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branching paths, spiraling possibilities. You cannot pull
numen ... have lost your focus
There is no need to state the obvious, he said sharply.
She shook her head, intent on following the torturous
thought to its conclusion. But ... we are bound. You know
how to pull, but cannot.... Could you... Nervously, she
pleated at the front of his robes, before he stilled her fingers
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with one hand. Could you pull from me? Enough numen to
open the way? Do you need power to travel?
His answer came slowly. No, once in the lines, we travel
by memory, strength, and will. What you propose ... the art is
not unknown, but I have no training in it. Since our masters
perished, all who have tried paid ... a high price. I am afraid I
might misjudge. Might draw too much.
Muir touched his cheek, made him meet her eyes. His
dread showed only in the whiteness beside his tight mouth. I
would die, trying to keep my vow to you.
Curse you, he whispered, and only that, for a moment.
Close your eyes, then ... and listen to my voice. There is only
my voice, and nothing outside it. My voice is your world.
There is nothing beyond and nothing after. His hand felt soft
as silk, rough as sand as he covered her eyes. He whispered
on, lower and lower until she needed to strain to hear him
over her own breathing. Follow my voice, to your center,
little maid. Follow my voice into darkness.
And then, even her breathing stopped. A bright pinpoint of
light appeared ... illusion, delusion. It mattered not; it
beckoned. She cast herself forward, as if diving through
night-painted waters, toward the light. And found her lungs
burning, as she felt herself drowning in the dark. His voice
kept her from blind panic; only that, ever that.
The world was wrenched away and there was a horrific
moment of nothing, beyond and between, until she pushed
through, wet with the sweat of a second birth. Behind them,
within a haze of crystal and light; and above them stars
brighter than any seen outside the dream lines, floating gems
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of a million facets, singing their own songs of existence in a
sky of deep blue-black and ribbons of mist that defied colors
names. An eternity of stars, shaped by dreaming mortal
minds into the images of heroes and beasts.
Tearing wind, and the crystal tones of the stars above ...
and the spread of clouds far below them, a boiling white sea
shining within its depths. A sea of moving patterns of light
and shadow spread beyond their vision, unbent by any
horizon, white and swirling in three directions. And all about
them, bone-chilling cold cut through their skin and into
nerves ... deep space, the edge of existence. Chilling void
made movement necessary for two who stood on the
boundary of forever.
They could not speak, but Rodhlann gripped her hand
tightly, as if preparing her. Shift ... and loss of solidity; her
senses rushed, and she went blind. Spinning chromatic
matrices formed, tearing away in patterns she could neither
process nor understand. Silver. Gray mist. Radiance and
painful velocity; Muir felt as if she were melting. She focused
her will on Rodhlann's hand.
There.
She sensed him striving to fix their position within the
maelstrom. Another landscape ... flickering, the passage
back a twist through the core ... and they flashed through
darkness and swirling mist, past no distance, all distance.
Their flesh shuddered as one, as the world returned, Sahen's
bloody light and clouds in the quotidian sky. Stars regained
their customary constellations. Muir found Kaveh and Minau
with profound relief, her entire body wracked with nausea and
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cold sweat. It would have been much easier to run the whole
way, if not as fast.
Are you well? She became aware of his anxious hands
cupping her face, warmth there, where she was so cold.
Rodhlann pulled her close, almost compulsively, and she
listened to his heart hammering for a while before she was
able to nod. Her bones ached, as if she had aged, and then
she found with her fingertips the faint webbing around her
eyes.
Her nerves seethed with stimulus, but she managed to
open her eyes after a moment. Muir was not sure what she
had expected, but it was not this shadowy space all around
her, dusty and cluttered with books, discarded scraps of
paper, and blotches of dried ink. The hulk of desk and chair
nearby gleamed with Anumati's pearly light, her kisses tracing
the sharp angles of the wood. Beneath Muir's feet, the carpet
was frayed and of indeterminate color.
Rodhlann saw her shock and lifted his shoulders in a
shrug. I left suddenly, he told her with a faint smile, and
she actually laughed. He paused as if savoring the sound and
began sorting through flasks and vials on the tall shelves that
lined the far wall. Ah, here, he murmured, tucking an item
into his robe, and then he led her toward a vaguely
rectangular shape. They may be waiting for us ... better to
be safe.
He pushed a heavy tapestry out of the way, enveloping
them both in a musty cloud. The pane was streaked with dirty
shadows, barely lighter than the heavy darkness within. With
a protest of wooden hinges, Rodhlann pushed open the
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latticed windows. And Muir glimpsed the wonder that was
Eristorne.
No lamplight in the wending streets; the city should have
been dark as the night blanketing it, touched only by the
silver and blood lights falling from the heavens. And yet it
glowed, tiny twinkles like captive stars. No walls, but arches
and spires in rose, silver, and alabaster, colors that lit the
sky. Empty plazas stretched with quiet fountains, tiered
towers delicate as the spun-sugar pastry Muir had once
helped to bake in the izzat's kitchen. With arched windows,
oriel windows, all without shutters to let in the wind, for
Eristorne was a city built to sing, striving toward celestial
music. As she listened, she heard it, zephyrs ringing different
notes through the stones. Yet it rang somber, hollow, too
much space housing too few.
Walkways connected the tallest towers, a quicksilver web
that seemed far too fragile to support their weight as
Rodhlann led her into the wind. Out into open space they
passed, at the mercy of the wind, and she understood why he
had called them the whisper walks, for the gossamer bridge
seemed to murmur as they crossed. She peered at the
beautifully sculpted buildings beneath them, each unique in
adornment and structure but all glimmering with the fey
lights the reason Eristorne was known as the City of a
Thousand Stars.
We must go beneath the city into the vav, he was
saying. It is best if we go quietly. There may be ...
resistance, and I would prefer to accomplish our aim before
facing my enemies.
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Though he did not speak it, she knew he was worried.
Even if his foes possessed only small magic, it would still put
Rodhlann at a disadvantage. How many might come for
them? Muir wished she were not too nervous to ask.
She sighed as she stepped onto the solidity of stone. The
vista was even more breathtaking, for they stood atop the
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