Page 201 of The Cradle of Ice
The figure was clearly a man, but he carried none of Shiya’s majesty of form. He looked more toadish, his bronze a melted slag, as if denying any commonality with humanity.
His eyes stared out at her. The hatred and enmity shining there drove her back a step. Then that gaze shifted to Nyx’s left, to where Shiya stood, her bronze hand on Nyx’s shoulder.
The spider flinched away, his eyes flaring with shock. One word hissed out, reaching across that vast distance. “Axis.”
A bronze arm swept across the web, snuffing the emerald fire. Nyx sensed the permanence of that act. The spider was terrified of Shiya, relinquishing the battlefield, too fearful to ever return, recognizing the Crèche had a new bronze guardian.
The view into that crystalline vault vanished.
Still, before the connection severed, Nyx sensed a greater threat. It was unspoken, but the impression was conveyed through the momentary fusion of bridle-song and corruption. The spider had a way to thwart them, something that terrified even him. But the sight of Shiya had burned away any trepidation, leaving only necessity. He dared not hesitate.
As the view vanished, Nyx was left with a sense of urgency.
It could not be denied.
Time is running out.
* * *
“WHAT IS HAPPENING?” Jace asked.
The panic in his voice drew Nyx back to the boulder, to this moment. She shoved aside the terror and strangeness. She cast her gaze outward, both with her eyes and with her bridle senses.
The dark storm had broken, but now, stripped of that emerald hold, it had turned turbulent and chaotic. No longer anchored by that dark nidus, the horde-mind frayed, tearing itself apart. Its sense of self was lost between the shining golden past and the dark, savage centuries that followed.
The seven giants thrashed and writhed in the air, as if burning in that storm. Other raash’ke dashed in panicked flights in all directions. One great beast crinkled its huge wing, neck twisted, squeezing out a cry of anguish, of guilt, of horror—knowing all the misery the raash’ke had inflicted. It could not hold that much grief. It tumbled through the air, struck the churning lake, and was swept down into the maelstrom’s darkness.
“Help them,” Daal begged.
Nyx swallowed, at a loss. Bashaliia trembled before the desolation and panic raging above him.
Daal drew next to her. “They are rudderless and lost. I can feel it. Madness threatens.”
She nodded. “They need a new anchor.”
She stared up, knowing what she must do.
I must be their new spider.
At least for now.
She turned to Daal and Shiya. “I will need everything.”
Daal held out a hand, so did Shiya.
Nyx took them both.
“We will need to create a beacon of pure bridle-song,” she said. “One strong enough to draw the tattering flock and its shredded mind together, to anchor them until they can find their center again.”
Daal gripped her hand. “Take what you need.”
She nodded and drew his fire. She knew if she took too much it would kill him—and he did not have much left. He was still weak, his flames more smoldering than blazing.
With the two merged together, she let Daal see her fear, his danger.
He stared into her eyes, his words filling her without speaking.
Take all of it.
