The moon rose, separating itself from the horizon to shine on Igesia, but there was no hint of the old man’s internal struggle.
“Eldest,” Allta called to him an hour after sunset, “what do we do?”
Inside, Pellin railed against his ignorance and helplessness. “Nothing. Until we have some means of relieving our ignorance, we will have to wait.”
“If the corruption of the desert takes Igesia, Eldest, I will be hardpressed to protect you all.”
Dukasti stepped forward, drawing the long curved dagger from his waist and handing a shorter one to Pellin. “We will protect ourselves as we can, Allta,” he said. “I think the Honored One might have foreseen these circumstances. He is too old and frail to constitute a threat to you, even if the desert takes him.”
They waited as the moon rose. Shadows fell across the faces of those locked in combat in their strange tableau, Igesia, older than any living and Elieve, harboring an intelligence far older still. Mark’s encouragement never wavered.
Pain, a sliver of glass in Pellin’s heart, stabbed him. Almost certainly, Elieve’s mind would be extinguished during Igesia’s fight. She would lose the memories, her own this time, which she had gathered. If she lost all of them, which was likely, there would be no rebuilding her. The sweet girl that Mark’s love had created would be gone. Pellin wept.
Hours later, Igesia’s strained whisper broke the silence. “Touch her.”
Allta spoke before Pellin could move. “Eldest, there’s no way to know who speaks.”
Dukasti nodded his agreement, his dark hair catching the moonlight. “Allow me, Eldest. The Vigil cannot afford to lose both the Honored One and the Eldest at the same time.”
Pellin caught Dukasti’s arm as he reached for Igesia. “Nor can the south afford to lose both Igesia and his heir. Consider, during the hours of his delving, Igesia has offered no word or hint of his struggle. Now he does. Only three conclusions are possible.”
Dukasti shifted in the moonlight. “He has won or lost his struggle with the desert, or the issue has yet to be decided.”
“Yes,” Pellin whispered, “but regardless, he fought the evil to a standstill within Elieve’s mind for hours.” At that moment he was certain of what needed to be done. “Your strength and mine may be the margin of victory.”
Dukasti gasped. “If it’s not, we will carry the poison. The twin evils of the forest and the desert will be loosed on the world.”
“Do you refuse?” Pellin asked.
Dukasti shook his head. “No. Together, then.”
“Allta,” Pellin said, “you must stand ready to administer the mercy stroke if we are taken.” When his guard nodded, he reached out, his movements twin to Dukasti’s, and put his hand on Elieve’s head.
The desert, moon, and stars vanished as he plummeted into the delve, but the river of thought and the cavern of consciousness he’d been expecting were absent. Battle raged within Elieve’s mind. Noise that he’d never before encountered testified to the conflict, but of Igesia, there was no sign.
Without warning, threads of black-forked lightning erupted from the vault beneath Elieve’s river, racing unerringly toward him and Dukasti along a jagged path. With dual screams, the two of them slashed at the threads with their gift, and they disappeared. More came immediately, searching for them with the sentience of the desert. Again they struck at the same time duplicating their effort. “We must coordinate,” Pellin screamed.
By unspoken agreement they divided the fight into two spheres of conflict, destroying threads that came at them from the dark. “What do we do?” Dukasti yelled.
Pellin turned his head to make himself heard, even as he slashed at a trio of threads that attacked from the darkness. “Find Igesia!”
“He’s not here.” Panic and loss broke Dukasti’s voice.
“He is!” Pellin screamed. “Look.” He pointed toward the vault.
Dukasti slashed a pair of threads that came for his legs, then gaped at the scroll. “It’s monstrous.”
Pellin nodded. Confused by the battle at first, they hadn’t noticed that the black scroll that comprised the vault within Elieve’s mind had grown huge, making it appear far closer than it was. “He’s there, fighting with us.”
“How do you know?” Dukasti asked.
“The threads would be more numerous if he were not.”
Dukasti gaped, his face stricken. “More?”
“Yes.” Pellin reached out to squeeze the southerner’s shoulder. “Your gift is more powerful than you know. We must go to him.”
Fear made Dukasti’s face go slack for an instant before some reservoir of courage or resolve took hold and he nodded. Like men walking into a gale, they plowed forward, their power to destroy memories flashing at the threads of poison that came for them.
The evil within Elieve’s mind must have sensed their intent. After they’d taken no more than three steps, a flurry of threads erupted from the scroll, the attacks coming so quickly that Pellin and Dukasti were forced to a standstill.
But like men who’d found the capacity to bear blows regardless of cost, they refused to retreat, standing their ground as the air erupted around them. An ululating cry erupted from Dukasti’s lips as he tore through a handful of threads. “For Igesia!” he screamed.
Love, fierce and savage, broke loose from Pellin’s heart and he thrust his hands forward, turning a dozen threads into wisps. “For Elieve!” Space opened unexpectedly before them, the attacks dwindling to almost nothing.
Intuition burst into Pellin’s mind, as though a dam had burst. “Hurry! The desert seeks to end Igesia now.”
They surged forward toward the scroll, flying across the distance with the speed of thought, stopping as they reached the vault. Swollen and grotesque, it loomed above them. Black writing covered it, but the glyphs made no more sense to Pellin than they ever had. The surface of the vault writhed, testimony to the battle that raged within it, but there was still no sign of Igesia.
“Where is he?”
Pellin swallowed against the sudden fear of a child who knows better than to enter the dark. “Inside.”
Dukasti took his arm. “Together. Again.”
With the strength of their gift, they tore a hole
