He had a momentary sensation of flying. He felt himself as infinitely tiny, swept past shapes infinitely large. Dark and cold. Speed.
Impact!
Were it possible to be smashed flat and live, then that was the sensation. Not physical pain—emotional. He had never guessed at anything approaching such shame, such sorrow and despair. All his muscles knotted up in horror, and then it was physical also. He heard himself screaming and he wanted to die.
Someone was hugging him, soothing him. In his wrenching abyss of misery, he sensed a spark of human compassion. He clung, clung desperately. Agonies of cramps, waves of nausea—but someone cared, and that was salvation. The spark was there, life amid the measureless void of death.
There was a hand over his mouth, but he could not stop screaming. Every muscle strained, every tendon was pulling free of his bones. His gut was a fire pit and his heart was tearing itself to ribbons. Die, die, oh please die!
A voice shouted his name, over and over.
He opened his eyes and saw the moon. Godfathers! What had happened to the moon? The screaming had started again. Was that him?
Who was this he was crushing to him?
He was rolling around on cold stone, hugging someone. In the dark. The air was hot and scented. Moonlight, green moonlight.
Nextdoor was much more than just an island.
47
THE MAN FELL STILL, HIS MUSCLES TOO EXHAUSTED TO DO more than quiver like leaves in a wind. His arms had been holding Eleal in iron bands, and now they dropped away limply. His eyes were open, staring, but they did not seem to be looking at anything. His breath came in frightening, irregular gasps.
She backed off a few feet on hands and knees. “Liberator?"
"Yes,” said Dolm's resonant voice. “I fancy that is the Liberator this time."
Eleal opened her mouth to scream and nothing happened. She stared up in paralyzed silence at the reaper looming over her, immensely tall and dark against the sky. He shook his cowled head sadly. His face was in shadow, but she could not mistake the voice.
"I have no option, Eleal. You do understand that?"
She wriggled farther away.
"Running will not save you,” Dolm said. “You belong to my master now. First the Liberator, then you."
"No!” she whimpered.
"You are young and your soul is worth much."
"All souls are worth much,” said another voice.
The reaper turned in a swirl of black cloth to regard the newcomer as she hobbled across the courtyard, pounding her staff with one hand, trailing her sword in the other. Its point scraped across the stone with a bloodcurdling scratching.
Dolm laughed. “Yours is not, old woman. Depart and cherish the days that are left to you. If you are gone when I have taken these two, then I shall not pursue you."
Eleal leaped to her feet and raced around the litter of corpses to Sister Ahn's side. The bent old crone dropped her stick and rested her gnarled hand on Eleal's shoulder instead. She kept her eyes on the reaper, though. “Repent, Minion of Zath!"
He paced toward them. “I have nothing to repent, hag."
"Not the deeds you commit in his name, no.” Her harsh, corroded voice was surprisingly powerful. “But there is another, or he would not have enlisted you to his dread band. Repent, I say, and be free!"
"Never!"
"Here, my dear,” Sister Ahn said. “Lift this sword with me. Both hands. We must fulfill a prophecy."
It did not occur to Eleal to refuse. Trembling, she took hold of the hilt around the nun's frail grasp, and between them they raised the long blade until it pointed unsteadily at the man in black.
Dolm laughed again, a grotesque parody of that jovial laugh Eleal knew so well. “You know that weapons are useless against a reaper! Come then, to my master!"
He strode forward. In a creaky chant, Sister Ahn gabbled something so fast that Eleal made out few words. “Holy-Irepithear ... transferthesin ... thathemaysee ... pay here not elsewhere...” The sword seemed to swing of its own accord. The reaper screamed and fell. Sister Ahn crumpled. The sword dropped clanging to the stone.
Eleal staggered away with a shriek of fright. For a moment the temple swayed about her and she stuffed knuckles in her mouth. Her knees wobbled. Then she saw that the danger was gone. Dolm Actor was a shapeless, motionless heap of black. The old woman was sitting on the ground, doubled over, her head between her knees.
Eleal knelt down to hug Sister Ahn's thin shoulders.
"Sister! Sister!"
The nun fell sideways and rolled on her back. Dark blood was already soaking through the front of her habit.
Eleal uttered a shrill sob that was almost a scream. “What happened?” The blade had never touched the nun, she was certain.
Eyes flickered open. The emaciated face twisted into a smile. The pallid lips moved, but Eleal heard nothing.
"What?” she leaned closer on hands and knees, frightened now even to touch the old woman's garments. So much blood!
"My part is over, child,” Sister Ahn said, soft but clear. “Yours begins. Eleal has the stage now—for a little while."
A moment later, her eyes rolled up, lifeless. As Eleal watched in horror, death and moonlight smoothed out the wrinkles like melting wax, leaving only a hint of a smile. The sword had never touched her, but it had obviously slain her. One dead woman and four dead men and...
The Liberator was trying to sit up.
Eleal ran across to him. He would explain what was happening. He could defend her against whatever other horrors the night might bring. He was a much younger man than she had expected, only a very tall boy—unless he shaved off his whiskers, of course, in which case she supposed he might count as a grown man. His hair was dark, yet his wide-stretched eyes were light. Blood from a gash on his head had painted one side of his face and dribbled down his neck and chest, black in the greenish moonlight.
"Liberator?"
He stared blankly at her for a moment, then seemed to realize that he had no clothes on. He moved his hands to cover himself. The movement brought on a spasm of cramp; he gurgled and doubled over.
Eleal found a garment, one that T'lin had dropped. She took it to the Liberator; he tried to take it from her and again went into convulsions. Eleal put it over his hands, one at a time, and then lifted his arms to let it drop around his neck. With difficulty, frequently twisting and writhing with cramps, he managed to pull it down and tuck the hem over his thighs. Then he looked up and again tried to speak, but what he said was still gibberish. It ended in a sob of pain and despair.
Naked and crying he shall come into the world and Eleal shall wash him. She shall clothe him and nurse him and comfort him.
She would have to do something about that blood.
"Are you the Liberator?” she shouted.
More gibberish. Partly he had trouble even speaking, for the least movement seemed to start all his muscles into cramps. Partly he was using some language she had never heard. It was not Thargian, or even Niolian.
"Eleal,” she said, tapping her chest. “Liberator?” She pointed at him.
He said something that sounded like, “Edward."
She sniggered at that. “D'ward?"
He nodded faintly.
"Good! Come, we must go! There must be some sandals you can have."
More gibberish—"Kriiton?” He had his back to the corpses.
She pointed. The youth turned carefully to see and gave a cry. He tried to rise, only to collapse in a whimpering tangle. Then he began dragging himself over the ground, moving one limb at a time. Obviously the effort was agony for him, but he persevered. Her efforts to help merely hindered him, so she stood aside and let him crawl. She tried to warn him about more reapers coming, but he paid no heed. He hauled himself all the way to Kriiton's body and peered at the face.