Forging the Darksword - Margaret Weis [56]
But Joram did not see or even hear his friend. Staring at his mother in horror, the young man shrank back before her, shaking his head violently. His black hair sprang loose from its bonds. Dark curls fell down across his pale face, a mockery of the tears she had taught him not to cry.
“Dead!” repeated the overseer, having apparently just absorbed this information. His eyes glittered. “There’s a reward for the living Dead. Grant me Life, Catalyst,” he commanded. “Then open a Corridor! I’ll keep him prisoner until the Enforcers arrive—”
It happened and was over in the beat of a heart, the blink of an eye, the drawing of a breath.
With the image of Joram’s pale face before her eyes, Anja turned away from him to face the overseer. Her son, her beautiful son, knew the truth now. He would hate her forever, she could see the hatred in his eyes. It cut through her like the cold, conjured blades of an enemy. And sounding amid this bitter pain, tormenting her like the notes of shrill, discordant music, came the word “Enforcer.”
Long ago, the Enforcers, the Duuk-tsarith, had come to take away her lover. It was a Duuk-tsarith who had turned him to stone. Now they were going to take away her child. As they had come once that other time ….
“No … Don’t take my baby!” Anja cried wildly. “You mustn’t. He’ll be warm, soon. I’ll warm him. Stillborn? No! You’re wrong! Here, I’ll hold him thus, next to my body. He’ll be warm soon. Breathe, baby. Breathe, little one. You’re lying, you bastards! My baby will breathe! My baby will live. The Vision was a lie …”
“Shut her up and call an Enforcer!” the overseer cried, turning away.
Father Tolban felt the conduit surge, energy was sucked from him with such force that he fell to his knees. With his last strength, he closed off the Life-giving force, but it was too late. Looking up, he watched helplessly as Anja’s nails curled into strong, slashing talons, her teeth lengthened into fangs. The tattered dress changed to silken fur, her body rippled with muscles. Moving swiftly and silently in her giant catlike form, she leaped at the overseer.
The catalyst shouted an incoherent warning. The overseer, whirling, caught a glimpse of the raging wizardess. Flinging his arm up to protect himself, he reflexively activated a magical defense shield.
There was a crackling sound, a terrible, agonized scream, and Anja sank down to lie in a burned, crumpled heap on the newly plowed ground. The spell she had cast over herself ended. Relaxing into human shape, she looked up at Joram, tried to speak, then, shaking her head, she lay quite still, unmoving, her eyes staring up into the blue spring sky.
Weak and horror-stricken, Father Tolban crawled over and knelt beside her.
“She’s dead!” murmured the catalyst in shock. “You’ve killed her.”
“I didn’t mean to,” protested the overseer, staring at the lifeless body of the woman on the ground at his feet. “I swear! It was an accident! She … You saw her!” The overseer turned to face Joram. “She was crazy! You know that, don’t you? She jumped at me! I—”
Joram didn’t answer. The confusion was gone from his mind. Fear no longer blinded him. He saw everything with a startling, vivid clarity.
In my mother’s body, the warmth of Life is gone. In me, it has never been. Now that the truth was spoken within him, he could accept it. The pain became a part of him, no different from any other.
Looking around, Joram saw the tool he needed, and reaching down, he picked up the heavy stone. He even paused a moment to notice the texture and feel of the stone as it lay in his palm. Rough and jagged, the stone’s sharp edges bit into his skin. It was cold and lifeless, as Dead as he himself. He thought incongruously of the stone Anja had given him as a child, telling him “to make the air swallow it.”
Balancing the stone for an instant, getting the feel of the weight, Joram straightened and, with all his strength, hurled it at the overseer.
The stone