On Wings of Chaos (Revenant Wyrd Book 5) (18 page)

“And the Pale Horse,” Jovian said.

“That is a possibility.” Baba Yaga nodded her hooded head.

“Death is a possibility?” Angelica asked.

“Death is always a possibility,” the crone told them. “But don’t worry — on the other side of death, past his three wisdoms, lies the Ever After for you. You will not spend any time in my cauldron.”

That was little comfort to Angelica.

“Now, before I grow weak,” Baba Yaga said. “You need to take this.” The old crone pushed back her hood, revealing a younger face than the one they had seen in the woods. Her nose was hooked, hanging low over thin lips, her chin jutting out in a hook that nearly met her nose at the end. Her hair, long and white, hung about her like strands of moonlight. She shuffled around on her knees, not able to rise to her full height in the mountainous cave.

From the wall behind her she drew down two circular glass bottles, both stoppered with cork. She handed one green one to Angelica, and one blue one to Jovian. They took them appreciatively. The liquids inside shone with a wyrded light, bathing their faces with blue and green. Angelica could feel the light play across her skin, like feathers brushing her face. She wrinkled her nose against the tickling sensation.

“Drink,” Baba Yaga said, indicating that they should consume the contents.

Angelica took the cork out of her bottle, and Jovian followed suit. A pleasant aroma greeted her nose, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on the smell. It was floral, and soapy, and it infused her bones with peace.

She closed her eyes, placed the bottle to her lips, and tossed the liquid back. Angelica felt the light inside the bottle sweep past her lips, illuminate her throat, and warm her belly with its glow. It warmed her insides like the finest whiskey, and she cleared her throat against the heat that rushed back up in greeting.

“Now, there’s not much time left for us,” Baba Yaga said.

When Angelica opened her eyes, she saw the familiar shadow of Wyrders’ Bane dancing on the edge of her vision, as if he were just any other shadow in the cavern created by the shifting light. He reached for her with his power, and Angelica felt his ethereal fingers sifting her wyrd, searching, trying to get a feel for it.

“There’s that yet to deal with,” Baba Yaga told them.

“Was it the stone that brought us here?” Jovian asked.

“The stone doesn’t have an effect on you,” Baba Yaga said. “But I amplified its power to bring you to me. I’ve had little chance to slip into your minds, and there was no way you could poison yourself so easily without others seeing you, as you did to meet my sister.”

“Why doesn’t the stone have control of our wyrd?” Angelica asked.

“That I will not tell you, not with him being so close,” she said. “But egrigors can be beaten, and when they are, new intentions placed in their being. It’s how the Well of Wyrding is always swayed from good to bad.”

Angelica nodded with understanding.

“There will come a time, soon, when the Turquoise Tower will call you. I dare say it will happen before this silly war in the north is over. You must answer its call. You will know when the time is right.”

Angelica’s vision dimmed.

“The herbs Rosalee has given you are working. Don’t resist them,” Baba Yaga said. “But one thing you should know before you leave: the tea alone won’t stop Wyrders’ Bane from striking again. He must be defeated.” As if her words were an augury, waking them to life, Angelica felt herself rise up out of the cave, over the mountain peaks, high above the snow-heavy clouds.

Then there was a startling shift to the ground, and Angelica and Jovian came gasping awake on their opposite couches.

Rosalee let out a startled yelp, her book flying form her hands to land noisily on the coffee table.

“Dear Mother, I’m glad you’re okay,” Rosalee said, a hand on her heart. “But next time, move a little first!”

Joya sat in the darkness of her red room, staring down at the shimmering green jewel before her. The fire had been banked, casting the room in shadows. The only noise she could hear was the occasional shout outside from men on the ramparts, and those still digging out. She had closed the heavy woolen drapes in an attempt to block out more noise, but it had minimal effect.

She drew her attention back to the gem, watching the light dance here and there around the lace table cloth. It reminded her of the play of sunlight on water.

Joya slipped her hands over the thin stone and felt the memory of the Shadow Realm waken to life. There was a link from Guardian to stone, and in a rush she knew that this stone had been modeled after the Orb of Aldaras by the only Realm Guardian of the Shadow Realm, Beatrice Forester.

Clasp with both hands,
the memory in the stone whispered, and Joya obeyed. She clasped her hands together as if she were praying, with the slight green stone in the center. The room was plunged further into darkness, the light from the stone shining feebly through the cracks in her fingers, sending rivers of light cascading over the tabletop.

Joya gasped, and felt her mind pulled down her arms and into the stone, like a lodestone draws metal. When her eyes focused she saw all around her a sea of green smoke: slipping across the ground, playing against her black robe, imploring fingers tasting her wyrd, getting a feel for her.

This stone was so much more than the Orb of Aldaras. The Shiv of Beatrice, it told her, was its name. It would allow her to commune with the races in her realm, as well as gain access to the memories of the Guardian before her. She’d had a moment of this connectivity when she was first chosen as Realm Guardian, but then it had been a voice urging her on, a memory of where she needed to go. Now it was as if she could reach out to Beatrice and speak directly to her. As if the sorceress no longer needed a physical body, because she had the stone.

Joya wondered how this differed from necromancy. Weren’t necromancers thought to be able to trap their souls in items and become a lich? An overwhelming feeling came to her then, as if she weren’t alone, as if there was another presence there beside her.

She got the impression of a small woman, thin as a wisp with ruby-red hair and black eyes. The image wavered for a moment and then was gone, but while it lasted an impression came to her.

Memories, not souls,
the feeling told her.

“So this is your mind, then?” Joya asked.

The image of the pale woman wavered before her again, as if coming to her in the form of colored smoke.
Yes.

“I need to contact the people of my realm,” Joya told her.

The short image wavered again, and she spread out her arms. As she did, a number of orbs winked to life before her, in varying colors. There were more orbs than races she knew about.

“I need to speak to the frement and the ooslebed first,” she said.

An orange orb floated to her, and right behind it an orb that shifted colors from toxic green to putrid blue. She reached for the orange one, and it came to rest in her hands. Within the surface of the orange orb Joya saw a staggering city, plunged in the depths of night. The shapes and sizes of the buildings were hard to determine because of the black iron used to build them. If it hadn’t been for the plethora of lamps shedding light from various windows, Joya wouldn’t have been able to discern the city at all. Skywalks led from most buildings, and she couldn’t imagine why this mode of transportation was used instead of the streets. It struck Joya as odd that the frement were a nomadic race, yet they had built such a grand city.

It is only a place for creating,
Beatrice whispered to her mind.
The frement don’t like to live within this city, but it’s prudent to have a permanent dwelling for the production of their machines.

“What do I do?” Joya asked with a nod. “How do I commune with them?”

Speak your intent
, the image seemed to say.

“And they will hear it?”

Yes, the right people will.
Beatrice’s memory wavered.

“We need you, in the Realm of Earth. No harm will come to you now, I’ve ensured that. Bring your heavy machinery. We need not only your weapons, but the fear your loud machines can make. We will startle these ignorant races with your alien craft.”

Surprisingly, Joya felt as if a response came to her through the orb, a shivering that rippled up her arms and to her mind, as if answering,
Yes, Guardian. It will be done.

Joya released the orange orb, and it bobbed back toward the outspread arms of the memory of Beatrice.

Next, Joya collected to herself the green and blue orb. Inside she saw a sprawling, moss-covered clearing with various regally dressed figures of dark elves lying about, sharpening long blades, or smoking fine weed from long, slender pipes. She knew this wasn’t a permanent dwelling for them. If they were anything like their brethren in the Mountains of Nependier, they were also a nomadic race. While the area was just as dark as the previous city had been, this clearing was lit with numerous sunflowers, as bright it as if it were mid-day.

Again she pressed her desires into it, and this time when she spoke, she could actually see the dark elves taking notice, and sitting up at attention.

“The Realm of Earth needs your blades and your arrows. Strike from a distance, keep yourselves safe, but bring your most ferocious hecklin. We strike with fear as our main weapon.”

The feeling of assent came to her then and as she released the orb she could see the dark elves going about making good on her orders and their promise to help,

“One more,” Joya said. “The dryads.”

A brown orb floated to her and she gathered it to her hands. The moment she touched it an alien, almost corrupt feeling came to her. She looked up at Beatrice, startled. The red-headed memory nodded.

They aren’t the pretty, fun dryads they have in the Realm of Earth,
the memory thought to her.
These are cruel hunters of humanoids.

“Will they obey me?” Joya asked.

As long as you pay them with blood on their wooden swords.

“That I can do,” Joya replied. “Your Realm Guardian needs your wooden blades in the Realm of Earth to slay a threat upon the steps of the Guardian’s Keep. Your blades will run red with dwarf and troll blood alike,” Joya promised.

A hungry, bloodthirsty feeling came to her, and she knew the dryads were also assembling to help her.

“You will harm none on your way here,” Joya added as an afterthought, and the memory of Beatrice nodded, as if it was a good clause to add. “You will only slay those that threaten the Guardian’s Keep.”

The response was less enthusiastic than the first agreement they’d sent her, but the feeling that arose to her told Joya that they wouldn’t want to miss out the chance to bathe their blades in blood, and this war she promised gave them all the blood they would need.

“Now,” Joya said, releasing the orb. “I need to address all three, for I have a strategy.”

Uthia heard the drums thrumming through the clearing, a sound that made her heart race, her mind reel, and something dark release within her. She wasn’t a prisoner with her darkwood sisters, but she nearly felt like it. She had a duty to herself and her realm. Uthia knew the Realm of Earth needed help. Normally the dryads would do whatever their gnome brethren dictated, taking their orders from the Germinant Gob. He had said they wouldn’t help in the war, and so they wouldn’t.