Strange — too strange. Not only had it been dark before and now was bright day, but the season had changed as well. It had been cold in the valley of the falls. She remembered the chill night air in the orchard. Had not the apple trees’ leaves turned brown already and fallen around her? Here the trees were clothed in their mid-summer foliage, not the bright colors of autumn.
Vedvedsica seemed to sense her growing confusion. With his free hand he squeezed her arm, saying sharply, “You tax my concentration! Be calm! There is great disorder in your thoughts.”
“You have no idea,” she muttered. His words acted as a tonic though, and her surroundings sharpened into focus.
Nianki saw the streets below fill with movement. The figures were made impossibly small by distance.
“Shall we move among them?”
She had no chance to reply to his question before they were dropping like stones. Though her fingers tightened convulsively on his wrist, Nianki stifled an urge to cry out. Vedvedsica, she was sure, would not let them be hurt.
Their plunge suddenly halted a few steps above the ground. Her heart pounded in her throat, and she threw the elf a furious glare. He paid her no heed whatsoever.
Three male elves nearly walked into Nianki. She stepped back out of their way, but they gave no sign they’d seen her.
As a pair of females approached, Vedvedsica planted himself directly in their path. Nianki was astonished to see the females pass through him as though he was made of smoke.
“How — ?” she began, then gave a violent shake of her head. Why question what was so obviously the work of great spirit-power?
They were graceful-looking people, she had to give them that. No taller than she, and many of them shorter, they somehow gave an impression of height. Their movements were easy and fluid. Their skin was paler than hers, their hair was mostly light-colored, ranging from sandy blond through pure snowy white. They wore flowing robes in a rainbow of bright colors.
Though she saw their lips moving, she could not hear what the elves were saying. In fact, she realized, she could hear nothing at all from her surroundings. The elves walking or riding on horseback made no noise, and there was no sound of birds or insects.
“Why don’t I hear them?” she asked.
Vedvedsica looked a bit strained. “It isn’t necessary,” he told her, and that was all he would say on the subject.
Nianki went back to watching the Silvanesti. There were so many! The streets teemed with life, young and old, male and female. She caught sight of two children — a boy and girl — jogging toward her. The girl, taller of the two, was obviously teasing the boy, and even Nianki could see the family resemblance between them. When the girl turned her back, the boy reached out and yanked a long golden plait of her hair. He then turned, laughing, to flee as she gave chase.
“At least children are children everywhere,” she said.
“Really? That girl will likely outlive your great-great-grandchildren.”
Looking at him as though he were the one whose wits were addled, she snorted. “I’m not that far gone in my head, shaman.”
Vedvedsica’s eyes glittered with a strange inner light as he turned to look her full in the face.
“Do you suppose all the races have the same pitifully short lifespan as humans?” he said in that same calm, certain tone. “We elves live for hundreds of years. My Lord Balif has seen ninety-eight springs come and go, and he will still be a strong, valiant warrior when your grandchildren are nothing more than dust.”
Nianki opened her mouth, but no sound came out.
“How can you hope to best an enemy,” Vedvedsica continued, “who will still be vigorous when you are twisted with age, who will still be hale and hardy when your grandchildren are bowed down with the weight of years? Don’t you see how foolish your resistance is?”
Movement above her head caused Nianki to look up quickly. The white stone structures on each side of the street loomed above her, their tops seeming to draw closer and closer together, blocking out the sky, blocking out the light.
She felt a painful tightness in her chest. As yet another elf moved through her, unseeing, unknowing, leaving not even a whisper of air in his wake, she swayed on her feet.
“What have you done to me, shaman?” she gasped. “Can’t breathe — ”
Faster than thought, Nianki found herself back atop the Tower of the Stars. The strange breathlessness faded, and she inhaled and exhaled deeply, relief coursing through her.
“You’re hexing me,” she accused.
He regarded her thoughtfully. “In truth, I am not. You’re unaccustomed to the presence of so many beings, so many structures. For one raised under the open sky, it would be a shock.”
Nianki was rubbing her temple with her free hand. It pounded as though a drummer was beating on her head. “Can it be true?” she muttered to herself. “Ninety-eight years? Ninety-eight?”
“It is but a brief moment, after all.”
The plainswoman looked up quickly. The priest was no longer there. In his place stood the warlord Balif. The wind blew through the elf’s shoulder-length blond hair, and his sky-colored eyes regarded her with a strange intensity.
She took a step backward in surprise but found herself brought up short. Just as her fingers were releasing his wrist, he deftly caught hold of her arm, maintaining the contact between them. Nianki looked down, staring dumbly at the long, pale fingers encircling her sunbrowned arm.
“Do not fight me, Nianki,” he said. “There are greater rewards to be had as my friend than as my enemy. To fight the Throne of the Stars means only death for you and your followers.”
“Stop!” she cried. Nianki moved as far away from him as his hold on her arm allowed, though that brought her perilously close to the edge of the marble platform. “This is a trick! You aren’t Balif, and I will not give up what is mine!”
So saying, she yanked her hand violently out of his grip.
As soon as their hands parted, Nianki felt herself fall backward off the tower. The last thing she saw as she plummeted into the void was Vedvedsica’s surprised face staring down as her as he stroked his wispy beard.
Nianki woke with a violent start, her angry shout still echoing in her ears. Casting about wildly, she saw the faint outlines of the Yala-tene orchard, but atop this was overlaid the phantom elf city — bright towers, impossibly high, reared out of the silver waters of the lake. Crowds of transparent elves passed to and fro among the white marble columns.
She shook her head, but still the ghostly images lingered. Nianki struck her forehead hard with her fist. The ghostly scene blurred and thinned slightly, the dark outlines of the orchard growing stronger.
So, pain countered the spell? Very well. She was no stranger to pain. Nianki drew her knife.
*
Duranix squirmed fitfully, trying to find a comfortable position. His left wing ached, so he had to lie on his right side exclusively. Trouble was, his weight tended to cramp his good wing if he lay on it too long. Pain and annoyance combined to ignite an angry blue aura around his head. When his blood was up, the air around him tended to crackle with lightning.
He gave up trying to sleep and went down to the lake for a drink of water. He trod as lightly as he could so as not to disturb the sleeping humans around him. When humans were disturbed there was always noise — babies crying, dogs barking, men cursing when they stubbed their toes on the way to the latrine, women complaining about the babies crying, the dogs barking, and the men cursing. Duranix preferred his nights quiet.
He waded out a few paces and dipped his long neck down for a sip of cold water. It didn’t taste as sweet as it once had, before the humans started living here. Water from the falls was as pristine as ever, but the lake had lost its purity long ago.
The dragon turned and slogged back to shore. He spied a lone, lanky figure coming down the pebbly beach toward him. For once his eyes deceived him. He thought it was Amero, but when the stranger began humming tunelessly in a high, hoarse voice, he realized it was Nianki.