Twenty-eight
Consciousness was a fragile thing, frayed around the edges, constantly trying to slip away. The weight of the bear pressed down on him, making it impossible to draw a full breath. Air hunger was a pressing need, a black panic edged with crimson. Zee forced himself to take shallow breaths, to stay calm, to think, despite the pulse of pain over his cheek and jaw. Somewhere inside he was laughing at the bitter irony of this death, picturing in his mind’s eye the newspaper headline: Fugitive Felon Dies, Crushed by Dead Bear.
Sheer force of will kept him conscious, pushed the panic away. He discovered that it was possible to move, one infinitesimal bit at a time. Foot, leg, finger, wrist. Shift, wriggle, turn, bend. Shallow breaths, each one smelling of blood and fur and the rank, wild scent of the bear. Hopeless, maybe, but as long as he could manage to breathe he would continue to fight.
At last he felt a shift, got an arm and a leg free, and slithered out into a night just edging into dawn. Air was a miracle. He sucked it deep into his lungs. It smelled of frost and coming winter, clean and life-giving. For a space of time it was all he could do to lie flat on the sand and breathe.
His body was a welter of aching bruises, but careful exploration revealed that everything was in working order. His shoulder was stiff but functional. No bones broken, no tendons damaged. He touched his fingers to his cheek, relieved to find that though the lacerations were deep, he still had a face, that the blood was beginning to clot. He’d pictured the whole cheek torn away down to the exposed bone. It would scar, but it would heal.
Cold, though; he needed to move. At length he mustered the strength to stagger to his feet. He found the sword, fallen clear of the bear’s carcass, and cleaned it as best he could in the sand. Holding it unsheathed and ready, he took a cautious step toward the place where the bear had appeared out of thin air.
Jehenna was responsible for this. He had been trying to get to Vivian. Now he understood that there was only one way to find her.
As he approached the stone he heard a buzzing, faint at first and then louder. A softening of everything in his line of vision. His heart beat faster. A thin place; a crossing. He had no idea of what lay on the other side.
Blood calls to blood, she had said. Just call my name if you want me. “Jehenna,” he breathed like an invocation, took another step.
And stood in a dark cavern, lit by flickering torches. A massive column of red stone rose before him, thrusting up and away into the darkness. Compared to its raw power, the Finger was a child’s toy.
“Magnificent, isn’t it?” a voice said behind him. “It rises through the roof and into a chamber above—through that again, until it reaches the open air. That’s where you’d find your Dreamshifter—if you could get to her.”
He swung around, ready to strike, but the sword stopped against his will, hanging in the air, immobile.
“You,” he said.
“You called me. I admire your perseverance, but you will not be able to save her.”
Vivian was still alive, then. Whatever the witch said, there must be a way. He looked around him, taking in the high stone altar, the carved pillars, registering the reek of blood.
“Don’t be too sure,” he managed.
She laughed at that, fondly, as though he were an adorable child. “You would be just in the nick of time if you were not down here in the temple. She’s right above you, you know. Your Dreamshifter. And the dragon.”
“What dragon?”
“Oh, come now. It’s an old tale, that of the maiden and the dragon. Played out through so many worlds over so many years. You might as well put that sword away. You can’t kill me, and it would be a shame for you to hurt yourself.”
Before the sword was fully sheathed he was halfway to an open door, driving his weary body to reach it before, before—
“Stop right there, hero. You’re not going anywhere.”
An invisible barrier bounced him back. Again and again he threw himself against it while Jehenna’s laughter echoed around him. His brain kicked in at last and he stood, breathing hard, within arm’s reach of an open door that posed more of a barrier than prison bars. “Why?” he said. “What do you stand to gain?”
In answer to that, she only smiled. “You might as well sit down; you’ll be here for a while.”
“Please—you can do whatever you want with me. Just let her go.”
“I can do whatever I want with you, anyway. All I need do is speak, and you will dance for me, a puppet on a string. At the moment your vicarious suffering is sufficient. Let me tell you what is happening up there. Your beloved, dressed in a gown of white, is chained to the tip-top of this Blood Stone. The dragon isn’t in a hurry—it’s too well fed. It will toy with her at first, but soon, very soon, it will devour her. There may be leavings—a hand, a foot, a fragment of clothing. I’d love to have you watch, but it’s so much safer if you stay here.”
She walked over to him and ran her hand over his mangled face. He sucked in his breath at the pain but managed to hold his head steady, not to flinch away. “Oh, the scars. Priceless. I must say I thought the bear would win when I sent it through—I underestimated your abilities. This has been an interesting visit, but I’m afraid I must leave you now.”
“Off to watch her die?”
“Oh, no. Fascinating as that would be, I have a more important thing to do.” She reached into a pocket and extended her hand toward him. On her open palm lay a black stone object, intricately carved.
“You see, I was able to find this without your help. The Old One thought he could outwit me. It took the girl and the flightless bird, both, to find the key. But it is mine now. And I have no more need of Dreamshifters or dragons, spells or potions or incantations.” She pressed her lips against the gleaming thing. “This will grant me life everlasting and unrivaled power.”
There was nothing he could do. All of George’s warnings in his head, his driving passion to save Vivian, to destroy the witch before she could make good on her plans—were as a child’s whim, and with as little power.
Jehenna smiled, slow and seductive, then leaned toward him and kissed him. He closed his eyes to shut out the sight of her face, and when he opened them, she was gone.
His mind sprang free, his body once again his own to command. He leaped for the door, closed now. It had no lever, no handle. Pushing against it had no effect. He ran at it, struck with his injured shoulder, and landed in a heap on the floor, biting his lip until it bled to keep himself from whimpering with the shock of pain.
There must be another way out.
Searching the room, he found a metal grate, big enough to drive a semi through, but it was also locked. No other doors. He circled the chamber seeking an exit, unwilling to believe that he could not get to Vivian, could not stop the witch, after all he had done to get this far.
Steps led up onto a stone dais. He climbed them. Clotted blood in a basin, mixed with something black that had etched away stone where it splashed out onto the dais. Zee shivered, a sense of something evil and dark coming over him, and he retreated, sick at heart, to sit down and press his back against the wall next to the door.
The best plan he could come up with was that if anybody came in, he’d make a dive for freedom while the door was still open. If he was too late to save her, he could avenge her. And for that he would need to spare his waning strength.
Remembering, he put his hand into his pocket and brought out the cloth-wrapped object. Open only at the end.
Not quite yet. Not the end so long as there remained the smallest fragment of hope.
Resting his head back against the wall, he closed his eyes and focused on his breath, waiting.