Night Falls
The soil remembers. Dark events, centuries gone, fester in the earth: psionic imprints – raw emotional remnants of the souls that contended here, that perished by human hands and elfin magic… all mingle together to create a malevolent energy.
The memories lingered, their pain poisoning the soil, waiting for a center that would grant them a single awareness.
Then came one mind with a longing for death and the power of starstone...
She sensed the death in the soil. She sought a release from her pain, but instead she released something else…
* * *
“Where is Beast?”
Melati’s anguished cry echoed down the hallways of the Palace. She staggered ahead of her minder, peering into every room she came upon. “Melati, wait–” Cholla called, but Melati’s patience – thin enough under the best of circumstances – had run out.
“Where is Beast? What did you do to him?”
“He’s fine. You were sleeping and–”
“He wouldn’t leave me! Don’t you understand? Imprinting is an undeniable compulsion! When initiated during a critical period the bond becomes unbreakable-the-bond-develops-as-a-survival-tool-it-cannot-be-easily-severed-despite-many-attempts.” Her words began to run together in the now familiar cadence of one possessed by the messenger sphere. Her face lost its expression as she began to recite:
“Multiple-attempts-in-the-name-of-discovery-but-what-does-it-serve-when-I-see-the-pain-it-causes-I-remember-the-arguments-the-justifications-the-cruelties-Adya-tells-me-to-let-it-go-but-I-must-remember-it-is-my-purpose–”
“Then remember who you are.”
Melati blinked, and her eyes refocused on Cholla. Emotion gave her face life once more, and she grimaced in anger. “Where. Is. Beast?” she hissed, biting off each word.
“I’m trying to tell you! He’s gone out. With Cricket.”
“Cricket? Cricket: small singing insect–”
“The elf!”
Melati flinched. “Wait… where are we?”
“We’ve been over this before. Try to remember – your life, not the messenger sphere’s.”
Melati paused. “Cricket. The Holt: a holdfast, a sanctuary, the den of an animal. Animals – wolves… they ride wolves – Cricket – oh no, no no-no-no-no-Beast!” She ran down the hallway, shouting his name. Cholla sighed and touched her temple, borrowing a wisp of the Palace’s power as she sent out a call.
**She’s awake. Better head back now.**
Cholla followed Melati at a gentler pace this time. The younger maiden would not get far – the Palace’s architecture baffled her each time she awoke from a sleep, and after five days the Palacedwellers had grown used to her outbursts. No one came out to stop her; she was too quick with a pain-touch when confronted, and nearly impossible to reason with when she was in a panic. The best thing, they’d found, was to let her exhaust herself.
Sure enough, Cholla found Melati collapsed against an archway, sobbing violently. Cholla waited patiently until Melati’s shoulders stopped shaking. Then she approached the healer and helped her to her feet.
“Melati?” she began again.
“Cholla?” Melati seemed to recognize her a little more quickly this time. She was making progress, however uneven. “Where… where are we?”
“It’s all right. You’re among friends.”
“I don’t have any friends,” Melati dismissed easily.
“That’s where you’re wrong, dear one. Come on, let’s get you back to your room.”
“Where’s Beast?”
“He’ll be along shortly. He’s out catching something for supper, that’s all.”
“We… we’re not at the Cinder Pools, are we?”
“No, we’re in the Palace.”
“Yes…” Melati touched the starstone pendant at her throat. “I can hear the stone singing.”
“Don’t listen to it,” Cholla urged. “Ah! Hear that?” Deep-throated barks echoed down the corridors. “That’s Lucky. Someone’s at the door – I think Beast is back from his hunt. Shall we go see?”
Melati’s face brightened. That naked joy in her eyes never failed to wound Cholla, reminding her of the life Melati had kept so carefully hidden from her own family.
“Come,” Cholla said, taking her hand and leading her down the hall.
They came to the antechamber to find Swift’s near-wolf enthusiastically greeting the newcomer. It wasn’t Beast after all but a dainty, long-limbed huntress with a heart-shaped face. The heavy rains had soaked her to the skin. Above her right ear she had cropped her hair close to the scalp, sweeping the rest over her left shoulder to fall in long golden curls.
“Cholla, Melati,” she greeted them, holding up her day’s catch: a limp and rain-soaked treewee. “I brought you a nice ringtail. Fresh meat cures ills even healers can’t, my mother always says.” Her smile turned sad as she noticed Melati’s blank-eyed stare. “You don’t remember me, do you? We met two days past.”
Melati narrowed her eyes, studying the elf before her. “You’re an archer.”
“And I left my bow at the Holt. So you do remember.”
“No, I see.” Melati gestured. “Finger guards on your hand; hair shorn on one side for a better draw on the bow. Blue eyes, slim bones.” She pursed her lips in thought. “Dewshine,” she said at length.
The huntress grinned. “Close. Dewshine’s my mother.”
Melati scowled and thought again. “Tamsin.”
“There you are!”
“Tem-shee-ahn, in the Firstcomers’ Tongue: renewal, new growth, the-light-that-follows-dark.”
Tamsin nodded. “I was conceived after the Year of Ashes, when this part of the rainforest burned down. The first saplings were already shooting up when I was born. I guess you could say the forest and I are agemates.”
“Landfall always necessitates a transition in language. New forms make new sounds, new ideas breed new words. The Firstcomers’ Tongue barely evolved in the five spirals they spent adrift in the skies between worlds, yet it reduced down to Our Tongue in less than a quarter-turn on this world. I wonder… I wonder then, why has Our Tongue changed so little in the half-spiral since we Reawakened the Palace? The psychic connection – the unification of the tribes? No, it cannot be that alone…”
“Still thinks she’s the messenger sphere, then?” Tamsin asked Cholla dubiously.
“She’s improving. Slowly. But she’s like a sandtimer – each time she sleeps she ‘resets’ and everything starts flowing all over again.”
Tamsin made a derisive noise that made clear her opinion of timepieces. “Well, addled or not, I’m sure she’ll like the taste of this. Hm…. best let Savin or Swift clean it for you – treewees are tricky, and I know Oasis folk don’t have much practice dressing kills these days.”
“Since long before you were born,” Cholla admitted. She lifted the dead animal by its tail, trying her best not to grimace. “Yes… I think I will let Savin handle this – she hates it when anyone else mucks about in her kitchen. It will be… interesting to try meat that isn’t fleshvine again, don’t you think, Melati?”
“Beast dresses the prey and I cook it,” Melati said. “Where is Beast?”
Fortunately, at that moment two more shadows appeared in the open doorway, backlit by the gray evening light. Melati’s face registered astonishment as Beast walked in, a huge river fish in each hand. Her surprise turned to terror as she recognized the silver-haired elf walking beside him.
Beast shook himself like a dog, scattering water everywhere. Tamsin muttered something inaudible and made a hasty retreat for the door. Beast watched her brush past him, awestruck.
“She’s missing hair… just like me!” he breathed.
“Not missing, she shaves it away,” Cricket explained patiently. “She used to just braid it back, but the cubs have odd fashions these days.”
“She ran – she’s afraid of me.”
“She’s just shy around new faces. Don’t take it to heart. Look, there’s your lifemate.”
“Mel!” Beast beamed. He held up the fish proudly. “Look what I caught! Pulled them right out of the water! Cricket taught me.” He noticed Melati’s stricken expression and asked, “Do you know Cricket?”
“Yes.” Melati’s voice came out in a strangled whisper.
“The fish are so big here,” he went on. “And they’re not even Shapechanged! And the water – it’s everywhere – whole rivers falling from the skies! I thought I knew floods from Rainsign. But they’re just – just a trickle compared to this!”
“And the rains have only started in the last eight-of-days,” Cricket said. “Wait a few months, and you’ll see the whole forest floor disappear under the waters.”
“Can we, Mel? Can we wait?”
Cholla answered for her. “Perhaps, Beast. But for now, let’s see to those fish, shall we? You remember the way to the kitchen, don’t you?”
Beast nodded. He began to turn, then remembered his manners. “Cricket will eat with us – won’t you?” he gazed pleadingly at the elf.
“I don’t know if–” Cholla began, but Cricket cut her off.
“I’d love to,” he said easily.
Beast grinned, and gestured for Melati to join him. She rushed to his side, placing him between herself and Cricket. She cast a lingering look of fear in Cricket’s direction as they moved off, but Beast did not notice. He was happily chattering about the sights he’d seen.
**Are you sure?** Cholla asked Cricket silently. **You don’t have to rush this. This can’t be easy for you.**
**It’s the easiest thing in the world,** Cricket answered. He saw Cholla’s worry and smiled sadly. **I know he’s not Yosha. I know that. And the truth is, until he came… most days I could barely remember Yosha. Can you believe that? My own son, and he’s been gone so long I needed to fight to remember his face. But when I look at Beast… I can’t help but see him… and it’s good. Knowing a piece of Yosha is still in this world, knowing his body was able to house another life – it’s all a Wolfrider can ask of this world – to feed us in our turn and let us feed another in death.** He sighed. “I wish…” he began aloud, and his voice was hoarse, on the verge of cracking. “I wish I’d met him sooner.”
Cholla read pain on Cricket’s face then, as he contemplated the many lost years. Then he grimaced with effort and seemed to swallow his regrets. He found his smile again, only slightly dimmed.
“But that’s the past. And we have all the time we could want… here and Now.”
Cholla shook her head in wonderment. “You are everything a Wolfrider should be, Cricket.”
The old friends walked hand-in-hand towards the kitchen, following the faint echo of Beast’s voice, as night began to fall outside.
“His voice is almost as deep as Rayek’s,” Cricket remarked. “And have you heard him roar?”
* * *
The soil stirs. Its terrible purpose is awakened. The memories of that instant of oblivion… mingling with the desires of a broken elf… the soil knows itself now, knows freedom. It knows what must be done.
The work must be continued. The certainty of oblivion – of sterility, of perfect silence – must be spread throughout the world. The crude and painful detritus called life must be boiled away.
Tendrils of magic slither through the ash like countless snakes. The soil is sterile – still – perfect. But life endures beyond the soil’s reach. It must be ended. It all must be ended. Then all will be still, perfect.
Then the singing will finally stop.
Twilight lingered on the Plainswaste many hours after the Great Holt was shrouded in darkness. But Halcyon’s Pack stoked the flames of their bonfire well before sunset. The Plainsrunners – and the Go-Backs before them – had never been comfortable with the shadows as the Wolfriders were. And with the black corruption continuing to steadily creep outward from Howling Rock, even the night-loving Skywise felt the need for firelight.
They had spent the last few days on ride-outs, mapping the perimeter of the dead zone. They found it covered a roughly circular shape, and Halcyon calculated its radius as some four or five leagues from the Rock at its center. For now.
It was spreading on all sides. Marking sticks moved and measured at sunrise and sunset showed the corruption advancing three handspans every day. It wasn’t much, but it showed no signs of stopping.
They would have to return to the Palace soon, and report their findings. Aurek had wanted to leave three days past – the same day the scouts fell ill and Kaldan lost his eagle.
No one could walk or ride out onto the dead ground – whatever magic was stirring in the soil sucked the life out of anything that moved across it. The horses knew better than to attempt it, and the three scouts who had tried a walk-out collapsed before they were out of sight of camp. Those who had raced to rescue them had sickened as well, and now eight elves lay in the shade of their tents, pale and shivering despite the furs piled about them.
Kirjan was one of them. The sturdy warrior looked as if he’d been drained of blood. Even after four days of Halcyon’s herbal broths, he could hardly find the strength to stand.
Their son Kaldan was a bonder with birds – his eagle Shaman was one of their best scouts. So they had sent Shaman flying deep into the dead zone, while Kaldan sat in meditation, seeing through the eagle’s eyes.
Shaman reached the Rock easily, riding the updrafts. He circled the crumbling black stone, and saw nothing but ash and strange patches of slickness, like oil poured over the ground. Then something struck him – projectile or magic blast – no one knew. Kaldan cried out as he felt his bond-beast’s pain.
The blow tore into the eagle’s left wing. Shaman spiraled down to the ground. He flapped and struggled in the ash for a time, then fell still. But Kaldan kept screaming long after the dark magic had drained the life from his bird.
They were clearly outmatched. The only wise choice was retreat. But the Plainsrunners did not back down from a fight, and Skywise was loathe to slink back to the Palace in disgrace. He wished he could solve at least part of the riddle before turning tail and running home.
Besides, considering what the humble Palace-pod had awakened in its fly-over, more magic did not appear to be the answer. And knowing Rayek, once he learned the scope of the corruption, his first instinct would be to fight fire with fire.
I’ve never really trusted fire, Skywise admitted to himself as he stared into the flames. His memories of that first fire that drove them out of Father Tree had long since faded into dream-mist, but the sight and the heat of a bonfire still provoked a tightness in his chest. He preferred the soft white light of the Palace, and the magical heat he could command at will.
But then he remembered what Rayek had commanded that same light and heat to do, and he shuddered.
“Time to bed down, Palacemaster,” Halcyon told Skywise when she found him brooding by the bonfire. He looked up – the twilight had deepened and the stars filled the darkening sky.
“Who’s on first watch?” Skywise asked. “I could –”
She shook her head. “I’ve got Mika and Ryx looking after the wounded, and Kaldan’s eyes-high. You need to sleep. I know you’re happiest when your mind’s whirring and clicking like a troll’s timepiece, but I’m not letting you run yourself down.” She tapped the crown of his head playfully. “You’re the only one who can fly us out of here, after all.”
Skywise sighed. “I hear you.” He slowly got to his feet, wincing at the stiffness in his back.
Most of the clan had already turned in for the night, inside their tents or under the stars. When Skywise opened the door to the Palace-pod, he saw Vaya and Aurek fast asleep atop their sleep furs. Cheipar was readying himself for bed as well – carefully folding his clothes and lining up his weapons within easy reach.
Skywise pointed to the glowing walls, and Cheipar nodded. A wave of Skywise’s fingers dimmed the walls of their little room, until only pinpoints of silver light glowed from the crystal dome, like an artificial starfield.
Skywise undressed in the darkness and sought out his bedroll. He heard a soft huff from Vaya, then a whimper. He wondered what she was dreaming.
Halcyon was right; his thoughts needed rest. He had scarcely set his head down before he drifted into sleep.
* * *
The tendrils of magic coil upwards from the ground, drawn to the lodestone of the Palace-pod. They sense the familiar aura of starstone, and within it, the beating hearts of elves, the sparking skyfire of sentient thoughts...
The stars shone brightly over Big Beach. Skywise marveled at their clarity. “So big… so bright – they don’t seem real!”
Savin’s soft breath tickled at his neck as she wrapped her arms about his waist and pressed herself against his back. “Feel real enough now?” she teased.
Skywise chuckled and bent his head to brush his bare cheek against hers. His faceguard lay abandoned in the sand behind them along with their boots and his leather tunic.
“Stars are alive, you know,” he murmured. “They burn with inner fire, just like we do. They grow, they age, they die…” he made a face at the thought. “At least… Timmain says so.” He didn’t like to dwell on that thought – not when he had given up his wolfblood, not when new life was even now growing inside Savin’s belly.
“On a night like this, I can’t really believe it.”
“Fahr,” she whispered his soulname into his hair, and he felt lightheaded with joy.
“I used to fear Recognition,” he admitted. “Feared being bound to someone… being known. But at the same time, I’ve had this… longing – like a lodestone pulling towards the stars. At least, I thought it was the stars. I always felt… like they were calling to me. Like they were supposed to take me away from this world – all its death and ugliness. On nights like this… when the stars were so bright, I used to think ‘Maybe they’re coming for me tonight.’”
Savin’s mood was still playful. “Well, I hope you won’t mind sticking around a little longer.”
“Oh, I think I can bear it!”
Savin released him, turning away long enough to retrieve something from a satchel in the sand. “And in the meantime… I have something for you.”
She produced a smooth tube of polished metal – or rather several tubes, each nesting inside the other. She slowly extended the device to full length, and held it out to him. A star symbol was engraved into its side, like the one on Skywise’s scabbard.
“I had it made special for you,” she explained. “Most spyglasses are best for a few leagues – you have to be able to see what you’re sailing into. But I asked the boys to rig this one to focus on the really faraway things.”
She took up her place behind him, showed him how to hold the spyglass, how to focus it on a single star. Skywise raised the eyepiece and stared as the bright pinpoint suddenly became a roiling, flashing ball of light.
“By the High Ones…” he murmured.
“I know it can’t get you to the stars the way the Palace can,” Savin said, sounding bashful. “But while you’re still training to sail that ship… you can keep the stars in your sights.”
“Nimh…” Skywise turned around to face her, face alight with joy. “You understand – like no one else does. I – there are no words!” No words to tell her how perfectly she complimented his inquisitive mind and questing heart. No words to explain how her arrival had freed him from an aching hunger he only truly understood in its absence.
One hunger sated, another inflamed. He touched his forehead to hers. “We’re going to the stars together, Nimh,” he vowed. “One day, we’ll stand on the beach of another world. We’ll look up and see our sun in the night sky, and it will be a star like any other.”
Savin grinned. “And we can turn our spyglass back on this world and think of the other elves who are looking up at us… all those pips out there who grew up dreaming of sailing over the horizon.”
They kissed until they were breathless, until Skywise felt drunk on love. They gazed deep into each others’ eyes, as if hoping to discover something new in their souls. Skywise lost track of how long they stood there on the sand, silently revelling in their bond. But gradually he became aware of the weight of the spyglass in his hand, and he must have begun to fidget, because Savin laughed and drew back.
“Now go play with your new toy,” she teased, “before we both start weeping like limpets!”
Skywise laughed and turned toward the stars. So many lights, which one to choose? Finally, he picked out one star, set apart from its siblings, flashing silver and white. He focused the spyglass and the light grew ever brighter, until a brilliant sphere of light filled the glass. The longer Skywise stared at it, the more he thought he could see patterns in the light – like a miniature Scroll of Colors.
“Savin–” he began as he lowered the glass. But she was no longer at his side.
“Savin?” He looked around in every direction. He stood alone on the beach. Only one set of footprints led across the sand.
He wasn’t quite afraid. Not yet.
He turned back to the stars, but they had all winked out. All save the one silver light, now blazing brighter and brighter with each passing heartbeat. It dominated the sky, growing into a new sun that shone without heat, until the light grew so bright that Skywise had to shut his eyes.
The world turned white beneath his eyelids, then darkened once more. Skywise opened his eyes. A glowing maiden stood on the beach, a star in elfin form.
She smiled invitingly as she paced towards him. Her glowing feet left no footprints in the sand. She was his height, white-skinned and naked but for her curtain of silver hair. He stared long into her glowing eyes, until he thought he recognized something in their depths.
“Timmain?”
**My beloved,** her sending echoed in his head, like the tinkling of crystal.
“Beloved?” he wrinkled his nose.
**You sensed rightly. The stars have always called to you.**
“Where is Savin?”
**Do you not wish to embrace the stars?** She reached out a hand toward his face, and he took a step back. She frowned at his rejection. **We are stars made flesh, my beloved. We burn with their fire.**
“This doesn’t make sense,” Skywise protested. “This… this can’t be real.”
**It is what you have always wanted – to be carried away – to be carried home! You are meant to be one of us,** she insisted. **Not bound to this world of pain and suffering. ** She laid a hand on his shoulder, though he tried to pull away. Her skin was as cool as the damp sand beneath his feet, her fingers were strong as iron.
“Where is my lifemate?”
“Life… mate…” she pronounced the word like it was utterly foreign to her. Then she smiled and shook her head.
“She cannot give you what I can, sweet child,” she purred. “You thought you had to choose between elf and wolf, but you can have both.” Her claw-like grip on his shoulder tightened, and as Skywise tried to twist away, she nuzzled against his face with a soft moan of longing. Her breath smelled of copper.
“I want you inside me.”
“Uhn – Timmain!” Skywise protested. “This isn’t–”
“Do not seek a name for it.” She took his face in her hands. “Receive what has always been yours…”
She was changing: her proportions lengthening, her eyes glowing golden. Fine hairs sprouted all over her skin. The smell of blood rolled over Skywise as she parted her lips, revealing a mouth of pointed teeth.
“No!” Skywise braced his hands against her shoulders. Her teeth clacked a hair’s breadth from his throat as they fell back onto the sand. She was a monster now – a silver-furred half-wolf, hissing and snapping in hunger, even as her elfin mind continued to send thoughts of seduction.
**This is your birthright… our union…**
She sank her teeth into the flesh of his throat. Searing agony stole his awareness. When he came back to himself it was to the stench of blood and a hot slickness pouring over his skin.
**Leave this world behind... the pain, the suffering…**
Skywise screamed and struggled, but she kept him pinned. She was eating him – he could see her smack her lips and swallow. As he coughed on his own blood, she pulled away from his throat, only to bite and tear at his abdomen.
**I want you inside me.**
He pushed feebly against her head. He thrashed helplessly, like a dying fish. His head fell to one side, and then he saw Savin lying on the beach beside him. Her throat was torn open, and wriggling black maggots were already feeding on the wound.
**I want you all inside me!** the nightmare vowed. **Every last soul… Fahr…**
The use of his soulname was the mortal wound. The last of his strength gone, Skywise went slack on the sand, his mouth agape, his eyes wide.
The black worms were crawling towards him.
* * *
Vaya was hunting bear in the outermost shell of the Egg. At the mountain’s summit, the shell was more air than stone. A cup of solid rock cradled the inner shells, but where the rock arched up into the dome of the First Shell, it became an ever-lighter latticework of stone, until the top of Egg was almost invisible to those walking the caves and canyons between the shells. Enough sunlight poured through the stone struts that trees grew in upper ravines, and over the millennia some had grown tall enough to touch the very top of the dome. A stranger who wandered into the summit level of First Shell could mistake it for natural ravine, narrow and heavily forested – full of prey.
The bear who had found its way inside the First Shell certainly seemed in no hurry to leave, despite regular harrying from Cheipar’s wolves. But Vaya had had enough. If Timmain was the undisputed mistress of the inner spheres, then Vaya was chieftess of the outer ones. A chieftess knew her duty when a bear threatened her lodge.
She heard the snarls of Cheipar’s wolves echoing off the rocks ahead. She raced down the ravine, her gut-wrapped spear at the ready. It was summer in the Painted Mountains, but the air was thin so high up, and the Egg’s curving slopes kept the ravine in constant shade. She wore her winter furs against the bite of the early morning air, and when she saw her breath misting in front of her lips, she felt almost like a proper Go-Back again.
She saw a smear of the blood on the rocks, and she bent down to inspect it. Still wet, and warmer than the stone. Perhaps one of the wolves had already drawn first blood.
She ran on, following a steady trail of blood. The ravine floor sloped downward, into still darker shadow. On her right side, a trickle of dust ran down the side of the ravine wall. If Vaya stopped and studied the rock long enough, she would begin to notice the subtle shift in patterns of mineral deposits, the illusion of solid rock becoming the reality of many interlocking layers of rock lattices. If she sat down to mediate on the wall of the Second Shell, she would gradually become aware of its movement, as it slowly rotated in a northerly arc. Only the First Shell was static. Each nesting sphere rotated at a slightly different rate. Second Shell took a full day to make a rotation, while Timmain’s inner sanctum in the Eighth Shell turned on its axis twenty-four times in the same day. The Egg was the most precise timepiece on the whole World of Two Moons.
But Vaya didn’t waste time on contemplation. She heard the wolves howling. One long snarl turned into a high-pitched whine, then ended in a shriek.
The ravine grew narrower, the symbols etched in the rock walls grew ever more elaborate. The shapes of wolves and snakes and cone-headed High Ones seemed to loom in greater relief, as if about to come to life and spring from the rock.
Vaya found the source of the shriek. A wolf lay dead in a pool of blood. Vaya scrambled over the great slabs of rock that rose up from the canyon floor, barring her way. Brambles and brush tore at her sleeves, at her hair, but she pressed onward. The rock was alive underneath her, tilting up, then subsiding and knocking her to her knees. She heard the roar of the angry bear.
A boulder had fallen down in her path. She found footholds and hauled herself up over it, using her long spear for leverage.
A scene of horror confronted her on the other side.
Her family – all her beloved lads – lay sprawled on the rocks, dead and mutilated. There lay Cheipar, facedown alongside one of his wolves. And Sust on his back, his belly torn open by the bear’s claws. Pike was impaled on a withered tree, pierced by eight different branches, while Skot lay broken on the ground, his skull crushed under a rock.
They were hunters and warriors all… used to risking everything. But the others…
Aurek, her gentle lifemate… and Wesh, her sweet little boy…
Dead, drained of their life’s blood, limp and rotting trophies at the foot of her foe.
Not a bear, but a laughing, greedy shadow, wreathed in gray smoke. The shape of an elf-woman in furs, bearing a spear much like Vaya’s. The spearhead was still driven into Aurek’s back.
“You should be proud of them – well, some of them, at least,” the shadow taunted. A ghostly hand swept up to indicate her warrior lovemates, her Go-Back sons. “They fought bravely and died well. But these…” she pulled the spear out of Aurek’s back. “Phaugh. Worthless… hardly worth the breeding.”
“WHY?” Vaya screamed at her mother – for who else could possess such a shadow?
“Because that’s what they’re bred for. That’s what we’re all bred for. What do we ever become but food for worms?” As as she spoke, the worms rose out of the ground to devour Aurek and Littlefire – black, oily worms, swarming over their cold flesh.
Vaya screamed and threw herself at Kahvi’s shadow. But the shadow-elf grew to twice her height before she could reach her. A massive hand encircled Vaya’s throat as if it were a twig, and the shadow’s fingers became worms, wriggling up over Vaya’s jaw, trailing cold slime in their wake.
The ravine walls were drawing in, blocking out what little sunlight remained. Acrid smoke burned Vaya’s eyes.
“You should have died at Guttlekraw’s hands,” Kahvi jeered as the darkness fell. “All your stolen days since… what have you done but breed more food for death?”
Vaya tried to scream, and the black worms forced their way into her mouth and down her throat.
* * *
Something wasn’t quite right. Aurek noted the slight alterations in the walls of Third Shell: the regularity of the patterns forming in the stone, the stiff symmetry completely at odds with the organic nature of the Egg’s symbols. Instead of curlicues and fractals, there were right angles everywhere. Instead of a multitude of different symbols, the same themes kept repeating: a dead tree in winter, an emaciated wolf, a grinning skull.
Aurek took the main staircase down to the junction between Third and Fourth Shells. He had to wait a moment for the door to appear as the latticework walls of Fourth Shell slid by. Fourth Shell was arranged like a labyrinth, its hallways spiralling inward, leading from one room to the next. Rooms for meeting and teaching and learning, but now they all stood empty. Glowstones and candles in bowls gave off the only light – it was too deep in the mountain for the sunlight to filter in. Panels of reflective starstone had been set into the walls to help brighten the inner rooms.
But the starstone wasn’t glowing. It lay inert, indistinguishable from the seedrock. Aurek quickened his pace.
He rushed though the doorway into Fifth Sphere. He had no need to wait for the door to open, for Fifth Sphere had slowed its rotation – now it turned in time with Fourth Sphere. “No…” Aurek whispered. “No… this cannot be.” The Egg had been turning for four thousand years, and never once had the magic in the rock failed to keep the spheres in motion.
**Timmain?** he sent. But she did not answer.
His feet would not carry him fast enough. He took to the air, flying through the static hallways of Fifth Sphere, into the stillness of Sixth Sphere, then deeper still. The patterns in the rock had become ominous – an interlocking cage of skulls and ribcages in stark relief. He sent for his comrades and family. Silence was the only response – the stillness of dead stone.
“But the Egg lives,” he insisted to himself. “It changes, it grows… it lives…”
Laughter – light and mocking like silver bells. A voice he had not heard in millennia echoed down the corridor.
“Where are you going? Are you trying to hide from me? Foolish child. You must know there is nowhere you can hide that I won’t find you.”
“You have no power here, Winnowill!” he shouted at the walls.
“Foolish child…”
Seventh Sphere had stopped turning completely. He had to shape the rock to gain access. Inside the penultimate level he found the rock walls buckled into great archways of thorns, barring the once-familiar passages. He picked his way around the obstacles. The sharp edges of obsidian stone sliced his arms and legs, drawing blood.
“Voll give me strength,” he vowed as he neared the passage to the innermost sphere. He saw light beckoning him onward down the corridor, the brilliance of pure starstone. Praise the High Ones, the heart was still intact…
The rocky spines nearly blocked his way. He had to flatten himself like a snake on his belly and wriggle his way through the tiny gap. The light called to him. It grew ever brighter, until he had to close his eyes.
He felt himself tumble through the doorway into the heart of the Egg. For a moment, he floated, flailing in nothingness. Then his floating powers suddenly failed him, and gravity yanked him down… and down… and down…
When he opened his eyes, he was in Blue Mountain.
He sat in his cold stone chair, but he felt nothing outside the confines of his own skin. With effort, he could shift his eyes inside his skull, but he could not focus them on the gentle blur of movement above him. He felt rather than saw the Egg turning slowly, high overhead.
The Egg of Six Spheres… his first, flawed child. At least that still moved, still grew, still lived.
But he did not. Not anymore. Perhaps he never had. Perhaps his memories of the College had all been a dream.
A blurry form before him slowly began to gain substance. He saw the shape of an elf… he watched it become a fur-clad maiden. Dark hair brushing her shoulders… a pale, heart-shaped face… full lips, softly parted, bright eyes filled with sorrow.
Vaya… lifemate… my heart…
The laughter came again… closer now, no longer distorted by echoes.
Tears welled in Vaya’s eyes. One ran down her cheek as she leaned over him. “Aurek…” Her face swam in and out of focus. “Aurek, please! Look at me!”
He wanted to. He wanted to spend a century learning every shade of amber-brown in those eyes. He wanted to raise his hand and feel the warmth of her skin, to brush away her tears. He wanted to take her into his arms and never let her go.
He couldn’t even blink.
She screamed at him. She shook him. She beat at his chest and cursed him. She told him she’d never loved him, that she hoped he turned to stone. More ugly words spilled from her mouth as the tears continued to spill from her eyes. Then her rage turned to terror, and her entreaties grew desperate.
Overhead, the Egg was changing. The gray forms of the outer shell became oily, black tendrils. They began to dislodge and fall from the Egg, burning the ground where they landed.
“You have to come back! You have to save me! Please… it’s coming for me, and I need you – my guide, my teacher, my K’Saren – please!”
Darkness crowded around the limits of his vision. Vaya began to scream. Something wrenched her away, and his vision focused long enough to see the tendrils winding about her legs, snaking up her torso, covering her arms and binding them to her sides.
“AUREK!!” she screamed, before the slick coils sealed off her face, turning her into a writhing, disintegrating mass of oily worms.
He felt a single tear slowly roll down his cheek.
The black oil rose up again, and reformed itself into the laughing silhouette of the Black Snake.
“‘Mine,’ she called you,” the shadow Winnowill jeered. “Foolish child – don’t you know you belong to me?”
The coils collapsed on the ground, then began to roll towards him. He felt the coldness wrap around his ankles and slowly climb up his legs.
**Mine…** the black sending burned into his mind. **All mine…**
He felt death seeping into his bones, turning them to stone. But he could not move. He could not scream. He could only stare ahead and wait for the blackness to consume him.
* * *
Cheipar ran through the Palace, but he could not find his way. Walls rose up in his path, and doors opened where he least expected them. He was trapped in a crystal maze that showed him nothing but his own frustrated reflection at every turn.
The walls called his name, in the different voices of his loved ones.
Each time he thought he got his bearings, the voices changed direction. Whenever he thought he saw a figure through a doorway, a wall sealed it off. He skidded to a halt, raising his hands to stop himself against the wall.
“Dung chips!” he cursed, striking the wall with both fists.
His reflection stared back at him. The wall seemed to fill with smoke as his reflection began to distort, hair growing limp and black, leathers melting into a stringy dark mass…
“Cheipar!” Weatherbird’s voice was a shriek of terror. Cheipar ran in its direction. But his feet could not find purchase on the floor. The floor was tilting – he was floating, running upside-down. A prism of crystal walls surrounded him, reflecting countless oily shadows, all screaming his name.
“Stop it,” Cheipar swore. He closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath, denying the terror clawing at his mind. “Stop it! You’re not real. None of this is real!”
He opened his eyes. He was in the Scroll Room. The Scroll turned, playing out long filaments of light. Cheipar turned to flash a grateful smile at the reader…
The chair was empty. The Scroll turned by itself. As Cheipar watched, the light faded between the Scroll halves, and the colors turned to inky smoke.
“Cheipar,” he heard Skywise call. He turned and saw a writhing shadow standing in the doorway.
“Cheipar…” another shadow stepped out of the walls, speaking with Vaya’s voice. It held out its arms in greeting, and black worms dropped from its hands, to wriggle on the floor in puddles of smoke.
“Cheipar.” A taller shadow formed into Aurek’s lanky silhouette.
“Stop!” Cheipar turned back to the Scroll and its inky mass of writhing smoke. The tendrils seemed to gather into the form of a massive beast between the Scroll columns – some manner of madcoil octopus, with a great central maw of purple gemstones for teeth. Its tentacles reached out to anchor themselves into the starstone walls, and the light began to flicker as the monster sucked the life out of the Palace itself.
Unarmed, Cheipar could only stare in horror as a sickly purplish cast began to spread across the walls. The monster grew larger and more tangible with each passing moment. What had been mere smoke was now a slick tar-like flesh, shedding black worms on the floor.
“Cheipar…” murmured a new voice, feminine and low.
He glanced back at the three shadows. Aurek’s silhouette twisted and reformed into that of a tall maiden. Long smoky hair fell to the floor, and a crown of feathers rose from her brow. “All mine…” Winnowill purred, reaching out tentacle-arms.
Vaya’s shape changed as well: twisting, crouching feral-like. A glowing purple light flickered in the center of her chest.
“Will you make me proud?” Kahvi demanded, raising her shadow-spear high.
Skywise’s shade grew taller, lean and long-boned, shimmering all over with silver fur. “Come to me,” Timmain’s voice urged. “Embrace me… claim your birthright…”
“You’re not real,” Cheipar repeated.
He felt a coldness against his heel. A black tentacle crept over his foot.
He kicked, but the tendril fastened tight around his ankle. When he tried to pull free, he succeeded only in falling on his face. Now the black coils could envelop him at their leisure.
Pinned on the ground, feeling the warmth drain out of him, he could only stare as the three shadows converged on him.
“Come to me…” Winnowill urged.
“Claim your birthright,” Timmain commanded.
“It’s what we’re all bred for,” Kahvi sneered.
The blackness was suffocating him. He coughed out denials between ragged breaths. “No! You can’t…”
The light was fading… everything fell into shadow…
**Ash…** the nightmare purred in Weatherbird’s voice. That final violation of mind and memory suddenly awakened his Go-Back rage.
“STOP THIS!” Cheipar roared, throwing his head back. Brilliant light consumed him, and the darkness burned away.
Cheipar awoke to a racing pulse and frozen limbs. He blinked up into the darkness of the Palace-pod gasping painfully for breath, slowly gathering the will to flex his toes, to find his muscles, to heave himself upright.
“Drukkin’ magic!” he snarled. **Light!**
The walls responded to his command – slowly, too slowly. “Mother!” Cheipar called as the darkness gradually lifted. “Skywise!”
He looked to his left. Aurek and Vaya were both asleep, their expressions calm – at least at first glance. To his right, Skywise was twitching fitfully. His eyes raced from side to side under his eyelids.
“Skywise!” Cheipar wrenched himself out of his sleep furs and shook the Palacemaster until he awoke with a startled cry.
“Y-you…” Skywise sputtered as he came around. “The corruption–” he broke off, curling over himself, his stomach heaving.
Cheipar helped him sit up and recover a moment, then turned and scrambled over to his mother and stepfather. He saw the pain etched in their features now, the strain showing through their paralysis. He took Vaya’s shoulders and shook her, but she did not stir. Her joints were all locked, her muscles clenched tight. Her skin was cold to the touch.
He slapped her face, gently at first, then with a hard smack that echoed inside the Palace-pod. Vaya’s indrawn breath that followed sounded like a blast-rock explosion. Her eyes snapped open and she shuddered violently in his arms. A hand found his bicep and clenched tightly, her fingernails drawing blood. Cheipar grit his teeth against the pain, holding his mother cradled against his shoulder with one hand while he shook and pinched Aurek with the other.
Aurek’s awakening was far gentler. With a flinch and a sigh, he opened his eyes. As he managed to focus on Cheipar’s face, he breathed “My heart-son,” in tones of awe and gratitude.
“Wha- wha’ happen’d?” Vaya slurred.
“The corruption,” Skywise exclaimed as he pulled on his leathers. He shivered with cold sweat, his teeth chattering audibly. “It – ugh – it was in my mind–”
“Mine too,” Aurek said.
“The others,” Cheipar ordered. They understood. In moments they were dressed and armed, running out into the camp.
Everything seemed under control at first glance. A rider continued to sit by the fire, feeding it dry branches. No cries or stirrings had alerted the watchers on patrol.
Cheipar whistled a shrill warning, the universal three notes that screamed “Danger” in the Plainsrunner tongue.
“Spread out!” Skywise commanded. “Everybody up!” he shouted across the camp, as Mika and Ryx came running. “Wake up! We need everyone to wake up now!”
They spread out through the camp, waking every elf they could find. A few sleepers, still only lightly bound by the nightmares, stirred at the loud noise alone. Most needed sterner measures. Sending stars proved useless: only brute force could remind the sleepers of their bodies. Pinches and slaps and hard thumps on the backs roused most of the Plainsrunners in turn, and Cheipar and Skywise put them to work waking others.
Vaya went into Halcyon’s tent, and Cheipar could hear her cursing, followed by the slap of flesh and an aborted shriek. Cheipar looked around the campsite, watching the elves all stagger to their feet. Almost everyone was accounted for – but where were Teir and Ember?
“HELP!” Dunecat called. “I need help here!”
Cheipar ran towards the noise. Teir and Ember had bedded down just at the outskirts of camp, behind the invalids’ tent. He found Dunecat kneeling at their sides.
They could not be woken. Teir’s back was arched and his features were frozen in a grimace of terror. Ember was shaking violently, making pained huffing sounds in the back of her throat. Together Dunecat and Cheipar tugged and rocked Teir back and forth, trying to jostle him awake – even tugging at his injured shoulder. They got a moan from him, and a flutter of his eyelashes, but no more.
Halcyon and Skywise reached them, Aurek close on their heels.
“Ember!” Cheipar commanded to Halcyon, pointing. Halcyon set to work, slapping Ember’s face and arms, shouting in her ears. Teir coughed weakly, almost a sob. His eyes opened but he could not focus. “Wolf-father,” Dunecat called to him, and Teir turned his head in the direction of his voice.
“Alone…” Teir breathed.
“No, you’re not! Your family is here, Father!”
“All gone… all of them…”
“Teir!” Cheipar barked. Teir looked at him sharply, then jerked back into full awareness. He struggled to sit up with his bound arm.
“Ember? Ember!” he rolled over as Halcyon was still desperately trying to rouse her mother. Ember’s lips moved, she whispered something no one could make out. Her hand went to her breast and she grimaced. Then she fell still on the bed of furs.
“Mother? Mother… oh High Ones no, not now! Not like this!” Halcyon bent her head to Ember’s breast, listening for a heartbeat. Hearing nothing, she began to pound on Ember’s breastbone, trying to jostle her heart awake.
“She’s not breathing! Her heart–”
“What do we need?” Teir shouted.
“I need a real healer!” Halcyon snapped back. She bent to listen again, still hearing nothing. “It’s stopped. Her heart’s stopped – she’s gone.”
“No!” Teir cried. “No, she can’t be!”
“She’s not,” Aurek spoke up. “The spirit lingers until the mind’s fire is extinguished. If her heart can be started again–”
“I don’t know how!” Halcyon protested.
A healer’s spirit might, if one clung close enough to the Palace-pod… and could be compelled to help in the little time that remained. “Skywise?” Cheipar glanced back at the Palacemaster. But by the strange light in Skywise’s eyes, he had another idea.
Skywise shared a look and a nod with Aurek. They didn’t waste time on words or sendings. Pushing Teir down, Skywise threw his arms over both Wolf-father and Wolf-mother. Aurek dropped to his knees beside the Palacemaster. Together they reached out with their magic, calling to the starstone of the Palace-pod.
The pod materialized in the air above them, then shattered into countless shards. Halcyon and Dunecat sprang back in terror as the shards spiralled down around Teir and Ember, and Aurek and Skywise crouched over them. The starstone plunged into the earth, forming a crystal fist that clenched its fingers tight around the four elves. The five walls became one sphere, and in a blinding flash, pod and elves were gone.
Elfquest copyright 2015 Warp Graphics, Inc. Elfquest, its logos, characters, situations, all related indicia, and their distinctive likenesses are trademarks of Warp Graphics, Inc. All rights reserved. Some dialogue taken from Elfquest comics. All such dialogue copyright 2015 Warp Graphics, Inc. All rights reserved. Alternaverse characters and insanity copyright 2015 Jane Senese and Erin Roberts.