Part 14 (1/2)
She still doesn't understand, Aeriel thought wearily, in wonder. She doesn't know about the plagues and the destruction. She thinks if she goes there, she will find all Ocea.n.u.s alive. Then, If she knew-if I could show her- would she stop?
”All the Ancients of Ocea.n.u.s perished,” Aeriel managed, speaking as plainly as she knew how, ”in a great war dozens of thousands of daymonths ago.”
Ravenna's daughter laughed again. ”Lies! My mother told you that. It's all nonsense. The Ancients are as G.o.ds, are G.o.ds.
And soon I will join their ranks. I have proven myself their equal in sorcery. Soon I will claim the birthright of my Ancient blood and walk at last upon my mother's world.”
”There's no one there!” Aeriel searched feverishly for a way to convince her. ”Their chariots have long since stopped coming. They no longer speak across the Void.”
The White Witch scoffed. ”Tired of us. Tired of little minions, little golams, little living toys. Weary-as I am weary-of all the lesser creatures of this world. Weary of you all! Do you think, once I am on Ocea.n.u.s, that I will deign to return ever again to this place? That I will trouble myself to speak with any of you across the Void?”
”They're dead!” Aeriel insisted, despairing, realizing as she did that it was hopeless. No words she could speak would ever persuade Oriencor.
The bitter savor of the Witch's heart lingered even now upon her tongue. She would have spat, if it could have done any good, but the grains had long since dissolved. She could not get the taste out of her mouth. Ravenna's voice came back to her then, or perhaps it was the pearl's murmuring again: Crush the Witch's army. Destroy her darkangels-and without so much as a jolt of surprise, Aeriel understood why she must give the pearl to Ravenna's daughter.
The Ancient jewel enabled its bearer to separate genuine from illusory. Fiery images of Ocea.n.u.s's destruction burned bright in Aeriel's mind, with none of the mistiness of possibility and all the unmistakable clarity of fact. Only in claiming the pearl would Oriencor know, beyond all doubt, that Ocea.n.u.s was dead and the Ancient race no more, that no end could come of killing and abandoning the world. Better to use her vast sorcery to heal it now-it was the only birthright Ravenna's heir would ever know.
Have you ever treasured something, child, a thing so dear you thought you could never give it up-then learned you must? Aeriel understood the Ancient's question now as well, and suddenly all courage failed her. Without the pearl, she would be bereft, robbed forever of its subtle, all-pervading light. It had been a part of her so long that now she could feel its substance in her very bones. Relinquis.h.i.+ng it would be like cutting off her own hand, like dying. Doubdess she would die-for without the pearl to keep away the cold, she would swiftly freeze.”Ocea.n.u.s is dead,” she told the other, with all the certainty and conviction at her command. Rising painfully, Aeriel reached to pull the pearl's chain from her hair. ”Take this if you do not believe. Take your mother's gift, Oriencor, and behold for yourself.”
Her hand shook. Holding out the pearl to the Witch was the hardest thing she had ever done. Take it, she wanted to cry.
Take it quickly! But all at once, she heard a shout. Startled, the pearl still in her hand, Aeriel turned. Avarclon wheeled and thrashed to a halt just outside the broad, high window of the tower. His hooves clattered against the winterock as he flailed and scrambled, unable to hover easily so near the keep. Irrylath leaned forward, clutching the starhorse's mane.
”Aeriel!” he cried. ”Aeriel!”
Oriencor turned from the pale girl to sneer at him. ”Begone, traitor,” she spat. ”You and your Horse and your Blade do not frighten me. Aeriel is mine.”
”Monster! Lorelei,” Irrylath shouted at her. Turning his gaze once more to Aeriel, he cried urgently, ”Has she harmed you?
Give me your hand.”
Avarclon's hooves clashed and rang against the frigid stone. His wings, fanning the air, swept and battered against the tower's outer wall. Irrylath strained forward, reaching his free hand for Aeriel, but he could not get close. The window was not large enough for Avarclon to pa.s.s through. Irrylath hacked at the cas.e.m.e.nt relentlessly with the Blade Adamantine. Ignoring him, the White Witch turned away.
”What is it you would give me?” she said contemptuously.
Aeriel gazed back at her. The jewel glimmered in the pale girl's outstretched hand. ”That with which your mother entrusted me,” she whispered. ”The pearl of the soul of the world.”
Oriencor tilted her head, eyeing the pearl with new interest. The pale girl nodded.
”Who bears it cannot be fooled by lies.”
The other's green eyes studied Aeriel intently suddenly. ”Has my mother acknowledged my birthright at last?” she murmured.
”All Ravenna's sorcery is in here,” Aeriel told her, ”all her knowledge for the running of the world. The making of it cost her life.”
Oriencor's eyes grew hungry, bright. ”Give it to me, then,” she answered, reaching.
”Don't let her touch you!” Irrylath cried. Great chunks of winterock broke and fell away from the Blade. The wall had a gap in it now, still not large enough. Avarclon whinnied and smote with his hooves. ”Aeriel,” Irrylath insisted. ”Come to me. I'll take you away!”
Aeriel looked at him in surprise, at the desperation on his face, the sweat running down from his temples even as his breath burned and steamed like a dragon's in the freezing air. The pearl glowed in her hand.
”It's my inheritance,” Oriencor was muttering. ”I'll take it with me when I go to Ocea.n.u.s.”
”Aeriel,” Irrylath called urgently, leaning once more through the battered window. ”Come-answer me!”
If he leans any farther, she thought fearfully, he'll fall. His arm stretched out to her, hand open, palm up. A wild longing filled her suddenly as she realized she could go with him. If she went now, she wouldn't die. She could keep the pearl, all its strange sorcery and light-keep it for herself. Irrylath would pluck her away, and they would escape.
”Why do you hesitate?” Oriencor demanded sharply. ”Put it into my hand.”
Aeriel stared at her, shaking. The Witch was already defeated, all her minions put to flight. But she has not been redeemed.a voice rising unbidden within her prodded. She has not been persuaded that what you say is true. Go with Irrylath, and you will have won a hollow victory. The world will not be healed. The Witch will soon rebuild her power-till you must fight this same battle all over again. Bitterly, Aeriel realized that she must fulfill Ravenna's task, no matter what the cost.
”Come-Aeriel!” her husband cried.
The pearl burned bright as Solstar in her palm.
Much as she longed to, she could not go with Irrylath. Shaking her head, she whispered, ”Fare well.”
Oriencor had begun to laugh. Aeriel saw Irrylath gazing at her in desperate incomprehension. Above the other's laughter, the rasp of his own breathing and Avarclon's, the thrash of the starhorse's wings and the clatter of his hooves, surely the prince could not have heard her words. But she saw from his expression that he had read the frame of her lips, the shake of her head.
Too late, he cried out, ”No!” as Aeriel tore her eyes away from his, and turned to put the pearl in the White Witch's hand.
FOURTEEN.
Flood
The White Witch screamed. Aeriel stood frozen, still touching the pearl. She felt something running out of it and into Oriencor, who stood like a statue, immobile, her mouth fallen open to keen one long, high note that went on and on. Those in barges below and on the battlefield beyond stood halted, turned, staring at the keep. Images had begun to play across the surface of the pearl: pestilence and fire-Ocea.n.u.s destroying itself.
”Dead?” the White Witch screamed. ”Dead? How can that be? Not dead. Not dead! Poisoned? Plague? How could they destroy themselves?”
Aeriel could not move, could not take her gaze or her hand away from the pearl. Neither, it seemed, could Oriencor, whose chilling cries continued. Dazed, Aeriel realized that though the pearl was imparting certain knowledge of the Ancients'
fate, Ravenna's daughter was denying it, refusing to believe. Aeriel shook her head. Her ears rang with the Witch's protests. It had never occurred to her that Oriencor might refuse the gift.
”It was only we, only we they caused to war for their pleasure. They can't-they can't be dead! It isn't possible...”
Aeriel felt a stab of sudden fear. She herself had never refused any knowledge she had received through the pearl. She had no idea what would happen to anyone who tried. She had no idea what was happening to Oriencor now. The Witch seemed to be striving to thrust the pearl back into Aeriel's hand. The aroma of Ancient flowers came to her suddenly as a new image gathered itself within the pearl, that of a dusky lady with indigo eyes.
”Daughter,” she said quietly, ”believe.”
Aeriel stared. This image was no misty construct of the future, no vivid memory of the past-it reflected the present: tangible, alive. A living Ravenna gazed at the White Witch from the surface of the pearl.
”No!” the lorelei gasped, recoiling. ”I saw your funeral fire-” The Ancientlady shook her head. ”That was only my body, child. Some arts of the Ancients you never learned. My inner essence has been translated, that my messenger might bear me to you. All my being is contained within this pearl. The whole of my magic, my very soul-yours, if you will but accept!”