The Light of All That Falls, page 70
“We cannot win here,” said Caeden into the hush. “The Gil’shar have too many weapons, too many soldiers.”
Wirr nodded, eyes red with tiredness and grief. Erran’s death had hit him hard, too. “You did what you could, Caeden.”
There was silence again, Asha resisting the urge to lash out. She didn’t agree. She blamed Caeden for not realizing that the other Venerate could use Desriel like this. She blamed him for starting this war. She blamed him for Davian’s death.
But none of that was productive. She was tired, she was grieving, but she would not lose control.
If she did, she wasn’t sure that she would ever get it back again.
“So the Boundary will fall,” Caeden continued hollowly. “Northern Andarra will be lost.” He reluctantly looked up at Wirr. “But… we might still stop the rest.”
“I know.” Wirr rubbed his face, exhaling heavily, then locked eyes with Asha. “And you two are the ones who have to do it. You have to go and get it.”
Through the fog of tiredness and sorrow, it took a few moments for Asha to understand what he was saying.
“What? No.” Asha put iron into her tone. “If we’re going to get Licanius, you’re coming too. And if you’re not, then I am staying to help you fight.”
“Whoever stays is here to delay the inevitable,” said Wirr quietly. “Caeden needs as much time as he can get to finish this, but you are too valuable an asset to waste.” He said the words dispassionately.
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Asha could hear the desperation in her tone, but she didn’t care. She couldn’t countenance this, not so soon after Erran. “You’re not thinking clearly. You can’t just sacrifice yourself. The country needs you. Not to mention that your ability is far too valuable.”
“Not without anyone to command, it isn’t.” Wirr gave her a gentle smile. “And the country won’t be worth much if we simply let the Desrielites through. Our being here could delay them a day or two, maybe even a few. We know exactly where they’re heading. We’re not without advantages.” His tone was light, but Asha could see in his eyes that he was deadly serious about this. “So go and find Licanius. Save Davian. Do what needs to be done.”
Asha stared at him, and this time the tears in her eyes came unbidden. She felt like screaming at him, telling him that he was being stupid, that all he had to do to save himself was leave with them.
But she knew, just as he and Caeden did, that this was their best course of action. Perhaps their only remaining choice.
So she stepped forward and enveloped him in a long, tight hug, her tears making a damp patch on his shoulder. He held her silently; when her sobs stopped she took a deep breath and stepped away, dabbing her eyes.
“Dav is going to be livid if you get yourself killed,” she said, her voice breaking.
Wirr choked out a laugh. He was fighting back emotion, too. “Same goes for you.”
He kissed her on the cheek, then stepped away and stuck out his hand toward Caeden.
“No matter what you’ve done in the past, you are my friend,” he said.
Caeden paused, then gave him a small smile and clasped his hand warmly.
“That’s all I can ask for,” he said softly. He dug into a pocket, then pressed something into Wirr’s hand. “I’ve charged these again. If you get the chance, use it.”
Asha caught a glimpse of the white Travel Stone as Wirr slipped it into his pocket.
Caeden clapped Wirr on the back. “Time for you to get back to the others—they need you. Just… do what you can. We’ll make sure that it’s not in vain.”
Wirr nodded grimly, hesitating for just a moment.
Then he turned, starting back toward the trees.
Asha watched him as he walked away. Even in his ragged clothing, even tired as he was, he looked… noble. Nobody seeing him, even for the first time, would mistake him for anything but the leader he was.
He glanced over his shoulder, locking eyes with her and giving her one final smile.
Then he was gone.
She swallowed, then turned to watch as Caeden began opening the Gate into the heart of Ilshan Gathdel Teth.
Chapter 44
Davian watched as Nethgalla slowly turned the steel band over in her hands in the Essence-light he was providing, examining the incredibly fine, detailed kan structures that he had so carefully set into the metal.
“What do you think?” he asked when he could take the silence no longer.
Nethgalla continued to study the band, which was now bent into a shape closer to that of a torc since they had sliced through one part of the metal, allowing for an easier activation method without using Essence.
“It looks… right,” she conceded, a note of vague surprise in her voice as it echoed slightly around the small cave. “I cannot see any reason why this one won’t work.”
Davian breathed out, shoulders sagging, finally allowing himself to feel the exhaustion of the past few days’ work. He took a celebratory bite of the rock-hard bread that Nethgalla had brought him, chewing for several seconds before swallowing, even that tasting good in the glow of his success. This was his eighth attempt to make this Vessel: the more recent tries had been close, but each time Nethgalla had been able to point to a fault that Davian had been forced to agree was problematic. The level of precision required was far beyond what any normal Vessel would need.
That had resulted in his Reserve steadily draining again as he fought against sleep in this small, black cave, keeping his focus Vessel activated almost continuously. He knew that his time here was short, regardless of the fact that he would return to Zvaelar at the exact moment when he had left. Nethgalla had warned him that Gassandrid was furious at his escape and Rethgar’s death, but was also confident that Davian hadn’t yet made his way out of the complex. His description had been circulated, and people were alert to concerns that there might be a traitor in their midst; Nethgalla had been able to smuggle him small amounts of food and water so far, but that couldn’t last forever. His hiding place wouldn’t stay tenable for much longer.
Nethgalla was still peering at the steel band. “All right,” she said slowly. “Time to see if it works.”
She turned and looked at Davian expectantly.
“You… want me to use it?” asked Davian, the bottom suddenly dropping out of his stomach. “Now?”
Nethgalla sighed impatiently. “Yes. Now.” She tapped her foot impatiently at his expression. “Just follow the logic through. If you test it, it must work, because we both know that you don’t die here. Whereas if you don’t test it here, it could very well not work, and your other friends in Zvaelar will die as a result.”
Davian licked his lips. “What happens if it half works?”
Nethgalla held his gaze calmly. “Normally I would say death. Horrible, painful death.” She cocked her head to the side. “In your case, though, I suppose it must just be horrible, painful injury.”
Davian scowled at her. “You could pretend to care.”
“I could.” Nethgalla shrugged at him, then gestured. Davian focused to see a thin line of kan flowing out from her fingertips, gently settling just inside the walls. He frowned.
“You’re Silencing the room?”
“Horrible, painful injury,” repeated Nethgalla.
Davian glared, then gritted his teeth and took the Vessel from her, unable to help but push through kan and examine it again. The lines were almost invisible, the actual structure a mess of complicated components that he was still struggling to fully understand. If their situation here had not been so dire, Davian would have suspected Nethgalla of trying to fool him into making something else entirely. But she insisted that the majority of the mechanisms were to deal with the change of form—not just slight physical changes, but entire pieces of anatomy morphing. It would, she had cheerfully assured him, be excruciating even if successful.
“You should probably take off your clothes, too.” Nethgalla rolled her eyes at his expression. “I went to considerable effort to get you something to replace those rags you were wearing, so don’t expect me to do it again because you were feeling shy. And no, before you ask,” she added. “I’m not going to look away.”
Davian snorted irritably, but began stripping. Nethgalla was right—dar’gaithin were much bigger than people. Keeping his clothes on would only ruin them.
He finished and glanced over at her again, surprised when she gave him the slightest nod of encouragement. Trying not to look as self-conscious as he felt, he picked up the Vessel, settled it around his neck, and—muscles straining—bent the two points of the cut steel band until they reconnected.
There was a small flash of light as the Vessel activated and began drawing a tiny amount of Essence from him, energy pulsing to life around Davian’s throat as the cool steel pressed against his skin.
For a moment nothing happened, and Davian felt a selfish flicker of hope that perhaps this wouldn’t work after all. Perhaps he’d done all he could, but it simply wasn’t possible and they would need to find another way.
Pain ripped through him.
This wasn’t like when he’d shape-shifted in Deilannis, deeply unpleasant though that had been. This felt as if everything were being torn apart piece by piece. His blood felt like fire, burning away at the inside of his veins. He fell to the floor, a bubbling scream ripping from his throat, which was suddenly clogged with hot, salty liquid; through the haze of red he saw his arms start to stretch, then ooze blood as sharp black slivers began crawling up through his skin. His squeezed his eyes shut as even those began to boil agonizingly in their sockets.
Then, after an age, it was over.
He opened his eyes cautiously, and panic immediately set in. It wasn’t that he couldn’t see, but everything seemed… bright. No color, just lines of light everywhere, forming images and outlines.
He twisted to look down at himself.
There was nothing there.
“Did… it work?” His gaze turned toward Nethgalla; his strange vision didn’t allow him to see finer features, but it was her. His words came out harsh and he flinched at the sound, almost choking off the last word in surprise.
Nethgalla stirred from her reclining position in the corner, though he could see that she had been tense. “It appears that it did.” There was a mixture of trepidation and fascination in her tone. “How do you feel?”
“How do I feel?” Davian felt a surge of anger and he tried to get to his feet as he hissed the words, only to fall back again when he discovered that he had none. “How do you think I feel, you stupid…”
He trailed off, forcing down the flash of fury. “Sorry.”
Nethgalla hadn’t moved, but he sensed something from her. Caution.
It annoyed him.
“You know who you are? You remember what you’re doing?” Nethgalla asked after a moment.
“Yes,” he snapped.
Nethgalla nodded slowly. “But you are affected in other ways.”
Davian swallowed an irritated reply. “Everything you say makes me angry,” he agreed as calmly as he could.
“I hear that all the time.” Nethgalla smiled to show she was joking, but she swallowed the expression quickly when she saw no trace of amusement from Davian. “It must be the physiology. Your mind gives you more control than they have, but the instincts will remain as long as you are in that body.”
Davian acknowledged the statement curtly and tried to rise, but immediately flailed to the ground again, landing awkwardly on his back and thrashing around furiously for several enraged seconds before forcing himself to calm. Everything felt wrong, from the scales stabbing into his flesh everywhere, to the strange vision, to the fact that he no longer had any legs. It was all so disorienting, and that made it even harder not to lose his temper.
“How do I stand up?” he snarled.
Nethgalla made no move to help him. “Your muscles are different from a human’s. They will be strong enough—you will have inherited that from the body—but you are going to need to learn to use them correctly.” She gestured, looking vaguely helpless. “Imagine the way a dar’gaithin moves, and try to replicate it. That is how I adapt to a new body quickly—I try to move in the same way as the Imprint did. It’s the only advice I can give you for this particular problem.”
“I don’t remember any of them ever having to get up off the floor,” Davian spat. Still, he stopped moving and closed his eyes. He had interacted with Isstharis and Theshesseth, and seen other dar’gaithin in the distance plenty of times now. He knew the creatures well enough to picture their movements.
Awkwardly, carefully, he pushed himself up, levering his body with surprisingly strong arms until he managed to curl his tail—he shuddered a little at the thought—beneath him. To his surprise, once it was in position, balance seemed to come naturally. It was only when he began to think about it that he found himself wobbling again, forced to brace himself against a nearby wall.
He twisted to see Nethgalla watching him silently. It was hard to tell what she was thinking as he couldn’t properly make out her features, but eventually she shook her head.
“You look just like one of them,” she said faintly. “I do not know whether to be relieved or horrified that this is possible, but…” She gestured. “Now we know.”
Davian grunted. “So I can change back?” The thought of undergoing the pain of the transformation again filled him with dread, but not more than the thought of staying like this. Every moment he remained in this form felt wrong.
“Not yet.” Nethgalla sounded almost apologetic, but mostly fascinated. “You need to walk… slither… around a bit. See how accustomed you can become to the body. Stay like this for a time, to determine whether there are any slow-acting negative effects. And to mimic what the others will likely need to go through,” she added.
Davian let out a hiss of irritation, causing Nethgalla to take a wary step back, but acceded with a jerk of his head.
The next hour passed in stomach-churning discomfort. Davian followed suggestions from Nethgalla, learning to move, adapting to the strengths and weaknesses of the dar’gaithin body. His physical control improved dramatically, but none of it made him feel any better. There was a constant fury bubbling inside him, irrational and barely suppressed. He hated every second of it.
There were other things of note, too. Touching kan was immensely difficult, though whether because of his state of mind or because the black scales were interfering, he couldn’t quite decide. The Vessels built into his arms were gone, too; Nethgalla postulated that they were akin to physical alterations to his body, like tattoos, and so would disappear and reappear as he changed forms. That was an interesting thought, though not something of which he could make immediate use.
Finally, Nethgalla gave a reluctant nod.
“That should be enough,” she conceded. “You can tell Tal that an hour in this form is safe. Anything beyond that, though, is an unknown.”
Davian didn’t bother to point out that Tal was the only one he wasn’t worried about. He carefully reached up and pulled the two points of the metal band around his neck apart.
Nothing happened.
Davian’s heart began to pound wildly as the seconds dragged by. “I’m not changing back,” he growled in horror.
“You will.” Nethgalla’s voice was soothing. “You just need to wait.”
“Easy for you to say,” snarled Davian, feeling his tail whip about wildly in anger.
Then there was something. A shift in his tail, pain ricocheting up his spine. A ripple of stabbing sensations as scales began to retract.
The next few minutes passed in a terrible red blur.
Afterward, Davian just lay there for a while with his eyes closed, breathing, gingerly moving his arms and legs. Barely daring to believe that the nightmare was over.
“Do I look… all right?” he asked, opening his eyes.
Nethgalla’s arms were crossed. “That’s subjective,” she said, “but yes. You are back to the way you were before.”
Davian drew a shuddering breath, pushing through kan, relieved to find it childishly easy to touch again. He examined the Reserve in his body and the Vessels in his arms. They seemed intact.
“Nothing was damaged,” he said, too relieved to feel self-conscious this time as he retrieved his clothes and began to dress again. “The Vessels have re-formed. I even seem to have the same level of Essence in my Reserve.”
Nethgalla nodded thoughtfully. “Just like any other physical attributes. Interesting.” She sighed. “That alone is a year’s worth of experimentation I would love to pursue.”
Davian glowered at her as he slipped on his shirt. “No thank you.”
Nethgalla smiled. “I know.” The expression faded as she studied him. “How do you feel? Emotionally, I mean?”
Davian paused, considering.
“Better,” he conceded. “Certainly less like I want to attack anything that moves.”
“Good. A purely physical effect, then.” Nethgalla stepped over to the metal band that Davian had placed on the ground once he had changed back, picking it up and running a finger along it in what looked disturbingly like a caress. “You have created something unique here, Davian. Truly a thing of great beauty.”
Davian watched, not responding. Not really knowing whether he agreed, either. Nethgalla had been right about one thing—shape-shifting was unlike anything else that used kan. It dealt far less in hard angles and neat lines; as he’d built the mechanisms they had created complex forms, but they were unique, gave the impression of disorganization even as they were carefully positioned. The result was a haphazard maze of complexity. If he had not put it together himself—didn’t understand how precise the positioning had to be—he would have said it looked more like a child’s drawing than a work of art.
“It’s certainly different from anything else I’ve seen,” he conceded. “If you couldn’t see the endpoints, I’m not sure that it could even be identified as a Vessel.”
