Frost Fire (Frost Series #6) (15 page)

Without sunlight, without its warmth and life-giving powers, they grew ill. Shasta's beauty began to fade as her face became sickly and pale; Logan, too, looked jaundiced and ill-nourished. Rose became swiftly accustomed to the grumblings in her stomach that marked the hour more readily than the ever-black sky: it grew louder and louder as time passed, despite her best efforts to hide it. Though the promise of the Enchantress held some hope for them, they were little able to keep themselves from despair in this state. Even if they found the mountain, what would they do if the Enchantress wasn't there? Once they got to the place where the Twin Suns had once slept, how would they even go about restoring them? The whole situation seemed dire and hopeless. Without Alistair, their capacity for magic was limited, but how could they even be sure that Alistair could be revived? What if even the Enchantress couldn't bring him back from this spell?

Yet they made their way onwards, as bravely as they could. Publicly, Rose knew, they attested to few fears, expressing instead their surety in their victory. “Of course we'll find the Enchantress,” Shasta would say loudly. “Of course, we'll be home soon, just as soon as we restore the suns,” promised Rodney. “Alistair will be up and at it soon enough,” Logan predicted. But Rose knew that such words were empty, devoid of true faith. None of them wanted to admit it, but they all sensed the truth of the matter: they were on their last hope.

At last, three days from their last meal, they reached the base of a mountain that looked, from what Logan had said, something like the mountain of which Breena had spoken. They had little light left – they were conserving their magic as much as possible – and their only source of illumination came from a sapphire necklace that Shasta was wearing, a magical token she had inherited from her mother. It was just enough light for them to make out the snow-covered pathway, the icicles that protruded like spikes on the sides of boulders.

“I sure hope this Enchantress is friendly,” said Rodney. “None of us are in any state to fight right now.” He too was hungry and exhausted, living on a diet of meager foraged fruits and the occasional nut or seed.

“She's not evil,” said Logan. “Whatever else she is. She helped Breena.”

By almost killing her
, Rose thought. The Enchantress may not have been evil, she knew, but she was certainly far from benevolent. She was the bearer of an ancient magic, a magic that went beyond kindness and unkindness – she demanded a fair trade for her wares, and Rose shuddered to think what that fair trade might be. Would she be called upon to take Alistair's place? To sacrifice something great of her own in order to save him? Rose knew that the bargains one made with powerful creatures almost never worked out to one's own advantage. You'd get what you came for, but you'd wish you'd never come.
Just like the Wolf Fey.
She looked over at Logan as she recalled the old story about Queen Panthea. The first Wolf, Connell, had begged for Panthea's help against the Dark Hordes. She had helped him, as promised – given his soldiers the power to turn into the noble wolf at will – but in return she had taken their fey immortality forever.

What would she be called upon to sacrifice?

They hiked up the mountain, the horses whinnying and neighing with exhaustion as the road grew ever-steeper, their muscles aching and their bones creaking with every step along the vertiginous path.

“Look!” Rodney called out, as they reached the top of their ascent. “That must be where the sun used to be.”

They gasped as their eyes fell upon what looked like an enormous crater: a barren, empty expanse of rock. Once the glorious sun had shone from here, rising high in the day and retreating into this stone bed at night, warding off evil and darkness from Feyland. Their entire lives, they had learned to rely on this sense of safety: every morning the suns would ascend into the sky to shine down on Feyland, in the evening returning here, their dim glow keeping Feyland safe from evil throughout the night. How Rose had loved to wake up early as a child in order to watch the suns' ascent; how she had felt a sudden thrill when she watched the glowing orbs, one white and cold, one yellow and warm, move about in the sky at dusk and dawn! But now there was nothing. Now she could see only emptiness.

They gazed at the empty space in wonder.

“I would never have imagined it,” Logan said gravely, “that I would live to see this day. To see my beloved Feyland without its suns.”

They looked deep into the crater, and to their surprise they saw something there.

“What's that?” Shasta made her way down into the crater, picking up what looked like a charcoal ball, no bigger than the globe Rose had seen in the Summer Palace's library.

“I think it's the sun,” Rose said, her heart sinking.

“
This
is the sun?” Shasta turned it over in her hands. “Don't be ridiculous, Rose, it's tiny.”

“The magic of Feyland comes from its suns,” said Logan. “Two great balls of energy. But without that energy – that's all that the suns are. Two charcoal balls fallen down from the sky.” His face was somber. “The suns of Feyland – gone!” He sighed. “You've been to the Land Beyond the Crystal River, Shasta. The suns are different there. Further-off. Much bigger. If that sun died, the Land Beyond the Crystal River would die a quick death: everything would perish all at once. But here in Feyland, the death we die will be a slower, more painful one. We will watch as everything we care for perishes around us.” Tears were in his eyes. “How I wish we could have been Beyond the Crystal River, that – if we were to die – we would at least not have to watch this agony around us.”

“But it means we have a chance to put things right,” Rose put out a hand and patted Logan on the shoulder. “That's something that we wouldn't have in the mortal world. I doubt
their
sun runs on magic.” She paused. “If...if we don't succeed,” she said softly. “Will you go to the mortal world? Will you be safe there?”

Logan shook his head. “I would rather die with the rest of Feyland than live in shame and cowardice. I cannot be without my magic. I cannot be without my home. This is my home. I love Feyland too much to outlive it.”

“Hear, hear,” said Shasta. “Once I dreamed of leaving here, and living with Rodney in the Land Beyond the Crystal River. But no longer. Now I know my place is here, to live or die with the fate of these charcoal suns.” She placed the ball down gently in the crater.

“What do we do now?” Rodney asked. There was no sign of the Enchantress anywhere around them, and the only hint that there had ever been a sun in Feyland were those useless, tiny black balls. “Rose – maybe there's something in the Book of Gwenhyfar that can help us. Something about the sun's magic.”

“I can try...” Rose said, searching in her bag for the book. “I...I thought I'd read everything, but maybe there's something I missed.” She had read the book ten times over – and still found no sign of how she could restore Alistair
or
kill the Sorceress. But she had to keep up hope.
Come on, Rose,
she muttered to herself,
come up with something.

At that moment, a shrill, piercing feminine laugh broke the silence. The group looked up wildly. Was it the Enchantress? But this voice was far too cruel, too hideous. It was the laughter of pure evil.

“You will be able to do nothing!” The voice laughed. “You have no power here. I have seen to that.”

Instantly Rose felt a cold chill whipping through her, freezing her from the inside out, sapping her strength. “The Sorceress,” she whispered, putting out a hand to steady herself. “She’s here.”

But the figure that approached, cackling wildly, was not a Sorceress at all. “So, you think you can defeat me now?” it said, smiling at Rose with black, blazing eyes.

It was Alistair.

Chapter 16

“
A
listair!” Rose cried. But the face she saw before her was not the face of the man she had loved. It was a hard, cold, implacable face, its beauty transformed to ugliness by the expression of absolute cruelty it wore.

Alistair spoke with a high, cold voice – a woman's voice, emerging out of his throat like a bird escaped from a cage. His eyes were blacker than night; even his skin seemed sallow, with a greenish tinge, as if something sickly lurked beneath his porcelain skin. “You have no powers here,” he said. “I have come to see to that. So, you dared to think that you could defeat the powers of the Sorceress? You thought you could bring back the daylight? No, fools – this is the land of night, now, and night is here to stay. You cannot resist the darkness.”

“Alistair!” Rose cried. “Alistair – listen to yourself! Stop it!”

“Alistair – the Sorceress?” Rodney furrowed his brow.

“No, he's possessed!” Rose pleaded. “Look at his eyes.”

Now even the white of Alistair's eyes had turned black, and the whole eyeball was glowing with a cruel and eerie light.

Shasta was looking at Alistair in horror, her face stricken. Slowly, with trembling hands, she raised her sword, rushing over to strike Alistair down.

“Shasta, no!” A cry emerged from Rose's lips. She rushed over to Shasta, pulling her back just moments before Shasta's sword collided with Alistair's head.

“It's the Sorceress!” cried Shasta wildly. “We have to kill her now, or she'll kill us all.”

“But think, you silly little girl,” Alistair said, laughing. “If you kill me, then you also kill your friend here.” He patted his own body. “You wouldn't want to see your precious Alchemist's head severed from this pretty body of his, would you?”

Shasta stopped short, her sword falling to her side. Rose looked on in horror. The Sorceress was right. Even if she was in Alistair's body, there was no way to destroy her without killing Alistair. And there was no way of getting her out.

“You can't...” Rose whispered to Shasta. “Please, you can't...”

But Shasta was undeterred. She wrestled out of Rose's grasp, raising her sword high once more. She ran towards Alistair, her teeth set, her eyes as dark and intense as his. “He's lying to us,” she said. “He's the Sorceress, he has been all along. He's had magical training, like the Sorceress has. He was the only one of us not to be affected by the Dark Forces – the only one not to have a spirit torment him! Why? Because he didn't need to – the Forces already had him! That book he read – the Book of Gwenyhfar – he probably had it all along.”

“That's crazy,” Rodney cut in. “There's no way Rodney could be the Sorceress. I've known him since we were but boys. There is nobody more honorable, more devoted to the cause, in all of Feyland.”

“If he wasn't the Sorceress before,” snapped Shasta, “he is certainly is now. Whatever he was – he's the Sorceress now. Alistair's gone. Maybe he was never here. Maybe it was the book that killed him. It doesn't matter. There is no Alistair. And whatever's left – we have to kill it. Have to fulfil our duties to Feyland at last. We've wasted enough time already!” She lifted her sword high into the air.

A clang and a crash stopped her sword in mid-air. Another blade had collided with her own, holding her back. It was Rodney, drawing arms against his own love, who had stopped her. Shasta looked up in horror, her blue eyes filled with wonder and pain. “What are you doing?” she cried. “Don't stop me – let me have my revenge. Can't you see, Rodney? This is my redemption. This is how I'll bring victory back to Feyland.”

“I can't let you do this...” Rodney whispered.