The Dark Remains - Mark Anthony [154]
“Yes,” Vani said. “When the prism is separated from the artifact, it acts as a focus for the gate. As long as I have this, all gates opened by the artifact will lead to the prism. To open a gate back to Eldh, both artifact and prism must be brought together.”
“Then there’s a chance,” Travis said. “If we can get Beltan and the artifact, and if we can learn what the Blood of Light is, then we can get to Eldh.” However, even as Travis said this, he realized how ridiculous it sounded. Even with the help of Vani and the Seekers, how were they going to do that?
“Vani,” Grace said softly, “there’s still one thing you haven’t told us. Why have you and the Scirathi been looking for me and Travis?”
Vani bowed her head, a black silhouette before the window. Then she looked up, her golden eyes brilliant.
“Because, Grace Beckett,” she said, “you and Travis Wilder are fated to raise the lost city of Morindu the Dark from the sands of Moringarth.”
52.
Not for the first time, Beltan swam upward through the dark waters of unconsciousness, broke the viscous surface, and found himself naked and motionless upon a hard, cold slab.
He struggled for comprehension. Was this the crypt beneath Calavere where his father slept, the life stolen from him by murder? It was impossible to be certain; a fog lay before his eyes. How had he gotten there? He remembered the fire burning along his veins. Poison. Yes, she had poisoned him and had brought him here in order to turn him into a thing like herself. Kyrene.
Do not take my heart, witch!
But why did it matter if she cut the organ from his chest, if she placed in its stead a lump of cold iron? What need did he have of a heart?
You love him.
No, that was no reason; that was his usual stupidity. What did love matter? He had loved his father, King Beldreas, and what had it meant in the end? Again Beltan saw the image that had once haunted his dreams and now—because of the Necromancer Dakarreth—his waking mind: a knife sinking deep into a man’s strong, broad back, and a hand pulling away, covered with blood. Beltan’s hand. He had worshiped Beldreas, his father, and he had murdered him—stabbed him when he wasn’t looking. Wasn’t that what love always led to in the end—pain, betrayal, death?
No, it’s not the same. I only want to see Travis Wilder once. That’s all. I just want to tell him I’m sorry.
But he wouldn’t have the chance. Lady Kyrene was going to cut out his heart. And maybe it was better this way. Maybe it was better to have the thing removed than to destroy yet another who could not possibly return his love.
Except something was wrong. He had seen Kyrene die. And it was too bright here to be the crypt beneath his father’s castle. The gray was dissolving into hard, lifeless white.
A metallic click, then a voice drifted on the air: a woman’s voice, though strangely sharp and guttural.
“Subject E-2, medical log. Seven October, cassette two. Test results and duplicate blood and tissue samples have been forwarded to headquarters for analysis and verification, and we are waiting for a directive on how to proceed.
“Since yesterday, I’ve had time to review the security videotapes, and I’m convinced now that the aboriginal does not speak English. On the tape’s audio track, the subject’s speech is unintelligible. The logical explanation is that, startled by his unexpected awakening, I projected words I could understand onto the sounds the subject made. I had been on shift for thirty-six straight, and while meds can keep you going, they can do it only for so long without impairment. But I’ve had a good seven hours of real sleep since yesterday.
“All the same, on the chance the sounds made by the subject represent indigenous speech, I’ve forwarded the tape to headquarters for digitization and cross-comparison with the current known lexicon. However, I doubt they’ll find any matches. I’m sure now the subject was not speaking in any language, but merely uttering sounds of pain and fear. In the meantime, for security reasons, we are keeping Subject E-2 sedated