Realm of Light - Deborah Chester [174]
Strength flowed into him like a jolt, and light seemed to flash around him as the sword slid from its scabbard.
Caelan had no time to parry, but Exoner seemed to turn in his hand of its own volition. Its shining blade met the black one, and lightning flashed around them.
The air popped and shimmered; then Beloth went staggering back and Caelan had time to gain his feet.
They faced each other in the square, no longer aware of the people or the confusion. Exoner was dancing in Caelan’s hand, humming with energy, its blade radiant with white light.
Caelan thought of Moah’s teaching on the glacier, thought of the lectures of his father, thought of the mastery of severance that had brought him to this point and that sustained him now. He thought of the waters closing over his head, and how he had learned surrender and trust.
The Magria had told him to have faith. Clinging to that, he surrendered now, releasing severance completely. The pain in his side engulfed him. But he flowed into sevaisin, merging fully with the spell-forged creation that was Exoner. The white light within the sword flowed up his arms and down the length of his body, until he shone with the light, was filled with the light, became the light.
Beloth frowned and lifted his arm to shield his eyes. “What spell do you summon, mortal?”
“I am Caelan M’an i Luciel,” he said, and his voice boomed over the square with as much volume as Beloth’s. “I am the Light Bringer. I have come to destroy you, Beloth, and the darkness you bring.”
Eyes afire with fury, Beloth circled him. Flames belched from his nostrils, but Caelan used Exoner to deflect the fire back at Beloth. The god howled, and the air grew rank with the stench of singed flesh.
“Feel what it’s like to wear a man’s body,” Caelan taunted him.
As he spoke, he sprang. White sword met black in a furious scrape and clang, back and forth too fast for the eye to follow. Caelan could feel Beloth’s tremendous strength pressing against him as their hilt guards locked. Not daring to meet Beloth’s eyes, Caelan gritted his teeth as intense heat singed him. He felt as though he were being roasted alive. Through the roaring in his ears he could hear Beloth saying words of power, terrible words that burned in Caelan’s mind, but Caelan hung on, refusing to give way.
The light flowing through him drew on Beloth’s power, imbuing Caelan with barely enough of his own to withstand the dark god.
Then Beloth broke apart, heaving for breath. As he backed away, it seemed that he drew strength out of Caelan. Staggering, Caelan dropped to one knee. His head was spinning. He wanted to retch.
Beloth laughed, and the sound was like fire in Caelan’s head. “You don’t know how to be a god, mortal! You fail to use what you have been given.”
Flames burst from his fingertips, engulfing Caelan. His clothes were on fire. He could feel his flesh melting, burning on his bones. His hair was on fire. He screamed, and the fire was sucked into his lungs. Writhing, aware of nothing but the agony, Caelan screamed and struggled.
Deep in the recesses of his mind, he heard a voice calling to him, a voice like the crystal waters of the Cascade River—pure, clear, and cold. It was Lea’s voice, calling to him.
Desperately he reached out to her. “Lea! Help me!”
“Don’t fight it,” she said. “Accept the flames.”
“I’m dying. Lea!”
“Accept the fire. Accept the death. Take it into yourself. The more you fight, the more you will lose.”
The flames were horrible. He could barely hear her. He didn’t understand. He could see his own skin melted off his fingers now, could see his charred bones gripping the hilt of his sword.
Then the sword began to sing to him. It sang in the language of fire and cold metal. It sang in the language of ice and water. It sang in the language of trees and wind and the earth itself. It sang of purity and courage, of the strength of mountains and the strength of life. It sang of light, and as