The Darkangel - The Pearl Of The Soul Of The World Part 16

No. Never. A biological construct. You are still flesh, child, not gears and wire.

Staring at herself, Aeriel laughed weakly, dismayed. "A fine match," she repeated softly, thinking of the starhorse, "this new engine for my soul."

She moved her fingers, clenching and opening her hand-but the motion had become accustomed now, no longer felt odd.

Something slid along her arm: a tiny chain, scant as spider's silk-so fine she had not noticed it before. She recognized the filament Ravenna had used to fasten the pearl to her brow. It had become entwined about her wrist somehow-when she had handed the pearl to Oriencor? Distracted, Aeriel shook her head, still staring at her strange, new flesh.

"As like my old form as like..."

The words trailed away.

It is the soul that makes us human, not the flesh. Believe me, child, if I had had another choice- "Why did you not tell me?" Aeriel grated furiously. She sat gasping, scarcely able to speak. Outrage and a crushing sense of betrayal strangled her voice.

I did not think that wise, the song in her blood answered deftly, dispa.s.sionately. I had to conceal my design from your adversary at all costs. If the Witch had read even a glimpse of it in your eyes or so much as suspected what it was you carried, she'd have destroyed you long before you could give her the pearl.

Aeriel shook her head. Oriencor's words came back to her: Little fool... no more than her clockwork golam...

unimportant! Slowly, realization dawned. To Ravenna within her, she said at last, "You meant to sacrifice me-our entire army- to that end if need be."

A weary silence.

She was my daughter, Aeriel. I had to try.

No sound in the tent then but night wind's gentle gusting and Irrylath's soft, even breaths. The voice of the pearl said no more for a time.

"I've been your catspaw all along," Aeriel said quiedy, amazed. "We have all been your gaming beads." Then, suddenly, sharply, "Did you know the pearl would destroy her when I put it into her hand?"

The pearlstuff widun her roused sluggishly, as if reluctandy, seemed to sigh. I greatly feared it, if she would not accept the gift.

"And now you would make me the world's heir in place of Oriencor."

She worried the fine, weightless chain about her wrist, but it would neither break nor slip free."

"Ravenna's daughter,"she said bitterly. "Some called me that even before this war. And 'green-eyed enchantress.""She felt the pearlstuff moving in her blood and shivered. "Perhaps those t.i.tles have a grain of truth to them now, after all."

Behold.

Aeriel felt a change within her. Her vision sharpened, becoming infinitely more keen. Everything around her resolved into litde burning filaments that twined and juggled, mated and danced. Her own hand, Irrylath, the Edge Adamantine- everything was made of them: strung together from beads of fire.

The stuff of all the world, the voice within her said. These are my gaming beads. Return to NuRavenna, wearing the crown as my heir, and I will teach you the juggling of them, the spinning and weaving of their strands. You will become a mighty sorceress, Aeriel.

The pale girl sat gazing at the sleeping prince beside her. She shook her head. "I don't want your sorcery," she whispered.

"I want to remain with Irrylath."

The pearlstuff in her blood began to simmer and seethe. Once again the images of the encroaching entropy flooded her mind.

You must leave him, the Ancient's voice persisted. The task awaiting you brooks no distraction. You will be far too busy in NuRavenna for such mundane cares.

Aeriel leaned back and longed to weep. Her eyes stung, but no tears would fall. Despair overwhelmed her. Undeniable as the chain, everything the Ravenna within told her was true.

Child, you are not mortal anymore. Irrylath deserves a bride who will age with him.

The Ancient's words were full of compa.s.sion and sorrow, but some stubborn part of Aeriel refused to give in.

"I am his bride," she whispered.

You drank your wedding toast to a half-darkangel in Avaric, Ravenna within her answered gently. One who meant to kill you in the next hour. But you overcame him with the help of Talb the Mage. The one you wed no longer exists!

Irrylath is a man again; the darkangel is no more.

"He lives!" cried Aeriel. "My own heart beats within his breast."

Because his heart was plucked from him unawares, while he lay helpless beneath the Mage's spell. Don't you see, child? Irrylath is bound to you whether he would or no. Did you not once yourself hear him say he would turn to Sabr if only he were free?

"No," Aeriel whispered, resisting still. "He would not-it's me he loves now..." But the words trailed away. Doubt gnawed at her. Gazing at Irrylath, she began to fear all his late pa.s.sion, all his love were but the outcome of a stolen heart and Talb the Mage's spell. Aeriel groaned. "But he is my husband. He's mine"

Are you like the Witch, then, devoid of true love? Do you want only to possess him?

"No!" The misery that gripped her was almost unbearable.

Then set him free.

Silence.

Come, Ravenna's voice reasoned. You have freed the wraiths that were the darkangel's brides, and my Ions that had been made into gargoyles. You have freed the whole world from my daughter's power. Will you not give Irrylath his freedom now?

Aeriel sat shaking, frozen. Ravenna's exhortation filled her with terror. If she gave Irrylath back his heart, would he be lost to her? She could not bear the thought-and yet, now that the seed of suspicion was planted, it seemed she could do nothing to check its growth. Cold certainty crystallized in her: once freed, he would choose Sabr. The fine chain chafed against her wrist. The pearl-stuff in her blood waited, whispering. Her gaze fell upon the white gown into which she had awakened in NuRavenna.

"I know now what is the fabric of this garment you gave me," she said softly. It felt unspeakably heavy, a great burden in her hand. She did not want to don it again. "Duty."

Sacrifice.

One of the panels of the tiny pavilion was very slightly agape, where two layers of the yellow wedding sari did not quite overlap. Aeriel gazed out through the crack into the night beyond. The rain had long since ceased, the mist beginning to blow away. The starstrewn vault of heaven peered darkly through the grey-white wisps of cloud.

If you lose much, think what you and the world will gain. And others have lost still more. Consider all my former might, reduced now to a scatter of firebeads on the wind and a murmur in your blood.

Aeriel's gaze returned to Irrylath. "This task you would hand me will stretch far beyond the life of any mortal man." o Doubtless. And time presses even now. My sorcery scatters wider with every pa.s.sing hour. You must begin to gather it, and soon.

The pale girl laughed painfully. What could that matter, without Irrylath? She thought of the task stretching before her, uncountably vast, and herself going companionless through all the years. Loneliness nearly overwhelmed her. Even the Ancientlady Ravenna had had Melkior. Heavily, she sighed.

"Must I never see Irrylath again?"

The Ancient's voice was full of regret. I fear not. Have you forgot?-Irrylath belongs to the Avarclon.

Aeriel sat upright with a jolt. Memory filled her of the pact he had struck with the newly awakened starhorse in Esternesse: a truce between them and the winged Warhorse for his steed until the Witch was overthrown. Aeriel bit back a gasp. She had forgotten that pact, put it wholly from her mind until this moment. All debate would prove meaningless if the starhorse demanded the prince's death in payment for his own.

I built my Ions to be just, not merciful, the Ancient voice within her sadly said. In truth, it was this I meant to spare you when I warned you away in haste.

The pale girl's hand upon her sleeping husband tightened. "No," she whispered. "No. Tell me what I may do..."

To save him, she meant, but the pearlstuff in her blood spoke before she could finish the thought.

We have come to the rime's end, child. I can only advise. I cannot compel. The choice lies before you: Irrylath or the world. Choose.

Aeriel struggled, fighting for breath. It was hard to speak, the words hurt so. At last she whispered, "If I must give up Irrylath to the vengeance of the Avarclon, then let him at least go as his own man, free."

Her hand shook, but she felt the pearlstuff within her steady it. Sheathed upon the prince's sash, the Blade Adamantine glimmered. Aeriel reached to pull it free. Laying her hand on Irrylath's breast, she drew the white gleaming edge down the center of his breastbone and found her own living heart beneath, placed there two twelvemonths past upon their marriage night. Lost in sleep, the young man never stirred. The edge of adamant held no sting.

Turning the blade to her own breast, she delved and found Irrylath's beating heart, which she had worn these last two years. The pearlstuff pervaded her, sustaining her. No blood spilled from the bright Blade's keen and burning edge. She felt only warmth hot as white Solstar. Taking her own heart from Irrylath's breast, she returned his to its place. With a motion of her hand, she closed the flesh. Then she set her own heart back in her breast and sealed the breach. No mark or scar betrayed what she had done.

"Already," she murmured to Ravenna within, "you have made me a sorceress."

Adamantine glowed bright without a stain, throwing shadows through the little pavilion. One lay now across Irrylath's face.

Aeriel herself cast no shadow anymore. Unable even to weep, she turned and set the Blade back in its sheath. Voices sounded in the distance outside the pavilion. Aeriel lifted her head, listening. The prince beside her murmured, shifted, stirred.

The voices sounded closer, clearer now.

"Survivors, surely!" A young man's voice. It sounded like her own brother Roshka's.

"By all the underpaths," another cried, one Aeriel had not heard in far too long: Talb the Mage. "Let it be they! The fabric of that pavilion can only be hers."

"Hollo! Hollo!"

Irrylath beside her sat up with a start. Hurriedly, she reached for Ravenna's gown, but her husband caught her hand and brought it to his lips. Without a thought, she caressed his cheek-then she remembered he did not belong to her anymore, and froze. Other voices hailed them from without. Aeriel heard the high, ululating trill that was the greeting cry of the desert wanderers. The prince's head turned in surprise.

"Someone comes," he murmured.

Sick at heart, Aeriel pulled free of him and turned away. His touch was torture to her now. She could not bear to look into his eyes, to see his feelings change as soon as he realized his heart was once again his own. She donned the Ancient's weighty gown. Beside her, the prince caught up his own garments. As he knotted the sash about his waist, he reached to draw her to him again. Aeriel shrank from him. Shaking, she rose to fold the flap of their tent aside and step out to meet the ones who came.

SIXTEEN.

Crowns

Spread out over the vast black plain moved a great band of people, combing for survivors or the perished, Aeriel guessed.

After the rain, the mudflats were beginning to drain. A tiny frog, pale rose, sprang away from her tread with a jewellike chirp.

A damselfly with lacelike wings darted past her ear. Little shoots of frost green had sprung up everywhere. Silvery minnows and other fry swarmed the tiny pools. Gazing at them, both creature and leaf, Aeriel understood for the first time how they interlocked, like beads in a tapestry, each dependent upon the others for its niche in the greater scheme. The pearlstuff stirred and whispered in her blood.

"This will never be a Wasteland again," she murmured full of wonder, "but a fertile marsh."

Catching sight of her emerging from the tent, the searchers hurried toward her with great glad cries. Irrylath's mother, the Lady Syllva, led them, flanked by her bowwomen. The Ions of Avaric and elsewhere dotted their ranks. Aeriel spotted others: the chieftess Orrototo and her desert wanderers, the dark islanders of the Sea-of-Dust. Erin stood beside Pendarlon upon the verges of her people. The Sword hung sheathed and burning at her side. Elation rose in Aeriel, strong as a well-spring, to find the dark girl safe.Irrylath ducked through the entryway to stand half a pace behind her as the others neared. His brothers gave a triumphant shout. Sabr, heading her cavalry along the party's near flank, looked on, her proud and somber countenance lifting with joy at the sight of him. Aeriel felt her heart constrict, struck suddenly how nearly the face of the prince's cousin resembled his own: Irrylath as he might have looked without scars. Aeriel dared not turn to see how her husband returned the queen of Avaric's gaze.

Drawing close, the others halted before Aeriel. Her brother Roshka stood near the head of the band, Talb the Mage at his side. She felt a momentary surprise to see the Lady's mage above-ground without a daycloak, before she remembered that since nightshade had fallen, he was safe from Solstar's glare. The duarough wizard hobbled toward her across the drying ground.

"So, dear child," he exclaimed, "you are alive, as we had not dared hope, and Prince Irrylath is with you."

She felt the prince's arm slip around her then and tensed, longing desperately both to lean back into his embrace and to draw away-for it could not last. She held herself erect, wondering how soon he would release her and turn to Sabr.

"Yes, we are safe," she managed, to Talb. "How is it, little mage, that I never saw you among the others in battle?" His cloak of obscurity might hide him from the light of Solstar, but surely never from the sight of the pearl.

The other smiled. "I was occupied below-ground, aiding my fellows, the free duaroughs, in the rescue of our folk."

Aeriel nodded. "And those aboveground," she asked, lifting her gaze. "How is it so many are come alive through the flood?"

Hadin, the Lady's youngestborn, answered. "Most were already aboard the barges when the palace fell, and the Ions saved many of the rest. Marelon alone rescued scores upon scores."

Aeriel spotted the great coils of the plumed, vermilion serpent far away toward the rear of the company. The lithe Ion of the Sea-of-Dust bowed to her. Nearer to hand, Roshka joined his cousin Hadin, laying one hand upon his battle companion's arm- "Nevertheless, we have been dozens of hours finding one another again."

Aeriel felt the pearlstuff within her blood begin to surge, the white radiance of her skin brightening. Unsure of the effect this inner pearlfire would have on any whom it touched, she laid her hand upon Irrylath's wrist, meaning to thrust him away-but, misinterpreting, he took her hand. She stiffened, recalling in alarm the scathing flame of Erin's sword, but he seemed to suffer no ill. The Lady Syllva gazed at them.

"Children, are you well?" she asked, brow furrowed with concern.

"Truly well, mother," the prince replied. "The war is over, and it is won."

The crowd shifted suddenly, parting and drawing aside. Aeriel saw Avarclon coming forward, tossing his long silvery mane. His nostrils flared wide as he snorted, his pale eyes intent and hard. His hooves rang like cymbals upon the stones embedded in the soft, black silt.

"Indeed, Prince, the battle is done," the Warhorse said. "But there is yet our bargain to be kept."

Aeriel paled, her hand in Irrylath's growing cold. Had he, too, put the antic.i.p.ation of this moment from his mind, just as she herself had done? Avarclon had not. How could a Ion forget or forgive his own death at the hands of a darkangel- one that, as a mortal boy, had once been his dearest friend?

She saw apprehension flood the Lady Syllva's face as well. The prince's brothers shifted, murmuring. Erin muttered something urgently to Pendarlon, but the lyon shook his mane. Sabr cast about wildly, hand at her knife hilt. Aeriel felt her husband's arm about her tighten, and for a moment, she allowed herself to rest against him before he turned her in his arms.

"Forgive me," he whispered, "for not reminding you that this end must come. I wanted you to think of me alone, these brief hours past, since we had so little time."

His eyes searched hers. The scars on his cheek were full of shadow and light. When he kissed her, the taste of him was so sweet she wanted never to stop. The pearlstuff in her blood flared, as if in warning, but she clung to him, heedless, unwilling to let him go, until at last he pulled free and told her softly, "Fare well."

Turning, he went to kneel before the winged horse. The Ion of Avaric whickered, stamped. His great grey wings beat, fanning the air. The prince faced him unwavering.

"What you say is true," he replied. "I have a debt to you."

His voice was steady, calm, shaded only with regret and not a trace of fear. The Avarclon shook himself, sidling. His long tail lashed.

"As a darkangel, I ended your life," Irrylath told him. "Yet once the priestesses of Esternesse had brought you into the world again, you made yourself my steed and bore me bravely, with never a bid for revenge."