Huntress, Black Dawn, Witchlight (23 page)

He caught her, but he couldn’t stand up either. Maggie knew that as well as she knew what was going on in her own body. He sank to his knees, holding her.

What are you doing to me?

It was a thought, but it wasn’t Maggie’s. It was his.

I don’t know…I’m not doing it…I don’t understand!
Maggie had no idea how to send her thoughts to another person. But she didn’t need to, it was simply happening. A pure line of communication had been opened between them. It was a fierce and terrible thing, a bit like being fused together by a bolt of lightning, but it was also so wonderful that Maggie’s entire skin was prickling and her mind was hushed with awe.

She felt as if she’d been lifted into some new and wonderful place that most people never even saw. The air around her seemed to quiver with invisible wings.

This is how people are supposed to be,
she thought.
Joined like this. Open to each other. With nothing hidden and no stupid walls between them.

A thought came back at her, sharp and quick as a hammer strike.
No!

It was so cold, so full of rejection, that for a moment Maggie was taken aback. But then she sensed what else was behind it.

Anger…and fear. He was afraid of this, and of her. He felt invaded. Exposed.

Well, I do, too,
Maggie said mentally. It wasn’t that she wasn’t afraid. It was that her fear was irrelevant. The force that held them was so much more powerful than either of them, so immeasurably ancient, that fear was natural but not impor
tant. The same light shone through each of them, stripping away their shields, making them transparent to each other.

It’s all right for you. Because
you
don’t have anything to be ashamed of!
The thought flashed by so quickly that Maggie wasn’t even sure she had heard it.

What do you mean?
she thought.
Wait…Delos.

That was his name. Delos Redfern. She knew it now, as unquestionably as she knew the names of her own family. She realized, too, as a matter of minor importance, an afterthought, that he was a prince. A vampire prince who’d been born to rule this secret kingdom, as the Redfern family had ruled it for centuries.

The old king was your father,
she said to him.
And he died three years ago, when you were fourteen. You’ve been ruling ever since.

He was pulling away from her mentally, trying to break the contact between them.
It’s none of your business,
he snarled.

Please wait,
Maggie said. But as she chased after him mentally, trying to catch him, to help him, something shocking and new happened, like a second bolt of lightning.

S
he was in his mind. It was all around her, like a strange and perilous world. A terribly frightening world, but one that was full of stark beauty.

Everything was angles, as if she’d fallen into the heart of a giant crystal. Everything glittered, cold and clear and sharp. There were flashes of color as light shimmered and reflected, but for the most part it was dazzling transparency in every direction. Like the fractured ice of a glacier.

Really dangerous,
Maggie thought. The spikes of crystal around her had edges like swords. The place looked as if it had never known warmth or soft color.

And you
live
here?
she thought to Delos.

Go away.
Delos’s answering thought came to her on a wave of cold wind.
Get out!

No,
Maggie said.
You can’t scare me. I’ve climbed glaciers before.
It was then that she realized what this place reminded
her of. A summit. The bare and icy top of a mountain where no plants—and certainly no people—could survive.

But didn’t
anything
good ever happen to you?
she wondered.
Didn’t you ever have a friend…or a pet…or something?

No friends,
he said shortly.
No pets. Get out of here before I hurt you.

Maggie didn’t answer, because even as he said it things were changing around her. It was as if the glinting surfaces of the nearby crystals were suddenly reflecting scenes, perfect little pictures with people moving in them. As soon as Maggie looked at one, it swelled up and seemed to surround her.

They were his memories. She was seeing bits of his childhood.

She saw a child who had been treated as a weapon from the time he was born. It was all about some prophecy. She saw men and women gathered around a little boy, four years old, whose black-lashed golden eyes were wide and frightened.

“No question about it,” the oldest man was saying. Delos’s teacher, Maggie realized, the knowledge flowing to her because Delos knew it, and she was in Delos’s mind.

“This child is one of the Wild Powers,” the teacher said, and his voice was full of awe—and fear. His trembling hands smoothed out a brittle piece of scroll. As soon as Maggie saw it she knew that the scroll was terribly old and had been kept in the Dark Kingdom for centuries, preserved here even when it was lost to the outside world.

“Four Wild Powers,” the old man said, “who will be needed at the millennium to save the world—or to destroy it. The prophecy tells where they will come from.” And he read:

The child Delos looked around the circle of grim faces, hearing the words but not understanding them.

“‘The land of kings, long forgotten,’” a woman was saying. “That must be the Dark Kingdom.”

“Besides, we’ve seen what he can do,” a big man said roughly. “He’s a Wild Power, all right. The blue fire is in his blood. He’s learned to use it too early, though; he can’t control it. See?”

He grabbed a small arm—the left one—and held it up. It was twisted somehow, the fingers clawed and stiff, immobile.

The little boy tried to pull his hand away, but he was too weak. The adults ignored him.

“The king wants us to find spells to hold the power in,” the woman said. “Or he’ll damage himself permanently.”

“Not to mention damaging us,” the rough man said, and laughed harshly.

The little boy sat stiff and motionless as they handled him
like a doll. His golden eyes were dry and his small jaw was clenched with the effort not to give in to tears.

That’s awful,
Maggie said indignantly, aiming her thought at the Delos of the present.
It’s a terrible way to grow up. Wasn’t there anybody who cared about you? Your father?

Go away,
he said.
I don’t need your sympathy.

And your arm,
Maggie said, ignoring the cold emptiness of his thought.
Is that what happens to it when you use the blue fire?

He didn’t answer, not in a thought directed at her. But another memory flashed in the facets of a crystal, and Maggie found herself drawn into it.

She saw a five-year-old Delos with his arm wrapped in what looked like splints or a brace. As she looked at it, she knew it wasn’t just a brace. It was made of spells and wards to confine the blue fire.

“This is it,” the woman who had spoken before was saying to the circle of men. “We can control him completely.”

“Are you sure? You witches are careless sometimes. You’re sure he can’t use it at all now?” The man who said it was tall, with a chilly, austere face—and yellow eyes like Delos’s.

Your father,
Maggie said wonderingly to Delos.
And his name was…Tormentil? But…
She couldn’t go on, but she was thinking that he didn’t look much like a loving father. He seemed just like the others.

“Until I remove the wards, he can’t use it at all. I’m sure, majesty.” The woman said the last word in an everyday tone,
but Maggie felt a little shock. Hearing somebody get called majesty—it made him
more
of a king, somehow.

“The longer they’re left on, the weaker he’ll be,” the woman continued. “And
he
can’t take them off himself. But I can, at any time—”

“And then he’ll still be useful as a weapon?”

“Yes. But blood has to run before he can use the blue fire.”

The king said brusquely, “Show me.”

The woman murmured a few words and stripped the brace off the boy’s arm. She took a knife from her belt and with a quick, casual motion, like Maggie’s grandmother gutting a salmon, opened a gash on his wrist.

Five-year-old Delos didn’t flinch or make a sound. His golden eyes were fixed on his father’s face as blood dripped onto the floor.

“I don’t think this is a good idea,” the old teacher said. “The blue fire isn’t meant to be used like this, and it damages his arm every time he does it—”

“Now,” the king interrupted, ignoring him and speaking to the child for the first time. “Show me how strong you are, son. Turn the blue fire on…” He glanced up deliberately at the teacher. “Let’s say—him.”

“Majesty!” The old man gasped, backing against the wall.

The golden eyes were wide and afraid.

“Do it!” the king said sharply, and when the little boy shook his head mutely, he closed his hand on one small
shoulder. Maggie could see his fingers tighten painfully. “Do what I tell you.
Now!
”

Delos turned his wide golden eyes on the old man, who was now shrinking and babbling, his trembling hands held up as if to ward off a blow.

The king changed his grip, lifted the boy’s arm.

“Now, brat!
Now!
”

Blue fire erupted. It poured in a continuous stream like the water from a high-power fire hose. It struck the old man and spread-eagled him against the wall, his eyes and mouth open with horror. And then there
was
no old man. There was only a shadowy silhouette made of ashes.

“Interesting,” the king said, dropping the boy’s arm. His anger had disappeared as quickly as it had come. “Actually, I thought there would be more power. I thought it might take out the wall.”

“Give him time.” The woman’s voice was slightly thick, and she was swallowing over and over.

“Well, no matter what, he’ll be useful.” The king turned to look at the others in the room. “Remember—all of you. A time of darkness is coming. The end of the millennium means the end of the world. But whatever happens outside, this kingdom is going to survive.”

Throughout all of this, the little boy sat and stared at the place where the old man had been. His eyes were wide, the pupils huge and fixed. His face was white, but without expression.

Maggie struggled to breathe.

That’s—that’s the most terrible thing I’ve ever seen.
She could hardly get the words of her thought out.
They made you kill your teacher—
he
made you do it. Your father.
She didn’t know what to say. She turned blindly, trying to find Delos himself in this strange landscape, trying to talk to him directly. She wanted to look at him, to hold him. To comfort him.
I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry you had to grow up like that.

Don’t be stupid,
he said.
I grew up to be strong. That’s what counts.

You grew up without anyone loving you,
Maggie said.

He sent a thought like ice.
Love is for weak people. It’s a delusion. And it can be deadly.

Maggie didn’t know how to answer. She wanted to shake him.
All that stuff about the end of the millennium and the end of the world—what did that mean?

Exactly what it sounded like,
Delos said briefly.
The prophecies are coming true. The world of humans is about to end in blood and darkness. And then the Night People are going to rule again.

And that’s why they turned a five-year-old into a lethal weapon? Maggie wondered. The thought wasn’t for Delos, but she could feel that he heard it.

I am what I was meant to be,
he said.
And I don’t want to be anything else.

Are you sure?
Maggie looked around. Although she couldn’t have described what she was doing, she knew what it
was. She was looking for something…something to prove to him…

A scene flashed in the crystal.

The boy Delos was eight. He stood in front of a pile of boulders, rocks the size of small cars. His father stood behind him.

“Now!”

As soon as the king spoke, the boy lifted his arm. Blue fire flashed. A boulder exploded, disintegrating into atoms.

“Again!”

Another rock shattered.

“More power! You’re not trying. You’re useless!”

The entire pile of boulders exploded. The blue fire kept streaming, taking out a stand of trees behind the boulders and crashing into the side of a mountain. It chewed through the rock, melting shale and granite like a flamethrower burning a wooden door.

The king smiled cruelly and slapped his son on the back.

“That’s better.”

No. That’s horrible,
Maggie told Delos.
That’s
wrong.
This is what it should be like.

And she sent to him images of her own family. Not that the Neelys were anything special. They were like anybody. They had fights, some of them pretty bad. But there were lots of good times, too, and that was what she showed him. She showed him her life…herself.

Laughing as her father frantically blew on a flaming marshmallow on some long-past camping trip. Smelling turpentine and watching magical colors unfold on canvas as her mother painted. Perching dangerously on the handlebars of a bike while Miles pedaled behind her, then shrieking all the way down a hill. Waking up to a rough warm tongue licking her face, opening one eye to see Jake the Great Dane panting happily. Blowing out candles at a birthday party. Ambushing Miles from her doorway with a heavy-duty water rifle…

Who is that?
Delos asked. He had been thawing; Maggie could feel it. There were so many things in the memories that were strange to him: yellow sunshine, modern houses, bicycles, machinery—but she could feel interest and wonder stir in him at the people.

Until now, when she was showing him a sixteen-year-old Miles, a Miles who looked pretty much like the Miles of today.

That’s Miles. He’s my brother. He’s eighteen and he just started college.
Maggie paused, trying to feel what Delos was thinking.
He’s the reason I’m here. He got involved with this girl called Sylvia—I think she’s a witch. And then he disappeared. I went to see Sylvia, and the next thing I know I’m waking up in a slave-trader’s cart. In a place I never knew existed.

Delos said,
I see.

Delos, do you know him? Have you seen him before?
Maggie tried to keep the question calm. She would have thought she
could see anything that Delos was thinking, that it would all be reflected in the crystals around her, that there was nothing he could hide. But now suddenly she wasn’t sure.

It’s best for you to leave that alone,
Delos said.

I can’t,
Maggie snapped back.
He’s my brother! If he’s in trouble I have to find him—I have to help him. That’s what I’ve been trying to explain to you. We help each other.

Delos said,
Why?

Because we do. Because that’s what people are supposed to do. And even you know that, somewhere down deep. You were trying to help me in my dream—

She could feel him pull away.
Your dreams are just your fantasies.

Maggie said flatly,
No. Not this one. I had it before I met you.

She could remember more of it now. Here in his mind the details were coming to her, all the things that had been unclear before. And there was only one thing to do.

She showed it to Delos.

The mist, the figure appearing, calling her name. The wonder and joy in his face when he caught sight of her. The way his hands closed on her shoulders, so gently, and the look of inexpressible tenderness in his eyes.

And then—I remember!
Maggie said.
You told me to look for a pass, underneath a rock that looked like a wave about to break. You told me to get away from here, to escape. And then…

She remembered what had happened then, and faltered.

And then he had kissed her.

She could feel it again, his breath a soft warmth on her cheek, and then the touch of his lips, just as soft. There had been so much in that kiss, so much of himself revealed. It had been almost shy in its gentleness, but charged with a terrible passion, as if he had known it was the last kiss they would ever share.