When True Night Falls (77 page)

Too determined to be afraid—at least for the moment—Damien plunged his will into the living wood. The shock of contact was almost unbearable, and it took all his strength and all his courage not to withdraw from it, not to try to save himself. If the tree’s power had lapped at his conscousness before, now he was wholly immersed in it, and he shook body and soul as he fought to maintain control. The tree sucked him in, deep into its soul, deep into the source of its power, and even as he struggled with it he could sense the slender roots growing toward him, hairs so fine that the porous rock was hardly an obstacle, thin white fingers of death that were even now licking at the surface beneath his feet. It took a monumental effort not to think about them, not to back off and defend himself—but if he failed now, with this tree, then he might as well just give himself over to the pack and have it done with. And that knowledge gave him fresh strength, if not added courage.

He took hold of its substance, cell by cell. He insinuated his will into the very fibers of its being, in much the same way he would for a Healing. Then, instead of forcing the tree to grow, he forced it to die; instead of forcing the cells to bind tighter together, he ripped apart the very structure that bound them. It was a perfect reversal of the Healer’s art: an un-Healing, an anti-Healing, an act that he would have found wholly repulsive had he not required it for survival. And the wood responded. Cells died, choked off by his power. Cell walls shattered and gave way, loosening their hold on their neighbors. Inch by inch he worked his way through the trunk of the white tree, cell by cell by endless cell....

And then it was done. He drew back, gasping for breath, and regarded his handiwork. The damage was barely visible on the outside of the trunk, but his Worked senses could see the wound scything through the living wood like a sword cut. Good enough. Now if he could only get the thing to fall right....

“They’re coming,” Hesseth warned.

He didn’t look. He couldn’t afford to. If he couldn’t get the tree in place by the time the pack attacked, then they were all doomed, and so he refused to spare the few seconds that looking would entail. Instead he moved to the north side of the tree and gathered all his power—not in the way he had been taught to do but the way that Tarrant did it, using the raw force of the currents to split the tree apart—and he pushed, he pushed for his life, he pushed with all the force of the earth-fae behind him, forcing the tree into a fall that would place it cleanly across the chasm and then using the earth-fae to see that it didn’t break, it didn’t bounce, it didn’t skitter off to one side or the other and go plunging down into the depths. His whole body shook as the power surged through him, using his will as its focus. And then the tree began to fall. Slowly at first, as if fighting the fatal drop. Then smoothly, almost gracefully, its topmost branches sketching an arc through the air as it hurtled toward the ground. Damien found himself praying as he watched it fall, knowing that if even one of his Workings failed this might all be wasted effort.

The tree struck with a resounding crash, and all the ground around them shook. He could sense the force of the impact coalescing in the trunk, could feel it fighting to tear the wood apart. But it held. God be praised, it held. It shuddered once or twice and then settled into place, spanning the gap perfectly.

He looked back toward Hesseth—and saw movement in the distance, the glint of white light on ivory teeth, obsidian scales. “Go!” he told her. “Take the girl.” He saw that she had taken her shoes off so that her sharp claws might help her keep her balance. “Now!”

“What about you—”

He glanced at the narrow bridge, felt fear tighten its grip on his heart. It was too thin, too thin; had he ever dreamed it would support him? “If it’s going to break, it’ll do so under my weight. You get across first, then I’ll follow.” When she hesitated, he snapped at her, “Do it!”

She grabbed the girl’s wrist and ran to the edge of the chasm. There she caught the girl up and scrambled to the upper side of the trunk. For a moment Damien’s heart was in his throat as he watched, and then—as he witnessed the perfection of her rakhene balance, the anchoring power of those long, unsheathed talons—he knew she was going to make it. The rakh were designed for such excursions.

Not like humans
, he thought grimly.

With a quick glance behind him to see how close the hunters were, he bolted for the makeshift bridge. He could hear claws clattering on the hard earth as the animals rushed to close in on him, could hear their growls of hunger and exultation as they ran those last few yards to claim their dinner. And then he was up on the trunk and he was moving south, out over the chasm’s yawning mouth, trying not to look down or look back or, worst of all, think about the fact that any moment the trunk might crack and sent him plummeting down into those black, hungry depths ... the tree shook beneath his feet as the animals grabbed hold of it and he realized with sudden terror that their claws would give them perfect purchase, that they could move along the twisted trunk as easily as Hesseth had, while he dared not slip so much as an inch.
Don’t think about that. Don’t
. He felt his hand go for his sword, but he forced himself to use it for balance instead. One step and then another, quickly but oh so carefully managed. There had been a kink halfway up the tree and he glanced down long enough to locate it, taking care that it didn’t trip him. The wood was shaking beneath his feet; it seemed he could feel the animals’ hot breath on his heels. His every instinct screamed for him to draw his sword, a knife,
anything
—but he knew that if the animals attacked him here, he had no hope of survival, none at all, and so he put all his energy into speed, into care, into hoping desperately that the slender end of the trunk would bear his weight....

And then he was across. He jumped to the ground so quickly that he stumbled and fell, tangling in the tree’s upper branches as he went down. Had he been alone, that would have been the end of him, but even as one of the beasts lunged toward his leg, Hesseth met it head-on with a knife thrust that cut it open along the side of its neck, from the bottom of its jaw to the artery that coursed deep inside its flesh. Red blood spurted out onto the tree and the ground and the two of them, staining everything crimson. While Hesseth defended him against the next assailant, Damien struggled to his feet, and then his sword was drawn and he was cutting, thrusting, doing everything he could to keep the pack from completing their crossing. Sometimes one would get past him and Hesseth would have to bring it down, and once he heard her yowl shortly in pain as long claws raked her arm.

“The tree!” he yelled out. Hoping she understood. He looked desperately at the line of animals working their way across the bridge and saw a gap between two of them that was wider than most. Two animals down. He skewered the next that gained the ledge, and left its struggling, bloody form for Hesseth to dispatch. He thanked God for the length of his sword as he struck again, and for the advantage it gave him. He swung, and a black scaled body went hurtling down into the depths, screaming as it fell.

And then there was the gap in the rush of scaled bodies. Not much of one, but he knew in his gut that he wasn’t going to get a better chance than this and so he took it. Throwing all his weight against the trunk he tried to dislodge it from its position on the ledge, trusting that Hesseth would see what he was doing and get the hell out of the way. For a moment there was extra weight as the rakh-woman scrambled over to his side, and then her strength was added to his and the trunk began to move, ever so slowly at first and then sliding along the hard black rock, farther and farther—

Pain stabbed suddenly into his shoulder and the weight of a large, hot animal slammed him sideways. The leading beast had dared a leap across the abyss and now it was on him, its sharp teeth swinging around mere inches from his throat. He couldn’t bring his sword around in time but rammed its pommel into the black-scaled head again and again, trying to force it back. Hot, sour breath blasted him in the face as the animal struggled for access to his throat, where a single bite might dispatch him. As he fought, he prayed—not for himself, but for Hesseth. Prayed that she could push the tree over the edge by herself before the rest of the animals came across. Because if she couldn’t, they were doomed. That simple. No single warrior, no matter how skilled, could fight off such an invasion.

Claws raked his stomach as he slammed the sword’s pommel into the creature’s eye, and for a moment he feared that the beast would eviscerate him; then the animal spasmed and he threw it off and managed to rise up despite his wounds. A quick slash through its neck satisfied him that the beast would be no more trouble, and though his stomach was cut badly and his clothes were splattered with blood, there were no vital pieces falling out of him and all his muscles worked, which was good enough for now.

Hesseth had managed to push the tree far enough that the bulk of it was now over the chasm, and she was struggling to get the topmost part over the edge so that the whole of it would fall. The child was beside her, gamely adding her pittance of strength to the effort, and rainbow sparks glittered about both their hands as the tidal fae manifested additional force. But though the tree was moving, there was now additional danger, for the sharp angle at which it now bridged the chasm permitted the leading animals to leap directly across to Hesseth.

He got there just in time. His sword stroke was desperate, undisciplined, but the sheer force of it knocked the creature off course and sent him slamming down into the chasm wall. There was a brief pause then, which Damien used to take up a better position beside Hesseth. Only seconds more and then the bridge would be gone, and all three of them would be safe....

It happened quickly. An animal leapt straight at him, forcing him to bring up his sword between them in order to defend himself. The beast impaled itself, but sheer velocity carried it forward, and the dead weight of its flesh slammed into him with stunning force. He was thrown back against the earth with a suddenness that drove the breath from his body, and his head banged the rock so hard that for a minute his vision deserted him, and all he could see were brilliant white stars in an endless sea of blackness. Then there were figures, hazy and indistinct, and he focused on them as he tried to struggle to his feet.

One of the beasts had gotten to Hesseth and they were locked in a death-grip atop the tree trunk, teeth and claws and silver knife flashing in the sunlight. He tried to stand, to go to her, but something was wrong with his balance and he fell, he fell hard, he fell down to his knees while the world swam in circles about him, fighting to orient himself. Dimly he was aware of Hesseth getting atop the beast, of the silver knife flashing again and again as it cut downward—

And the tree broke. With a crack like thunder its trunk split in two right near Hesseth. The part which had bridged the chasm went hurtling down into its depths, taking the rest of the animals with it. The shorter end hesitated for a second, counterweighted by Hesseth and the animal atop it, and then its balance point slipped over the edge and it, too, began to slide—

“Hesseth!”

—and she saw what was coming, she tried to get free, but the beast had hold of her and the branches were tangled about her and the sheer weight of it all dragged her off her feet—“No!”

—and she reached out for something to hang onto, anything! but all her claws could find was the tree, branches and trunk all spattered with crimson, and then she went over—

—and down.

He lunged toward the lip of the chasm as she fell, trying to grab hold of her. Branches struck his face as the last limbs went sliding down into the chasm, slamming against the jagged black walls as it fell. For a moment rainbow power flashed in those lightless depths, and he thought that she had used the tidal fae to save herself. But then that was gone and there was only darkness, accompanied by the howls and the thrashing of dying beasts.

Pain was a fire in his stomach as he tried to focus on the earth-fae, enough to conjure light. His hands, slick with blood, gripped the edge of the chasm with spastic force as he spoke the key words over and over again. At last a faint light answered his summons, and as he felt the girl rush to the ledge by his side, as he heard her crying, the conjured light filled the chasm and let them see what had happened.

Bodies. Everywhere. Black, scaly bodies and broken tree limbs and pink flesh and rock ... he searched desperately for Hesseth’s body, at last found it sprawled across the viciously sharp outcropping which had stopped its fall. There was so much blood all over the place that it was impossible to see where her wounds were, but the sharp angle of her neck and the impossible bend in her back left no doubt about her fate. Grief welled up inside him with such raw force that he lost control of the light, and it faded. Into blackness. Into death.

“No!” the girl screamed. She jumped toward the chasm as if she would throw herself into it, but Damien grabbed her by the neck of her shirt and pulled her back. “No!” She struggled blindly against his confining grasp, as if somehow by doing so she was also fighting Death. Bits of rainbow light swirled about her as she cried out to Hesseth, screaming words Damien didn’t understand—rakhene words?—hysterical in her shock, in her grief. Numbly he let her rage. She was doing it for both of them, voicing the horror of this loss better than he ever could.

Hesseth. She was gone. The Wasting had killed her. She had been by his side for so long now that it seemed impossible that he would never see her again. Tears ran down his face as the loss of it—the terrible, fearsome loss of it—hit home. For a moment he envied Jenseny the freedom of childhood, which permitted her to rant and rave with total abandon; all he could do was lower his head, his whole body shaking, and let the tears come.