Барб Хенди - The Night Voice

Chane took a step, but Ore-Locks grabbed his arm. In hope, he almost ripped free of that grip. One word she had said made him freeze.

Tried.

Wynn looked away—looked at nothing—and the truth left Chane cold. The potion had done nothing to restore her sight.

And now he did not care about anything else. She would never again read an old tome or map, scribble away in yet another journal, or wonder in awe at anything. She would never again look upon him in the way that no one else ever had.

Osha knelt on one knee with his bow in hand atop a low crest overlooking the plain below the mountain. He watched and listened for anything that might come too close in the dark so as to make certain the others were left in peace. He longed to comfort Wynn, to see to Wayfarer and Léshil in their worries and fears, but he could not.

Now as opposed to being lost to herself, Magiere was lost within herself. Her two sides waged war upon each other because of his arrow. Even if one side won, there was still the poison he had delivered on a white metal tip. Since he could do even less for her than for the others, at least he could see they were left in peace this night.

Yet even that was not the full truth.

Osha could not face what he had done to Magiere. Neither could he wipe her black-veined face from his thoughts.

Lingering near his daughter, Shade, Chap was nearly overwhelmed by too much pressing down upon him as he watched Osha walk away. So much had happened to the three youngest ones, though his daughter had somehow survived and kept Wayfarer out of the battle as much as possible. Even a father’s pride in a daughter left him knotted inside; he had little to do with who she had become.

There was nothing he could do for Wayfarer as they waited for the sun and to see whether Magiere survived.

He looked to Shade, almost too black to see in the dark. At least with her, he could now speak almost as easily as with Wynn. They shared much of the small sage’s voice, words, and memories.

—I must go— ... —Signal me if anything happens—

Shade huffed once, and Chap loped downslope, heading after Osha. Still, he could not stop thinking of much more. Had all of this happened before?

No, not all of it, not Magiere.

The Ancient Enemy, il’Samar, Beloved, the Night Voice, had waged war a thousand years ago. But had this simply happened again and again before that? Only Magiere had been different this time from what Chap had learned, and of course those with her, including himself.

The Enemy had made the Children to recover its tools—the orbs, the anchors—each time it arose again. But this time it had made and used Magiere for that purpose. Had it seen in her, its child, a true escape rather than decimating what its kin had created? To it, the world and Existence were a prison.

Chap had now helped to enslave it again, a final time. What else could he or any of them have done? But it had cost much to do so.

Wynn might never see again. Magiere might not survive. If not, a part of Leesil would die with her, and a part of Chap as well.

Brot’an was gone, and though Chap could not help some relief in that, how it had happened left him suspicious. In what he had gathered from the memories and words of those who were there, the last strike of the assassin’s blade should have killed anyone instantly. Yet Ghassan had seized Brot’an’s head, and then both had died as Leesil struck.

Or had that been Ghassan il’Sänke at all? In flesh perhaps, but what else? Had the specter truly died in the imperial capital, or had it only let its enemies think so?

Too many losses, not all in death, left Chap desperate.

When Chuillyon had first brought their small group out of the mountain, he had tried several times to reach Magiere’s thoughts. What he had found in her was like what had been left in the guide he had possessed in the northern wastes.

There was nothing inside Magiere, not a single thought to be reached.

The longer she lingered, the worse the end would be for everyone. Chap could not save himself or Leesil from that. But he needed to save someone ... anyone.

As he neared where Osha knelt on one knee facing out toward the plain, he could tell that his approach had already been heard and identified. If not, the young an’Cróan would have turned upon any potential threat.

Osha remained facing out into the night, even when Chap was three steps away.

And what could Chap possibly say? Certainly not that Osha’s act had been necessary and the only choice. Osha already knew this.

—Hard choices ... are ... hard ... to live ... with—

Osha did not move or look back.

—You ... did not ... choose ... alone—

Osha’s head lowered slightly, but Chap could not tell if he had heard a sigh or a hiss escaping through clenched teeth.

“I had the final choice ... to act!” Osha rasped too much like Chane.

Chap hesitated. So much had been broken or ruined for Osha.

From the Chein’âs tearing him from his place among the Anmaglâhk to Brot’an’s coldhearted training in their exile as traitors, and now to possibly killing a respected friend.

Of course, Osha alone was not wholly responsible, not even for using the potion Chane had given him. In fury fed by so many undead around Magiere, Chap knew even he might have been the one to finish her—or she him. Osha’s action had given them both a hair-thin chance to survive.

But that choice had cost Osha too much, and therein lay yet more guilt for Chap.

—And we ... live ... because ... you did ... act—

Osha glared back over his shoulder.

—Go to ... the others— ... —They ... suffer ... too— ... —I will ... watch ... here—

Among all other losses, had the young an’Cróan lost respect for majay-hì, the guardians of his lost homeland? Then again, perhaps it was only Chap whom Osha no longer held in awe.

Without a word, the young one rose, strode back into the foothills, and left Chap with only his discomforting thoughts of Magiere.

By dawn, there might be one less of those who had unwittingly come to stop the end of Existence itself.

Leesil sat with his arms wrapped around his knees as he stared unblinking at his still, silent, and marred wife.

As badly off as Magiere was, they’d decided not to remove the end of Osha’s arrow from her yet. Wayfarer kept applying scraps of cloth torn off her own clothes to control the blood leaking around the embedded arrow. Those scraps came away stained in black, like the fluids of an undead, instead of red. This went on and on so long that Leesil didn’t know how much of the night had passed.

If Magiere didn’t awaken by dawn, he feared she never would.

He never should’ve let her come here. He should’ve just done this without her, no matter how she’d have fought him. It didn’t matter what she had or hadn’t done, horde or not, undead or not. There could have been another way, even if he couldn’t think of it right now.

The sound of approaching footsteps reached him, but he didn’t look back. The steps halted, and he heard Chuillyon rise to meet whoever had come.

“No change,” the tall elf whispered.

Leesil heard Wynn shift at that, but he didn’t look at her either. Likely Chane still crouched behind her. Leesil knew he should feel awful for what had happened to Wynn, but here and now all of his fear was only for his wife.

Wayfarer looked up and beyond him, shook her head once, and he knew Osha must have come back. Still, Leesil couldn’t take his eyes off Magiere’s marred face. He’d had enough, no matter the risk.