Mercedes Lackey: Storm Warning

It was not easy, and he sensed something else. If he slipped, it was going to do terrible things to him, and if he survived the experience, the likelihood that he would regret surviving was very high.

He no sooner had that unsettling revelation than the disruption-wave hit.

It was worse than all the others combined.

The ground heaved and buckled under him, as if this was the earthquake that would end the world. He went entirely blind, but not in the sense of being immersed in total darkness. Instead, there was nothing to see but color and light, swirls and whirlwinds and cascades of color and light. The light was something he could hear; it roared and rushed in his ears. The color had flavors; iron, scorched stone, and copper. Somewhere out there he knew that Florian and Altra were still pouring energy into him; he felt it, hot and primal, deep inside him—and An'desha needed that power. So he held to it, even when the light turned into a million serpents that threatened to crush him, even when the colours tried to wash him away, right up until everything collapsed and he was all alone in an unending darkness, and he knew he would never, ever find his way out again—that was when he faltered.

Fear overcame him; he felt the power slipping through his tenuous grasp.

I can't take this! he thought, gasping in panic. I can't do this! This was for someone like Ulrich, not me! I can't—

His control slipped a little more, and he flailed in confusion.

I don't even know what I am anymore.

His heart raced in panic, and he wanted Ulrich. He wanted to be like Ulrich.

Then from deep within him came a feeling of conviction, of responsibility, too strong for even fear to shake.

I have to. There's no one else.

He held the power, though it writhed and threatened to escape. He ignored his confusion, fought his panic, and held.

Then, as suddenly as it began, it was over. Abruptly, he found himself back on the Valdemar side of the barrier, knee-deep in dead grasses, staring into An'desha's eyes from a distance of no more than an arm's length. How he had gotten there, he had no clue.

:The other breakwaters are up,: Florian said, his voice so faint with exhaustion that it might have been nothing more than a whisper of Karal's own thoughts. :All three are joined. The Iftel border is part of it all. We did it, Karal.:

Karal sat down in the grass; Altra was already lying down beside him, completely drained, one very flat Cat. "We did, didn't we?" he said, wonderingly.

:Ah.: That was Altra. :I believe that I will lie here for a while. A month would be good. Maybe two. How do you manage with the limits of these bodies?:

"I manage very well, thank you," An'desha replied sharply. "I had a taste of doing without one, remember? Don't complain."

Karal decided that Altra's idea of lying flat was a good one. He felt—he felt as if someone had filled him full of light, then drained him; as if someone had turned him inside out, left him under the desert sun for a while, then turned him right-side out again.

:There is help coming,: Florian said. :A Herald on circuit. Just rest now, until he comes.:

"We did it," he said again, wonderingly.

:We did. The barriers will hold for now. We have bought some breathing space.:

Breathing space. Time. He blinked, and looked up at the blue sky. Maybe a little rest. All three sounded impossibly good.

Never mind that he was truly going to be the Karsite envoy now, a position he didn't want, and wasn't sure how to fill. And never mind that there was a young engineer back in Haven who made him think very uncomfortable and yet delightful thoughts.

There was still the Imperial army out there—and no telling what they would do. Karal himself was now a potential major target for them. And the cataclysmic mage-storm was yet to come.

But at the moment, it doesn't matter. For now, they had time—and a little time—and each other—could be all they needed.