The Pleasure of Memory (35 page)

She crested the hilltop and stopped beside the huge hatch. It squatted on a low, circular stone base that was the height of her mid-thigh. The hatch entry was a perfectly round, thick, rusting iron plate, six feet wide and split down the middle into two half-round doors, each with a squat iron ring built for a Baeldon’s ham-sized fist. It looked as solid as the earth it rested on.

For a moment, she just stood there in the night, looking and listening. At first, she was confused. Despite her strict orders, there were no damned guards at all! Then Maeryc’s voice rose up from the far side of the hill.

As she marched down the steep slope toward him, his words became clearer. She stopped a few paces above him. He was at the foot of the hill squatting before a small, stagnant pond. He had his back to the hatch. He hadn’t even sensed the taer-cael of her approach. Worse, it seemed he really was talking to himself! Fortunately, the sound of the frogs croaking was as loud as thunder down here.

“I understand,” he said. His voice sounded odd and off kilter, like he was growing hoarse. He had a long reed of snake grass in his hands and was breaking off sections of it and flipping them into the water.

She continued to watch him.

“I won’t,” he hissed, flicking another stem piece away, “No, I swear I won’t.”

Silence.

“I said I won’t. You needn’t keep pressing me on it!”

Silence.

“No! There’s no need. I can...”

She’d heard enough. She swept in and slapped him hard across the head. Maeryc fell to the side, more from the surprise of the blow than the force of it. He quickly scrambled around to face her, splashing a foot into the smelly water as he recovered. The frogs fell abruptly silent.

“Koo,” he whispered, “What are you—”

“What in the hell are you doing?” she said as loudly as she dared.

He knelt forward in the mud and rubbed at the stubbly white hair covering his head. He looked ghostly in the pale moonlight. His eyes seemed darker here, more hollow, like stones melting into dark pits. It gave her a chill she couldn’t explain. He looked more tired than he had in days. He didn’t respond to her question.

“Well?” she pressed.

“Nothing!” he said too quickly, “I mean…I mean I’m taking guard duty, what does it look like?”

She looked back up at the hatch silhouetted against the brilliant array of stars above them. “Where are the other two?” she whispered.

“I sent them to eat. Told them I’d watch while they—”

“You were doing a fine job of watching! You’re nowhere near the damned hatch. For Calina’s love, you’re not even facing it!”

“I was doing up my breeches. I had a piss.” His gaze was unflinching. Though he’d been caught off guard, he was quickly regaining composure.

“Who were you talking to, then?”

He seemed confused by the question. Then he said, “No one. I was—”

“Goddamn it, Maeryc, I heard you talking!”

He flinched at that. “I hear you just fine,” he said, scowling, “There’s no need to be sharp. I was talking to myself, I guess. All right? Reckon I’m over-tired or…or something.”

She crossed her arms. “You were talking to yourself.”

Maeryc nodded and shrugged.

Koonta studied him. She wasn’t sure what to make of this. Talking to himself? He was clearly exhausted, but that wasn’t an excuse for disobeying orders. She thought about what Mawby had said, then dropped her arms. “Do I have to stay up all night to be sure the goddamned hatch is watched properly, Saaro?”

“No, I wo—”

“Maeryc! I don’t want to see fewer than three guards on this hatch at any time.”

“I understand.”

“I mean it, Maeryc. Not less than three. Not ever. Not even long enough to piss. You have to piss, you do it where you can see each other, are you hearing me?”

“Curse the gods already,” he said without looking at her, “I said I understand. What do you want, me to write it in blood?”

“You’d better understand, Saaro. There’s a goddamned caeyl mage down there beneath that hatch. Brother or not, I won’t tolerate another breach of that order.”

She turned away and hiked back up the hill. She stopped before the hatch. The edge of the iron plate that made the half-round doors was better than two inches thick. It had to be unbelievably heavy; she doubted it could be moved at all without the proper block and tackle. It must way a half-ton or more.

“I don’t think it can be opened,” Maeryc said.

The voice startled her, and she immediately cursed herself for it. She should’ve heard him approach. It pointed at her own fatigue, her own weakness, that she could be approached without foreseeing it.

“It’s rusted shut,” he whispered, “Even the rings won’t budge.”

“My orders stand,” she said as she studied it, “That’s a Water Caeyl Mage down there. Changing matter is exactly the nature of his power.”

“I’m not convinced. It’s solid iron.”

“You think iron will stop a blue caeyl?” she snapped back, “Were you awake during your classes? It’s earth-based magic. And, unless I failed my studies, iron’s an earth element.”

“Whatever. I’m still not convinced.”

“I don’t give a good goddamn if you’re convinced or not. Send the first guard shift back. I’ll watch until they get here.”

Maeryc nodded. Then he walked around the wide hatch and began descending the hill toward the camp.

“And Maeryc?”

The warrior stopped midstride, then slowly turned to look up the hill at her. She had to fight back a shudder. His unnaturally pale face gleamed as skullishly in the starlight as the token he wore in his oteuryn.

“What is it?” he said. He didn’t sound like he cared.

“We’re moving out before dawn. I think you need to sleep. Talk to Mawby. Tell him I want you to switch duties with him.”

“I’m fine,” he said, shaking his head, “It’ll look like you’re favoring me.”

“You were talking to yourself, Maeryc. You disobeyed orders. You need to sleep.”

“I see. You’re saying you don’t trust me. You’re going to embarrass me in front of the others?”

“It’d be favoritism if I let you stand guard.”

He glanced over at the camp, and then turned back to her. “I’m second in command, Sister.”

“You were talking to yourself, Brother.”

“I wasn’t.”

“No? Who were you talking to, then? The frogs?”

His face twisted up in anger. “Don’t be an asshole, Koo.”

She was on him in an instant, tackling him without restraint. He slid head first down the hill on his back with her straddling his chest.

As they slid to a stop in the dew slickened grass, she grabbed two fistfuls of mail at his neck and reeled his face up to hers. “Be careful the liberties you take, Maeryc,” she hissed at him, “Brother or no, I won’t let this mission be compromised. Not by you, not by anyone. Do you understand me?”

His face was bloody red even in the starlight.

She twisted his mail tighter around his throat. “Do. You. Understand?”

He choked and nodded as best he could.

“You’d damned well better.” She heaved him back into the grass.

Maeryc burst into cough as she climbed off him. He quickly rolled over to his knees and turned to glare up at her as he rubbed his neck. She knew he’d be raging inside, that he’d want nothing more right now than to draw fists on her, sister or not. It was exactly what she expected and exactly what she wanted. To make him angry. To snap him back to form.

Instead, he climbed to his feet. “Am I dismissed?” he said with a cough.

She noticed again how worn he’d become, how hollowed out. She’d seen blood drinkers in Morv’grel Vox with a healthier countenance than his. He was bearing the fatigue less ably than the rest of them, and she didn’t understand why. It was always exactly the opposite. He had the stamina of a horse.

It didn’t matter, she told herself. He just needed sleep.

“You’re dismissed,” she said at last.

He nodded curtly. “By your will, sir.”

As he walked away, she watched his long shadow cast by the dying campfire dancing against the hill below her. Again, she felt a chill of foreboding. Again, she was unable to explain why.

∞

“Luren! Put out that lamp!”

The light continued.

Gods, he needed sleep. How could he sleep with the boy reading in the same room? “Put out the light!” he said again.

The boy still didn’t comply.

“Luren!” he said, louder now, “Will you put out that damned lamp? What the devil is wrong with you? Are you deaf?”

The intensity of the light grew larger. It was a brilliant red inferno that bleached the color from everything it touched.

For the love of Calina, what is he doing? It‘s the middle of the night. This is no time to be reading, not with the long hike for the Hangman’s Gloves weeds tomorrow.

“Luren?” he yelled, “What are you doing?”

Was the boy suddenly deaf? Why didn’t he answer?

“Luren! It’s too damned bright! Put out that goddamned light!”

Chance flinched and opened his eyes.

For a moment, he wasn’t sure where he was. He wasn’t in his bed. Was he on the floor?

He rolled his head to the side. A torch burned in the dirt a few feet from his head, too bright to look directly at. That was the lamp, the source of the light. He’d been dreaming.

He rolled his head back upright and covered his eyes with a forearm. A dream about Luren. How tragic it should be one of irritation. It seemed he couldn’t find any more peace in sleep than waking. Then again, what right had he to complain? Truly? What damned right? He deserved every bit of misery that found him.

Even with his arm over his eyes, the light was too bright. He needed to throw the torch out into the corridor if he had any hope of sleeping. He rolled up onto an elbow and reached for it. And as he did, he saw the true source of the light.

It was the Caeyllth Blade.

The sword stood at Beam’s feet, balanced unsupported on its tip. The eye in its hilt was glowing blindingly, throwing a beacon of crimson light down on the man that cast the entire corridor into a rosy dawn. Shards of red light spiraled out from the caeyl, winking and shimmering as they danced around it like the aura around the sun. It was both painfully beautiful and utterly terrifying.

Chance climbed up from his bedding. He pulled back tight against the wall, and he watched. The sight was like nothing he’d seen before. The light was thick, almost tangible. It completely smothered Beam. The half-breed lay back against the wall with his legs sticking out into the corridor. The light completely encased his form in a glowing red shell that was nearly opaque. It swirled across the surface of his body so that he looked more like a statue of a man made of molten red liquid than a man illuminated.

Chance considered intervening, but wasn’t at all sure he should. This was a Blood Caeyl, after all. Its power was the energy of life. It wasn’t sinister by nature, not like the Fire Caeyl. Nor was it neutral like his Water Caeyl. This was a healing energy, one used for good, for the living.

On the other hand, no one had seen a Blood Caeyl in hundreds of years. What was known about them was little more than folklore. The rare bits of documentation that still existed were little more than a few decaying notes written by mages centuries dead. What if all he knew was wrong? What if this caeyl was actually the physical incarnation of evil?

His reservations were strong, and yet he felt compelled to do something. If the phenomenon proved to be benign, as he expected, he’d never intervene again. If it proved otherwise…well, he needed to protect the half-breed, didn’t he?

He took his staff from where it leaned against the tunnel wall and walked toward the shimmering red light. He was just within a few paces of the sword when a swell of dread gripped him.

The sensation stopped him cold. He was suddenly terrified. He wanted more than anything to run, to flee into the darkness of the tunnels, to get away from here as fast as his feet could carry him. And yet, he somehow knew this strange fear was senseless, that the terror had arrived too capriciously to have any stake in reality. It was the Blood Caeyl trying to control him. It must be. It was somehow manipulating him, employing his emotions, his fears against him.

He drew a breath and steadied himself. He refused to yield to it. Instead, he summoned the will of his higher intellect and forced himself to override this visceral and irrational fear.

He urged himself a pace closer to the sword, but then stopped. He raised a hand out toward the light. His palm tingled with needles and pins. His fear deepened, became harder to resist. Within moments, his entire body was prickling. He could feel his hair floating away from his head.

Still, he made himself take another terrifying step toward the light. His skin felt fully on fire now. It was nearly unbearable. His nose and eyes were watering. Pressure grew beneath his sternum. The caeyl was trying to stop him. Yet, as he resisted, he considered that if the effects of the caeyl energy were this wretched on the outside of the light, what must it be like for Beam who lay imprisoned in the heart of it? If this was the effect brought on by close proximity to the light, the half-breed must be in utter agony. He had to stop it. He had to kick the sword away from Beam.