Blue Moon (33 page)

The hallway widened, and he walked out of it and into a hall of glass. The glowing waters shimmered behind the walls, dripped though holes in the ceiling to be caught in elegant glasses shaped like lilies. There were fountains on both sides with sculpted faces of animals and people. Each one bore a tormented expression. The water ran from their screaming mouths or streamed from empty eyes into basins that never overflowed.

The woman paused to pick up a lily-shaped glass brimming with green, pulsing waters. She offered it to him, and smiled when he smiled politely and backed away, shaking his head. She drank deeply before replacing it on the floor. She licked her lips, and her hair seemed to shimmer; her skin glowed for a moment before it faded away.

"Nothing like it,” she said. “Pity it would kill you."

"Actually, I'm not all that disappointed."

She beckoned him on with a graceful hand, and proceeded down another hall. The light faded again, the walls grew rough and the floor crumbly by the time she stopped again.

She gave him a slight bow as the door opened. “Your room, sir."

He swallowed then peered inside. The room was black and barren, except for a mattress in a pool of light. A woman lay on it, her eyes glowing green, her hair a deep, dull red. He went in, and the door shut behind him.

He knelt beside her. “Are you okay? The woman said you were hurt."

She stared at him blankly then turned her head away. There was but one blanket, folded up in the corner, and the cell was unbearably cold. He grabbed the blanket and shook it out.

"I'm not going to hurt you,” he said. “You'll be safe, but we're going to have to share this blanket, okay?"

She had closed those wounded, eerie eyes but made no other movements. He looked down at her, so helpless looking, and stretched out beside her. He wrapped the blanket carefully around them both. He took her in his arms when he felt how cold she was and tried to use his own body heat to warm her.

"It'll be all right,” he said, but he didn't believe it.

"And that's it?” Libby asked.

"Yeah."

When they reached the river bank, Sierra had put her hands out over the flowing magic. The boat had come to her, and they'd gotten in. Now they were floating down the river, and Libby couldn't decide which was madder, a boat made out of what looked to be secondhand Las Vegas showgirl costumes or this woman saying that she was really Rita.

Sierra seemed to sense her thoughts. She steered the boat around the bend, and said “Hey, I'll tell you some more great tales of our childhood if you don't believe me."

"You sound so sarcastic, when you say that. As far as I could see, you did have a great childhood."

Sierra snorted. “Yeah, except for the constant comparisons to Saint Elizabeth."

"Oh, come on! You got away with murder!"

"I wish! I was always being asked, ‘Why can't you act more like your sister? She never gets into trouble. We never worry about her.’”

Libby laughed. Yes, this was the Rita she knew. “Same here! Except it was more, ‘Why can't you be more like your sister? She's so smart and vibrant. You shouldn't be jealous of her.’”

Sierra laughed. “That's awful!"

"No,” Libby said, “what's awful is that you totally turned your back on all of us. Do you know how terrible it was, for them to suffer through the death of their child? For me to mourn my sister? I can't go home, because Mom remembers what happened to you, where you were found. Our parents can't stand to look at me."

"It's your eyes they can't stand, Libby. Not just the fact they used to be brown, but the fact they're so old. And how do you think I'd carry off the explanation of my new face? Especially when they buried my dead body? Tell me what you think I should have done?"

"Well, you could have at least contacted me."

"Yeah, I'm so sure you would have believed me. ‘Hey, sis? I know I'm a couple inches taller and blond, and I have a bigger nose than I used to, but, hell, yeah, it's me. Oh, the body in the tub? Well, that ... ‘"

"If you had given me some sort of heads-up, I wouldn't have married Sabin!"

"Oh, come on. A girl who marries a guy she dumped for balling her sister is asking for trouble. How long did the marriage last?"

Libby sighed. “Six months."

"When I found out, I could have hit ya upside the head, I really could have."

"Well, you still could have told me."

Dashiel looked up at the heavens. “God, why didn't I get to go with the dragons?"

Libby sat back on the blue velvet mattress that lined the bottom of the boat. It wasn't comfortable. The boat was narrow, and black pinfeathers stuck through the cloth with a sharp jab just often enough to surprise anyone who dared try and sit comfortably. Dashiel leaned against her, looking out onto the magic river. He seemed to believe Sierra as well, she thought, judging from his easy behavior.

The magic that flowed from the west was red, redder than blood or roses, a red that had its own life, its own vibrancy. It was the red her sister's hair had been when she was still of Libby's own flesh. It melded and braided with the green and gold, swirling in and out like a ribbon. She reached over it then recoiled violently. The gold had felt warm, like the sun, the green had felt cool, like life. This felt...?

"It is both death and life intertwined,” Sierra said. She insisted on being called Sierra instead of Rita, saying that, while the soul was the same, the heart was different. “It is what Sabin used to rejuvenate the dead. If you touch it, you will die, but if I put your dead body into it, you will live again."

"But will I be alive?” Libby asked.

"I don't know. I wonder that all the time. Do I live? And if I live, can I still be redeemed?"

"None of it matters,” Dashiel said quietly. “You should do what the dogs do. Abide. Wait, live and abide."

Libby giggled then, sobering: “That's not much of a life."

"Perhaps not by your standards,” Dashiel said. Then, he smiled, mouth open and all teeth. “But I was certainly happy."

Libby hugged him fiercely. “I hope you always talk!"

His laugh was a pleasurable growl she could feel in her breastbone. She hugged him fiercely and watched the land pass by, her eyes filled with horrors and wonders as they drifted toward the nexus.

The dragons headed north, where purple magic mixed with white, flowing from a starting place in the Laurel Highlands. Alex sat in a seat made from his father's laced hands holding on to the ridge of bone that came down his father's breast. A town sparkled along the hill to his left, all orange and white and green lights laid out like jewels.

"Don't you miss this?” his father's voice whispered in his head.

To say no would be a lie. He could feel Zorovin's muscles work as his wings pushed them forward across the world. He counted the wingbeats in time with his own pulse, and knew there was a magic to owning the sky.

There is a magic in everything, he reminded himself. He'd pushed away his connections to his past because he was afraid of feeling pain, but if you were willing to sacrifice for something, you might as well know the worth of it. He did, now, reminded of the good things in his life.

But he had loved her the moment he saw her, in that building, the night he first saved her. Perhaps he had loved her before then, because he certainly didn't have to go on the mission. Dragons wiser than he had volunteered to go. But he had insisted, and said the right words to convince his father.

So, he was here, in this strange, magicless world that was all too fantastical in its own way.

"Below ... there. We need some of the magic from the deepest purple part."

"Yes, Father."

Zorovin swooped low, and Alex jumped down. He waded into the stream, aiming for below the heart of the purple magic's flow, and cupped his hands in it. It wanted to transform him, make him into something other. Resisting it with a will, forming the magic into a cube and held it over his head as he carefully worked his way back to the bank.

Zorobin arched his neck to look at the block of magic his son had wrought. “I see you have not lost your touch. Now, let us go and meet your beloved."

Alex looked at him, trying to decide if there was sarcasm in his tone. He could detect none, and climbed back in among the talons, eager to see Libby again.

Sierra looked up. “About time you got your scaly ass back here."

Libby looked up but saw nothing.

"Oh, shit ... I mean, Look over there, Libby!” She pointed to the opposite bank while, behind them, the dragon landed and changed.

"What?"

"There's nothing there. I guess I was mistaken.” Sierra pushed on the pole, aiming the boat back to shore.

Libby spotted Alex and his father, and her heart lifted a little. “You're just jumpy,” she said, then called to shore. “Hey, Alex! I'm glad you're back safe."

Alex carried a largish purple box that glowed dully. His face looked a little strained, as if he were in pain. Sierra reached for the box, and he handed it to her. Her expression was one of absolute awe.

"This is pure magic,” she whispered.

"It is dangerous,” Zorovin cautioned, “Without the balancing magic it flows with, it is chaos, and the end of things."

Libby flicked a hand towards the red river. “I thought the red stuff over there was death."

Zorovin nodded. “It is."

"Death,” Sierra said, her eyes full of the purple thing she held, “is not an end."

"If all else fails, take it and put it over the Merlin Stone. It will contain it, perhaps even destroy it."

Libby reached out to it. She expected cold. What she got was nothing. Not as in she didn't have any reactions to the feel of it but a nothingness so vast it encompassed everything. The nothing that causes despair before it numbs you completely. She felt adrift in the dark spaces between the stars, all silence and blackness and lack of hope. She ripped her hand away. The boat swayed as Alex climbed into it. She grabbed him, as if helping him to steady himself, but really to touch him, to feel something alive.

"The stone will be at the nexus of the rivers,” Zorovin said. “I will fl ... scout ahead."

They sat silent a long time, drifting down the river. Libby kept her hand in Alex's, and no one spoke. The magic's influence increased as the moon crept away from the horizon. Libby thought she heard a horn blowing in the trees, and later, a man on horseback, a rack of antlers decorating his helmet, charged to the river's edge and stared after them with red eyes.

The current picked up, so Sierra took in the pole she'd been using to steer the canoe. She now sat with her legs gathered up, staring with awe at the world around them. Alex put his arm around Libby's shoulders, and she sank into his warmth. Dashiel watched everything.

"Look,” he said. “Up ahead."

The river had taken another turn, and now began to slope downward. They could see a crater, the three rivers of magic flowed into it, swirling around the island set in its center.

"It drops down,” Alex said, looking around wildly.

"Like a fucking waterfall!” Sierra said. She looked up at the sky. “Nice warning!"

"Don't blame God!” Libby said, misunderstanding. “We want Him to get us out of this."

Sierra began using her pole again, trying to force the canoe to the bank. Alex reached out and grabbed a branch. The canoe rocked, and Libby threw herself in the opposite direction, hoping to balance things out. The branch snapped, and he tried for a thicker one. Small branches and weeds slapped at his arm, a long cut formed along his wrist.

He managed to catch hold of a promising length of wood, and the boat twisted hard against the current. Slowly, he hauled them a little closer to the bank, but the branch seemed to be giving. Sierra grabbed an oar from under the cushion and tried to backpaddle enough to help him. Libby knelt, wrapped her arms around his waist and hoped her weight was enough to keep him anchored in the boat.

A vine, bloated and sickly green, lapped at the blood on his arm like a tongue.

"Alex!” Libby shouted.

"I know.” He watched it. “Come on,” he whispered.

As if in response, the vine wrapped around his arm with an audible snap. He clenched his teeth.

"Okay, we're anchored,” he said.

"You're in pain,” Libby whispered.

"It's the only thing holding us."

"We're nowhere near the bank,” Dashiel noted. “And while Libby might survive plunging her hands in that red stuff, I'm not sure the rest of us could."

"There's part of a fallen tree. It's pretty thick, and it gets better as it goes along. I think we can use it,” Alex said. “Dashiel, try climbing over me."

"Aye-aye, but I think you're nuts."

"Just do it,” he said, reaching with his other hand to get a better grip. The vine was trembling, and it made soft slurping sounds. Alex closed his eyes, and Dashiel clambered over him and onto the branch.

"Hey, I think I could help pull someone up, if they wanted to come,” the dog announced.

"You go,” Libby told Sierra.

"My boat,” Sierra said, and she was crying. “I worked so damn hard on it, I don't want to leave it."

"Go! I'm not losing you a second time, and with all of us off, the boat might well survive going over."

"You think?"

"Totally,” Alex said in a strained voice. “Why do you think they send barrels over Niagara Falls?"

She put her foot on his waist and crawled up his back.

"Dashiel made this look so easy,” she said as she tried to balance on the narrow end of the branch. “I've made it,” she said a couple seconds later.

"Okay, Libby,” Alex said, “climb on."

"Okay,” she said. “I'm just trying to hold on to this block.” She put her knee on his back, holding the block under her arm. Then, she reached up and placed her hand on his shoulder. She winced, because she could feel his bones, hard but somehow frail as well, under his skin.

He felt her knee on his back. He swallowed, wishing that she would hurry.

"Okay,” she whispered as she put her hand on his shoulder, and then, “Oh, shit!"