The Dark Remains (60 page)

“What do you mean, Melia?” Falken said.

She moved to the window. Outside, brilliant light gleamed off gold domes. “It’s not just me. Many of the gods have been reliving their mysteries. And the experience is even more profound for them, for I am no longer a goddess. It is not just fear that is causing silence on the part of the gods. It is confusion. Many of the gods are so
lost in dreams of ancient days that they no longer answer the prayers of even their highest priests.”

“That would help to explain the chaos in the Etherion,” Lirith said, thinking over Melia’s words. “It sounds as if the priests aren’t receiving any guidance from their gods. That makes them frightened. And fear tends to make people angry and defensive.”

Melia smoothed the folds of her white shift. “I believe you’re right, dear.”

Falken let out a sound like a low growl. “So, not only is someone murdering gods, they’re also making sure none of the other gods do anything about it by casting them under some sort of spell that entangles them in dreams of the past. But who could do such things?”

Melia moved toward the bard. “I don’t know, but this has gone on quite long enough without any comment from the emperor. I don’t care whom I have to tamper with, I am getting into the First Circle to see him today.”

They found Aryn and Durge in the main room. Madam Vil had sent up a pitcher of chilled
margra
juice, and by his pink lips Durge had drunk most of it himself.

“What’s going on?” Aryn said, blue eyes startled.

Falken shot the young baroness a wolfish grin. “I believe we’re going to see the emperor.”

Minutes later they walked through the crowded streets of the Fourth Circle, making their way to the city’s main avenue. Melia moved with swift purpose, and people scrambled to get out of her way. Lirith couldn’t blame them. Better to stand in the path of a herd of wild horses, she reasoned.

“How peculiar,” Aryn said next to her.

Lirith gave the young baroness a questioning glance.

“Over there, in the fountain.”

Lirith followed Aryn’s gaze. Across the plaza, in the bubbling waters of a large, tiled fountain, an elderly man and woman splashed about, robes hiked up above their knobby knees, laughing with glee. Two small children
stood outside the fountain, arms crossed, frowns of displeasure on their round faces.

Lirith stopped to stare. “But that doesn’t make sense.”

“I know,” Aryn said with a laugh. “Shouldn’t it be the other way around? I think they’ve gotten things mixed up.”

For some reason, Aryn’s words troubled her. Where had she heard them before? Then she remembered the wine vendor, his eyes confused as he looked at the wine he had poured on the street.

I keep mixing everything up, I do
.…

Energy buzzed through Lirith. Something was going on here, something important.

A shadow touched Aryn’s brow. “Sister—what is it?”

Lirith started to answer, then movement caught her eye. Two men stood in the dim mouth of an alley. There was a flash as coins were exchanged, then one of the men stepped onto the street, a wooden cup in his hand. The man downed the contents of the cup, then let it fall from his fingers as he moved across the plaza. He leaned against a wall and slid to the ground to sit, joining a score of men and women who had done the same.

Lirith bent and snatched up the cup the man had discarded—the cup she was certain had contained a draught of the Elixir of the Past. She sniffed the residue, then coughed and tossed the cup back down. Her nose had detected cheap wine and a handful of common, bitter herbs—nothing else. There was no magic in this potion, nothing that could cause people to see visions of things that were no more.

But if that’s true, sister, then what is causing them to drift in the past?

Her eyes moved again to the wall. Like the others, the man now stared at the sun with empty eyes, flies crawling on his face, a smile on his purple-stained lips.

A touch on her arm drew Lirith’s gaze around. Aryn
wore a confused expression. However, before she could speak, Durge drew close to them.

“My ladies, Melia and Falken continue on. We should not fall behind.”

“Aryn, Durge,” Lirith said, her words urgent, “have you noticed anything odd since we arrived in Tarras?”

The knight stroked his mustaches. “You mean besides indoor plumbing and gods being slain?”

Lirith forced herself not to groan. “Yes, Durge, besides those things.”

Aryn shrugged, but after a moment Durge nodded.

“Now that you mention it, my lady, there was a boy I saw. It was in the Fourth Circle. He was crying in the street.”

“That’s not strange, Durge,” Aryn said. “Children often cry.”

The knight sighed. “Especially, I find, when I am near. But there was something odd about this child. He was wearing the robe of a priest. A robe clearly intended for a grown man.”

A chill crept up Lirith’s spine despite the balmy air. What did Durge’s story mean? She wasn’t certain, not yet, but there was one thing she did know. It wasn’t only the gods in this city who were getting tangled in the threads of time. It was their followers—the people of Tarras—as well.

And you yourself, sister
.

Again she thought of Corantha, and memories welled up, thick and dark. Lirith pushed them aside. She would not become a slave to the past, not like the people who leaned against the wall.

“Come on,” she said. “We’d better not make Melia wait for us.”

They had just reached the bard and the amber-eyed lady when Aryn spoke—in Lirith’s mind rather than with words.

We are being followed, sister
.

Lirith spun a quick thread out to the Weirding. Yes, there it was … like a shadow trailing after them.

Aryn’s voice came again.
Do you think it’s the one who tried to harm you?

Lirith probed. The presence of the man in the black robe had filled her with foreboding, but this shadow was like that other she had glimpsed from time to time on their journey south to Tarras. Its presence did not fill her with fear but rather curiosity.

She thought about it a moment. Then she brushed her hand against Durge’s and used the connection to bring her thread close to his.

Durge
.

She felt surprise and dread. Of course, the last time she had touched him like this she had stolen his memories away from him. But all she wanted to do was give him a message, and to do it without speech that could be observed or overheard. She pressed her hand harder to his.

Please, Durge. Don’t pull away. We’re being followed. Behind us and to the left. There, in the shadow behind that stack of clay jugs. Do you see it?

Lirith used the Weirding to form the image for him, then felt understanding. She released the thread and heard a sigh beside her. However, when she glanced at Durge, his face was already resolute. He had strapped his greatsword to his back today, and his fingers twitched as if eager to draw it.

Ahead, Melia and Falken turned down another street. Lirith, Aryn, and Durge followed. As soon as they rounded the corner, the Embarran moved into action. He drew his massive blade and pressed himself to the wall.

Help me, sister
, came Aryn’s voice.

At once Lirith understood what the young woman was trying to do. Aryn had the power but not the skill. Lirith reached out invisible hands, guiding the young woman’s.
Together, they wove the threads of the Weirding into a shimmering curtain before them. In a heartbeat it was done. Anyone gazing at them would see only a blank wall.

They waited. Then a figure clad in a black robe came into view, moving with stealth. When the figure was even with them, Durge stepped through the spell of illusion.

Their shadow tried to move, but the knight was too fast. His greatsword flashed, and the point came to a rest an inch from the other’s heart. Their stalker froze. Aryn and Lirith stepped forward as the last of the illusion unraveled.

“Show yourself,” Durge rumbled.

The figure hesitated, then lifted two brown hands and pushed back the hood of the robe. Lirith gazed into eyes the color of old copper coins, and her heart ceased beating.

“Greetings,
beshala
,” the man said in his deep, chiming voice, a bemused expression on his sharply handsome face.

Aryn gasped, and Durge let out a grunt.

“I recognize you,” he said, lowering his greatsword. “You’re that Mournish fellow, the one who took us to his grandmother’s wagon at Ar-tolor.”

Sareth opened his mouth to answer, but before he could Melia and Falken approached.

“There you are,” Melia said. “We haven’t time for dawdling if we’re—” Her amber eyes alighted on Sareth. “Oh, I see you were distracted.”

Falken studied Sareth’s visage. “So, who’s your Mournish friend?”

Lirith tried to speak, but now her heart seemed to have fluttered up into her throat. Beneath her gown, her skin broke out in a sweat.

“Sareth!” a woman’s voice called.

They turned, searching for the source of the voice.

“
Sareth!
”

The call was closer this time. Sareth turned around, then his eyes went wide, and he threw back the robe.

“Vani!” he called.

Finally Lirith saw her—a woman wrapped in yellow, her skin and eyes as coppery as Sareth’s, moving toward them with swift, sinuous grace. Now the sweat made Lirith’s skin clammy. The woman was absolutely beautiful. To Lirith’s dismay, the woman threw herself into Sareth’s arms, and the Mournish man caught her in a tight embrace, his eyes glowing.

“Vani,” he murmured, and the love was plain in his voice. “How can this be? How is it you are here?”

Lirith wondered the same thing. Sareth had been following them ever since Ar-tolor. Had been following
her
, she might have let herself believe. But what a foolish thought that was, for this strange woman had thrown herself at him, and he seemed not to mind it in the least.

She started to turn away, so as to not have to witness the terrible spectacle any further, when Aryn gasped and Durge let out a soft oath. Lirith followed their gazes, then amazement stunned her as well.

Following the strange woman, three figures walked toward them: a tall, blond man, another man with a bald head, and a regal woman with eyes like sun on leaves. Lirith staggered, and had the wall not been behind her, she would have fallen.

“Sister,” she said softly, but by the time she spoke the word Grace was already there, along with Travis and Beltan, all of them grinning, their expressions every bit as astonished and joyful as Lirith’s own.

“My dear ones,” Melia said, eyes shining. “You have such wonderful timing.”

It was strange, but in all their urgency to return to Eldh, Grace had never stopped to think about what it would be like when they finally did. Not that it mattered; she would never have been able to imagine feeling like this. She could not remember a time in her life when she had laughed so effortlessly, had embraced others with such abandon, or when she had felt so light and full at the same time.

The symptoms are clear, Doctor. You’re experiencing joy. Not something you’re used to, granted, but I hear it’s far from life-threatening. You might actually get used to it someday
.

She hoped not.

There was much hugging and talking. So much, in fact, that they began to win stares from passersby, and the man whom Vani had called Sareth—and who, given his sharp, dark features, was clearly the brother she had been looking for—herded them all into a shaded grotto where they could speak out of the glare of the sun and public attention.

As glad as she was to see her friends, there was something else Grace ached to embrace, something she had craved all those months on Earth. As they stepped into the green, moist air of the grotto, she let herself shut her eyes, reach out, and Touch the Weirding.

A thrill coursed through her. On Earth, it had been so worn and dirty that she had forgotten just how wondrous
it was. The threads of life wove all around her in an elaborate web, shimmering and perfect.…

No, Grace. Not perfect
.

She hesitated, then began to probe. Something was wrong—all her instincts as a doctor told her so. But what? Every thread she touched was bright, flawless. Then she understood. At the hospital, she had learned that sometimes it wasn’t what you observed, but rather what you
didn’t
. She glimpsed them—small, dark areas in the web, places where strands should have shone but which were empty instead.

Grace, are you all right?

It was Aryn’s voice, speaking in her mind. Eyes still shut, Grace could see Aryn clearly; the young woman’s outlines glowed in the pale blue light of her life thread.

I’m … I’m not sure
, Grace managed to answer.

Now Lirith was there, her outlines dimmer than Aryn’s, but warmer in color and more clearly focused.

You see it, don’t you, sister? The flaw in the Weirding
.

Grace struggled to explain.
Not exactly. Everything I sense is perfect. But it’s as if I’m not sensing everything I should be. It’s as if some of the threads of the Weirding are missing
.

She felt sadness spin outward from Lirith. And fear.

I know where they have gone, sister
.…

Lirith’s thread reached for Grace’s, connected. Images flashed through Grace’s mind, and in an instant she saw everything: the tangle in the Weirding.

Her eyes fluttered open. Now she stared at Aryn and Lirith with mundane sight. “What is it?”

Lirith sighed. “I am not certain. But I have spoken to Melia, and she believes it has to do with what is happening here in Tarras.”

Grace struggled for understanding. “But what are you talking about? What’s happening in Tarras?”

Shaken as she was, she had spoken the words loudly, and it was Falken who turned around to answer her.

“That’s a good question, Grace. You’ve returned at a dark time. I don’t know how to explain it quickly other than to say that gods have been murdered—three of them—and we’re on our way to see the emperor to do something about it.”