Blue Moon (32 page)

She ordered the Seps to land, and it did so unwillingly, slamming down hard enough to nearly knock her from her perch. She gathered power from the air—she could now, for it floated like a mist all around—and shot a bolt of pure pain through its tiny brain. It screeched and bowed, then took her reverently in its clawed hand.

The nexus—it deserved capital letters, she thought. The NEXUS was a small island where once a huge pile of slag and debris from coal mining had stood. Some of the slag was still there, along with tiny bits of coal, and the surfaces where a little oil still clung glistened like black opal.

"Mother. I wondered where you'd gone off to."

"I had business,” she said. She tapped the creature, and it lowered one paw to the ground. The box. The Stone. The future.

Sabin took it with shaking hands and opened it.

"It's beautiful, Momma. It's what I've always dreamed of."

She reached out and brushed his hair with a fond hand. “Soon, my pet, we'll rule the worlds. The world of magic will collide with this one, and we will subjugate what is left.” She smiled. “We shall rule with cruelty and terror. No one will stand against us. They will be sorry they forgot me. I shall take my name back up again, and brand it into their flesh, into their souls.” She took her hand back to clutch the other, trembling, against her stomach.

Sabin came close.

"They have taken your name from me, as well. Please, Mother, whisper it to me so I can call you by it again."

She shook her head. “Not yet. Soon."

The truth was, so great was the spell even she did not remember her name, but that was not something she needed to tell anyone. Not even her son, who leaned against her shoulder and clutched the Stone against his heart.

"I need a palace,” she said.

Sabin smiled. “Right on the Nexus."

She nodded, and they took the magic in their hands and went to work.

Libby thought this was probably going to be the best part of the night. She was tiring, because she wasn't used to walking quite this much, but she had her hand in Alex's and she felt like he was lending her some strength. Certainly, his own long-legged strides did not tire.

Dashiel walked ahead, sniffing the air, the ground, listening for any hint that someone might be approaching.

Alex said, “The world is reverting to the way it was, because it has to make room for the presence of magic again."

After that, no one spoke. They proceeded with more caution and listened, and stared out at the weird, and at the wonder that the world was becoming.

Libby saw willows glowing in the darkness, their long fronds lavender and pale pink, floating on the wind like fine filament. She heard laughter in the woods, and looked behind her. Pale ghosts giggled and played tag among the trees, flickering in and out of existence, barely human in shape. She watched them until the small group turned a corner and out of her view.

There was a sound like bells in the air, and a butterfly as small as a thimble and glowing like a dark blue jewe* * * *anded on Libby's hand.

"Oh, how pretty!” she whispered.

Alex swatted at it, and missed. It flew away, ringing sweetly.

"Why did you do that?” she demanded, annoyed, until Alex pointed at her hand. Two tiny red beads of blood stood out on the skin. He offered her a handkerchief from his jeans pocket.

"Spit on it,” he said, “and use it to clean your wounds. The butterflies are slightly poisonous."

"I thought all these things were in the other world,” she said, doing as he instructed. “I mean, what are these things doing here now? The planets aren't together."

Dashiel answered. “Going was sort of voluntary. The majority of beings went because it was the only way they could continue their lives with little change. Some of them went along naturally, but those things that were sleeping, or absolutely did not want to go, or were lying in cocoons, not yet even born, those things didn't get taken."

Alex nodded. “And now, with the return of magic, these dormant things awaken."

Libby looked back to where the ghosts played, and shuddered. What else lay beneath the surface, opening its eyes, shedding sleep, ready to break out into the world?

Dashiel stopped. “Someone's coming,” he murmured.

There was no noise other than a voice in the darkness.

"There you are, Tor'Vanith. I hope you have a reasonable excuse for tarrying so long when there is work to be done."

"Father?” Alex said, and a man came out of the shadows.

Libby looked at the newcomer, tall with pure-white hair and silver eyes, and back to Alex. They were of a height, and though Alex's—Tor'Vanith's?—colors were warmer, she could tell that they were father and son.

"Pleased to meet you, sir,” Libby said.

He flickered silver eyes towards her.

"Zorovin,” he said. He tilted his head, and gazed at his child.

"No,” Alex said.

"Ah. Just as well.” Zorovin straightened his long black coat. “The Stone is no longer in your possession?"

"No, it is not,” Libby replied, with more anger than she'd meant to. It pissed her off, irrationally, to have someone ask her about it. It was her responsibility, and she felt annoyed and guilty that she had lost it. She did not need to have someone coming in this late in the game and judging her.

The man looked at her with cool eyes. “I am sure it could not have been helped."

She looked away.

"It is a small matter,” the pale man continued. “But we must get it back."

"It is
not
a small matter,” she said through clenched teeth. Her face burned, and she wanted to shut up, but she couldn't seem to. What did Alex's father think of her carelessly losing the Stone? It was certainly not the first impression she might have hoped for.

"No,” Zorovin said carefully, as if he could read her thoughts, “it is not. But nothing can be gained with recriminations."

She looked at him and forced herself to relax. “Of course. You're right. I apologize."

He shrugged. “For what?” Turning to his son, he said, “They have created a castle where the rivers meet. I think they intend to use the magic at the meeting point to trigger the Stone."

"Is it completely surrounded?” Libby asked. “Is there anywhere we can get in?"

"Perhaps,” he said, measuredly. “But first, I need to borrow my son to run an errand. If you continue downstream, we'll meet you there."

"Wait,” Alex said. “I don't want to leave her alone."

"We need to speak,” his father insisted in a voice that would brook no argument. “Dashiel?” He looked to Dashiel for confirmation, and the dog nodded. “Dashiel will guard her well on the trip down. And...” He stepped closer to her, pressing his hands over her eyes. She closed them as his skin, warm and papery dry, touched them. “I knew there was magic in your eyes,” Zorovin said. “You have been bound with the Merlin Stone, in your own way—your eyes are the proof that you have the power to do what needs to be done to protect you.

"It is said that the Lady of the Lake bound the chest with the last of her own powers, so that whoever ended up with the Stone would be able to guard it.” He released her and looked at his son. “She does not really need you, at least, not yet. Her powers will guide her."

"Why walk when you can float?” a blond woman asked, emerging from the shadows.

"Who are you?” Libby asked.

"Don't you recognize me?” The blonde smiled broadly.

"I am afraid that this woman is your sister,” Zorovin said.

"Afraid?” The blonde frowned. “I'm hurt, really, by the implications of that.” She shrugged and held out her hand. “I'm Sierra now, anyway, but if you come with me, I'll explain on the way."

Libby took her hand, expecting to feel a connection, a reorganization in her spirit or heart, but she didn't.

"I don't know...” Alex said.

"It's alright, Alex. Dashiel will come with me. I'm curious, and we can make our way faster.” She smiled at him and started away. “I'll see you soon,” she said as followed the woman into the darkness.

Alex turned. “I won't change back,” he said, hoping Libby was far away enough not to hear him. “There's no reason why I can't stay here, and if I keep this form, it'll be easy."

"You are a fool,” Zorovin said bitterly. “Do you think she'll love you if you stay? Do you think when this is over that you'll be more to her than a player in a horrible nightmare? You are my heir. When I die, and God truly forbid in light of your pretty speech that it isn't tonight, you will rule."

"Surely, you've already taken care of that, since you've had no reason to believe that I still lived. I love her, and I will stay, and see if she'll have me."

Zorovin stared at him for one long, bitter minute then shook his head. “I will make you a deal,” he said. “Stay in human form. Do not give in to the temptation to change back to your true self, and you may attempt to live a happy life with Libby. But become a dragon this night, and a dragon you will stay."

Alex nodded. “Agreed."

"Come, then. You may cling to my claws as you did when a child.” Zorovin smiled a little, as if enjoying the memory of his only living child in his hands, and turned away.

Rita had sat quietly for an hour, thinking. after her latest resurrection, her thoughts even more clouded than before. Who was she? Rita? Cathy? Was she anyone at all? She walked around the cell Sabin had brought her to, calling her a tool too valuable to leave unattended. She hated him, hated him with a deep and dark passion that faded when he came near. A spell, she realized. He had some sort of spell over her that strengthened with his presence.

She looked longingly at the thin mattress that covered the black and gritty floor. She could not sit on it, because she didn't want to be in the middle of the pool of light that covered the center of the chamber and focused on the bed. Instead she curled up in one of the shadows, wondering what she should do.

She heard steps in the hallway outside and ran back to the bed to lie down.

He had to get hold of himself.

Raul hid in a small room of the castle, hoping to God he hadn't trapped himself, trying to avoid being seen by the black ghosts and small, chittery mutant things that seemed to follow the ghosts everywhere.

He decided that climbing the slag heap was one of the stupidest moves he'd ever made in his life. He ran his hand along the wall. The castle's stones reflected their origins. They were mostly a dirty black, but in some places, they reflected the eerie cobalt rays of the moon and revealed poison-colored rainbows along the surface of the stone.

Okay. Let's think.
He knew who he was. He was thinking rationally, even if the things that surrounded him were exactly the opposite. He had to trust himself, to believe that even though the world was going crazy around him, he, Raul, was essentially as sane as ever.

Alright. So, if I'm as sane as ever, then the things that are happening—the huge red butterflies, the glowing rivers, the ugly slag heap castle—they're all real.

At that his mind balked a little, but he pressed on.

So, I need to get hold of myself. I need to find the people I care for and make sure they're safe.
He grinned a little. He couldn't wait to ask Sierra if what was happening now was magic enough for her.

He thought he heard a sound outside in the corridor, so he sat down in the corner on the same side as the door hinges. He drew his knees up, put his head down and hoped his black hair, black jeans and the dark green of his T-shirt would meld into the shadow.

The door did not open, and the sound passed by. The floor of the room still felt gritty. He dug his fingers into the floor, shoveling aside some of the cinders and rock. The hole sealed itself up again almost immediately.

Sierra had warned him, he realized, in her own way. Ironically, she'd urged him to go right into trouble.

He stood up, brushed off his pants. He needed to get off this island. He grabbed his telescope and checked the corridor. All right, then, he thought, let's move on.

The floor crunched as he moved, so he decided to rely on speed more than silence. He looked out every window he came to, hoping to see a bridge or a ferry across the glowing pool. He had no desire to try to swim across. It looked like some sort of nuclear or chemical waste. He nodded, pleased. There was a rational explanation for everything. He grinned, thinking about the hard time the government would have covering this up.

"There you are,” a soft, feminine voice said from behind him. He whirled, intending to use the telescope as a club.

There was a flare of yellow light that curled up into a ball and floated next to her head. Her hair looked like copper in the light, and she was, from her leather tunic to her exotic features, every fantasy role-player's dream date.

He smiled at her.

"There is no help for it,” she said. “You are going to have to be our prisoner.” The smile faded, and she held up a hand. “Look, there's a young woman in one of the cells. She's hurt. If you come along quietly, tomorrow morning you'll be let free and everything will be fine. If you don't, you might very well get away.” Her face turned regretful, “But the woman will die, for I have no idea how to help her.” She shrugged. “We're not the same race, you and I. I might kill her by accident."

He lowered the telescope. To listen to her was complete stupidity. There was very likely no woman at all. He would follow this elf to his own doom. Yet he couldn't turn his back on someone who might need his help. If he left, if, indeed, he was able to get away, he would always worry that he had left some innocent to die.

He nodded, and she turned on her heel

"Follow me."

He did as he was bid, following her down passages that refined into hallways. The floor changed into the glossy, smooth black of obsidian; the walls straightened and took on the look of polished marble. Gold sconces—elaborate twistings he realized were humanoid figures tangled in thorns, twisted and tortured, their arms outstretched to hold one, sometimes two glowing rocks. The rocks provided a cold yellow light that chilled rather than warmed. He had a feeling the light would not reveal monsters, but rather would hide them in shadows.