“You think I can climb like this?” he said bitterly, his face twisting with the futility. “Or swim?”
“You have a great strength of will,” she replied. “You are relentless. Use it now for a better cause than greed.” She touched the side of his face, trying to ignore the stinging pain in her own skin. “We seek to abolish the Plague. The Arch-Rike tries to thwart us. Through your failure here, you help us be successful. I pity you, Preachán. But I do not hate you.”
His eyes closed and he started to sob.
Hettie stood and left him crumpled in the corner, weeping. Wearing the Druidecht talisman around her neck, she began to imagine herself looking like Kiranrao.
“I have heard that in moments of extreme terror and suspense, our minds can deliver to our aid a remedy for the situation if we have the courage not to flinch from it. Too often we are doomed to fail simply because we believe too quickly that we will.”
—Possidius Adeodat, Archivist of Kenatos
Erasmus was dead. It had happened so quickly that there was no time for Annon or Khiara to prevent it. Staring at the body of his fallen friend brought a swell of grief and a shattering earthquake of rage colliding inside Annon’s chest. The serpents converged on him and he unleashed the fireblood in a torrent of flame, sweeping his arms around in a circle to scorch the ground in every direction. The serpents recoiled from the brightness, but he saw immediately that their scales were not harmed by it, just as the lizard-like guardians in the mountain pass had not been affected either. The rage turned to sudden icy terror. The Arch-Rike had prepared his defenses.
“Fly!” Annon shouted to Khiara.
“I won’t leave you alone,” she argued. “The flames are useless, let me try my staff.” It was long and she swept it in against the serpents, striking at their flaring hoods and pin-prick fangs. The serpents struck at the staff, one latching onto it and slithering up the post. She brought it down hard, dislodging it.
“Behind us!” Annon warned desperately.
She pivoted the staff between her hands and swung it down in a sharp arc on the other side, crushing one of the serpents with the blow. Others hissed and struck at the staff again, coming closer to their boots. There were too many. They were too quick.
“Fly!” Annon said, grabbing Khiara’s arm and shaking her.
Her eyes looked desperately into his.
“One of us needs to survive!” he pleaded. “One of us needs to warn the others.”
He saw the determination in her eyes. With a quick motion, she struck another serpent with the butt of the staff, breaking its body. Then she inhaled and rose above Annon, but she gripped his hand with hers as she floated upward. He wondered if she would attempt to pull him up with her. It seemed impossible.
Don’t move.
It was only the whisper of a thought. Khiara hovered in the air, her eyes closed, her mouth whispering words in a language he did not understand. He felt power surging from her into his skin, healing his injured shoulder, infusing him with life and vitality. Her whispers echoed through the circular chamber, sounding behind his eyelids, down to his very toes. The connection of her fingers against his was full of energy.
Don’t move.
Annon saw the serpents gather at his feet, hoods flaring. He saw the little forked tongues and felt pure revulsion and fear threaten to unman him. He shut his eyes, unable to bear the suspense, wondering if the keramat that Khiara was performing would save him from the fangs and the poison. He waited to feel the needle-like fangs pierce his legs. He tamed the fireblood, knowing it was useless. There was no defense against such an attack.
A serpent slithered across the top of his boots. He wanted to shudder, but he willed himself still. Clenching his jaw, he dared not even breathe. He waited for the jolts of pain.
“Annon,” Khiara whispered.
He would not speak. His jaw hurt from the pressure of his grinding teeth. Moments passed in silence. Another serpent slithered across his feet, one brushing against his ankle. He felt them continuously, snouts butting against his boots, prodding. He sank deep into himself, preserving the air in his lungs. His heart began to slow.
“They aren’t striking,” Khiara whispered. “They are searching for something. Searching for us. Annon, they cannot see us.”
Annon opened his eyes. He almost wished he hadn’t. There were probably a hundred or more. The floor of the room was a twisting, writhing mass.
Nizeera? Annon beckoned with his mind.
I am behind you, atop a tomb. They cannot strike me here. I am still.
Growl, Nizeera. Let them hear you. Tell me if they react to your noise.