The Knife's Edge (42 page)

Gray thrashed, but the more he struggled, the tighter the darkness squeezed. Use me! A voice shouted, and the pendant burned. He lunged for it, when pain lanced through his arm. He realized he still held the sword and threw it from his grip, grabbing for the pendant. The darkness crawled higher and he panicked without sight, trying to decipher the symbols.

“I can’t see!” he bellowed. Then feel, the pendant whispered.

Gray felt the raised bumps in the darkness. A half-moon, a teardrop, a flame. Moon, Ice, and Fire. Those three were all touching. He made his first quick twist. A leaf, a blade, and a heart. Forest, Steel, and Flesh. Second twist. Faster! His mind shouted, time running out. In a flush of panic he twisted it one way and then another, trying to remember the pattern he had made that had unlocked it before. But as he continued to twist, he lost track. The darkness slid over his heart and pain flooded through him. In the same moment, something grabbed, tearing the pendant from his grip. Fighting his way through the muck, he clawed for it, searching wildly. He dug through slime and muck until his fingers grazed something solid, and he ripped it free. The darkness oozed over his face, down his nostrils and over his lids, burning like fire. In a sudden movement, the slithering dark squeezed. Gray gasped, feeling as if a hammer had been dropped upon his chest, bones cracking beneath the weight. He rubbed the pendant’s surface.

Moon. Ice. Fire. Forest. Steel. Flesh. Stone. Seven, he counted with his fumbling fingers. All were turned, but one. What was the last one? He thought, trying desperately to think through his rising fear.

“Diiiieee,” said the soulless voice. An image of Omni and her burning blade flashed. Sun! And Gray twisted the last piece in place. He flinched as light blazed forth from the metal disk, blinding him. The darkness shrieked. It sizzled like water thrown upon a hot pan, steam rising as it shirked from the golden luminescence. Gray thrust the pendant forward, lighting his legs and torso. The darkness recoiled and fled, sluicing from his limbs. At last, it retreated, climbing the muck-covered walls, and fading into oblivion.

Gray watched in shock. He gained control of his breath and after he was sure the darkness was gone, he fell back with a slump. Upon the pendant, all the symbols had coalesced, forming the symbol of wind.

He waited for the pendant to answer, but it was quiet now. Slowly, he rose, grabbing Morrowil and gathering his remaining strength. The pendant still glowed in his hand, lighting the way several paces ahead. He peered beyond and saw more darkness. But with the light of the pendant in his hand, he felt safe. He took several steps and looked back at the door.

Ayva, Darius, and the others would just be getting up now to see an empty bed. They wouldn’t find him now. He turned from the door, and peered into the gloom, hoping he had seen the last of that strange darkness. No use waiting around here. He thrust the pendant ahead like a beacon and started forward. As he walked, the pendant illuminated the tunnel. It was no wider than both his arms outstretched. Thick layers of pale green slime stuck to the walls, obscuring any sign of stone. Some slime was putrid and wet while other patches were dry and lifeless, centuries old.

Fear of the darkness always lurked in his awareness. At times he heard a sound like tiny feet scraping in the distance, but it didn’t sound like the darkness from before. He shivered and thrust his imagination to the back of his mind, as he kept moving. Time blended in the murky half-light of the tunnels. He had a feeling that it wasn’t later than midday, but he could swear he had been walking for days. His ears popped as he moved deeper and deeper into the core of the heavy mountain. At one point, when his feet dragged like steel boots and his lids grew heavy, he found a dry spot, put the glowing pendant in his lap and stole a few moments of sleep. He awoke to the same murky darkness. He knew it hadn’t been long, but he berated himself for wasting precious moments, and with renewed vigor he took to the tunnels. A few times he came to a four-way divide. He would pause and peer ten paces down the right and the left, but always take the path straight ahead. He wondered what was down those side paths, thinking about the strange scraping sounds.

And suddenly it ended.

He found himself before a large flat stone. He reached out, feeling for a seam in the stone, but this time, he realized not only was there no seam, but the stone itself was a part of the mountain. He threw all of his weight against the wall, and pushed with a grunt. It didn’t budge. Reaching into the recesses of his mind, he withdrew a sliver of wind, feeling the stone’s joints, looking for where he could apply pressure, but there was nothing. He pushed harder, slamming his body painfully into the flat stone. With each push, his fear and anxiety multiplied, until his breaths were short and jagged, and sweat rolled down his face. He forced his mind calm, but failed. “I won’t be stuck down here!” His voice reverberated off the cramped walls, emphasizing his solitude.

Gray began to feel the heavy mountain, its thick stone and endless tons of dirt weighing down above his head. His chest tightened, and with a shudder, he imagined it all collapsing upon him. Words filled him suddenly.

Our power lies within us… Hitomi, he thought.

He took a calming breath, and then another. Turning, he walked. When he was at least a hundred feet from the dead end, surrounded in darkness, he began to run, until the run became a full-fledged sprint. He pictured the nexus inside. As he charged, wind followed him. For a brief flash, an envelope of golden light encompassed him, urging him forward. At last, his shoulder rammed against the stone and the earth shuddered upon the impact. With a crash, he burst through and tumbled headfirst. He twisted his body into a fast-paced roll and flew over the falling chunks of stone, dirt, and other rubble.

Coming out of the roll, he stood, a bit shaky and looked back. At his feet, stood the foothills tipped with melting ice. His gaze rose, taking in the full scope of the towering mountains. Turning, he looked at the dusky valley rolling with tufts of dry grass and sparse, hardy flowers. He heard wind. It sounded loud after the long quiet of the tunnel. The absolute silence of the tunnels had unnerved him. He was glad to be out from underneath the weight of the heavy mountain. He looked towards Death’s Gate, when a screech sounded.

Perched upon a rocky crag was the hawk. “Motri… is that you?”

The bird cocked its head sideways, its burnished eyes examining him. It let loose another screech.

Gray shook his head with a laugh, “I have no idea how you got here, but I’m glad to see you.” He looked north and raised his arm. “I’m headed that way. If you want to join me, I’d appreciate the company. It’s a pretty long road.” The bird had proved its intelligence before, and though it couldn’t understand his words, he sensed it knew the meaning behind them. Still Gray was glad there was no one there to hear him.

The hawk merely ruffled its golden plumage.

“Well, I’m going north now,” he called, walking backwards. The hawk remained. He sighed, and at last turned. Putting his thumbs beneath the pack’s straps, he headed north along the weathered valley.

Night faded, and morning came. As he walked, he nibbled on the food that Mistress Hitomi had given him. The Shining City’s mountains sat behind him, far in the distance now. He imagined the hawk back there, and wished he had the bird’s company.

He didn’t feel tired, but as he walked he began to grow thirsty. He coughed at the dusty feeling in his mouth, swallowing his own saliva. The feeling in the back of his throat grew to a burning thirst. He ate a few flowers that he knew to be safe, but they didn’t stave his thirst. It grew worse. He licked his lips, and the roughness of cracked skin made him wince. He envisioned diving into a lake and drinking until his belly swelled, but the images didn’t help. All he saw was bone-dry rocks and stretches of dry land, when he glimpsed a glimmer on the horizon.

As he got close, the sound of rushing water was loud. A sigh escaped his parched lips. He stumbled towards the sound, and minutes later saw the great rushing Sil. Falling to his knees at the green bank, he scooped handfuls of water and drank deeply. When his thirst was fully quenched and his lips no longer stung, he looked up. Blocks of gray stone hundreds of times bigger than him lay on the grassy bank. Two square pillars rose to heights taller than any building in the city, just fifty paces away.

In the gushing current of the Sil more behemoth blocks rose, sticking up from the deep-running water. Far across the great river, more impressive blocks of stone lay toppled. Thin tubers and green vines had already begun to trail up the massive hunks of stone.

A memory came to him at the sight, something Darius had said, “Piddler Lane, the main road of Lakewood. Follow it north, and in a fortnight, it will lead you to the famed Bridge of Suns, which is only a short jaunt from Tir Re’ Dol itself.”

“The Bridge of Suns,” he repeated, eyeing the now dilapidated crossing. Well, if Darius was right, he was getting close. Gray did not spend long in grief at the Kage’s total destruction. After filling up an empty leather skein with the crystal clear, he looked upstream. A loud screech drew his attention upward. Perched upon a broken pillar, was the hawk, watching him with an inquisitive tilt to its head.

“Well, welcome back,” he called. With a hand, he scrubbed the back of his head in thought. “I need to find a bridge, one that’s preferably not destroyed. You don’t see anything from up there, do you?” he asked.

The hawk peered out over the landscape from its lofty position, its golden-feathered head swiveling, and then looked back. Again, its head tilted.

“No, huh? Well, guess I’ll just have a look myself!” he said and hefted his pack, heading upstream. He looked up with a smirk and saw the hawk, circling overhead as expected. With a laugh, he picked up his step. Each time he glanced up, the hawk was there, as if watching over him. A ways up, behind a shroud of vegetation, Gray spotted a small rope bridge that skimmed the surface of the Sil’s quick waters. Somehow, the Kage’s hand had missed the bridge.

Gray crossed the rickety bridge. The landscape shifted. Looming on the horizon were dark storm clouds that threatened rain. He traveled for several more miles before he came upon a large grassy cliff. In the past, he had poured over Mura’s many maps. If the maps were accurate, the greatest city this side of Death’s Gate lay beyond that precipice. But an ill feeling rose inside his gut as he approached the edge, and the scene struck a knife blow to his heart.

The earth was charred for miles, and lying in the stain of black were ruins as far as the eye could see—fallen towers, broken walls, jagged walkways, and shattered bridges. Smoke rose from the ashes, thick black plumes that blotted out the blue sky. Those were the dark clouds of rain he had seen. He fell to his knees in disbelief.

In the distance, tracks of an army scarred the earth, the only thing that was clearly identifiable. Quickly, he got to his feet, wiped his eyes and searched for a way down the steep ledge. He found a less steep section and half-tumbled, half-ran down the dirt cliff.

By the time he reached the ruins, shadows stretched. A pale moon cast the ruined city in a sickly luster. Slowly, he moved through the ruins, his cloak dragging in the rubble. His throat clenched as he wove between the fallen buildings. The wind switched directions and suddenly the stench of burnt flesh filled his nostrils and he gagged. “Who could do this?” There was no answer, only the eerie silence of the dead. ‘A short jaunt from Tir Re’ Dol.’ The words and Darius’ cheerful tone rang in his ears.

He looked for signs of life amid the ruins, but he couldn’t stifle his wrath, and he didn’t want to. It burned like a furnace inside his gut. He stopped in the darkness. The sun had set fully, and as he had done in the tunnels, he unsheathed the pendant and twisted the symbols to make it glow. With the sudden flare of light he saw what stood before him and his stomach lurched.

Ahead, was a mountain of bloated bodies—men, women, and children. Ravens, their coats like ink-drenched shrouds, crawled over the pile of carcasses. They cawed and pecked, their calls a rising cacophony. Gray’s blood pulsed as the birds screeched and fought for scraps.

Picking up a piece of burnt timber, he swung at the closest raven. The bird took off in an explosion of feathers. He swung and they cried in rebuke, but refused to leave. Out of the corner of his eye, a shadow darted. He threw up the timber defensively, but sharp talons scored his arm. Suddenly, another blur shot down from the night sky, brighter than the rest, and the mass of black feathers collapsed.

It was the hawk. “Motri!”