Shadowdance (53 page)

A sudden pricking pain blossomed in the palm of his left hand. Innowen winced, squeezing his eyes shut briefly. When he opened them, the world he knew had returned. He found himself on the hilltop under the wind harp, standing on a marble floor with the temple ruins scattered around. He stared at his palm, at the black splinter embedded under the skin.

Behind him, Razkili screamed his name. Innowen whirled around.

Khoom stood between them. The dance was over. Innowen saw Rascal beyond Khoom's shoulder. He wanted to rush to his lover's side, but he hesitated, his gaze meeting, locking with the god's as the wind harp turned suddenly shrill.

Your mother has been a faithful worshipper
, the wind proclaimed.
But a mortal cannot live forever. Even a god cannot change fate. You must take her place, Innocent. Become my priest and spread my name in this new land. My worshippers are few in Mikonos, where other gods hold sway. You will make them many here in Akkadi, and I will grow strong on their faith.

Khoom took a step toward Innowen, but Innowen backed away, staring. What was that protrusion in the god's chest? Why had he not seen it before? There, there was another in his shoulder.

Khoom stopped, but he beckoned to Innowen.
For this, I will bestow a god's full favor upon you, Innocent. I will make you to walk in sunlight as well as in darkness, and we will dance together as we have this night. You will have power, power to beggar that which I have given the Witch, your mother.

There was another protrusion in Khoom's right hand, and a cluster of shapes in his belly. The golden light that surrounded him began slowly to dim, making the shapes easier to see. Perhaps they had been there all along, and Innowen had been too blinded.

I require only a sacrifice to seal our bond,
Khoom said. He grasped one of the shapes in his belly, pulled it free, and offered it to Innowen. It was a copper spike. He gestured toward Razkili.
There is your sacrifice,
he said,
all bound and ready to bleed. Give him to me, Innocent.

The golden light died completely. Innowen gazed with horror at a black man-thing whose body glittered with thousands of copper nails and spikes, the embodied form of the Witch's private idol. To his utter revulsion, it lifted its arms and made a delicate pirouette, still graceful in its ugliness.

"I am no one's tool!" Innowen screamed suddenly. "Not the Witch's, not Minarik's, not yours!" He ran around Khoom to Razkili's side. His fingers trembled like frightened birds as they flew to the knots of the ropes that held Rascal. "I reject you!" he shouted as he worked. "Take back your gift. Leave me crippled. I know you truly now. I'll never serve you!"

His hands freed, Razkili snatched his sword from his sheath, but Innowen pushed his blade down before he could raise it and put himself between Rascal and Khoom.

The god laughed. Well are you called Innocent, little mortal! You have already served me, and your service continues still, though you know it not. I will have a sacrifice, and before the night is done.

As he spoke, Khoom's form began to waft away like streamers of black smoke. Still, the wind harp sang with his harsh words.
A god does not break faith with his priestess, so as your mother implored that you would walk, so you will, by night, as I tempered her prayer, and so long as you dance. Reject me, Innocent. You know how to do that. You've known from the first. I will not make you a cripple again. That must be your choice. I will enjoy your suffering as you struggle to make it.

Nothing remained of Khoom's form. It was to the wind that Innowen shouted as he raised his fist. "All this misery!" he raged. "For what? Why, damn you?"

The wind screeched through the wires until the harp shuddered.
The god has dropped from the sky, my Innocent, and answered all your questions, Khoom said scornfully. This pitiful little play is almost ended.

The wind died instantly. An utter stillness descended on the land, and the harp fell silent. Before Innowen could react or draw a breath, Razkili gave a wild cry and rushed at the copper cylinder. His sword smashed down with a terrible clangor, first denting, then breaching the thin metal. Again, he struck, dealing it another rent. With manic fury, he attacked the cylinder until Innowen pulled him away and wrapped him in his arms.

A random breeze skipped over the wires. Through the crushed cylinder, the wind harp made a plaintive sound, like a child mewling in the darkness.

Now Innowen had a new fear. Razkili had seen him dance. He pushed Rascal back at arm's length and looked at him closely.

Razkili drew a deep breath, folded his hands over his mouth and closed his eyes to calm himself. "It's all right," he said at last. "It's the philosopher in me, the one you're always making fun of."

"What's that?" Innowen asked softly, confused.

Razkili shook himself before he stepped back. "You're so easy to read sometimes, Innowen. I've known my darkest desire since the first moment we met." A wistful half smile parted his lips slightly. "It's you. I left my home for you. I left my family and Osirit for you. For you, I cast aside, not only my royal heritage, but the
duties
that I owed Osirit as my father's son." He swallowed, then clutched Innowen's shoulders, meeting his gaze intently. "And I don't regret any of it. I
chose
this. I
chose
you. I'd steal for you, kill for you, give you the last crumb of bread from my starving mouth. That's why I'm not afraid to watch you dance. I've faced my dark desire." He dragged Innowen closer and hugged him. "Hells, I embrace it every time I embrace you."

Innowen clung to Rascal. "I guess you're normal, all right," he whispered. "You never say a thing in three words if you can say it in thirty. I think we'd better get back to Whisperstone." But he didn't let go of Rascal. Not yet. He held him with all his might and looked up to see if there was a moon in the sky.

A pale, virginal light floated directly overhead without so much as a hint of the blood-red fashion it had worn closer to the horizon. In its glow, Innowen turned up the palm of his hand. He flexed it, made a fist, opened it.

The splinter was gone.

Yet before he could wonder at that, another light on the southern horizon caught his eye. He let go of Rascal and backed up. An odd, flickering glow, yellow-reddish, shimmered in the distance, and it grew as he watched.

"Whisperstone!" he shouted as fear clutched his heart. "It's burning!"

Razkili lifted his sword. The blade was badly bent and nicked from his attack on the cylinder. With a cry of rage, he flung it with all his might toward the glow. "I made this place for you!" he said quietly through tightly clenched teeth. "It was supposed to be a place of peace, a place where we could get away from all that madness!"

Innowen stared toward the flames, his heart racing. "It was beautiful, Rascal," Innowen told him urgently. "The wind harp was a work of art, genius, and we'll remake it someday." He backed toward the trap door in the tile floor, still watching the distant flames over Razkili's glistening bare shoulder. "But I've got to get back there. I've got to get home!"

He turned and ran to the open trap. Dropping down onto the first step, he reached for the lamp and froze. He picked up the light, shined it all around, bent lower and shined it on the next step below.

"What's wrong now?" Rascal said as he peered down through the trap. In his hand he held the sword Innowen had dropped and forgotten.

"Dyan's doll-flute," Innowen shouted back. "It's gone." He jumped down to the next step, crouched, and ran his hand along the stone surface. "Look!" he cried, pointing to a warm smear of melted tallow. "Someone was here with a candle!"

Rascal bent down from the step above him as he pulled the heavy marble tile back into place. "Well, whoever it was, they didn't come up through the trap," he said. "They must have gone back through the passage."

Innowen leaped down the steps with a renewed sense of urgency, and Razkili came swiftly after. At the bottom, he waited and gave the lamp to Rascal, who knew the way far better than he did. They exchanged few words but moved as briskly as they could, Rascal cupping one hand around the small flame to protect it.

None of the cavern's mysteries or wonders delayed them. All Innowen thought about was the fire on the horizon, and the Witch of Shanalane, and Khoom's words, I
will have a sacrifice, and before the night is done.

At the far end of the tunnel, Razkili gave the lamp to Innowen and bent to operate the mechanism that opened the hidden door. As it eased back, Innowen spied more droplets of melted tallow on the dusty floor, more proof that someone had followed them from Whisperstone to the temple ruins.

"Who else knew about this doorway?" Innowen called behind to Razkili.

Rascal stepped quickly into the hall as the door began to rumble closed again. "Minarik," he answered, "and Veydon, who helped me with some of the wind harp's construction."

Innowen bit his lip as he hurried through the corridors to the stairs that would carry them out of the keep's subterranean levels. When they reached lighted hallways, he began to run. The lamp's wick was quickly extinguished, either by the sloshing of the oil or by the wind of his passage. They encountered no one until they reached Whisperstone's great entrance hall, which was full of wounded soldiers on cots and cloth pallets and the people who attended them.

Here, the smell of smoke hung heavy in the air. There was no sign of fire, however, nor did the busy servants and slaves appear overly concerned. Innowen set down the lamp and pulled open one of the great doors.

A crackling curtain of fire shimmered against the black sky, sending smoke and sparking ash swirling upward into the heavens. It was almost beautiful in its fury. "It's the village," Innowen said with a sense of relief as Rascal pressed into the doorway to see. "The fields, too. The Witch has set fire to them."

Hundreds of soldiers lined the top of Whisperstone's wall, some with buckets of water close at hand. Above the massive gates, a squad of Minarik's men were hard at work maneuvering huge barrels of water, which they poured over the side to wet the doors and keep the flames from them.

A cloud of gray smoke blew across the grounds. Innowen closed the door before it drifted inside. A different sense of purpose filled him. His mouth set in a determined line as he turned to Rascal. "There's nothing we can do out there," he declared. "Let's go find that flute."

Razkili resisted. "Why's that so important now?" he demanded, smacking Innowen's sheathed sword against his palm. "They could use our help out there. Suppose some of those sparks blow over the wall?"

"There are plenty of men out there!" Innowen insisted, trying to keep his voice low. He eyed the wounded nearest him and a pair of servants within earshot. "Minarik and Veydon will be out on that wall. You know that! I want to search their rooms. I have to know which of them has it."

Innowen turned away, but Razkili caught his arm and started to protest. Angrily, Innowen pulled free. "Think, damn it!" he hissed, glaring. "Whoever took that flute probably saw me dance."

Razkili squeezed his eyes shut briefly as the import of Innowen's words sank in. "They might have it on them," he said, finally.

"Maybe," Innowen agreed, "but we can find that out after we search their rooms. I've got to know which of them has it."
Who knows what I might have awakened,
he thought fearfully. He knew Minarik's obsession. It was the Witch, of course. But what of Veydon? What was his darkest desire?

Innowen and Razkili rushed down a corridor and out into the courtyard. They were halfway across it, running for a door in the northwest corner, when a sound from the gazebo brought them up short. Another riff of music danced sweetly into the air and laughed at them.

The two men crept toward the vine-covered structure. Razkili wrapped one hand around the hilt of the sword as they peered inside.

Dyan sat motionless, unveiled, her eyes focused on something far away. The missing doll-flute at her lips, her fingers suddenly did a quick dance. Another flurry of notes issued forth. She paused again, unaware that she was observed. Suddenly, a rich music rushed out from her, and she began to sway sensuously without rising. Her loose dark hair swung over her shoulders as her eyes fluttered closed. Her piping climbed a wild scale and plummeted. The courtyard's peculiar construction caught the sound and magnified the echoes as they soared upward.

"Khoom!" Innowen cried. "He's here!" He leaped into the gazebo and snatched the pipe from Dyan's hands. Still, her fingers continued to dance, as if on an invisible instrument, while the echoes sang in time to her swaying. He caught her arms, forced them down to her sides as he called her name.

At last, her eyes snapped open. She stared into his face. Then she began to laugh. Frightened, Innowen beckoned to Razkili, who set his sword aside. They knelt down before her, each holding one of her hands as the laughter ebbed and tears started seeping from her eyes. Her dress was filthy, Innowen noted, and spots of tallow showed on the front of her hem.

"She's the one who followed us," Innowen whispered, full of concern. "She saw everything."

Razkili rubbed and patted the hand he held. "She's seen you dance before, though. You said it didn't affect her, that she didn't have any dark desires."

Innowen swallowed hard as he looked at Dyan. Her tears came in steady streams now. They rilled down her cheeks, dripped from her chin and dampened her bodice as she rocked ever so slightly and gave little shudders. She made no sound, however, none at all. Her gaze turned toward Innowen, and he saw her terrible pain.