Ward Against Death Part 30

Lightning lit the sky, reflecting off the marble tombs. Thunder cracked and rolled over him like a great wave. His skin tingled with the heat, moisture, and energy captured in the storm, and his pulse quickened. He was going to his death. The night couldn't be any more fitting.

Another bolt of lightning and crash of thunder shook him, and he stumbled. He grasped the edge of a monument and clung to it to keep his balance. Thunderheads gathered around the mountain's jagged top, while dark shreds of clouds, torn free by the wind, raced across an otherwise perfect evening sky, complete with sparks of stars and an almost full moon.

The Contraluxis would begin soon. He wished he hadn't taken the herb when the Master had given it to him, or that he was already dead. He wished he'd never come to Brawenal City or met Celia Carlyle, and yet...

There were so many things he wished for, and so many of them contradicted each other. Most of all he wished he wasn't himself, or that Celia wasn't Celia, or both. But that wasn't the way things were or would ever be.

He'd spent too long living with his thoughts focused only on the future. Now there was no future, or at least only a slim possibility of one, and this was the here and now the G.o.ddess had given him.

Lightning flashed, and for a moment the marble tombstones and mausoleums were luminescent, as if they glowed with some internal light, some kind of strange magic.

He glanced back up at the sky. Was the moon smaller? It seemed smaller. But his eyes could be playing tricks on him. The eclipse couldn't have started already. He wasn't at the Tomb of Souls yet. He forced his aching body forward, pus.h.i.+ng to place one foot in front of the other faster and fasterstaggering, then walking, then trotting, then finally, painfully, running.

The path twisted and turned, first sloping down then up, curling around monuments and tombs, big and small. He climbed a steep slope and rounded another obelisk gleaming in the moonlight. He skidded on the gravel covering that part of the path, caught his balance, and raced on.

Always, he checked his course by the mountain and the moon. Below, running parallel to the path he followed, was the way that led to the tomb he and Celia had found yesterday, but he gave it little note, only to use it to confirm he ran in the right direction. Above, the light part of the moon was being shaved away, the shadow of the eclipse creeping across its surface.

Lightning flashed and thunder cracked and rolled. He pumped his arms, drawing more speed from his weary legs. The path turned and stopped suddenly at a mausoleum.

Ward swung his arms to break his momentum, twisting at the last moment. His hip slammed into the marble, and he stumbled.

Not waiting for the pain to pa.s.s, he staggered around the mausoleum, hoping to find another path, but instead found himself at the edge of a recessed circle lined with marble.

Three steps led down to a wide area. The floor was polished white marble save for the outline of an octagon, an inch thick, made of obsidian. At each point of the octagon, fitted into slots carved into the marble, stood wooden poles. Lanterns hung from each, casting a warm glow that the marble reflected back. In the very center sat a pedestal covered in ivy. The wide, dark leaves concealed the waist-high structure, but Ward guessed that it, like the rest of the Holy City of Veknormai, was made from white marble.

From the other side of the recess, Carlyle and Karysa stepped out of the shadows. They walked down the steps and stopped a few feet from the pedestal. Karysa looked over her shoulder, and Solartti, dragging Celia beside him, stepped into the light.

Ward dropped to the ground, pressing his body against the weeds and short-bladed gra.s.s. A wave of nausea washed over him and he sucked in a slow breath. From this distance, Ward couldn't read Celia's expression, and while she didn't struggle in the zombie's grasp, he had no doubt she was busy calculating all of her options.

And what were his? In theory, there was nothing he could do, but he hadn't expected it to turn out that way in practice. He knew of no action that would help him stop Carlyle. He could run down there, brandis.h.i.+ng his dagger, and hope Celia would join the fight. But Carlyle or the zombie would probably kill him before he could do anything, or Karysa would cast a spell of some kind before he got that far.

There was no doubt he would die. He had just hoped it wouldn't be an ineffectual death.

Carlyle glanced at the sky and pointed. All other eyes followed. Ward spared a moment to see what had drawn their attention. The dark shadow of the eclipse now covered half of the moon. If the Heart of Veknormai-whatever that was-was going to bloom, it should happen at any moment. Ward turned back to the circle. Within the ma.s.s of ivy a pinp.r.i.c.k of blue light emanated. It grew in intensity, revealing a pale bud.

He inched closer to the edge of the first step, watching as the bud swelled until it was the size of Carlyle's head. Dark, pulsing veins spread across the closed petals. Its light became so bright Carlyle and Karysa had to turn away. Ward shaded his eyes and squinted. He still didn't know what he was going to do, but he didn't want to turn away for fear he'd miss his moment.

With one final pulse, the bud split apart and the petals unfurled over the edge of the pedestal, exposing three tall stamen dripping a thick, cloudy liquid. The light dimmed and the night seemed darker than before, the flickering glow from the eight lanterns now insufficient.

Carlyle turned to Karysa and nodded. In one fluid motion she drew a curved dagger the length of her forearm and impaled Carlyle. He screamed and grasped at the blade.

Bile burned the back of Ward's throat and his eyes watered as he fought the urge to throw up.

"You didn't think you could cast blood magic without blood," Karysa said as she yanked the blade free.

Carlyle collapsed to his knees, his hands pressed against the wound as if he could stem the flow of his life onto the ground. He swayed and toppled over. Blood seeped across the white stone, staining it black.

Celia stood still, frozen, but Ward couldn't tell if she was shocked or patient, waiting for the right moment to escape.

Karysa turned to her and without a word her zombie, Solartti, shambled down the steps, bringing Celia with him. As they crossed into the octagon, the obsidian flashed a bright burst of red light. The pale after-image danced across Ward's vision. He rubbed his eyes, but the image remained, twisting and turning, making it more difficult to contain the contents of his churning stomach. The pounding in his head increased to jagged spikes shooting from temple to temple.

"Out of blood, death shall be reborn." Karysa knelt, ran her hand through the growing pool of Carlyle's blood, and lifted it, palm up, toward Celia. "You will be like the Dark Son, reaping life. Unstoppable."

"You'll be the first I kill," Celia said.

Karysa laughed and stood. She ran a finger along Celia's cheek, leaving a dark streak. "I'm sure you'll try, but you'll soon discover that I am the master and you the servant. Like your predecessor, you'll be a plague upon this world."

Celia twisted in Solartti's grasp and tried to pry his fingers loose with her free hand. He shoved her to her knees, drawing a yelp. Karysa grasped Celia's chin with her b.l.o.o.d.y hand.

"Drink of the Nectar of Veknormai and seize your destiny."

Ward gripped the edge of the top step then shrunk back. He hadn't realized how far he'd crept forward. And yet something needed to be done. He couldn't allow Karysa to turn Celia into the shadow walker. He couldn't allow it to happen to anyone, ever. The flower still pulsed a luminescent blue, and a pool of the translucent liquid had formed at its heart. It reflected the blue glowing from the petals and s.h.i.+mmered with the flickering lantern light.

"Come and drink." Karysa ran a hand through Celia's hair. "Be perfect. Immortal."

Ward's heart pounded, every nerve burned with withdrawal, while his mind screamed, Now. Do something, now!

"You'll have to kill me first," Celia said.

Karysa turned to the flower and ran her b.l.o.o.d.y hands over the ivy. "My dear, I already have." She ripped off a leaf the size of her palm and dipped it into the liquid.

Now. Go now.

Ward scrambled to his feet. A wave of heat washed over him, and his vision wavered. His crusted sleeve pulled painfully at his broken st.i.tches. Blood. He had blood, caked on his arm and cheek. He could try a spell. Like a reverse wake, but he hadn't been able to cast it the last time he'd tried.

Solartti clamped a hand on Celia's jaw and forced her mouth open. She squirmed and clawed but couldn't break free. Karysa turned back to Celia, the leaf cupped in her hands.

No. He had to try something.

Ward leapt down the first step. His knees buckled and he staggered down the next one. His muscles were on fire. He forced the pain from his mind and sucked into a steadying breath. He needed to concentrate if he was going to cast anything.

He ran down the last step, imagining magic pulled from the storm above and the graves below gathering around his hands. If this was his last act, he would face it like a hero.

Everyone before him froze, all eyes turned to him in a gruesome frieze. Karysa with the dripping leaf in her hands, and Solartti clutching Celia's face with gray, meaty fingers.

Lightning flashed. Ward imagined his hands glowing with power. He could almost see it, a building inferno, ready to burst apart like the Heart of Veknormai and reveal its true strength.

Karysa's eyes widened. She looked... afraid.

But that was just his imagination, too. The most terrifying Innecroestri in all the Union wouldn't fear him. Some things just never happened. He was a n.o.body necromancer who could barely cast spells.

The imagined light within him extinguished, the power torn apart like clouds in a strong wind. His muscles trembled and cold sweat slicked his body. The cuca had finally worn off.

Karysa's lips curled back in a sneer, and she turned away from him, dismissing him like everyone else had.

He was a failure as a necromancer.

She raised her cupped hands above her head. "Drink and seize your destiny."

A drop of the nectar splattered against Celia's cheek.

Except, he didn't want to be a necromancer. He wanted to be a doctor and Karysa was trying to kill his patient.

He grabbed the pole beside him and swung at Karysa. "Seize this!"

The lantern burst against her chest, spraying oil and flame. She stumbled back against the pedestal. Fire raced through the summer-dried ivy, climbing up the pedestal toward the Heart of Veknormai. She glared at Ward. The flames danced around her legs and the light gleamed in her eyes and on the rings of Habil hanging in her ear. Without a word she pointed a b.l.o.o.d.y finger and cold raced through him.

He gasped. His flesh grew too heavy for his soul, but he couldn't separate from it. He wouldn't. If he left, fleeing to the eternal embrace of the G.o.ddess, then Karysa would win. He had to guarantee the Nectar of Veknormai was destroyed.

Cold wracked him, sending violent s.h.i.+vers through his body, and he fell to his hands and knees. The marble beneath him was hot and smooth and solid. He had to hold on. Had to do something. The cold kept pus.h.i.+ng him away from himself. Away from Celia.

Celia. Celia could stop this, and he had the means for her to do it.

Some days he really hated Seers.

Another s.h.i.+ver shook him. He pressed his forehead to the marble. Just a moment. It was all he needed. One little action and Celia could end it.

He reached for the dagger at the small of his back. The cold numbed his fingers and he couldn't make them work. His body screamed for him to lie down and die. Darkness threatened to consume him.

Just one last little thing. That was all. He curled his fingers around the hilt, his flesh numb, his spirit farther and farther from his body. He yanked the dagger from its sheath. In a final burst of strength, he threw it along the ground to where he'd last seen Celia.

Another s.h.i.+ver raced over him and he collapsed. He had done all he could, and some things he hadn't thought possible, and yet the cold and pain and nausea remained. Surely the G.o.ddess would consider his Oath to Celia fulfilled. There was nothing left for him to sacrifice. Not even his life.

The G.o.ddess didn't come to collect.

Instead, his heart pumped hot blood through his veins, burning away the cold.

A breeze brushed through his hair at his temple. His ribs hurt. Both arms hurt. In fact, all of him hurt. But the cold was gone.

"Ward." The breeze brushed through his hair again. "Ward."

No. It wasn't a breeze. It was someone's fingers.

He opened his eyes. Celia leaned over him, her face framed by wisps of dark curls. Beyond, Solartti lay in a heap, the puppet with his strings cut. A few feet away, Karysa slumped against the pedestal, the Seer's dagger protruding from her right eye. Flames licked at her body, scorching her skin. The blue petals of the Heart of Veknormai curled, sending thick smoke into the night sky. Then the flower ignited and a part of the Ancients' mystery was gone forever.

THIRTY-SEVEN.

Afterward, he'd tried to sleep, but couldn't, so he'd sat by the window and watched the sky lighten, ignoring the pain in his body and trying not to think. Except he couldn't stop seeing the look on Karysa's face when he'd imagined all that magic gathering around him. She really had seemed afraid, just for a moment, before the cuca finally wore off.

Or had it been before he doubted himself?

He p.r.i.c.ked his finger, drew a drop of blood, and tried drawing magical energy from the things around him, but nothing happened. The image he'd seen last night, the starburst waiting to explode, didn't reappear, proving he still wasn't much of a necromancer. At least he'd proven that when someone needed him-really needed him-he could be counted on, regardless of the danger. And that, he decided, counted for a lot.

A knock on the door broke his reverie. Before he could respond, the hinges squeaked. He jumped, reaching for the dagger on his belt that wasn't there.

Celia stood in the doorway. "Can't sleep?"

He shook his head.

"Neither could I." She stepped into the room, closed the door, and leaned against it with her arms crossed and head back.

A seagull cried and Ward turned away, gazing out the window. The bird was a dark speck against the golden sunrise, gliding on the wind. Another joined it, flying alongside it for a moment before it swooped down, out of sight, and the first seagull was once again alone.

"So," she said.

"So."

It was all over. He was still alive. She was still dead.

And Brawenal was yet another princ.i.p.ality he'd have to leave.

The seagull dipped out of sight and his gaze fell to his hands. He supposed there were worse things that could have happened.

"Ward..."

He fought the urge to look at her. He knew what she wanted to ask and he had no answers for her. He'd thought about her death and his spell many times before and nothing had changed. It astounded him the Jam de'U had lasted as long as it had. Maybe it had something to do with the herbs her father had given her. He wished they could, if only for a little while, pretend he wasn't who he was and she wasn't who she was.

"Ward..."

Her footsteps drew closer, but he still refused to look at her. If he did, he knew he wouldn't be able to answer her question. He couldn't face her and remind her, or himself for that matter, of how little time she had left.

She stopped so close he could feel the heat radiating from her body. To all of his senses-except his common one, which apparently had left him a long time ago-she seemed alive. Her soul was alive and she wasn't the walking dead like Solartti had been. Maybe his Jam de'U had brought her back for a time. She didn't fit the definition of dead, and yet she had died. Maybe he'd done a variation on the Innecroestris' false resurrection, one that didn't require her to drink blood. He wished he knew what he'd done to her.

"Thank you."

He jerked his gaze up. That wasn't what he'd expected. She stared out the window, a narrow line formed between her brows, her lips pursed. He tried to think of something to say, something significant, meaningful, but nothing seemed right.

"What will you do now?" she asked.

The image of the Master of the a.s.sa.s.sins' Guild cloaked in a Seer's yellow mantle flashed through his mind's eye. There was only one thing he could do.

"I think I'll travel."

"Where?" She continued to stare at the bay.

"Gyja... maybe."

"The Divine City?"

He nodded. "There's a monastery there for the Brothers of Light."

"You're going to be a monk?"