Part 54 (1/2)

”No, you can't do that,” Mr. Rafferdy said. ”Magick is for opening and binding things. Your own Mr. Bennick taught me that.”

The dark cowl moved as the magician nodded. ”Yes, for binding things.” He reached out a hand. ”What if I were to bind her lungs so that they could not draw a breath? Or her heart so it could not beat?”

Mr. Rafferdy clenched his jaw but said nothing. Despite her fear, an anger rose in Ivy. Who were these men to threaten her so?

”If you take one step nearer, he'll knock it down,” she said. ”What magick will there be in the orb when it lies in a heap of broken shards? Do it, Mr. Rafferdy. If they come closer, push the stand over.”

Beside her, Mr. Rafferdy hefted his cane.

The magician gestured with a hand. ”Please, do break the crystal, Mr. Rafferdy. Strike it with your cane, knock it over, and see what comes through. Except you won't see a thing. For the moment you touch it, you'll be dead. The binding on the eye will see to that.”

Mr. Rafferdy tightened his grip on the cane. ”You're lying.”

The black hood tilted to one side. ”Am I? Why do you think we've been waiting all these years for the enchantment to weaken? Only we won't have to wait much longer. Even now it is near to opening. When you unlocked the house, you also weakened the binding. For that we owe you our thanks. So you see, Mr. Rafferdy, there's no need to expend your life. The eye will shatter very soon now. And when it does, they will come through.”

Mr. Rafferdy scowled. ”Who will come through?”

”The Ashen,” Ivy said quietly.

The magician nodded to her. ”You know much, Mrs. Quent. Yet you know so much less than you think you do. Nor do I have the time or desire to explain it to you. Now, both of you, please stand aside.”

Ivy started to protest, but Mr. Rafferdy took her wrist and pulled her back. ”We can't,” he murmured. ”There are too many of them, and they have magick.”

Anguish filled her, but he was right. Together the two retreated deeper into the room, to one side of the artifact. The other two came in, and the first three who had entered approached the sphere. As they did, they pushed back their hoods. All were men. Ivy recognized none of them.

”The Eye of Ran-Yahgren,” one of them said, a man with a thin nose and a thin, sharp mouth. ”G.o.d in Eternum, it's real.”

”Of course it's real,” the first magician said, a note of disgust in his deep voice. He was dark-haired and his countenance stern, even lordly. ”And its existence has nothing to do with G.o.d-at least not the G.o.d to whom the priests in St. Galmuth's mumble worthless prayers. It is a far older deity who should be thanked for this wonder.”

”It's beautiful,” said the third magician, a man who looked little older than Mr. Rafferdy. He approached the orb, and the crimson light bathed his face. ”I can see something inside!” he exclaimed.

He bent closer, peering into the crystal sphere. Ivy started to say something, but Mr. Rafferdy squeezed her wrist, and she bit her tongue. The dark-haired man exchanged a look with the thin-nosed one, but neither of them said anything.

”It's huge,” the young magician said, his face close to the artifact. ”The sun looks so huge there, and the land-I can't even see it. It's covered with-but it's them, of course. It has to be. I can see them moving past one another, over one another. There are thousands upon thousands of them. How can they survive? What do they possibly consume for nourishment? Unless it is-wait, there is one nearby. I think one of them can see me. I believe it's moving closer.” He lifted a hand. ”Yes, it's coming this way. It's almost-”

As once before, a shadow filled the orb, as if something had drawn closer to its inner surface. At the same moment the young magician screamed. It was a shrill sound. His hands curled back from the artifact, clawing at his face, his eyes.

”It saw me!” he shrieked. ”No, it saw inside me, and there was nothing there!”

He staggered back, his hands still scrabbling at his face. To Ivy's horror, she saw blood oozing from between his fingers. The other magicians reached for him, but he twisted his way past them.

”There was nothing!” he shouted again. Then his cry became a wordless scream. He ran out of the room, through the chamber beyond, and into the corridor. A moment later there came a thudding noise, and the screaming ceased.

Ivy watched as one of the magicians left the chamber. He returned a minute later, leaning his hooded head toward the dark-haired man.

”His neck was broken,” the magician said. ”He fell down the stairs.”

”More likely he threw himself down,” the dark-haired man said with what seemed the trace of a smile. ”It's just as we were promised. Their power is great indeed.”

The other man licked his thin lips. ”Are you certain we-that is, surely they would not harm us?”

”On the contrary,” the dark-haired man said. ”They would eat you from the inside out until you were nothing more than a husk, one they could climb inside and do with what they wished-but only if we were to allow it. All we have to do is call the circle of power, and any that come through when the enchantment is broken will be bound to us as slaves. Then we will put a new binding on the eye-one we can open and close as we wish. We will not be denied our servants this time.” He cast a sharp look at Ivy. ”Not as we were once before.”

The magician walked around the artifact. ”How good of you to draw the circle of power for us, Mr. Rafferdy. You've made our task easy indeed. I have only to correct a few of the runes you drew improperly...” He knelt, tracing a hand through the powder on the floor. ”There, it is ready.”

”What should we do about them?” the thin-nosed one said, pointing to Ivy and Mr. Rafferdy.

”Bind him. He's a magician.”

”Are you fools?” Mr. Rafferdy said, stepping in front of Ivy. ”That man was one of your own. You saw what just looking through that thing did to him. It's madness to open it. You have-”

Several of the magicians raised their hands and spoke guttural words. At the same moment Mr. Rafferdy ceased moving, his body going rigid. His eyes stared blindly. Ivy let out a cry and touched his arm. It was as hard as stone. She studied him and after a moment could detect that he was breathing. Only the breaths were so slow, so shallow.

She looked up, glaring at the magicians. To her eyes, the ruby light in the room was tinged with emerald.

”What of her?” the man with the thin nose said.

The dark-haired one shrugged. ”What can a woman do against us?”

The other nodded. Then the four remaining magicians arranged themselves in front of the crystal sphere, and washed in its impossible light they began to chant in a language older than mankind itself. The symbol drawn on the floor glowed blue. On the stand the artifact shuddered and swelled-a red eye gazing in a baleful stare.

A green veil seemed to descend over Ivy's vision. She let go of Mr. Rafferdy's motionless arm and stood straight. Fear departed her. Who were these men to presume that they could undo what her father had given so much-the very essence of himself-to achieve? She did not know what the place she could see through the orb was or what the things there were. All she knew was that if these magicians-these men-wanted something, then it could not be allowed.

What can a woman do against us? their leader had said.

Ivy took a step toward the artifact. Jagged lines of blue light snaked across the suface of the sphere like cracks. Enrapt in their spell, the men did not seem to see her. Her lips curved into a smile, and she took another step closer. Yes, she would show them what a woman could do.

Ivy shut her eyes. Grow, she said silently. Grow wild once more.

The sound of chanting ceased, replaced by m.u.f.fled cries and choking sounds. Ivy opened her eyes.

It had happened even more quickly than she had thought. The legs of the wooden stand twisted and thickened, sinking roots into the floorboards. At the same time, green tendrils rose up out of the floor, tangling around the feet of the magicians, coiling up their bodies, around their arms, their necks, into their mouths. The men gagged, struggling and reeling.

”Grow,” Ivy spoke the word aloud this time.

The Wyrdwood listened. The tendrils thickened into stout cords, binding the men so they could not move, could not speak. The braided frame holding the sphere rippled like a ma.s.s of brown serpents. Ivy could sense the tendrils weaving together, pulling the surface of the orb inward, preventing it from expanding. Inside the crystal, furious shadows writhed.

Ivy moved forward. Branches draped from the ceiling, caressing her gently as she went. She stopped in front of the dark-haired magician. His lips curled back from his teeth in pain and disgust, and his face had gone a dusky color. He spoke a word, and though there was no breath or sound to it, she knew all the same what it was he said.

Witch.

She looked up at him. ”You seek to know what is beyond the doorway. Why don't you look, then? All of you.”

The magicians struggled, but they could not resist as the cords bent and straightened, dragging them toward the artifact. Vines pulled back their hoods and held their heads, forcing their gazes toward the opening. When they tried to shut their eyes, small tendrils forced their lids back open, so that they had no choice but to look as their faces were bent nearer to the orb, and nearer yet.

One of them screamed. Another followed suit, and another, letting out wordless sounds of despair. The last was the dark-haired man. Now that he was forced to look, he seemed to do so eagerly, drinking in the sights through the crimson eye. For a moment an expression of wonder crossed his face.