Realm of Light (11 page)

The emerald blazed
inside his pocket. With his last scrap of conscious will, he grasped it, hoping
it would protect him.

But Beloth’s
visage filled his mind anew. Caelan could not command his fingers enough to
even hold his emerald. He was dying in the flames of torment, and in agony he
rolled on the ground.

Desperately he
clutched the scoured earth, digging up one handful and gripping it until his
fist shook.

Kneeling beside
him, Elandra scooped up soil and sprinkled it over him. “Oh, great mother
goddess of the earth, have mercy on us who are trapped within thy folds.
Protect us from this taint, this sore within thy side. Strengthen us, that we
may not fail thee.”

Through the
roaring flames inside his mind, Caelan heard the words of her prayer and clung
to them with desperation, although worship of the earth mother was not for men.
Yet he was born of a woman, and brother to a woman, and loved a woman. These
connections were his hope, and after a moment the agony within him eased.
Beloth’s image faded from his mind, as did the crushing pressure to speak. He
felt himself released, and with a moan, he rested his forehead on his arm and
dragged in shuddering breaths of relief.

Elandra still
knelt beside him, her hand hesitantly on his shoulder. “Can you speak?” she
asked after a moment. “Can you stand?”

They were not safe
here. He realized it had been a mistake to pause. If Beloth could sense their
presence, anything else in the realm of shadows could. They had to go.

He pushed himself
to his hands and knees, shaking off Elandra’s hand. She retreated from him, and
he staggered to his feet. Still breathing hard, he wiped his face with his arm,
then doubled over and vomited.

Only then did he
feel as though he had escaped. The weight of Beloth’s forbidden name was no
longer inside him.

“You are ill,”
Elandra said in concern. She touched his sleeve, and through the quick flow of
sevaisin
between them, he knew she had encountered Beloth herself before,
and escaped through the intervention of the earth mother.

Caelan shut his
eyes a moment. Ancient magic, natural magic ... the kind that Lea had
understood.

“We must get out
of here,” he said in a low voice.

“But where?” she
asked in despair.

He pointed at the
slope of another hill rising beyond the ruins. Noise and light came from that
direction, the only signs of life in this dead place.

“Are you certain?”
Elandra asked him.

He nodded, still
feeling clammy and weak. His sense of danger was growing stronger.

“We must hurry,”
he said. “I’ll explain later, but whatever you do, don’t look at the tomb.”

“I understand,”
she said, and her voice was stark with fear.

A rat ventured
forth from among the rocks to lap up what Caelan had spewed. Disgusted, he
turned away swiftly and led Elandra down the hill.

They skirted the
city and the mist, lacking the courage to venture into either. Gripping
Elandra’s hand tightly, Caelan
severed
himself in order to see with
truth and strode grim and fast over the blighted ground.

Occasionally a
shyriea
flew overhead, and red eyes glowed furtively at them from the
ruins. Caelan heard shrieks now and then as something fought and died. But
obviously Beloth’s powers remained limited, even here. And perhaps not all the
denizens of the realm of shadow could see Caelan while he was
severed.
Or perhaps they dared not attack someone capable of resisting their dire lord
and master.

Past the ruins at
the base of the next hill, Caelan and Elandra came to a stone amphitheater
shaped like a deep crater. Its steps descended far below to a stage lit by
flaming torches. Smoke and mist obscured what was happening down there. Caelan
glimpsed an altar and moving figures. The seats themselves were filled with an
assembly of warriors in black cloaks, helmets, and armor.

Beside him,
Elandra gasped. “The army of—”

He put his hand
swiftly across her lips, but she had already silenced herself. A low rumble
passed through the ground underfoot as though Beloth had heard her near
mistake. Neither of them must speak the god’s name.

They hurried on,
skirting the theater, keeping to the scant cover offered. The sentries standing
at the top of the theater were seemingly mesmerized by the activity on the
stage. They did not look elsewhere.

Eerie trails of
light rose into the air, mingling with the smoke. The scorched smell of dark,
forbidden magic filled Caelan’s nostrils, making him feel dizzy.

Still holding
Elandra’s hand, his sword gripped in his other fist, Caelan ran for the slope
and started picking his way up the steep, rocky trail. At the top he could see
two tall stone pillars where a strange, yellowish green light glowed brightly.
When Caelan looked at it too long, his eyes burned and watered. He knew that
was the gateway back to their world. He could see the truth beyond it, could
sense the realm of light past its barrier.

Elandra stopped
and ducked behind a large boulder, pulling him down with her.

Impatient by this
delay, he tugged at her hand, but she would not budge. “You can’t go up there,”
she whispered.

He frowned. What
had happened to her courage? They were practically to the gateway. After all
they had gone through, she could not stop now.

“Come,” he said.

“No! Don’t you see
them? Take care,” she said in warning.

His frown
deepened. What was she talking about? He saw nothing except the gateway,
shining brighter than ever. Great rays of its light shone down the hill toward
them, as though reaching out. He could see a dark figure silhouetted up there,
but nothing else.

But Elandra
herself was barely more than an aura shining beside him. He was deeply
severed,
to the point where he saw only the essence of things. But Elandra
would not warn him idly. Telling himself to listen to her, Caelan pulled
partway out of
severance
and saw a double row of flames burning along
the trail. He frowned, and came completely out of
severance.

Once again,
exhaustion sapped his strength. He found himself leaning against the boulder
for support, his spent muscles aching, his fear constricting in his chest.

And he saw the
double row of guards in black armor lining the trail ahead of them all the way
to the stone pillars. Caelan drew in a sharp breath, realizing that if Elandra
had not stopped him he would have marched right up to the guards.

He met her gaze
through the gloom. Nothing had to be said.

“What do we do?”
she whispered, her voice as soft as the wind.

Without
severance,
he felt too tired to cope. Exhaustion brought discouragement,
yet he refused to surrender to either.

“There is one
way,” he replied softly. “What we did before.”

She frowned and
pulled away from him in wordless refusal.

He tightened his
grip on her hand. “I can walk alone past the guards, and they will not see me.
But unless you are a part of me, you cannot leave this place.”

She said nothing,
but tears spilled down her cheeks, sparkling in the moonlight. The sadness in
her face gave him his answer, and in anguish he bowed his head. Why could she
not love him? Why could she not trust him? Why must she fear him so?

“Gault help me,”
she whispered, her fingers tightening on his. “I need what you offer as a fish
needs water to live. Take me into the joining. I would be in your heart again.”

It was as though
the sunlight reached into this gloomy world, spreading radiance across the
shadows. Caelan’s heart leaped inside him, but there was no time for joy. In
the distance he heard the mournful howl of a hunter.

Elandra stiffened
next to him. “Hurry,” she breathed, casting a look over her shoulder. “The
hell-hounds—”

“Don’t think of
them,” Caelan whispered. He melted into
se-vaisin,
flowing into Elandra
and feeling the brief jolt of exhilaration as she flowed into him. They shared
more completely this time, and he found it tempting to remain lost in the
wonder of such a union, yet there was too much danger for him to forget himself.

He
severed
back into the cold void, going only partway now for fear of losing her.
Elandra’s fear entwined through him, making concentration more difficult than
before.

Thus steeled,
Caelan stepped out from behind the boulder and walked forth up the trail until
he came to the guards of darkness. He passed them, close enough to reach out
and touch them, and took care to keep his pace slow and steady.

It was tempting to
run, but he dared take no chances. Caelan knew he was tiring, despite the
protection of
severance.
This time it was harder than ever to maintain
his concentration, to maintain the detachment. He could feel the pain in his
leg from his wound. He could feel the aches in his body, the need for rest and
food and water. He could feel Elandra like a weight, bearing him down. Holding
her in
severance
was a strain now, one he did not think he could endure
for very long.

But ahead stood
the gateway, like a beacon. He could almost smell the freshness of air and
light beyond it.

One of the
warriors in black turned his head as though he sensed Caelan’s presence. The
visor of his helmet was down, but through the slits glowed red, inhuman eyes.
Pale smoke curled forth from beneath the rim of his visor with every exhaled
breath.

Caelan paused,
frozen by that scrutiny. He could sense the guard questing suspiciously. For
now Caelan remained unseen, neither of one world nor the other, but somewhere
between. His gaze swept over the long row of silent grim fighters concealed in
their black cloaks and dark steel, tattered smoke rising above their heads. If
only one of them saw Caelan, it would be over.

Making a low,
guttural sound, the guard finally turned his head back toward the figure that
stood next to the gateway.

Caelan felt relief
stealing over the edges of
severance,
blurring it further. Quickly he
plunged deeper, knowing he put Elandra at risk, yet not daring to take more
chances. He hurried now past the guards, almost running past this army of hell.

His speed made
more helmeted heads turn. They could not see him, but their unease was noticed
by the Guardian. Robed and hooded in black, this figure stepped forward just as
Caelan reached the top of the hill.

A voice, deep and
monstrous, spoke a single word to him. It was not Beloth’s voice, but the sound
resonated loudly enough to make the ground shake beneath Caelan’s feet. Hot
wind lashed his face, blowing his cloak back from his shoulders. He glanced up,
and saw ancient symbols burning in the air before they faded like dying embers
and their ashes blew away.

Fear twisted
through Caelan. His control of
severance
was unraveling, and the world
seemed to tilt and shift around him before he regained mastery of himself. He
felt a stab of pain in his chest from the effort he was expending. He felt also
Elandra’s fear and exhaustion, as well as the swirling confusion in her mind.
She was unprepared for any of this; her courage was starting to fail.

Desperately Caelan
focused on the gateway, using all his strength, all his force, all his essence
to envision it opening.

The Guardian’s
voice thundered again, making the world shake. A blast of heat scorched Caelan,
making him cry out. The yellowish green light between the pillars began to dim.
As it did so, he glimpsed the world beyond. His world of sunlight and blue sky
and verdant life.

Struggling, Caelan
took yet another step forward. The pain in him grew sharp—a sawing, gouging
pain similar to what he used to feel during lessons at Rieschelhold years
before. It used to hurt to
sever.
It hurt now to maintain it. This task
was beyond his abilities, beyond his powers.

Yet he had to
accomplish it. Gathering all his reserves, he hurled everything he had, every
bit of will, every ounce of desperation at the force that held him back.

He felt the
invisible bond give way, and he shouted in triumph, taking two strides forward
before he was stopped again.

Pain burst through
his chest, and he sagged to his knees in defeat. Spent, he closed his eyes
while his breath rasped in his lungs. His chest was on fire. His mind was on
fire. He had given everything he had, more than he had. Now, he could do no
more.

Something unseen
but very powerful struck him, and the last of his
severance
crumbled.

Once again, the
world shifted and tilted around him. He opened his eyes with a gasp, only to see
nothing but darkness. Then there was a flash of light, dazzling him with such
brilliance he cringed and flung up his forearm to shield his eyes.

He was vaguely
aware of
sevaisin
fading within him too, of Elandra slipping from him,
of a tearing sense of separation. Then he saw her, white-faced and terrified,
kneeling beside him. She was breathing hard as though she had been running. Her
eyes stared past him, wide and mesmerized. Now and then a tremor ran through
her body.

He reached out to
her, and started to speak her name in reassurance. But instead he saw the
Guardian looming over them. The Guardian reached up with both gloved hands and
pushed back the hood.

Caelan stared at
the revealed face. His breath lodged in his throat; his body turned rigid and unable
to move.

Beside him,
Elandra screamed.

The face of the
Guardian was that of Beva E’non. Northern pale, drawn thin beneath the
prominent cheekbones, the mouth a thin, uncompromising line. Bleak gray eyes
that bored into Caelan’s soul.