The Crimson Vault (The Traveler's Gate Trilogy) (4 page)

Immediately, the world slowed. Instead of hurtling to the earth, the raindrops seemed to crawl. At that speed, Simon could see the outline left by the absence of raindrops, and he just fitted himself into it. He had to remember to move slowly and carefully, though, since in this test too fast was just as bad as too slow. But he had no chance of failing now. No wonder Chaka hadn’t wanted him to call the essence—it made the test too easy.

Simon made it through three more forms before he realized the rain was speeding up. No problem; he could move faster, too. He increased the speed of his forms, cutting and slashing and piercing invisible enemies by the dozen.

Then the rain sped up again. Without the essence in him, it would have been impossible to follow.

Soon Simon was moving just as frantically as before, moving from form to form so quickly that he knew an onlooker would see him as nothing more than a silver-flashing blur. But somehow the rain moved faster still. Even the droplets didn’t seem as slow as before, rushing down almost as quickly as they had when he first entered the room. Was the essence running out? No, it still rushed through his lungs like the breath of winter itself. So what was going on?

Oh, right, I may have forgot to mention,
Lilia said absently.
The rain speeds up to match you, so you probably shouldn’t use your Nye essence.

Too late now,
Simon sent back, a little bitterly. The door was so close. Surely, he could make it this time.

I thought I told you
, Lilia said.
Or did I? No, I certainly forgot.

Then the weather did something Simon had never seen before: it froze. The clearing above stopped moving forward, but Simon thoughtlessly stepped into his next form, sweeping his sword out in a slashing blow that cut through the rain.

Water pelted down, soaking him in seconds.

His doll gasped.
Oh dear. You should run
.

He would have, but the raindrops were coming so fast that he felt them slamming into his skin like hundreds of tiny hammers. Desperate, he called steel, feeling the icy rush through his blood as he was filled with strength.

Then he turned away from the wolf-carved door and began to run back toward Lilia, who sat next to the door where he had entered. Maybe, with steel and essence in him, he could make it.

The rain stopped.

Behind you,
Lilia murmured. She didn’t sound as upset as she should have.

Simon spun around, slashing Azura through the creature he knew he would see behind him: something like a long-necked cat, only shaped entirely of water. It hissed when Simon’s sword cut through its neck, revealing a mouth full of icicle teeth.

Simon’s strike did about as much good as if he had attacked a waterfall, passing through without dealing any real damage, but the cat stopped for a split second to let its neck re-form. Simon took advantage of that instant to turn back around and keep running.

He couldn’t afford to slow down. There were hundreds of those cats following him with the inevitability of a rushing river, the leaders snapping at his heels. Even with his enhanced speed, Simon couldn’t outrun them. In fact, a pair of the cats jumped onto his shoulders, sinking ice-cold teeth into his collar.

He screamed, but didn’t stop running.

Hey, they’re still behind you,
Lilia said.

Simon didn’t open the door so much as he crashed into it, barely remembering at the last second to spin around and scoop up Lilia and his black cloak, which he had left behind so it didn’t slow him down. So much for that.

Wind from the courtyard whipped him as he stepped through the door, but he ignored it as he slammed the heavy stone door shut. There came a sound like the rushing of an ocean wave as all of the rain-cats slammed against the door in a torrent. Water oozed through the crack at the bottom of the door, puddling next to his feet.

Oh, I had a dream just like this, once,
the doll said.

The two cats that had shredded Simon’s shoulders let out a yowl as they melted, covering him in icy rainwater. Apparently they could only exist in the rain garden, which was a relief. He had been afraid that he would have to fight them from room to room throughout the whole House.

“Almost made it,” Simon panted. His shoulders burned, and he was starting to feel a little light-headed.

Did you?
Lilia said.
I didn’t notice.

***

Simon grabbed an imp around the middle, which felt like grabbing a rough leather bag full of sticks, and tossed it out of the pool. It landed on four clawed feet and hissed angrily at him, raising a ridge of spines on top of its knobbed head.

He followed the imp out of the water just ahead of a dozen more of its kind. The surface of the pool churned with activity just under the surface, but he had made it out just in time. He had stayed in longer and survived, but the fight wasn’t worth it. The longer he stayed in the water, the more imps he would attract.
Simon aimed a kick at the imp on dry land, but it dodged him and jumped back into the pool. The last he saw of it was its red eyes as it glared at him, swimming backwards into the murky depths.

He rolled his shoulders, feeling the healthy skin and muscle that, minutes ago, had been huge, bleeding gashes. There was a time, not long ago, when staying in the bath long enough to heal serious wounds had meant risking his life. Now, he could shake off the imps without even calling steel or carrying a weapon.
Sure, he was getting better. But not fast enough. Not when he still couldn’t make it across the rain garden.

Almost involuntarily, Simon raised one hand to his bare chest, feeling the ridges where three long scars slashed diagonally down his body. It looked as though a monster had tried to carve him open with its huge claws.

That was, in fact, exactly what had happened.

It had been eight weeks since his battle out in the wilderness, where he had fought over a dozen Damascan Travelers and come out alive. Broken, bleeding, and barely conscious, but alive.

Well, from his perspective two months had passed, but he had spent the vast majority of his time since then training and recovering in Valinhall. He supposed that, in the outside world, it had only been about a month.

He had come far too close to death in that battle. Even the pool had been unable to heal his injuries completely, leaving him with an impressive collection of scars. The three slashes across his chest were the worst, but Olissa had said that, without the magical healing of the Valinhall pool, he would have spent the rest of his life in a crippled wreck of a body.

Simon believed her. Even with the pool’s healing, he had spent most of four weeks bruised, sore, and aching. Only recently had he been able to swing a sword without his muscles tightening, but as soon as he could, he had begun his training anew.

He never wanted to find himself that close to death again.

Kai would have done better,
Simon thought.

Kai had inappropriate dreams about his dolls,
Lilia pointed out.
I would not suggest him as a role model.
She did not sound as sarcastic as Otoku would have. She always sounded thoughtful and distant, as though she were half-lost in a daydream. At the moment, she sat across the room next to his clothes, facing the wall. He always pointed the dolls away from him while he bathed. They were girls, after all. Well, they were wooden dolls, but he felt better with them looking away.

Simon began to dry himself off with a towel that one of the Nye had left folded on the floor nearby.
He’s strong,
he sent.
One day, I hope to be as strong as he is.

Why?
Lilia asked. She sounded honestly curious.

Simon couldn’t think of a good answer, but he tried anyway.
Because I’m a Valinhall Traveler now, so I might as well be a good one.

Do you have to be strong to be good?

Lilia, Simon was beginning to notice, asked a lot of questions.

Three raps echoed through the room as someone hammered on the door. The bathroom had no locks, which once hadn’t been a problem, but now Valinhall housed two women. There had been some incidents early on that Andra and Olissa found hilarious, but made Simon distinctly uncomfortable. Now, everyone had learned to knock.

“Just a minute,” Simon called, but the door began to open anyway. He hurriedly wrapped the towel around his waist.

Erastes poked his head inside. His face was hard as usual, with his iron-gray hair and eyes that looked carved from steel. “Olissa wants you,” he said. “She’s got something she wants to show you.”

He eyed Simon up and down. “You should probably wear pants,” he suggested. Then he pulled the door shut.

Simon joined him outside about a minute later, fully clothed and cradling Lilia in one arm. He left Azura sitting on the edge of the tub. One of the Nye would return the sword to its rack in the entry hall, probably before he could have walked there himself. He left his cloak, too, though the Eldest wouldn’t be happy about that. He didn’t much care; he couldn’t stand wearing the thing around the House.

They walked down the hallway in silence, Erastes marching along like the military man he was. Simon had never really connected with the older man, possibly because Simon had killed most of the soldiers under his command, defeated Erastes himself in one-on-one combat, and then tossed him into an unknown Territory with no way to return. The atmosphere between them remained…awkward.

“So, how are you settling in?” Simon said. It was the first thing he had thought of to say that sounded better than, ‘you don’t want to kill me, do you?’

Erastes glanced down at Simon with a look that could have frozen a bonfire. Then again, Erastes always looked like that. “Well enough, all things considered. That healing pool of yours makes me feel twenty years younger. And thanks to Chaka, I’m a better swordsman than I’ve ever been.”

“That’s good,” Simon said. “I was worried you’d be…you know, uncomfortable here. Considering.”

He winced. That had been far too direct.

Erastes remained silent until they reached the door to the garden, a polished wooden door carved with a flowering tree. There were several gardens in Valinhall, Simon had learned, but as this one was relatively close to the “front” of the House, it was used most often as a meeting place. Besides, it was the best source of food and water in Valinhall.

Erastes paused with his hand on the door.

“That was going to be my last assignment, did you know that?” Erastes said. “I’ve spent my life in the army. Once I took care of that one little peacekeeping problem in the north, I had Malachi’s permission to retire. I have no wife, no children, so I was going to move in with the Agnos family. Caius and Olissa have always been friends to me.”

Simon didn’t say anything. Erastes had never said anything like this, and he was afraid to break the spell. He didn’t move. He was almost afraid to breathe.
 

Erastes nodded toward the door. “Caius was a merchant. He sold general supplies to the villages in Malachi and Deborah’s realms. His family has been on the move all their lives, but Malachi had finally given them the deed to a little plot of land on the border. We were all going to settle down in a village. The children would have grown up with friends their own age. Then you came along.”
 

Erastes didn’t look in Simon’s direction, and his voice didn’t change, but his grip on the door handle tightened. “You had left us in Valinhall for two days before someone came along to let us back into the real world. Denner, the man with the giant book, he let us out. But we quickly discovered that the Overlord was dead. With him gone, no one would honor our deed. No one in the village had heard of us. Even our supplies were gone, stolen by the prisoners you freed. We came back here because we have nowhere else to go.”
 

Erastes looked at Simon with eyes of steel. “I don’t hold a grudge,” he said. “You were just doing your job, just like I was doing mine when I arrested your villagers. But you stole my life, and you killed my men.

“We are not friends.”

Then he pushed the garden door open and walked inside.

Simon stood at the entrance of the garden for a moment, feeling a little sick. He had only meant to free his friends from Myria, but in doing so, how many lives had he ruined? Did they hate him? Maybe they should. He wasn’t sure what he should have done differently, though.

I don’t think he likes you very much,
Lilia observed.

The garden didn’t look like a room at all, but like a meadow the size of Simon’s entire village. Wind ruffled the tips of the grass, and the sun shone directly overhead in a cloudless sky. An odd creature, like a hairless ox with three horns, grazed nearby, while the rest of its herd galloped on the horizon. A spring-fed stream cut the field in half, crossing in front of the room’s most obvious feature: a huge fruit tree at the center of the garden. Even from this distance, spots of color showed through the leaves, where exotic fruits hung from the tree’s limbs. Simon had tasted six or seven different fruits from that tree, and he had never sampled the highest branches.

Usually, Chaka rested in the shade beneath the fruit tree, waiting for challengers to duel him for meals. Today, he leaped around the meadow, his sword-arms flashing in the sunlight.

He faced two opponents: Andra and Lycus, the two children of the Agnos family. Lycus had just celebrated his eleventh birthday, while his sister Andra stood a head taller at thirteen. They both had the naturally tanned skin Simon associated with villagers, but the blond hair shared by many Damascans.

As Simon watched, Lycus stabbed at Chaka’s midsection, a look of intense focus on his face. He was using a straight short sword, little more than a long knife, not one of the gracefully curving Dragon’s Fangs forged by the Wanderer. His older sister had a much better weapon: Seijan, the tenth Fang, the shining steel of its blade marred by black spots that looked like ink blots.