A/N: Hiya everyone, and especially all of you who've been emailing asking me to continue my fanfics...! I swear I'm going to finish both this fic and "The Autumn Assignment", it just may take longer than it did with my other stories because of Uni! Anyway, here are some updates. ^_^
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Tundra
Chapter 20: Sepulchral
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Numair had also found the mage traps, although to his eyes they weren't hidden but were plainly obvious, glittering with the gift between the copper and green of the forest. Very few of them were made of one gift; most were the joint labour of two or more mages. He guessed that the mages were prohibited from using too much of their gift at once, so they couldn't hurt themselves or the people around them if it got out of control. They probably used the same sort of collars that Ozorne had on his slaves, to give themselves complete control. A few colours seemed more prominent than others- there was a deep blue, a pinkish red, and a bright green that seemed to be used more than others. Either these three mages were more proficient at making mage traps, or they were stronger than the others. Whichever it was, Numair now knew which people to look for. He had fashioned a rudimentary speaking spell in the prison, using wax from the candles to draw the shape on the floor rather than trusting his wandering mind to remember it. He keyed the other side of the spell to a fragment of his gift.
As he'd thought, it had only taken him a day or so to break through the barrier spell, at least enough to let his meditating mind slip past the defences unnoticed. The glare of the gift within the stone walls was blinding- many of the mages inside the building were untrained, or at least not trained how to control their gift. The light bulged and flickered as it was contained by the collars, but random bursts of errant gift lit the air as clearly as a Yamani firework. It was like walking through the middle of the fireplace to find the white embers. Numair shielded his mind as well as he could, and looked for the three mages.
The first was an old woman, who he found rocking on her heels in a small, isolated chamber near where he had broken through the barrier. She had half a smile on her face as she wove patterns into the air, but her eyes were flat and dead. When he tried to speak to her, she did not move or try to reply- she simply continued drawing shapes, shaping spells without casting the gift, with the strange smile on her face.
Dear Mithros, they're all going insane! Numair thought, looking around the room. For in the tiny chamber there were several other mages- both male and female, and all with the same odd expression on their face, as if something in their souls had broken beyond repair. Some wove shapes as obsessively as the woman; some stared blankly at the walls. One, a teenager with raw scars on his wrists, had been tied down to a bed so he couldn't move, only stare balefully at the door. The room stank of excrement and stale flesh, as if these people had simply been left there to rot.
The next room he drifted in to was no better. The men and women in this room were not insane, but they had the same detached appearance as the others. They were sitting at long tables, studying in complete silence, not looking at each other. It was as if each person had retreated into their own mind, and didn't realise there was anyone else in the room with them. Grim faced soldiers strolled up and down the room, watching the mages closely. The people in this room were all middle aged- pinch-faced, with burning eyes. Each one had a nervous habit- this one tapping his fingers silently against the table, this one picking at her eyebrows absently as she turned a page- and again, they were completely unaware of their own habits. It was as if they had trained themselves to meditate throughout their whole lives, rather than face reality. The reddish-pink mage was in this room, a skeletal man in his mid-forties who chewed his nails as he worked. Numair decided not to speak to him when he was surrounded by guards- it was too much of a risk, and he looked too nervous not to react.
The next room was exactly the same, but the mages were younger. The youngest one in this room looked about five, her face still lively but already beginning to glaze over with the dull introversion of the others. The children did not play, they did not chatter, they simply sat on long benches while one of the older mages lectured them in a flat monotone. As Numair watched, the mage finished his speech and sat down. One of the men in guard's uniform stood up in his place, scowling, and began to speak. It was the same doctrine Laurent had spewed on the beach, but delivered in a cutting voice. Any child who moved or flinched when the guard's voice grew to a shout was treated to a special description of their own personal sinfulness and damnation. The green mage was a girl of about eleven, with red hair and a subtle expression of disobedience.
Numair smiled. Perfect.
He reached out to her as carefully as he could, trying to attach the other end of the speaking spell to her without her realising. To his surprise, she raised an eyebrow nearly imperceptibly and accepted the spell without moving an inch.
You're not someone I know. She said instantly, Who are you? Identify yourself!
A mage from the prison. He replied, I'm here to help you. Maybe not so subtle, but the ease with which she mind-spoke had thrown him slightly. She hadn't looked devious enough, nor old enough, to cope with it.
If you're in the prison, you shouldn't be worried about helping us. She snapped, Seems like you can't even help yourself.
Abruptly, she closed the connection. Numair blinked and found himself back in the cell, looking at the spell etched on the floor. To his relief, a thin thread of magic ran from it- black magic running towards the stone building, and green running back again. The green was nearly invisible. She hadn't destroyed the spell completely- she'd just stopped that particular conversation. The link was still there.
It was frightening how easy she'd found it, even with the collar stopping her using her full gift. Numair wondered uneasily if all the mages were that powerful.
Before he could finish the thought, the spell lit up with green fire. The girl's voice rang out through it, cold and imperious.
"Decide why you want to help us. What does it mean to you? How much are you prepared to risk? What do you want in return? You have two hours. If your answers to these three questions are satisfactory, then we will agree to talk with you some more."
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Feral instinct took over, as it always had. She didn't consciously shapeshift, but the threat and the magic that still thickened the air forced her back into the safety of the pack mentality. Claws and teeth lengthened even as she took an involuntary step back. Her low growl was the only sound in the clearing, and it echoed in the false acoustic of the counterfeit cave. The dragon didn't move- didn't respond at all- as the creature that was half human and half wolf stalked towards it.
She got within a few feet of the enormous immortal before her legs locked into place. She snapped at them, trying to release herself from the paralysing spell- not realising that she was paralysed with fear. The dragon's lack of movement was terrifying; it was both an insult to her pack and a challenge to her ferocity. If it would only attack..!
And then, the screaming began again.
It was not quiet, or subtle, or contained- it was wild and shrill and very, very real. It shrieked in her ears and in her mind, blinding her with white pain. Her legs, which were stiffened with pain, collapsed under her. She clapped her hands to her ears, not noticing when the elongated claws tore into her scalp. It made no difference. The sound sliced through her mind like a blade, and left behind only ragged darkness. Fighting the impulse used the last of her energy. As so many had before her, she finally surrendered to the screams. They flooded through her unguarded mind, through her heart and her soul, a roaring tide of white light and black violence. The wolf-girl's mind shut down under this assault; she fainted.
The screaming continued... and this time, everyone could hear it.
Outside the cave, the Tundra pack broke their habitual silence and howled, trying to block out the sound by creating their own. Travellers on the mountain passes looked up at the slopes, their ears ringing with both sounds, and shivered at the sight of the pack fleeing, howling, from the cover of the trees. Like the wolves, all they wanted to do was run away from the screaming.
To the south, the imprisoned mages blinked, their usual blank expressions replaced with fear. They looked into each other's eyes for the first time, linked in confusion, communicating for the first time. Their guards did not try to stop them; they stared out of the windows with widened eyes. The prisoners in the jail scooped handfuls of snow from their windows to stop their ears, a habit they had learned in their time in the place where people were tortured.
Ged, pacing a path in the snow outside the hidden cave, sketched a sign against evil on his chest but did nothing else. His mind was caught up with other matters, and the sound did not frighten him. For all he knew, it was a sound sent by the Hunter God to mask the sounds from the cave. Perhaps the God didn't want the Bronzers to hear them. Whatever the reason, Ged was glad he didn't have to hear the sounds; This aspect of feminine life was completely beyond him.
As suddenly as it has started, the screaming stopped. The silence was almost as painful as the screams for a brief, roaring moment, then the sounds of normal life drifted back. The wind passing through the winter trees, softly hissing, broken by the strange damp sounds that snow made as it was swept from the branches. A wolf pack howled nearby. Ged shrugged off his thoughts and returned to pacing.
The wind played through the trees, linking every player in the gods' games for a brief second. The wolves stopped howling and turned to their cubs, tenderly listening to their whimpers and comforting them in the silence. The travellers stopped running and returned to their habitual trudge. Snow melted from the prisoner's ears, as the silence turned the ice to water.
Daine woke up.
She raised a hand to her face, watching the fingers tremble in the strange magical light. Her palm was completely smooth, her nails short and bitten- the hand of a human, not a wolf. The screams echoed in her ears, but the silence healed her mind like a balm. She remembered being human, she remembered being a wolf, and she remembered that they were different. Her thoughts were once again her own.
The girl sat up on the grass, wrapping her arms around her knees, and cried. The dragon didn't move at the sound- and of course it couldn't, for it was dead. She had thought the screams would kill her, as they had so many others- but she was still here, and for the first time in days she was completely human. The bloodlust and rage had gone, and all that was left was Daine. The illusion around her was warm and comforting, a land of summer hidden in an eternity of winter. She stood up, perfectly at ease in her own body now, and looked around. There was a large pile of cloth in one corner. She searched through it, realising it must be clothes taken from washing lines and abandoned houses. She found the warmest clothes and dressed in them. The cloth smelled slightly metallic, like the dragon had rested on it when it was alive.
The dead dragon was slightly warm when she walked up to it. Its scales were slippery smooth and yet soft, like finely tanned leather, and emitted a kind of warm glow. Most of the heat in the cave must be coming from the dragon, Daine realised. She wondered how long it had been dead. Maybe it had lived in the caves under the mountain for years, unnoticed by the people living above it, and had simply died in its dream of summertime. But somehow, she doubted it. The cave was far too small for a creature as large as this to hide for a long time, and what would it eat? Perhaps it had felt its end drawing near, and it had wanted to die somewhere beautiful. The cave, rather than being frightening, suddenly felt more like an ornate tomb.
She felt sorry for it. Poor thing! To be buried in its own imagination, without anyone knowing anything about it... She stroked the soft scales gently.
"I don't know your name, or why you're here," she said softly, "But you deserved better than this, I'm fair certain."
There was a faint noise, a rustling of scales over grass. She jumped and looked down. Peering at her from behind one of the dragon's paws was a tiny, painfully thin face. It squeaked and ducked down when it saw her looking at it.
A baby dragon! Daine breathed out slowly, realising suddenly what had happened. The adult dragon had created this place so that its child would be born somewhere safe and beautiful, and then died before the baby was old enough to leave the sanctuary. The tiny dragon must have been here alone for weeks, to have grown so thin. It clung pathetically to its mother's arm as she walked up to it.
As soon as she got too near it, the dragon closed its eyes and screamed. The sound was blinding. She stopped walking and took a step back, and the sound disappeared.
"It's alright, I won't hurt you." Daine said soothingly, crouching down to be closer to its level. The dragon bared its tiny teeth warningly. "You've been down here a while, right? Frightened, and alone, and starving..." her voice seemed to calm the dragon slightly- it lowered its head and stared at her. Daine continued talking, keeping her voice low.
"It's been you who has been screaming, right, little dragon? You can't help it- you're so young; all babies cry when they're scared. It's just that not all babies have dragon magic, right? And all your pain and hurt's been getting out of this place, and the humans couldn't deal with it, and it's made them ill. You've hurt a lot of people, little dragon."
The dragon took a hesitant step toward her, still slightly clumsy on new legs. She didn't move, just watched encouragingly. If anything, the dragon looked ashamed at her words. She kept talking to it.
"But you didn't kill me. I wonder why? I must have scared you, getting through your ma's defences like that and looking like I did."
The dragon whistled slightly- a noise of agreement. Daine smiled.
"Did you recognise me? I'm the one who tried to speak to you before."
Again, a whistle of agreement. The dragon flapped its wings hopefully, and took another step towards her. She held out a hand, smiling.
"I think you saved my life today, little dragon. Thank you! If you'll permit me, I'll look after you from now on. You look like you could use something to eat!"
This triggered a much stronger whistle of agreement, and another flutter of wings. The dragon nuzzled its face against her open palm and let her pick it up. As she did, the light in the sanctuary turned rose coloured. A melodious, powerful voice rang through the clearing like a bell.
"Thank you, little human, for finding us. I entrust my daughter, Skysong, to your care. Guard her well!"
The light brightened to summertime brightness once again. Daine blinked and hugged the dragon, guessing that the dead dragon had left some part of herself in the magic that formed the clearing, to maintain it when she died. As if agreeing with her, the trees and grass started melting away until girl and dragon were standing in a large, rock strewn cave. The cold winter air flooded in, making both girl and dragon shiver.
"Well, Skysong, shall we go?" Daine asked, and started walking towards daylight.