The Mirror of Her Dreams (57 page)

She was still breathing. Against all likelihood, there was still air trapped in the stone heap.

It wasn't going to last.

With a palpable shift, a hard ridge clamping the middle of her back pressed down another fraction of an inch. She struggled frantically, but couldn't move anything more than her fingers. The heat and the dust made her want to gag on each shallow breath she sucked through the rocks. Pain like the caress of flame increased in her lungs, her eyes, her outstretched limbs. To die like this, slowly, feeling it happen moment by moment, feeling the hurt grow worse with each feather-width change in the poise of the rubble-

Something like this had happened to her before. Sometimes, when her mother and father had been angry at her, they had locked her in the closet. No one had answered her cries, her timid or hysterical appeals, until she had been quiet long enough to appease her parents. And once-for an offence which might have been heinous or trivial-she had been thrust into the back of the closet and armfuls of clothes had been tossed in on top of her before the door was locked, so that the house would be insulated from any protest she might make.

There in the dark, she had had her first experience with fading.

The clothes had choked her, and the dark was locked and absolute on all sides; and suddenly she had understood that her distress and panic meant nothing, that sensations like fear and asphyxiation meant nothing-that the locked door and the piles of clothes and the dark made her unreal. For the first time, she had felt herself losing reality, felt her existence leeching out into the enshrouding blackness.

She hadn't realized it at the time-perhaps she had never realized it-but this response to the crisis had protected her. It had prevented the dark and her parents' unlove from creeping in.

This time, unfortunately, there was no protection. Her mind was going to snap. She could feel a crazy desire to scream rising from the bottom of her stomach. Then she would inhale so much dust that the effort to breathe would tear her heart.

'Geraden.' Her voice was a whisper, as desperate as the powder burning in her lungs. 'Geraden. Can you hear me?'

But of course he couldn't hear her. She had been lying on top of him, but not in a position which afforded him any protection. And he had been on his back, facing the stone-fail. His head must have been crushed immediately. He must still be under her somewhere, but nothing there felt soft enough to be a body.

'Geraden.' Her mind was definitely going to snap. 'Geraden.'

But there was a way out. It came to her without drama, almost without surprise. She could fade now. She could let go of herself, of her long struggle against unreality, and allow the darkness to bear her away. Then she would be safe. Whether she lived or died, she would be safe because she would be gone.

As soon as the idea occurred to her, she knew that it would be easy. That kind of failure would be easy. It had been calling out to her all her life, offering to protect her-offering her peace.

Terisa?'

The word was a rustle of dry pain, so far away that she couldn't believe it.

'Terisa!' Impossibly weak, hurt, crushed-and stubborn, determined to reach her. 'Are you all right?'

Sudden weeping closed her throat. Now she couldn't escape. Safety was impossible. He was here with her. She was too relieved to hear his voice. She had to stay.

'Terisa?' He fought to control his alarm. 'Are you all right?' he coughed. 'Can you hear me?'

'Geraden.' Raw strain knotted her chest. 'I can't breathe. I can't stand it.'

'Don't try so hard.' His whisper came to her from some place entirely out of reach. 'Take shallow breaths. Make yourself relax. I'm getting air from somewhere.'

Despite the awful distance between them, she could hear his distress. He, too, was being crushed.

'We're going to be rescued. They'll dig us out. All we have to do is wait.'

'I can't. Can't.' The pressure of rejecting her one chance for escape drove her towards hysteria. 'Can't move. It's breaking my back. Geraden!'

'Don't think about it.' His voice sifted like dust between the stones. 'Put it out of your mind.'

'I can't.' She locked her teeth to keep from screaming.

'You can.' Somehow, he managed to speak more strongly. 'Nothing to it. Think about something else. Tell me what hap-

pened. I don't remember anything-after Master Gilbur hit me, Did he translate the champion? Did the Castellan stop him?'

Just for a moment, he startled her out of her panic. He didn't remember-? He had come back to consciousness without any notion of where he was or why-

'Terisa.'

Until she heard the edge of need in his appeal, she didn't realize how much he was depending on her. If he lost her now, he, too, might start screaming.

Deep inside, she wailed, I can't I'm being crushed
I can't stand it!
Let me
go!
But she struggled to do what he was doing, struggling to think about him instead of herself. He didn't even know how he had come to be buried alive. 'I'll try.'

In quick, broken phrases, pieces of explanation like her breathing, she described the outcome of Master Gilbur's translation.

When she finished, he groaned, then fell silent. Before she could panic again, however, he said, 'That proves one thing. You're definitely the one. The one who's going to save Mordant. The champion.'

'What?' she panted. 'What're you talking about?'

'It was always possible'-the words came out as if he were retching them-'you were just an accident. I went wrong somehow. But that means Master Gilbur was right. Now we know he wasn't. His champion isn't going to rescue us. You mast be the real champion.'

'That's crazy.' She could feel the bones of her spine being squeezed to chips and splinters. The air was getting worse.
You can. Think about something else.
'Nothing's changed. I'm not an Imager. I don't understand anything. Master Eremis is the only one who can save Mordant.'

The words trailed away. If he were still alive-He was right behind her when the champion emerged. Wasn't he? What if the collapse of the ceiling caught him? What if he were dead? A pang made her twitch against the press of stone. The ridge across her back settled closer to her.

'Master Eremis.' Somehow, Geraden managed a snort. 'You think he can save Mordant? If you can make me believe that, you don't need Imagery. You're powerful enough already.'

She bit her lips to keep from crying out, I can't stand it!

When she didn't respond, he changed his approach. 'Maybe you should tell me the stuff that was supposed to get me killed. I want to understand'-he seemed to be gritting his teeth-'why you trust Master Eremis.'

'All right.' I can't!
You can.
His voice was the only thing that kept the rock from breaking her apart.

With a clench of will, she fought to push the pain and the dust out of her mind, the close heat, the immuring weight of the stone. To take their place, she fixed her attention on images of Geraden -the line of his cheek, the way his hair curled above his forehead
(the blood trickling from his temple, the way Master Gilbur hit him, that good face smashed under the rubble,
no! not that, don't think about things like that), the quick potential for happiness and misery in his eyes. He was the reason she couldn't fail, couldn't fade. Picturing him helped her remember the things he wanted to know.

Her account was erratic, filtered and altered by the press of rock. Nevertheless she told him everything as well as she could. She related what he had already surmised about the decision of the Congery to translate its champion, as well as to send Master Eremis and Master Gilbur to a meeting with the lords of the Cares. Master Eremis had arranged that meeting, but had opposed the translation of the champion. Master Quillon was the one who had warned her not to talk to Geraden.
You can.
The meeting and its outcome. What she could remember about Prince Kragen. The attack of the man in black.

When she was done, she held her breath for a moment, hoping that would ease the pressure in her chest. But it didn't.

Geraden's reaction surprised her. Sounding even more distant and forlorn, he murmured, 'So Quillon's a traitor.'

'What do you mean?'

'He warned you not to talk to me because he knew I would tell King Joyse about that meeting. And about the champion.'

'
No.' The dust was turning to stone in her lungs. She couldn't maintain her equilibrium, could not-'If you put it that way, all the Masters are traitors. They voted for the champion
and
the meeting. Master Quillon is just more loyal to them than to King Joyse. And he's been trying to keep you alive.'

Geraden, help me.

He considered for a while. There has to be a traitor on the Congery.' The pain in his voice was growing stronger. The man who attacked you had to know where you were going to be. That leaves out the lords and Prince Kragen.

'Ah!' he groaned sharply,

A moment later, however, he continued, 'Even if Eremis told them he was going to bring you, none of them knew you existed when you were attacked for the first time. Only the Congery- And for that man to just disappear-It takes Imagery. Some Master wants you dead. He knows you're the only one who can save Mordant.

'If it isn't Quillon, it must be Eremis.'

'No,' she said again. That isn't what I meant. You don't understand. I need him. The rubble shifted again. She thought she could feel her ribs starting to give. I need him to teach me who I am.

On the other hand, the air seemed to be cooling. That was one small blessing, at any rate.

'He's trying to
save
Mordant. Can't you see that? He's trying to make alliances. Find ways to fight. Because King Joyse won't.'

'No, I don't see that,' Geraden replied distantly. 'Don't you think it was odd for him to take you to that meeting? You didn't know he was going to do that. How could the man who attacked you know? And why did he rush off and leave you? Maybe he went to use the mirrors so that man could appear and disappear.'

'No. No.' You don't understand. Pressure. Dust. I put on the sexiest gown I could find and went to his rooms by myself. Come on-
think
about it. 'You aren't being fair. You were with him this morning. When he came to get me. You saw the way he behaved. He didn't know I was attacked.

'It had to be set up in advance. How could he know how the meeting was going to turn out? He wanted it to succeed. He certainly didn't sabotage it.'

The Fayle was there,' Geraden muttered. 'He wouldn't have anything to do with illicit Imagery. Everybody knows that.'

She wasn't listening. Her concentration was focused on what she was trying to say. It was important-she knew it was important.
You can.
If she survived this-and Master Eremis survived it-she had to talk to him right away. He needed to know there was a traitor on the Congery. 'And how could he know where King Joyse would put me? The first attack had to be set up in advance, too. But none of the Masters knew you were going to find me instead of the champion.'

Geraden coughed thinly. Then she heard him gagging.

Instantly, everything else rushed out of her head. He was being crushed. 'Geraden! Are you all right? What's wrong?'

For a time, he didn't answer. She saw him in her mind, dangling from Master Gilbur's grasp, falling, always falling, his head a smear of blood and splinters of bone. Again she struggled crazily, helplessly to move.

'Geraden.'

Tin sorry.' To her amazed relief, he sounded better. 'I didn't mean to scare you. The rock keeps shifting. It came down harder on my throat for a while. Are you having an easier time breathing?'

At first, she had no idea what he meant. If anything, the dust was thicker than ever. But then she realized that the air had become cooler-noticeably cooler than the rubble piled around her. It was almost cold.