A
PIECE OF TIME
Karigan awoke with a grunt and a jerk, caught in a
dream where a black tree root had snaked from the ground and
grabbed her foot. She cried out.
“Karigan,” Lynx whispered, reaching through the
tent opening and shaking her foot.
She groaned, tatters
of dream lifting from her. It must be time for her to go on watch.
She unwrapped herself from her tangled bedroll, then backed out of
the tent dragging her saber with her.
“It’s been
relatively quiet,” Lynx said.
Their meager
campfire, and the glow of two moonstones, accented the craggy lines
of his face. Something wailed in the forest’s depths.
“Like I said,
relatively quiet.” Lynx gave her a grim
smile before heading for his own tent.
The moonstones
belonged to Lhean and Spiney. Lhean strode around the terrace,
looking out into the night, obviously on watch. Spiney stood
motionless, gazing at the moondial. The light reflected from the
crystalline engravings flared up around his feet like white
fire.
Karigan shook off
the last residue of sleep and approached Spiney. He still did not
move, did not even seem to blink. A statue he was in his white
armor.
When she stood
beside him, the moondial looked no different than
before.
“The forest does not
permit the moon to shine here,” Spiney said unexpectedly. “No
matter the phase. Without it we cannot experience a piece of
time.”
“And your muna’riel
is not enough.”
“It contains a
moonbeam, not the moon.” He lowered his moonstone and placed it in
a pouch on his swordbelt. Darkness draped them. As Karigan blinked
to adjust to the change, the Eletian left her.
Karigan fingered her
own moonstone in her pocket. She had yet to reveal it to the
darkness of Blackveil, and wishing to take a closer look at the
moondial herself, she did so now, wondering if her mother could
have ever imagined it would be used here, in this the forest of
darkest legend. Its light flooded the terrace, and once more the
moondial glistened.
Her chest cramped
beneath her Rider brooch. She gasped and doubled over in pain,
clenching the brooch. Shafts of light beamed up from the moondial,
trapping her like the bars of a cage, and the world blurred and
changed around her. There was the Blackveil as she left it and the
tents of her companions, but layered over it was another forest;
the forest before it became Blackveil, smelling of green life, with
the stars shining above.
There was
smoke.
The valley bloomed
with gold and orange fire, smoke pluming into the sky—or was it
just the mist of Blackveil’s present?
Screams of the past
came to her even as some creature in the present screeched. Ghostly
figures ran up the stairs onto the terrace, which appeared as
pristine as if the stone had just been laid, and yet, in the
doubling of her vision, it was blanketed by the taint of time and
neglect.
The people ran in
terror, crying, carrying children, shepherding and supporting the
wounded. Eletians.
Who else would it
be? This was Argenthyne. And it was Blackveil.
Hulking figures
swarmed the terrace after them, their guttural war cries assaulted
Karigan’s ears. Arrows flew from their bows. Eletians fell. The
groundmites gave chase like a pack of feral dogs driven mad by the
scent of blood.
Others—not
groundmites, but men—climbed up the terrace at a more leisurely
pace behind them. Karigan recognized the crimson and black uniforms
of the Arcosians and among them was a power. She could feel it
emanate from him from across the ages.
He was black cloaked and black hooded.
Peripherally she
heard Lhean calling to her. He sounded so far away.
The one with power
looked at her, saw her. He lowered his
hood, watched her with eyes blackened by wild magic. His striking
face with its strong cheekbones and chin, the curl of raven hair.
Mornhavon.
She would know him
anywhere. She had borne his consciousness in her body across time,
and that power—it was like a wall slamming into her.
Others began calling
for her, telling her to come back . . .
Mornhavon smiled.
Reached toward her with his crimson-gloved hand.
The cramping of her
brooch turned into a dagger twist. She cried, fell to her knees,
and her moonstone rolled from her grasp. The light died and Karigan
was absorbed into the darkness of her mind.
A tumult of voices
penetrated the dark.
“What in five hells
just happened?” Grant demanded.
“A piece of time,”
Graelalea replied.
“She nearly crossed
into it,” Spiney added.
Karigan kept her
eyes closed. Not again. It was not the
first time she had surpassed the ages, but she’d had wild magic
running in her veins then, and now it was supposed to be gone from
her. How? she wondered.
“How could she do
such a thing?” Ard asked, echoing her thought. “It’s
mad.”
A vision of light
came to Karigan, and of lips murmuring, You
cross thresholds. It blurred away as quickly as it had
come.
“I cannot say,”
Graelalea replied. There was a note in her voice, barely perceived,
that Karigan took to mean that Graelalea knew very well how such a
thing could happen, but she was not allowed or able to say more, or
simply did not wish to.
Figures, Karigan thought. There were never firm
answers where Eletians were concerned. There were no absolutes in
their world. A terrible headache pounded at her temple, and she was
so very cold. Just like the last time she’d traveled.
She squirmed,
realizing her head was cradled in someone’s lap. She squinted her
eyes open and saw Yates’ concerned face over hers.
“Karigan?”
“I’m fine.” her
voice sounded dull to herself. “Just cold.”
“Stoke up the fire,”
Graelalea told someone, “and bring blankets.” She spoke rapidly in
Eletian, then knelt beside Karigan. “You were caught between the
two times. If you’d crossed over, I am not sure you could have come
back.”
“Mornhavon was
there. He reached for me.”
Graelalea sat back,
her eyes wide and frightened. “Then we came closer to losing you
than I thought.”
Karigan felt Yates
go rigid. “What were you doing mucking about with Mornhavon?” His
words came as a shout.
“I wasn’t doing
anything. It just happened.”
“The piece of time
is only supposed to allow one to view a moment,” Graelalea
murmured. “But you who have crossed through the layers of the world
before should be more wary.”
Karigan wanted to
protest, but she was just too tired. Graelalea then pressed a cool
sphere into her hand and light flickered. Her
moonstone.
“You do not want to
lose this,” the Eletian said quietly.
Karigan was bundled
in blankets and helped to the fireside. She shuddered as she looked
into the flames.
“What is it?” Yates
asked.
“I saw the people
who lived here running for their lives from groundmites. The valley
was burning.”
Graelalea knelt down
beside her. “Yes. It was the way many settlements ended when
Mornhavon invaded Argenthyne. Here.” She handed Karigan a silver
flask. “A couple of sips and you should feel much
better.”
It was a warming
cordial that flooded her veins to her very toes and fingertips,
chasing away the chill brought on by the passage through vast
amounts of time. After her second sip, she felt much more herself,
the headache miraculously gone, though the traveling had left a
dark imprint in her mind.
“Thank you,” she
said, returning the flask to Graelalea.
“You faded out,”
Yates told her. “You were a ... a ghost. And we could see faint
images moving around you, like the mist taking shape. And the light
your moonstone raised—I still can’t see right.” He rubbed his
eyes.
Karigan just gazed
into the fire unable to speak, overwhelmed by it all. She’d seen
the destruction of Telavalieth centuries ago, and
Mornhavon.
Someone stood
between her and the fire. Karigan looked up. it was Spiney. He
squinted down at her as if trying to see into her. “There are those in Eletia who believe
you are dangerous,” he said. “They are not mistaken.” He turned
abruptly on his heel and walked away.
He was not the only
one giving her odd looks. From across the fire, Ard studied her
while absently whittling a stick. When he realized she’d caught him
watching, he averted his gaze.
“Rider,” Grant said,
“I’ll take the rest of your watch. You should probably rest after
whatever the hells that was.”
With the dark rings
beneath his eyes and the hollowness to his cheeks, Karigan did not
think she was the one requiring rest, but she did not argue. She
slipped into her tent, relieved just to escape the scrutiny of her
companions.