Барб Хенди - The Night Voice

“Where is it?” he demanded. “Where is the bottle Chane gave you? You must drink it quickly to heal your eyes.”

Wynn went still in his arms. “No.”

Osha froze. “You must drink it!”

“No.”

Chuillyon spun away and in three steps picked up the staff—and the glasses. What good would the latter do anymore?

“Get her up, now!” he commanded, closing on them again.

“I—I can’t,” Wynn gasped out, dropping her head against Osha’s chest. “I’m too weak.”

“The potion will heal you,” Osha insisted. “Perhaps give you strength again.”

“No!” Wynn cried, pushing away from him. “This isn’t a wound of flesh, blood, or bone. It may not be a wound that can be healed, and I won’t waste the potion on myself.”

“It is the only way,” he insisted.

“Use it to stop Magiere,” she pressed.

To stop Magiere? What was she saying?

Everyone fell silent in confusion, and before Osha could ask, Wynn began digging into her short-robe.

“Please, Osha,” she begged. “We did this to her, or Chap and I did. Magiere must be stopped, any way that we can.”

Still he hesitated, though he then remembered Chane’s words.

The liquid is also a poison to the undead.

Wynn finally withdrew a small bottle from her short-robe. Did she know what else that fluid might do?

“Please!” Wynn insisted, blindly holding out the bottle. “Dip your arrows in this. Stop her any way you have to.”

“I can help Wynn here,” Wayfarer whispered, and looked up to Chuillyon. “Perhaps ... to keep the staff lit.”

Osha’s bow lay on the ground beside him. He glanced at it and back to Wynn.

How could she of anyone ask him to kill again? Even if he took great care, if that fluid killed whatever undead nature lay within Magiere, would it not kill her as well? Was that nature not part of the way she had been born—what she was?

And what if the potion did not stop Magiere?

“You have to do this,” Wynn said. “No one else—perhaps not even Chap—might survive getting too close to her. You have to use your bow.”

Looking around at all of them, Osha stalled in meeting Wayfarer’s intense eyes. There was no one else who could do this—and he took the bottle from Wynn. Hefting his bow, he silently turned away.

“If you fail,” he said, walking away, “take the horse and flee.”

Only Shade tried to follow him.

“No,” he said without looking back.

Their task now was to reignite the staff, and his might be to kill a friend.

Osha ran toward the battle.

Wayfarer watched the one man she both loved and blamed run off in the dark. Osha had not come for her but for Wynn. How many times would she be only an afterthought to him?

There was no more time for selfish thoughts as she looked to the young woman still sitting beside her.

“Is he gone?” Wynn asked.

“Enough!” Chuillyon interrupted, and leaned out the staff, its crystal nearly over Wynn’s head. “Both of you, up.”

Wayfarer took hold of Wynn’s arm, helped her rise, and guided her hands to take the staff.

“Take these,” Chuillyon added.

Wayfarer stared at the glasses, their lenses darker than the night. The tall Lhoin’na had thrust them at her and not Wynn.

“You will need them,” he added, “if you can help her.”

With one glance at Wynn, Chuillyon turned away, walking slowly toward the distant battle.

“I will do what I can to stop anything coming for you,” he added, and then paused to glance back at Shade. “Perhaps you should come as well?”

Shade stood by Wynn’s side.

“Go on,” she whispered, pushing blindly on the dog.

Wayfarer saw Shade look to her, though not a word rose in her thoughts. There was nothing worthwhile to say for a majay-hì now caught between two women over a man who wanted only one of them. Shade turned away to follow Chuillyon.

Everything now depended on Wynn’s finding the strength to ignite the crystal again and keep it lit. And that depended on Wayfarer doing something she had never done before.

Wynn reached out her nearer hand, fumbling toward Wayfarer. Wayfarer grabbed that hand, and Wynn guided it to a grip on the staff just above her own.

“Put the glasses on,” Wynn said weakly, turning her head but not her eyes. “And look away. Even so, you will know if the crystal lights up ... by whatever you are going to do.”

Wayfarer grew sick with panic as Wynn double-gripped the staff below her own hand. And as Wynn began to whisper, too many “ifs” swarmed Wayfarer.

What if the staff would not light? What if Wynn could not keep it lit? What if she did but then faltered and Wayfarer could not keep it lit? And still worse ...

What if she could?

Wayfarer put on Wynn’s glasses as Vreuvillä’s warning hammered in her thoughts.

Nothing can be created or destroyed in such a way. Only changed ... exchanged.

Wayfarer gripped Wynn’s shoulder with her other hand as she looked away. And all she could do was what she had been taught. She looked—felt—for the Elements in all things, the Fay that was ... were in all things.

From the heat—the Fire—in her own flesh. From the breath—the Air—she took in rapid pants. From the blood—the Water—that flowed through her. From bone and sinew—the Earth—of her own body.

From the Spirit that she was.

Answer my need ... my wish ... ay jâdh’airt.

The night lit up, even as Wayfarer continued looking down.

She flinched and stopped breathing but rapidly refocused so as not to lose what she had asked for. That light was so bright, she could see the cracks in the hardened earth—brighter than at any other time she had seen Wynn light the staff.

Relief almost made her look to the crystal, but she stopped herself. Relief almost kept her from thinking.

Only changed ... exchanged.

Somewhere in the world, the light of the sun was diminished, for that came to the staff so long as she wished it here.

Leesil followed Ghassan down the passage into the mountain by the light of the sage’s cold-lamp crystal. Ghassan gripped the crystal while carrying a single chest, so its illumination wobbled on the passage walls with every labored step. Leesil struggled to haul two chests strung on poles with Brot’an behind him. Chane and Ore-Locks bore the final two chests. Leesil began growing concerned as Ghassan continued glancing into the side tunnels.

Those other passages were obviously dug out long ago. Though the domin paused a few times, he never appeared lost or in doubt. He walked like someone recalling the right route without even thinking. Ghassan had claimed he’d explored places like this in his youth, but it was highly unlikely he had explored this one.

Leesil pulled up short, dropped his ends of the poles before Brot’an halted behind him, and grasped Ghassan’s sleeve.

“What are you looking for?” he demanded.

Ghassan turned, the chest still in his hands. “Pardon?”

“You seem to be looking for something, but if you haven’t been here before ...”

A flicker of surprise on the domin’s face was followed by something else, but Leesil couldn’t tell what.

“Of course I have not,” Ghassan answered sharply. “I am seeking, even guessing at, the best downward path to wherever the Enemy might have sought refuge.”

Leesil had little option but to accept this explanation, though it still bothered him. Simply studying the mouth of a passage wouldn’t reveal where it led. Glancing back, he assessed the others.

Chane had a crystal as well, though it was not glowing right now. Even as an undead, he looked almost as worn as the rest. Whatever Ore-Locks had done to pull down that last locatha had taken something out of him. And no matter what Brot’an said or didn’t say, he was wounded. Leesil’s side still ached, and the ache turned to outright pain when he crouched to lift the poles and chests again.