The Revenge of the Elves (19 page)

“He didn’t will it so? When you mentioned your encounter with Wayfair before, you were not specific. You didn’t tell me this, child. This changes things considerably,” Premoran said. He reached out and ran his finger over the mark and then backed away. “You heard the private dialogue of a Lalas and its Chosen, unbeknownst to them?” he asked.

“Yes. I was frightened for I didn’t know who was speaking. I could only see Crea before me. They conversed without spoken words for a while as if I wasn’t there, yet I heard them both as clearly as I hear you now. I will never forget it. Never!”

“May I see the mark again, Alemar?” Premoran asked. Bending her head toward him once more, he stared at it. “I know many things, and yet I know so little,” he said to himself. “The irony of it all is sometimes so delightful.” He gazed out the grimy, pock marked glass of the small window on the far wall and chuckled.

“What is amusing about this?” Alemar asked, offended by his response. Only a few things got her as upset as this mark behind her ear. “To me, the mark has been a source of anxiety and letdown all of my life. It’s never been anything to laugh about,” she said.

“Oh, it is serious indeed. But the richness of circumstance is also wonderful to ponder,” he replied, still staring into the gloom.

“It’s the will of the weave,” Teetoo concurred, bobbing his head. The two of them shared an understanding that eluded Alemar.

“What secret are you keeping from us now?” Giles asked the wizard. “It may take me time to comprehend some things, but I’m easily insulted,” he rose to Alemar’s defense. They were making fun of her. Why?

“Do you know what this sign means? Tell me if you do and please don’t toy with me. I’ve pondered this my entire life,” Alemar beseeched him. “You seem to think it’s a joke, but I’m not laughing.”

With a far deadlier seriousness than he had ever expressed to her before, he turned to Alemar. His eyes flashed blue fire and the whole room seemed to pitch and turn. He shoved his chair back, knocking it over in the process and sending it clattering to the floor. “We must go to Pardatha at once! The youngling awaits us!”

Chapter Twenty-one

Caroline attempted to shield her mind from the intrusion of thoughts and feelings threatening to engulf her. They pushed into her head like pins piercing a cushion. Terrified, she fought to maintain control.

“I’m here, Caroline. Lean upon me,” Dalloway whispered into her ear, but she could barely hear him. “What is it you feel? Are they close?” he asked. He focused on who was pursuing them and where they were going and he didn’t realize the full intensity of her reaction until now.

She struggled to reply, but the words wouldn’t come. She felt things, ugly things, and the impulse to succumb to them, to let go and allow them to take her, was strong. And could be fatal. Somehow she understood that, but she didn’t know how to resist. She’d never had to resist before.

“Hold… my… hand… Daly,” she whispered. Her limp fingers dangled from her wrists.

Sitting down in the sand, she leaned back against the warm stone arch. Her eyes rolled up and her head fell to the side, motionless. Dalloway saw the look on her face. He sat down beside her and grasped her fingers with both his hands, drawing them in to his chest. She was in danger. Serious danger. Something was pulling at her, trying to take her from him and he couldn’t let that happen. Not now. Not ever.

He rubbed her hands together. They were cold, clammy. He pressed them against his flesh. “Do you feel my heart, Caroline? I’m alive. I’m here. Let me help you,” he said. “Find my thoughts. Find me.” She’d done it before. She could do it again. He felt his own heart pounding like a drum.

She coughed, unable to catch her breath. The sensations were vile and her body shuddered in response. She was fading. Images of fire and destruction flashed before her mind’s eye, violent images, dreadful things, and they enervated her, weakening her. Other sensations assaulted her too. They were hunting. Whoever they were hunted for flesh and she smelled the scents and felt the blood lust that drove them on. She tasted death on her tongue, saw it, touched it. Swooning into Dalloway, she leaned against him and he sunk into the sand from the impact.

“Fight it Caroline!” he was getting frantic. “For the First’s sake, let me help you!” The map pressed against his side, reminding him why they were here. He pulled himself out of the sand and tried to lift her up. They had to go. They had to find the well. He needed her.

His voice sounded as if it was miles and miles away, muffled and unclear. Her eyes were shut tight and her eyelids fluttered, but she couldn’t force them open. She heard him. She knew he was beside her, but the thoughts pushed on her mind, forcing their way in. She saw the visions. Ghastly things flooded her consciousness, each more shocking and revolting than the next. Her stomach heaved. Worst of all was the joy, the pleasure she sensed at each encounter, each horrid act. It made no sense. Pure joy. Death and joy. Murder and pleasure. Pain shot through her, and she doubled over from the impact. Her body convulsed as Dalloway watched.

He saw the terror on her face and gripped her hand harder. Holding her behind her back with one arm, he tried to keep her from falling. Her body grew cold and limp. He spoke in her ear while she shook.

“Think of your father, Caroline. Force yourself to focus. Don’t let this happen!” He knew how she loved her father. She wouldn’t leave him. She’d fight for him. “Conrad. Think of him. Picture him! You’ve done it before. Stay free of it!” But Conrad wasn’t there. And words weren’t enough.

The sensations were nauseating. She’d never seen things like this before. It felt like she was wading into a burning sea, an ocean of fire, and she saw it rising up all around her. It hurt. Maybe if she was completely covered, the pain would recede. Maybe. It was just a feeling. It was just pain. Even though it hurt and it was ugly, she let it hurt. Some sense of understanding was coming to her, a logic to this evil. Just another feeling. Just another perspective. She was used to other perspectives, and she continued on.

Resistance felt worse. Fighting it felt worse. If she relaxed, the battle would be over and she would no longer feel this way, no longer hurt. A voice called to her, faint and weak. The images of death were closer, so much more vivid, so much more compelling. The power beckoned. She saw it and it was beautiful, burning all around her, reaching out in all directions, touching her.

Dalloway shook her, but she didn’t respond. She didn’t hear him, didn’t feel him. First her skin was cold, now it was burning up. He lifted her eyelids with his thumbs, but she stared right through him, pupils dilated. No recognition. Nothing.

“Caroline!” he screamed. The intruder had taken her. He knew it. It must be close. The map! Caroline! He held her face and talked to her, but she was merging with it just like she did with him, merging with the enemy. He needed to bring her back, to push his way into her mind, but he didn’t know how. Her arms were shaking and tremors wracked her body. He was losing her.

Without realizing what he was doing, he pressed his lips to hers. He couldn’t let her go. He would never let go. He loved her.

She saw a face but it was so distant. At first she didn’t recognize him and she tried to pull away.
Leave me he. Please. Let me go
, her mind screamed.
You don’t understand. You’ll never understand.
But he didn’t let go. His face was gentle and comforting and she remembered it. His lips were warm. He was beautiful. A healthy beauty. Something pulled at her, tried to separate her from him. It needed her. She gave in, accepted it as she always had. But she didn’t want to lose sight of Dalloway. She didn’t want to let go of him. Fear that she might never see him again gripped her. It was unacceptable, unthinkable.
No! No! Don’t go. Stay. Don’t leave me. Please!
His emotions were so pure, so clean, so forgiving, so opposite from the others. She loved him.

Dalloway’s face was just inches from hers when her eyes opened.

“Caroline! I’m here.” He gripped her hard.

Her vision was blurry. “Hold me! Hold me.” Her fingers pulled at his shirt sleeve and she dug her heels into the soft sand. The images still flashed in her head, the horrible images, but he was holding her and she could feel his pulse, feel the life in his body.

“I will never leave you. Never! I swear,” he replied. “Just keep your eyes open, and keep talking. Don’t stop. You can fight this. I know you can.”

In the recesses of her mind she felt the chaos looming, but his emotions dominated her in their intensity and helped her to stay focused.

“They’re coming Daly. We’ve got to go,” she whispered. She tried to get up, but she was too weak.

He dug at the sand, pushing and kicking away at the mountain that obstructed their escape.

“Do you know who they are? No! Don’t think about them. Think about me, about us.”

Dalloway thrashed away and the gap grew larger. It was almost big enough for them to slide under the stone crest of the arch.

“It’s a beast I sense. Blood everywhere. Everywhere,” she replied. “So much blood…”

Before she could finish, the mound upon which they sat gave way beneath them. Like flour through a sieve, the sand poured through the archway, spilling out the other side and gaining momentum. It rushed out from under them so fast they tumbled along with it, falling headlong through the gap.

Chapter Twenty-two

Robyn was up all night. Sleep would not come. Even before the sun rose he had walked the entire perimeter of the city in search of a weakness in the shield Sidra erected and maintained around it. When he could not find an opening, he sat with his back against a tree and closed his eyes. Somehow, without jeopardizing everyone and everything inside the shield, he needed to find a weakness in it he could manipulate to his own advantage. As long as he remained behind it, he could not communicate with Promanthea.

Time was running out. He knew it. He felt it. The boy was learning at a good pace but the world was deteriorating just as quickly around him. Until now, the battle had been less acute. As a Chosen he never felt at ease, knowing the nature of the enemy, but he thought he understood the delineation of the battlefield. Now, his certainty was wavering. He had to locate a weakness in the shield. Being imprisoned in Parth was unacceptable. He had to talk to his tree. Nothing in nature was without anomalies and Sidra’s power derived itself from the earth.

He relaxed as thoroughly as he could, allowing his body to blend with the environment, softening the barriers that separated his physical essence from that of the world. Just as he had done in Pardatha, though with the help of the ring then, he did so again without it, certain he’d find a fault in the shield somewhere, however tiny or obscure. It glowed bright in the distance and its depth was uncanny yet it was wholly organic in feel. The trees beyond appeared blurred and ill-defined as if he was gazing through an opaque glass.

Where can it be?
he wondered.
So smooth, so perfect. What power she has.
Robyn allowed his mind to skim over the barrier, feeling it as if his fingertips brushed the surfaces directly. It meshed with the ground, knitted itself into the earth as neatly as if it had grown up out of it. His mind-sight leapt from edge to edge.

Must find a way. Something, someplace.
He felt it, like a tiny bump on a smooth surface, barely discernible but there nonetheless.
Ah! Here.
A minute fracture in an area where the ground was a bit uneven.

He rushed to the place he envisioned without thinking about where it might be. He knew. The image embedded itself in his mind. It looked the same as it did everywhere else. No hint of an interruption or an abeyance of any kind. Kneeling upon the soft earth, he reached out his hand.

Noban! Of course.
That explained it. Sidra could never have anticipated that.

He grasped the single piece of Elfin wood whose strength prevented the shield from reaching the surface and sealing Parth in. Rare as it was outside of Lormarion, this particular piece of the incredibly dense tree must have been left here after the sisters carved what they wanted out of the larger planks. Just days ago, he’d noticed the noban table in the library in which they took such pride. He’d admired it and Gretchen told him then that they knew how to sculpt it, that it was gifted to them by Queen Elsinestra of Seramour along with the elfin tools needed to work it.

The fabric weaves
, he thought to himself.
Still. Still…

With care, he lifted the small log an inch or so and the barrier rose with it, leaving an opening beneath it to the outside. The air rushed in and the grass around him bent with the flow. Noban was so strong it held even Sidra’s power at bay. The most intense of fires couldn’t char its surface, and normal axes and chisels couldn’t penetrate it. The shimmering barrier forming a secure seal with the surface everywhere else around Parth could not pass through this material.

He couldn’t pull the wood inside or move it out of the path of the barrier or the light would find the surface and shut him in. Instead, he used it to manipulate the shield and expand the opening enough for him to sneak under it to the outside. Twisting it sideways, he held it lengthwise against the green wall of energy, maximizing the breadth of the aperture he hoped to create for himself. With both hands, he lifted it as high as he dared. The shrubbery beyond waxed clear and vivid. Holding the piece of wood aloft, he bent under it, passing through to the other side. Behind him, the shimmering shield fell like a curtain to within inches of the ground. Sparks of energy played across the noban’s length.

The sky was bleak and the air was heavy and humid, hotter than it should be. He spotted a grassy knoll a few paces away, walked to it and sat down.

A heightened level of consciousness rushed over him like a frigid wave.

It has been so long. I have missed you.

And I you
, Promanthea replied.

It’s difficult to speak from such a distance, but this will have to do for now.
Robyn basked in the tree’s mind touch.

It is good that you chose to contact me. I, too, am joyful.

Promanthea’s words warmed Robyn’s heart, and soon it felt no different than if they were in direct physical contact. The tree’s mental embrace was as tactile as any touch.

Communication is no longer easy. Obstacles of all kinds present themselves
, Robyn explained.

It will become worse as the days go by
, the tree warned.

I never assumed it would be easy. Nothing has been easy
, Robyn said. He felt weary, and could not hide it from the tree, though it was a relief to unburden himself.

Do you regret your path?

No
, he said.
But I’m unsure of myself, Promanthea. I have never felt so before
. It was not only himself he was unsure of.

Uncertainty is to be expected. The roads we travel have been altered. Though the future has never been assured, it is less so now. Certainty is an illusion, Robyn, though it may give you comfort.

If I ask you something, will you answer me honestly?
Robyn inquired.

Can I do otherwise? What an odd question.

I ask this because when we last spoke, there were things you chose to keep hidden from me.

Withholding information and deception are not the same things, Robyn.

So you admit you were keeping things from me?
he snapped.

There are many things I do not tell you. My knowledge is broad and vast, and if I attempt to convey to you all that I know, you would have no time for your own life. I must always choose what we speak about. This is no different today than ever.

You know what I mean, Promanthea. Please don’t patronize me
. Robyn surprised himself by how harsh his response sounded.
My days, too, are often filled with routine and drudgery, the details of which you have no interest in knowing. But I do not keep important things from you. I never have
. Soothing feelings washed over him. He felt the caress of his tree as if standing directly under its enormous branches. It settled his mind, eased his tensions. But his question remained unanswered.
Is it a coincidence we arrived in Parth only a short time after the sister departed with the map?
he asked, shrugging off the feeling of compliance.

We cannot control the timing of such occurrences, the actions of the living.

We? You mean the Lalas? Was it not Oleander who sent her from here with the instructions to destroy it?

Yes.

Then why do you say you are not controlling these events? Your marks are upon all that has transpired. The sisters guarded this map for so long, they would never have set out to destroy it on their own.
Robyn had wondered about this for a long while. The previous explanations were inconsistent.

Our marks are upon all that happens? Not all, Robyn. Upon some things perhaps
, the great tree replied, pausing afterward.
Are you really so angry with me?

You avoid answering. What are you keeping from me?
he asked. He knew that information was being withheld, relevant, important information.
Are you not curious why I have waited so long to contact you?

It was not difficult for me to assume
, Promanthea responded.
Though it hurt me, I accepted your decision.

But it was you who forced this decision upon me
. Robyn recoiled at his tree’s resignation. How could he not know the anguish of it?

No, Robyn. It was your own feelings that compelled you to remain apart. You attribute cause to the wrong source. To say I forced you is inaccurate.

That may be. But I suffered from our last encounter. Are you preparing me to live apart from you? Will you be departing soon?
he thought without asking.

Every day is preparation for the next
, the Lalas replied.
I suffered too.

What I am to learn from the loss of the map?
Robyn asked.

Some things cannot begin until others end. Our days are numbered
, Promanthea said.
Life must continue on regardless.

Yours too?
he thought.
Your days are numbered?
It was painful to hear him talk this way.

The sisters would not have begun to cultivate their new talents. The twins would not be preparing for the Quest. The youngling would never have sprouted upon the shores of a once dry river bed. Every moment is a prelude.

Yes
, Robyn replied.
But some things wouldn’t be necessary if not for the changes which precede them.

Who is to determine the difference between what should be and what must? Our purpose has been to guide the weave. We do not command it.

Yet you cause things to occur. We could have arrived here to find the map still in the hands of the sisters
, Robyn said.
Then I would know what to do next
, he admitted.
As it is, I am at a loss.
And you are not helping me. Why? Why?

Ah. So now we come to the true reason for your temper. But would you have been safe here then? Though we may set something into motion, we cannot predict how it will evolve. We assess what was and what is, and we anticipate what will be.
Promanthea hesitated.
I have not told you everything. That is true. But there is an infinite fount of information you do not need or desire to know. You are an instrument, as are all of the Chosen. The song that you play must harmonize with the earth. It cannot be discordant. Others have that luxury but you do not. The effects of your music may be broader than we can anticipate.

Are we not partners, Promanthea? Are we not bonded? Am I just an instrument of your will?
Was I always just this to him? Are we all? All the Chosen?

Each note you play is your own and yours alone, and thus ultimately your responsibility. You are much more than an instrument of my will, Robyn. You were selected because of your ability, sensitivity, and wisdom. I can merely make a thought available to you. You have always been the one to take it, absorb it and act upon it or not. And so time proceeds. I do not impel you to action. And when I withhold something from you, do you believe I am unaware of the effects? There is no way to say nothing! In saying nothing, I say so much. One cannot exist without influencing all else that exists. Is that not what it means to be alive in this world? Action and inaction are relative. I must measure what I do not say, as much as I do what I reveal in words, for both actions will lead to another.

The boy is almost ready, yet I do not know where to lead him
, Robyn said again.
His training is practically complete and still I struggle with indecision.

Promanthea didn’t respond.

Is this an example of the efficacy of your silence?
Robyn asked.
Am I to ascertain this alone, without your guidance? What are you afraid of?

Does he have no sense of where to begin?
the tree inquired.
He knows he cannot depart yet.

He mentioned that. I hope Tamara returns soon. He has determined that she brings with her something he needs. Could it be the map still?

She carries the 11th shard. The boy feels it. It speaks to him.

So, yet another piece falls into his hands
, Robyn replied with great satisfaction.
I will wait for her return to learn the details of its retrieval. Is the wizard alright?
he asked, concerned that if another gathered a shard from the heart of a dead Lalas, Premoran may no longer be able to.

Yes. He has many loyal and powerful friends. He is still a force to be reckoned with.

Robyn sighed with relief.

I have no sense of my father, of Concordia. Can you tell me anything about them?

Why have you not contacted him yourself?
Promanthea asked.

I have been negligent.

Or reluctant. What do you fear to learn, Robyn?

I do not want to be tempted to stray from my path, though I fear he may need me
, Robyn confessed.

He does. But so does the heir.

Must I choose between the two?

If time passed without choice, it would be unmemorable. Need I answer that question?

No
, Robyn said.
If I abandon Davmiran and he fails, there will be no hope for anyone.
Father? Father?

Your decision was made a long time ago, when you accepted the request to be my Chosen.

Will my father come to harm?

It may become difficult for him, as it has been and will be for us all. The Dark One moves on many fronts
, Promanthea replied.

To Tamarand? Will it be the target?

Perhaps.

We will find a way to prevent it
, the Chosen said.
We have to.

We all do what we can
, Promanthea replied.
What we must…
he continued, in a strange and sadder tone.

What ‘must’ you do?
Robyn asked, disturbed by the Lalas’ tenor.
Is there more that troubles you? What can it be, Promanthea? What? Have you chosen to die?

Although Robyn was nowhere near him in reality, the image he formed in his mind’s eye was vivid and real. For a second, he even smelled the essence of the Lalas. Promanthea responded without words this time, in a way only a Chosen and his tree could appreciate. It put him at ease.