Black Sun Rising (57 page)

Nightmares began to plague them—violent images, full of dire, unnatural symbols. More often than not the humans would awaken with pounding hearts, pulses throbbing hot with terror, all hope of sleep banished for that day. Even the rakh-woman wasn’t immune, but shivered in the grip of some half-bestial nightmare that brought snarls and hisses to her lips as she thrashed about angrily, cocooned in her blankets. True rest became nearly impossible, something garnered in fevered snatches between the dreambound assaults.

And assaults they well might be, in a very literal sense. That was the most frightening thought of all. That their enemy might be watching them so closely that he was able to Send these images to torment them, to rob them of sleep until they arrived in his realm mere shadows of their former selves. Because that was a real possibility—and a frightening one—they fought it. All of it. The nightmares, the fear, the growing claustrophobia that came from being too close to other people too long, the burning need to be
alone.
It was Tarrant who unWorked the nightmares themselves, burning some precious document he had tucked about his person; the value of his sacrifice flared hot, like sunlight, and seared the vicinity clean of whatever taint might have formed about them. Perhaps it would last for a day, or two; Senzei had his doubts.

They traveled southeast, as the rakh-woman advised. It would bring them to a break in the eastern range where the mountains folded upon themselves to create a lowland pass. They debated long and hard the efficacy of such a route—wasn’t it exactly what the enemy would expect of them?—but in the end they decided that they had no choice; in this harsh season, there was no other viable crossing. Besides, did they really think secrecy was possible in this place? Did they really imagine they weren’t being Known anyway, every step they took, regardless of where they went?

At last it was Tarrant who convinced them to take the lowland course.
The current will be strongest in the mountains, he said, and it flows toward our enemy. Thus far, that’s been to our detriment; it takes all my strength just to block the flow, to keep our intentions from reaching him. But when we get to the mountains, and the earth-fae is stronger, I can turn that same current against him. Create a simulacrum of our party, to take our place and draw his attention. So that we can move unobserved.

A Distracting,
Damien mused.

Far more complex than that,
Tarrant assured him.
But the results are much the same.

Are you sure it will work?
Senzei had demanded.

The pale eyes turned on him—utterly lifeless, utterly cold.
It has once already,
he said dryly. And he left them to wonder just what manner of imposture had taken place at the Forest’s edge, that had saved their fragile flesh.

Senzei wanted power like that. He wanted to taste it, just once in his life. Feel what it would be like, to have the fae pour through his soul like light through glass: focused, pure, powerful. Once would be enough, he told himself—but he knew even as he thought that it wouldn’t be, it couldn’t be, he could never give up such a glorious vision. Never! Never suffer as Ciani had, to have it taken from him....

I would die first,
he thought. And he shivered, to imagine it.

Then, at long last, the eastern mountains appeared before them. Misty purple peaks contrasted against a glistening dawn, velvet blue and gray slopes to frame the rising sun. The company stood there for a short time in silence, each mouthing his own prayers of thankfulness. The mountains were not of naked granite, like so much of the Worldsend range, nor covered with the spotty brush and narrow pines that typified so many northern ranges; these were lush, fertile hills, whose slopes were still stained orange and red and sunlight gold by the palette of late autumn, whose thickly forested heights gave way to snowy peaks with obvious reluctance, high in the distance.

“Beautiful,” Senzei whispered. He heard the priest mutter something; a thanks to his god, perhaps, that they had succeeded in getting this far. The rakh-woman—who had given her full name as
Hesseth sa-Restrath
—hissed something in her native tongue, and for once the coarse rakhene words seemed gentle in tone. Almost loving.

We made it,
Senzei thought, as he urged his mount forward.

And then he added, in unhappy honesty,
This far, anyway.

They camped in the shadow of trees, by the side of a small stream. It was the rakhene woman who chose their campsite, using senses Senzei could only guess at to find them a source of water. Smell, perhaps? Or perhaps some rakhene Working. He remembered her manipulation of the tidal fae in Morgot and shuddered, despite himself.
She has more skills than she’s admitted to, he thought. What does that mean, for the rest of us? Will she help us if we need it—or leave us to sink or swim, as our human limitations dictate?
He strongly suspected the latter. To date she had spoken little to the party, and when she did her conversation was limited to practical concerns: estimations of travel time, course advisement, foraging instructions.
No,
he thought.
Correct that.
The rakh-woman had spoken little to the
men.
To Ciani she vouchsafed a few parcels of genuine conversation, even went so far as to ride beside the woman several times in order to converse while traveling. Now and then Senzei caught snippets of their conversation, tidbits carried back to him on the evening breeze: Rakhene history. Rakhene custom. Rakhene legends.

Alien knowledge,
he thought, with awe. Even without her knowledge, her confidence, the skills of an adept, Ciani was very much the same person she had been—hungry for knowledge the way most men are hungry for food.

Or power.

He wondered what it was like, to want something that could be obtained so easily. His own hunger had become a hole in him, an emptiness, a vast wound incapable of healing. The adepts spoke of the music of life, which filled every living thing with song and echoed from each molecule of inanimate matter, an endless symphony of being; he ached to hear it for himself. The rakh-woman could see tidal fae flicker into being across an evening sky, a vast aurora of power shimmering like the light of a thousand jewels; he yearned to possess that vision. Ciani had Shared her special senses with him once, but that wasn’t the same thing. That had been as much pain as ecstacy, as much
wanting
as
having.
He had withdrawn from it confused and hurt, too shaken to manage his own Workings for some days afterward. They had never tried it again.

What I want, no one human being can give me.
It was the truth of his existence—but it hurt no less for being familiar to him.

At sunset, promptly, Gerald Tarrant rejoined them. That he did so when the sun had barely dropped below the horizon warned his companions that something was amiss; generally he hunted for his own sustenance before returning to them.

He wasted no time on preliminaries, but addressed the group as soon as his form was human enough to allow for speech. “Do you know the date?” he demanded, as the last of his feathers melted back into flesh, hair, the intricate weave of clothing. “Do you realize what happens in a few hours?”

For a moment, no one responded. Then Damien stiffened—and Senzei likewise, as he realized what Tarrant was driving at. Like the rest of them, he had lost track of human calendrical reckoning in their trek across the rakhlands; now he looked up at the sky, his blood running cold in his veins as he realized what the Hunter was driving at.

In the east, half-veiled by trees, Casca was already setting. In the west, following the sun in its course, Domina and Prima would soon do the same. And the last stars of the Core would be gone within the hour. Then: darkness. Utter darkness.

“True night,” someone whispered.

“Just so,” the Hunter agreed.

They had forgotten. They had all forgotten. Even in the autumn such times were rare, and the last few true nights had been so short ... Senzei thought of how long this one might last, with all three moons just now setting, and he shivered in dread. It was madness to be outdoors at such a time. Absolute madness. But what other choice was there?

“How long will it last?” Damien asked.

“Hours,” Tarrant told him. “No way to know the precise time without a good lunar chart—and mine was lost back at the river. But Casca will have to rise again before the dark fae is driven back—and a good part of the night will pass before that happens.”

Senzei tried to keep the fear from his voice as he asked, “Do you think they’ll attack us?”

“Our enemy, you mean?” Tarrant considered it, then shook his head. “Not now, I think. Not here. There’ll be enough nights like this later on, when we’re in a position more favorable to assault. But we can certainly expect to be hit with a Knowing, or similar probing. Something of unusual strength. But I can block those easily enough, once the sunlight is gone.” An expression that was almost a smile flitted across his face. “The true night is my time, also.”

“So is there anything you do feel we need to watch out for?” Damien asked tightly.

“Not so much
watch out for,
as
do
.” The Hunter turned to Ciani; his pale eyes gleamed silver in the moonlight. “Lady?”

She drew in a deep breath, slowly. There was a strange intensity about her—fear and desire combined, an almost sexual excitement. Something about it made Senzei’s skin crawl. “Is it time?” she whispered.

“If you’re ready for it.”

She shut her eyes tightly. And nodded, a barely perceptible notion. Senzei thought he saw her trembling.

“Time for what?” Damien demanded. “Now’s not a good time to play at mysteries, Hunter.”

“No such thing was intended. The lady and I have discussed some ... arrangements. I think tonight would be a good time to test them. It’ll take some courage on her part—but I’ve never found the lady to be lacking in that.”

“You wouldn’t care to be more specific, would you?” The priest’s voice was carefully controlled, but not so much so that Senzei didn’t hear the edge of violence in it. As if the mere threat of the true night had begun to dissolve his inhibitions, those precious checks and balances that must exist in order for him to tolerate Tarrant’s presence among them. Or pretend to tolerate it.

The Hunter explained, “You know that there’s a bond between Ciani and her attacker, which was established in the initial attack. You yourselves intended to manipulate that link once you reached the enemy’s domain. Wasn’t that the very reason you brought her along? With a simple Knowing, carefully planned, you would be able to locate her attacker, pick him out from among the dozens of his kind ... an admirable scheme, given your knowledge and your power. But tonight, in the true darkness, I can do much more than that. Give us an advantage that the enemy can’t foresee.” He bowed toward Ciani. “
If
the lady is willing.”

Senzei saw Ciani’s hands clench and unclench, her flesh made colorless by fear. Damien saw it too, and said harshly, “You won’t do anything that increases the risk to her. Understand? She’s in danger enough.”

Tarrant’s eyes flashed angrily. “Don’t be a fool, priest. The risk is already tremendous. She’s the one that our enemy wants, not us—and he’s going to try to claim her as soon as we cross these mountains. By bringing her this near to his domain you’ve placed her in greater danger than any other course could have done. And yes—you had your reasons. I agree with them. But now it’s time to use the tools our enemy has provided, Because to
fail
to use them, to fail to turn them against him by whatever means possible ... is to fail
her,
Reverend Vryce. And I remind you that I have a very strong personal interest in the success of this mission. One which I will not allow you to jeopardize.” He paused. “Am I making myself clear?”

For a moment there was silence between the two men: chill, acidic, sharp with hatred. Then Damien found his voice, and managed to make it civil. “Go on.”

The Hunter looked at Ciani. “Through her,” he told them, “I can reach the mind of her tormentor. It’s a dangerous process. Using earth-fae alone I would never chance it—our enemy is clearly as fluent in that domain as I am, and could easily turn such a Working against us. But using the dark fae, in those few precious hours when it dominates this land ... that force is my substance, priest. My
life.
No mere man can best me in that arena, without first making a Sacrifice to equal mine.”

“Damned unlikely, that,” Damien muttered. His reaction to what the Hunter had done was strong enough to taint the earth-fae surrounding him; the valley was filled with the scent of blood, the heat of his revulsion. “So what will this accomplish?
If
you succeed?”

“If I succeed—and the odds of that are excellent—we will have far more information regarding our enemy than any other technique might procure. We’ll learn his whereabouts, his intentions, perhaps even his weaknesses. We’ll know what this link with Ciani means to him, and how he might use it against us.”