The Rift War Page 3

  "So what's up?" Shalara said, after she had filled a plate and cup, and settled down on the long couch next to Emrillian. "It sounded rather serious. Don't tell me those idiots in Waylas are trying to outlaw the Archaics as a cult again, and we need to go help people sneak over the border?"

  "Ten times more serious and world-shaking, I'm afraid," Emrillian said. She tugged the cloth napkin off the bow guard, sitting on the table. Blue and white light shot out in all directions, Shalara froze, eyes wide and dazzled.

  "What is that?" she whispered. She scrambled to put her plate down on the floor before her trembling hands dropped it. She stared at her fingers, which now shimmered with blue and green and yellow light.

  "That is a bow guard made of star-metal," Grego said. "And it's yours. Emmi made it just today for you."

  "Me?" Her voice cracked. "This is a joke, a lighting trick, right?" She shook her head, looked at the three of them in turn, then turned back to the bow guard. Through the light reflecting off her face, Grego was sure he saw greedy wistfulness. "For star-metal to react like that, according to the lore..." She shook her head again.

  "You have imbrose," Emrillian said. "That's why I made it for you. To enhance your inborn magic and give you strength."

  She scooped up the new bow guard with a carelessness Grego knew was calculated. He knew she could control the inherent power there because she had 'befriended' the star-metal, as her great-great-grandmother, Ceera, Queen of Snows had termed it, but he couldn't help wincing just the same. When Shalara didn't resist, Emrillian tugged up her loose sleeve and slid the guard into place. Green and yellow light flared, encapsulating her for three heartbeats, before sinking into her skin and dying away. All but for a soft shimmer around the bow guard.

  "That means the star-metal accepts you," Mrillis said. It was totally unnecessary, because all devoted Archaics knew star-metal lore. Emrillian had fought long and hard to make sure that, among the Archaics at least, the truth of imbrose and star-metal overrode all the speculations and fables that had grown up over the centuries.

  Shalara let out a long, soft sigh that wavered at the end. She sank back in the couch, running her fingers over the design engraved into the metal, the lamp and scroll emblem of the Stronghold, surrounded by a tracery of grapevines, with clusters of arrowheads instead of grapes.

  "Okay." She swallowed hard, took a deep breath, and finally looked around at the three of them again. "Something very serious and dangerous is going on. I know how much this is worth, after all the security work I've done, related to Grego's project. You're in serious trouble, if Kayn and his goons learn you have this much tamed star-metal here--and you used it for something so frivolous."

  "Not frivolous," Mrillis said. "We face imminent war that will change the fate of this entire planet, and we are asking you to take oath with us and help recruit others among the Archaics who have imbrose as you do."

  "Imbrose." She closed her eyes, nodding, and turned to Grego when she opened them again. "Do you-- Ah, of course." She managed a crooked smile when he held out his hand with purple and blue light dancing around his star-metal ring. "What's going on, what has happened to bring on war, and what do you want from me, besides being a recruiter?"

  "Very good." Mrillis lifted his mug of tea in toast to her and took a long sip while the others waited. "Let us begin with the basics. Whatever you cannot deduce on your own, we will fill in the blanks. The essentials are that Quenlaque is real. Athrar Warhawk is real. As we speak here, he sleeps in the Vale of Lanteer with Ynfara, his wife, at his side, still healing from his mortal, magically enhanced wounds caused by the battle with Edrout. He is not Athrar's bastard, incest-born son, but the son of the Nameless One and Athrar's sister, Megassa. Edrout is still alive as well, gathering his power and his allies in the Wayhauk Mountains."

  "But those mountains have been thoroughly explored," Shalara interrupted. "At least, the mountain range that most closely matches the Wayhauk Mountains of legend."

  "Yes, the mountains here in Moerta. I'm talking about the actual Wayhauk Mountains that still stand today in Lygroes. The real Lygroes, which is much diminished in size from when I was a boy, but still exists today."

  "Exists where?" she asked, her voice strained nearly to a whisper.

  "In the same geographical area of the Death Zone. The intense radiation that causes those deadly currents in the sea and the turbulent weather is actually caused by a dome of protective magic, established over Lygroes before the Nameless One was destroyed, and Athrar was wounded to the very razor's edge of death."

  "But-- That's only theory."

  "No, it is truth. I know, because I have been there."

  "And I was born there," Emrillian added. She grasped Shalara's hand when her friend gave her a startled, disbelieving look. "Just listen to Grandfather, and depend on our friendship, and trust us. It is the truth. The star-metal on your wrist and the imbrose coming to life inside you is proof of that."

  "No one can go there," Shalara said, her voice unsteady, as if she didn't believe the words coming out of her mouth, but had to say them anyway. "Aircraft that try to map the Death Zone are destroyed. Boats are wrecked."

  "I don't go by air or by sea. I walk when I visit," Mrillis said.

  "Grandfather," Emrillian chided. "Shar, there is a tunnel, hidden here on the estate, that goes under the sea and comes out at the Tower of Bo'Lantier, in Lygroes. Grandfather visits, but he has never taken me since he brought me here to live." She stuck her tongue out at Mrillis, who barked laughter.

  Shalara's color improved after that bit of foolery.

  "That is because I haven't returned to Lygroes since I brought you here for safekeeping, my dear. But we shall go soon." Mrillis' smile faded. "Sooner than we anticipated. Yes, I have been very busy raising Emmi for the last sixteen years, since her life was threatened. Edrout has been barred from finding the tunnel, by magic and by illusions, and by the dedicated troops of Valors who keep him and his followers penned in the real Wayhauk Mountains. However, I fear that we have traitors among the forces of Quenlaque once again, and they helped him attack the fabric of the spells that protect Lygroes, by attacking the tunnel."

  "It is the only weak spot, after all," Emrillian offered. "The dome is to keep all of Lygroes in, and the rest of the world out, but the tunnel allows access between continents and drills through the conundrum of time itself."

  "Save that lecture for later," her grandfather admonished, waving a reproving finger at her. "Suffice to say, when Edrout attacked the tunnel, he endangered Emmi, so I had to bring her here."

  "Why was she endangered?" Shalara asked.

  "I was sleeping in a spell just like the one enfolding my parents," Emrillian said. "Of course, not with my parents, but in the tunnel under the sea. Because Grandfather knew I had to awaken first and prepare the way. You're probably very confused and you feel as if the rug keeps getting yanked out from underneath you before you quite have your footing again. Imagine how I feel, every time I remember that prophecies spoke about me before I was even conceived."

  "Prophecy." She slowly shook her head. "This sounds like those times when we take identities from the lore and spent the entire conclave acting and talking like our personas, but... This is real." She stroked her bow guard again. "What prophecy are you talking about, though?"

  "This world and time has never heard of the prophecy of the Lady Warhawk," Mrillis said. "Just a little more information, and then we must send you out on an important mission. When all this is done, you will be a Valor in truth, not just in play. You have the strength to become one of the Ladies to the Queen of Snows, if that is what you wish."

  He chuckled when Shalara perked up at that. "Now, here is the hardest part. Emmi Rakkell is not her name. Nor is Illis Rakkell mine. We took names that would be easier to accept in this world and time. Emmi is Emrillian Warhawk, daughter of Athrar Warhawk and Ynfara, princess of Goarlotte, who was daughter of King Pirkin, who was grandson of Ceera, Queen of Snows, and
Mrillis the enchanter. Their daughter, his mother, was the Emrillian who hid the Zygradon when Endor, son of the Nameless One, turned traitor. Emmi was named for her great-grandmother. My daughter."

  Mrillis sat back and clasped his hands in his lap, and simply watched Shalara as her face blanked and her eyes went unfocused and she visibly digested what he had told her.

  "So you're saying you're Mrillis? The one who made the Zygradon and Braenlicach, and who put Efrin and Athrar on the throne, and defeated the Nameless One?" Her voice only cracked a little.

  "That is the simplified version, yes. Great deeds always take many minds and hearts, working in harmony, sharing strength and skill and faith." Mrillis nodded, giving her that same pleased smile Grego knew from the days when everything he knew as truth had been just fables and lore and a fascinating game for a lonely boy.

  "I figured out a long time ago," he offered, "you have to believe it all, or it's all insanity."

  "You're no help." Shalara stuck her tongue out at him, then a moment later barked laughter.

  "I'm sorry," Emrillian said. "We gave you too much to chew on. But time is of the essence now, and we chose you years ago, to be part of our plan to defend Lygroes and Quenlaque."

  "There is no way to fragment the truth without losing much of it, and without it becoming unbelievable," Mrillis added. "Shalara, will you trust us?"

  "With this on my wrist?" She held her bow guard and started at it for a few seconds. Then she took a deep breath, and her expression grew stern. "You're right, I have to accept it all. And if it's all true, if it's all real, I can fill in a lot of pieces, the things you didn't say..."

  Her eyes widened. "The project. The dome... Lore says a shield of Threads protects Quenlaque. If the project succeeds, it will drain power from star-metal, and Threads are born from star-metal."

  "The chaos and destruction when the dome falls could send the rest of Lygroes into the sea, or put Edrout in power," Emrillian said. She caught hold of both of Shalara's hands. "I ask you as a friend and as Warhawk's Heir. Will you swear yourself to our cause? Will you take the star-metal we give you, to empower other Archaics who carry imbrose, and bring them with you to Lygroes, to join our war?"

  "Warhawk's Heir." She nodded slowly, her expression going stern again. A moment later she slid from the couch to kneel before Emrillian and tugged free the hand with the bow guard, to press it over her heart. "I do swear. Take my oath, Emrillian Warhawk."

  * * * *

  Full night had fallen by the time they had made their plans and given Shalara two full hours of intensive lessons in using her imbrose. Her magical talent extended to sensing the condition of the body, meaning she would be a valuable healer, along with a touch of kinetics.

  Emrillian had suspected Shalara was a latent telekinetic, just because of her skill in archery, unconsciously helping her arrow reach the target even when gusts of wind interfered. She remembered the days of teaching Grego to use his imbrose and how hard he had worked to have big, impressive talents. It had taken a long time for him to understand that his flashes of insight were close to prophetic gifts, and his ability to communicate over long distances and create light without torches were just as valuable as levitation or throwing blasts of energy against the enemy, or teleporting, or healing.

  Shalara took the star-metal trinkets Emrillian entrusted to her, to take to their Archaics friends who had shown signs of possessing imbrose. The next step was for her to wait for Karstis to get home from his emergency meeting, give him his star-metal browband, his rudimentary lessons in magic, and the basic indoctrination needed to recruit him to the Warhawk's service for real. The two of them would come to Liris in the morning for further lessons, and then contact their friends throughout the following day, bringing them all to the house for lessons. In two days, those who were willing to come would meet at the tunnel, to join the household in crossing under the sea to Lygroes.

  Those who refused to accept the truth and were frightened enough to be a danger to the cause would have their memories blocked. Liris and his son, Lorran, who tended the stables, were very good at memory spells.

  Grego went home to pack and get a few hours of sleep before they left that night, between moonset and dawn. Emrillian went to bed and used a spell on herself to sleep. Otherwise, she would lie in her bed for hours, restless, her mind churning with fears and questions, until it was time to dress and saddle her horse and go.

  When the dream-memories came, Emrillian knew she dreamed, but she couldn't break free. Once again, she was four years old, camping in the waystop in the tunnel under the sea, waiting with her mother, Ynfara, for the great battle to end between the Warhawk's forces and the Nameless One. She had been safely perched in her mother's lap, puzzling through the fascinating maze of the letters Ynfara wrote on a slate, teaching her to read. She had just grasped the idea that the little lines and curves and circles equaled real things--horses and dogs, fire and bread. They told stories silently, in her head, if she put enough of them together on a long sheet of parchment. Emrillian much preferred the stories her parents told her, either curled up with her in front of the firepit in their quarters in Quenlaque Castle, or the stories her papa told her, directly into her mind, when he was in the battlefield and she was still living at the Stronghold with Aunt Meggi and Grandmama.

  Still, she liked the puzzle, and she worked hard to remember the sounds that went with all the letters Mama taught her, to create the words that drew pictures in her mind.

  Then no matter how hard she tried to change the dream, events proceeded as they had that day when Megassa attacked. The un-funny buzzing and bubbling and heat brushed up against the very center of her, in her bones and the middle of her head. Child-Emrillian shrieked, remembering the morning she had awakened, washed in those sensations, bleeding from her mouth and nose and ears. The nasty woman laughed, deep inside her head now, as she had done that horrifying morning so many moons ago. But this time there was no Aunt Meggi to hold her and wrap all the Threads of magic around her to muffle the pain and the terrifying sensation of being taken apart, bit by bit.

  Child-Emrillian screamed, wriggled out of her mother's arms, and reached out with her mind for the Threads, to find Aunt Meggi.

  Then she stopped her struggles, the sound catching in her throat, as she realized that the sensations didn't go anywhere. The buzzing and heat didn't dig into her bones and start to take her apart, one cell at a time. It was like hearing the wind of a furious storm, but not feeling it.

  "It's all right, Emmi," Mama whispered, and drew her back to her lap. "It's just a bad dream. We're safe, here. Megassa will never touch you, ever again."

  Far away, the nasty lady screamed and raged, and then shrieked in pain. The heat and buzzing and un-funny tickling went away. And a boy cried out in fury, his voice washing away the sounds of the woman dying, burned and shattered by the very magic she had thrown at an innocent child.

  Emrillian partially roused from the dream, aware that Megassa had died when the killing spell she directed at the child-Emmi had rebounded back on her. And that furious cry of the boy, Edrout, over the death of his mother, transformed into the snarl of hatred and victory in a man's throat.

  Ynfara vanished from the dream, and the fire and all the supplies turned to dust and darkness. Instead of being in the center of the waystop, Emrillian lay curled up inside a bubble in the stone wall of the chamber. Edrout's voice reverberated, buzzing through thousands of leagues of water and stone, penetrating the enchantments that kept her safely asleep, frozen in time, shredding the Threads that cocooned her. She opened her eyes to darkness, and as she fumbled for some way out of it, she found nothing but glass-smooth rock, unbroken, no seam or doorway, everywhere she reached.

  She screamed for Mama and Papa. She screamed for Aunt Meggi. For Grandpa Pirkin and Grandma Ynessa and Grandmama Glyssani. She screamed longest for Grandpapa Mrillis, because she knew he could do anything.

  And all the while, Edrout laughed, and the buzzin
g that threatened the very rock of the chamber surrounding her grew stronger, so it filled her bones. Emrillian tangled herself in the blankets and the pallet that had cushioned her through centuries of sleep, and fell, banging her head against the smooth, rounded side of her chamber.

  She reached for the Threads... But there were none. All her life, there had been Threads. Even though just before the great battle the Threads had thinned away to almost nothing, they had still been there, giving her power. Giving her magic.

  She huddled in on herself, closed her eyes against the darkness, and stuck her fingers in her ears, but she couldn't block out the sound of the man who laughed and seemed to draw a little closer with every breath. Sinking deep down inside herself, like Aunt Meggi and Mama and Grandpapa had taught her, she gathered up all the energy she had. She made a Thread of her own, to fling it out into the darkness.

  Her Thread slapped against the star-metal embedded in the very walls of the tunnel, and the star-metal that still littered the sea floor, leagues above her, through solid stone and sediment. It awakened, just before Emmi thought she would run out of air and energy. The bright flash of power yanked her sideways, through solid stone, into cool, dusty, stale air. The flash sent a reverberation through stone in every direction, and Edrout let out a roar of surprise that ended with an audible click. And then silence.

  Child-Emmi collapsed on the floor of the tunnel, shivering in her sleeping shift, exhausted, and surrounded by the soft shimmer of awakened star-metal.

  When Mrillis found her, almost a whole day later, she had figured out how to unseal the bins that held supplies of food and clothes, wrapped in magic to keep them safe and fresh and secure through the centuries of waiting. She had food and water, and called up light from the star-metal embedded in the stone around her, but it had been a long, silent wait. She had been cold despite the fire that finally came after she screamed and ordered it to awake in the firepit. Emrillian tried to be brave, but it was hard when she saw Grandpapa jump off his lathered horse and run to her. Tears streaked his face and his arms shook when he gathered her up and held her close.