Black Sun Rising (25 page)

The breeze shifted, coming in from over the straits: salt air, sharp with promise. Here, the River Stekkis emptied its fresh water and its mud into that precious conduit which connected Erna’s great oceans, dividing the human lands in two. Here, just beyond the whitewaters of Naigra Falls (named for a similar formation on Ancient Earth, or so it was said), goods from along the river were weighed and measured and packaged and assessed and taxed, to be shipped to the hundred-and-some-odd cities that flanked the length of the Serpent Straits. Golden figurines from Iyama rested in sealed crates, next to precious spices from Hade and spring wine from Merentha County. And traveling merchants gathered in lamplit taverns, drinking Kale beer with one hand while they outlined the financial future of nations with the other.

“Let’s get rooms and food,” Damien said. “And secure our things. After that ... I think we need to take a good look around.”

Five days of travel along the trade roads of the east had come to an end at last—and not a moment too soon, for Damien’s taste. Five endless days spent covering the miles one by one, nights spent cowering in the daes like timid ground-skerrels that went to burrow at dusk, lest something that called the night its home should snatch them up. Five days of hiding from Tarrant, too—although they used other terms for that strategy—by making sure that each dae understood there was something out there desperate to get in, so that none would dare to open their doors. Was that necessary? Was it circumspect? Damien was no longer sure.

“He might not mean us any harm,” Ciani had said.

How could they be certain of that?

Kale
. Damien breathed in its rich scents with relief, his heart pounding with newfound exhiliration. The miles before this had been necessary, but tedious. A road devoid of choices. Now ... they could begin to plan in earnest. Could begin to weave the net that would eventually draw in their enemies, and free Ciani.

Her assailants would have come through here. Might even still be in the city. They might take this opportunity to feed, feeling themselves safe in such a murky, anonymous place. In that case ... good. The battle could take place here, on human ground, and no one need ever go on to the rakhlands. Oh, the three of them might decide to go anyway, after it was all over—but that would be a choice, not a necessity. They might choose to explore the lands that mankind had abandoned, as Ciani had once tried to do. Who knew what secrets might be waiting for them, in the shadow of the Worldsend Mountains?

Then he thought of Ciani, and her vulnerability, and he muttered, “We don’t leave her alone.” Senzei nodded and moved closer to Ciani. “Not until we know for a fact that those things aren’t here in town.”

“You want me to Divine that?” Senzei asked.

He thought about it. “Dinner first. Let’s find ourselves rooms and settle the horses. Then.”

By then it would be night. The demon/adept Tarrant (which was he? Damien wondered. Was it possible to be both?) had said that the creatures were best tracked at night. They’d give it a shot and see if he was right. One try. It would be worth the risk. Wouldn’t it?

We’ll have to face the night soon enough, anyway, he thought dryly. There are no top-rank hotels in the rakhlands
.

(Even as he thought that, he imagined Ciani’s voice—always tender, always teasing—as she challenged him,
How do we know that?
)

They took rooms in a cliffside inn that had gargoyles over every doorway—not Worked, Damien noted, but ugly enough to drive away any demon with aesthetic sensibilities—and crude iron grilles over the windows, twisted into some sort of sigil-sign. Again, not Worked. There was an absence of Working all over the city, Senzei pointed out, which was doubly jarring after the proliferation of wards in Jaggonath and the daes.

More like home
, Damien thought. It was oddly comforting.

They ate. Strange shapes culled from the sea, inundated with local spices. Spongy tendrils of flesh in cream sauce, suckers sliced into delicate rings and fried, something small and spiderlike with its head and legs intact:
pull the limbs of these little guys yourself
, the menu urged. Kale was proud of its seafood.

And afterward, for dessert, a sense of anticipation so keen that the three could almost taste it. Mere sweets were bland by comparison, and one by one the travelers pushed them aside.

“It’s time,” Damien muttered. “Let’s go.”

They had chosen this particular hostel because of one very special facility: it had a flat, easily accessible roof. For a small bribe—“call it a damage deposit,” the manager had said—Damien had obtained the key. Now, in the darkening night, with only a few remaining stars and a single moon to light the sky, they let themselves out of the inn’s smoky confines, into the chill of evening.

The earth-fae would be weak up here—but that was good, Senzei had insisted. Good that the taint of the Forest would be thus diluted before he tried to Work it. Damien looked at his companion, saw the fear in his eyes. The excitement.
He’s in his element
, the priest thought.
At last
.

Damien loosened his sword in his scabbard—and then, as an afterthought, drew it free. There was no telling what manner of creature such a Working might call to them, or how quickly it might come. He made sure Ciani was safely on the other side of him before he nodded to Senzei: Yes. Go ahead.

The dark-haired Worker took a deep breath, steadied himself—and then began to weave a Seeing.

 

Power. A vast, unending seascape of power
—
swirls and eddies and cresting waves of it, earth-fae so fluid and deep that it laps up against the sides of the inn, and dashes a spray of limitless potential into the air before his eyes. Magnificent! For a moment Senzei can do no more than stare at it, drinking in the Sight. So much of it! So ... raw. Chaotic. Potent. He considers the sterile city, its wardless walls and unWorked gates, and shakes his head in amazement. How can such a thing be? How can this kind of power exist, without men coming here to tame it? The city should be full of sorcerors—should cater to sorcerors
—
should be renowned among the faewise, as a focal point of power. So why isn’t it? What is there that his eyes can’t See, which has kept that from happening?

 

Light.
Real
light. Moonlight, falling across the tarpaper roof. Senzei moaned, turning away from it. Searching for shadows. Anywhere.

Then, slowly, other things came into focus. People. Ciani’s beloved face, contorted with worry. Damien’s eyes, blazing with ... what? His head ached; he couldn’t read it. His stomach ached, too, with a throbbing hurt that spoke of real bodily damage. He put a hand to his abdomen and winced. Tender, very tender.

“What ... what happened?”

“You tried to walk off the roof,” Damien said quietly. “Ciani tried to stop you. I helped as soon as I could.” A brief nod indicated the deep purple fluid on his blade, the dark shapes that lay huddled and bleeding on all sides of them. Pain pounded in Senzei’s temples. “I’ve never seen anything manifest so fast,” Damien said. There was an odd tone in his voice which Senzei couldn’t identify. “Or in such quantity. You all right?”

He looked out over the roof’s low edge toward the north. Toward where the earth-fae still flowed, now invisible to his unWorked senses. Moisture gathered in the comers of his eyes; he blinked it free, felt it work its way slowly down his face.

“Yes,” he whispered. “I think so. It was....” He shivered. “Incredible.”

“Untamable, more likely. We should have known that. Should have guessed it when we saw the town.” Damien took out a handkerchief and wiped his sword clean. “I think it’s safe to say that now we know why there are so few Workings in Kale, yes? We’ll have to avoid that angle ourselves—at least until we get out of range of
that.”
He nodded toward the north as he resheathed his sword. Then he offered his hand to Senzei. “Can you stand?”

After a moment, he nodded. It took several tries, but at last the two of them managed to get him to his feet. He felt as though his limbs were made of gel, barely able to support him.

“It would have drawn you in,” the priest said quietly. A question.

Senzei hesitated. Considered it. “Yes. I think. I wanted to go to it. I wanted for it ... to devour me. So I could be part of it. You ... you can’t know.” He choked on the words, and a sense of terrible loss filled him. And fear. He could do no more than mutely shake his head. “Thank you. Thank you.”

“Come on.” It was Ciani, slipping underneath one arm to help him walk. “Let’s get inside. We can talk about it later.”

“An adept,” Senzei muttered. “Can you imagine? To live with that vision, endlessly ... one would drown in it....”

“Which is why there are no adepts in Kale,” Damien reminded him. “Remember your notes?”

Unless there is now,
Senzei thought.
Unless Tarrant followed us.

At the door that led into the building, Damien paused. He looked out over the tarpaper expanse of the roof’s surface, at the dozen or so newborn demonlings that were slowly bleeding out their substance in the moonlight.

“Damn it,” he muttered. “It’ll cost us good money to have this cleaned up.”

Always practical,
Senzei thought dryly.
Who else would care?

And then his thoughts slid down into darkness, and the blissful numbness of sleep.

Midnight. Plus some. An hour of peace, even this close to the whirlpool. Ciani was sleeping soundly—at last—and Senzei was still lost in the oblivion of his healing trance. The three of them were sharing a suite, which had turned out to be the perfect situation; Damien could check on his companions easily enough, but if one of them happened to wake in the night and glance about before returning to sleep, they wouldn’t see that he’d left. He had left a note on his pillow just in case, but didn’t really expect anyone to find it; he should be back long before they awoke. And hopefully, he would have some new answers.