First Of Her Kind (Book 1) (25 page)

CHAPTER NINETEEN

The crone's screech at the onslaught ripped across Bolin's nerves like ragged claws. She staggered back, and lost the rhythm of her chant but didn't go down. Bolin cursed. Ciara had lost herself to Andrakaos, and if Bolin released his hold on that ancient power it would certainly consume her. She didn't have the knowledge or strength to prevent that. Of course, at this point, Bolin couldn't be sure he did either.

Ciara turned and Bolin froze. Her eyes were solid black -- no glimmer of the girl remained. She launched straight up into the air and hovered above their heads; shadowy coils of power swirling around her. She spread her arms wide, threw her head back and laughed -- a sound of pure delight and exaltation.

A sliver of awareness turned toward Bolin.
Sciath na Duinne,
it said, in a whisper amidst the raging storm. A wisp of darkness snaked down from the chamber heights, and Bolin tried not to flinch as it curled around his waist
. I know you.

"Yes," he said, his throat tight.

Do you want me, Sciath na Duinne?

Bolin wet his lips.

You desire me, do you not?

A warm caress slid across his chest, and up to his face. Pain and exhaustion disappeared in the wake of that touch, and he found it hard to keep his pulse steady.

I could be yours. These others are not worthy. But, you,
his hair moved with the breath in his ear,
you and I could rule even the Emperor
.

Bolin lifted his hand as though in a dream, and the darkness wrapped snake-like around his wrist. He trembled at the sense of completeness it brought with it. It offered whatever he desired. The world would be laid out before him. Never again would another's sense of duty bind him. His breathing grew deep, each inhalation drawing up power from the depths of the earth. Never had he experienced anything like this. It flooded his senses and filled him with exhilaration, and all of it could be his.

Yes. Claim me.

A scream shattered the spell and Bolin jerked his head up. Ciara writhed in mid air. Words assaulted her from every angle, an angry swarm that attempted to wrestle Andrakaos from her. Bolin slid his gaze to the crone. Her gnarled face had taken on a look of ecstasy, her eyes bright and eager. Donovan stood beside her, but when he met Bolin's gaze something flickered in the depths of his eyes.

Bolin bowed his head. Andrakaos still cooed seductively to him, whispering promises. He could end this, could claim what should be rightfully his. No one would defy him. No one would count him wrong for taking his due. Bolin drew in a long breath. The scent of decay had given way to the intoxicating, spicy odor of the ages old power that swirled about them. He closed his fingers.

Yes
, it murmured.
Claim me
.

But when Bolin tightened his fist, Andrakaos knew instantly what he intended. A flash of anger replaced the tender touch. Bolin called out to the broken bits of Ciara’s earth magic, all but forgotten, and began to form them into something they were never meant to be.

The fire in his hand engulfed his arm, and he clamped his jaw to keep from crying out. He concentrated on the calm, white glow of Ciara’s earth magic. Something hit him hard in the side and he dropped to one knee, sucking after air. Ciara turned toward him. Her eyes flashed red with anger and she opened her mouth to roar, but Bolin angled his head toward the crone and Ciara followed the gesture. Through his hold on Andrakaos, Bolin directed all that anger toward a different target. The smile that spread across Ciara's face had nothing to do with mirth. She bared her teeth in an expression of cruel hatred and anticipated victory, and Bolin's gut clenched. The crone's face contorted as she realized what he intended. Bolin gave her no time to react. He guided Ciara's focus, pulled in all the tendrils of Andrakaos, wrapped the altered earth magic around it, and sent it straight into the crone's chest. Her chant shattered, the words flittered away from her. Blood seeped from her nose and eyes, and she desperately tried to renew her chant, but couldn't make it whole.

Bolin knew the instant Donovan joined them against the crone. He also knew he'd be Donovan's next target. Defending himself, however, would mean leaving Ciara vulnerable. To destroy the crone, and protect Ciara, were all he could manage.

The crone convulsed under the triple assault. She gestured in Donovan's direction but either the blow had little force, or Donovan managed to evade it. Her limbs flailed and she screeched -- an inhuman sound that drew a deafening response from Andrakaos. With her defenses in tatters, the crone couldn't ward her own power. Bolin risked everything and made a grab for it.

Something he instantly regretted.

The crone had spent centuries corrupting her power, warping it until it had become as dark and evil as her soul. It ripped at Bolin as he pulled it in, and he cried out and dropped to his knees. He couldn't breathe. Splinters of the crone's power tore through bone and muscle, and Bolin lost his hold on Andrakaos. His vision blurred as he wrestled for control. He could feel the crone's glee. She would have him.

"Never," he growled.

He ignored the blinding pain, and with the last of his strength, forced the knife-like bits of the crone's power together. He dug through his memory to find the word to bind them, and shoved them back at their source. The crone's eyes widened, her hands went to her throat and though her mouth opened, no sound came out. Black flame erupted from where she stood, and the cavern collapsed around them.

* * *

Bolin hauled himself out of oblivion with nothing other than sheer determination. A heavy weight across his back held him pinned to the ground, and he could see nothing but slivers of dust laden grey light. It took a bit of doing to get his arms under his body and heave upwards, and he failed the first time. A sense of urgency pushed him to try again. He made a noise low in his throat and thrust up, then struggled to crawl out from under the debris, collapsing as soon as he managed to drag himself clear. For a long while he could only lay there, breathing short and harsh, working up enough strength to get onto all fours. He coughed and spit blood, then raised his head to peer through the gloom.

Most of the cavern's ceiling lay scattered on the ground; timbers and chunks of stone created a jumbled mess, punctuated by splinters of furniture, and lit by the dim half moon. Bolin's eyes swept the ruins, searching for Ciara. A crumpled heap of rags lay by the fire pit, and his breath caught. Bolin scrambled through the jagged landscape to reach it. His heart tightened as he half slid, half fell across a shattered timber to settle beside Ciara's still form. He gathered her gently into his lap, and laid trembling fingers against her throat, searching for a pulse. It fluttered beneath his fingertips. He let out the breath he'd been holding, and rested his forehead against hers, offering up a quick thanks to the Goddess.

"Ciara." Bolin's his voice cracked, but Ciara didn't stir.

Goddess's blood, he couldn't lose her now. Not now. He ran his hands over her, searching for broken bones. A jagged, red burn ripped across her left shoulder, and she had a cut across her temple, but he could find nothing else. Her heart beat slow and steady against his palm when he laid his hand over her breast. He needed to get her away from here, to people who could help her, and he needed to do it quickly.

Getting to his feet with Ciara held in his arms, her head cradled against his shoulder, took an exorbitant amount of effort. Bolin's battered body protested with the strain, and he grit his teeth. He prayed to the Goddess Sandeen hadn't bolted, or they'd get no further than the edge of the rubble -- if he could even make it that far. He staggered as he tried to maneuver around the wreckage, and nearly dropped Ciara in the process.

A beam stood wedged between chunks of stone, and Bolin leaned back against it to catch his breath. Ciara stirred and he pressed his cheek against her head.

"Hush, love," he whispered. No telling what would happen if she woke now, but he had a feeling it would be better for them both if she didn't.

Bolin had to rest twice more before finally stumbling from the runes and onto the soft earth of the swamp. He carried Ciara until they were well clear of the wreckage, then sank to his knees and laid her gently beside a log on the moss-covered ground.

His first attempt at a whistle through cracked lips failed. He tried again, amazed by how much concentration it took, but a faint whicker rewarded the effort. Sandeen had bolted, but he hadn't gotten far; a tangled thorn bush had caught the reins and held him fast. Bolin lead him to where Ciara laid. He rested a moment, before lifting her and depositing her unceremoniously into the saddle. She slumped forward, and Bolin kept a hand on her while he hauled himself up behind her. He got Ciara situated, and turned Sandeen to the south.

* * *

Voices and images bombarded Ciara's unconscious. She drifted somewhere between worlds, not sure where reality left off and hallucination took over.

She fought with the old woman who tried to take her power, with Donovan because he'd become part of the woman, and even with Bolin because he tried to stop her.

No, not her. The Ciara she had been she could no longer find. Instead she saw something full of fury and thirsting for blood. For a time she reveled in it. The sheer power and exhilaration of knowing that nothing could touch her. She soared above them, laughing at their pitiful efforts to restrain her. But they attacked her full force. Except one. He tried to control her, to hold her back. She knew him. She offered herself to him, tempted him with his heart's desire, and showed him what they could be together. He almost gave in.

No, just like the others, he wanted only to use her for his own ends. She meant to strike him down for his insolence but he showed her a better enemy. He helped her destroy the one who tormented her.

Memories scattered. Cold and sharp like fragmented shards of glass. Chaos ruled in a constant onslaught of color and sound. Now Ciara understood -- far too late -- why Meriol had kept her away from that part of herself. She understood why it angered Bolin that she hadn’t learned control. But how could you control a tempest?

Yet Bolin had. Effortlessly.

Afterwards, only stillness surrounded her. Ciara thought she nestled in Bolin’s arms, finding comfort in the steady rhythm of a horse’s easy gait. Had she apologized then? Mumbled something? She didn't know. She ached -- in her soul more than her body.

She drifted in and out, wanting to wake up, but unable to force her eyes to stay open. And then the realization that she had tried to kill Bolin -- had actually
wanted
to kill him -- twisted in her gut. She surged up, flailing; fighting through the fog in her head, but strong arms encircled her and drew her in.

"It's all right," Bolin whispered to her, and placed a soft kiss on each eyelid, holding her until she slipped back down into dreamless twilight.

* * *

Bolin pressed his and Sandeen's limits that first night, wanting to put as much distance between them and the crone's cavern as possible. He drew from Ciara's pendant to keep him awake and in the saddle. He needed only to make it as far as the borders of the Greensward. After that, what happened to him didn't matter.

Sandeen stumbled, and Ciara muttered something in her sleep as she stirred in Bolin's arms. The first light of dawn scattered across the landscape in fragmented bits. If the Goddess loved him, the gathering clouds wouldn't bring rain with them. Still, Bolin pushed Sandeen further until he found a cluster of thick bushes beside a boulder that would provide at least some shelter from the weather. He somehow managed to dismount and get Ciara from Sandeen's back without either one of them landing on the ground. He laid her beneath the bower of branches, and went back to tend his stallion. Sandeen stood with his head lowered and hip cocked. He didn't even stir when Bolin slid his saddle and bridle off.

It would take at least two days to reach the northern border of the Greensward. Another partial day to Galys Auld. All without supplies of any kind. On his own, in good health, it would have been a difficult trip.

Bolin leaned against Sandeen's shoulder. He needed rest, but didn't dare lie down for fear he wouldn't get back up. The physical pains were bad enough, but they couldn't come close to the searing aftermath of wrestling with the crone's power. The effects of that lingered inside him like a million knives; every move, every breath, reminding him of how stupid that gamble had been.

Ciara cried out and Bolin shoved off Sandeen. He caught her by the shoulders as she lurched upwards. Her eyes were open but focused on something only she could see. She clawed at it, arms flailing, and Bolin had all he could do to pull her into his arms and quiet her. He sat with his back against the boulder, and Ciara huddled in his lap.

"Is it over?" she whispered.

Bolin sighed. "Aye."

"Did we win?"

"Rest, Ciara."

"I'm sorry."

He kissed the top of her head. "Go back to sleep."

She settled herself more firmly against his chest, and Bolin bit his lip to keep from screaming in pain. Two days may as well be twenty.