ZYGRADON (16 page)

Mrillis wished Haster would continue on to Wynystrys, instead of staying with
the Warhawk, but he knew better than to even speak his wish aloud. Haster was one of
the most valuable spies who served the Warhawk. Men who could move across the land
with stealth, blending into the landscape, were more valuable than ever. The Encindi no
longer attacked in huge, loud masses that could be seen from leagues away. Their boats
didn't make the sea white and red with their sails. They crept across the sea from Flintan
in small boats, in groups of five or ten at a time, and crawled through the shadows, to
attack villages and outlying farms. They slaughtered families in their sleep, poisoned
wells, killed cattle and sheep in the fields and stole horses. Haster and the men he led
had to be invisible to the near-invisible enemies creeping through Lygroes like choking
vines, in order to stop them.

Mrillis listened to the men talk of the battles they had fought last summer and
fall, driving Encindi out of Lygroes, and he wished he could stay with them and help
protect the land. How could studying prophecies, learning discipline and preparing for
the day his magical talents manifested compare to using bow, sword and spear to protect
the innocent and helpless?

Haster's small traveling party rode south and west toward the Warhawk's
winter quarters, following the course of the great river that emerged from the canyons of
the Stronghold. Their band was two days away from the fortress and directly east of
Wynystrys, when Mrillis saw a streak of white-gold tinged with crimson in the night sky,
heading west across Lygroes.

"Starshower?" he asked, pointing.

Haster frowned, watching the path of the streak through the darkening sky.
Mrillis saw more streaks join the first; smaller, perhaps higher up in the sky.

"A big one. Lots of star-metal falling down into the sea. Closer to Moerta than
Lygroes," the tall, silver-haired man said finally.

"How can you tell it will fall into the sea?" Mrillis asked. He grinned, knowing
Haster loved nothing better than to teach more of his beloved stargazer lore.

For the next few minutes, Haster talked and sketched in the dirt in front of their
campfire. The other three men attended to cooking their dinner while the stargazer
taught the boy. The third time Haster raised his staff and sighted through the crystal set in
its head, to focus on the starshower, the big man froze. He muttered under his breath,
glanced down at the calculations he had just scribbled, and looked up again.

"Sir?" Mrillis dropped down on one knee to study the numbers and the diagram
of the arch Haster had just drawn. A shiver moved through his gut; the same shiver that
came when he knew something without knowing how or why he knew it. "It's not falling
right, is it?"

"Indeed it is not," Haster said, shaking his head. He continued watching the
starshower. "As if something has grabbed hold of it, to pull it down onto the shore of
Lygroes. Dangerously close to the port of Quenlaque, if my calculations are right. But
how can that be done?"

"Not like starshowers are fish to be grabbed with a net, are they?" one of the
men joked. His grin looked strained.

"A net?" He swore, louder, and closed his eyes. The crystal in the head of his
staff flared for a moment.

Mrillis flinched, feeling a jolt through his middle and in his head, just behind his
eyes. He shifted his sense of sight until he saw the Threads running through the
landscape. They were fine. He shifted his attention to the web that hovered between the
trees and stars.

Mrillis felt the ground shudder. Dizziness surged inside him. He couldn't pull
away from the sideways vision as he watched the lines of the sky web waver and twist.
They warped like a net being pulled toward the starshower. Like a fishing net, tugged
along behind an enormous fish that didn't want to be caught.

"Somebody's using the Threads to pull the star-metal down on Lygroes," he
blurted, responding to the certainty in his gut.

"I hope not, lad," Haster said. He swore again, in a tongue that seemed halfway
familiar to Mrillis, with enough bitterness in his voice to make the boy jump.

In those few seconds of thinking and talking, Mrillis saw the streaks of light
flowing from the back of the starshower change color and direction. The white-gold
shifted toward crimson, and the streaks of light pointed into the sky, instead of trailing
out behind like a cape in a stiff breeze.

"Gonna hit Lygroes instead of the sea," someone muttered among the three
men behind Mrillis.

"Somebody is pulling it down," Mrillis insisted. He caught hold of the stargazer's
wrist, remembering how those first tentative mental links with Ceera were easier if they
touched. It was the only way he could think of to try to show the man what he
saw.

Haster pulled free with a gasp, but not before blinding light exploded behind
Mrillis' eyes. When it cleared, he heard all the Threads running across and through and
over the land humming, clear in his head. Every color had its own note, and the thicker
the Thread, the stronger, more intensely the sound vibrated through his bones.

"What did you do to me, boy?" Haster demanded. "What did you do to
yourself?"

"The Threads are warping! Not just up in the sky, but down here on the
ground, too!"

"I know they are, but I couldn't see it until you touched me." He grasped hold
of Mrillis by his shoulders, using their shirts and cloaks as padding, a buffer between their
flesh. "You're wide open, like a seed forced ahead of its time." He stared hard into the
boy's eyes. "We're at war, and sometimes we have to use the weapons the Estall throws
into our hands, whether we know how to use them or not. Do you understand
me?"

Mrillis tried to nod. The humming in his bones and blood grew stronger. He
felt as if liquid metal flowed through his veins, threatening to scorch to his marrow--but it
hadn't scorched him
yet
.

He could touch the power running through the land. What could he do with
it?

"We have to do something," someone said from what sounded like leagues
away.

"Call for help, at least," another man said.

"Others have to know what's happening," gravel-voiced Maxin said. He knelt
next to Mrillis and rested a hand on the boy's back, steadying him. "Will he be all right,
do you think?"

"When the Estall touches us, we are always changed." Haster made a choked
sound that could have been a mixture of sigh and laughter. "Yes...that's a different
definition for everyone. But yes, we have to do something."

"Call," Mrillis managed to say.

With the sound of his own voice, something changed inside. He broke through
whatever membrane tried to hold him prisoner, buzzing and smoldering with power. He
could call Ceera.

Where are you?
Ceera responded when he thought her name. She
gasped, and it seemed her small, cool hand slipped into his when he showed her what he
saw, the things that had happened.
I'll tell our Lady!

The sensation of her hand stayed clasped in his. Mrillis knew he stood still, held
up by Haster, but another part of him sped down the corridors with Ceera as she raced
to find Le'esha.

"A starshower is falling on Lygroes!" the child called, and Mrillis called with her.
"The Threads are being used to pull star-metal down on Quenlaque!"

Their voices combined, bouncing off the inner walls of the Stronghold, then
penetrating the ancient rock to pierce the canyons and dart across Lygroes with the speed
of wind.

On Wynystrys, Breylon touched the Threads and Mrillis heard him call. The boy
acted as go-between, asking questions for Haster and the High Scholar and repeating the
other's answers. The children trembled and felt their combined souls grow thin, but
together they cried out the warning. Breylon sent out his fastest riders to warn the port
of Quenlaque and the surrounding villages in the direct path of the falling star-metal and
the death it could bring.

The Threads screamed, resisting as an outside force used them to draw death
and destruction down on Lygroes. Mrillis felt as if the Threads ran through his own flesh,
yanking him forward and back. He shouted, the sound torn out of him, and felt the
response in every strong Rey'kil who could touch the Threads. Hundreds of adult voices
responded, pulling with him, resisting the burning that stank of blood and rot and
slashed hot knives along all his nerves.

With a final shrill shriek, the Threads sprang free of the starshower. They
resumed their normal shape, no longer warped and twisted. Mrillis gasped and felt cool
relief speed through his flesh, through Ceera, as the starshower sped across the night
sky.

"It's let go," Haster said from far away. His voice grew thin and faint, and Mrillis
thought he fell into a deep, velvety, dark well.

"He did it?" Maxin said. His hands braced Mrillis through the fall.

"Whatever he did. Estall bless us all. I hope the boy didn't destroy himself doing
it." Haster's hand rested gently over Mrillis' face. His touch seemed distant, as if a thick
coating of dust lay between them. "Rest, lad. You did well."

* * * *

Mrillis floated in soft, warm darkness. Someone sang to him with a low, gentle
voice, in words he couldn't decipher. They touched his soul and soothed him whenever
fear or a flicker of pain tried to scrape the darkness away. He felt more tired than he had
ever felt in his life.

Once, the darkness grew thin enough for him to see a face. The eyes were
green, standing out in stark contrast to the pale skin, brows and lashes. Tears glistened in
those eyes, turning them to emeralds. A soft, pink mouth smiled at him. Mrillis tried to
smile back, and drained himself so completely he fell into the darkness again. He sank
into the soft warmth gladly.

Soon, though, he rose past the comfortable barrier, like bobbing on the gentle
swells of the sea. He heard Ceera's voice, then Le'esha's, then other voices he didn't
recognize. They spoke softly, making background music. Mrillis lay still a long while,
growing used to the feeling of having a body again, the scent of lantern oil and wool
blankets and the moaning of the spring wind past shuttered windows.

He smelled mud, the wet hides of horses, crushed moss and the herb-and-smoke
scent of the fire pit at the central, high point of Wynystrys. That realization woke him
fully, because he thought he was home in the Stronghold. When he opened his eyes,
Breylon sat by his bed. Their gazes met. The white-haired High Scholar nodded, a faint
smile breaking the expanse of his beard.

"So, you have awakened. You were gone a long time, young herald."

"Herald?" Mrillis' voice cracked. It felt as if he hadn't used it in years.

"You grasped the Threads and shouted warning so the entire land heard you."
He nodded again. "Most well done."

"Did anyone die?" He didn't have to close his eyes to see the streamers of fire
trailing behind the falling star-metal and the poison that would burn Quenlaque when it
impacted.

"A few fools were hurt, who refused to heed the warning, but no, no one died.
Only a small piece of star-metal survived the battle in the sky, and it landed in the sea
where the entire cluster should have landed."

"That's what the higher web is supposed to do, isn't it? Push the star-metal away
from Lygroes, into the sea." He moaned when the sound of his own voice and the
movement of his jaw reverberated through his head in nauseating waves.

"Yes, that is what it is supposed to do. And does most of the time. Even Lygroes
still fears star-metal. Already, many have voiced the fear that we must dismantle the
higher web altogether, to keep our enemy from using it against us."

"The Nameless One?"

"Who can tell? He is not the only Rey'kil who has turned away from our laws
and principles. Perhaps now that he has gone into hiding, others have become brave
enough to act. Some are arrogant enough to think they can learn from his mistakes and
take over the World." Breylon reached across the table next to Mrillis' bed and picked up
a wooden cup of some dark potion that smelled of mint--but not strong enough to hide
the odors of other, less pleasant ingredients. "Drink, and go back to sleep."

"I feel like I've slept forever."

"The day may come when you will wish you could." The High Scholar tried to
smile, but the momentary flicker of hurt in his eyes showed Mrillis that he too thought of
Graddon and wondered about the man's fate. "For now, though, you must sleep to be
completely healed. You are most blessed, lad, that you did not entirely burn away all
your
imbrose
."

"You've been worrying about that ever since I pulled Ceera out of the fire."
Mrillis smiled, despite the ache that simple motion sent through his facial muscles.

"Hmm, true, and you did scorch and scar yourself in those earlier escapades.
What you went through with the starshower... it burned away all the scars, so to speak,
and dug deeper channels through your body and soul, to carry power. Something
strange happened when we did battle over the starshower and Threads. Something we
did not expect was revealed, and your very survival, my lad, is part of the lesson we
have learned." Breylon tipped the cup against Mrillis' lips and the boy was forced to
drink the entire sweet, slightly noxious potion, or spill it all over himself.

Before he could frame another question, the High Scholar held out his hand.
Pale yellow Threads appeared in the air. Mrillis heard a mellow chord reverberate
through the air, just before he fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

Le'esha and Ceera came next to Mrillis' room in the healing house, bringing
lunch. The girl climbed up on the bed and sat at his feet. She watched him, her head
cocked to one side and her big silver eyes solemn. The Queen of Snows refused to let
Mrillis ask a single question until he had finished his broth and tea and eaten the rolled
up flat of bread filled with a gritty paste of healing herbs, dried berries and honey.