Shadowfever
Page 31
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Only actions.
Ill never drive his cars. Ill never know his secrets.
Darroc takes my arm. This way. He turns me around. Temple Bar.
I feel his eyes on me as he guides me back toward the bookstore.
I stop and look up at him. I thought there might be things you needed from the house on LaRuhe, I say casually. I really dont want to walk past BB&B. I thought we should rally your troops. Weve been gone a long time.
There are many places I keep supplies, and my army is always near. He makes a slicing gesture in the air and murmurs a few words in a language I dont understand.
The night is suddenly twenty degrees cooler. I dont have to look behind me to know the Unseelie Princes are there, in addition to countless other Unseelie. The night is suddenly thick with dark Fae. Even with my volume muted, there are so many, so close to me, that I feel them in the pit of my stomach. Does he keep a contingent of them a mere sift away at all times? Have the princes been hovering all this time, listening for his call, a half dimension beyond my awareness?
Ill need to remember that.
I am not walking around Dublin with the princes at my back.
I said I will not let them harm you, MacKayla, and I meant it.
I want my spear back. Give it to me now.
I cannot permit that. I saw what you did to Malluc with it.
I said I wont harm you, Darroc, and I meant it, I mock. See how that feels? Little hard to swallow, isnt it? You insist that I trust you, but you wont trust me.
I cannot take the risk.
Wrong answer. Should I force the issue and try to take the spear? If I succeed, will he trust me less? Or respect me more?
When I seek the bottomless lake in my head, I dont bother closing my eyes to do it. I just let them go a little out of focus. I need power, strength, and I know where to find both. With almost no effort at all, Im standing on a black-pebbled beach. It has always been there for me. It always will be.
Distantly, I hear Darroc speaking to the princes. I shiver. I cant bear the thought of them behind me.
Deep in its cavernous depths, the black water churns and begins to bubble.
Silvery runes like the ones I encircled myself with on the cliffs edge break the surface, but the water keeps boiling, and I know its not yet done. Theres something more if I want it. I do. After a few moments, it pushes up a handful of crimson runes that pulse on the inky water like slender deformed hearts. The bubbling stops. The surface is once again as smooth as black glass.
I bend and scoop them up. Dripping blood, they flutter in my fists.
Distantly, I hear the Unseelie Princes beginto chime, but not softly. Its the sound of broken, jagged crystal scraping against metal.
I dont turn to look at them. I know all I need to know: Whatever gift Ive been given, they dont like it.
My gaze refocuses.
Darroc looks at me, then down at my hands, and goes still. What are you doing with those? What were you doing in the Silvers before I found you? Did you enter the White Mansion without me, MacKayla?
Behind me, the princes chime louder. Its a cacophony that slices into the soul like a razor, severs tendon, and chips bone. I wonder if thats what comes of being fashioned from an imperfect Song of Making, a melody that can unmake, unsing, uncreate at a molecular level.
They hate my crimson runes, and I hate their dark music.
I wont be the one to yield.
Why? I ask Darroc. Is that where the runes Ive scooped up came from? What does he know about them? I cant ask him without betraying that, while I have power, I have no idea what it is or how to use it. I raise my fists and open them, palms up. My hands drip thick red liquid. Slender tubular runes twist on my palms.
Behind me, the princes jagged chiming becomes a hellish shriek that even Darroc looks rattled by.
I have no idea what to do with the runes. I was thinking of the Unseelie Princes, that I needed a weapon against them, and they appeared in my mind. I have no idea how I translated them from that dark glassy lake into existence. I understand no more about these crimson symbols than I did about the silvery ones.
Where did you learn to do that, MacKayla? Darroc demands.
I can barely hear him over the princes. How do you plan to merge with the Book? I counter. I have to raise my voice to a near yell to make myself heard.
Do you have any idea what those things are capable of? he demands. I read his lips. I cant hear him.
The shrieking behind me rises to an inhuman pitch that pierces my eardrums like ice picks. Give me my spear and Ill put them away, I shout.
Darroc moves closer, trying to hear me. Impossible! he explodes. My princes will not remain and protect us if you have the spear. His gaze slides with distaste over the runes in my hands. Nor with those present.
I think we can take care of ourselves!
What? he shouts.
We dont need them! The ice picks in my ears have begun drilling into my brain. Im on the verge of a massive migraine.
I do! I am not yet Fae again. My army follows me only because Fae princes lead at my back!
Who needs an army? Were inches apart, shouting at each other, and still the words are nearly lost in the din.
Ill never drive his cars. Ill never know his secrets.
Darroc takes my arm. This way. He turns me around. Temple Bar.
I feel his eyes on me as he guides me back toward the bookstore.
I stop and look up at him. I thought there might be things you needed from the house on LaRuhe, I say casually. I really dont want to walk past BB&B. I thought we should rally your troops. Weve been gone a long time.
There are many places I keep supplies, and my army is always near. He makes a slicing gesture in the air and murmurs a few words in a language I dont understand.
The night is suddenly twenty degrees cooler. I dont have to look behind me to know the Unseelie Princes are there, in addition to countless other Unseelie. The night is suddenly thick with dark Fae. Even with my volume muted, there are so many, so close to me, that I feel them in the pit of my stomach. Does he keep a contingent of them a mere sift away at all times? Have the princes been hovering all this time, listening for his call, a half dimension beyond my awareness?
Ill need to remember that.
I am not walking around Dublin with the princes at my back.
I said I will not let them harm you, MacKayla, and I meant it.
I want my spear back. Give it to me now.
I cannot permit that. I saw what you did to Malluc with it.
I said I wont harm you, Darroc, and I meant it, I mock. See how that feels? Little hard to swallow, isnt it? You insist that I trust you, but you wont trust me.
I cannot take the risk.
Wrong answer. Should I force the issue and try to take the spear? If I succeed, will he trust me less? Or respect me more?
When I seek the bottomless lake in my head, I dont bother closing my eyes to do it. I just let them go a little out of focus. I need power, strength, and I know where to find both. With almost no effort at all, Im standing on a black-pebbled beach. It has always been there for me. It always will be.
Distantly, I hear Darroc speaking to the princes. I shiver. I cant bear the thought of them behind me.
Deep in its cavernous depths, the black water churns and begins to bubble.
Silvery runes like the ones I encircled myself with on the cliffs edge break the surface, but the water keeps boiling, and I know its not yet done. Theres something more if I want it. I do. After a few moments, it pushes up a handful of crimson runes that pulse on the inky water like slender deformed hearts. The bubbling stops. The surface is once again as smooth as black glass.
I bend and scoop them up. Dripping blood, they flutter in my fists.
Distantly, I hear the Unseelie Princes beginto chime, but not softly. Its the sound of broken, jagged crystal scraping against metal.
I dont turn to look at them. I know all I need to know: Whatever gift Ive been given, they dont like it.
My gaze refocuses.
Darroc looks at me, then down at my hands, and goes still. What are you doing with those? What were you doing in the Silvers before I found you? Did you enter the White Mansion without me, MacKayla?
Behind me, the princes chime louder. Its a cacophony that slices into the soul like a razor, severs tendon, and chips bone. I wonder if thats what comes of being fashioned from an imperfect Song of Making, a melody that can unmake, unsing, uncreate at a molecular level.
They hate my crimson runes, and I hate their dark music.
I wont be the one to yield.
Why? I ask Darroc. Is that where the runes Ive scooped up came from? What does he know about them? I cant ask him without betraying that, while I have power, I have no idea what it is or how to use it. I raise my fists and open them, palms up. My hands drip thick red liquid. Slender tubular runes twist on my palms.
Behind me, the princes jagged chiming becomes a hellish shriek that even Darroc looks rattled by.
I have no idea what to do with the runes. I was thinking of the Unseelie Princes, that I needed a weapon against them, and they appeared in my mind. I have no idea how I translated them from that dark glassy lake into existence. I understand no more about these crimson symbols than I did about the silvery ones.
Where did you learn to do that, MacKayla? Darroc demands.
I can barely hear him over the princes. How do you plan to merge with the Book? I counter. I have to raise my voice to a near yell to make myself heard.
Do you have any idea what those things are capable of? he demands. I read his lips. I cant hear him.
The shrieking behind me rises to an inhuman pitch that pierces my eardrums like ice picks. Give me my spear and Ill put them away, I shout.
Darroc moves closer, trying to hear me. Impossible! he explodes. My princes will not remain and protect us if you have the spear. His gaze slides with distaste over the runes in my hands. Nor with those present.
I think we can take care of ourselves!
What? he shouts.
We dont need them! The ice picks in my ears have begun drilling into my brain. Im on the verge of a massive migraine.
I do! I am not yet Fae again. My army follows me only because Fae princes lead at my back!
Who needs an army? Were inches apart, shouting at each other, and still the words are nearly lost in the din.
