Night Season (10 page)

Human magic was usually more translucent than that of those of the Blood, and more uniform in color. Power rose in a silvery fog from Ruben Brooks, sprinkled with sparks of black and violet. Rare colors, those. The silver was no surprise, of course, being the color usually associated with all types of clairvoyance, and Brooks was a strong precog. But the other colors…

Speculate later.

Cullen's eyebrows rose when he saw McClosky from Commerce. Magic hugged the man's ribs like wet moss, turgid and still—a Gift dammed up and denied.

Lily was the exception to the Technicolor display. Her magic looked much as it always did—like ice, colorless but reflecting hints of the colors around her. Beside her, Cynna sat with her long legs folded, the protection spell a fine net overlaying her own magic. Which danced. Like a lively sunrise, it sparkled in the pale palette of Air. Except…

Cullen stared. Over her stomach—her womb—a haze of lavender rested, cool and quiescent. He'd never seen magic coming from a developing fetus this early, but he'd never tried looking after in-blooding the elements. The energy was diffuse, the color pale, but it was separate. It didn't dance with her other colors.

Lavender, a soft purple. The color of those of the Blood.

"Cullen," Cynna said, "you breathing?"

No. He'd lost the balance. Flame licked at his fingers, roots twined up his calves, and his lungs sloshed with ocean, leaving him light-headed. Panic flickered at the edge of thought already dimming. He needed to
move
.

No
. Air. Fire's first impulse was action, but it was breath he needed—to pull in air physically and locate the energy of Air inside him. It was there. He knew it was, however little he felt it. He dragged in a slow breath, belly-deep and ragged.

The next one came more smoothly as the sparkle of Air returned to his blood and Earth subsided back into bone and sinew. By the third breath Water had seeped back into his soft tissue, clearing his lungs. He continued to heed his breath, settling into the balance once more, and walked to the chalked circle and the glyph he'd been directed to use as entry.

Then Cullen reached for the ley line beneath his feet.

He couldn't see it. Too much earth lay between him and that wild current. He'd be working as blind as any other practitioner, reaching by guess and intention. But he felt it, oh, he did—keenly now, with the elements in him, a prickling beneath the skin and a drawing in his gut, power calling to power. His penis dipped like a dowsing rod.

He pointed his athame at the ground. "
Venio
!"

The word was a focus, a tool for his intention and will, which commanded the power to
come
. There were no real words of power—or rather, all words held power, but most practitioners preferred to use a language other than their everyday tongue. Still, it should be a language they knew. To match will with words, one must
feel
the words.

Cullen spoke to power in Latin, and power answered. Quickly.

It rolled up, up, through the earth faster than he'd expected. Faster than the thrice-damned gnome had warned him to expect, and stronger. The whole damned ley line answered his call.

No time to kill the little worm. No time even to hurry—if he lost the balance now, he'd die. So he spoke slowly, even softly, pronouncing each word with the fullest force of intention, quite as if his life depended on it:

"
Res aqua repleo
—

Res terra repano
—

Res aero respiro
—

Res ignus retorqueo.

Resero! Resero! Resero!"

[[[
Res
is the usual salutation for the elements; it means everything from matter, relation, or condition, to the world or the universe. Thus, Cullen addresses the condition of Water or universal Water, not a specific puddle. The rest of the verse translates roughly as "Water, fill this; Earth, lay up here; Air, here exhale; Fire, twist and alter this—unblock, unclose, begin!"]]]

With the final repetition, Cullen touched the blade of his knife to the glyph the gnome had directed him to use. And all hell rolled up and smashed through him.

He didn't channel the entire ley line. No corporeal being could. But the power roared past him—firestorm, earthquake, tornado, flood—following the bend of his body, the aim of his blade. There was no way, no possibility of balancing this much raw energy.

The backwash was a bitch.

His muscles spasmed. He couldn't stop them, couldn't keep his blade touching the entry glyph. Power spilled—into him, the spell, the room.

Cullen collapsed to the floor, sinews shrieking, body convulsing. Vision stopped. There was only blackness, pain, and the roaring in his bones. He screamed—maybe not out loud—and Fire answered.
There, go there
—! He found the entry glyph again and stabbed it with his blade, and the portion of the wild energy that was Fire fled down the knife into the spell.

Then Earth:
Yes, go where you're told, yes. Repano
, he told it, and the rest of the earth magic shouldered past him to sink into the glyphs. He called Water and it answered, a turquoise flood rushing into the spell.

But Air—fractious, rebellious Air—was beyond him. It rushed around the room, lifting shrieks from the others, tossing hair and clothes, dancing itself into a vortex. He gulped it down and his muscles spasmed again, but weakly. His heart spasmed, too, a hard, hot knot in his chest as his body tried to give up. Which he would not allow. He got an elbow under him, grunted, pushed up—

"Goddammit!" Cynna screamed, on her feet now, her hair whipping around in the interior gale as she pointed at the entry glyph. "Go! Do as you're told!"

Air swirled around her once, twice, knocking her back a step. And did as it was told.

The silence shocked Cullen. He hurt. His right knee was the worst, almost enough to drown out the other aches. Apparently he'd wrenched it while flopping around like an electrocuted fish. His muscles felt like jelly. Slowly he turned his head to look at the spell.

"Cullen?" Cynna was halfway across the circle.

He waved her back. "Hold on a minute."

The brilliant colors of Earth, Air, Fire, and Water whipped around the gnome's spell circle, the lines of power weaving around each other so quickly he couldn't find the pattern… yet it seemed familiar.

"Are we in danger?" Brooks asked, as if the question held only mild interest for him.

"No, no," said the gnome, standing. "Danger over."

"You deceived us," Marilyn Wright snapped. "You said the spell was safe."

"Should have been safe, but the Cullen Seabourne called up whole entire ley line. I not knowing how he is doing this. But spell is excellent—swallowed all magic very good." He spread his skinny little arms wide. "Danger over."

As the power zipped around, twining in and out of itself, the colors were blending. Blurring. Turning back into the piercing, near-solid intensity of node energy, which wasn't possible. Magic did not return to its raw state, but this was. "Something's wrong."

"Not wrong," the gnome said happily. "Is working well. Whole entire ley line is much power, very thank you.
Kirelashidah
!"

And the power shook itself and melted out from the spell, ribbons shooting out to lock with other ribbons in a pattern he suddenly recognized. "Son of a bitch!" Cullen shoved to his feet, staggering as his banged-up knee tried to buckle on him. "Get out, get out! It's a gate! It's a fucking gate!"

The gnome shouted something unintelligible. Cullen slashed at the nearest power ribbon with his athame, sundering it. The loose end whipped around like a fire hose jetting water, and the center of the floor vanished.

So did the altar. And Cynna, who'd been standing next to it.

Cullen howled, gathering himself to leap across the widening chasm and kill the gnome. The clay-colored man tackled him.

The guy was strong and agile enough to crack his fist against Cullen's jaw as they fell. It cleared his head wonderfully. Cullen, too, was strong and agile—and lupus, and very fast, though with a bum knee and jellied muscles. Not good for jumping ten feet or more.

He belted the guy in the head with the heel of his hand.

Cullen's hand damned near exploded, but he'd knocked his opponent dizzy. A shot rang out, then another, hugely loud in the enclosed space. He shoved the man off him in time to see tusk-woman toss Steve Timms into the churning brightness that used to be a floor.

The gate was still growing, and he was kitten-weak from his battle with the loose ley line magic. He couldn't handle the diamond's energy, not in this state. With a flick of his hand he extinguished the candles. His spell circle evaporated.

The room spun for a second as Cullen reabsorbed the magic—Fire energy, and his. His vision cleared in time for him to see the two Secret Service agents, who'd responded to the chaos by flinging open the door and drawing their weapons. "Get them out!" he shouted "Don't shoot! Just get everyone out of here!"

Tusk-woman dropped Brooks into the bright chasm, and one of the idiots fired anyway.

The lights went out.

In the darkness someone screamed. "Back up!" he called to those who couldn't, like him, see the shining disaster spreading toward them. "Get your backs to the wall! The gate should stop at the glyphs!"

Large, strong hands seized his shoulders. The scent told him whose hands. He snarled and drove his fist where her stomach ought to be, Connected.

It hurt like hell, since that was the hand he'd bashed against her partner's thick skull. She bloody ignored the blow. He didn't even get an
oof
out of her, and she was wounded, too. He smelled the blood and knew Steve must have hit her at least once with that gun of his before she tossed him into the hole in reality.

Didn't seem to inconvenience her. She shoved him, and oh, Lady, but this woman could have arm-wrestled a demon.

Good thing he'd latched onto her arms. His legs went out from under him, but he held on with all the strength he had, and together they stumbled to the edge of the boiling chasm. Her own strength saved him—she jerked back before they could fall in, dragging him with her.

Cullen tried to trip her. She slapped him, and while his ears were ringing, she pried loose one of his hands. He used the other one to jab at her eye. She grunted and lost her grip, so he dropped to the floor and rolled, colliding with a pair of legs.

He knew that scent, too. "Get back, dammit!" he yelled at Lily. He staggered to his feet and made sure she did as she was told for once, dragging her past the roiling lines that marked the boundary of the gnome's spell. He pushed her against the wall. "Stay!"

Having done all he could, he turned, took four running steps and dived into the screaming whiteness of the gate.

CHAPTER TEN

Cynna fell through darkness. She fell and fell, for miles and years. Or maybe it was only seconds, and the darkness wasn't dark at all. Her senses refused to record what she was falling through.

Then it was air, bitter cold, rushing past.

And then she landed.

Her breath
whoofed
out. She lay spread-eagled on something hard and cold. Nothing hurt, she realized in surprise. Overhead… that was way too many stars, whole beaming constellations of them in a sky like spilled ink. Except for right above her, where there was only black…

A black that someone was falling out of.

Gan landed with
a plop
near Cynna's feet and immediately jumped upright. "Better get out of the way. The others will be—no, wait. It's moving! It's not supposed to move!"

"What?" Cynna sat up slowly. Snow, she realized, looking around. She'd landed in snow. And that was about all she saw at first—snow glistening in a star-washed night. A great big rock very near… the altar. The altar had fallen through the floor, just like her. And behind it, she saw when she craned her head around, were a whole bunch of dark, scary trees, their branches dusted with white. A forest.

Another body fell. This one landed about twenty feet away.

"The gate, stupid." Gan propped her hands on her hips, glaring at the sky. "The gate's moving."

Right. A gate. She'd fallen through a gate. It hadn't felt like her previous experience of gates, but what did she know? Maybe there were lots of types of gates and each type offered a different experience.

Cynna steered for the body—which belonged to McClosky, she saw as he groaned and sat up, looking as dazed as she'd felt. The snow wasn't deep, no more than a couple inches, but she was glad she'd worn her boots. "You okay?" she asked.

McClosky just shook his head. Another body fell, this one thirty feet off. The gate was moving away from the trees, she realized. Thank God. It would be bad to come down on top of them.

Timms hit and rolled like he'd practiced falling from the sky a dozen times, coming up on his feet with his weapon clutched in his hand and his eyes wild.

"Don't shoot!" she called, starting toward him.

He was making a slow turn. "Where the hell are we?"

"Not hell. Edge, I think."

"Of course it's Edge," Gan grumbled. "Though with the way that sorcerer messed with things, I don't know—"

"Sorcerer?" Timms yelped. "The gnome is a sorcerer?"

"Not the gnome." Cynna looked at Gan. "That's a secret, too."

"Did you bring the chocolate?"

Thirty feet away, Ruben fell from the sky.

Too high
. That's all she could think, panic shooting her into a run as he landed. The gate had moved higher as well as farther away, and Ruben had landed hard. He was fragile, physically. She skidded to a stop and dropped to her knees beside him. "Ruben." He lay mostly on his side, eyes closed, one arm pinned beneath him. She put a hand to this throat, hunting for a pulse. "Ruben, dammit—"

He blinked. "I fell."

"Yeah, it was a gate. That goddammed gnome made a gate, not a shield." She found his pulse. Obviously he was alive, but his heartbeat seemed too fast and not all that strong. "Where are you hurt?"

"My wrist is broken. I suspect the left tibia is, also."

His voice sounded so much as always—calm, matter-of-fact—she almost burst into tears.

"It's moving higher," Gan said. "That's not going to work out well. Humans break too easily."

"What?" She looked up. A small, dark heap marred the snow at least a hundred yards away. "Is that someone? Who is it? Timms—"

"I'm on it." He took off running.

McClosky had made it to his feet. He looked like he might throw up. "We're in another realm."

"Yeah. You okay? I mean, are you hurt?"

He just shook his head, not moving. Shock, Cynna guessed, but she couldn't deal with him now. She turned her attention back to Ruben. "It's your left wrist? And your leg, possibly. I don't know what to do. Cullen would. He's claims to have gone to med school, so he'll be able to set it if… when he gets here."

"You might support my wrist while helping me roll onto my back."

She did, and he hissed in pain, his face turning the color of the snow. She started to shrug out of her coat. "You can't lie on that cold snow. That can't be good."

"The tibia," he said in a thin but steady voice, "is certainly broken."

"It's Ms. Wright," Timms called. "She's unconscious. Heartbeat's thready. I don't want to move her. Could be a neck injury."

Shit! "McClosky, come here." She had to say his name again before he heard, but he did start moving. "I need to get my coat under Ruben. It will give him some protection from the cold and damp. His leg's broken. So's his wrist. I need you to help me move him."

Being given a task steadied him. "Yes. Yes, he shouldn't get cold. I'll take his shoulders."

No more bodies fell while they shifted Ruben onto the slight protection the leather offered. Fear kept trying to get her attention.
Not now
, Cynna told it. "I'm going to see what I can do for Ms. Wright," she told McClosky. "Stay with Ruben." She took off.

The snow wasn't deep, but it was slippery. She jogged carefully, wondering what in the world she could do. She wasn't a healer. She could, with difficulty, make fire, but she needed something to burn. And heat would just melt the snow, leaving them lying in mud.

God, but she hoped—oh, another one fell! And this one was naked. And male.

Cynna switched direction. "Gan!" she called. "Go curl up next to Ms. Wright!"

"Why?"

"You're supposed to help us, aren't you? She needs your body heat."

"Humans are so puny." But the little former demon did start trudging in that direction.

Cullen was nearly a football field away. Before she was halfway there, another body fell, even farther off. It didn't look like Lily, but with only moon and stars for light, she couldn't be sure. Then two more came through together—one large, one small. They fell on the other side of a slight rise, so she couldn't see them once they landed.

Cullen pushed up to his hands and knees, his head hanging. "Shit."

Relief pounded through her. "Where are you hurt?" she called.

"Everywhere." But he made it to his feet., though he swayed a bit. "You're all right?"

Winded, mostly. Snow was as bad as sand for running. She nodded.

"No bleeding?" he made that more demand than question.

Oh—right. A little jolt went through her as she realized what he meant. Falls weren't good for pregnant women, were they?

She came to a stop in front of him. "No bleeding. I'm fine. The gate was closer to the ground when I fell through. Ruben's back there. Broken leg and wrist. McClosky's with him—he wasn't hurt. Timms and Gan are with Ms. Wright. They're okay. She's unconscious. I don't know if Lily—"

"I got her away from the gate, I think." Cullen was grimly pleased about that. He looked up, scanning the sky. "Speaking of which, it's gone. Where's that damned gnome?"

"I think he fell on the other side of that rise. One them was really small, anyway. And someone fell just this side of it. I need to see if—"

"I'll check on them. Here, hold on to this for me."

He handed her his ring, the one with the charged diamond. "Why?"

"Because I'm bloody freezing. I want fur." He reached up to unfasten the chain at his neck.

"No!"

Cullen scowled. "What do you mean, no?"

"You want to go rip out the gnome's throat, and it won't help. We're going to need him. He got us here, and he can damned well get us back. And I need you to have hands. I can't set Ruben's leg, and Ms. Wright is hurt and I don't know what to do for her, and…" She stopped, gulped, and shivered. "I know you're cold, but I… I need help. If you could wait a little longer, I could use some help."

The scowl lingered. He flicked a glance at the sky, where a half moon hung near the horizon, and muttered, "She sings loudly here. All right. I can be cold awhile. But you—where's your coat?"

"Ruben's lying on it. I don't want him going into shock or something. Though maybe I should… I haven't done anything for Ms. Wright. I sent Timms to check on her, and Gan to keep her warm, but—"

Cullen put his arms around her. "Shut up, Cynna."

"We can't cuddle now."

"Warmer this way. Okay, Brooks is in charge, but he's injured, so it falls on you until he's well enough to take over. Does—"

"What does all that matter?" It was warmer this way. A lot warmer. "You're heating up."

"I can do it for a few minutes, take the chill off. Cynna—survival by committee doesn't work out well. Someone has to be boss. Rule's got the innate authority to pull that off with humans. I don't, so it's up to you. Does Steve have his gun?"

"He landed with it out and ready to fire. How's your foot?"

"Achy, but okay. Give me back my ring. I'll go see if… guess I won't have to," he said, setting her aside. "Here they come."

Cynna saw two figures topping the rise. Both were too tall to be the gnome. Both seemed to be carrying something, but it was too dark for her to see what. "Is that Tash and… what is his name? Somebody of Wen."

"Not somebody of Wen," one of the figures said loud and clear. "Wen of Ekiba."

Cynna stared. "That's English. He spoke English."

"He's got a charm translating for him." Cullen raised his voice slightly. "Don't you, Wen of Ekiba? You've been pretending only the gnome understood us, but that was bullshit."

"Pretending?" sputtered a high-pitched voice. "Is pretending you, Cullen Seabourne! You pretending being lupus! Not telling us you being sorcerer! Only sorcerer calls up whole entire ley line, then cuts through part of spell. You messing ups everythings!"

Wen said something that wasn't in English, but Cynna got the gist. He was pissed, and not at them.

"My ring," Cullen said quietly.

Cynna handed it to him. She could make out the figures pretty clearly now. The big one was definitely Tash. Her size, her sword, and her tusks made her hard to mistake. Wen was carrying the gnome and something else… oh. She swallowed so she wouldn't start giggling. Her denim tote was slung over his shoulder, and it looked almost as funny there as it had in Mika's mouth.

"Cynna," Timms called, "Ms. Wright's not doing so well."

That wiped out any silliness. She raised her voice. "We've got injured. You kidnapped us. You'd better have some plan to take care of our wounded. We need shelter, too."

"Shelter is at City, where we would be if sorcerer fool not messing ups—"

"Who is injured?" The light, fluting voice cutting across the gnome's tirade came from Tash. She spoke much better English than the gnome. In fact, she sounded like a TV news anchor—no accent at all. "I am not a true healer, but I have some skill."

The gnome squawked something in his language.

"You will heal," the big woman said calmly. They were twenty feet away now, close enough for Cynna to see a dark stain on the woman's shoulder. Blood. "Humans don't heal well on their own. Who do you want me to help?"

Cynna chewed on her lip briefly. It could be a trick, but she didn't see why they'd bother. They'd gone to a good deal of trouble to get a bunch of humans here. Why turn around and kill them? "We've got two injured, but Marilyn Wright is in the worst shape. She's over there—" she pointed "—with Gan and Timms. What about you? You're bleeding."

"The wound is not significant. Wen clouded the man's reflexes. I will see what I can do for Marilyn Wright." She set off at an easy lope.

"Steve!" Cullen called. "She's going to help! Don't shoot her."

Good point. Cynna looked at him. "Maybe you can go see about Ruben. He thought it was his tibia—that's the calf bone, right? And his left wrist. I guess we'll need splints, but I'd like you to have a look."

He was watching Wen and the gnome. "I'll stay with you for now."

"Okay, I didn't make myself clear. That wasn't a suggestion. You wanted me to be in charge. If you won't do what I say, the others won't, either."

Cullen looked at her, his expression unreadable. He glanced at Wen, almost upon them now, his hands full of gnome and bag. "All right. If your ladyship pleases, though, you might come over and try putting your pain-block spell on him."

Cynna hadn't thought of that. She had a spell that blocked pain completely. Problem was, it also stopped healing, so it couldn't be used for most things. "Okay, but I don't know if he can learn it that fast. He's not a caster."

"It's worth a try. Getting a bone set hurts."

Cullen moved away just as Wen stopped in front of Cynna. She put her hands on her hips, glaring at the gnome. "For a change, you're going to try telling the truth. I want to know why you tricked us—about the spell, about speaking English, about pretty much everything."

"Not everythings." The gnome didn't look so hot. His legs dangled limply and his face was pasty. "Daniel Weaver is being in Edge, Cynna Weaver. He is fifteenth assistant to Chancellor, very important position—highest status human in the City. The City where we is supposed to be. Also true we is needing you to Find something. Also needing the sensitive." His face spasmed in what might have been anger or pain. "She did not come through gate?"

"Nope."

He heaved a sigh. "We in big mess. I tell you more truths, but not now. Is not safe here. We supposed to be arriving in the City, but the Seabourne's messing change this. We not being certain where exactly we is, but too much away from river. Dangerous place. Wen has call his people. They arriving maybe three, four hours. I telling you all truths then."

Suddenly Wen stiffened. "Dondredii," he hissed. He said it again, louder, calling out to Tash in a string of non-English words. Then he looked at Cynna.

"Run!" Wen told her as he broke into a run himself, the little counselor grunting with pain at the jolting—but not complaining. "Get your people together! The dondredii come!"