Jo Clayton: Changer’s Moon

He backed away, spoke another WORD. The stone cracked beneath her feet, a mouth opened to swallow her. She took a fourth step undisturbed, her bare feet treading air as easily as stone.

He began to circle around behind the janja, spoke a WORD. Fire hotter than vuurvis surged about her. And was quenched by her earthfire which was hotter still.

Reiki janja sat without moving, a carven figure, massive legs crossed, large shapely hands resting on her knees, fingers curled loosely about nothing, so still she seemed a part of the mountain, a boulder roughly shaped to human form.

The janja between them, he cried out, “Serroi, yield to me. You don’t know…”

“I know what will happen if I don’t stop you.”

“Serroi…” He gave it up, spoke a PHRASE, gathering to himself all his power, taking his combat form, the smoky giant as tall as the cliff, the form she’d seen when she was a child and witnessed the challenge duel with the last of the Nor who came close to matching his power, the duel she barely survived, caught like a bug in the fringe of those deadly exchanges. She matched him, calling to herself the earthfire, the aggregate strength of the little ones, the waiting shrines, rising with him until she faced him as a figure of light shimmering against his darkness.

He spoke a WORD, his huge voice booming out over the land.

Her form shivered and went vague about the edges, but solidified immediately as she absorbed his power and added it to her own.

The battle changed to a stately pavanne among the mountain peaks, a dance on a crumbling floor, the land churned by the WORDS flung at Serroi and shunted aside. Fire fell into the valley, scorched an orchard and half a set of vines, burned one pasture clean. Air buffeted the watchers inside the wall and out, erratic winds that struck like hammers. The earth rumbled uneasily beneath their feet, its deep grumble rolling continually across the valley.

And the immense dance went on, Serroi advancing, the Nor retreating, circling, avoiding the touch of her fingers.

Julia watched the dragon until it curled away from the rock and rejoined the others. She took the cup Rane handed her, nodded at the rock. “What now?”

“Maiden knows. One thing sure, we wait.”

She sipped at the cha, glanced from the rock to the wall. The defenders still there were watching the cliff, their backs to what might be happening behind them. “Think Kole will try hitting us now?”

“Why? All he’s got to do is wait till the gate burns through, then he rolls over us.” Rane bit off a chunk of bread and went back to watching the maneuvering of the tiny figures on the rock.

Overhead, the dragons began to change the patterns they were weaving, moving from chords to a powerful unity. Julia put a crick in her neck watching them. For a while she didn’t understand what was happening, then she saw they were revving up to reinforce the little healer, magic dynamos resonating to a single beat. Magic merging with technology, power is power. She smiled, rubbed at her neck, nearly dropped the cup as the two figures were suddenly giants sharply limned against an apple-green sky. She squinted against grit-laden erratic winds, watching the figures circle about each other in a stately combat more like a dance than a battle to the death.

Nekaz Kole watched the circling giants and felt ice knotting under his ribs, failure sour in his mouth. He scanned the wall, seeing shadows in every embrasure he could look through; he suspected they were watching the drama on the mountain peaks and for a moment considered taking advantage. He twisted around, scowled at the Nor. The golden minark was staring transfixed at that deadly dance. “Ser Xaowan,” he said sharply. The minark showed no sign of hearing him. Kole scanned his face, cursed under his breath and abandoned any thought of an attack. Frustrated and furious he settled back to wait, glaring at the giant figures, wondering how to incorporate the battle into his own plans once the gates burned through.

Tuli saw Ildas fade, turn cool and hollow as the giant figures swelled into the sky and began that dance of restrained violence. She held him in her lap and felt a hollow growing inside herself, a weariness that seemed the sum of all the weary days and nights she’d spent since this travail began. At least he wasn’t lost completely this time, his ghost stayed with her, giving her a hope he’d be whole again as soon as … she didn’t know as soon as what. The army sat on the hillsides, their usual clamor muted, the men gaping at the show. Coperic stood beside her, his eyes fixed on the green glass figure, shocked and afraid. He knew her, Tuli saw that, and she was important to him. His hands were clenched into fists, his wiry body taut, as if by willing it he could add his strength to hers. Tuli cupped her hands about the sketchy outline of the fireborn and fought with a sudden jealous anger.

And the dance went on.

Nilis sat with the other Keepers, throbbing with the power flowing through and out of her, barely conscious, blending into a single being with those others, concentrating on endurance, on lasting until the need was over.

Serroi caught hold of his sound wrist, another quick step and she held the withered hand. Light closed about them, beginning to dissolve them.

Ser Noris changed.

His mouth gapes in a silent scream, his body writhes, his skin darkens, roughens, cracks, turns fibrous and coarse. Eyes, mouth, all features, dissolve into the skin, vanish. His head elongates, bifurcates, the portions spread apart and grow upward, dividing again and again. His arms strain up and out, stretching and thinning, his fingers split into his palms, grow out and out, whiplike branches in delicate fans, twigs grow from the branches, buds popping out from them, the buds unfolding into new green needle sprays.

Serroi changes, her body echoing everything happening in his.

The cliff cracks, shatters, great shards of stone rumbling into the valley, an unstable ramp bathed in dust that billows up and up, drawn to the glowing, changing giants, shrouding them.

When the dust settled, the giants were gone. Two trees grew at the edge of the broken cliff, a tall ancient conifer, a shorter, more delicate lacewood.

A hush spread across the valley, a hush that caught mercenaries, exiles, mijlockers, meien, everyone, and held them for a dozen breaths, long enough for them to become aware of that stillness, to notice that the glass dragons had vanished, the sky was empty.

Ignoring the hush, the Kulaan closed around Nekaz Kole; two tossed a third up behind him, another trio dealt with the Nor. Before Kole could react, a skinning knife slid into him, piercing his heart. The Kual pushed him from the saddle and jumped after him. The Nor was down also, dead before he could know he was dying, so tangled was he in the battle on the cliff.

Without breaking their silence, the Kulaan started briskly away, one Kual leading the gold rambut. They didn’t touch the demon macai.

The beast stood frozen, locked into place by the metamorphosis of its creator, Ser Noris. Locked into place and beginning to rot, the demon essence coming loose from the natural part. Before the Kulaan had vanished into the brush, the skin and bones collapsed out of the smoky black outlines. A breath later, the demon residue faded, vanished.

Warmth followed the hush across the valley, visible in eddies of golden light spilling over the walls, flooding over the army, waking the men from their daze, prodding them into movement, urging them away from the valley. The Ogogehians snapped into alertness, found Nekaz Kole dead, the norits dazed and helpless. They split into small groups, rifled the supply wagons and marched away, the Shawar shooing them on until they started down from the saddle of the pass.