The Inner Circle: Holy Spirit (22 page)

The Ways could not be altered. Who was
she to think she could change them? Ilgrin would die. She’d just
been too cowardly to be willing to face it when he did. El-i-miir
realised now that what little time they had was precious. Everyone
died sooner or later, and even putting Seteal’s prophecy aside,
Ilgrin would not have had even half her life expectancy anyway.
El-i-miir needed to touch him again, to feel his embrace. If only
one more time. She would not let Ilgrin die alone and without
love.

With tears in her eyes, El-i-miir cast
a forlorn glance back toward the camp. She was throwing away the
only chance she’d ever get to go home. She knew that. But El-i-miir
didn’t belong in the Frozen Lands anymore. She belonged with
Ilgrin. With tendrils of light already dancing away from her
fingertips, El-i-miir affiliated her horse and headed south at a
gallop.

*

‘
War Elder
Far-a-mael.’ Sy’hadoan Tim-a-nie entered the tent. ‘Seteal is on
her way to see you, but El-i-miir is still missing.’

‘
Does she know?’
Far-a-mael couldn’t keep the frustration from his voice.

‘
Not yet,’ Tim-a-nie
replied reassuringly.

‘
Good. Keep it that
way.’

‘
Far-a-mael.’ Seteal
entered with a hand on her belly. Tim-a-nie took his cue to leave.
‘I’ve considered your proposition.’

‘
And?’

‘
I’ll do it,’ Seteal
stated. ‘You get to die. El-i-miir gets to go home. And I get left
alone. The Elglair will never come near me or my
family.’

Far-a-mael smiled. ‘That’s the
deal.’

‘
All right.’ Seteal
nodded. ‘So how should we do this?’

‘
Make yourself
comfortable.’ Far-a-mael threw some pillows and a blanket on the
floor. ‘Focus on the Ways as I’ve taught you, but don’t become too
lost in them. You must remain within your body long enough that I
have sufficient time to create the anchor.’

‘
There,’ Far-a-mael
murmured to himself when the edges of Seteal’s aura became fuzzy.
She’d lowered her defences, making penetration that much easier.
Refusing to allow the opportunity to pass him by, Far-a-mael threw
tendrils of light into the girl’s aura and knotted them tight. He
made sure to leave plenty of slack for fear she’d discover just how
tightly he’d bound her. It was Far-a-mael’s intention to make the
anchor permanent. He didn’t trust the girl not to use her abilities
against him and needed to be certain of his power over her. He’d be
able to yank her back into her body whenever he chose.

‘
Done.’ He smiled,
securing the final tie.

‘
Now what?’ Seteal
turned to face him.

‘
Now you do what you
do best, knowing that I’ll pull you back should something go
wrong.’ Far-a-mael smiled as warmly as he could. ‘Just call out to
me and I’ll be right by your side.’

*

Seteal squeezed out of her body. The
additional weight of Far-a-mael’s anchor was surprisingly
noticeable. If projection usually felt like floating, now it was
more comparable to swimming holding lead weights. She had to work
to move free of her body and felt like she might snap back at the
slightest provocation. Seteal moved through the roof of the tent
and pushed into the sky. Despite the additional weight, it felt
good to be free again, away from her wrecked body and the tumour
that grew in her womb. Seteal giggled inwardly, feeling the elation
that came from existing in her spiritual form.

The camp, so immense from the ground,
soon became an insignificant speck. Seteal danced through the
mountaintops and amongst the clouds. She sailed over rushing
streams and plunged along the length of thunderous waterfalls. She
sped south faster and faster, the world becoming a blurry mass,
until finally she came to a stop before heavy black clouds that
filled the distant horizon.

Seteal caught herself feeling
apprehensive and proceeded with caution, despite the fact that
nothing could hurt her while projecting. She was quite safe, many
hundreds of miles away in the northern parts of Kilk Antet. In the
distance, strange trees that bulged in various places stretched up
from the ground. The structures were too small to be anything of
great importance, so Seteal surged on until the woodlands became
thicker and the trees more numerous.

Silts darted this way and that,
catching Seteal off-guard by how mundane their lives appeared. An
elderly woman hung out clothes to dry on a slender branch
protruding from her tree. A group of boys played some sort of ball
game in the air above the house. A young couple embraced each other
on the earth below, where they were less likely to be interrupted.
Seteal had clearly entered a city of sorts, but she had not yet
reached its centre. She moved on.

At the centre of the city stood a great
tree that rose out of the ground to tower over the others. Its
enormity was breathtaking, its peak scraping the whisp clouds
above. Its girth was such that surely it’d take several hours just
to walk its circumference. The great tree was punctured with
countless window and doorways through which nobles and servants
rushed about their various duties.

Curious for a closer look, Seteal
surged toward the sky and headed for the treetop. Few silts were
found at such heights and a look at the sky told Seteal the reason
for it. The whisp clouds rushed this way and that, feverishly
churning about each other, all seeking out a secret destination of
their own. Something bit into Seteal’s soul and the ice cold
sensation burned her spirit. The breath vanished from her body’s
chest hundreds of miles away. Seteal’s spirit shuddered and she
turned in time to see a tendril of the great whisp reaching out to
prod her. Immediately it recoiled--a kitten playing with a lizard,
not quite sure of what to do with it.

How could this be possible? She
was in her spiritual form. It occurred to Seteal then that whisps,
too, were of spiritual origin. Turning to flee, Seteal was struck a
second time by the outstretched length of whisp, but this time it
did not let go, instead latching deep into her soul. Seteal’s body
screamed in horror, but she immediately realised her mistake.
Far-a-mael yanked on the anchor while the whisp was still
embedded.

‘
No!’ she howled as
the anchor dragged her through the sky.

As one, the clouds
caved in, millions of whisps tempted by the
strangeness of what they’d discovered pulled along with Seteal as
one deadly force.

Far-a-mael, stop! she tried to
cry, but her body had ceased responding, instead screaming
endlessly as it flailed her limbs in every direction. The great
whisp pulled back on Seteal’s spirit, refusing to let her go, but
Far-a-mael’s anchor was stronger and the whisps lost their grip.
But it was too late. It knew where she was now. It’d felt her
destination through the anchor. And simultaneously thousands of
whisps surged north as one.

Seteal screamed in her being as
she raced the cloud across the world. Miles away her heart beat
quickened, her chest raising and falling in panic. Seteal plunged
through the whisps again and again as it surged through her and
over her, the two of them locked in a deadly race in and around
each other. Each refusing to take a less direct route, the pair
crashed through mountaintops, causing large shards of rock to break
off and tumble in every direction. With a desperate howl, Seteal
stretched out to the Ways and did everything, anything she could
think of to the canvas. Lightning struck through the darkness, only
to reach the trees below it. The earth cracked open with a deep
shuddering moan and lava sprayed into the sky, but again that which
was physical took no toll on the mass of whisps.

In a flash, Seteal passed over a town,
taking with her split-second images of grim-faced men and women as
they witnessed the darkness passing over. Throwing herself at the
whisp, Seteal pleaded with it, but it only engulfed her, read her,
stained the canvas and wrapped around her as they passed over an
unfamiliar city. People cast their eyes skyward to find the shape
of an invisible woman shrouded at the forefront of black mist.

After plunging through another
mountain, Seteal saw a speck in the distance. It was the camp. She
tried to make her mouth speak, to beg that Far-a-mael release the
anchor, but her lips wouldn’t respond. The camp rose up before
Seteal with her company of whisps. Far-a-mael’s tent flew toward
her as she fell through the top. The old man’s face was filled with
concern, and then horror.

Seteal crashed into her body. Her
eyes burst open. She opened her mouth to scream, but her throat was
already raw. The tent shook with black wind and the whisps forced
themselves down Seteal’s throat. They squeezed into her lungs and
into her blood. Their fetid core emptied into her body and pushed
through her skin. Still, the whisps came. The darkness filled her.
There was more. It wouldn’t stop. There was still more. Seteal’s
mind shattered. Her head burned with agony. The whisps kept coming.
Seteal’s bones began to break and her heart beat lost consistency.
Her nerves burned on fire. Her arteries froze to ice. But suddenly
the whisps changed their minds, burrowing deeper.They’d found
something more delicious then the spent whore who they’d been about
to feast on.

‘
No!’ Seteal cried
bitterly. The damage to her bones was reversed and her heartbeat
was restored, the whisps focused on a deeper part of her. The
darkness was pumped through her blood and into her womb where it
formed an attachment to her unborn child.

‘
Not him!’ Seteal
begged as the physical pain subsided and she felt her son’s mind
begging for relief. He cried out to his mother, but she could do
nothing. And then something ugly, and only darkness.

It was done. Seteal’s vision cleared.
She put a hand over her stomach, rolled over and vomited. She
gagged at the bitter taste and balked at the stringy black fluid
that sprayed across the floor.

‘
You!’ She glared up
at Far-a-mael. ‘I’ll kill you!’ Seteal shrieked. She readied
herself to leap free of her body. But she couldn’t. She tried a
second time, but it was as though the Ways had ceased to exist. It
was then that through the putridness within she felt something
else: the anchor. ‘What have you done to me?’

‘
Tim-a-nie!’
Far-a-mael shouted, his eyes wide with fear. ‘Tim-a-nie, get in
here!’

‘
Yes, War Elder,’
Tim-a-nie burst into the tent. ‘Get this cleaned up.’ He pointed at
Seteal’s vomit. ‘Remove my belongings and burn the
tent.’

‘
What . . . have . .
. you . . . done?’ Seteal crawled toward Far-a-mael, spreading the
black vomit across the floor as she went. ‘What--’ She attempted a
second time, but only succeeded in throwing-up more of the gunk.
‘You’ve killed me,’ Seteal wailed. ‘Let me out! Let me out!’ She
clawed at her face, leaving bloody gashes with her nails. ‘I can’t
stay in here!’ she screamed, gauging at her arms and legs. ‘Please
. . . please!’ She crawled over to Far-a-mael and reached out for
him, but the old man turned away. ‘Release me. Let me
go.’

‘
I can’t,’ Far-a-mael
said, dodging his way toward the exit. ‘I can’t imagine what you’re
going through, but there is simply too much at stake to risk you
ruining it all.’

‘
I won’t.’ Seteal
reached out to him, only to tumble off balance back into her own
vomit. ‘Please,’ she begged. ‘I won’t touch you. Just let me out.
Let me out! Don’t leave me in here with it!’

‘
I’m sorry,’
Far-a-mael shook his head, his eyes expressing true horror. ‘I’m so
sorry, Seteal.’ He put a hand over his mouth and backed out of the
tent.

Seteal’s flesh was cold. The unborn
child growing inside her had been changed and all she could feel
was putrid darkness. Waves of nausea washed over her continuously.
The light in the room was too bright. Seteal coughed, this time
spraying blood into her hand. She slithered across the tent and
leaned against the wall panting. She couldn’t get enough air. She
felt like she was on the edge of suffocating.

‘
Sweetheart,’ Fes
raced fearlessly into the tent. ‘Come with me. Ye’ll be all right,’
the big woman wrapped Seteal in her arms and dragged her to her
feet. ‘Let’s get ye cleaned up.’ She practically held Seteal up as
she stumbled out of the tent.

‘
Where’s . . .’
Seteal swallowed, blinking in the sunlight, paralysed by all the
faces staring at hers. ‘Where’s El-i-miir? Get me
El-i-miir?’

‘
I be sorry, lovey,’
Fes replied. ‘She gave me a note ta give ta ye. Given the
circumstances I be readin’ it. She be gone. But ye nah be worryin’
about that right now. Come on, dearie.’

‘
I want El-i-miir.’
Seteal’s head fell to the side and spots danced across her vision.
‘El-i-miir . . .’

‘
I know ye do, hon,’
Fes soothed. ‘We’ll see about that later.’

Seteal’s head hit a pillow. Someone was
wiping her face. She couldn’t open her eyes. She couldn’t.

Aro-is-lin 4

15. And darkness will pursue thee into
thy wretchedness. Thee shall be desolate. Those whom She loves must
find only hate. And those whom She hates, only death.

Scriptures of the Holy Tome