Lark Rising (Guardians of Tarnec) (36 page)

Erema lunged at Gharain—pushed, threw, I never knew. Gharain was simply launched against the wall, slamming into it with a sickening thud. I screamed his name, I watched him crumple to the hard floor, and I rolled back to face Erema—she was moving toward me, toward the orb; she was pulling strands of hukon from her breast, braiding it. She lashed out at me with it like a whip, throwing me back, keeping me from my amulet.

“Mine!” she screamed. And lashed with the hukon again.

I jerked away hard against the cavern wall, her threats ringing off the stone, into me, then wormed my way forward again, sobbing that Erema already stood over the orb, blocking it, weaving a new web from the lengths of hukon she pulled from her own body. I saw my palms pushing on the rough floor,
thinking inanely of my ability to calm the Earth through my hands.…

Power of hand renders dark into light
. The verse from my fate rushed through me, so similar to the rowan tree’s whisper:
Bring light into dark
. Twig’s voice called over:
Understand a moonstone’s power within the hands of a Guardian
.

But I’d lost the moonstone long back. It was probably cold and dark now, only a simple blue gem that—

A simple blue … 
Power of hand …
 I pushed myself from the floor with a wrenching groan, stumbling to stand upright—leaning into the walls and beginning to laugh as I did so, for I felt already the little buzzing beneath my palms as I pressed against the blue-tinged rock.

Erema’s head jerked up at my noise, glaring at me. “What do you do?” she hissed.

Her hands held the net she’d created, complete, ready to capture the little orb that gleamed in the corner. But my hands had bested hers, for the cave was already shimmering. I pushed palm against wall, against ceiling, against anyplace I could reach, sparking the stone, raging at her through pain and joy. “What do I do, Breeder? I bring light into dark.”

And the boundary of moonstones caught my energy and mirrored it back, and the hall burst into dazzling radiance.

Moonstones. These caves were carved from them; maybe the whole mountain was carved from them. Everywhere I pressed, light exploded, until there was such brilliance I had to squint against the glare. They were rougher; they’d not the precise clarity of the palm-sized oval that Twig had cut for me.
But however this cave was hewn, facets had been created, and they pulled a Guardian’s energy and reflected it.

“You … clever … girl …” The words hissed out of Erema as she stood stunned. Then, with venomous and turbulent violence, she began hurling her net with shrieks of need, of wrath, looking to sweep the amulet back within its folds. But the room was too brilliant now; she could not see where to throw. And if hukon burned me, then this light burned Erema. Suddenly she was no longer the image of the beautiful lady; she was whatever desire looks like when it contorts to fury—something huge and dark, of glaring eye and gnashing ferocity. And yet that was neither she, for as soon as that monstrosity appeared, it was gone, spiraling in the room like a whirlwind and exploding with a wail and a shriek. As if it turned her inside out, the bleakness within her unleashed. She was vapor, and then she was nothing. Her cloak fell to the floor in a puddle.

She’d been consumed by Chaos.

There was no time to consider her ruin. The whirlwind shuddered through the tiny room, shattering the moonstones, my eardrums. It tossed me to the floor even as the floor cracked and lurched upward, and I threw myself sideways toward Gharain, wrapping my arms around his still form, rolling us both to avoid being crushed or stabbed by shards of ceiling.

We had to move. We had to leave. I let go of Gharain, twisting up to look for the orb. It shone still, steady and true and unharmed by all the bits of rock cascading like rain from the ceiling, wedged in that corner between floor and wall. I crawled my way to it, ducking my head, dodging pieces of moonstone
as they hit the floor, their light fizzing out in streaks. And then at last, my hand wrapped around the little sphere and I pulled it to me, holding it the way I once held its image when I first learned of the forces and Balance.

The crystal orb, amulet of Life. Its pulse throbbed with a tiny burn in my palms, but it did not hurt, and for a brief moment the feel of the glowing thing alleviated the sickness of poison and gave pause to the heaving cave.

The four who alone may carry them
, I heard the king say to me of the amulets,
who alone may hold them in their grasp, and who alone can return them to their rightful place in Tarnec
.

The crystal shimmered with the threading of gold and green. There were filigrees of blue as well I could see, now that it was close to me. The elements of Life—Fire of gold, Earth of green, Water of blue, encased by the crystal to represent Air—all of them at once in this founding piece: simple and exquisite, solid and delicate, ancient and alive. Everything in the palms of my hands. And in my hands the orb glowed with renewed strength, though my own body groaned from the poison.

The ground shifted again, and I fell back against the wall. I pressed the orb briefly to my cheek and then scrabbled for my pack, wrapping the orb in Gharain’s tunic, tucking it in snugly beside the ally token, and shouldered the bag. Panting, I crawled back to Gharain.

He had not moved. Not dead,
not
dead, I knew, for I could feel his energy passing through my touch. I put my lips to his brow, gritting out, “I will help you,” though in all honesty I’d not thought how I could do so. With its sheer drop, we could
not go out the way I’d entered the mountain. I’d have to find another route.

Erema’s cloak. I reached for it, tumbling against Gharain as the floor shook violently. I refused any fear that it might be a magic cloak, for I had no other way of carrying Gharain. I spread the wide fabric and rolled and pushed him into its center. He was impossibly heavy. I might have wondered at the amulet, why it could not endow me with some mystical strength, but I’d seen how the hukon had trapped it. The orb could not expel the hukon poison from my body any more than it could break from its bonds. Everything has its weakness.

I forced myself up, gathered folds of cloth to drag Gharain from the narrow room. The silky sheen of Erema’s cloak ran smoothly on the rough floor, but it was barely enough. I panted, I strained, I twisted the fabric in my grip until my hands were chafed raw, any progress achingly slow. The more effort I made, the deeper the poison burned.

Into the large passage at last, and straight into the midst of Troths. I lashed out at their nearness, watched them jump back in fear. But they crowded me, suffocating my breath and body with their filthy stench, their violent energy. Their clawlike fingers hovered, wanting but afraid to touch. I reeked of hukon; I was both familiar and terrifying to them. I ducked my head and bore down, screaming through gritted teeth as if noise could help me forward. The Troths clung to the cloak, petting it, snuffing it, dragging us slower with their added weight. The passage heaved and threw us all sideways—I fell against two Troths and they rolled away,
singed and screeching. I could not do this alone. I had no idea where to go.

I screamed at the creatures, “Let us out of here! Show me the way!”

A hundred opaque eyes stared at me. Then the cloak was gripped and pulled from my fingers, drawn so that I was behind suddenly, stumbling after it. The creatures scurried through the dark, through the collapsing tunnels. I forced a run, barely, following the trail by sense more than sight. Along one passage, then another—the scrape of padded feet, the snorts and grunts and vile, vile smell … I clung to my pack, pushed through the pain, and scrambled after the Troths.

And then all at once I crashed into the beasts, paused and huddled at the side of a tunnel, at a dark opening. I shrieked, “Where’s Gharain—?” for the cloak was empty in their claws. But with one great move, they swept the cloak behind me, forcing me forward through the gap. I was released like a slingshot.

My scream cut short when I hit the ground hard, rolling, tumbling downward. An incline, steep and bumpy, an endless slide. Senses no longer mattered; time no longer mattered. I rolled and skidded, groaning from pain. And when I slammed hard into Gharain at the bottom, I turned into his side and braced there, wracked with agony at the poison closing in—the abuses of the mountain clenching every bone, every muscle into a taut fist of pain. I dragged my arm over Gharain, searching for his right hand. It was futile, almost silly, this attempt to charge my strength with his, his with mine.

“Help us, Gharain!” I mumbled, clawing my tunic away
from my neck, rolling to push his hand against my bared shoulder—my mark to his mark. “Rider …”

It wasn’t working. The hukon had been stabbed there; maybe it had erased our connection. I screamed at him, crushing his limp hand into my skin. He couldn’t be dead, I swore at everything around us. He couldn’t be dead.

No. There—a tiny thread of energy pulsed. I gripped his fingers harder.
The give-and-take of energy, the Balance, allowing life to …
 Hand to hand, I wrapped the length of my body against his. “Thrive,” I whispered, knowing he could not hear the word.

Sometime later I felt Gharain’s renewed warmth; I felt his breath, faint but steady. I wrenched myself to a sitting position, and then managed, somehow, to stand. A breeze was coming through the passage—the dark tingeing to something more like gray. We were nearly out of this tomb.

“We’re there, Gharain,” I gasped, and reached down with exhausted limbs to catch his wrists and tug him forward, crying, “I’m sorry,” as I scraped him across the stone flooring.

It was but a few lengths and we were outside in the early dawn, at the base of the Myr Mountains. There was grass, scrubby though it might be, grass and warmer air. I wept with the pleasure of being free and sank back down next to my Complement, nesting the pack between us, putting my arms around him with face to the sky. I’d no strength to do more.

Thought lingered and drifted. For a while I felt not much beyond two things: I’d found the amulet, and Gharain was alive. Beyond that was the poison, spreading, creeping, dulling
my senses, and killing my body. But I could breathe still, labored as it might be, and I took the breaths with as much depth as I could.

Clean air, fresh scent—the ground close to my ears humming in harmony, sun sliding higher, light warming over my body. And I was lying next to my heart’s desire.

I smiled then, for my own little victory. I’d championed against my last dream. I would go out in the arms of Gharain, holding pure the memory of his love for me—never have to exchange that love for friendship, never have to witness him give that love to someone else. It was a sweet way to die.

The earth was drumming. A thudding that shivered the dirt and stone and made the sparse grass shimmer. And then I heard the hooves, pounding across the land, swift and powerful. I forced myself to look—

I was wrong. It would not end my way.

Rune. The white horse was there—soft nose against my cheek, folding low so that I might drag Gharain across his wide back and fall over him myself. I hesitated, though, curled tightly around my desire to keep this moment close—as I had the very first time Gharain appeared in my dreams. That point of recognition, where dying turned to rescue, was stabbing through me more huge and sharp and unbearable than any poison. For with it came the recognition that I wasn’t ready to let Gharain go. So help me, I would never be ready.

And yet, my wants had never been part of this journey; if so, I’d never have embarked on it. And the journey was not
done. I had to finish; I had a task to fulfill. I slowly uncurled, let go my hope. Sacrifice—I’d not expected it to take this shape.

“Carry us to Merith,” I murmured, and Rune reared up, patient as I tugged Gharain into some haphazard position. I pulled off my pack and knotted it around Rune’s neck like a collar where it would stay safe.

Gharain’s head fell against my shoulder. He mumbled something unintelligible and let his arm fall around me.

To Merith
. I closed my eyes.

“Evie will heal you,” I whispered. “She’s beautiful, and wise. You will love her so.”

I meant to say
All will be well
, but I couldn’t.

MAGIC IS A wonderful thing. It can transform a creature, protect a village, empower an ordinary soul. It can transport a white horse with his riders swifter than a wish. It can take away pain. Sometimes.

We’d leaped the distance to Merith unaware. Amid the burned rubble of the market square, Gharain had been gently lifted from Rune’s back, as had I. We were brought to Grandmama’s cottage, which had barely missed the battle’s wrath; the herb shed and field, like many in the village, were burned flat. The Healers went to work, mending bone and muscle and drawing the poison from my blood. These were no easy tasks, skilled as Grandmama and Evie were. A day and a night and a day and several more were anxious vigils over our broken bodies. But there is magic too in the hands of Healers, and with
knowledge and patience it may be applied for the best outcome. And so it was with us.