Part 29 (2/2)

Candle wax dripped on her hand, more than a quarter gone.

Kath turned a corner and the pa.s.sage branched again. A sob threatened the back of her throat but she forced it down. Making a choice, she moved forward, wondering if she made a mistake.

The pa.s.sageway brought more branches, a maze of choices. Her doubts multiplied with every twist and turn. Molten wax dripped on her hand, a measure of the time lost. She stared at the candle, surprised to find it three-quarters melted. Panic threatened, crowding the darkness. Kath stifled the urge to turn and run. Darkness tightened around her, as if the weight of the world pressed down. She longed for a sword but her belt was empty. Feeling naked, she gripped Duncan's warrior ring, a comfort in the dark. Fighting the urge to run, she forced herself to think. They'd come to the north to defeat the Mordant, but to do that, they needed allies. And that meant gaining the trust of the painted people. In order to gain their trust, she would have to trust in return. The insight stiffened her resolve. Facing the darkness, Kath clutched the slender taper of wax like a sword. ”A warrior does not run.” Her whispered words formed a s.h.i.+eld against the dark. Gripping Duncan's warrior ring, she descended into the depths.

A row of skulls sat on a rocky shelf at eye level, a long line of disembodied sentinels. Yellowed with age, some were half-crumbled to dust. She met their ancient stares, wondering if she walked to her own grave.

Beyond the skulls, the pa.s.sage twisted and turned; a torturous meander of stone. Her candle melted to a nub. Chased by darkness, Kath rushed through the pa.s.sageway, desperate for an end. Just when she thought it was hopeless, she turned and saw the light.

Light, warm and welcoming, a distant glow that beckoned.

Tempted to run, Kath slowed to a crawl, wondering if it was trap. Breathing deep, she caught the musky aroma of peat; proof the light was no illusion. She crept forward, peering around the corner.

The pa.s.sage opened into a round chamber with a domed ceiling. The near half glowed golden with light, a thousand candles perched on rocky shelves...but the far half was pitch black, as dark and forbidding as a sealed tomb. A great crack, three feet wide, split the chamber asunder, like a bolt of divine lightning separating light from dark.

Drawn towards the divide, Kath entered the chamber, stepping to the jagged edge. The great crack split the ceiling and the floor, creating a jagged gaping darkness, as if an angry G.o.d had sundered the world in two. Cold seeped up out of the depths, laden with mystery and a feeling of great age, like the first breath of the world. Kath stared into the depths, wondering what lurked below. Gripped by curiosity, she nudged a small rock over the edge. The stone disappeared, swallowed by darkness. She waited, poised on the edge, but there was never a sound, as if the great crack had no bottom.

”Few are so brazen at the boundary of the G.o.ds.”

Startled, Kath spun. Putting her back to the dark half, she searched for the speaker. Glowing candles filled every niche and cranny of the domed wall, tears of wax dripping down. A peat fire burned in a circle of stones, providing warmth and the loamy smells of gra.s.s and roots. A mound of blankets and sheepskins sat on the far side of the blaze. A face peered out of the mound, so wrinkled and worn that the blue tattoos were muddled to a blur.

”Come and sit by my fire.”

A woman's voice, frail with age. Kath stepped away from the crack, taking a seat near the blaze.

”Blow the candle out, dear, before it burns you.”

She'd forgotten the candle clutched in her hand, a mere nubbin of wax. She blew it out, sending a curl of smoke to the ceiling, and then stared across the flames at the woman. So old, her face was a ma.s.s of wrinkles, only a few wisps of long white hair on her head. She sat huddled under the sheepskins as if a breath of wind would blow her away...but then Kath looked in her eyes. Dark brown eyes stared back at her, impossibly deep, wells of memory, full of power, as if they held the wisdom of the ages. ”Who are you?”

A soft cackle of laughter, ”Always the first question.” The old woman smiled; a toothless grin yet full of mirth. ”The oldest one, the guardian of truth, the keeper of memories, the Ancestor.”

”Keeper of memories?”

”The mind is full of doorways. Memories leak past the doors, around them, beneath them, images of other places, other lifetimes. And sometimes those doors open wide, revealing much that was lost.”

Kath held her breath, thinking of her visions in the broken tower. ”Why am I here?”

”To confront the Dark, a test all leaders must take.” The woman reached into a pouch, throwing a scattering of herbs into the fire. The herbs sparkled and cracked, releasing a blue smoke, a faint scent of sage...and something else, something Kath could not name.

The old woman gestured to the domed ceiling and the great dark divide. ”Light balanced against the Dark, we are all drawn into the Battle Immortal...but some bear more of the burden than others.”

Kath shuddered, having heard those words before, the battle immortal.

The old woman's voice dropped to a hushed whisper. ”Deep in the bowels of Mother Earth, a warrior can feel the weight of the world.” Dark eyes bored into Kath. ”You felt it, didn't you, child, the weight of the world on your shoulders?”

s.h.i.+vering, Kath nodded, caught by the old woman's stare.

”You wished for something when the earth settled on your shoulders...what was it?”

The words whispered out of her. ”A sword.”

”And something else?”

”Duncan.”

”War and love, an unlikely pairing.” The old woman rocked back and forth, eyes closed, humming a wordless tune.

Lulled by the scents of sage and burning sod, Kath leaned toward the fire's warmth, listening to the old woman's wordless song, thoughts of Duncan tumbling through her mind.

Dark eyes snapped open, a piercing gaze. ”Why did you come north?”

”To fight the Mordant.”

The old woman reached beneath her blankets...unsheathing a dagger. ”With this?”

Kath gasped; the crystal dagger.

A hand as frail as a bird's claw held the dagger aloft, firelight dancing along the milk-white crystal. ”An ancient weapon, a dagger of Light, formed by the powers of earth and magic...a weapon that evokes the oldest of memories.” The old one blinked, slow like an owl, her eyes pools of mystery. ”The tall knight carried it...but it is not his to wield.”

”No.”

”How did it come to your hand?”

Kath yearned to hold the dagger, a burning need that welled inside of her. ”I found it in a ruined tower, deep in the heart of Wyeth.”

”And it's purpose?”

”To slay the Mordant, so he can never be re-born.”

The old woman nodded. ”A soul-slayer, a powerful weapon of the Light...borne by an unexpected champion.” More herbs were thrown on the fire, creating a blaze of sparks. ”Only an old soul can wield such a blade.” The old woman pointed the dagger at Kath. ”Tell me, youngling, what memories do you harbor in your soul?”

Kath s.h.i.+vered, remembering the Star Tower. ”A broken tower, deep in the forests of Wyeth...I saw it whole and at the peak of its glory. I wore armor, a great sword belted to my side...and there was a man, another knight, his face more familiar than my own...” Kath shook her head. ”A fragment of a dream...I don't understand.”

”I think you do. Some destinies are stamped on our very souls.”

A rush of cold air belched out of the great crack. The fire guttered against the Dark a.s.sault, but flames held. A snap of red sparks danced across the domed ceiling, like fireflies trapped within the earth.

Kath made the hand sign against evil, moving closer to the fire, her voice a hushed whisper. ”So you're saying my vision was true?”

”A memory from another life, seeping beneath a closed door.”

Kath struggled to understand. ”So we're destined to repeat the past?”

”No.” The old woman made a cutting gesture with the dagger. ”Not repeat, never that, repet.i.tion breeds stagnation. We learn from the past, always driven by a greater destiny.” A handful of herbs renewed the fire, sparks of red and blue dancing among the golden flames. ”The dagger of Light appears only when it is most needed.” The old woman leaned forward, her eyes pools of ancient wisdom. ”Are you the one to wield it? Are you the queen of swords?”

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