Crown Of Shadows Part 29

"Karril!" He hauled Tarrant up by the shoulders until he was sitting upright, then wrapped one arm about him. Cinders that had fallen in his hair began to smoke as he cried out, "Help me get him out of here!"

For a moment Karril hesitated, and Damien wondered if he hadn't perhaps asked for more help than the Iezu could give. How solid was the body he wore, constructed of fae for convenience's sake and clad in an illusion of humanity? But then the Iezu began to climb, and when he reached Tarrant he went around to his other side, wrapping his arm about the man's torso so that together they could lift him. Clearly whatever served him for flesh was solid enough to function. Cinders smoked in their clothes and their hair as they struggled to carry the Hunter down from the deadly peak. Once Damien had to stop to beat out a burning spark that had taken hold of a fold of his shirt sleeve, and another time Karril called a halt in order to brush red-hot cinders from the Hunter's hair. Tarrant tried to help them by supporting his own weight, but the simple fact was that he was too weak to walk unaided.

At last, after a nightmare descent, they found shelter beside a cooled lava dome, a blister of rock whose position on the slope would protect them from the worst of the wind-borne ash. With a groan Damien lowered Tarrant to the ground so that his back was supported by the rocky protrusion, and then let go. The earth was trembling here, but it wasn't too warm, which was as good an omen as they were likely to get. There was, of course, no telling where Shaitan's fury would erupt next, and it could well be right beneath their feet... but that was such a mundane terror after all they had experienced that it had been strangely leached of power. With a sigh Damien lowered himself beside the Hunter, his legs throbbing with exhaustion as he stretched them out. How long had they been going without a real break now, ten hours, twelve? He rubbed a knot that was forming in his thigh, wincing as the tender flesh recoiled from the pressure. He wasn't going to make it much longer, that was certain. He squinted over toward the sun to get a sense of its position, then out at the Ridge. It seemed much closer to them than it had been before; Almea must have led them partway around the volcano's peak. Now they faced south, and the knife-edged mountain chain was close enough for him to make out details on its flank.

"There," he said, and he pointed in a direction where the ground seemed smooth and solid, where a clear path between the meandering acid streams could be determined. "We'll go that way."

"I don't think he's in shape to move."

Damien looked down at Tarrant, and for a moment was so lost in wonder that he could hardly concentrate on the issue at hand. There was sunlight falling across his face-sunlight!-seeping through the silk in bands of white to illuminate a face that had been in darkness for nearly a millennium. Sunlight glistened on the fine beads of sweat that were gathering on his forehead, and the skin beneath them was flushed with a hint of red, just like a living man's should be.

It hit him then, perhaps for the first time, just what had happened. He had known the words before, but he hadn't felt their impact. Now he did.

G.o.d has given you a asecond chance, he thought in wonder, as he touched trembling fingers to the silk veil that protected Tarrant's face. After so many centuries of evil that your soul must surely be black as asjet. He remembered the Binding that Tarrant had worked on Calesta, the horrific images of bloodl.u.s.t and sadism that had risen up from the Hunter's core to overwhelm them both. That was all still inside the man, and it would take more than a single dose of sunlight to exorcise it. But now, for the first time, he was free to fight it. Now he was free to struggle against the acc.u.mulated corruption of his last nine hundred years, and reclaim his human soul. G.o.d has given you a achance to redeem yourself. A second beginning. beginning. "Don't you waste it," he whispered. The Hunter's eyes flickered open briefly, but he saw no comprehension in them. Finally he forced his gaze away, back to the path before them. "We can't stay here." "Don't you waste it," he whispered. The Hunter's eyes flickered open briefly, but he saw no comprehension in them. Finally he forced his gaze away, back to the path before them. "We can't stay here."

Karril nodded and moved to take up Tarrant's arm again, to support him. But Damien gestured for him to wait a minute. He pulled out his canteen from his pack, took a short drink-too short for comfort, but his supplies were running low-and then offered it to Tarrant. For a long minute the Hunter simply stared at it, and Damien wondered if he was too dazed to even realize what it was. But then he took it, his hand shaking slightly, and lifted it to his lips and drank. He seemed to wince as the water went down, but continued to drink nonetheless. Thin stuff compared to what you're used to, Damien thought dryly. He let him drink as much as he wanted, despite the dwindling supply, trusting to the man to know his own needs. At last Tarrant handed the canteen back to him, and it seemed to Damien that his grip was stronger than before. His pale eyes were open now, and glittered with something of their accustomed light. Even his breathing seemed less labored.

We're going to make it, Damien thought. Awed by the concept. Both of us. We're going to get out of here alive, and alive, and make it back to the living world- make it back to the living world- Suddenly the ground heaved beneath them, as though something were stirring to life underneath it. "Time to move," Karril suggested, and Damien agreed. Hurriedly they caught up Tarrant again, helping him to his feet and then guiding him down the slope as fast as he could move. After a short distance Damien led them off to one side, so that if, G.o.d forbid, anything did come up out of the ground where they'd been sitting, they might stand a chance of not being hit by it. Down the slope they struggled, half walking, half sliding, and when they came to a smooth enough place they even forced Tarrant to a half-run, trying to cover as much ground as they could. Thank G.o.d, the Hunter seemed to be recovering his strength. And just in time. Thus far the wind had been in their favor, pushing the ash cloud east and north so that it didn't affect them, but Damien didn't want to bet his life on how long that would last. Down the slope they struggled, step by step, stumbling and sliding as the rocky ground became an avalanche of gravel, or as sections gave way entirely to reveal twisted gaps beneath the surface. At one point the ground split open behind them with a roar, venting a torrent of gases that Damien could smell even through his veil, and an avalanche of smoking rocks buried the path they been following mere moments before. Great. Just great. Here they had faced h.e.l.l and worse, vanquished the son of an alien life-form and rescued Tarrant from the ranks of the undead ... all to be buried alive while they were on the way home? Not likely, he swore. Not if he could help it.

At last-finally!-the slope leveled off. The cracked surface of Shaitan gave way to the jagged monuments of her valley bed, and then-just when it seemed to Damien that he couldn't climb down another foot-to level ground. They stopped ever so briefly to take another sip of water, and Damien pressed a bit of food into Tarrant's hand, but he didn't want to stop even long enough to make sure that the adept ate it. There were shadows of the dead here, hungry for the pain of the living, and without Tarrant's help he knew he didn't stand a chance against them. He chewed his own portion as they started forward again, and prayed that Tarrant's body still remembered how to digest such solid nourishment.

Moving as quickly as they could, they made their way across the valley floor. The mists were thinner in this place and few shadows even noticed them. The very closeness of the ridge-so near that they could make out a few malformed trees on its flank-lent them a last burst of strength, past the point when their bodies might normally have failed them. Just this one last hike, Damien promised himself, and and then then it's all over. You it's all over. You can make camp on the ridge somewhere and get some can make camp on the ridge somewhere and get some real real sleep, sleep, and and tomorrow tomorrow you you can head back can head back and andstart your life over. over. The thought of untroubled sleep was so enticing that for a moment he could think of nothing else, that sweet physical surrender as darkness and peace closed in around him, the sure caress of dreams. . . . He looked up sharply at Karril, who refused to meet his eyes. s.h.i.t. The thought of untroubled sleep was so enticing that for a moment he could think of nothing else, that sweet physical surrender as darkness and peace closed in around him, the sure caress of dreams. . . . He looked up sharply at Karril, who refused to meet his eyes. s.h.i.t. I I guess we guess we all all have to eat, right? have to eat, right?

By the time they finally reached the far side of the valley, the sun was well overhead, and the Core also. Their light had been so wholly eclipsed by Shaitan's ash-cloud that an eerie pseudo-night had fallen across the valley, blood red shadows sculpting rocky promon tories in sharp relief. Tarrant was still walking, although his pace and his posture warned that his newfound strength was near to giving out. But they were going to make it, Damien thought feverishly. They were really going to make it.

Sleep. It beckoned to him from the slope up ahead, from that place where the mists of the valley gave way to the cold winds of the Ridge. That place where no lava could reach them, no demons would follow them, nothing and no one would disturb their peace. It seemed almost heaven compared to their recent travels, and he struggled toward it with all the energy he could muster. How long now since they had last rested, or eaten a real meal, or even paused to get their bearings? Incredibly, Tarrant kept going, and Damien didn't want to know whether the man's strength was genuinely improving or whether it was simply desperation that drove him. Some things were better left unquestioned.

And then they were there at last, high enough on the rocky slope to be safe. Damien remained standing just long enough to wrestle his pack off his back and remove his sword harness, then fell to the earth in exhaustion, Tarrant doing the same by his side. Never mind that the ground was sharp and uneven, and their flesh was bruised from the day's events. He was alive. Tarrant was alive! And as for the few threats remaining ...

"I'll keep watch," the Iezu promised, and he nodded. Good. Yes. That would do it.

We made it, he thought. Numbed by the concept. We he thought. Numbed by the concept. We really really made it. We're going to live. made it. We're going to live.

And then sheer exhaustion closed in around him and all of it-the hope, the fear, the jubilation-gave way to darkness.

"Damien."

He was so sore it seemed he could hardly move. Someone was shaking him and it hurt. For a moment he cursed and tried to push the troublesome hands away, but they disappeared when he grabbed at them and reappeared elsewhere.

"Damien. I'm sorry. You need to get up."

d.a.m.n. d.a.m.n. What was it now? He forced his eyes to open, and discovered that even his eyelids hurt. There wasn't a part of his body that didn't pain him, and that included his bladder. Clearly he had slept longer than certain bodily processes would have liked. "Karril? What the h.e.l.l is it?"

When the Iezu saw he was awake, he leaned back on his heels, letting him get up at his own pace. "It's Tarrant," he warned. "Something's wrong."

s.h.i.t. He forced himself up to a sitting position, despite the complaints from all muscles involved. Not now, not now, not after all after all we've gone through! we've gone through! "What is it?" "What is it?"

"I don't know. I'm afraid-" He stopped himself then, as if he was afraid that by saying the wrong thing he might make the matter worse. "You're the Healer."

He crawled over to where Tarrant lay. Like himself the Hunter had wound up sprawled across the rocky ground with his head upslope, the only position in which one could sleep without tumbling down the steeply canted slope. Even as he approached, Damien could see that the man's breathing was labored, and his color looked bad, very bad. A day ago it wouldn't have mattered, that ghastly pallor. Now it was a sign that Death was tightening its grip on the one man arrogant enough to defy it.

"What is it?" Karril demanded.

Damien raised up his veil a bit, braced himself, and drew in a deep breath. Nothing happened. Rea.s.sured that they were now above the level of Shaitan's poisons, he freed Tarrant from his silken coc.o.o.n and watched as the man drew in short breaths, too quick and too shallow. He didn't have to hear the faint wheezing sound at the end of each one to know what was wrong, or see the fear in Tarrant's eyes to know just how wrong it was. The Prophet's color-and his medical history-made that all too clear.

"d.a.m.n," he whispered. "Not now, G.o.d. Couldn't you let us get home first?"

"What is it?"

"Heart attack." He could see Tarrant flinch as he spoke the words. "Or heart failure, more likely. He had the first incident right before he died, we know that." And it drove him over the brink of sanity, so that he murdered his family and andransomed his own soul to the Unnamed. Must this end the same way, G.o.d? Have you you no better purpose for him than that? "Where's the cause?" he demanded of Tarrant. "Do you know? Did you try to fix it?" no better purpose for him than that? "Where's the cause?" he demanded of Tarrant. "Do you know? Did you try to fix it?"

The Hunter shook his head weakly. "Doesn't matter," he whispered. "You can't Heal here."

"Just tell me, d.a.m.n you!"

He shut his eyes and trembled: it was clear that every word took effort. "Congenital damage to the arterial wall," he whispered. "Mitral valve . . ." He was struggling for each breath now, and Damien could hear the rasping wheeze behind each one. "Acquired. I tried...."

When it was clear that he had lost the strength for further speech, Karril dared, "Can you do something?"

What was he supposed to say? That there was nothing harder than Healing a beating heart, because if your every effort wasn't perfectly attuned to that muscle's natural rhythm, you could bring it to a halt altogether? That was all irrelevant anyway, wasn't it? Damien couldn't Heal here. The currents would fry him alive before he even got started.

Think man, think.There had to be a way. He hadn't come this far to give up now. What tools were available to him? Tarrant was too weak to Work. He couldn't do it with this much fae around. The lezu- He drew in a sharp breath as it all came together. "Karril. Your kind can work with the fae, can't it?"

The Iezu hesitated. "Not as you do. We can't Work-"

"I know that! Sorcery's not what I meant." He struggled to find the proper words. "You can mold it, can't you? Like you did to make a body." He looked pointedly at the flesh Karril now wore, which he had used to support Gerald Tarrant. "I mean as a purely physical force. Can't you do that?"

The Iezu nodded.

"Can you block it off? Divert its flow, maybe?" The Iezu looked dubious. "Anything, Karril! The currents here are too strong for me to Heal with. Is there any way you can help? If not and he nodded toward Tarrant, "-he'll die."

The Iezu drew in a deep breath, deliberately melodramatic. "I can try," he said at last. "Although I can't promise-"

"Just do it!" Damien snapped. The Hunter's lips were faintly blue: a bad, bad sign. "And hurry!"

The Iezu disappeared. Not fading slowly, as he normally did, but snuffed out like a candle flame in a wind. Apparently to manipulate the fae he had to be in his natural form... whatever the h.e.l.l that was. Doesn't matter, Doesn't matter, Damien thought grimly. Whatever works. He sat down by Tarrant's side and gripped the man's shoulder in rea.s.surance. "You're not going to die," he whispered. "Not after all I went through to bring you here. You're going home, dammit." And then he saw the Hunter's eyes widen in surprise, and he knew by that sign that the currents had changed. For the better, he prayed, as he prepared himself for Working. If not, they would both be dead soon enough. Damien thought grimly. Whatever works. He sat down by Tarrant's side and gripped the man's shoulder in rea.s.surance. "You're not going to die," he whispered. "Not after all I went through to bring you here. You're going home, dammit." And then he saw the Hunter's eyes widen in surprise, and he knew by that sign that the currents had changed. For the better, he prayed, as he prepared himself for Working. If not, they would both be dead soon enough.

With a deep breath for courage he reached down into the currents, grasping hold of Shaitan's power- Or rather, tried to. But there was nothing there. Had Karril failed him? Again he reached out with his mind, in the manner he had been taught, and again he utterly failed to make contact. But this time there was something there. A faint slithering of power, just enough to confirm that the currents were active. There was enough fae coursing around Tarrant's body to Heal him, but Damien couldn't seem to access it.

What the h.e.l.l was wrong?

Again and again he tried, until a hot sweat broke out across his skin from the strain of his efforts. But the fae was like a wriggling eel, that slithered out of his mental grasp each time he tried to close in on it. Beside him Tarrant was gasping for breath, and his lips and eyes were shadowed with a deathly blue tint; he clearly didn't have much time left. Again Damien tried to tackle the elusive earth-power, pouring everything he had into the effort. And for an instant he seemed to make real contact with it. For an instant he could taste what was wrong, and though he didn't know its cause, the result was all too clear. The fae could be Worked, all right, but at a terrible price to the Worker. Was Damien Vryce willing to risk death to do this Healing, or was his own survival too precious for him to make such a commitment? He looked down at Tarrant, so very close to the gateway of death himself that his skin had taken on the color of a corpse, and felt an upwelling of cold determination in that place where the heat of fear might have taken root. You were willing to give up up your life on Shaitan to save mankind from Calesta. your life on Shaitan to save mankind from Calesta. You You were willing to face h.e.l.l for that. were willing to face h.e.l.l for that. I can't I can't let you die now, let you die now, at atthe very threshold of salvation. I can't I can't rob rob you you of the chance to make your peace with G.o.d of the chance to make your peace with G.o.d at last at last . . . not even to save my own skin. . . . not even to save my own skin.

-And the fae roared into him, currents ten times more hot than any he had Worked before. For a moment it was all he could do not to drown in it, not to lose himself in the raging flow. Then, at last, he managed to take hold of it with his will and give it form. A Seeing. A Knowing. The tools he needed to see into Tarrant's flesh, to a.n.a.lyze it, to alter....

The Hunter's heart took shape before him-no, about about him-red muscle pounding out a feverish rhythm, a living sea that throbbed about his head as the spasms that drove it pulsed more and more desperately. He struggled to concentrate on the task at hand, and not let the hot sea sweep him away. him-red muscle pounding out a feverish rhythm, a living sea that throbbed about his head as the spasms that drove it pulsed more and more desperately. He struggled to concentrate on the task at hand, and not let the hot sea sweep him away. Mitral Mitral valve, Tarrant had said. Damien searched for it, found it, and Knew it. The thin flap of tissue had thickened across most of its surface, and as he watched it struggle to close time and time again, he could see how the damage crippled it, how its failure to seal completely allowed blood to now back the way it had come. That was his immediate target, clearly. He focused in his Knowing until he could see the individual cells of the valve itself, trying to judge the extent of the damage. It was indeed acquired, as Tarrant had said, which was a promising sign; beneath the thick layer of scar tissue was a valve that might do its work properly, if given half a chance. valve, Tarrant had said. Damien searched for it, found it, and Knew it. The thin flap of tissue had thickened across most of its surface, and as he watched it struggle to close time and time again, he could see how the damage crippled it, how its failure to seal completely allowed blood to now back the way it had come. That was his immediate target, clearly. He focused in his Knowing until he could see the individual cells of the valve itself, trying to judge the extent of the damage. It was indeed acquired, as Tarrant had said, which was a promising sign; beneath the thick layer of scar tissue was a valve that might do its work properly, if given half a chance.

Aware that every second counted, that even as he Worked in this scarlet realm its owner was dying, Damien nonetheless took a few precious moments to acquaint himself with the rhythm of the laboring heart muscle. Slowly, with a surgeon's fine precision, he began to pry away the damaged cells. Not too quickly, lest a bit of coherent flesh tear loose and provide deadly blockage in some lesser vein ... but not too slowly either, lest the Hunter expire even as he Worked. Carefully but quickly he struggled to establish a middle ground, knowing that his every move had to be perfectly attuned to the heart's own rhythm or deadly fibrillations would set in. One clump of cells dissolved into the bloodstream, then another, then another. He struggled to break up the scar tissue into manageable bits, while all the while riding the motion of the valve as if he were part of it. Thank G.o.d the tissue underneath was sound, he thought. He could see it swaying in the red sea as he freed it up, graceful and fluid in its natural motion. And it was almost free now. He reached out with his Healing to dissolve the last piece of scar tissue, saw its cells swept away by the hot scarlet tide... and it was done. The valve was closing properly once more, and the heart was slowly calming. He allowed himself a moment of pure relief, knowing the worst was over. But there was still the congenital damage to be dealt with, which had caused the buildup in the first place. What had Tarrant said, something about an arterial wall? He searched for the damage and found it, a segment of muscle malformed in its making, whose thickened bulk cut short the flow of blood to vital areas. Unlike the scar tissue on the mitral valve, this was intrinsic to the muscle itself, and its removal would leave a gaping hole in a very dangerous place. Briefly he wished for a companion Healer with whom he could coordinate his efforts. And then, that futile prayer voiced, he plunged himself into the damaged flesh. Not just cutting loose this time but healing as well, forcing the surrounding cells to regenerate- and to do so properly-even as he cut the mutated part away. Shaving down the damaged tissue into small enough bits that the body could dispose of it safely, even as he forced its replacement. It seemed to take him forever, but at last that, too, was done.

For a short while he rested, his Vision maintained, watching as the whole system beat more perfectly than it had since its original creation. Then, when he felt his strength was up to it, he fashioned a diuretic out of the materials at hand and set that loose in the bloodstream, making sure that any waste products he created in the process would be safely expelled. And then, at last, it was time to withdraw. It wasn't without fear that he let his Knowing fade, and his Seeing, and all those other tools which he had conjured. He had been willing to die to Heal Tarrant; must that vow now be fulfilled? But there was no dark power waiting to devour him as he withdrew his senses from Tarrant's flesh, and nothing felt any different about his own body or its attendant consciousness. Unless it was the sudden need to urinate. That was pretty urgent. With a muttered curse he got to his feet and walked a few feet away, to where a sharp overhang looked out over the valley. Good enough. He added his bodily excretions to the realm of the dead, and then turned back to look at Tarrant.

The man was sitting up, albeit weakly, and already his color looked better. His breathing sounded labored but not nearly so bad as before, and Damien had faith that the diuretic he had created would dry his lungs out in short order. There had been no lasting damage to the heart muscle itself, which meant that as soon as his condition stabilized, he should be as good as new. Whatever the h.e.l.l that meant.

"It seems," the Hunter whispered hoa.r.s.ely, "that I owe you once again."

"Yeah." He shrugged off what promised to be an awkward expression of grat.i.tude. "And you took me traveling to new and exciting places. Let's just call it even, okay?"

But there was a dark edge to Tarrant's expression that warned him something was seriously wrong. For a moment-just a moment-he wished he wouldn't tell him what it was. "I tried to watch you Heal," the Hunter said quietly. "I couldn't."

He shrugged. "You were in pretty bad shape. What did you expect?"

"That shouldn't have stopped me," the adept insisted. "I've Worked during worse." His voice was low, and tinged with fear. "Something's wrong, Vryce."

His first instinct was to dismiss that thought and any similar fears as a symptom of Tarrant's condition. It was a known fact that heart failure tended to bring on a sense of dread in its victims, and while that emotion normally focused on the event itself, there was no reason why it couldn't spill over into other areas. There was also a possibility that the adept had simply met his limit, and was so drained by his condition that not even Working was possible. That last was the most appealing explanation, and he tried hard to believe it. But honesty forced him to remember how much trouble he'd had accessing the fae for his own Working, and the feeling he'd had at the time that using the fae might cost him his life. "Maybe it's just the currents in this place," he offered. But he knew even as he spoke that it had to be something more.

The Hunter shook his head sharply. "The currents may be stronger here, but earth-fae is earth-fae. And I tried other Workings while you were busy." He nodded toward the overhang. "None had any effect at all. I've Worked the fae for nearly a thousand years, Vryce, and it never failed to respond like that. Yet you Worked it," he said; the words were almost an accusation.

"Yeah. Barely." He turned away, not wanting to meet Tarrant's eyes. That was one experience he didn't feel like sharing. "I'm not sure I could do it again." Not unlessIreallywanted to Not unlessIreallywanted to, he thought. Not unless I Not unless I was willing to pay was willing to pay a h.e.l.l a h.e.l.l of a price for it. of a price for it."You may be right," he admitted. "But if so, then what-"

Tarrant began to shift position as he spoke, but a sudden spasm turned his words into a groan. It took no magician to know what that meant; Damien had been expecting it. "I Worked a diuretic to drain your lungs," Damien told him, "so you'll be voiding excess fluid pretty steadily for a while. May I recommend the view over that way?" He indicated the overhang, then couldn't resist adding, "You do remember how to p.i.s.s, I a.s.sume?"

With a wordless glare the Hunter got to his feet and headed toward the scenic spot. Damien watched him for a moment, then-when he was satisfied that he was steady enough on his feet not to go tumbling down the mountainside-he looked at Karril. "Well?"

"Well what?"

"Your kind can see the fae, can't it? So I a.s.sume you saw what happened. Any guesses?"

"I was quite involved with my own a.s.signment, thank you very much. You were the one who didn't want to be drowned in the local power, remember?-But yes, I saw what happened. And it was . . ." He hesitated. "Strange."

"In what way?"

"The fae responds naturally to humans, you know that. Every human thought, every dream, even a man's pa.s.sing fancy will leave its mark on that power. Oh, sometimes there's no more than a quiver in the current-hardly enough to affect the material world-but the response is always there. Always. Except when you tried to Work before," he told Damien. "When you first tried to Heal Tarrant, there was no response at all. And he's trying to Work right now-" he looked pointedly at Tarrant, "-and it's the same as it was with you. No response at all."

Tarrant's concentration was focused on the ground at his feet, and he was clearly trying to mold the local currents to his will. His brow had tightened into a hard line. His eyes were narrowed to slits. He even cursed, perhaps the first time that Damien had ever heard him do so. Clearly, his chosen tests had failed.

With one last glance at the ruddy sunset to the west of them (and Damien didn't have to be psychic to know how much Tarrant wanted to study it longer, his first sight of the sun in over nine centuries) the adept rejoined them. "Something's changed, no doubt about it." His tone and his expression were both grim. "I can't tell for certain what happened without some more specific tests, but I don't think either you or I should count on being able to Work until we get out of here. Once we get back, I can figure out what happened, and hopefully discover a way to work around it."

Hopefully. There was a stress on that word, ever so subtle, which underscored a fear neither man would voice. If something had changed in the currents, what if that change were permanent? What if it turned out to be a problem not with the fae, but with them?

And then the other words. .h.i.t him. So casually voiced, but they resounded in his brain all the more powerfully for their lack of emphasis. Once we get back. Such a simple, disarming phrase! As if getting back were something they had always expected to do. As if they hadn't thought they would die on this journey, and thus had made no plans for ever going home. Damien felt his heart lurch as he acknowledged that the possibility was suddenly very real. Tarrant was alive. The enemy they thought they could never vanquish was dead and gone. They were going home....

Focus on that, he thought. Not the other thing. That was too terrifying to face, and they weren't likely to come up with answers until Tarrant had the strength and the leisure to investigate the matter. He forced himself to turn to Karril and he asked, "Will you come with us?" Not only because the Iezu would be a valuable guide in this land-doubly valuable if they really couldn't Work-but because, at that moment, Karril was part and parcel of their triumph, and he wanted him there.

The Iezu looked at Tarrant, and something unspoken seemed to pa.s.s between them. At last he shook his head. "I can't. I'm sorry. My family . . ." He gazed out into the valley, toward Shaitan, where the other Iezu gathered. "There are so many questions to be answered now. My place is with them for as long as I can stay here." He looked back at Tarrant, as if expecting him to say something, but the Hunter remained silent. "I'm sorry," he said again. "But you really don't need me now."

"I understand," Damien a.s.sured him. He turned to Tarrant, but the Hunter's eyes were fixed on Shaitan. "We can stay here a while if you think you need more rest, but we're low on supplies, so it can't be too long. You tell me." When Tarrant said nothing, he pressed, "Ready to go home yet?"

"Do what you think is best," the Hunter said quietly.

He knew that tone of voice. G.o.d d.a.m.n it, he knew it all too well. He knew what it meant when the Hunter shifted from the plural p.r.o.noun to the singular, too, and d.a.m.n it to h.e.l.l! This wasn't the place for that kind of game, or the time for it, or ... or anything!

"We're going home, right?" His tone was half plea, half growl. "Calesta's dead. The Forest's so far gone by now that you can't change what happens there one way or the other. Right? The whole G.o.dd.a.m.n world's at peace and I didn't figure we'd both still be part of it, so I don't have the kind of food and water it would take for two people to go off and do something stupid. Whatever that stupid thing happened to be.-Are you listening to me, Gerald?"

The adept's eyes remained fixed on Shaitan, as if something there were so fascinating he dared not turn away even for a moment. "She's a starfarer," starfarer,"he breathed. "Not just the descendant of an alien species stranded on this world-like we are-but an individual born and bred on another planet, with memories of foreign stars and the technology needed to get to them." At last he turned away from that view and faced Damien again. "What was the point of all my work, if not to give us the stars? Why have men rallied to the Church's banner for the past thousand years, if not for that dream?" He turned back to Shaitan and inhaled deeply, as if tasting its potential in the air. "This place is a gateway. This creature, this mother of aliens... is mankind's future. Her technology may be too alien for us to use directly, but perhaps between us we can forge something that will serve both species."

"And her children will, no doubt, be happy to act as go-betweens to-" He saw the quick look that pa.s.sed between Tarrant and Karril and felt something tighten in his gut. "What is it? What's wrong with that?"

Karril said quietly, "We can't stay here."

Tarrant nodded. "The Iezu were bred to interact with humans, and must do so for their own survival. There's no food here to sustain them, nor anything else that they require. And even if they could stay, what would become of the temples they're nurtured, the cults that have declared them G.o.ds, the human symbionts they must support? Oh, some of them will remain here for a time, but will those few be enough? When will the critical ma.s.s of this gathering be weakened enough that the mother's voice loses its coherency, and humanity loses its most valuable ally?"

Speechless, Damien turned to Karril for support. But the Iezu only nodded sadly, as if to say, Yes, he's he's right. right. It's It's only only a a matter of time. "So what?" he demanded. "You're going to stay here? There's no food here for you either, Gerald, do I have to remind you of that? And what the h.e.l.l are you going to do for them, anyway?" matter of time. "So what?" he demanded. "You're going to stay here? There's no food here for you either, Gerald, do I have to remind you of that? And what the h.e.l.l are you going to do for them, anyway?"

"I'm not going to stay," he said quietly.

He forced himself to breathe in deeply. "Well. That's something, anyway."

"Humanity will need a means of translation. So will the Iezu for that matter, at least the ones most human in aspect."

"So what do you propose to do? Work some kind of translating pattern? You know that's impossible right now. You said yourself that until you had a chance to test the currents you wouldn't know why they had failed to respond to us, much less be able to Work them again. So what then?"

"A Working isn't what's needed now. Not as much as a sound understanding of who and what the Iezu are, and how their mother's need was expressed through each of them. They are her true language, Vryce, her cries of desperation rendered in fae and flesh. What form did each one first appear in? What pattern did their learning take?" He looked at Karril. "At what point did they first express emotions outside of their aspect, and what prompted that change?"

"You're talking about a complete family history," Damien challenged. "Going back-what-nearly a thousand years?"

"Nearly that," Karril agreed.

"No one's going to have that kind of information just sitting around. If you want those kinds of facts, you'll have to do research, and for that you need to go back to where there are people and libraries and loremasters to help you." Ciani had kept notes on everything, he remembered suddenly. Perhaps other adepts did the same. "We can look for some sorcerer who specializes in demon lore-"

And then it hit him. Just like that. One moment blissful ignorance, and the next, stunning truth. "s.h.i.t," he whispered. "No."

Tarrant said quietly. "I'm afraid so."

"There's a war on in the Forest. Have you forgotten that? More enemies than you can count, all focused on your destruction-"

"And they mean to burn the Forest to the ground when they're done, and all my possessions along with it. Which means that in a few days' time my notebooks will be ash, and the lezu's history lost forever."

"We can work a Remembering-" he began.

And then he remembered what the fae was like now. How hard it was to Work. And he knew that they dared not count on being able to use it in the future, not for a matter this complex.

"s.h.i.t," he muttered. "s.h.i.t."

"I told you I have a tunnel, Vryce. It comes in under my keep, to a chamber so well warded that even if my enemies gain access to the building itself, they will never find its entrance. We'll come in and take what we want and be gone again before the Church ever realizes we're there, I promise you."

"And do you know for a fact that your wards still work?" he demanded. "Have you thought of that?"

"I tested one which I carry, and its effect is unchanged. Apparently past Workings still maintain their power." His pale eyes glittered redly in the dying sunlight ; even without the fae his gaze had tremendous power. "So what do you say, Vryce? Must I go there alone? Because with or without you, I cannot allow those notes to burn. Too much of mankind's future depends on them."