Shadowstorm (42 page)

Elyril fought to breathe. Her heart pounded and her body changed from shadow to ruined flesh with each beat. Her vision blurred as tears filled her eyes.

She struggled to speak. “It is too much, Lady. Too much.”

“It has only just begun,” Shar answered. “Your part is done. You have served, priestess, and I am come.”

Elyril’s body shook at her goddess’s praise, slight though it was. Shar regarded her with frigid eyes, and Elyril’s body shook under the goddess’s regard.

“Am I mad, Lady?” she asked, fearing the answer. “Is this real?”

Shar raised a finger to her lips. “Shh. It is a secret.”

She smiled but Elyril had never before seen a colder expression. Shar reached down for Elyril and frigid, unforgiving fingers as old as creation closed Elyril’s eyes.

She felt a flash of exquisite agony, followed by revelation, then emptiness, emptiness forever.

ŚŠŚ ŚŠŚŚŠŚ OI sit at the table in the temple, awaiting Cale and Riven’s return. The shadowwalkers observe me but say little. Darkness

clings to them, crowds around them.

But darkness is in me. And it is growing.

Words come out of my mouth before I can consider their meaning. Vile words. Feelings that would make a demon blanch well up from some dark place in my soul. The urge to do violence, to kill, is powerful. I try to focus it on Rivalen, on Kesson Rel, but the impulse longs to be expressed indiscriminately.

To kill what is growing in me, we must kill a god.

I do not know if it can be done. I see doubt in Cale’s eyes. He fears for me.

“We must go for a time,” says Nayan, the leader of the shadowwalkers.

I nod. I do not wish them to leave, but I cannot bring myself to ask them to stay.

Without a word, they disappear into the twilight. I think of the words my father spoke into my ear on Cania: One of you must die, the shade or you, ere this is done. How will you have it?

I take Riven’s knife in my hand, and lay it across my wrist. It would be simple, a single cut. But I cannot. I do not know if it is man or fiend that urges suicide. I drive the blade into the table.

Tears wet my face. I am an observer watching myself sink into evil.

The fiend laughs at my weakness.

I push him down—for now—but know that I cannot do so much longer.