Legacy of the Darksword (39 page)

“Two.
As I said, everyone is certain
you’re in Zith-el—”

Scylla moved away from the cavern
door, back toward us. “We should go now,” she said.
“Quickly.”

“I don’t trust him.” Mosiah was
grim. “He betrayed Joram once and caused his death—
almost
caused his
death,” he amended. “Whatever Simkin does, he does for his own amusement. Don’t
fool yourself, Eliza. He cares nothing for you,
nothing
for Joram, nothing for any of us. I have no doubt that if he thinks the Hch’nyv
would provide him a moment’s entertainment, he’d wave that orange scarf of his
and direct them to the landing site.”

Eliza turned to the bear, only to
find its eyes closed. It was gently snoring. “Simkin!” she said, imploring.

The eyes snapped open. “What? Oh,
pardon.
Must have dozed off during that long harangue.
As for me, what our cowturd-kicking friend says is absolutely true. I’m not to
be trusted. Not in the slightest.”

The black button eyes glinted.
The black-stitched mouth quirked.
“Listen to Mosiah, the
wise
Duuk-tsarith.
Now,
there’s
a trustworthy bunch. We are all
ears, my friend. I could be, if I wanted, you know—all ears, that is. What is
your
suggested plan of action?”

Mosiah’s lips tightened. He said
nothing, however. I am sure he was remembering that in that other life of ours,
it was the
Duuk-tsarith
who had betrayed us. Simkin knew this, too. I
could tell from the squint in the bear’s eye. He knew and he was laughing at
us.

Eliza made her decision. “If the
Technomancers are searching somewhere else for us, we should not pass up this
opportunity to rescue my father and Saryon. We may never have another chance.”

“It could be a trap,” Mosiah
warned. “Just as the Interrogator impersonating your mother was a trap.”

“It could be,” Eliza said calmly.
“But if so, it really doesn’t matter, does it? We’re running out of time.”

“But which time? That’s the
question,” Mosiah muttered.

Eliza hadn’t heard him. I did,
and it gave me cause for thought.

“What about the Darksword?” she
was saying. “Should we take it with us?”

“Too dangerous,” Scylla advised. “If
they capture us, at least they won’t have the Darksword. We may still be able
to use it to bargain our way out. Why not leave it here where it will be safe?”

“Out in the open?”

Scylla flashed the light around
the cavern, halted the beam. “
There’s
all these rocks
stacked up over here. We’ll hide the sword underneath them. Build a cairn over
it.”

Eliza placed the Darksword on the
cavern floor. She and Scylla gathered stones, began to build a cairn around it.
It was like watching a video rewind. I saw them build the cairn
up,
whereas only moments before, I had seen Eliza and Father
Saryon tear the cairn down. At this, my mind rebelled.

I hurried over to join Mosiah,
who was standing silent, hands folded, watching.

“Tell me what is happening!” I
signed frantically.

“Do you mean our little game of
time hopscotch? I’m not sure,” he mused, sotto voce. “It appears that there is
a time line running parallel to the one in which we now find ourselves. An
alternate time line, for in that one Joram died twenty years ago and in this
one it was Simkin, disguised as Joram, who ‘died’ at the hands of the assassin.
But why is this happening? And if Scylla and Eliza are present in both worlds,
why is it that you and I appear to be the only ones conscious of both worlds?”

“Do you know the answer?”

He shrugged. “Your guess is as
good as mine, Reuven. I am sure of one thing, though. The Hch’nyv
were
coming in that other world. They’re coming in this one.
As Her Majesty says, time is running out.”

I asked the question I had most
feared asking. “Time ran out for us in that last world, didn’t it? We were all
killed. I know, because when I try to catch a glimpse of that other life, I see
nothing anymore. I only feel a great and terrible anger at those who betrayed
us, and bitter sorrow over what will be lost.”

“You are right,” Mosiah said. “The
dragon slaughtered us. I saw you die. I saw Eliza die. I saw my own death
approaching. The one person I didn’t see, though, was Scylla,” he added. “Now,
isn’t that interesting?”

I waited for him to continue, but
he said nothing more.

I signed, “Do you think we’ve
been given another chance?”

“Either that,” Mosiah replied, “or
someone is being highly entertained by our struggles against the inevitable.”

We both looked at the bear, who
was again slumbering contentedly against the stalagmite. And it may have been
my imagination, but I thought I saw Teddy smile.

“Strike me dead. I’m rotten.”

SIMKIN,
UPON CHANGING HIMSELF INTO A TREE;
FORGING THE DARKS WORD

T
he Darksword was buried under the
cairn, a cairn that was exactly like the one I had seen before, down to the
placement of the last rock. I could not look at it without feeling a shiver
creep up from my tailbone and I was glad when we left the chamber. We moved
cautiously through the spiraling tunnel, this time going up instead of down. It
did not appear as if the Technomancers had searched the lower levels—there was
no reason why they should. To judge by the thick layer of undisturbed dust on
the smooth floor, no one had been here for perhaps as many years as the
magically shaped tunnel had been in existence. We took no chances, however, and
crept along as silently as possible, guided by the ghostly image of Simkin and
the faint eerie glow of his orange silk scarf.

Simkin’s transformation had come
about under duress. Before leaving the chamber, Mosiah had insisted on carrying
Teddy, in order to keep an eye on him.

“Absolutely not!”
Teddy was appalled at the
indignity and pleaded and bleated. Finding Mosiah proof against both the bear’s
threats and Eliza’s intercessions on his behalf, Simkin had abandoned his
stuffed self and condescended to appear before us “naked,” as he put it.

“It takes a great deal out of me,
maintaining this form, as you can see. Or can’t see,” Simkin said in gloomy
undertones as we walked through the tunnel. The orange glow from his scarf lit
the way for Mosiah and me. Scylla and Eliza came behind us, using Scylla’s
flashlight.

“Odd,” said Mosiah. “The Kij vine
finds enough magical Life to thrive. I am surprised you don’t.”

“The Kij vine,” Simkin observed, “is
a weed.”

“Precisely,” Mosiah said dryly.

“Oh, very funny.
Ha-ha and all that. According to
you, I have Life coming out my ears and I’m just frittering it away, scattering
it to the four winds in a blithe and merry dance of revelry. I’ll have you
know,” Simkin added in aggrieved tones, “that I haven’t changed clothes in
twenty years! Twenty years!”

He dabbed at his eyes with the
scarf, which was the only solid piece of him.

“Perhaps you’re using your magic
for other purposes,” Mosiah suggested.
“Such as sending us
hopscotching through time.”

“What do you take me for?” Simkin
demanded, sniffing.
“A bloody amusement park?
There
are lots of places I would be glad to send you, Mosiah, but bounding gleefully
among the nanosec-.
onds
is not one of them.

“I say!” Simkin came to a halt,
glared at us indignantly.
“Have
you been leaping the years?
Annus touristi?
And you didn’t take
mel
“

“What now?” Scylla demanded,
coming up from her position as rear guard. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing,” Mosiah said.

“Then keep moving! This is no
time to stop and have a chat!” Scylla stalked on ahead of us.

“Got you in trouble!”
Simkin said in smothered tones,
and laughing, he flitted back to walk beside Eliza and flirt with her, most
shamefully.

“An interesting point, don’t you
think?” Mosiah said to me softly. “Simkin
wasn’t
with us in that other
time. And Simkin would never throw a party that he himself didn’t attend!”

I conceded that this might be
true. Still, as I glanced behind me, watching uneasily the orange glow bob
along close to Eliza, I recalled that in each of the alternate lines of time,
Simkin had betrayed Joram. Why were we to suppose that this one would be any
different?

Except that now he would not be
betraying Joram. The treacherous kiss would be given to Joram’s daughter.

The tunnel seemed much longer
going up than coming down. By the time we neared the top, my legs ached, I was
gulping for breath, and the difficult part was only beginning.

I had pictured the top portion of
the cavern as being the same as in the alternate time, if that’s truly where
(or should I say
when!)
we had been. I soon realized I was wrong.
Rounding a bend, Scylla, in the lead, suddenly switched off her light and
jumped backward.

“Light!” she whispered. “It’s
coming from ahead!”

Now that her flashlight was
turned off, I could see the glow of another light reflected on the cavern
walls. There had been no light in the other cavern, I recalled, remembering
that Saryon had left a tinderbox and flint and a brand behind.

“What’s up there?” Mosiah asked
Simkin.

“Rock, air, water.”
Simkin waved the orange scarf. “Oh!
You want specifics! Well, let’s see.” He frowned
in
deep thought. “This
tunnel ends at the river. At the opening to the tunnel, there is a small
chamber, just off to the right as you’re facing the tunnel. Or is it the left,
as you’re facing the river? Of course, if you’re
in
the river, it’s
rather behind you and—”

“Simkin, please!” Eliza said, and
her voice quavered. “What? Sorry, dear girl.
Truly.”
Simkin looked very contrite.
“Forgot that you’re taking this
personally.
Let’s see. Where was I? In the river . . . Right. We don’t
want to go in the river. Not if it can be avoided. No need to, really. Joram
and the Father Skinhead are being held prisoner in the small chamber which is
to the right—no, make that left. . . .
Anyway, the small
chamber.
You can’t miss it.”

“No, and they won’t be able to
miss us,” Mosiah said grimly. “They’ll spot us the moment we walk into the
light. If only I had Life enough—”

“I don’t see what’s stopping you,
Enforcer. You have a catalyst right here,” Eliza said. “Father Reuven. He may
be a house catalyst and not trained to the specific needs of you warlocks, but
he would do in an emergency, I suppose.”

“Father Reuven!” Scylla chuckled.
“How funny.”
Mosiah and I did not laugh. We stared at
Eliza. She had spoken of me as if we were in that other time, using the very
same words Scylla had used in a similar situation.

“Why are you looking at me like
that? What did I say—
oh.
” Eliza blinked in confusion. “What
did
I say? And why did I say it? Father Reuven.
House catalyst.
But it sounds so natural. . . .”

Mosiah was looking at me now, his
expression thoughtful. Suddenly he thrust his black-robed arm out. “Catalyst,”
he said softly, “give me Life.”

I would have laughed. My hand
lifted to sign that I did not know how. . . . And yet, I did know how. I
remembered. I remembered the wonderful feeling as the Life flowed into me. I
remembered how to reach out for the magic with one hand while the other held
Mosiah’s arm. I was the vessel, the magic ran into me, and for that brief
moment I was blessed.

I closed my eyes and willed the
Life of Thimhallan to come to me.

At first I felt nothing, and fear
that I would fail, fail Eliza, twisted inside me. I concentrated all my effort,
praying to the Almin, pleading. . . . The Life came suddenly, in a great surge,
as if it had been pent up and was waiting only for release. The energy gave me
a severe jolt. My body tingled and burned, as if each drop of blood was a tiny
spark. The sensation was excruciatingly painful, not pleasant, as it had been
in the alternate time.

Frightened and hurting, I tried
to end it, tried to snatch my hand from Mosiah’s arm, but he refused to let me
go. The magic leapt between us in a blue arc that twined around his arm and
mine.

The flame of the arc crackled
out. I was empty, the fire replaced by a sensation of cold that left me numb
and shaking. I sank to my knees, my strength sapped.

Eliza knelt and put her arm
around me.

“Reuven, are you all right?”

I nodded, though I felt sick and
dizzy.

“Blessed Almin,” said Scylla,
awed. “I’ve never seen anything like that!”

“I doubt you ever will again,”
said Mosiah, massaging his arm. “That was the Life transference of a catalyst
to a warlock. We thought such transferences had died with the magic, for it has
not been successfully performed since the war ended. Strange,” he murmured to
himself.
“Very strange.”