Wings of Wrath (31 page)

There was no easy way up.

Finally the Souleater settled herself opposite a section which seemed more navigable than most, and tension rippled along her flanks as she prepared herself for motion. Then, with a force that sent a shower of rocks flying in all directions, she leaped upward, struggling to use her wings to add every possible inch of height. It was a desperate move, and Siderea sensed that it might indeed have worked if imprisonment hadn't weakened the creature so badly. As it was, the Souleater didn't make it to the top. Her talons grabbed for the edge of the ravine and struck dirt just beneath it. If the ground had been more solid, perhaps that might have been good enough for her to work her way up. But as Siderea watched in horror, the earth started to crumble from underneath the great claws, sending a warning cascade of dirt and rocks plummeting down into the ravine. For a moment she thought the Souleater would go down with it, and she backed instinctively out of the way, lest she crush Siderea when she fell. Then, in a seeming act of desperation, the creature whipped her long tail over the edge of the ravine, shifted her weight, and attempted to lodge one of her feet against a narrow stone ledge off to her left side. Siderea held her breath as she watched. She could hear a crack as the tail impacted something, then it pulled taut, providing a counterbalance. The earth stopped crumbling then, as the Souleater's weight shifted to its new foothold; the sharp talons of her other foot had a precious second in which to dig deeply into the ravine wall for purchase . . . and then, with a final effort, the creature was over the top and out of sight.

Siderea fell to her knees on the rock pile, exhausted. She felt as if she had been the one struggling to climb the wall, and was only slowly coming to realize that her own ascent had yet to begin. But then the long, sinuous tail snaked back down into the ravine, heading toward her. She did not draw away from it. Pythonlike, it found her by touch and began to wrap itself around her, smooth coils kneading her flesh as it shifted its grip, tightening itself about her torso. Even when she saw the sharp blades at the end of the tail and felt them pass right by her face, she felt no fear. Perhaps she trusted the creature now. Or perhaps she was simply too exhausted to feel fear. One thing was certain: whatever primitive strength had sustained her while the other Souleaters were challenging her, it was gone now.

And then the muscular tail pulled Siderea off her feet, dragging her upward. She was scraped against the wall of the chasm, jolting her damaged arm; she winced in pain but did not cry out. Then she was pulled up and over the edge and dragged onto a patch of sunlit earth beyond. The snake coils finally relaxed, releasing her. She did not have the strength to crawl out of their embrace, but simply lay where she had been deposited, resting against the dirt-encrusted hide, gasping for breath. She could feel the creature's pulse against her cheek, and it seemed she could hear her powerful heartbeat in the distance, slowing now that the terrible exertion was over. But that must have just been an illusion. In actual fact her senses were fading now, and she could barely hear a thing. She knew why. The last sparks of her soulfire were sputtering out and a strange chill was seeping outward from her heart. The sunlight was growing dim as her vision began to fail her. This mad day's trials had finally exhausted the last of her life-essence.

I saved you,
she thought to the creature, despairing.
Will you not do the same for me?

A final shudder of pain coursed through her body as she shut her eyes. Her limbs seemed to be distant things, no longer her own, but impersonal objects, controlled by another. She flexed the fingers on her good hand, trying to banish the strange feeling, but it persisted. She tried to flex her injured wing but the sharp edges of the fractured struts cut into the flesh surrounding them, making the slightest move agony. The wing had to be laid out properly, she knew that. It would heal if it were laid out properly, and not otherwise. Gritting her teeth, she struggled to stretch out the part of it which had not been wholly shattered, and finally, keening softly in pain, she managed to get perhaps half of it spread out upon the earth. No more was possible.

Siderea opened her eyes. For a small eternity she just lay there, unmoving, her cheek resting against the creature's tail, feeling the warmth of the sunlight course through her flesh. The
creature
's flesh. Was this some strange dream that preceded death? If not . . . then what? She tried to rise up and, to her amazement, was able to do so. Her wounded arm still ached, but the pain was no longer blinding; she swayed for a moment on her feet, then they were steady beneath her. Far steadier than they should have been, given her condition. The sunlit world seemed bright again. Her senses were functioning.

She was healing.

She took one step, and then two, and at last, when she was sure that she was steady enough to walk, began to work her way around the Souleater's body. She could see where one set of wings had been splayed out across the earth; shimmering highlights ran up and down their length each time the creature drew in a breath. They were not like the wings of the other Souleaters, but longer and fuller, with veils of shimmering membrane trailing down from their lower edges. Fairy wings, she thought, as she watched them shimmer cobalt and violet in the sunlight. Strangely, madly beautiful.

The creature turned her head to follow her, black eyes watching as she made her way around to the other side. There . . . there was the damage. One of the main struts, a slender bone that swept out from the creature's shoulder to the outermost tip of its wing had been fractured in at least a dozen places. Razor-edged shards of bone had cut into the tender membrane, leaving parts of it in tatters; the whole of that wing was crusted with blood. The Souleater had paid a heavy price for its escape.

Siderea crouched down before the broken limb and slowly, carefully, began to work the pieces back into position. Dark red blood slicked her hands, making it hard for her feel what she was doing; she wiped them off on what was left of her riding gown and continued. The Souleater keened softly as she worked, clearly in pain, but it made no move to stop her. It understood that she was trying to help.

Finally all the bits of bone were lined up in roughly the proper configuration, and the torn membrane smoothed down into position as best as it could be. As she stepped back and looked at her handiwork, Siderea realized that her own arm had stopped bleeding. Apparently she had healed herself, without even realizing it.

Her power had returned.

Hesitantly—oh, so hesitantly!—she summoned the supernatural vision that she would need to look within herself. That she was able to do so at all told her volumes about her condition; a mere hour ago such a thing would have been impossible. Heart pounding, she turned her witch's vision inside herself, seeking the fire that burned at the center of every human soul. The source of all life, all witchery.

And she gasped as it came into focus. No longer merely a dying flame which any metaphysical breeze might extinguish, but true soulfire, steady and strong. There was no mistaking the change, or its significance; dying witches did not possess such energy.

For a long time she just stared at the Souleater. A distant part of her brain remembered that it was one of the most feared creatures on the face of the earth whose cousins had once brought human civilization to its knees. She should rightly fear it. Any sane person would.

She had passed beyond sanity long ago.

Hands trembling—from exaltation now rather than fear—she tore a length of fabric from the hem of her gown and began to clean the damaged wing. She could sense the creature flinching in pain as she rubbed off the crusted blood and filth, but it made no protest. It needed sunlight on its skin to heal. As each new inch of membrane was exposed she could feel the sun's heat seeping into it, warming the creature's blood . . . and her own.

I will be whole again,
she thought, awed by the revelation.

Finally, she had done all she could. She stood back and watched the Souleater in silence for a moment or two, watching the rise and fall of her chest as she rested, sunlight playing across the wounded wing in ripples of azure and violet. What a strangely beautiful creature she was, Siderea thought. The ancient legends spoke only of terror and death, and hinted at strange mesmeric powers, but said nothing about beauty. Little wonder that men had been mesmerized by these creatures when they first appeared in the sky. Little wonder that it had been so hard for them to muster any real defense against them.

Slowly, carefully, she lay down beside the Souleater, resting her head against its shoulder. She could feel the thrumming of its heart against her cheek, a strong and steady beat now, slowing gradually as the great creature slipped into sleep. Closing her eyes, she tried to let go of all the tension of the past few days—and all the pain of the last few hours—and just lose herself in its musky-sweet perfume. Gradually, her own heartbeat slowed to match the pulse of the creature; the rhythm of her breathing stilled to match the Souleater's own.

And the sunlight warmed her wings as they slid into sleep.

K
AMALA COULD hear the screaming in her sleep. Or at least she had two days ago, when she had last slept. The best she'd been able to do since then was to lie on the ground with her eyes closed, waiting for dawn to come. Rhys seemed to think that it was important they do at least that much, even though she was pretty sure that he wasn't sleeping either. The body must rest, he told her, even if the mind could not.

Gods alone knew what the horses were going through.

Rhys said they should not have started hearing the screams yet. The fact that they were doing so was apparently another sign that something was seriously wrong in this region, and the cause of it was surely only a few day's travel ahead of them. He said that one used to be able to approach the Wrath quite closely before the death-screams became audible. And the pain-screams. And the hunger-screams. The Guardians used potions to counteract the effect but all his potions had been left behind at Anukyat's citadel. Along with his maps.

Shivering, Kamala turned over in her leafy bed, wishing she could have a single hour's peace in which to sleep. But that could not be managed by any means the Guardians knew of, and of course sorcery was out of the question this close to the Wrath. A spell for silence was as likely to melt her eardrums as it was to do anything useful.

Daring to open one eye, Kamala saw that the sun was rising at last. With a weary sigh she sat up and saw that Rhys was already up and about, checking on the horses that were tethered near the stream. Long leather leads would allow them to drink freely and graze on the thick summer grass nearby at will—assuming they calmed down enough to do so. Did the horses hear human screams also, Kamala wondered, or were their nerves being stretched to the breaking point by some equine equivalent? Perhaps the sound of other horses being tortured to death? As the animals paced restlessly at the farthest reaches of their thin leather leads, it was patently clear that all their instincts were crying out for them to break free and run from this place as if all the demons of all the hells were after them. Thus far only Rhys' quiet mastery had kept them from doing so. How much longer would that last?

“That won't hold them,” she said. “Not if they really want to go.”

Rhys looked over at her. He had stopped shaving days ago, and his jaw was speckled with stubble. Didn't trust his own hand with a knife anymore, he'd said. “It's not meant to.” He came back to the campsite and knelt down by the brush beds they had assembled the night before. “If they panic so badly that it drives them to break the leads, then it's time for them to go. Prey animals can only remain here so long before their minds snap. Predators last a bit longer.” He handed her the pack with the food in it. “Ugly thing to see, an insane horse. Best they should escape the place before that happens.”

“I take it we're not riding today.” She tried to hand the pack back to him without opening it, but he wouldn't take it. “I have no appetite in this place,” she protested.