Crucible Page 12

  He was a liar, and maybe a murderer. Sparrow knew, in the pit of her stomach, that this stranger was no respecter of peace accords, nor acting in good faith.

  He smiled now, a toothy, predatory grimace. “And you are?”

  Sparrow shot a glance at Brock, but of course he could not return it. How she wished she could speak directly into his mind, or Abilard’s mind. Anything to warn them of the danger, without revealing to this man how much she already understood.

  Nobody in this crowded room could help her. Sparrow was going to have to make her own way. “I’m Sparrow,” she said. “Tell me, who is my father?”

  A wave of confusion passed over the man’s face and away. “What does it matter? I am here to claim vengeance for my people.”

  “Your people? Who are your people? They are certainly not mine.”

  Liros stepped forward. “He says he is the mayor of Longfall,” he repeated.

  The confusion on the man’s face melted away, replaced by an expression of injured dignity. “I say it because it is true.”

  Sparrow glared at him. “I was born and raised in Longfall, and I tell you it is not true.”

  The mask fell away then, and the stranger flew into a terrible rage. “You lie! You lie! How dare you question me!”

  Liros looked from Sparrow to the stranger, a small smile dimpling his face. “He says that a Clan attacked the village and killed all of the inhabitants.”

  Pain shot through Sparrow’s heart like an arrow. “No. No, I just don’t believe it.”

  The thought of it made her want to curl up on the floor and die too. But instead she stood her ground against the stranger. “It can’t be true. There was no murder at Longfall . . . only silence. Brock and Abilard felt it too. My villagers are missing, not murdered.”

  Sparrow took a deep, shuddering breath, shook her head. “I don’t know what is going on here,” she said slowly. “What is your name?”

  “I am Emptiness,” the man said, and the hairs all along the back of Sparrow’s neck prickled in warning.

  A shout from outside the ekele interrupted them, and the thunder of beating wings filled the sky. Sparrow ran to the door, as much to get away from the man called Emptiness as to respond to the noise.

  She threw the door open and looked up.

  Crows. Hundreds of crows, crowding the trees around the Vale, cawing and calling one to another, back and forth. So many crows that the trees looked black now, not green.

  They waited in their multitudes. Sparrow gaped up at the massive visitation from the doorway.

  “They are coming for you.” It was Brock, at her elbow—how did he find her, without sight? “Liros told me, when we spoke in the clouds.”

  “Why?”

  “You will need to ask them to find out.”

  She turned to face him, her beloved friend. And, she secretly wished, her heartmate someday. His face turned in on itself, his eyes forever closed, but his strength flowed through her, gave her courage.

  “I cannot speak their language, Brock. I don’t know what they want from me.”

  “I will take you. Come with me.”

  She pointed at the ekele. “But what about that—that disaster in there?”

  “Nothing’s going to happen until we understand the truth. That man, whoever he is—will have to wait until we return . . . Liros will make sure of it. Nobody would have made war over what he said, but something is terribly wrong, and now we all know it. These birds know the truth. They want to tell you.”

  He reached for her hand, and she grabbed his fingers, put her arm around his shoulders . . . the long ride and the confrontation in the smoky ekele had made her so dizzy and sick that Sparrow needed to lean on his strength.

  They left the ekele behind and walked together. Brock led the way now, following leylines that Sparrow could not make out with her ordinary sight. He took her along a winding path, shielded by plants with enormous leaves like fans, blowing lazily in the summer breeze. She forced herself to breathe, and the loamy smell of the rich earth half-revived her as they went.

  “Come in,” he said, and they walked into another ground-level structure, much smaller than the one where they had met the stranger.

  “What is this place?” she asked.

  “This is my ekele,” he said. “On the ground level, no climbing required.”

  Suddenly Sparrow didn’t know where to put her feet, as if she were an awkward puppy slipping on the surface of a frozen-over pond. “Um, so this is where you came from,” she said.

  She took in the space with a single glance—it wasn’t very large at all—and when she looked back at Brock, she was amazed to see him blushing. “This is where I used to chase the clouds by myself, after I got sick and lost my sight,” he said. “I didn’t know how to get back here, but at least I knew my body would be safe. And even though the Healers couldn’t call me back the way you can, they made sure my body and spirit stayed connected somehow.”

  “So this is your home, then.”

  He smiled and shrugged. “Not anymore. Now I’d say my home is the road, wherever you are.”

  It was Sparrow’s turn to blush. “Me? What about Abilard?”

  “Abilard and I are together always. But you and I . . . we’re two of a kind, Sparrow. We walk the same road.”

  His words sounded dangerously like a declaration of a lifebond. Sparrow wanted to hear him say it, and at the same time she was terrified that he would. Both pathways filled her with confusion. “Don’t, Brock. I . . . can’t. Or maybe I can . . . I just don’t know, not just yet.”

  Brock smiled to himself. “I walk with you, either way. Come with me . . . into the clouds.”

  Sparrow was familiar with the process, and she hoped the answers to the trouble with the village could be found on the elemental plane where Brock soared. They didn’t have time to fully ground their energy or to lie down, so instead she interlaced her fingers with his and leaned forward until their foreheads touched. The silk of his hair brushed against her cheek, and she breathed in his soft musk and relaxed against him.

  They breathed together, and though her mind still raced, her body began to relax. She waited for him to leap into the clouds, to where she could not follow.

  But this time, when she visualized them on the plane of clouds, he walked up to her, his eyes wide open on this level of existence. He came right up to her and kissed her, gently, on the lips.

  “Abilard Chose me,” Brock said. “But you are the one to choose now. You are my beloved, and here, where I can speak freely, I will say it. Hold on, and I will take you up into the clouds now, higher than you have ever flown before. I will keep you safe.”

  It took only a moment for Sparrow to decide, despite her fear that both of them would get lost if she too disappeared into the cloud-level of consciousness with him. In the end, she chose to fly because of her father, who needed her to find him. And because here, Sparrow was the limited one and Brock the adept, and she wanted to follow him here, on the higher level where Brock soared on his Gift.

  They leaped into the air, flying up and up into the fluffy gray and white clouds. They flew for what seemed an impossible distance, and then . . .

  They broke through to the higher level. To brilliant blue skies above the murkiness and mist of the carpet of fluff below them.

  The higher they flew, the less consequential Sparrow felt. She held on to Brock’s hand for dear life, staring at the rainbows refracting off the clouds below, bent in fantastical patterns in the sky.

  The crows joined them at this impossible height. But up here, Sparrow no longer feared them. Like them, she was winged. The crows surrounded them, a funnel of inky blackness, a whirl of wings and feathers and bright eyes.

  “Liros!” Brock called across the great expanse. “Cloud-Singer!”

  He did not appear, but his voice
called back to them. “Speak to the crows . . . I listen.”

  Sparrow took a deep astral breath. “I bid you well, crows. Please, tell us your tale.”

  A great cawing rose among them, and their rough voices soon drew together into a harshly beautiful song:

  She chooses, she chooses,

  Change comes to the maiden.

  Do not be defiled by illusions,

  Do not let love be laid down.

  For the magic is in the change,

  Magic is in the choice.

  Spread your wings, little Sparrow,

  Speak in your true voice.

  The home you seek still lives

  In manner changed, but constant still.

  Emptiness shall not prevail.

  On wings of change, choose heart’s will.

  They sang their song again and again, until they were sure she understood. Then, their message delivered, the crows unspooled from their coil and flew away in a ragged, shifting formation across the golden horizon.

  “Did you understand?” Sparrow asked Brock. Tears streamed down her face, and her heart was bursting with gratitude for the crows’ song.

  “No . . . the song was beautiful, but it was all a mystery and a riddle to me.”

  “The village is under a Change-Spell. That . . . thing . . . in your Clan’s ekele is a Change-Adept, a man from the north who willingly threw himself into a Change Circle, gave up his humanity for power. He became Emptiness and sucked the life out of the village to cause strife, to feed his power.”

  “You are a sage, Sparrow . . .”

  She turned to face him, still holding on for dear life. Exhilarating as their flight above the clouds was, she knew that only with Brock’s Gift could she fly so high. Only with Sparrow’s Gift could Brock return to earth.

  Sparrow was not Chosen. But she would do the hard, right thing—fight the Change-Adept who had stolen her father, embrace Brock’s love despite her fears. The crows spoke of change, not death.

  Brock was right . . . they walked the same path. She chose him as heartmate. And though a Herald’s Companion did not Choose her, in her service to Brock, Sparrow herself had chosen the Herald’s way.

  As they returned to the ground, Sparrow now leading the way to where their bodies waited, she knew Liros had heard the crows’ song and understood its import. He’d heard Sparrow’s explanation and brought it back to his people. Like a messenger bird, Sparrow had brought the gift of the crows’ song back to the Vale.

  • • •

  By the time they rejoined the Clan in the ekele, Emptiness had fled. Voices rose in the commotion, and scouts ran in and out the door, bearing the news of the Change-Adept’s infiltration of the Vale.

  Sparrow sought out Abilard, who was still standing near the entrance to the meeting structure. He shifted his weight from one silver hoof to another, clearly ready to bolt if need be. They exchanged a long, silent glance.

  :The battle is joined, in this place, in this moment.: Determination and more than a hint of righteous anger shone in his luminous sapphire eyes.

  The wind rose outside the ekele, a low moan that shook the walls. Sparrow froze, a jolt of fear shooting through her fingers. Her first instinct was to hide and let the warriors take the battle to their collective foe. She was no soldier. Her abilities ran to healing, not war.

  But that was her fear talking, not her heart. Her heart insisted that Sparrow had an important part to play in the unfolding battle. She had seen through the Change-Adept’s subtle disguise. Herald or not, warrior or not, Sparrow’s discernment was critical to what happened here.

  She took a deep breath, reached for Brock’s hand. The fear trapped in her body transformed into a pure surge of power. “What do we do?” she asked, her voice straining over the uproar. “How can we help the Clan fight?”

  “The Mages are sending word throughout the Vale that an enemy is in our midst. The Clan will fight any Change-Beasts with their weapons, but we must use our Gifts. Hold my hand and ground me, Sparrow. I must fight from the air . . . keep me connected so that I can come back.”

  “Take me with you!”

  Brock’s fingers tightened over her own. “As long as we stay linked to this world, we can rise up together. But you’re the one who has to make sure we can return.”

  She took a deep belly breath, connected with the energy fields running in fast-rushing currents under their feet, a river of life. Brock’s fingers grew cold as he sent his consciousness into his domain, the realm of clouds. Sparrow took one last look at the blur of men rushing all around her, some with hatchets and spears in their hands.

  :I will stand guard over both of you!: Abilard called into her mind. :Go with him!:

  Sparrow slammed her eyes shut and took another breath. She gasped at the surge of energy shooting from the subterranean currents up through the soles of her feet and into her core. She shot out of her body and into the sky, a sparrow scanning the clouds for hawks.

  Brock’s voice filtered down to her like rain. “Straight up, through the clouds. Don’t be afraid.”

  She almost laughed aloud . . . Sparrow wasn’t afraid. She was terrified. But Herald Zama’s words rang in her ears now, and they made profound sense here, at the moment of truth. Fear meant nothing in this moment. Like physical pain, fear was a messenger, but it was up to Sparrow to choose how to respond.

  She chose to stand her ground. To face the sum of her deepest fears, the thief Emptiness. And to do the next right thing, no matter what price she would have to pay.

  Sparrow shot through the clouds, exquisitely aware of every tuft of mist, every current of energy blowing like wind through the puffy white configurations forming and re-forming all around her. She had no power to summon, no Gift. But she knew she posed a threat to their common enemy, nonetheless.

  “Emptiness!” she called through the clouds. “You took my father, now come and get me!”

  A low boom assaulted her astral ears, shook her painfully. Sparrow guessed her soul was an energy too tempting for the Change-Adept to leave behind. He could sense her lack of Mage Gift and could not resist swooping out of the sky to take her too, just another villager, just another power source.

  A black clot of nothingness appeared before her, a hole in the world. “You presume, girl!” Emptiness shrieked out of the hole. “You see nothing, you understand nothing!”

  Sparrow did not have to understand the evil hunting her. She only had to stand her ground. She did not stand alone.

  Fear and isolation were an illusion, a spell of evil; she could see it clearly here in the clouds of pure being. For here, Sparrow was surrounded by the force of Brock’s love for her, a palpable shield. And her enemy feared love more than anything.

  Sparrow stood completely still in the clouds, silent. She stared into the void but was not consumed. “I choose,” she whispered. “I choose love. What do you choose, Emptiness?”

  He came screaming out of the gray wound in the sky, claws outstretched. “I choose death, I choose nothingness, I choose supreme mastery over life, which can only die. You will feed my power, you are my food!”

  She stood, open and defenseless, arms held open at her sides. And as the Adept rushed at her, a column of black wings rose all around her, the crows of Longfall, a living shield.

  Mage energies surged into the clouds, turning them from gray and white to pearlescent, vibrating with power. Through the beating wings surrounding her, she saw Emptiness falter, his face indistinct within the gray of the hole in the sky. His claws withered, and his features contorted with rage.

  Brock’s voice boomed through the air. “Release the illusion. You are not Emptiness, you are Krul Kingfallen of the Ice Snake Clan. Go by your true name. Go by your truth.”

  “No!”

  But it was too late. The illusion burned away before the power of Brock’s v
oice on this plane, and the Change reverted. Instead of a disguised Adept, a man stood in the clouds, one with white trews and a cruel face.

  Before he could say anything else, Krul fell out of the sky. His despairing scream slashed at the clouds. The Change-Spell was broken.

  • • •

  Sparrow returned them to the ekele. Her body shook as with an ague, and she blinked hard, saw dancing gray spots and tasted metal.

  Abilard gently whickered, and he stretched his head down to nuzzle her with his velvety nose. :Don’t leave us now, little Sparrow! The battle is won. The danger is averted.:

  Exhausted. “Longfall . . .” she whispered.

  Brock pulled her into his arms. “Longfall is safe. The villagers were there all the time, hidden by a powerful spell of invisibility. But the spell is broken now. They are all still alive.”

  Sparrow relaxed inside the safe circle of Brock’s arms, relieved and restored. She and Brock had met Herald Zama’s challenge and proven their mettle.

  Now it was the time for healing. Word had been sent to Keisha Wisewoman to bring healing to the village, and Sparrow would meet her there, at long last.

  “The Raven Clan would have you, Sparrow,” Liros told them as they prepared to leave the Vale once more. “But we claim you for our own, through Cloud-Brother.”

  “As I claim you, most happily,” Sparrow replied. “You are my people, as much as the people of Longfall.”

  She chose Brock for her lifemate, too. She chose love, and the way of love instead of fear.

  She looped her arms around Brock as they rode together with Abilard, and Sparrow knew she had found her home once again, and forever.

  The Harvest

  Kristin Schwengel

  The smell of dirt, dark and moist, filled her nostrils. Yesterday’s rain had soaked in and started new growth, and she inhaled deeply to savor its earthy scent.

  Stabbing agony lanced through her, her ribs burning from the strain of that breath, and she coughed. Dirt and wet leaves scattered, and she forced herself to focus, closing out the pain.