Thief Of Light Part 39

Very gently, the Lady said, You have paid your debt for Inga, Erik, paid it in years of buried, festering guilt. You are free. All that is left is to beg Prue's forgiveness. Only then will you heal. You have paid your debt for Inga, Erik, paid it in years of buried, festering guilt. You are free. All that is left is to beg Prue's forgiveness. Only then will you heal.

Erik's head rolled. "No, that can't be right. What I did-"

Is forgiven, rumbled the Horned Lord. Do not presume to question Do not presume to question.

"Why not?" said Erik, with a tired grin. "It's not as though You're going to kill me-again."

The Lord's chuckle reverberated around the inside of his skull, rattling Erik's brains as though they were dice. Incorrigible Incorrigible, said the G.o.d, shaking His great horned head. Stubborn and brave. Which is why you must choose once more. There is work still for you to do, Erik Th.o.r.ensen-if you wish it Stubborn and brave. Which is why you must choose once more. There is work still for you to do, Erik Th.o.r.ensen-if you wish it.

Choose? f.u.c.k, he was so weary. Why wouldn't They leave him be?

"Stay with me, Erik." Prue's biteme voice, right in his ear. "I've got you. Darling, darling-" She broke off on a gulping sob like a child's.

Erik stirred. "Not without her."

Of course. Was the Lady laughing at him? There is a place in the Pattern even for a skeptic like a null witch There is a place in the Pattern even for a skeptic like a null witch.

A null-? Never mind, he'd worry about it later.

His heart banged painfully behind his ribs. "And the Magick?"

That was Our gift, said the Lord. As was the Voice. They are yours As was the Voice. They are yours.

A slow tide of compressed agony washed over the left side of Erik's chest, bringing with it a deathly chill. "T-tell me what You want me to do," he said, his teeth chattering.

No, said the Lady softly. If We touch the Pattern directly, We alter it If We touch the Pattern directly, We alter it.

The Lord's horn was a glowing ember under his fingers, Prue's frantic grip cold in comparison. With a supreme effort, Erik rallied his forces. "I have a price," he said between his teeth.

You dare to bargain with the G.o.ds? The Lord's voice dropped so deep it went beyond the threshold of hearing. Erik felt it only as a vibration in his bones, his skull. The Lord's voice dropped so deep it went beyond the threshold of hearing. Erik felt it only as a vibration in his bones, his skull.

"Take the Voice from me."

Silence.

"I beg You. Take it."

At last, the Lady said, The curse and the blessing are one, Erik. No more music. Are you sure? The curse and the blessing are one, Erik. No more music. Are you sure?

Erik's chuckle turned to a rasping cough. "Great Lord, long ago, You told me . . . everything has a . . . cost." He fought for breath. "I cannot afford . . . the Voice."

Another silence. Constellations wheeled past while the G.o.ds considered, stars lived and died, planets settled in their orbits.

Done, said the Lord, like a great bell.

Close your eyes, little one, whispered the Dark Lady. Huge, slender fingers stroked over his eyelids, his nose, his lips. Something hot and wet plopped onto his temple and rolled into his hair. Erik's breath stopped. A tear?

An enormous force collided with his chest, hammering him into the kitchen table like a body slam from an angry mountain. The agony was all-encompa.s.sing, red-hot fists squeezing his lungs until he couldn't find the breath to scream. s.h.i.t, s.h.i.t, s.h.i.t.

He fought. "Nngh."

"Erik?"

Levering one eye half-open, he grunted.

Prue's shriek of joy was so loud he would have winced if the fists of pain buried deep in his chest had permitted it. As it was, he dared not move a muscle, but he pressed her fingers with his own. Small though the action was, the effort left him exhausted.

"Told you!" she said, turning her head.

Purist Bartelm came into view, accompanied by another Purist, a middle-aged woman. "So you did," he said, but he smiled at Prue. "Now you need to move well away and let me work, Mistress."

Shaking water from his hands, the old wizard dried them on the spotless cloth the woman handed him. "Roll him onto his side," he said to someone out of Erik's line of sight. "And stretch that arm over his head."

His features tightened. "This is going to hurt." He picked up a small, flexible tube and a slim, shiny knife from a metal tray. "Your lung's collapsed and your chest cavity is full of air you don't want."

"Nngh," said Erik. He didn't see how anything could be more painful than what he was enduring now.

Unfortunately, he was wrong.

40.

Several centuries and a world of pain later, Erik surfaced, fighting his way out of the murk by slow degrees. His recollections were confused-being stuck with that G.o.dsbed.a.m.ned tube, the astonishing hiss of the air escaping, Prue kissing his cheek, prizing his fingers away from the talisman so she could wash his chest with warm water, a long black period of terrible cold that had him moaning and shuddering, though he clenched his teeth against it.

But none of his memories included the tall, slim woman with the swathes of blazing red hair at her temples who sat placidly by his bed, reading.

It took him three attempts to get her name out. "Cenda?"

Her head jerked up, joy turning her eyes to gold. "You're awake! Oh, my dear." Shyly, she bent to brush his cheek with warm lips.

When he tried to speak again, she hushed him, supporting his head so he could sip water from the cup she held for him.

Reading the questions in his eyes, she smiled, and suddenly, she was breathtakingly beautiful. "Yes," she said. "Gray is here too." The smile became wry. "We came with Deiter."

She whisked herself to the door. "Prue's exhausted. She's taking a nap. I'll go wake her."

"D-don't." G.o.ds, was that his voice, so rusty and unused?

Cenda's eyes danced. "She's a terror, your Prue." The fire witch gave a theatrical shudder. "Five-it, she made me promise-the minute you opened your eyes." A final twinkle, and he heard her light footsteps running up a flight of stairs.

No more than three minutes later, Prue hurtled through the door like a small tornado, her hair flying in a great tangle of glossy brown. She wore only a night shift, her arms and legs bare. "Erik!" She skidded to a stop beside the bed, stretched out a hand and let it drop. "You . . . you're . . ."

"Come here," he managed, no more than a husky rasp. "Let me . . . hold you."

Prue stared, and all the breath left her in a shuddering sigh. Her face crumpling, she fell to her knees and laid her head next to his on the pillow. Sobs tore out of her, shaking her whole body, dampening his shoulder.

Erik could do little except stroke her arm with the tips of his fingers and make soothing noises, but something warm and comforting settled inside him, the caress of it like sweet balm soaking into a bruise. Vaguely astonished, he puzzled over it, considering the sensation from every angle. All he could compare it with were the golden memories of childhood-cuddled up with Ma in the big bed while she told stories so outlandish he and his brothers forgot to wriggle and fight, their mouths falling open in wonder. Rolling over and over down a hill covered with warm summer gra.s.s, arriving at the bottom in a tangle of sweaty arms and legs, smelling the sweet crush of green and hearing Carl explode with laughter. A dim memory of toddler-hood, his father carrying him home after dark, big arms holding him safe.

Good times. When everything was right right, completely as it should be, as it was meant to be.

But not in his adult life. Not until now.

Very slowly because of the pain, Erik lifted his hand to rest on Prue's bowed head. "Sshh," he murmured.

One side of his chest still hurt like a b.i.t.c.h. More aches and pains shrieked at him from every limb. He was thirsty again, and now that he came to think of it, hungry.

But none of it mattered. Because this was what peace really was, sweet and easy as a perfumed bath. No fanfare, no fireworks.

It wouldn't last.

The black tendril of apprehension was thin, but persistent, wriggling its way into his consciousness, a suckworm invading his paradise. Enjoy this while you can Enjoy this while you can, it hissed. Because if you want her in your future, she's going to have to know about Inga Because if you want her in your future, she's going to have to know about Inga. And what you did. And what you did.

Every muscle in Erik's body tensed. All his various hurts combined in a ghastly chorus, sung fortissimo.

The Lady's voice, echoing in his head like the music of a star. All that is left is to beg Prue's forgiveness. Only then will you heal. All that is left is to beg Prue's forgiveness. Only then will you heal. f.u.c.k, he didn't have the guts. He'd been better off dead, at least the G.o.ds had forgiven him. f.u.c.k, he didn't have the guts. He'd been better off dead, at least the G.o.ds had forgiven him.

But then Prue raised a tear-stained face and sniffed. "Erik?" She stroked his jaw. "Love?"

No, the peace of death paled in comparison, not when he could have this. Even if it only lasted 'til she walked out the door, this joy was worth any struggle, any pain. Good, ah, G.o.ds, it was good. Blinking drowsily, he tried to smile.

Prue brushed her lips over his stubbled cheek. Drawing back with a shaky smile, she said, "I should leave you to sleep. Purist Bartelm's been very worried."

"Mm. Me too."

"You should have been better almost immediately. If it had been an ordinary man who stabbed you . . ." Her brows snapped together. "But it wasn't, it was him him." Her lips trembled. "Just as well you're so strong."

"How long have-?"

"Two days and more. It's not far off midnight. Here, take these." She dosed him with four pellets of concentrated healall, washed down with more water.

After swallowing obediently, he asked, "Where-?"

"You're at The Garden, in the Main Pavilion." She gestured at the room. "This is-or was-the Spring Green Parlor on the ground floor." Her straight, dark brows drew together, and for the first time, he noticed the shadows under her eyes, the pallor of her skin. She went on, "I had them bring a bed in here rather than try to get you up the stairs."

It was a big bed, he noted with approval, plenty of room for two. "You," he said, wrapping his fingers around her wrist, "sleep here." He didn't intend to waste a moment of this precious, fragile peace.

Prue shook her head. "I'll jostle you."

"No," insisted Erik, tightening his grip. "Not without you."

He frowned, thinking. The words had a familiar ring, important somehow.

"Please?" he said.

Prue capitulated, as he'd known she would, settling carefully at his side, linking their fingers together.

After a few minutes, her breath deepened. She murmured something unintelligible into his neck and fell asleep. Erik lay a little longer, watching the double shadows move on the ceiling, listening to the lap of the dark water in the ca.n.a.l. The pain receded a little. Good stuff that healall.

Eventually, he too dozed off, his brow furrowed.A day later-or was it two?-he was lying propped up on a pile of pillows, one hand drumming a tattoo on the sheet, frowning. Prue had brought him lunch, then pecked his cheek and departed at a brisk trot, admonishing him to sleep. But h.e.l.l, he couldn't. The livelihood of an entire company of players depended on him.

The Voice was gone, as if it had never been, an aching absence like a phantom toothache. Deep in his bones, he knew it, though he'd only had the strength to hum a few bars. With a grunt, he squared his shoulders. Not so long ago, he would have been crushed, his life over, but now, although the loss grieved him, he couldn't regret it. Vaguely, he wondered if it would hurt more as his wound healed.

Very likely, but he'd deal with it then. He still had perfect pitch, though he wasn't at all certain it wouldn't drive him to distraction without the Voice to go with it.

But nonetheless, he hadn't realized what an intolerable burden he'd carried until it was taken from him. More a curse than a blessing. He felt . . . lighter . . . cleaner.

With his usual calm, Gray had stepped into a hastily rearranged program and houses had been reasonable, but they couldn't bank on the curiosity factor forever. In any case, Gray's husky tenor was a crowd-pleaser, but not enough to carry an entire production. A grin curved Erik's lips. It had been beyond good to see the other man. Someone whose self-contained good sense and loyalty he could count on. The spurt of humor fled.

G.o.dsdammit, Magick was a chancy thing-f.u.c.k, he should know-and now it seemed Gray was mired in it hip-deep as well. A man with a sentient shadow shadow? Erik shook his head in disbelief, stopping with a curse when his wound pulled.

He'd had a little time to become accustomed to Cenda before the Unearthly Opera left Concordia, and he'd approved. Not only was she a sweetheart, she was good for his friend. So what if rills of flame sparked from her palms and fiery salamanders danced in her hair? Gray and his fire witch were mated mated in such a way that having seen them together, he couldn't imagine them apart. in such a way that having seen them together, he couldn't imagine them apart.

But a few hours ago, Gray had strolled into the Spring Green Parlor, followed by a dark replica of himself, and introduced his shadow to Erik, his eyes glinting silver with amus.e.m.e.nt. d.a.m.n him. Erik's skin had pebbled, all the fine hairs rising on the back of his neck.

"Uh," he'd said stupidly, "pleased to meet you."

Shad-G.o.ds, it even had a name!-had nodded pleasantly enough, and Erik had been embarra.s.singly relieved the shadow hadn't offered its hand.

By the Horned Lord, he hoped to h.e.l.l Gray knew what he was doing. But when he'd asked why they'd come, his friend would not be drawn, merely raising those slanted brows and saying it had been Deiter's idea. Erik rubbed his nose, brooding. The old reprobate never did anything without a reason-unless there was alcohol involved. And G.o.ds, the man was a Purist. The irony of it was incredible. Grimly amused, Erik snorted.

The latch clicked and a figure in a shabby robe slipped through the door. Well, well, speak of a demon and he appears.

"Purist Deiter," said Erik. "I've been looking forward to speaking with you."

"Shut up," said the old wizard. Cautiously, he cracked the door and peered out. "You're supposed to be asleep." He closed the door. "All clear. G.o.ds, bossy women make me want to spit." Framed by a neat gray beard tied off in three plaits, his mouth contorted as if he were about to do just that.

Erik raised a cool brow. "You're talking about my Prue?"

"Her and that daughter of hers and that Rose woman. Not to mention Bartelm. Bah!" The drinker's paunch wobbled beneath the robe.

Erik fought the desire to smile. "Your eyes must be going if you think Bartelm's a female."

"Bartelm's as much an old woman as Nori."

"He saved my life. And Nori showed me how to use my-" Erik broke off. It still felt so strange to say it out loud. "Magick."

"Hmpf." Sinking into a chair by the bed, Deiter scowled. "Yes, well. You don't get to the rank of Purist by being a complete fool." He settled back. "About the Magick-"

"Get me out of here and we'll talk." Erik threw back the sheet and swung his legs to the floor, letting the breath whistle out from between his teeth. That wasn't too bad.

Deiter's brows rose. "Don't you think you'd better dress? You're a lot of interesting colors, man, but you're still, ah, interesting interesting." His rheumy gaze roamed the length of Erik's torso in nostalgic appreciation. "s.h.i.t, getting old makes the Dark Arts look tempting."

"There's a robe behind the door. Tansy brought it for me."