the universe?

Just short of Carew, he looked over his shoulder at Emily and smiled at her, not sure if the smile wasn't their farewell.

And then he extended the ruby, which Carew snatched, midair.

The glow seemed to envelop Carew and the entire mountain, fiercer than ever, making every blade of grass clear in the unnatural light.

Carew smiled, a slow smile, and Kitwana closed his eyes, knowing the world was lost.

And then the light flared and flashed. Where Carew had been there was only a pile of ashes on the ground. And a mass of Red Coats were staring and slowly turning away.