Bloodstone Part 52

"Kheridh. Zhe-boy." The drug made the words sound thick and garbled. "Zhe-boy. He comes here?"

The guard in front whirled around, hand upraised for a blow. Another shouted a warning and pulled him out of the path of a careening litter. They collided with one of the bearers who dropped his pole. The litter lurched sideways, spilling its screaming occupants to the ground.

Darak wrenched his arms free. Staggering away from the guards, he raced toward the pa.s.sageway.

Malaq stumbled and cursed. Glancing to his right, he saw Kheridh, moving with that same inexorable pace along the walkway. A few people followed at a careful distance. He saw no sign of the Spirit-Hunter; perhaps he'd escaped in the confusion.

He had to reach the temple before Kheridh. His only hope of saving him was to play along with this pretense that he was the Son of Zhe. The other two priests might be sufficiently cowed by the boy's appearance, but he doubted Xevhan would be. Nor would he simply stand there and wait for the adders to swarm over him. Kheridh must be planning to cast out his spirit, but if Xevhan had taken qiij this morning, he would be able to shield himself.

Malaq's steps slowed. He clawed at the stopper of the vial, his eyes darting from Kheridh to the temple. Grimacing at the bitter taste, he swallowed the undiluted qiij.

An unearthly yowl made him glance behind him. Niqia crouched low to the ground, her tail lashing back and forth. Good G.o.ds, had she followed him all the way from his chamber? She yowled again, but he had no time to ease her distress.

The sharp st.i.tch in his side returned after only a few steps. He judged Kheridh's distance from the temple and fell into a trot. The guttering torches revealed movement behind the altar. He doubted the priests could see the adders, but they had clearly seen Kheridh and realized he was not the sacrifice they were expecting.

Nor will he be.

Malaq smiled, knowing it was the qiij that gave him confidence. He slowed to a walk and cleared his throat. He'd spent half his life in the priesthood and the other half on battlefields. He knew how to pitch his voice for all men to hear. Sweeping his arm in Kheridh's direction, he called out the ancient words.

"By these signs shall you know him. His power shall burn bright as Heart of Sky at Midsummer. His footsteps shall make Womb of Earth tremble. Speechless, he shall understand the language of the adder and wingless, soar through the sky like the eagle."

One priest clutched the serpentine pillar. The other traced a spiral on his chest. Xevhan gave an inarticulate cry of rage.

"No pageantry shall attend his arrival. No poet-"

"It's a lie!"

"-shall sing his name. No mortal woman shall know his body. No mortal man shall call him son."

"He is not the Son of Zhe!"

Standing before the altar, Malaq intoned the final words of the prophecy. "Hail the Son of Zhe, the fire-haired G.o.d made flesh. Welcome him with reverence and with dread. For with him comes the new age."

"You fools! Don't believe him. He's protected the boy all along. He's a traitor to our people. A traitor to our G.o.ds!"

The other priests were staring past him, their eyes wide. Xevhan's voice trailed off. They all stood there, dumb-struck, watching the boy arrive amid a seething flood of adders.

"Behold the Son of Zhe!" Malaq called.

"Behold the Child of Serpents," Kheridh replied. "Behold the Destroyer of the Unrighteous."

Malaq laughed, the qiij singing through his body. Kheridh's expression remained as distant as if he were were the Destroyer of the Unrighteous. Could the trance still be holding him? If not, he should take his place among the premier performers in the kingdom. the Destroyer of the Unrighteous. Could the trance still be holding him? If not, he should take his place among the premier performers in the kingdom.

One priest fled, then the other. Malaq glanced over his shoulder and smiled at Xevhan. "We were wrong. And the proof of our error is before us."

Kheridh stood motionless before the altar. The adders writhed wildly around his feet. A few attempted to wriggle up the steps. Malaq was too exhilarated to care. They wouldn't strike him. Kheridh wouldn't permit it.

"Welcome, Kheridh. Son of Zhe. Son of my heart. Welcome to your temple."

Kheridh's expression changed, the dazed look replaced by shock and-incredibly-horror. Puzzled, Malaq took a step toward him. "Kheridh?"

Agonizing pain ripped through his back, as if Heart of Sky had pierced him with a molten shaft of sunlight. Distantly, he heard a scream but knew it had not come from his mouth. He flung out a hand, groping for the altar, but his fingers slid down the side of the stone. So smooth, so cool. Already, the fire was lessening, the shaft of sunlight oozing warmth down his back.

Cold hands grasped his. He looked up into his boy's eyes.

Heart of Sky's first rays bronzed his pale face and turned his hair to fire. His mouth was moving, but Malaq couldn't understand the words. A delicious chill crept through him. Clouds gathered over Kheridh's head, although Heart of Sky still illuminated his face. But even Heart of Sky seemed to be dimming.

Rain would feel wonderful.

He wished he could pat Kheridh's face and a.s.sure him that everything would be all right, but his arms were so heavy. He'd hardly slept the last few days and now, it was catching up with him.

The clouds grew thicker, obscuring the beloved face. Thunder rumbled, echoing through the air above him and the earth below.

Malaq smiled. He'd always loved thunderstorms.

The earth groaned as if Halam protested the coming of dawn. Like everyone else at the gate, Darak froze, awaiting another sign from the earth G.o.ddess. The sky to the east smoldered with red and orange clouds. Naked tree trunks loomed up, dark against the flaming sky. Nay, not trees. Pillars flanking a walkway.

Darak raced down it, weaving between cl.u.s.ters of people who stood as still as the pillars looming above them. The ground trembled again, and he staggered sideways. He heard a roar like an angry bull, but before he could puzzle it out, the earth convulsed.

He went down hard, knees cracking against stone. When he tried to get to his feet again, he sprawled headlong. The earth G.o.ddess bellowed like Taran the Thunderer. She rolled like the waves of the great sea. Stone sc.r.a.ped his naked arms as he slid sideways. Another wave heaved him up and slammed him against a pillar. The small part of his mind that still functioned registered wood beneath his fingers instead of stone. The ma.s.sive tree trunk shuddered as if it shared his terror.

Most of the people he had pa.s.sed had flattened themselves on the ground, but a few men lurched down the path, staggering from pillar to pillar. As he watched, Halam flung them to the ground as a child might discard an unwanted toy. One inched forward like a crawling bug before collapsing. As if tired of the game, Halam heaved a final sigh and became still.

Cautiously, Darak pushed himself to his knees. A few heads came up, but most of those on the walkway remained p.r.o.ne. Although it had seemed to take forever, the shaking of the earth could only have lasted mere moments; Bel was barely peeping over the horizon.

As he got to his feet, a figure leaped out from behind a pillar. Darak stumbled backward, only to find himself seized by Hakkon's strong hands. Before he could ask what he was doing here, Bep scurried toward them.

"Hold out your hands and listen." Bep sawed at the ropes binding his wrists. "Your boy. He's up ahead. But he's-"

Another tremor, stronger than the first, hurled them all to the ground. By the time Darak recovered, he found Hakkon collapsed at the base of a pillar and Bep scuttling sideways across the path like a crab.

All along the walkway, the giant pillars swayed. In Bel's dawning light, they looked red as blood. A fissure ripped open and snaked across the earth, leaving a trail of cracked paving stones heaved up like huge, broken teeth. Earth poured into the fissure, sending up a cloud of dust. A pillar rocked back and forth, mesmerizing him. How could something so big move so gracefully? Then the pillar tottered uncertainly. Its top knocked against another and they both lurched like drunken men. The second pillar began to topple. He rolled out of the way, only to see the first looming above him-a red giant that blotted out the sky as it slowly descended. He flattened himself next to the fallen pillar and prayed.

The crash reverberated through his body. Gravel, earth, and pebbles rained down on him. Choking, he buried his face in the crook of his elbow. Above the thunderous noise, the high, shrill shrieks of terrified men and women echoed the earth G.o.ddess' agony.

He dared a look up and stared at the palace in horrified fascination. The wall seemed to be . . . dancing. A block near the top teetered and hurtled to the ground, crushing a man beneath it and scattering those nearby who rolled, crawled, and dragged themselves away. Another block cracked and fell, and then another, as if some malevolent G.o.d were gleefully ripping apart the wall and tossing it at the hapless people below. And then the wall collapsed with a roar that made him cover his ears.

In the aftermath of the shock, everything went still. The ground ceased shaking. Dust drifted earthward. Even the screaming faded into weak cries for help.

Darak cautiously flexed his legs, then his arms. Finally, he raised his head. The second pillar had fallen crosswise atop the first. An arm's length away and he would have been crushed.

Shaking, he eased out of his tiny grotto and used his teeth to pull the rope from his wrists. Hakkon rose unsteadily, lifting one hand in weary acknowledgment. Darak peered through the gloom, searching for Bep.

"Oh, G.o.ds!"

Incredibly, he was still alive, although his belly and legs were surely crushed by the pillar. Darak knelt beside him and brushed the dirt from his face.

Bep's eyes fluttered open. His mouth twisted in a semblance of his mocking grin. "What an ending."

"Just lie still."

"Listen." Bep gasped for air. His free arm flailed. Darak caught his hand and squeezed hard. "Your boy. The temple. Go. Now."

Bel poured soft golden light on the altar. It turned the snakes wriggling away from the stone steps into tiny waves. It painted the feathers in the Zheron's headdress the colors of fresh blood and birch leaves in autumn. It sent sparks flashing from the bronze dagger between the two struggling figures.

Darak leaped up, screaming his son's name-in warning, in denial, in a ceaseless prayer to keep the dagger from descending, to stop the deathblow from falling, to let him get there in time.

Maker, help me.

His legs were so heavy, so slow. His feet tripped over upended paving stones.

Maker, don't let him kill my boy.

The feathered headdress bent lower as the Zheron forced Keirith down.

Keep fighting, son, keep fighting, just a few moments more.

Keirith's back arched over the stone. Keirith's hair streamed over the edge of the slab. Keirith's upraised fists locked around the priest's wrist, but-oh, G.o.ds-his arms were bending under the strain, his fists inching toward his chest as slowly and relentlessly as the point of the Zheron's dagger.

Please, Maker, don't take my boy. Please, Fellgair, take me, take me, take me!

Chapter 41.

THE INITIAL BURST of agony was already ebbing when Xevhan's face suddenly disappeared. The sunlight burned his eyes. More painful was the sense that he had failed. Malaq was dead. Xevhan had won. And his father . . . he could only hope his father had escaped in the chaos of the earthquake.

But even his failures leached away, like rain into soft earth, like blood into sand. There was only the sun, bright and remorseless, yet incapable of driving away the cold that crept up his legs, stealthy as Niqia stalking a b.u.t.terfly.

He closed his eyes. Behind his lids, the crimson sun faded as if a cloud had pa.s.sed overhead. From far away, he heard the voice, calling him. Felt the hands, gripping him.

Keirith opened his eyes and saw his father's stark face, stubbled with a day's growth of beard. He was always so meticulous about shaving, but of course, so much had happened. He smiled and his father's face crumpled and disappeared. Then it bobbed back. Calloused fingers brushed the hair off his face. Cracked lips moved, but a sudden breeze s.n.a.t.c.hed away the words.

He was flying. Not the soaring flight he had known with the eagle or the jolting disorientation of emerging too quickly from a trance. He was drifting skyward, like a wisp of smoke rising through the venthole of their hut. But like his flight with the eagle, his eyes were keener than they had ever been as a boy.

There were the adders, wriggling toward the mountains and freedom. There was Xevhan, fleeing in the opposite direction. And there was Hircha, standing on the ruined path he had just walked, shading her eyes against the glare of the rising sun as she watched Xevhan.

I'm sorry, Hircha. I might have killed him if the earthquake had come a moment later.

Two men were dragging the Khonsel away from the crumbling hillside overlooking the city. The slender man reminded him of Ysal. The other glanced up, shouting at the column of soldiers trotting toward them. When Keirith saw the eye patch, he recognized Geriv who had shadowed him since that morning in the Khonsel's chamber. But today, he must have had other responsibilities. No one would bear witness to Malaq's murder.

His regret faded as he drifted higher. He saw Temet, leaning against the ruined altar of Heart of Sky, bellowing out the hunter's song. He saw dozens of people fleeing the palace. Among the dark heads was a cl.u.s.ter of color. The newly risen sun made their hair shimmer like the fires licking through the palace. Perhaps that fair head belonged to Brudien. Perhaps the red one beside it was Sinand's, but he was too high now to discern their features.

Pilozhat was a pile of tiny white blocks that lay tumbled one atop the other at the bottom of the hill. The sea rose and fell like a panting bosom, tossing the ships about, but even as he watched, her anxiety began to subside. Soon she would be placid again; Womb of Earth could no more destroy the sea than she could tear a hole in the limitless sky.

The sunlight was everywhere, but now it bathed him in peace. This was how the sun must shine in the Forever Isles, soft and radiant and eternal. He wondered if it shone that way in Malaq's Paradise. Perhaps Paradise and the Forever Isles were the same. He hoped so. He would like to see Malaq waiting for him on those sun-drenched sh.o.r.es.

A terrible howl shattered the silence in which he drifted. The sunlight retreated as if affronted. He felt himself floating earthward again and resisted the pull. But the howl came again-a hoa.r.s.e, animal cry of pain that tugged him away from the sea and the sky and the sun, pulling him back over the ruined city, back to the altar.

He didn't want to go there. There was only pain at the altar. Pain and failure.

A third time, the howl rent the air. And this time, he knew it was not the cry of a wounded animal, but the grief-stricken scream of a man.

Three times for a charm. Everyone knew that.

Reluctantly, Keirith answered his father's call. He hovered over the temple. Malaq's body sprawled on the steps. His body lay on the altar. There was so much blood. He hadn't realized that. The big man from the troupe of players was bending over his father. Hircha was there now, too. And Niqia. At least Fa wouldn't be alone. That was good.

But his father seemed unaware of that. His head was thrown back, his face contorted with grief. Keirith wished he could tell him that everything was all right now. His father's pain made him ache, pulled him farther from the welcoming sunlight.

The earth was sliding into the gorge behind the temple, just melting away. Soon, the temple would melt with it. They had to leave. Hircha tugged on his father's arm. Even in the midst of disaster, she knew what to do. Cool, clever Hircha. She would keep them safe.

But Fa wasn't listening. He was still clinging to that body. His body.

I'm not there, Fa. Let go.

"Come into me. Keirith! Please. Come into my body."

Suddenly, Keirith understood. He had to rea.s.sure his father that all was well. Then he would cease his grieving and allow him to fly away.

Without the distraction of his body, it was so easy. His spirit flowed toward his father, gently seeking, gently touching.

"There's no time for this!" Hircha shouted. "Pick him up. Drag him if you have to."

Before Hakkon could move, the Spirit-Hunter reared back, his eyes huge. He crumpled onto the steps of the altar, then began convulsing. Hakkon heaved him into his arms to keep him from striking his head, but big as he was, he couldn't restrain him. The Spirit-Hunter writhed. His legs jerked in helpless spasms. His eyes rolled back in his head and his back arched. For a heartbeat, he remained frozen in agony. Then he collapsed.

Hircha seized his limp arm, frantically searching for a pulse. "He's alive. Whatever happened, he's alive."

A rumble behind her warned of another rockslide.

"You'll have to carry him."

East held death at the bottom of the gorge. To the north, there was only wilderness, to the south, only the sea. Hakkon heaved the Spirit-Hunter over his shoulder, grunting with the effort. Without waiting for her, he strode west.

Hircha paused. With a trembling hand, she lifted Keirith's head and pulled his bag of charms free; his father should have some token of the son he had lost. Then she gently closed his eyes.

"I'm sorry. For everything. But I'll see your father safe. I swear it on my life. So you can fly away. Fly to the Forever Isles. You're lucky to be out of this miserable world."

Niqia yowled. She turned to find the cat sniffing the Pajhit's face. When the pink tongue darted out to lick his cheek, Hircha burst into tears.

The Spirit-Hunter had lost his son. Hundreds of people must have seen their loved ones die this morning. And she was crying because a cat had lost its master.

She bent down to pick up Niqia, but the cat arched her back, hissing.

"Fine. Stay here. I can't be responsible for you, too."