Hunter and Fox (31 page)

He could hear the Caisah's footsteps and feel the menace of his presence hanging over them. Father and son shared a look through blood and tears that would be their very last.

“Put him down,” the Caisah spoke. “Come with me and join your sister. You don't need to die as well.”

“No,” Byre spoke softly for Retira. He wanted his father to know that he wasn't giving up.

Retira's life was burbling away, washing out his mouth, but he struggled to say something. “I disobeyed.” He clutched hold of Byre's sleeve. “The decision was made to forget it…but I did not…”

“Forget what?” Byre leaned closer.

“The fires…you must make sure they do not die…we're failing…we're…” Retira gurgled and then jerked in his son's arms. He breathed his final breath and was still.

The power of the Caisah was gathering. Byre could feel it tightening around him, stealing the breath from his lungs and squeezing every bone in his body. Pelanor dropped back into her body with a half-scream, forced by the tyrant's strength to give up her magic. She crumpled to the floor, elegant even while in agony. Her mahogany eyes locked with Byre's in understanding.

His father was gone. All was emptiness and pointlessness. Soon enough he would follow. Was this why the Sofai had sent him—to die for the Caisah as his sister lived for him? The breath was being taken from his body, and his throat constricted on nothing.

Chill broke through the darkness, soft breath entered his mouth. Byre sucked in a great joyous gasp as life returned to his starved body. He was not seeing things, there was indeed another woman standing above them, between Pelanor and he on the floor. Byre scrambled across to his Blood Witch and helped her up.

She made to embrace this new arrival. “Matron Iola!” Then she stopped, her hands inches from the other Witch.

The newcomer was as beautiful as Pelanor, though there was the faintest hint of silver in her hair. She had her palms raised flat between herself and the Caisah, but Byre could see that she was shaking.

Glancing across at the Caisah, he saw that the tyrant was frozen in place. The only sign of his concentration was a slight frown on his brow. The Witch, though, was muttering under her breath.

Pelanor bit the corner of her lip and bowed her head. “She Who Stands at the Gate, aid my matron. Give her strength.”

It was a battle of wills then, and a smarter person would have taken that opportunity to run; however, curiosity and a strange instant loyalty held him in place. Besides, barely had the thought crossed Byre's mind than whatever power she had gained from her scion ran out. The world darkened for an instant, becoming somehow shapeless and terrifying. The implosion of power threw all four of them apart.

Pelanor and Byre found themselves sliding across the uneven floor with Iola. Across the room, the Caisah lay in a crumpled heap. The Rutilian Guards looked for a moment stock-still in horror.

Pelanor moved faster, helping her matron up. Byre felt the symmetry of her actions in an instant, and part of him already knew the outcome.

The Blood Witch was a shriveled remainder of previous form: pale gray and withered. Pelanor ripped open her palm with her own teeth and pressed the oozing wound to her matron's mouth. Iola waved it away. “Too late, little daughter…”

“Why?” Pelanor's voice was torn with emotion as trails of blood oozed from the corners of her eyes.

“The
Hysthshai
, she told me I could save you. Two must die for two to live, she said…” These last words were a rattle and then Iola turned her face away and disappeared into nothingness for the last time.

Byre took Pelanor's hands, as she seemed ready to rend her own flesh in grief. Across the room the Caisah was rising, not in the slow, awkward manner of one badly wounded, but in the quick movements of someone very annoyed.

“It has to be now, Pelanor,” Byre whispered.

Her eyes, when they met his, were wells of despair and abruptly found determination. This was now more than a Pact.

Together they ran to the rough-hewn door, and together their hands pressed against it. Wonders of wonders, there were two hand-sized gaps within inches of each other; each perfectly sized for the Blood Witch and the Vaerli.

The feeling of before-thoughts lingered in Byre's mind, as if he were only taking the steps already laid out for him. The cavern shook. Looking back over one shoulder, Byre saw the Rutilians get knocked off their feet, while their master remained erect, staring with undisguised longing at the wall which was ripping itself open like curtains on a stage.

The Cleft was opening, and beyond was flame in which shadows moved. The heat blasted Byre, until he thought his flesh would melt from him. It was mesmerizing, with the shapes of Kindred dancing in the fires, alien forms which promised so much, both knowledge and pain.

Pelanor, the gift from his cursed sister, took his hand, and a wave of cool passed over him. “The first Witch to see the Kindred,” she murmured to herself. “They will have to make me Mouth now…”

Within, the flames resolved into the rocky outline of the guardians; this Kindred had eyes of black obsidian and a body of running lava. For a moment it looked on Pelanor and Byre, but then it fixed on the Caisah, who had moved forward a few paces as if entranced.

“No closer, Eagle King, broken bird.” The Kindred's voice was surprisingly light for a creature of the earth, but the sound of it was almost painful to hear in its purity. “The time has not yet come; our agreement has not yet run its course.”

The tyrant straightened. “Not yet, you say. Have I not waited long enough? Have I not done as agreed?”

“You will know when it is enough and complete.” The Kindred grew from man-sized to twice that height in an instant, as if to emphasize this point. “The boy is now within our realm, you could not prevent it, as it was bought with blood. Go back until your time.”

Never before had Byre imagined that the Caisah could be humbled, yet there it was. The mightiest man in all of Conhaero stared into the flames once, before nodding and turning away.

Byre would have watched him go, but the Kindred filled his vision until he could think of nothing else. Like an owl eyeing a mouse, the creature peered at Byre and Pelanor.

“You have many questions, Kin.” Its voice seemed gentler somehow. “They will be answered in time, if you may first answer this for me: do you wish to go on?”

“I thought…that is, I thought it was my duty.”

“Duty is indeed a powerful motivator amongst those ground-walkers, but you may not follow Ellyria's path for that reason alone. If you purely enter to undergo the trials, it is not enough.”

Byre felt Pelanor's hand squeeze his. “I think it is asking what you want for yourself?” she whispered.

Closing his eyes, he considered. His urge to go on, to find the dream that had set him on this task, had that been purely for a people he hadn't felt his own for three hundred years? Was even his dead father enough of a reason to step in the flames and take up Ellyria's burden?

With a sigh, he opened his eyes and looked up at the burning Kindred. “Not for those things alone. I want to know who I am. I want to know who my people are, and our past.”

It was hard to tell if this was an acceptable answer. The head cocked and looked at Pelanor. “And you, little Witch-child, there is no blood in our realm for you.”

Her chin tilted upwards. “Perhaps not, but I still have plenty of curiosity myself. Besides,” she said, shooting a glance sideways at Byre, “a Pact is a Pact.”

“Very well then, the flames await. Enter.” The Kindred drew back.

Heat was now all around them, but Pelanor's chill presence softened the entrance. Byre smiled. He could hear music in the earth, like he remembered from childhood. Hand in hand, Witch and Vaerli went forward, stepping into the world of the Kindred to find what secrets it held.

T
alyn the Dark did not pause or glance behind to see if he was actually following. Finn could hear her breathing, fast and low as if she had run a great distance—which was perhaps in a sense true. She was not the only one.

If the vision of the woman claiming to be his mother was correct, then the Bastion was his heritage as well. What of his father—was he Vaerli too? He had to be—but then shouldn't he look like one of them? He didn't have the dark hair and skin…

Finn couldn't think straight with his head full of so many questions. Nothing in his form or thought proclaimed him Vaerli, and he was not sure if he wanted anything to do with their perilous Gifts either.

So he said nothing to Talyn of what might be; he would not try to claim something he was not yet sure of. That could wait until the moment she dragged him before the Caisah to get her bounty, because if there was one thing Finn was sure of now, it was that she would complete her mission, dragon or no dragon.

Ahead the walls of salt curved away into unfathomable distance, but Talyn had stopped and put out her hand to steady herself against one. Concerned, Finn broke into a jog just as she began to scream. Before he could catch up, her whole body jerked and then she toppled over.

Finn yelled her true name, the one she wouldn't recall he knew. No reaction. Dropping to his knees, he gathered her up. Talyn was twitching so much he feared for her.

“Byreniko!” Her brother's name was torn from her throat.

Finn whispered her own into her hair as dread cramped his gut. For a long terrible time there was no answer, then Talyn's body twitched and her eyes flew open.

“He's gone.” She licked her dry lips before speaking again, “I heard a shout. A cry of victory or pain, I couldn't tell…and then all was emptiness.”

Finn didn't let go, wondering if she had heard her true name from his mouth. When Talyn didn't pull away, he thought of leaning in and kissing her, but her fingertips were on his lips. He had no idea how they got there. The Vaerli before-time was a cruel Gift indeed.

Talyn smiled and got out of his embrace with spare elegance. She walked away before reminding him, “I don't remember how it was to love you, Finn.”

Talyn was striding ahead of him, which was impressive considering her legs were much shorter than his. Then she was gone, not waiting to see if he followed.

Perhaps she was right. It was memory of love that had got him into this dangerous situation, and could still end with torture and death at the hands of the Caisah.

Finn paused for a moment to examine one of the beautiful murals that decorated the walls. This first panel, painted the most intense shade of malachite, was marred by a series of shadows. It didn't take his talespinner's mind to work out they were the terrifying outlines of people contorted in agony. The Harrowing had happened here, he reminded himself. This place was soaked in blood and ash even after all this time.

He trailed his hand along the panel, feeling the indentations that had once been living beings. The next frieze caught him enthralled. It was a beautiful dark-haired woman standing poised, looking out into the world as if behind a thin sheet of glass. The trail of
pae atuae
on her skin pointed her out as the Made Seer.

Curious at how such a lifelike image had been created, Finn touched her outline. A snap of electricity leapt from the wall to his fingertips, and the world contracted.

The woman who had saved him shook her head and looked out at him with star-filled eyes, not quite real but not quite dead either.

He heard his name called and looked over his shoulder to catch the strangest sight: Talyn with her mouth open on his name. Her eyes were wide with shock, but frozen in place like an insect in amber.

In the chilly corridor, the only things that seemed capable of movement were himself and the apparition from the wall.

“Mother?” Finn realized he had not called anyone that for many years. “What have you done?”

She sighed. Whatever portion of herself she'd left here was very slight—mostly gray—illusion. The talespinner part of him understood she had placed a tiny slice of herself aside in time. He'd learnt plenty of stories about such things: lovers who got to leave a last message, angry villains who wanted to spit out one final angry curse, or long-lost parents saying good-bye.

They all made good stories, but this was his mother—and she was smiling at him. Unfortunately, there was nothing to hug; his outstretched hand didn't even feel a chill when it passed through her.

“I wish that too, my son. I have put us between-time,” she said softly, “a place that even the Caisah's Hunter cannot reach.”

“You are Vaerli…that means I am Vaerli?”

“Part of you is…” She made a gesture that might have touched his face if she was corporeal.

“And your name?”

“Putorae.”

Finn's stomach lurched. That could not be true. Putorae had been the last Seer of the Vaerli, and had died just before the Harrowing. Yet she had the markings of the Seer and her powers were rumored to be greater than even a normal Vaerli. A thousand questions burned in Finn.

Her beautiful face creased with sorrow. “I know there is more than I can possibly tell you. This form only has so much power in it, not enough to tell the whole tale. It has been waiting a long time for you.”

It was grossly unfair. He above all people should have a proper story, and there was obviously a complicated one to be revealed.

“I have other slivers of my former self seeded along the way. You and your brother will have to find them.”

He had a brother! Shock chased all other thoughts from his head.

Unseen winds began to tug at her form, pulling her apart like tenuous mist. “Go back to your dragon, the one you have Named. He will take you to your brother and there will be more answers there, I promise.”

“But Talyn, she is…” Finn stopped, unsure what he was actually going to say.

His mother, his real long-lost mother, gave him a deep hard look.

She didn't need to say anything. He had a chance to make it right, a chance to understand his own past. He looked back to where Talyn the Dark was standing, hand opened toward him.

It was not concern that marked her face, but rather the vision of her prey slipping away. It said it all. She'd chosen to forget him and all they'd shared. Only an idiot would keep chasing a phantom, and he might be many things, but an idiot was not one of them.

He would take the advice of another phantom; this one at least loved him.

“Poor Talyn is lost to us,” the shade of Putorae, last Seer of the Vaerli reminded him. “Go quickly and find your brother, my beautiful son.”

So Finn had to make a choice. It had all seemed a simple plan to foment rebellion, so he'd never imagined he would be in this position. He had to abandon his dreams of Talyn the Dark throwing her arms around him and remembering their love. He just had to accept she'd chosen to forget.

“You're right,” he whispered. “Sometimes when you fight for someone you don't always win. In stories maybe that happens—but not in the real world.”

Finn would keep his memory of Talyn but release the dreams he'd nurtured. He needed answers—and she had none for him. While the ghost of his mother held the Hunter locked between-time, Finnbarr the Fox turned on his heel, back the way he had come to find his own destiny. Behind he left the hopes of his past.

Talyn pressed her hand against the now-vacant mural. She'd never had Vaerli powers used against her, least of all by one long dead. Finn had been there, hand touching to the frieze, and the Hunter had only enough time to recognize the face materializing in the wall before the trap closed on her.

Putorae had played the Hunter for the fool, using her own vain loyalties to the Vaerli against her. When the bubble in outside-time faded, only Finn's tracks remained, back the way they'd come. Dimly she'd caught the noise of the great Kindred dragon's wings leaving her to ruin.

It was worse than merely having lost her prey. Somehow Putorae had severed the bond between them; it was as dead as the Bastion itself. Talyn the Hunter now had no way of tracking Finn. Nothing to offer the Caisah. Alone, the Hunter sank to her knees with a sob.

Over the sound of her own tears she heard the whispers of fabric dragging in the sand. The woman's head and all those extra ones were hidden under a large hood. Leaning against the curve of the tunnel, Talyn wondered if she was imagining compassion in that gaze. Wordlessly, she beckoned Talyn toward her, before turning and walking away.

The Hunter had no other purpose, and it mattered little if she was killed at this point. If she fled there were only two fates possible: death by her people's hand, or death by the Caisah's will. Rather than make that decision, Talyn climbed to her feet and followed.

They came down into the gathering place. This was the great white and empty cavern where the Council had met to discuss business. It was also where the Harrowing had begun. The woman with her hood up seemed almost normal. “This is the last road for you, Talyn the Dark.”

She was right. All paths from the Bastion would end in the same place. Talyn should have saved the briefest recollection of being loved for a moment of desperation like this. Empty of fear or rage, she walked over to the other woman. She knew those eyes of bright stars; they could only be Vaerli.

“Why did you call me a fool?” she asked, sounding petulant even to her own ears. Funny how here at the end, pride was the emotion that remained intact.

“Not a fool, a child of fools.” The woman grinned. Talyn didn't flinch when the woman touched her; let flames take them both.

Nothing.

Looking up at the normal Vaerli face underneath the dusty hood, Talyn felt herself break. “It's impossible,” she gasped.

The other smiled tenderly. “We have no fear of the Harrowing. It cannot touch the Last Believers. We could teach it to you as well…if you choose.”

Tears were now running down Talyn's face. Words she'd never shared with another came bubbling out. “I've journeyed all this time with only my destination in mind, and I've never noticed where I stepped or whom I trampled on to get there. Looking back now, I wonder if there is a way back for me. Is it possible, do you think?”

The Vaerli smiled. “I have walked that path, and I know for such as we there is no going back. For Talyn the Dark, there is only going forward, because now you too are a Breaker of Oaths.”

“I know. I have failed the Caisah and my own people.”

The abomination's face softened into kindness as she held out a hand to Talyn. “To go forward you need to understand the now. Let me show you.”

What other alternative did she have? The other's hand was hot like that of a Kindred, but it felt to incredibly good to feel Vaerli skin on hers. It was a thrill she'd never expected to have again.

The woman led her silently deep into the cavern, through another dark passageway. They emerged, and there they were standing in the Golden Puzzle Room at V'nae Rae. Talyn looked about, sure her mouth was agape. They must have passed along one of the Threads of the Void, yet there had been no sensation at all. Every story she'd ever heard told of the horrors of using such a thing. Whoever the woman was, it was obvious she was a mistress of the Void to have passed through so simply.

It seemed like an age to Talyn since she had stood in this very spot, fitting the latest piece into place. She looked down at the puzzle spread out and gleaming in the sun. Bending, she caressed the leading edge, trying to recall every dark moment that had led to each piece.

“A valiant effort,” her new friend said—her constant companions whispered in her wake, “but don't you see how you have been fooled all this time?”

She cast her hand out in a sweeping gesture while the Kindred halo howled in accompaniment. The puzzle twisted; its pieces shuddering to reveal what the Caisah had always promised but dangled out of her reach.

It was a picture, a huge sprawling image, and Talyn recognized it at once; the last Seer of the Vaerli, dark, beautiful, and smiling softly. Putorae.