HM02 House of Moons (16 page)

Axia unwound the cord from her wrists and threw it aside.
Now give me the crystal!

The electric blueness writhed underneath their feet, whipping back and forth like a living thing, and Haemas felt Axia’s mind reaching for the quiescent crystal. A shock ran through her as she realized Axia didn’t have to touch the latteh in order to activate it; she needed only her mind for that, and she could quite easily set it right there in the nexus, making the next person to touch it with his or her naked skin its victim.

Axia, don’t!
She pulled the velvet bag out of her pocket and held it behind her.
You could disrupt the timeways if you activate that kind of power in here.
She felt the latteh begin to throb inside the velvet as Axia forced the random energies into the correct pattern. Desperately Haemas whirled, looking for some clue, anything that would signal the way home. The scenes shifted; spring bloomed at the end of a whole section of lines, seemingly the same day in endless variations, filled with blue-green vines and iridescent lightwings gliding across the clear green sky, graceful as wisps of smoke.

The latteh crystal abruptly phased into the discordant energy state for mind-binding and the temporal lines responded with a coruscating violence unmatched in any of her previous encounters. As they whipped back and forth, increasingly unstable, Axia shaded her eyes and dodged after Haemas across the shimmering pathways. Haemas retreated, then caught a fleeting glimpse of a scene at the end of one line that looked familiar: an icy clearing glittering under a pair of rising half-moons, surrounded by leafless interlaced trees.

She stepped toward it, but Axia, squinting against the mounting blue fury of the nexus, leaped and knocked her sprawling. Haemas fell heavily, and her head shrilled as it made contact with the wildly gyrating electric-blue timelines.

Axia tore the velvet bag out of her numb fingers.
Yes!
She clasped it to her breast with exultant hands. Then the black velvet tore on the hard-edged facets and her sixth and smallest finger touched the naked crystal. She uttered a terrible screech, the only human sound Haemas had ever heard within the temporal nexus, then reeled backward and disappeared into the fountaining blue of the pathways.

Breathing raggedly, Haemas struggled up to follow her, but the other woman had left no trace. Black dots danced behind Haemas’s eyes and her addled thoughts were like stubborn children, refusing to do as they were told. The nexus energies surged, then surged again, and the black dots coalesced into waves that threatened to sweep her away. There was too much out-of-balance power here; she had to flee before it overwhelmed her and she lost consciousness. Squinting, she tried to pick a pathway, but her vision had tunneled down into a brilliant pinprick of light that told her nothing. Her hands out before her, she took one step, and another, and then the third and final one. Her trembling knees gave way and she sank onto frozen ground.

The inhuman blueness faded into the endless green-black of a Highlands night, the stars above gazing down with indifferent alabaster eyes. The wind was a steady misery, sharp as a knife-thrust and straight out of the west, but as she gasped convulsively in the icy air, her head began to clear.

Shivering, she wrapped her arms around the loose summer-weight tunic and staggered to her feet, trying to see through the darkness. Where was she? Because of the way she had just stumbled out of the nexus, this could be anywhere ... or Anywhen. Then a snarl split the darkness behind her.

She turned around to face a yellow-eyed silsha gliding through the brush. She reached out with her mind and touched a comfortingly familiar mindpresence. “Shadowfoot!” She stretched her hand out to the whiskered black nose, and the beast padded up to nuzzle her hand. The brush rustled as another silsha approached, then a third, until three of them swirled around her and she stood waist-deep in sleek black fur.

As relieved as she was exhausted, she wrapped her arms around the twining necks and pressed her face into the clean-smelling musk of fur. Even though she couldn’t see it from here, the House of Moons must be close.

It seemed she had come home after all.

* * *

The night wind whistled mournfully through the cold-stiffened trees, and occasionally Diren caught a winking glimpse of stars through the moving branches. Hunched beside the dying fire and pinned under the molten glare of silsha eyes, he stared angrily down at the unconscious child at his feet.

The little brat had to wake up! She had to! The damned fire was feeding on the remains of the last few crumbling sticks. Any minute now it would gutter out in the ashes, leaving him here in the suffocating night to face these beasts of Darkness all alone. After pulling a glove off, he turned the small face over again, searching for some sign that the fall had not fatally injured her.

Moaning faintly, Kisa flinched and he felt as if the sun had just come out. After gathering her into his arms, he edged toward the ummit, tied to a low branch a few feet away. One of the silshas leaped to its feet and trotted soundlessly after them, but Diren knew if he stopped now, he wouldn’t have the courage to try again.

Kisa twisted in his arms as he tried to mount, and even though she threw him off balance and made him fall back to the ground, he was relieved. Breathing hard, he leaned against the ummit’s warm, woolly side. The life of this child seemed to be the only thing standing between him and being silsha-fodder.

Clutching her against his chest, he tried again and this time swung up into the patched saddle. Then he jerked the ummit’s head around, urging it back toward the edge of the forest and Lenhe’ayn. Dried leaves rustled behind him as the four huge silshas trailed after him, snarling low in their throats as they wove through the trees.

For the thousandth time that night, he reached for their minds and felt the same blankness he would have read from a tree or a stream. He shuddered. How was it, he wondered, that their minds were so effectively sealed against Kashi control? If the chierra people ever learned the secret of such a trick, the Highlands would be bathed in Kashi blood.

Settling Kisa’s limp body over the ummit’s hump, Diren began to rethink his plans. More of these bloody black devils roamed the shared grounds of Shael’donn and the House of Moons, and had been notably upset ever since Haemas Tal had disappeared. He couldn’t avoid Shael’donn because Council business often called him there. And he had to be able to keep an eye on the House of Moons as well, in case Haemas Tal should reappear.

He decided to keep the girl with him for a few more days until the latteh secured his power. He touched the cold hard lump of the crystal inside his shirt and managed a smile. In those strangely cut, dull-green facets lay the key to such power as the Highlands had not seen for generations—and it was all his.

THE RUMBLE OF THE
great waterfall vibrated down through the frozen ground and then up into the twisted tree trunks, overriding every other sound, but since the blasted green-skinned creatures that had kidnapped him seemed to have no ears, Kevisson supposed it didn’t bother them. Looping one arm around the massive gray-barked limb where they’d stranded him like a piece of wet laundry, he watched the lithe green bodies playing in the thundering icy river below. They seemed born to the white-foamed current, jumping and diving like water-skits.

The water here had a deep-green, jewel-like quality to it, pouring down through the tumbled ice-coated rocks, then rushing away toward the distant Cholee coast. He shivered, wondering if these creatures had ever heard of the great western sea, then decided they probably had; Desalaya had been their world long before humans had intruded.

He rubbed the back of his hand over his grimy face, fighting the black weariness that dragged at him. It had been so long since he’d had any sleep that nothing seemed quite real, but he had to think this out. Why was everything of importance in his life disappearing before his eyes? In the space of a few days, he had lost not only Master Ellirt, but his place at Shael’donn, his reputation, and, worst of all, Haemas.

Haemas ... his mind drifted. He braced his back against the trunk, seeing the high-cheekboned face framed in hair so pale that in strong sun it only hinted of gold, the golden eyes so light that they were either a mystery or an invitation, depending on her mood. He had steeled himself to patience during the years necessary for her to grow into the dazzling woman she’d promised to become, watching her study as avidly as any student he’d ever known and more diligently than most, but now that she was grown and mistress of her own fate, he was so unsure of himself that he often simply did not know what to say to her.

Why had she made him look like a fool that day before the Council? He tried to recall the angry things they had said to each other, the cold fury he had felt, but his mind summoned up instead the music of her low voice, the whisper of her unbound hair, the faint spice of her skin. He massaged his temples, then drew in a shuddering breath of icy air. Perhaps if he could sleep for just a few minutes, he told himself, he would be able to remember why they had quarreled. He rested his chin on the rough bark and his eyes sagged.

Male-brother!

Go away and let me sleep!
He tried again to shield against the other’s mindvoice, but no matter how hard he tried, he could not keep these irritating creatures out of his mind.

Sleep?
Puzzlement washed over him.
What is sleep?

The tree shook beneath him. Kevisson peeled his eyes open as the sinuous green fingers reached for his branch.

Better now.
The native drew even with him. Water beaded on smooth skin that was as green as unripe apples.
You faded again.

Kevisson glanced down to the river below as it boiled over jagged rocks coated with ice and sighed.
It’s called sleep. Rest. It’s natural for humans to sleep. I’m tired!

Dark-green tendrils wandered over the smooth round skull as though in search of something.
I do not understand, male-brother.

My name is Kevisson.

That does not mean anything.
The creature probed his face with clammy, boneless fingers.
Have you no real name?

That is my real name!
Kevisson climbed out of its reach. His head swam and he had to blink hard to focus his eyes as he wedged himself into a higher fork.

Scampering above him, the native hung down by its slim legs and gazed at him with bottomless black eyes.
Real names mean something, like Woodchip or Streamleap, or mine, Leafcurl.

If these ilserin were related to the ilseri who had taught Haemas the secrets of the temporal pathways, Kevisson couldn’t imagine how she had learned anything from such silly creatures. His fingers tightened around the branch at eye level. Well, he couldn’t wait any longer. He had to try to get out of there. He shimmied backward down the tree, determined to escape this time.

Halfway down, his foot slipped. The rough bark scraped the hide off his fingers as he hung precariously by one hand while his legs dangled over the forest floor.

Gently, male-brother,
Leafcurl cautioned him from above.
The trees and the rocks can still tear you. Your time is not yet.

And that, Kevisson thought grimly, made as little sense as anything else these fey creatures had said to him. Trying to swing his legs back to the trunk, he lost his grip altogether and fell, landing on his back with an impact that drove the breath from his lungs and drowned his vision in red mist.

The ilserin surged out of the torrential river and gathered him to their icy, dripping chests, pressing close and cradling his head as if he were an injured child instead of a full-grown man.
Not yet, small-brother,
one crooned while several more stroked his hair with damp fingers.
But someday we will all float among the trees. Someday.

The icy water soaked through Kevisson’s shirt, making him shiver harder. The fact that they clutched him close was no help; these strange creatures had no warmth to their bodies like humans, and they never seemed to feel the savage bite of the winter cold.
Let me go!
he told them.
I have to get warm.

Warm?

Warm?

The puzzled thought echoed from mind to mind. They seemed to have no better referents for “warm” than for “sleep.” Pushing their chill hands away, Kevisson struggled to his feet and tried to get his bearings in the early morning light. The trip to this hidden place had been wild and confusing, and after that knock on his head, he had been at best only half conscious most of the way.

Before him, the river roared through the rocky gorge, dashing itself to silvery bits on the moss-speckled rocks below, glazing the surrounding brush with ice, then surging back up to race between deeply cut banks. Behind him, and on every side, the ancient true-tree forest loomed up the walls of the gorge, dark and forbidding, the gray-blue trunks often as big around as a house. Above the trees, the winter sun glimmered down palely through thin white clouds. The chill air frosted his breath as he looked from side to side. Just pick a direction, he told himself, any direction.

Wrapping his arms around his chest for warmth, he gritted his teeth and started toward what he hoped was the east, feeling that Lenhe’ayn might lie that way. The ilserin watched with puzzled black eyes, then swirled after him, pressing close and catching him in their sinuous arms.

You must stay until the mothers come. Until then, dance with us and sing!
Their fingers played with his tunic.
Brothersun has brought the light once more. Come and play!

Not this time.
Kevisson pushed them back determinedly, hard, then harder.
I have to go!

Push!
Their mirth saturated him like a cold rain.
Push and run! Push and run!
They shoved him backward, then suddenly scattered into the trees like insects fleeing a fire.

He gazed after them, his soaked shirt clinging to his chill-bumped skin and his teeth chattering. This had all the charm of reasoning with a two-year-old. The wind shrilled through the giant trees, an eerie, wildly lonely sound, and he was shivering so hard he could barely get his breath. Just walk, he told himself. The exercise would warm him up and maybe the strange emerald-skinned people of the forest would forget to come after him this time.

Rubbing his numb hands over his arms, he picked his way between the huge gnarled roots and trunks.

* * *

The largest of the three shadowfoots hugged Haemas’s heels, a warm, reassuring presence, while she searched the House of Moons with a handful of blue-white chispa-fire. The building stood cold and echoingly empty, from the second floor students’ dormitories to the kitchen and common rooms. Not one girl remained, nor any sign of recent habitation. In the grates, kindling had been laid, ready to be lit, but the clothes and personal items, even the food staples in the pantry, were gone as if no one had ever lived there at all.

Finally she stood in the doorway of her own chambers, gazing at the thick shadows, remembering the last time she had entered, weary from a day of frustrations, when Diren Chee had lain in wait. The shadowfoot nosed her leg and her hand dropped to stroke its satiny cheek. When she saw its white breath in the dimness and realized suddenly how cold she was, she opened her dresser and was relieved to find that her clothes, at least, were still there. She changed into a warm woolen tunic over soft flowing pants, then added a cloak.

Her hands trembled as she sat on the edge of the bed. Had she come to the wrong When after all? Or perhaps had she found the right timeline, but arrived too late? Had it been days or years since Diren Chee had stolen her from this room? She ran her fingers over her dresser. The wood was almost dust free, so it could not have been as long as all that.

Enissa?
she called.
Where are you?
There was no answer, not even a muted sense of her old friend, asleep or preoccupied. Then she reached for Kevisson, but he was not there, either. Perhaps he was still in the Lowlands, or, more sobering, perhaps he just didn’t want to respond. They had, after all, parted very badly. The shadowfoot whuffed gently and she rested one hand on the warm black head. Through the window she could see the lights of Shael’donn, glittering through the early-morning grayness like beacons. If this was her own When, events had taken a mysterious turn after her abduction by Diren Chee and she would find no answers here. It seemed she would have to go to Shael’donn to even begin asking the questions.

* * *

Once they were safely through the Chee’ayn portal, Diren reached up and, one by one, disengaged the six pale-blue ilsera crystals that kept it active. He wanted no unexpected visitors. “Come on,” he said over his shoulder to the Lenhe girl. Her mind still bound by his, she followed him down the portal steps without a word.

Chee’ayn loomed up before him, softened in the early light, looking almost presentable. No doubt, he thought, the immense old house had been spectacular in his grandfather’s grandfather’s time. Never since, though. It had been sliding downward in fortune since long before he and Axia had been born, and they were the last of their line. If they didn’t bring prosperity to this estate again, some other waiting Lowlands family would get the chance after their deaths to make this land pay. Maybe Ketral or Ferah.

Or even Monmart.

Diren’s lips twisted. He had seen the way Kevisson Monmart looked at Haemas Tal, heard all the rumors about the closeness of their “relationship.” Well, after Diren had finished with him, that mud-face was going to be lucky to escape back to the Lowlands with his dark-haired life.

He heard Kisa gasp behind him, and then her footsteps stopped. “Bloody Darkness! Will you hurry up—” Diren whirled around and reached for her; then his mouth sagged.

A blurry, blue-shrouded apparition floated above the gravel path, one hand flung out, its face averted as though in fear. The hair crawled on the back of Diren’s neck and his hands began to sweat. It was ghostly and unreal, brightening, fading, then brightening again as if something were caught half in this world and half without. He swallowed convulsively and backed away as the bizarre figure sharpened into focus. It was Axia.

Her face was terrible, contorted and yet vacant, surrounded by a blueness brighter than sunlight on glare ice, so intense that he could barely look at it. His sister turned and for a second met his eyes. Her mouth worked as if she were speaking.

“What—what—” Kisa stared almost blindly at the floating woman, her small body rigid with fear.

Diren extended his hand, but his fingers passed through the wraith with only a faint electric tingle. Axia seemed to shriek soundlessly, then the image shuddered and winked out, leaving behind only the frigid morning air. Diren brought his trembling hand down to eye level.

“Was that the—the Light?” Kisa’s voice was very small, then she blinked at him as if seeing him for the first time. “Who—who are you?” Tears welled up in her eyes as she gazed fearfully around the deserted, snow-drifted grounds. “I’m cold—and I want to go home!”

Irritated, he realized the shock of the apparition had loosened his hold on her mind. Taking a deep breath, he reached for the link again, but she darted back into the bare limbs of a whip-willow, managing for the moment to shield him out. Her lip trembled. “What happened to all the trees?” Then she cocked her head, as if examining him, and the fear drained from her face, replaced by a glimmer of hope. “Are you—are you my—father?”

Diren started to deny it, then hesitated. Controlling her was draining his energy, but he still might want to return to the Lowlands in search of more lattehs and she could be useful. He made himself smile and extended his hand. “Of course I am. Why else would I have brought you here?”