of his heart.
“We aren’t going to make it,” he whispered.
There, in the infinite space between one heartbeat and the next, without any conscious thought, his hand snapped out and caught the Tamaea’s arm And he shifted and pushed.
He cried out as something inside threatened to tear apart, something vital, wrenched in two different directions at once. His body tried to slow, but the Tamaea’s body held him back, like a weight, anchoring him to the real world, to real time. He’d never tried to draw anything along with him larger than a flower, a lock of hair, or his staff, never anything as large as another person. He dragged the Tamaea toward him, shoved against the pull of time harder, tried to envelope her with the throbbing pulse of the Well he could feel inside himself, which was echoed in the Drifter itself, and felt the world twisting around him, pulling taut, the muscles of his body screaming at the resistance.
Then, with a wrench, time gave, the wind halted, and the Tamaea lurched into his body. He wrapped the arm carrying his staff around her, drew her in tight, heard her scream in panicked terror as she fell, her other arm thrashing. She clawed him across the face, her fingernails sinking in deep, and then they were rolling on the ground, Colin gasping, but holding onto the Tamaea with a death grip, knowing that if he let her go, she’d be lost, caught back up in the tide of time, and the Drifter would have her.
They rolled to a stop, the Tamaea still struggling, tangled up in her dress, in the staff, until Colin cried out, “Stop!”
She halted immediately, trembling in his embrace, and with an effort that Colin felt shudder through her body, she stilled.
“What’s happened?” she heaved, her breath coming in ragged hitches. “What have you done?”
She tried to pull away from him, a new horror crossing her face, directed at him.
“Don’t,” he barked, and he heard the weakness in his voice. He could feel himself trembling as well, shudders running through his body. In a halting voice, in Alvritshai, he said, “Don’t let go… or you’ll end up… back there.” He swallowed, the tremors in his arms increasing. His grip on time slid slightly, not enough for the Tamaea to notice, but enough to make him gasp.
He wouldn’t be able to hold them here long. Not both of them.
“We have… to move,” he managed, stirring.
“You’re shuddering,” the Tamaea said. Now that he’d told her not to let go, she seemed determined not to move at all. “Are you hurt?”
“No. But we have… to move… Must move.” He glanced significantly at the Drifter.
The Tamaea looked in its direction, and he felt her stiffen. It hovered over the tents, the chaos caught and held, debris in the air, Faeren, Grae, and the Phalanx suspended in midcharge, their terror clear. The iridescent arms of the Drifter, invisible except for here, swept back and forth greedily, as if tasting everything before it gathered it into its eye. One of those arms flickered past overhead, and the Tamaea flinched.
“It’s so beautiful,” she whispered, but her voice was layered with dread.
Colin pushed her away slightly. “We have to move.”
She responded to the urgency in his voice, wincing as she shifted away, his grip on her arm so tight her skin had turned white with the pressure. He tried to relax it, but he was afraid to let her go.
They climbed to their feet, Colin stumbling, his legs giving way beneath him, using the staff for support. The Tamaea caught him, held him upright. “What’s wrong?”
“My legs,” Colin gasped. “Weak. Holding you here is-”
He cried out as he stumbled again, and the Tamaea shrugged his arm over her shoulder, supporting his weight.
“Then let’s move,” she said, and she began half-dragging, half-pulling him forward. She’d regained some of her composure and drew the mantle of the Tamaea around her like a shield.
They staggered out of the tents, past men and women, horses and guardsmen. The farther they moved, the looser Colin’s grasp on time grew, and slowly the Tamaea began to notice as first they felt the breath of the wind, then gusts, and on all sides the people and debris began to take on visible motion. She lurched forward at a faster pace, the world picking up speed around them.
“Can’t-” Colin gasped, swallowing hard. “Can’t hold it.”
And then he lost his grip completely.
Both of them cried out as they fell to the ground, Colin releasing his hold on her arm. The wind howled overhead, spattering them both with debris, and Colin rolled to his side.
To catch the verge of the Drifter sweeping past overhead, the ripples of the distortion no more than six feet away. Every hair on his body prickled and stood on end, energy pouring over him, filled with the taste of the Well, the loam and leaves so thick on his tongue he thought he’d swallowed dirt. His body shuddered with the ecstasy of the Well, with its blatant potency, and he felt tears streaming down his face.
Then it passed by, the sensations fading, the roar of the wind dying, and he collapsed onto the grass on his back.
Beside him, he felt the Tamaea stir, sit upright And then she screamed, “Faeren!” A tortured scream, choked with tears.
He felt the Tamaea scrambling to her feet and, body shaking with weakness, a strange lethargy stealing through him, he managed to roll back onto his side. He couldn’t lift his head. The effort was too great.
He watched, dead grass pricking his cheek, as the Tamaea stumbled out into the remains of the camp. Where the Tamaell’s tents had stood, there was nothing but a swath of exposed earth. To either side, the ground was littered with collapsed tents, tattered canvas still fluttering to the ground. And bodies. Most were beginning to stir, moans and groans replacing the fading winds. The Tamaea worked her way through the detritus, took a few steps out into the empty earth, and then halted.
Faeren, Grae, and the rest of the Phalanx who had run with them from the Tamaea’s tent were gone, swallowed by the Drifter, along with a significant chunk of the camp itself.
And the Drifter hadn’t faded.
Colin fell onto his back again.
No, the Drifter wasn’t finished. He could still feel it.
“Look!”
Aeren shifted his attention from trying to control his frenzied mount out toward the plains, in the direction the Phalanx member had pointed. The group of Phalanx-from both House Rhyssal and House Duvoraen-had gathered on the ridge above the camp, other Phalanx members and servants scattered among them. All of them had expressions of exhaustion and horror on their faces as they watched the huge occumaen wreak havoc among the tents. It pushed its way westward, tents flailing in its winds like birds, debris whirling in a deadly storm. People ran in all directions as it plowed its way forward, swallowing tents and earth whole. Those caught at the edges were sliced in half. Aeren could see at least two crawling away from it, a woman without an arm and a man without legs. Those closer to the eye simply… vanished. Once the occumaen passed by, they were gone, nothing left behind, simply gone.
Breath of Heaven. They’d been called to Aielan.
He felt an overwhelming horror creep through him, his body going numb with shock. His heart still pounded from the mad dash into the camp, yelling and bellowing, trying to goad people up and away before the occumaen hit, followed by the scramble to get out of its way himself. One of his own Phalanx hadn’t made it, he and his horse caught in its eddies as they tried to flee.
Now, body still numbed and shaking, he saw what the Phalanx guard had pointed out.
There, on the edge of the occumaen, he saw a smear of motion, a shadow drawing away from the distortion that lurched and solidified into Colin and the Tamaea. His heart leaped with hope, and then the two stumbled and fell to the ground.
The arm of the occumaen-the Breath of Heaven-passed above them. Their bodies rippled with its distortions, as if they were trapped beneath heat waves… and then it slid by, leaving them unscathed.
An uncertain cheer spread through the group, led by his own Phalanx, who understood what the smeared shadow had been. The rest picked up on it when the Tamaea lurched to her feet and staggered toward the remains of the camp. He thought she’d fall to her knees in the churned up dirt where tents had stood mere moments ago, but he saw her shoulders stoop instead.
