Worlds Without End (23 page)

“How much do you know about what’s happening down there at Crater Lake?” I asked Caimbeul.

“Enough to know it would only upset you.” he replied. “Are you hungry?”

I nodded. “Starved.” I said. “But it looks like there are only those vending machines over there.

Stale, dried miso soup, dehydrated beans and rice, maybe an old candy bar.”

“Have no fear, madam.” he said. “We have two hours, and I happen to know of a place nearby that has fabulous food and a hell of a view.”

He led me outside and hailed what had to be the only taxi for five counties. The driver actually agreed to let us hire him for the next two hours. Caimbeul gave him the name of the restaurant, and we were off.

* * *

He hadn’t lied about the view. We were at the top of one of the higher peaks in the area. From this vantage we could see the surrounding countryside. Off in the distance was a blue glow that made me very nervous.

“Is that what I think it is?” I asked Caimbeul. “Shhh, no questions now.” he said. “Just have something to eat and think about getting out of here after dinner. We’ll talk later.”

It annoyed me, but perhaps he was right. No matter what was happening, I couldn’t stop it. Not now, at any rate.

Slowly, I began to relax. There were mostly military types in the restaurant. Some civilians, but they looked to be locals. It was an old-fashioned Mom and Pop kind of place. Mostly vegan dishes, with one or two meat entrees for the non-elven types. Given the makeup of the crowd, I suspected they didn’t do a lot of business with the beef.

No one gave us much of a second glance. A little odd, unless they were used to seeing strangers.

Caimbeul ordered some wine, but I declined. I wanted to be as sharp as possible until we made it out of the Tir. We lingered a bit over dessert, but then it was time to head back to the airstrip.

Our driver had apparently gotten something from the kitchen, because the cab smelled of eggplant ratatouille.

I shut my eyes as the cab headed away from the restaurant and down the hill. I must have dozed off for a moment, because the next thing I remember was being thrown to the floor. Caimbeul was cursing; the driver was screaming.

“What's happening?” I yelled as I pushed myself off the floor.

“Keep going!” shouted Caimbeul.

The driver didn’t answer but continued to scream. I poked my head up, trying to see what was going on. The driver reached forward and pulled something from under the seat. A gun. Still yelling, he began to fire it through the window. Just as he shot, I looked.

There, illuminated by the cab’s headlights, was Ysrthgrathe standing in the middle of the road. Then the glass shattered, and he was broken into a million fragmented images.

I grabbed the door handle and yanked. It flew open and I fell out after it, sprawling on the rough asphalt of the road on my hands and knees.

“Ah, Aina.” Ysrthgrathe said. “Don’t you remember? You don’t have to kneel to me.”

I pushed myself off the ground. There were scrapes on my hands. The blood welled out of them and stung. In the distance I could hear something. I thought it sounded like a baby’s cry. Then I realized it was the driver.

“Most annoying, that noise.” said Ysrthgrathe. In a flash, he slid across the small distance between him and the driver’s door. Ripping the door off its hinges, he then pulled the driver out by his neck. Slowly, he began to squeeze.

The driver’s face turned red, then purple. His eyes began to bulge, and he grabbed frantically at his neck. His feet began to spasm and became entangled in Ysrthgrathe’s robe.

“This is certainly sweet.” said Ysrthgrathe. “But it really isn’t up to my usual. Of course, I have only the faintest memories of that, now. You have deprived me for so long. And you’re not nearly as fond of this one as you might be. Perhaps the other . . .”

He closed his hand then, and I heard the bones in the driver’s neck snap and pop like firecrackers. Then Ysrthgrathe tossed him away like a used-up toy.

Caimbeul emerged from the back of the passenger side of the cab then. He had a black eye and a nasty cut on his lip. It was beginning to swell, making his mouth look lopsided. It looked like he hadn’t fully recovered his senses.

“Go.” I said. “He wants me.”

Caimbeul shook his head. “He can’t possibly deal with both of us. Not now.”

“You should listen to her.” said Ysrthgrathe. “But then, I wouldn’t have as much fun if you leave. I can taste how she cares for you. Her fear for your safety is so sweet, but really, I must have more.”

With that, he pushed his arms forward. A solid beam of black energy shot out from them. It hit Caimbeul full in the chest, sending him flying backwards. I heard him cry out in pain and could smell the odor of burning clothes and skin.

“No!” I shouted.

His eyes glowed and he smiled. Another lash of energy cracked like whip and I heard the bones of Caimbeul’s legs snap.

“No!” I screamed again. Was he going to break Caimbeul bone by bone?

Then there was a roaring in my ears, like the sound of jet engines. The blood was warm in my hands. It tickled me. Calling to me. Asking me to come and play again. To use it as I once had.

I dug my nails into my palms, wincing slightly, and then I spoke the words. A language long dead to this modern world. My mother tongue, that had never left me and that would always be my secret heart.

Ribbons of blood danced from my fingertips and wove themselves around Ysrthgrathe. He roared in anger at this, but I laughed. Oh, I had been careful for so long. It felt wonderful to let the power out. To revel in it again. I let it take hold of me. Slide through me. Fill me. Fill the void inside.

Soon, Ysrthgrathe was encased in a blood-cocoon. Using one hand to control the cocoon, with the other I began to cast another spell. But Ysrthgrathe wasn't so easily controlled. He shot into the air, dragging me along. We flew above the trees, and the upper branches scratched and scraped at my legs.

I grabbed at the blood ribbons with both hands to steady myself.
What is he up to?
I wondered. I looked about and saw that he was flying us straight toward Crater Lake.

If we went much further, we’d be shot down by the Tir military for certain. Cursing, I let go of the blood ribbons. Ysrthgrathe shot ahead, and I fell. I was battered and bruised by tree limbs. It took me a moment before I could cast a flying spell.

I flew up to the top of the trees and peered around.

“Looking for me?” came Ysrthgrathe’s voice above me.

I looked up. His head was free from the cocoon, but the rest of his body was still encased. He spat out some words, and the cocoon shattered. It sent drops of blood flying everywhere. My face and clothes were spattered with it.

“What’s that old saying?” Ysrthgrathe asked. “Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me?”

I didn’t reply, just furiously tore at my wrist with my teeth. How I yearned for a knife at that moment. Oh, for the power I’d lost. For the power to come.

“This is most annoying.” Ysrthgrathe said. “You’ve changed. You’re not at all like you were before.

“Where is your fear? It was so sweet and delicious. Your pain? Your agony? Have you forgotten the dark years of your torment already? I remember them as if they were yesterday.

“Your pain, my pleasure. Think of what I can offer you. Don’t you recall? The power. Imagine what you could be here with that power now. They would be forced to listen to you. You could make them bend to your will. They would have to do your bidding.”

And I was tempted.

It had been so many years since I’d felt anything close to the sensation of the power. Such a unity of self and soul. Body and mind. Maybe only the absinthe had come close. But even that joy was fleeting.

My blood sang to be used. To be taken again. From Crater Lake I could feel the pull of even greater power. It sang to me.

Take me.

Use me.

“Yes.” he said. “Think of it. This world can’t even imagine what the power is. They play at magic like a game. They don’t understand. But you do, Aina. You’ve always understood the true nature of the gift. It’s in your blood. Take my gift.”

A foolish mistake.

I hadn’t thought him so clumsy. So obvious. To go over old ground again.

“Oh, dear.” I said. “What was it you said? Fool me once . ."

The blood had been running into my palms. It writhed, then began to whirl. It bubbled over my fingertips and began to slide toward the ground. It wanted me to use it.

It craved that.

I craved that.

So I let us have what we wanted.

From over the horizon, the blue glow from Crater Lake became brighter. The power surged into me. And this time, this time, I didn’t refuse it.

The spell burst out of me. It sang and jumped from my lips. Insects flew into the sky in a great cloud. The bones of long-dead animals rose up and began to circle about Ysrthgrathe. The insects joined them, and soon the blood danced out of my hands and mingled with the bones and insects.

Surrounding Ysrthgrathe. Encasing him.

“Aina.” he said. His voice was a soft whisper, but somehow I could hear it above the buzzing of the wasps. It was inside me. In my mind, like someone lurking at a window. “Aina, don’t turn me away. I shan’t forgive you this time. This time I will take everything away.”

“Go ahead and try.” I said. I released the spell then. Let it surge out of me. Out of my soul. Out of the centuries of solitude and loneliness. From the pain of my loss and sadness.

And, oh, it made such a lovely sight.

Ysrthgrathe became darker and darker, until I felt as if the very light was being drawn into him. Then, in the matter of a nanosecond, there was an immense radiance that blinded me.

When I could see again, there was nothing left of the insects, or the bones, or the blood, or of Ysrthgrathe. in the sky there was the faint azure glow from Crater Lake, dimmer this time.

Then, there was only the faint twinkling of the stars.

26

“Where will you go now?” asked Caimbeul.

We were standing in the Orly airport. It was some three weeks after I’d faced Ysrthgrathe for the last time.

I had found Caimbeul unconscious from the blow Ysrthgrathe had given him. I’d healed him, and then we’d gone looking for the authorities to notify them about the cab driver’s death. The tale Caimbeul had spun was impressive, even by his usual standards.

We finally got out of Tir Tairngire the next day.

I contacted Dunkelzahn and told him about what had happened. In dragon-like fashion, he merely nodded and accepted what I said. If he had any other opinions, he kept them to himself. Though he did invite me to stay and visit.

Caimbeul and I decided to go to the Riviera. Perhaps it was the foolishness of age, but we both thought there might still be something between us.

By the time we parted at Orly, we knew that whatever had been there was best left in the past.

“Where will you go now?” he asked again.

“I think I shall travel for a bit.” I said. “No place too interesting. I think I’ve had enough interesting things in my life for a while. I know that one day the Enemy will come again, but now that Ysrthgrathe is gone, I feel . . . safer.

“Maybe they were right. Maybe it was my problem. Perhaps I’ve been wrong.”

Caimbeul shrugged. He’d become very Gaelic during our visit.

“I’ve always thought your instincts were pretty good.” he said. He reached out and pulled me to him. The kiss he gave me was long, and hot, and bittersweet.

* * *

It was some six months later that I made it back to Arran.

It was spring.

The land had turned green again. The wind blew from the south, bringing the delicate odor of grass, peat, and heather to me.

I opened the house up, flinging wide the windows to drive out the inevitable mustiness. Caimbeul had stayed here at some point while I was gone. I saw a few things were out of place. How like him, I thought.

I tapped the print bar on my telecom, and material began to spew out.

Since I’d put a hold on the dailies and the magazines, I wondered what this glut could be.

Frowning, I picked up the first sheet. It was an article about Aztechnology. There were numerous articles about Aztechnology. They came from mainline papers as well as obscure, paranoid, end-of-the-world publications. Shaking my head, I read another and another and another.

There were articles about many unrelated events. They were scattered across the globe, and these articles were in Chinese, French, German, Swahili, Japanese, and many other languages.

Mostly, they were about random occurrences of mania, A woman goes crazy and kills her children. There is no explanation and she doesn’t remember the event even happening. Later, she takes her own life, scrawling images of obscene monsters in her own blood on the prison walls.

A shaman loses control of a spell. Ten people are killed, including the shaman. A witness says it looked as if the shaman had changed into something else the moment before the spell went out of control. There were more.