Chương 43: 41 • AGE OF MEN (PART II)

32 AGE OF MEN PART II 🙜 T housands of tiny stone-shells clattered all around her, their quiet taps and rhythms ascending into the chorus of a rushing waterfall. Man-voice had gone quiet, and another rose up to take its place—the familiar, ancient song of her people. Sorrow, wroth, and vengeance.

Ember ran beside her, his strides long and quick for a man but Ky, in her haste, found them clumsy: he had awakened an old, old spell, and in so doing had caused the spell itself to awaken a much deeper and darker thread of magic which had been cleverly woven into the fabric of the first some time later. The intricacies were beyond Ky's understanding, but its magnitude frightened her.

With a shuddering snap, the thin fissures in the floor before them merged and streaked toward the opposite sides of the hall, tiny cracks branching off in many directions. Ky jumped, but Ember did not jump at the same time, inadvertently tugging her backward. She squeaked and he stumbled, letting go of her hand as he tried to regain his footing. He tripped over the widening valley and sprawled on the other side, but she gave him no time to recover, grasping his wrist in both of her hands and dragging him forward.

"Hurry, hurry, hurry!" He slapped one palm flat on the floor and scrambled to his feet, eyes wild and mouth hanging open as the earth quaked beneath them. The stairs loomed ahead, past more crumbling statues, past more fractured ground. And then a stream of dust clouded her view of the doorway. Pebbles rained down from the ceiling, and Ky risked a swift upward glance. The cracks had spread up the walls and arched like black lightning across the roof.

"Hurry, Ember, hurry," she chanted lowly. She could reach the stairs much faster without him, but she could not leave him behind. He was her Ember. My Ember. The ringing crack and shriek of splitting stone snarled through the room in wild warning. One of the statues before her had crumbled away entirely, only a thin shell encasing the slumped figure within. Ember wanted to halt there as they passed it—she felt him hesitate without turning around—and Ky screamed in anger: if he perished, she perished.

He cried out in confusion, but his pounding footsteps echoed behind her, half-drowned by the fury of the clashing spells.

"Do not stop!" she cried, pouring all the energy she possessed into those three important words. Behind them she heard another raspier voice lifted in terror. Her heart sank.

"Do not look back!" Ember never wavered. He trusted her. Ky glanced up again to see that the fractures had grown much larger—and—with a sound like a thunderclap—something broke loose from the ceiling behind them. She half-turned and glimpsed a slab of stone plummeting downward. It slammed into the ground, destroying seven statues… And sent a single warrior flying forward. He landed roughly, his battered helmet thrown from his head.

Blood dripped from his hairline and a gash across the bridge of his nose, and a thin film of liquid amber still clung to his skin and armor. Before Ky could see more, she was thrown to her knees as the impact rippled to the end of the hall. Ember fell on his face, and as she reached for him another tremor rocked the ground, bouncing him even farther away. Ky sang three notes to the earth, of binding and peace, but it was no use—the magic was too far gone.

She sprinted back and caught his hand again, helping him stagger upright.

"Go!" he shouted, his face pale. But Ky did not go. She hummed a short melody for him—of quickness and balance—and they were off again. Light shone through the door, shafts of daylight, or something very much like daylight. It filtered through the falling dust, beckoning them to safety. The destruction stopped at the top of the stairs, beyond the reach of the spell. They were almost there. Twenty bounding steps, at most. Eighteen. Fifteen.

Twelve— A pillar to the far left of the hall suddenly sank into the earth, detached from the crumbling ceiling, and began to collapse in on itself. Rubble sprayed across the stairs like sea foam flung from a crashing wave.

"Ember!" Ky shrieked. Both of them wobbled to a halt as the massive column descended. It struck the tops of the statues and Ember flung himself over her, ducking his head as shards of gemlike stone whistled through the air. They pelted his shoulders and Ky felt two glance off her shin, slicing through her trousers. The broken pillar crashed into the ground beside the steps, the floor heaving and groaning beneath its weight.

"Up, up," she cried, and on they went. Only a few steps separated them and the crumbling stairs. She looked quickly over her shoulder again to make sure Ember was following and bounded up them three at a time. When she reached the top, she was pleased to note that the shifting spells had not broken any stone beyond that hall: all was tranquil at the top of the stairs, save the flying dust.

Ky scrambled to a broken pillar in the adjacent, much narrower hallway—one that had crumbled long ago—and clambered above the reach of flying stones. Ember could not climb so high so quickly, but he could take shelter behind it.

"Ember," she sang out, glancing back in time to see him lurch across the last of the stairs and run three more steps before falling to one knee, utterly winded. And then a hoarse cry pulled his attention back to the hall. From her perch, Ky saw the bleeding warrior stumbling forward, crazed with panic and gesturing wildly to Ember, who sprang to his feet. She knew his intentions at once. No—no, no, no. He could not have her Ember. She would not allow it. You promised, Snail-Skin, you promised… Never, never again…

And yet she must; there was no time to ponder her decision. Ky wailed, lifting her voice above the tremendous crashing, and attained a pitch beyond most men's range of hearing. It was so delicate and thin that few could comprehend any words which may be sung, yet keen as a newly whet knife-edge. And that single note she chose—was fear. The most primal and effective of all persuasions. It did not matter if Ember feared for his life, or feared for hers.

Its only purpose was to stop him from running back to the hall of falling stone. And it succeeded. Ember yanked to a halt just outside the doorway, as if he were attached to a rope and three strong men had just pulled him in the opposite direction. The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation. He stumbled, turned, and stared wildly at her. Ky perched above him on the broken column, out of his reach.

Her heart pounded against her ribs with renewed vitality; she was powerful, and she was wise, and all the world bent before her song. Not even the storm of the mountain's magic could challenge her. It was only half a moment, but half a moment was enough for her to glory in that rush of triumph. So many seasons had passed since she openly lifted her voice against the mind of a man… And she had forgotten. Forgotten the rush, what it felt like to speak, and for another willful creature to obey without question…

Ember's eyes were glazed and brimming with unshed tears. His lips trembled, parted— And a shuddering boom threw him sideways and nearly shook Ky from her perch. Her hold on his will slipped as another broken slab pounded into the center of the hall, crushing several dozen statues. Golden shards snapped and shattered out from beneath it, propelled by the force and speed of their destruction, and a cloud of dust swirled into the air like smoke in a gale. The warrior shouted in terror as he was thrown to the ground.

Stone buckled beneath him, writhing like a stormy sea. Three more cries echoed his as other warriors awakened from their frozen sleep to the wanton destruction of a siren spell. She saw one of them caught up in the seething stone and crushed as it sank back down into the belly of the mountain. She saw the warrior staggering to his hands and knees, running like an animal toward the edge of the chaos. Ember cried out and darted toward the stairs.

"I'm coming!" he shouted, his voice ragged.

"Hurry!" She admired his courage, in the way she might admire the courage of a fish confronting her fanged smile, before it was devoured and swam no more beneath the green waves. A useless courage. The sea of statues shattered into oblivion, a swell rose up beneath the warrior, and he sank back down into the rock-water with a yell of despair—or rage. Ember screamed. The final pair of pillars snapped and crumbled.

And the rest of the broken ceiling within the hall crashed against the rock, devouring all who had awakened from their sleep. Stone they had been, and to stone they returned with a thunderous welcome. The voices hushed… the song of their souls dispersing as they perished one and all. The chaos of the clashing spells, hushed at long last. All of this Ky observed from her broken pillar, and none of it—save Ember's terror—troubled her greatly. It was as it should be. Her Ember was safe.

The strangers who had destroyed her kind had met with a quick and timely end, and none would now live to threaten her own life. The magic was appeased, both spell and counterspell. A cloud hung in the air before the hall, swirling in the shafts of pale light that streamed down from above. Ember bent over double, coughing violently and covering his ears with his hands.

As the echoes faded and the dust settled, Ky leaped down from the pillar and made her way to her prize, stepping lightly around the bits of debris that had tumbled into the hall. He knelt upon the dusty stone, staring blankly at the solid wall of rubble. Dazed, or disturbed. She touched his shoulder lightly and he flinched.

"Ember," she said, gently pulling one of his hands away from his ears. His skin was warm and dry against hers, pleasant in its strangeness—almost familiar, now.

"All is well." At last he looked up at her, and she saw clear trails running through the dirt on his face. The air tasted of salt and powdered rock. My Ember is safe, Ky assured herself, wrapping her own heart in the cold, dark embrace of those words. It is as it should be. He was breathing hard, his nostrils flared. And then he yanked his hand away.

"I could have saved him!" he shouted, his voice loud and sharp after the dull roar of the collapse.

"You stopped me! Why?"

"Ember…" Lurching to his feet, Ember stumbled away, scrubbing the tears from his face.

"Why would you do that? I could have… if you hadn't stopped me, I would have." Ky glanced away, blinking slowly. She had made herself a promise—a promise which Ember knew nothing about. But he was very upset. She had broken her vow to keep him safe, and now it seemed only reasonable that she should break it again to soothe the alarm her interference had caused.

"Ember," she repeated, gentling her voice. He brusquely swiped an arm across his eyes again and took a rasping breath, refusing to turn around.

"These spells are old and mighty—they consume. Do you not see the others are dead? Not hear them cry out their last breath?" She lowered her tone to a whisper, narrowing the space between them.

"Ember… it is well. It is good. We are safe, and the magic is spent." He sighed roughly, sniffing once.

"The magic is spent," he murmured. Ky smiled — yes, it was good to break her vow. Ember only needed a little more persuading, and then he would be happy again. She wet her lips with the tip of her tongue, and touched his shoulder.

"All is well."

"All…" He trailed off, head canting.

"All is well," Ky insisted, drawing the final sonant into a low hum. Ember shrugged her hand away and glanced over his shoulder at her. Bewilderment knotted his forehead.

"What did you say?"

"All is well."

"All… is well…" Ember stared emptily at her for several minutes, and then gasped. Ky leaned away as he bent over for a second time, scrubbing viciously at his eyes again.

"How can you say that? You watched him die! All those men—those sirens —your own people—dead! And for what? Nothing!"

"I can help you, Ember," she said urgently.

"Let me—""No!" He snapped to attention and she took a step back, surprised.

"Don't. I—don't want your help. I don't need your help."

"I am protecting you," Ky said, smoothing her hands before her to soften the air between them.

"There is no need to be angry." His lashes fluttered.

"There is no need… to be…" Ember jerked backward, eyes twitching halfway shut, and then spat, "This is your fault! He's dead, because of you."

"You are not dead, because of me," she corrected softly.

"I'd have had a chance if you—damn it, why didn't you help him?" His accusations were blunt, every word bitten off at the end.

"I know you could have."

"There is no need to be angry," Ky crooned again, worried; the words were the barest whisper, scarcely noticeable to human ears. He shivered, and bit the inside of his cheek. He was angry. This was an unfamiliar anger—a dangerous anger—for he was bespelled by no Book, no ancient magic but that which he had witnessed wreak destruction upon his people.

"Maker," Ember whispered, a word he was fond of saying when awed or upset.

"Maker's breath … What are you doing to me?"

"There is no need to be angry," Ky repeated a third time, hesitating; she knew only simple words, and simple words would not suffice. She knew no explanation in his language that would satisfy him, and indeed if he knew the truth he would no doubt misunderstand her intentions.

"I am creating peace." Her words hung uncontested for several minutes. Ky was about to suggest they move on when he looked up at her again.

"You create nothing," Ember murmured. A new light had dawned in his gaze, and Ky shivered. It was as if she had been hiding under a blanket of leaves, and he had scattered them all with a single glance. His eyes were vast, fathomless, as clear as a winter sky.

"All you do is… twist things." A gaping hole opened inside Ky's mind, or had it always been there? An emptiness seldom heeded—dull emotion, repressed, uncertain. Her fingers twitched to her breast and she blinked at him. His stare never wavered.

"Let me be," he said firmly.

"You've done enough. Please." But there was nothing pleading in his expression. Only pain. She had hurt him, with her song. And now, she had hurt him again. A single drop of fear condensed in her heart—only a drop compared to the wave which she had sent crashing over Ember's mind moments ago. Remember what you seek.

"I am sorry," she whispered at last. His mouth tightened.

"And you won't do it again. Promise me you won't." Ky curled her tongue against her teeth, pondering the words, and lowered her eyes to the dusty floor. A promise to herself, she could break. She had broken many in the past, and would break many more. A promise to another was inherently binding—and she could not risk keeping or breaking such a vow. A gruff sigh scattered her thoughts. Ember had turned his back on her and was walking slowly down the hall, shoulders slumped and spear in hand.

He whacked a stone pillar with the side of the weapon as he passed it, rather viciously. An unfamiliar ache spread its icy fingers throughout Ky's chest, squeezing hard, and she swallowed against the thirst. Thirst for water… And something else. Something she had never known, never tasted, and only glimpsed in passing, but which she longed for as a little fish longed for the ocean, as a stag longed for green meadows, as a songbird longed for the skies.

Ember had brought that back to her—brought back that hope, that longing. And now he was walking away with it. After a moment of solemn reflection, Ky padded after him, the stone floor cool and smooth against her scarred feet.