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

When Ram saw her, standing still in the shadow by the hearth, he caught his breath and was with her at once, forgetting caution. He touched her arm, awash with the shock of seeing the parody she had become. Her soiled silk frock was pulled tight, so low her pale, tangled hair fell over half-concealed breasts. Wide bracelets covered her arms nearly to the elbow; her feet were bare, with toe rings and anklets; her face was painted with a hard flush over her pallor; her green eyes were dull and deeply shadowed, her face gaunt. She stood so still she might indeed have been one of the carved figures. Skeelie could feel Ram’s sick mourning, watched him reach out to hold Telien in spite of his horror. Only then did Telien move, to pull away from him.

Ram stepped back, but reached out in spirit to her trapped soul as if he sought an injured, frightened bird inside a dark, puzzling trap. His emotions were subdued, cool now and apprizing of Telien, touching then drawing back, reaching again, trying to awaken Telien, to make her fight from within.

The wraith watched him. It did not move or change expression, though its skin seemed to grow more sallow beneath the painted rouge. Telien’s green eyes, flat with the death-spirit, observed Ram and delved deep within Ram seeking weakness or fear.

Then suddenly it brought a power down upon Ram so violent he stumbled, then steadied himself against the side of a chair. Skeelie threw all her force against the wraith’s dark spirit. The stones, Ram! Use the stones! He seemed frozen, unable to think. She could feel the wolves’ force joining with hers. At last Ram reached into his tunic slowly, as if in a dream, and clutched the leather pouch in his fist. The wraith stared, lusting for those stones, then drew back as Ram righted his senses, as the power of Ram and wolves and Skeelie joined with the stones to rise to a crescendo that trembled the room. Fury flashed from the wraith’s eyes. And then Ram began to part the intricate shields with which the wraith guarded itself, so that for a brief moment Telien was there, soft and terrified and begging Ram for help.

But the wraith rallied, Telien was gone, the green eyes cold with hate.

Now Ram knew that Telien lived, he wanted to tear the wraith from her. He forgot everything in his black fury as his hands gripped its throat. He was intent only on releasing Telien. The wraith cowered, shrank down in pain beneath his clutching fingers—but it was Telien’s pain, too. “Don’t kill her, Ram!” Skeelie’s voice shattered him, shocked him. He stared at his hands on Telien’s throat and let her go. She slumped. He caught her and held her to him, could feel her heart pounding; could feel the wraith’s desperate rise of strength as it began to suspect that perhaps Ram could destroy it. It began to falter beneath the power of the several stones, beneath the power of this crew joined. They stood locked in a maze of powers while above the town the stars wheeled toward the horizon and the moons swam slowly down behind black peaks. A tableau of powers, motionless, Ram and Skeelie facing the painted parody of Telien, the wolves frozen into positions of attack, the mindless captive Ram had brought from the town huddled against the door. The moons set and a pale hint of dawn touched the night sky, and neither force gave quarter. Telien came forth sometimes, battling; but then weakening with the powers pulling at her. She would sink then, so the wraith emerged stronger in its desperation. Then the wraith began to reach into the room, to awaken the captive. The big man stirred and straightened and seemed to clutch at consciousness. Fawdref spun, snarling. The wolves moved as one. The captive struck out at them, and lunged. But there were too many wolves, they brought the man down at Skeelie’s feet. “Don’t kill it, Fawdref,” she whispered, and Ram echoed her.

“Don’t kill it! Drive it here to me.”

The wolves forced the injured man to crawl the length of the room. Skeelie watched, strung taut with fear. The formless shadow of the wraith must be released from Telien. Ram turned on the wraith with a fury yet unmatched, jerked it by the arm ignoring Telien’s pain. He was concerned now only with Telien’s life. He jerked her to him, stared down at her, then shoved her toward the prisoner, which cowered bleeding before the wolves. “Enter it,” he breathed to the wraith. “Enter the man you have destroyed. Finish what you began!” And when the wraith refused, Ram forced it against the wall, did not let himself think that if he hit it, he would be hitting Telien. Its parody of Telien stared back at him, hating him. “Make the captive stand up again, creature of shadows. Make it stand, and enter it!”

The painted face of Telien stared coldly back at him. But fear showed deep in its eyes. “Make it stand!” Ram repeated.

At last the creeping prisoner at Ram’s feet stood up slowly and stared at Ram, uncomprehending.

“Enter it,” Ram said. “Enter it, creature of dark. Or I will destroy both you and the girl, never doubt it.” His power was like nothing Skeelie had seen. She watched Ram bring the power of the stones around the wraith in a roaring burst of air that so nearly shattered their ears that a wolf cried out in pain and a wind tore at the room.

“Enter it or I will destroy your soul. Snuff you like a candle!”

The wraith cringed before him; Telien’s thin body shivering in the black gown. Dark fear welled in its eyes, and two images vied for reflection in that painted face, as in a deep-seeing mirror; the wraith’s cruel presence and the image of Telien.

“Enter the captive and leave Telien. Become this man, or I will crush your soul for you.”

Skeelie watched Ram and knew he had no idea whether he could destroy the wraith’s soul, though his power tore at the very fiber of the wraith’s being. The wraith cringed again, stared at Ram uncertainly, drew its spirit back, pressed its hands to its face in fear and confusion—to Telien’s face. It was Telien there.

Telien, alone. Telien, filled with sickness, slumping against Ram. And the tall, powerful captive rose and stared at Ram, its eyes the wraith’s dead eyes. It reached for Ram. He pushed Telien away from him and drew his sword in one swift motion, battled the creature knowing he dare not kill it and release the wraith again. As the wraith’s darkness touched his mind, he felt himself begin to weaken. He fought in desperation, driving the creature back until it plunged across a cushioned bench and fell, but it sprang up again, broke the leg off the bench as if it were kindling, and came at Ram. The wolves stood tensed, ready to spring.

Skeelie held Telien close to her, for the girl was so weak she could not stand alone. She was so very thin, her skin cold and damp. Skeelie smoothed her hair, talked softly to her as one would to a frightened child. She was so diminished it seemed that the sickness of the wraith had invaded her very blood. They watched the battle with growing fear. Then Ram slashed the bench leg from the wraith’s hand and began backing it against the bed. He struck and wounded it with a long sword slash down chest and belly, so it doubled up and fell.

“Don’t kill it, Ram! You . . .”

But Ram was backing away. Skeelie saw Torc surge past to stand over it, wanting to kill.

“Don’t, Torc! It would take Ram!”

Torc snarled deep in her throat, her bared teeth inches from the man’s face. When you are gone, sister, I will kill it. Go—get Ramad and Telien from this place, get away from here. This creature will die, and you must be away.

It could take you, Torc. Become you.

It cannot, sister. Such as this cannot enter into the soul of the wolf.

Are you so sure?

Torc did not answer, turned her mind to Ram, spoke her silent words to him. You will go away, Ramad. Send them all away, the people, the servants, so that I can be alone with this creature.