Ширли Мерфи - The Castle Оf Hape. Caves Оf Fire Аnd Ice. The Joining Оf Тhe Stone

From the crystal dome, the child Jaspen watched and held her own force steady. She felt the power of the two wolves who stood beside her, felt Meatha’s strength supporting Lobon, as all together they sought to weaken Kish and drive her back.

Cadach the tree man Saw the battle, felt the earth’s tremors around him and knew their true nature. Trapped inside his ancient tree deep in the caves of Owdneet, he felt the mountain move above him, below him, Saw the warring in Carriol and Carriol’s armies driven back. Then felt the mountain give way beneath him; his tree toppled suddenly into a newly opened fissure, the roots upside down reached up like clawing fingers as it was swept, with all the treasures of the cave, deep into the center of the world. And Cadach at last knew death, crushed inside the shattered tree.

But the spirit of Cadach was not dead, it came truly alive suddenly and watched all of Ere in the holocaust. Cadach, dead at last and his spirit released, watched Lobon’s battle with terrible empathy. What path that spirit would now pursue, on until the end of Time, what strength it would now embrace into itself to drive back the dark, only Cadach could know.

He Saw the crystal dome and knew it stood on the place where once a jade sphere had been mined. He Saw the mining of the jade, Saw that miner-Seer discover the powers of the stone. He Saw its theft by another, the search for it, all in an instant; and Saw finally a procession of Seers carry the stone up into the mountain Tala-charen to safety, to leave it for fate, and for the natural forces beyond their own will, to deal with.

And so had those forces dealt, and were dealing. Cadach went still in his mind as Kish’s sword struck across Lobon’s, struck again. He Saw Kish take a blow and reel, then strike cruelly at Lobon, Saw the battle in the sky above where Meatha fought desperately to join him.

From the crystal dome a woman stood looking out past the white-haired child and the two wolves: Skeelie, come out of Time as silent as wings muffled by cloud; Skeelie, held tense by the force of the battle. Convulsively she moved forward, her hand gripping the heavy, unfamiliar sword at her side, for she carried Canoldir’s sword. She pushed through the dome, touched the clear door, would go to Lobon, would fight beside Lobon. . . .

As she passed the child and the wolves, she slowed; she saw that the warrior queen was weakening and she brought force strong with the others, felt forces strong around Lobon. She did not know she was whispering Ramad’s name, like an incantation. She stood, sword ready but unmoving, as Lobon parried powerfully against Kish, driving her back now, giving her mortal blows in a surge of fury and strength. But Kish rallied, swung her sword stabbing into his chest in a flashing thrust. Metal rang, but her sword glanced away. Lobon staggered, righted himself and drove the warrior queen back. He felt the power of the great wolves join him strong as a beating pulse as all across Ere Seers of light turned from their own battles, held their attackers at bay, their powers joined with him in the stones. The warrior queen lunged and slashed, but in her fury she was losing control; she fought desperately as he drove her back again, again, and then with one lunging blow he thrust his sword home into her chest. She fell.

He stood over her, sword ready. She made no move to rise. He stood quietly, watching her die.

At last Lobon knelt beside her. He stared at her white, reptilian face, shaped with anger even in death. He reached, removed from her tunic the five shards of the runestone of Eresu. Took up the starfires. He wanted to wipe the scent of Kish from them, polish them clean. Instead he rose and reached to place the stones inside his own tunic. It was then he felt the twisted metal there. He pulled the wolf bell forth.

It was smashed and twisted by Kish’s sword. The belly of the bitch-wolf gaped open where the blade had gone in. Inside that cut, gleaming green, lay a shard of the runestone. He turned the wolf bell and spilled the stone into his hand beside the others. At once he was stricken with a force like thunder, felt heat and a white light burst around the stone so bright it blinded him.

When the light died, he remained still, shocked, hypnotized with the force that gripped him.

In his hand lay not the shards of the runestone, but a round jade sphere. The whole stone. No mark or line showed where the shards had joined. The runes were carved around its surface, the whole rune—or nearly whole: for a chasm ran along one side of the stone deep into the center, a rough-edged scar where the missing shard should have been. Inside, he could see the golden heart that had been the starfires. He looked up then, and saw Meatha. Skeelie stood beside her, the look on her face unfathomable, her dark eyes deep with emotions that shook Lobon’s soul, the sense of Ramad so strong between them, the sense of their closeness.

“It is joined,” he said inadequately. He felt heavy and stupid with shock. “How—how could such a thing happen? It is not whole, it is flawed. How . . . ?” He was fighting dizziness, fighting to remain standing.

Skeelie moved to support him, stood tall and strong beside him, holding his shoulders. Her voice shook only slightly. “Perhaps it is flawed just as Ere is flawed. Just so—as men’s lives are flawed.”

“Yes,” he said, staring down at the stone.

“Though,” she added quietly, “that makes their lives no less magnificent.”

He leaned against Skeelie, felt her strength, her gentleness. Then he looked across to Meatha, reached to take her hand.

“It is done,” Meatha said. Above them the sky was empty, the remaining lizards had fled.

“And the wolves?” he said suddenly, looking around him. The white-haired child stood alone, a little way from them.

“The wolves are gone,” Meatha said. “They make for Carriol and their brothers.” He glimpsed them in the shadows of his mind racing across the sand. “They will return to us,” she said. “Maybe with mates by their sides.” She smiled. “Too long alone, those two.” Her warmth and her strength, like Skeelie’s strength, reached out and steadied him; and Skeelie moved away.

He looked long at Meatha. “And—are you too long alone?”

She lowered her eyes, then looked up. “I am not alone,” she said boldly. Kish’s spell had fallen from them. The force that linked them now was their own, woven not of darkness nor of another’s greed. He put his arms around her and found the lack of a spell made little difference in the way he felt. He drew her close, wincing as he pressed her against a sword wound; he felt the pain of all his wounds, as if the numbing strain of battle had worn away and his senses come clear once more; pain, and then dizziness.

*

He woke with strong hands lifting him to a sitting position. He was in a bed, staring dumbly at a steaming mug of something vile. He looked up at Skeelie’s face.

“I can’t drink that. It stinks.”

“Ram always drank it. So can you. It will ease the pain.”

He pushed it away. “I don’t need droughts for pain.” Though pain was nearly crushing him.

He began to remember, and the memory so shook him that it, too, brought pain. He gripped the stone in his hand and dared not look at it.

“Drink!” Skeelie insisted. Scowling, he gulped the hot, bitter brew. Not till it was gone did he lift the stone, and read the runes carved into it;

Eternal quest to those —— power

Some seek dark; they —— end.

Some hold joy: they know eternal life.

Through them all powers will sing.

The child Jaspen stood silently beside the bed—this surely must be her bed, a narrow cot. She said softly, “Eternal quest to those with power. Some seek dark, they mortal end.” The touch of the stone seemed to Lobon like fire, immense, filling the light-washed dome. He remembered the moment of the joining, the white light, the stone joining in his hand just as, six generations gone in Time, it had shattered in Ramad’s hand.