Page 19 of Heart of the Shadow King

It’s like the opening of a world. A hellish world of boiling rage. In the center, a vast black pupil dilates, becoming a window into absolute void. My skin sears, blistering bubbles bursting. I scream, but my throat is on fire, all sound distorted and lost in the rush of my fall, the throb of my heart, the agony. Limbs flailing, desperate, useless, I plunge for that eye, plunge for that black pupil, tumble straight into it and—

Stillness.

I open my eyes.

Or rather, not my eyes. I have no body, no form. I am only an essence of being.

So instead, I open my awareness, take in the reality to which I have come. It is an endless blackness punctuated by distant stars, nebulas, planets. A slowly spinning, dancing universe of light and dark and colors beyond imagining. I am both too small to take it all in and big enough to observe immense, impossible reaches. A universe of wonder, so overwhelmingly enormous it would drive me mad were I still contained within a mortal frame. As it is, I gaze upon it with both awe and delight.

Then the music begins.

It is unlike any song I’ve heard before. Nothing like the instruments my gods-gifted sister used to play when she sang, still less like the growling trolde voices and the humming of the living crystals of the Under World. This is a song of spheres, too great and terrible to be heard. It must be felt, experienced. It must be lived.

I turn, seeking the source of that song. Two beings approach my little point of existence. Intertwining, parting, coming together again. Trailing their vast wings through nebulas and scattering stardust in their wake. The strange song surrounds them, infuses them, vibrates through them, shining from their inner veins so that they glow with sheer glory. They are perfect—the living embodiment of perfection. Winged and wondrous, bigger than worlds. Bigger than mere words could ever define. Shining with the light of a thousand constellations brought to life.

They dance together, both forming and formed by the song they generate. As they draw near to me, they block out the light of the stars, but they themselves are more brilliant by far. Their song ripples through me, through the stars, like my crystals all connected in one great harmony. But so much greater, so much grander.

Such beings cannot be named or ruled by any language or mortal understanding. Nevertheless, I find myself desperate to name them, to claim them. And there is only one word which might describe them. Though I have neither mouth nor tongue in this place, I pull the word from somewhere inside me and breathe it out into the universe:

Dragon.

My eyes flare open.

No! No, no, no, why am I here? Why am I trapped in a heavy, pain-wracked body, my soul wrapped in slowly decaying flesh? I want to rage, to roar, to fling myself back into that boundless, celestial dance. I want to . . . want to . . .

The images in my head fade.

The glory, the song.

A mind of matter cannot hold onto such things.

I let it go. Unwillingly but inevitably. Breathe the dream out through my nostrils, breathe reality back into my lungs.

So. I’m alive. That exertion of power didn’t destroy me. That’s a mercy I suppose. Blinking slowly, I wait for my vision to clarify and my other senses to slowly surface. What happened? I seem to remember a splash and water closing in over me. Letting my eyelids drop, I sink back into the darkness in my head. Ah, yes. There are the memories. Of touching the crystal. Of entering that strange, formless realm. Of vibrating with that song which led me straight to Vor.

A smile plucks at the corner of my mouth. My gods-gift isn’t wholly gone after all. If it was, I couldn’t have done what I did, couldn’t have harnessed the crystal song and channeled it to release those trapped souls. And I didn’t die in the process. Which must count for something.

I try to move. A hiss whistles through my teeth at the throb of pain in my head. The usual state of things. I’d say I’m used to it, but I don’t think anyone gets used to the betrayal of one’s own body.

Voices rumble not far away. Vor’s voice I recognize at once, speaking in harsh troldish. The other is female and vaguely familiar, though I cannot place it. I don’t understand a word they’re saying. I seem to recall looking into Vor’s eyes mere moments before I fell in the pool. His expression was full of mingled terror and wonder, and then . . .

I groan. The stalactites overhead seem to spin slowly. That’s not right, is it? I feel sick and turn away, trying to catch a glimpse of Vor. Instead, my gaze lands on a figure lying on a narrow bed not far from me. A still, haggard figure with a gaunt face.

A face I recognize.

It’s him. The man who tried to kill me. Who entered my dungeon cell, dragged me out and held a knife to my throat. My body reacts, memory of terror flooding my senses as though experienced anew. But no. I didn’t let myself be made a helpless victim. I’d reached inside him, taken hold of his spirit, infused his body withcalm. And he’d dropped at my feet, inert.

Later on, Vor told me that poison drove Lord Rath to make his mad attempt on my life. I look at him now, lying there so still. To my horror, his eyelids lift a fraction. Just enough that I can see a gleam of pale eyes. His face is slack, his body limp, as though he’s been given a powerful sedative. But he’s aware of me. Does he still suffer under the poison’s influence? Possibly. I remember how it felt inside Vor—a dark, cancerous knot of malice and rage. On impulse I reach out, try to touch him with my gods-gift. Nothing happens. I frown. After the demonstration of power in the pool, I thought for certain my gift was restored. But though I feel the energy of the crystals humming in my bones, I cannot seem to reach beyond myself.

But I won’t leave this man suffering.

Vor’s voice continues to growl in the background of my awareness. He would not approve of what I’m about to do. Which means I need to do it now. I push myself upright. The room pitches around me, all the narrow beds and their occupants on the verge of toppling. It rights itself, however, as I reclaim some equilibrium. Where am I exactly? Some sort of infirmary? There are many other people here, wounded and hurting, but I fix my attention on my would-be assassin. His eyes stare out at me from his pinched face. Otherwise, he lies in the same slack attitude, unable to move.

I rise. Wait again for the room to stop whirling. Then, on unsteady feet, I pick my way across the floor, using the footboards of narrow beds to support myself, all the while never breaking gaze with him. We share a strange bond, he and I—the bond of my life and his desire to end it. A desire I still see burning in the depths of his gaze. I can help him though. I’m sure of it.

Pain throbs in my temples as I make my way nearer, nearer. I don’t pause, don’t hesitate. Vor could spot me at any moment and jump to interfere. I grip my crystal pendant with my right hand, seeking its support. But my gods-gift has fallen numb once more save for the last humming vibrations from the ceremony in the pool. Will it be enough for what I intend to do?

I stand over the poisoned man’s bed. He gazes up at me, and his slack mouth moves, just a little. Just enough for a hoarse whisper to escape his cracked lips: “You . . . must . . . die . . .”

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