Bec (18 page)
One of the shapes contracts and changes color, becoming green, brown, gray, blue. It takes on the form of land, only much smaller than real land. I haven’t seen one of these before but I know what it is. “A map,” I mutter.
“Aye,” Drust says, studying the map eagerly, reading it in ways I cannot. To the right there’s a shining dot, the size of my smallest nail. “That’s where the tunnel entrance lies?” Drust asks.
“It Is.”
“That’s not so far.” Drust looks excited. “We can be there in eight or nine days if we march hard.”
“Indeed.” The map changes and the shape resumes its original, ever-shifting form. “But You Do Not Have Such Temporal Luxury.”
Drust frowns. “What do you mean?”
“The Demonata Gather,” the voice says. “We Can Sense Them Now That We Have Focused. They Press And Rip At The Fabric Of This Universe. In Two Days And Nights The First Demon Masters Will Cross.”
Drust’s face turns a sickly gray color. “No! They can’t! Not when we’re so close! We have to stop them! You must help us!”
“We Cannot,” the voice says. “We Are Confined Here And Our Powers Are Fading Fast. From This Place, In Our Condition, We Cannot Speed You On Your Way.”
“But . . .” Drust drops to his knees. “We’re damned then? There’s no hope?”
“There Is Always Hope,” the voice answers. “You Have Two Days And Nights.”
“But we can’t move that quickly, even with magic,” Drust complains.
“You Must Find A Way,” the voice says. “Or Perish.”
Drust nods bitterly, getting his emotions under control. When he addresses the Old Creatures again, he speaks neutrally. “If we make it in time, we can close the tunnel?”
“You Can,” the voice says. “But You Already Knew The Answer To That Question.”
Drust looks sideways at me, then licks his lips. “Aye,” he croaks. “But I hoped ...I thought there might be other ways.”
“No,” the voice says. “There Is Only One.”
“So be it,” Drust says, even more stone-faced than usual. “Will she suffice? A demon master worked a charm on her. She has not been warped by his touch?”
“No,” the voice says. “Actually, Without It She Would Not Have Been Suitable.”
Drust looks puzzled. “Do you know why —” he begins, but I interrupt before he finishes, unable to hold my tongue any longer.
“Pardon me,” I say, my voice trembling, “but how can we close the tunnel? What’s my part in this?”
“Quiet!” Drust snaps. “You have no right to speak! This place is —”
“Peace,” the voice cuts in gently but firmly. “All Who Come Before Us Have The Right To Be Heard. The Girl Has Asked A Question. It Will Be Answered.”
“But I only brought her to make sure she was pure!” Drust shouts. “She has no —”
The rock beneath our feet shudders. It’s all the warning Drust requires. He closes his mouth and hangs his head.
“The Tunnel Between Your Universe And The Demonata’s Has Been Created By A Human Magician,” the voice explains. “He Must Be Eradicated For The Tunnel To Be Closed, But That Spell Requires A Sacrifice.”
“A human sacrifice?” I guess.
“It Is More Specific Than That. The Killing Of A Human Would Not Generate The Power Necessary To Destroy The Tunnel. A Magician Must Be Slaughtered In Order For The Spell To Work.” The voice pauses. Drust looks up at me with haunted — but firm, unapologetic — eyes. “A Druid Must be Killed,” the voice concludes,
“Or A Priestess.”
T
HE Old Creatures fall silent and I get the sense that they won’t talk to us again. Drust senses it too and prepares to leave in a hurry without asking any further questions. Once we’ve recast the breathing and warming spells, he takes my hand — without looking me in the eye — and we jump into the pool, sink, then return through the tunnel. I thought we’d move slower this time, because the force of the water is against us, but it’s exactly the same as before.
Shooting out of the tunnel, we rise to the surface, where we hang, bobbing up and down with the swell of the waves. I don’t break my breathing spell — the water is still foaming over my head. With his free hand, Drust points at the cliff face. I think he’s mad — there’s no way we can make the cliff safely or climb it even if we could — but I don’t argue as he guides us towards it, opposing the pull and cut of the waves.
We move on the surface of the sea as we moved below, propelled by magic — not swimming, but gliding like seabirds across the surf. The wind and waves lash us angrily, as though enraged by our ability to defy them.
Closer to the lethal screen of the cliff... closer... almost upon it. One more sweep of a wave and I’ll be able to reach out and touch it.
We come to a stop and hang calmly in the water, rising and falling with the swell of the waves, but not moving towards or away from the cliff. Drust puts his free hand on mine and moves it forward until I make contact with the rock. He then nudges my other hand up beside it and releases both at the same time. As soon as he lets go, the wind and waves bite at me, trying to rip me loose. I cling to the cliff by my fingertips and scream, shattering the breathing spell.
Then Drust’s arm is around me and he’s shouting in my ear, “Climb! Keep going! Don’t look down!”
“I’ll fall!” I shriek. “I’ll drown!”
“You will if you don’t climb!” he bellows, digging his chin hard into my neck.
Since I’ve no choice but to climb and risk death or stay and die for certain, I push my left hand up, searching for a handhold. After a second or two I find one and rest a moment, face turned away from the spray of the waves. Then I move my right hand up. My feet follow automatically, scrabbling for toeholds.
Drust keeps his hand on me, steadying me by placing pressure on my shoulder, then my back, my bottom, my legs, finally my feet. When I move out of reach, he shouts at me to stop, then climbs up after me until we’re level. Then it’s my turn to lead again.
That’s how we progress, a small stretch of cliff at a time, dragging our way up, defying the angry howls of the sea, disturbing seagulls in their slumber. Drust only uses magic when I slip, to keep me hanging in the air momentarily so that I can grab hold of a piece of rock again.
I look down once and immediately wish I hadn’t.
“We’ll never make it,” I sob, feeling my strength ebb away, certain I’ll collapse soon, not even able to keep myself going with magic.
“We will,” Drust replies stubbornly, then pinches me to get me moving again.
Finally, when I’ve started to think this is a nightmare from which I’ll never awake, we make it to the top and friendly hands pull us over the edge of the cliff, then carry us to our clothes. Fiachna has to help me slip into mine — my fingers are too numb to grasp and manipulate the material.
They ask what happened, where we’ve been, how we survived, what we saw. They were sure we’d drowned. Their excitement at finding us alive makes them babble like children.
Drust ignores the questions and pulls on his robes. I ignore them as well, too exhausted to provide answers. When we’re fully dressed, the clothes deliciously warm on my cold-blue skin, Drust tells the others we need some time on our own. He marches me along the cliff to where a jutting rock shelters us from the wind. Settling behind it, Drust starts a fire using magic, makes it expand so the flames are three times their normal size, then sits staring into the heart of the blaze, saying nothing.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I say when I’m warm enough to speak.
“I couldn’t,” he replies. “You wouldn’t have come with me.”
“I might.”
“No. You wouldn’t have trusted me. Nor would the others.”
“So you were going to keep it secret?” I snort. “Not tell me until we got to the tunnel, then kill me without asking?”
“Aye.” He looks at me sideways, torn between arrogance and shame. “That’s part of the reason I was so hard on you to begin with. Yes, I needed to bring your magic out — you weren’t powerful enough the way you were. But I also didn’t want to get close to you because I knew I’d have to...”
He stops and looks at the fire again.
“Was there another magician with you when you first set off?” I ask.
He nods. “An apprentice. No grown druid would accompany me. As I told you before, they have no love for Christians and will be quite pleased if the Demonata take over this land. But I found an apprentice who was born here, whose family still live on these shores. He was happy to lay down his life if necessary.”
“If?”
I sneer. “You told him it might not be?”
Drust blushes. “I said there might be other ways. It wasn’t a total lie. Until I asked the Old Creatures, I still hoped...” He trails off into silence.
“Is it truly the only way?” I murmur after a while.
“So the Old Creatures said,” he sighs.
“They couldn’t be wrong?” He shakes his head. “Then we must go there and you must kill me,” I mutter, and his neck practically snaps as his head lifts sharply.
“What?” he gasps.
“If that’s the only way to close the tunnel, we must do it.”
“You mean you’ll let me . . .” He stops and scratches his head. “Why? Now that you know, you don’t have to come. You can flee, sail for safe lands to the east. With your power, you could become a priestess of high standing or even a druid. There’s never been a female druid, but you can control male magic, so perhaps you’d be the first. You don’t have to stay — or die.”
I stare at him as if he’s insane. “But the tunnel would remain open,” I say slowly. “The demon masters would cross. They’d kill everyone, then make them walk around as undead slaves. I can’t let that happen.”
“Even if it means your own death?” Drust asks.
“Of course.” I frown. “Why do you ask me this? You feel the same way. Otherwise why come on this quest and risk your life?”
He shifts uncomfortably. “My reasons are not the same as yours. These aren’t my people, so I don’t really care whether they live or die. And I never planned to perish. The risks were high but I hoped — still hope — to get out of here alive. But if
you
go on, it’s to certain death, one way or the other. How can you do that?”
“How can I not?” I reply simply. “One life is nothing when measured against thousands. I’d give it a dozen times over to save the lives of those I care about.”
“And those you don’t know, who mean nothing to you?”
“Aye.”
Drust chuckles darkly. “A teacher of mine once said we druids knew nothing of ordinary people, that we’d been apart from them so long, we couldn’t understand them anymore. I didn’t agree, but I see now that he was wiser than me. Your way of thinking is opposite to ours. No druid would throw away his life to save others. Some let themselves be sacrificed when they believe it will lead to greater power in the Otherworld. But I know none who’d offer themselves as you have.”
“Then they’re fools,” I tell him. “A single person is nothing. Only the clan matters.”
Drust shakes his head again. “So different,” he mumbles, then looks at me with fresh respect. “Very well, Bec. Our quest continues, even though I believe it’s doomed and we won’t make the tunnel in time. But if we do, you know what must be done?”
“Aye.”
“You’ll accept my guidance, follow my orders, let me kill you?”
A short pause. Then, softly but firmly, “Aye.”
“You are a true hero.” He smiles wanly. “Now get some sleep, little girl. We must leave as soon as possible, but we’re in no condition to march tonight. We’ll wait for morning, then make our way east as quickly as we can.”
“Is it all right if I sleep with the others?” I ask.
“You’re tired of my company?” Before I can answer, he grunts, “Of course. They’re your people. Spend as much time with them as you wish.”
“Thank you.” I rise and make my way around the rock, bowing my head against the wind. As I round the rock there’s a noise, like hooves skittering over grass. I glance up but the wind and rain are in my eyes and it’s a few seconds before I can see clearly. When I look, there’s nothing nearby. I don’t worry about it as I tramp back to camp — nothing can harm us here — but I wonder. Because if it wasn’t my imagination, it was probably just a rabbit or fox. But it might have been a human — one who could move very,
very
fast....
When I’m back with the group, I ask Bran if he was listening to what Drust and I were saying. The boy smiles foolishly, as he normally does, and gabbles a few meaningless words. I feel uneasy about it as I settle down to sleep. Then Bran snuggles up beside me for warmth and murmurs “Flower” under his breath as he folds his arms around me.
I laugh at myself, misgivings vanishing. It probably wasn’t Bran I heard when I was coming back, only a wild animal. And even if it was him, what of it? We’ve nothing to fear from Bran. What harm could a poor, innocent, muddled boy like him do?
Drust addresses us early in the morning. He says the location of the tunnel has been revealed to him but doesn’t mention the fact that I have to be sacrificed to close it. Then he outlines our main problem.
“The tunnel lies to the east of your village,” he says. “A march of at least a week, probably longer. But we only have two days and nights. Then the demon masters will break through and we’re finished. It will be too late to repair the damage.”
“Then we’ve lost,” Goll says softly. “We came too late.” “Probably,” Drust agrees. “But we have to try. We’ll push on as quickly as we can. Run in bursts. Use boats or rafts on rivers and streams where possible. And pray to the gods that the demons encounter some unexpected delay.”
“What about magic?” Fiachna asks. “Can’t you use that to make us go quicker?” He’s had a hard night. The demon poison from the bite has spread and the whole of his upper body is an ugly purple color. He has the shakes and is sweating badly. I tried to cure him, without success. I asked Drust if he could help but he said this wasn’t something he had any knowledge of.
“There are spells that would allow us to run much faster,” Drust says. “But they’re incredibly tiring. They’d let us push our bodies to their limits, but we could easily pass those limits without knowing and drop dead. If it was a matter of a day or two’s march, I’d risk it. But the distance is too great. When we’re closer, we’ll gamble. But not now.”