Vergence (61 page)

He retreated through the far side of his ward, preparing to create another if the first failed to block the thing now watching him through multiple eyes.

The monstrosity crouched like some giant fur-covered toad, gesticulating obscenely towards Sash with multiple misshapen clawed limbs, and licked lasciviously with variously sized tongues from multiple mouths.

Ebryn stared at the creature as it edged forward, pushing past the resistance of his ward. No base ephemeral this — but something greater, he thought numbly, something of a higher order, filled with malice and cunning, able to track him from world to world. He felt as if the cold had slipped from his body to invade his spirit, shrouding his mind, and clouding his senses.

It seemed unfair to him, after struggling so hard, to have to face it again, and even stronger than before. He felt his body shaking with exhaustion, his mind slowing down. Wards and shields might hold it for a while, but the end was certain, if he couldn't get away by stepping through the between. If he stayed here, it would eventually wear him down, and if he ran, it would follow him.

Ebryn backed away, casting a third ward as the stones holding the first started to crack and splinter under the crushing force of the fiend as it forced its way down the tunnel towards him.

Would a churlwood summoning have the strength to defeat the ephemeral facing him? Too much risk. It might also be absorbed, and then he'd be facing a foe far harder to defeat. His thoughts ran sluggishly through a list of options, trying to recall anything useful from the many books he'd read.

Something bumped into his shins as the flow of water resumed once again, covering his boots. Turning so he could look past Sash, he saw a spear, dropped by one of the riders, drifting past his foot. The haft was made from a kind of wood. As he looked at it a glint from his chest caught his eye. Where his cloak had been torn away, a tiny fragment remained, pinned to his doublet with the clasp Sarl had made for him.

And he realised what he needed to do.

Home

E
BRYN TRAPPED
the spear under his foot. It wasn't much, but at least something to work with in this confined space. He recalled the rootwood ephemeral from Elimora's books, a distant cousin of the churlwood, a creature given to stubborn immobility. Nearly impossible to dislodge once wedged in place, they were barely more intelligent than an earthworm, according to the old writer.

As his second last ward ripped away from the wall under the monstrosities relentless assault, Ebryn reached out with his mind to find a connection to a rootwood, bending it to his will and summoning it inside the haft of the spear. It lodged there and grew, sending clinging roots directly through cracks in the stonework under the water, ploughing downwards through the soil beneath, spreading and binding itself fast in moments. Ebryn forced it to grow upwards, into the passageway, forming a thin web of strands, like the bars of a cage.

To the unskilled eye, this new defense might seem inadequate, but Ebryn understood the nature of this ephemeral. Once a rootwood grasped something, it would be nearly impossible to remove it.

“Here, you can have her,” Ebryn said, pretending to lower Sash to the floor.

He didn't know if it understood him, but as his last ward gave way the creature lurched forward, a mess of limbs scrabbling against the floor to propel it forward. It slammed into the network of fibres and stopped. New shoots sprang from the rootwood, wrapping the creature in a tight mesh and dragging it down to the ground.

Ebryn dived into the beyond, hearing a long drawn out howl as he passed through the world skin. He felt himself falling head-first, felt Sash slipping from his arms, as they hurtled downwards through the non-space of the between, fighting against the instinctive urge to release her, and flail about like a drowning man.

He could feel the flow accelerating them away from the core of the ephemeral realms, pushing him with the down-rush, dragging him away like a powerful tide.

A distant part of his mind recited the dangers: falling endlessly until the forces of this altered place stripped him of thought and resistance — lost forever in a sea of shifting colours, or dragged into some horrifyingly barren trap world, or slipping across to a distant branch of the outflow — forever trying to find his way back.

He gulped in great breaths against the sensation of suffocating, fighting to stay focused on his clasp and the forge room where it had been crafted, the heat and smell of fire, sparks flying from hammer strokes, and the red hiss of the quenching trough.

He recalled Sarl tempering a knife blade, quenching and reheating, and abruptly found something solid beneath his feet — a patch of stonework, dark with soot dust and solidified fragments of once liquid metal, a familiar place momentarily outlined in vivid colours, and then, all at once, solid and real.

Ebryn almost fell, his legs braced against the bone-splintering impact he'd expected, but the arrival was as gentle as stepping over a doorway ledge. His head whirled, and his vision blanked out, as the forge stabilised around him. And he felt a strong arm under his elbow, holding him upright, while another lifted the weight of Sash from him.

When his sight cleared, he found Sarl holding Sash effortlessly, one hand extended to prop him up. As soon as he could stand unaided, Sarl let go and turned his attention to Sash, roughly clearing space on a workbench, and gently laying her down. As Ebryn moved closer Sarl raised her red-stained shirt a little to reveal the small wound in her side, then lifted one of her eyelids.

Sash's pupil reacted sluggishly, contracting fractionally in the room's half-light. A thin film of perspiration had gathered on her forehead, and he could see her breathing had become slow and irregular. His eyes were drawn to her arm where the two red braided lines enclosed a blue, except the blue line had all but gone.

“There is no help for her here,” Sarl said. “She doesn't have much time left, why did you bring her?”

“I was trying to take her home, to Senesella. I brought here first, because I didn't know how to get there from Vergence, and I thought it would be easier if I tried from closer, but we were attacked and ended up somewhere dark.”

Sarl's gaze travelled over his torn and stained clothing. It took in the ragged remains of his cloak, and came to rest on the clasp, still pinned to the front of his doublet, and Ebryn realised the gift of the clasp had not been accidental, but something Sarl had deliberately created in this forge. A link to this spot, to guide him back if he needed.

“How did you know?” Ebryn asked.

“My brother was a caster — he went to Vergence. Why did you not take her directly home?”

“I know nothing of Senesella, but a few stories, not enough for me to find a path.”

“You used my gift to find your way here, but you carried something from Senesella with you the entire time?”

It took Ebryn a few moments to realise what Sarl was talking about, enough time to make him feel incredibly stupid.

“Good,” Sarl said. “Don't stand there with your mouth open. If you are rested enough, go. Take her home.”

In Senesella, the air sparkled, the light effervescent and dancing, like a living thing where ittouched stone or wood.

The colours seemed deeper, and the sounds crisper.

Ebryn arrived in the centre of a broad walkway. It opened out into a succession of wide, sparsely furnished rooms on each side, each barely divided from the others by knee-high walls and round columns.

Tall pillars supported high arching roofs of richly inlaid glossy white and honey coloured stone. The interior felt light and airy, filled with a rich ocean smell carried through by a haphazard breeze. He couldn't see or hear sounds of anybody nearby.

His relief at arriving was tinged with concern that the palatial structure he was in might be as vast as Vergence library. He called out urgently, but heard no response. At either end of the walkway was an arch, leading through to an open-air balcony, and making a quick decision, he headed towards the nearest.

He'd barely carried Sash a dozen paces when he heard a soft noise behind him, and turned to see a woman under the far archway. He had the briefest impression of pale clothing over bronzed skin, with brilliant red hair, and she'd gone.

“Wait,” Ebryn shouted, jogging after her.

He'd almost reached the end of the walkway when the red-haired woman reappeared, followed closely by another.

The second woman approached and said something in another language, switching seamlessly to Volanian when she saw he did not understand. “What happened?”

“She's been poisoned,” Ebryn said, his voice almost breaking as he spoke.

He realised who she must be — indefinably older but otherwise nearly identical to Sash, with the same amber eyes, flawless bronze skin, and long straw-coloured hair. She carried herself with determined calm, moving with practised practicality.

The woman — Sash's mother — moved closer, and lifted Sash's top to reveal the wound. An ugly thing surrounded by discoloured skin.

“Yes, poison. We must attend to this swiftly,” she said, turning on her heels. “This way, we have little time.”

Ebryn felt the last of his strength failing him as he made to follow after them.

“Can you carry Sashael? No?” Sash's mother asked, noticing his faltering footsteps.

She called softly in the other language, and moments later two near identical men came round a corner. Both were half a head taller than Ebryn, with broad shoulders and long dark hair. As bronzed as the women, they wore colourful kilts and sandals, and carried long swords hanging from their belts.

Ebryn guessed they must be guards, waiting nearby to be summoned if needed. They certainly looked more impressive than the Vergence variety.

Their eyes travelled from Ebryn, to Sash, and to her mother. She spoke quickly, and one stepped forward to take Sash.

A while later, Ebryn sat alongside Sash's mother on a broad divan in the room where Sash lay. At first he'd watched from the corner seat, drained to the point of exhaustion, while the two women busied themselves over her. They'd been joined almost at once by an old woman, holding something between her hands which shone with a fierce light, as bright as the summer sun in Fyrenar.

The old woman had shooed the other two away, and Sash's mother joined him, sitting rigidly in a watchful silence, seemingly for hours, as the crone bent over Sash, murmuring and moving her hands in slow circles.

When the old woman left, shuffling from the room, nodding at Ebryn as she passed, the brilliant light was gone, and he could see Sash lying on the bed under a thin sheet, breathing easily.

The two muscular men, still loitering just outside the room, knelt reverentially as the old woman passed.

Ebryn felt empty, exhausted, barely able to resist falling asleep himself. He had no idea how much time had passed since they'd been attacked in Vergence, but it felt like days.

As he waited, he went over the events in his mind, running through the details he could recall, trying to remember the sequence of events, and make sense of everything which had happened.