Текст книги "Vessel"

Автор книги: Sarah Beth Durst

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 21 (всего у книги 21 страниц)

Chapter Thirty-Four

Liyana took Jarlath’s hand. “You are coming with me.”

He raised her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles. “My body is dead. I cannot.”

“You do not say no to the girl with the deities.” She wrapped her arms around his waist and then yanked him off-balance. Together, they fell into the pool of water.

Light swirled around her. Colors sparkled, shifting as they shimmered. She imagined the feel of her skin, the shape of her body, the throb of blood pulsing through her veins, and the rush of air into her lungs. It was the reverse of how it felt when she used to picture the lake. Carefully she poured her soul into her body.

Liyana? Bayla’s mental voice was stunned.

I’m not alone, Liyana said. Ready yourself.

The other deities filled her. Liyana was engulfed in wind, buffeted by a storm within. She clung to the familiar contours of her body, grounding herself in her muscles and bones. She drew on everything she had practiced in all the lessons with Korbyn, and she seized control of herself before the other minds could establish themselves.

The other souls jostled inside her, but she held on, not relinquishing control. All the pounding by Bayla had prepared her for this onslaught, though this was far worse than anything Bayla had ever tried. She felt as if she were being ripped apart inside out by wild dogs.

Bayla!

Yes, Liyana? Bayla’s voice rose from the vortex of other voices.

Slowly, painfully, Liyana reached into the chaos toward Bayla’s voice. She felt Bayla move through the souls as well, shepherding them into semicohesion. Liyana coaxed the spinning souls to swirl in the same direction. Together, the two of them swept the other deities into a single cyclone inside her.

Are you ready? Bayla asked.

Yes, Liyana said.

Voices spoke in unison, echoing her. Yes. Yes. Yes! She felt them speed up inside her, all their emotions and thoughts tumbling in a thick storm.

Feed me magic, Liyana ordered them.

She felt them all still for a moment.

And then the magic dumped into her, more and more, like an ocean pouring into a bowl. She pushed her soul wider, expanding it as fast as she could as the magic flowed in. She flowed through the valley. She sank into the earth and felt the life of the plants, the strength of the stone, and the heat of the dirt. She swept through the mountains, into their hearts and over their peaks. The magic surged within her, forcing her faster and wider and deeper.

Oh, sweet goddess, it’s too much! she cried.

You can do this, Liyana, Jarlath whispered within the deities. You are strong.

She pushed herself harder, and she became the wind in the mountains. It was her breath. She breathed out and spread into the desert. She felt the souls of the soldiers and the clans like bursts of fire in the wind. She felt their deaths as their souls flickered past her, en route to the Dreaming.

You must end this tragedy, Jarlath said.

She targeted one of the sky serpents. As Mulaf had done, she focused the heat of the sun on its glass body, and she intensified the heat rapidly, as if a year’s worth of sun pounded on it at once. The heart of the sky serpent heated to white-hot, and then the sky serpent cracked and shattered in an explosion that rained down on the clans and army below.

She focused on the next sky serpent. . . . But there were hundreds.

You’re killing them, Jarlath said. Our people. Find another way!

The shards that fell below were as deadly as the serpents themselves. She needed to make them vanish, not explode. Only then would her people be safe.

I need more magic, she said as an idea occurred to her.

Liyana stirred the wind high above the clans and army. She controlled the wind in a tight cyclone, keeping it from touching the humans, and then she widened her whirlwind. Pouring magic into it, she swept the wind into the sky serpents. She caught them in a net of air. The sky serpents tumbled head over tail. Their glass scales caught the sunlight and twisted it until the sky looked as if it were filled with thousands of jewels.

Fueled by the gods’ magic, Liyana propelled the sky serpents across the mountains and then beyond, a hundred miles west over empty desert. She let the wind die, and she flew her soul back to the clans and the army, leaving the sky serpents far behind her.

They will return to their mountains, Bayla said. It is how we made them. They must guard the lake.

When they return, they will find no one to kill, Liyana said. She spun the wind again, and this time she aimed it down at the army and the clans. She ripped through the sands, splitting the clans from the army.

She added more whirlwinds. It felt like stirring a soup with her finger. She guided each one carefully, using the wind to gently separate the combatants. She plucked a soldier up midbattle and blew him north to his encampment, and she removed a desert man from the encampment and returned him to the clan tents. She scooped up a clump of desert children and delivered them safely away from an advancing soldier, and then she delivered the soldier to his army. Jarlath helped direct her, pointing out his people and steering her toward them. After nearly an hour of intense concentration, she had corralled the empire’s army with their tents and the clans with theirs.

She then broadened the wind and blew the entire army eastward, across the desert and into the hills, over the border, and into the Crescent Empire. She left them on a golden plain—soldiers, horses, tents, and all.

Done, she returned to the clans. She narrowed her focus to locate the Horse Clan god. She found him, a spiky soul mounted on a bleeding horse. She sent words toward him, wrapping her thoughts in magic as if they were a summoning chant. Sendar, tell the clans that it is over. Tell them to leave the mountains before the sky serpents come back. Tell them to return to their oases and their lives.

You? His voice was as loud as a horse’s bray. You eliminated the sky serpents?

I am not alone, she said simply. She sank back toward the valley where her body waited. She felt herself lying in the grasses, sun on her skin and the smell of flowers around her. The voices within her faded. She reached for them. . . . The magic felt like a tiny pool inside her. What’s happening?

You have done well, vessel, Bayla said.

Wait! I do not understand—

Jarlath, listen for your voice. It chants for you. Follow it, Bayla said. To Liyana she said, Do not be angry with Korbyn. Or yourself.

She lost the feel of the wind inside of her. She no longer touched the valley or the mountains or the desert. She had her own human arms and legs again. Bayla—

The feel of the deities was faint, like a whisper on skin. It has been an honor, Bayla said. An uncomfortable honor, perhaps, but still . . . You were worthy of me.

And then they were gone.

* * *

Liyana woke to silence. She felt the earth on her back, and she stared up at the sky. It was day, and the bleached blue sky was empty. The sky serpents were gone. Bayla? Jarlath? Anyone?

Only quiet, inside and out.

She inhaled and felt her ribs expand. She ached in every muscle. Stretching, she tested her arms and legs. She clenched and unclenched her hands. She was whole and alive. But she felt as empty as the sky.

“Liyana.” Jarlath’s voice. Close. Outside her.

She turned her head. He lay beside her in the grass. He reached out his hand, and his fingers twined around hers. “You’re alive,” she said.

“As are you.”

Cheek against the ground, she smelled the dirt and the grass. She also smelled flowers, sweet as honey. She watched Jarlath as he pushed himself up to sitting. She saw his eyes widen and his lips part. He opened his mouth as if to speak and then shut it, wordless.

Gingerly she also pushed herself up to sitting. “Oh, sweet goddess,” she said.

The lake was dry.

All that remained was a perfect oval of jewel-like pebbles. On its edge, Mulaf’s body lay facedown where he had fallen into the water. Liyana rose and walked, her legs shaking like a newborn calf, to the shore. She didn’t look at Mulaf.

“Liyana, don’t—”

Kneeling, she laid her hands palms down on the pebbles. She felt only dry stones.

She heard Jarlath walk over the pebbles and halt behind her. He placed his hands on her shoulders. Picking up the pebbles, she held them in her palm. She rolled them so that they sparkled in the sun, and then she let them drop onto the lake bed. They pinged as they hit, and then rolled until they settled. She stood and walked across the pebbles to what was once the center of the lake.

“It’s gone,” she said. She heard her voice, and it sounded as empty as she felt. Breathing deeply, she tried to concentrate, to drop herself into the familiar trance and picture the lake to draw its magic—but she saw only a memory and felt nothing.

She tried again. And again.

“The magic is gone,” she said. She wondered if the gods had known this would happen. If she had realized that—oh no, she thought. “The gods . . .” She saw a shape in the grass, lying still. She ran toward it. She barely heard Jarlath follow her.

She collapsed in the grass next to Korbyn’s body. Hand shaking, she touched his face. He felt cold. Like touching the pebbles. She drew her hand back. She stared at his chest as if she could will it to rise and breathe! But he did not move.

She sat there for a long time. Silent, Jarlath sat beside her.

At last she and Jarlath carried Korbyn to the lake. They laid him in the center and piled pebbles on him to bury him. Without tools it was the best they could do. Liyana cried silently as she piled the pebbles higher and higher.

After, they buried Mulaf in the same way.

When they finished, the sky was gray. Liyana stood between the two mounds of rocks in the dry lake bed, and she looked across the green expanse of the valley, shadowed by the cliffs. Birds were calling to one another from the trees. She wondered if they had eggs in their nests. She’d seen plants with berries and a few of the trees looked as though they had fresh dates. Others had nuts, and others she recognized had edible bark. She could fashion new waterskins out of snakeskins—this valley had to have snakes. And they could find water within the succulent plants and cacti.

Quietly Jarlath asked, “What are you thinking?”

“He wanted us to live,” Liyana said.

She took his hand, and they walked out of the lake.

Epilogue
Three years later . . .

The sky serpents circled above the mountains. Glass scales split the sun into a thousand shards of colors, and their wings reflected the blueness of the morning sky. Liyana kept an eye on them as she urged Gray Luck up the slope.

Behind her she heard the clan warriors and the imperial soldiers jostle for position. She didn’t have to look back to know that the more sure-footed desert horses had taken the lead.

She crested the top of the ridge and reined in Gray Luck. She looked down into the valley. Green cascaded from the rock slopes and stopped where the pebbles began. The lake was still an oval of pebbles.

“I thought that the valley would have died without the lake,” Jarlath said beside her.

She didn’t answer. Instead she coaxed Gray Luck to descend. The horse trampled flowers and bushes as she zigzagged down the slope toward the base of the valley. At the bottom, she let the horse graze on the soft grass until Jarlath and their guard joined them. “Watch for the sky serpents,” she ordered. They hadn’t attacked anyone since their return from across the desert. With the lake gone, their purpose had ended. The sky serpents had no need to guard the mountains anymore. But no one had forgotten the damage they could do. Her father had lost a hand, sliced by one of their scales. Many, unbearably many, had lost their lives, including the Silk Clan’s magician Ilia and the chief of the Horse Clan. Countless soldiers and desert people had been injured before she had swept away the sky serpents.

A few of the soldiers on their horses began to press forward through the green toward the lake. Liyana held up her hand. “I wish to proceed alone,” she said.

They halted. “Yes, Empress.”

She slid off her horse and handed the reins to one of the warriors. Jarlath dismounted and crossed to her. He looked as handsome as he had on the day that she had first met him, but his face was no longer unreadable stone, at least not to her. “Whatever you find,” he said, “know this.”

She waited for him to continue.

But instead of speaking, he gathered her in his arms and kissed her. It felt as soft as summer rain. She let it wash away every worry, every fear, and every thought.

He released her, and neither spoke. Alone, she walked through the blankets of white and blue flowers, around the bushes covered in butterflies, and under trees that rang with the cries of birds. At last she reached the lake.

The pebbles were perfectly smooth except for the two mounds in the center of the lake. She walked toward the one on the right, and she opened the silk purse that she’d tied to her sash. She upended it into her palm, and silver bells fell into her hand. She spread them over Korbyn’s grave.

She saw a patch of yellow flowers that had burst through the pebbles beyond the grave. She reached to pick one to add to her offering, but she stopped. A few of the pebbles around the blooms lay beneath a sheen of water. She drew her hand back and stared at the tiny but unmistakable pool of water.

Overhead, a raven cried.

Liyana smiled. And then she rose and walked back through the valley to Jarlath.

SARAH BETH DURST is the author of the young adult novels Drink Slay Love, Enchanted Ivy, and Ice, as well as the middle-grade novels Into the Wild and Out of the Wild. She has been a two-time finalist for SFWA's Andre Norton Award, for both Ice and Into the Wild. Sarah lives in Stony Brook, New York, with her husband and children. Visit her at www.sarahbethdurst.com.

Also by Sarah Beth Durst

ICE

ENCHANTED IVY

DRINK, SLAY, LOVE