Age of Swords (The Legends of the First Empire #2)

Suri nodded and gave the girl a sympathetic smile. Then she and Minna walked across the stone chamber to where Arion sat.

The Fhrey hadn’t moved in hours, and she wasn’t looking good. Her skin had become nearly gray, her breathing was labored, and the trickle of blood was dripping from both nostrils. “I’m almost done, Suri.”

“Want me to take over?”

“Won’t do any good. Have you memorized the weave from the table? If you had a source, do you think you could cast it?”

“Maybe. But…” Suri felt horrible. Since leaving Tirre, she’d failed at everything. And she hated disappointing Arion. No one except Tura had ever pushed her to be more than she was. No one else ever had faith in her. Without realizing it, Arion had become Suri’s replacement for Tura—part teacher, part parent, part friend. And Suri discovered she wanted to please her, to make her proud, to prove she was worthy of Arion’s faith. But so far, all she’d been was a failure. “I can’t find a power source. One big enough to reach the deep chords.”

“I know.”

“I’m sorry,” Suri said. “Maybe there are some caterpillars that never get to be butterflies.”

“No, not like that,” Arion told her. “You will fly, but not without payment. You were right about that.”

“What payment? What do you mean?”

Arion shifted to Fhrey, which she always did when there was something important to say. “I thought of a source, and I think it is a powerful one. You see, all life generates power. Power that can be tapped like I’m doing now. And emotion heightens that energy. Fear, hate, anguish—these feelings are like blowing on a fire or pumping a bellows. They make the blaze hotter, more intense. I’m thinking death might provide a similar effect. I sensed a release of energy when Zephyron died, and I felt it again when Gryndal was killed. Maybe when the spirit frees itself from the body, there’s an explosion of sorts. I suspect that if the death is also a sacrifice, especially of someone loved, then…well, the combined power would be enormous. While short-lived, it might be enough to move the deep chords.” Arion reached out and took Suri’s hand. “I can give you that power.”

Suri was already shaking her head.

“You need to kill me and—”

“No.”

“Suri, listen to me.”

“No. I can’t.”

“I would kill myself, except it wouldn’t be as powerful…the emotion you would feel would only be one of loss. If you killed me, if my death was by your own hand, then—”

“I won’t do that. I can’t.”

“You have to or everyone dies.”

“I might mess it up. I might…no wait!” Suri smiled with delight. “You can do it! You can kill me!”

Arion pointed to her head. “I can barely hold the door. I could never survive using the deep chords. Besides, you’re the important one, remember? Not me. Your existence is the key to saving everyone. You can bring peace and understanding to our peoples. That’s why I came here. And if by my death you can blossom into an extraordinary Artist, then it’s an insignificant price.”

“I can’t kill you.”

“You must.”

Suri shook her head harder. “You’re practically dead already, how much power could you possibly generate?”

“A power equal to how much you care for me.” Arion looked into Suri’s tear-filled eyes. “Do you think that would be enough?”

Suri began to shake. They were speaking in tones too low for the others to hear, but Minna noticed. She drew close, nuzzling Suri.

“What are you asking? For me to slit your throat?” Her words were breaking up, her jaw shaking, lips trembling.

“That would work.”

“No, it wouldn’t. No, it would not.” Suri sucked in a sluggish breath. “You’re like…you’ve become…How can I…?”

“I know.” Arion patted her hand. “And that’s why it has to be me, don’t you see? You’re the only one who can make the weave, so the sacrifice must be someone who you care deeply for, and we’ve grown close haven’t we? Killing me will be a sacrifice. Your own explosion of emotion will fuel the weave, and the sorrow that follows will give you the ability to play the deep chords. That’s how he must have done it. This Old One sacrificed something. Something very dear. That’s what you need to do, Suri. Kill me, harness the power, and weave your own Balgargarath. Send it to fight for you, and then run for the surface.”

Suri clutched Minna with both hands. She was crying. She couldn’t help it.

“Go on,” Arion told her. “Do it now. The longer you wait the worse it will be for you.”

That was a lie—didn’t even make sense. If what Arion said were true, then drawing out the process would heighten the emotion, produce more power. Suri could see the real reason in Arion’s face, in those sky-blue eyes that were glassy with tears and the lips that trembled. The longer I take the harder it is for her. She’s terrified and doesn’t know if she has the courage to go through with it. She thinks if I kill her fast enough, she won’t have time to reconsider and won’t try to stop me. Arion didn’t understand death. For Fhrey it was an alien thing, and for a Miralyith it must be their single remaining horror.

“Just get a dagger and kill me.”

“But I can’t.”

“Suri.” She sounded stern, shifting to Rhunic. “You have to.”

“No! There has to be another way.”

“Suri, listen. You aren’t starting a fire or making an earthquake. Doing this, creating a creature, is something I’ve never heard of. It’s not even something I thought was possible. The power required is massive. To create an independent being, you will need to do more than touch or pluck the deep chords. You’ll have to hit them hard, strum them loudly and with world-shattering force. Such a thing requires massive strength, and you just don’t get that from the movement of water. Think about it. Balgargarath is self-sustaining! Not even Avempartha can generate that kind of power. This must come from within and without. The pain you will suffer will make it possible. It has to be you, and it has to be now. Get a dagger, Suri, and become the butterfly you were meant to be.”

Suri stared at her. She was shaking.

“Do it!” Arion ordered. “I can’t hold on much longer.”

Slowly Suri stood up and willed herself to walk. She moved toward Brin, staying away from the light so no one would see her face. Brin had taken her sword belt off. The blade the Dherg had given the girl lay on the ground near the table. Suri picked it up, clutching the weapon and holding it close as she moved back into the dark. She wasn’t just shaking; her whole body rattled, racked with anguish, fear, and dread. She felt cold. Suri wiped her eyes and sat down alone in the blackness to think. She laid the weapon beside her and covered her face with both hands.

I can’t do it. I can’t! But how can I fail her again?

All Suri wanted was to go back—back to the Hawthorn Glen, to her little home. She never should have come to Dahl Rhen, never should have spoken to Persephone, never set all those horrible stones rolling. She should have stayed silent, happy, and content. Happy and…

She wept.