Blackveil (91 page)
“Uh-oh,” she said. In her past experiences with the white world, the mists were usually preludes to visions she’d rather not see.
She had no choice but to wait until the mist cleared before proceeding across the island to the moonbeam bridge—she could barely see her hand in front of her and she did not want to accidentally step into the chasm.
When the mist tumbled away, she looked in dismay upon what it revealed. Arrayed before her was a masquerade ball in full swing, strains of music echoing ominously from the depths of the chasm. The colorful finery and masks of the dancers were in stark contrast to the dullness of the white world.
This is not fair,
Karigan thought.
Haven’t I been through enough?
She knew, however, fairness had nothing to do with it.
Karigan thought.
Haven’t I been through enough?
She knew, however, fairness had nothing to do with it.
Making matters worse, on the opposite side of the island there wasn’t only the one bridge, but a dozen that, to her eye, looked identical.
“I have no time for puzzles,” she muttered, still feeling the tug on her brooch. She decided she would ignore the masquerade and she started to limp across the island.
“Rider Sir Karigan G’ladheon!” cried out a masked herald that sounded just like Neff, and who also appeared just the way he had the night of the king’s masquerade ball. He most definitely was
not
Neff, however. Just a vision provided by the strange environs of the white world. The announcement was met with scattered applause, and ladies and gentlemen curtsied and bowed to Karigan.
not
Neff, however. Just a vision provided by the strange environs of the white world. The announcement was met with scattered applause, and ladies and gentlemen curtsied and bowed to Karigan.
She might be trying to ignore the masquerade, but its participants were not ignoring her. She proceeded cautiously, recognizing many of the masks from the king’s ball, including the king’s own iridescent dragon helm. It gleamed in the dull light as he danced ... as he danced with Mad Queen Oddacious. Jester’s bells jingled from her crown, the red diamond pattern of her skirts a garish blur against white.
No. Must not be distracted.
She started to trudge ahead, but three costumed pages appeared before her, each bearing a mask on a satin pillow.
“You must choose one,” said Neff, who strode up beside her, “to join the masquerade.”
On one pillow nestled a plain eye mask that took on the same faded green tone as her uniform. An eye mask of midnight rested on the middle pillow. It emanated tremendous pulsing power, but oozed a black aura of malevolence and Karigan was immediately repelled by it. The third pillow held the mask she remembered Estora wearing, beaded with ocean hues that rippled in the light.
She shifted the staff to lean it against her shoulder and reached for the third mask, the queen’s mask, but stopped short of actually touching it. Her hand hovered there for a moment, then she snatched it back.
“I do not need a mask,” she said, suddenly furious. She would not play this game.
She turned away from the pages with their burdens and continued her limping way across the island, but as if her anger stoked the energies of the white world, the music picked up to a frenzy and the dancers danced in a fury of silk and velvet and satin; spinning and twirling around her, knocking into her, pushing and buffeting her, kicking her injured leg. She cried out. For all that the dancers were not real, they
felt
real, and the blows sent white-hot pain through her and stole her breath. She was growing light-headed.
felt
real, and the blows sent white-hot pain through her and stole her breath. She was growing light-headed.
The king grabbed her broken wrist to swing her around. She screamed and swooned to her knee. The music silenced and the dance halted. She moaned amid a forest of legs and skirts. She would not let the white world do this to her, she would not let it defeat her. Using her staff to steady herself, she rose and found herself face to mask with the king.
“You are false,” she said. She turned around. “You are all false.”
Using her good hand, she threw the king’s dragon helm off. It clattered to the ground raising a puff of white dust. She gasped. Beneath the mask it was not King Zachary she saw, but Lord Amberhill’s smirking countenance. He raised an expectant eyebrow.
What did it mean? What was the white world telling her? If the king in this masquerade was not Zachary, then who was behind the Queen Oddacious mask? Would it be herself, or someone else?
Shuddering, but unable to resist, she pulled off the mask that concealed Queen Oddacious’ face and discovered Estora gazing at her. Karigan backed away, too many questions clashing in her mind to think clearly. She just wanted out, out of the white world. Blackveil was preferable—at least it was real.
She shouldered her way through the silent, stationary dancers. A tumbler in black stepped in her way. He wore the looking mask, but it only reflected the white landscape. Santanara had warned her about the mirror man, that he was a trickster, and she found the assessment appropriate. He summoned Neff and the three pages with a gesture.
“You must choose a mask,” Neff said, “if you wish to leave.”
Cold sweat beaded on Karigan’s forehead. What would happen if she chose one of the masks? Where was King Zachary in all this if he hadn’t been wearing the dragon helm?
“I prefer not to conceal my face,” Karigan said. “I will not hide, and I will not deceive.”
“You must choose a mask,” Neff intoned.
She contemplated striking him with her staff, but considering how real and solid the dancers had felt, it probably was not a good idea, for there might be a reprisal.
“All right,” she said, thinking fast. “If I must choose, I choose
that
one.” She pointed not at one of the three offered to her on satin pillows, but at the looking mask worn by the tumbler. Her reflection pointed back at her.
that
one.” She pointed not at one of the three offered to her on satin pillows, but at the looking mask worn by the tumbler. Her reflection pointed back at her.
Everyone vanished but the tumbler. He waggled his finger at her and slapped his thigh as if silently laughing at her. Then he backed away, making an expansive gesture toward the bridges, and then he, too, vanished.
Karigan sighed. She’d apparently passed one test and was now presented with another. She walked from bridge to bridge, tapping each one with her staff. Each felt as solid as the last. There was no telling what would happen if she crossed the wrong bridge. It might vanish beneath her feet and she’d join the tainted Sleepers at the bottom of the chasm, or the bridge might cross over into some hostile land or layer of the world from which she’d be unable to return.
“Five hells,” she muttered, beyond exhausted, almost tempted to just choose one and be done with it. Then she smiled and removed the moonstone from her pocket. All of the bridges blazed with crystalline brilliance, but one was more true and continued to resonate with her moonstone long after the others faded.
She took a deep breath and stepped onto the bridge. And took another step. The others vanished. She hurried as fast as she could to reach the far side. When she stepped off the bridge into the grove of Argenthyne, it too disappeared.
She found Laurelyn on the terrace where she’d left her. The Eletian queen’s form was little more than a glimmer, a mere ghost of her former radiance. Karigan glanced at the sky. Black clouds encroached on the silver moon.
Laurelyn smiled. She seemed weary beyond measure to Karigan.
You succeeded,
Laurelyn said.
The Eletians will always be in your debt.
You succeeded,
Laurelyn said.
The Eletians will always be in your debt.
“I don’t think they knew who I was.”
Laurelyn laughed lightly.
Then they shall have a mystery, and Eletians love nothing better than a mystery to ponder and debate, and they will do so for centuries. But now my time ends. You’ve my thanks, Karigan, daughter of Kariny. You are as exceptional as I’d hoped you would be all those years ago when I brought your mother and father together in a forest glade. You must hurry to your companions now, and release your ability, for this piece of time is finished.
Then they shall have a mystery, and Eletians love nothing better than a mystery to ponder and debate, and they will do so for centuries. But now my time ends. You’ve my thanks, Karigan, daughter of Kariny. You are as exceptional as I’d hoped you would be all those years ago when I brought your mother and father together in a forest glade. You must hurry to your companions now, and release your ability, for this piece of time is finished.
“Good . . . good-bye,” Karigan said.
Good-bye, child.
Karigan set off for the open doors of the castle, but she could not resist one last look at the true Argenthyne, and of Laurelyn reaching for the moon. She dissolved into motes of sparkling dust and then was no more. The clouds blanketed the moon, casting the grove in darkness.
Karigan hurried into the castle, her vision doubling again, and becoming even more blurred by tears of exhaustion, tears of loss. She had the feeling of some great magic passing from the world. Not the sort of magic she and her fellow Riders used, but the intangible, mysterious quality of something that was once wise and powerful and shining that would never be seen again. Laurelyn would live now only as pure legend.
Karigan shed her fading and staggered with the shifting of past and present, the profile of the first tower chamber realigning. She returned to a far dimmer, stagnant world.
The use of her ability always hurt her head and now the pounding in her skull distracted her from hurts on other parts of her body. She was cold. Passing through time made her cold.
She must seek out her companions, though she dreaded what she might find. She forced herself across the chamber and noted that Graelalea’s body remained undisturbed, the moonstone at low ebb.
Karigan limped through the winding corridor trying to keep her mind aware and working. She thought about the masks. If she’d chosen one of the three masks presented to her in the white world, which one might she have picked?
Certainly not the black one—it was vile. She’d known that without even touching it. She did not lust for the power it contained. The queen’s mask? No, not for her. She could not presume, especially knowing the king was absent from the mirror man’s little scene.
The king, the king . . . Why had he been absent?
That left the plain green mask, which seemed to go with being a Green Rider. Why hadn’t she chosen it?
“Because I don’t wear masks,” she answered aloud, startling herself.
She continued on, hearing the sound of fighting growing louder. When she entered the chamber of the moondial, she almost tripped over Ard’s body, still in the same place where he’d fallen with Ealdaen’s arrow in his throat. There was Grant’s body sprawled on the floor, a pair of nythlings feeding on him. The corpses of other nythlings were strewn about the chamber.
And Solan. Poor Solan. She could not even look at what remained of him, of what the dark Sleepers had done to him.
The corpses of several dark Sleepers also lay on the floor, but more knotted around the rest of her companions who stood back-to-back in a tight circle on the full moon of the moondial, swords, and Lynx’s ax, hewing up and down and side to side. About ten Sleepers assaulted them, far fewer than before, but still difficult odds.
They were all so involved that no one appeared to notice her. She weighed her options, taking into consideration her weapons and her condition. Quickly she decided to use the one weapon that had served her best so far, and limped forward to meet the enemy.
CHANGING
OUTCOMES
OUTCOMES
K
arigan leaned her staff against her shoulder and drew out her moonstone. The light that blazed from her hand reflected again on the inlaid quartz of the moondial, raising walls of light around her companions. Attackers and the attacked were startled alike, but only the Sleepers recoiled. Her friends sprang to the advantage, running the unarmored Sleepers through with their blades, running them through and hacking again and again till they fell. They were hard to kill.
arigan leaned her staff against her shoulder and drew out her moonstone. The light that blazed from her hand reflected again on the inlaid quartz of the moondial, raising walls of light around her companions. Attackers and the attacked were startled alike, but only the Sleepers recoiled. Her friends sprang to the advantage, running the unarmored Sleepers through with their blades, running them through and hacking again and again till they fell. They were hard to kill.
With each step that brought Karigan closer, the light grew in intensity, forcing the Sleepers to back off. A couple bolted. The others fell and her companions finished them.
A pall of silence hung over the chamber when it was all done and the light of Karigan’s moonstone settled to a comparatively low, steady glow.
“Where’ve you been?” Yates demanded. “We could have used your help here.”
If only he knew how much she had helped! If she hadn’t gone to the past and removed the Sleepers of then, Yates would not be standing here now. “How long was I gone?”
“Ten minutes at most. Felt a lot longer.”
Traveling through the white world did not obey the same rules as the normal world, accounting for Yates’ estimate and the much longer time period she felt she’d been away. It felt like years. In a sense it had been—centuries, actually. She swayed, light-headed and exhausted.
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