Downshadow

THIRTY-TWO

The world swam back gradually, in layers of gray and black. Myrin struggled for several moments to remember who she was, and even longer to reason out where she was: a darkened chamber with a stone floor and walls. A slim shaft of sunlight fell through a high window, lighting the chamber dimly. Ovethead and all around her, she heard a great clicking and whirring, as though from some sort of mechanism-grinding stone and metal against one another.

Fayne sat next to her, looking up at the ceiling and murmuring softly. A bruise colored the right side of her face, and something was wrong with her left arm-it hung oddly from her shoulder.

"Fayne?" Myrin tried to ask. Something lumpy and soft filled her mouth.

"Oh good, you're awake," the half-elf said. She was not gagged. "I'm almost… there."

Fayne's hand slipped out from behind her. Myrin heard a fleshy pop, and Fayne's arm shifted back into its socket. Her stomach turned over.

Fayne looked around and reached toward Myrin. "Now," she said, "promise not to cry out or try any magic-something the dwarf might hear?"

Myrin nodded.

Fayne removed Myrin's gag. "Kalen will come to rescue you soon, I think," she said. "I left him a note, and I don't think he knows how to give up." She ran her fingers through her hair.

"What's going on? Who was that gold woman?" Myrin asked, hardly daring to speak. Then she struggled against her bonds. "Why aren't you untying me?"*

"Don't be silly-we can't both escape," Fayne said. "If we do that, Rath will get away-and you want him to pay for Cellica, right?"

"I suppose." Myrin didn't want anyone else to be hurt. "But won't he hurt me when he finds you gone?"

"I don't think so," Fayne said. "He's been paid to take us alive, I think." She patted herself as though searching for something. Her hand settled over her belly. "Here it is."

"What?"

Myrin watched as Fayne drew from her bodice a shaft of gray-white wood about twice the length of a dagger. It didn't look at all familiar and Myrin had no idea what it was.

"Wait." Fayne moved to put it in Myrin's hand, but paused. "I can only give this to you if you promise you'll be careful, and only use it when the time is right."

"I promise," Myrin said. "But what is it?"

Fayne slipped the item into Myrin's manacled hand and she knew its touch instantly, though her mind had no memory of it. A wand-her wand.

Fayne slid it gently into the sleeve of Myrin's nightgown. "Remember your promise-only if you think you can defeat Rath." Fayne stood.

"Yes," Myrin said. She longed to feel the wand again, but she could wait. "Hold-"

Fayne had turned to leave. "Aye?"

"Can't you stay with me?" Myrin asked. "Can't we fight him together?"

Fayne knelt down again. "Child-"

"Don't call me a child," said Myrin. "I'm not that much younger than you. Maybe five or six winters-no more." Fayne's eyes glittered. "Are you sure?"

"Yes," Myrin lied. She wasn't, now that she thought about it. "But what's more important, I know what you said." "Oh?" Fayne looked dubious.

Myrin narrowed her eyes. "You said Kalen would rescue me-and I also know you aren't unbinding me and putting the wand in my hand because you think I might use it against you. Now why would you do that-unless you were afraid of me?"

"Not convinced by my performance, eh?" Fayne smiled and gestured to the manacles she'd discarded. "I'm afraid you're right. I'm an opportunist, Myrin-and I see my chance. It's nothing personal, you understand."

"This is about Kalen," Myrin accused.

Fayne looked genuinely surprised. "Why would you think that?"

"You're leaving me here," Myrin said, "so I won't fight you for him."

"Would you?" Fayne knelt before Myrin, her hands a dagger's length from Myrin's bonds. "Would you fight me for him?"

"Yes." Myrin stared her down, looking right into her gray eyes.

Fayne stared back, that same ironic smirk on her face. "You'd be wasting your time," she said. "Kalen's a killer-a hard, brutal killer. He'd never love a softling like you."

"He's different now," Myrin said. "He's changed."

Fayne shook her head. "Folk never change," she said. "They just wear different faces."

Myrin shivered at the words. Her mind raced. "If fighting you for Kalen is useless," she reasoned, "then you would as well release me. So why don't you?"

Fayne shook her head. "You're a clever girl. But I can't do that."

"Why not?"

"I have reasons, I assure you." "I'd like to hear them."

Fayne said nothing, only leaned in to kiss Myrin on the lips, in a gesture that was as sisterly as it was mocking. It lingered, becoming warmer, but Myrin felt trapped-paralyzed as though by a spider's venom.

Dimly, she felt Fayne freeze taut as well. Her hands clasped ineffectually, as though she was trying to escape the kiss but could not.

It felt strange. She'd never kissed a woman-that she remembered, anyway-and it stirred odd, tickling feelings on the back of her neck and down deep in her stomach. She wanted more of Fayne-to drink Fayne in, absorb her into herself.

Myrin saw, reflected in Fayne's widening eyes, blue runes spreading across her forehead.

When Fayne's lips touched hers, Myrin saw her clearly-saw inside he, r. She couldn't say how-as with the lich woman and her magic, Myrin simply saw and did not question.

She was in an underground chamber, she realized, smoky with torches and the reek of burning flesh. She could see no more than half a dozen paces around her.

An elf woman in leathers stood a few steps from her. She looked familiar, and Myrin knew her: Lady Ilira, only younger. Young enough that she could see the difference, which for an elf meant seven or eighr decades, mayhap ten. She held a crossbow pointed at Myrin-no, at Fayne.

Myrin realized she was watching this through Fayne's eyes.

"Where is she, Cythara?" Ilira's voice burned her ears. "Where is the child?"

Myrin felt strong hands grasp her shoulders. "What child?" a woman's velvet-dark voice asked over her shoulder. "I hold none but my own daughter. Why-lost one of yours, did you?"

Myrin saw Ilira shiver in rage.

"By the Seldarine-don't fire!" a man cried from behind Ilira. "You'll hit her child!"

Myrin looked: a tall, handsome, gold-skinned elf, clad in shimmering mail, with a sword that gleamed in the torchlight. The sword should have pulsed with magic, but she felt a pressure she recognized-as a magic-killing field radiating from the elf. A spell he had cast. Bladesinger, she thought, though she had no idea what the word might mean.

She understood that he had meant her-Fayne. She had a sense of feeling childlike. If Ilira was almost a century younger here, how old was Fayne? What was Fayne?

Myrin looked up through Fayne's eyes at the woman holding her protectively. Mother, she realized: a gold-skinned elf, half-dressed in a sweaty black robe. She could have been twin to the bladesinger, were it not for her cruel beauty. Shadows danced in her eyes.

"Kill me if you will, slut, only let my daughter live," Fayne's mother said to Ilira, with a cruel smile. "You see, /can have a child, while you are barren, no matter how my brother ruts you. I am well pleased with that and can die smiling."

Ilira gave a strangled cry and would have fired, but the bladesinger stepped in the way.

"Twilight, please!" the elf lord begged. "Please-she's my sister, and she has a-"

"That is not a child, YIdar," Ilira said. "That is a demon. A demon!"

Myrin felt white-hot loathing for Ilira wash over her like a wave and knew it was Fayne's hatred. It suffocated her, and she could not move.

The bladesinger put his arms out. "You'll have to kill me, too. I'll not move."

Ilira grasped his arm to pull him aside, and Myrin-as-Fayne saw smoke rise where their skin touched. Yldar's flesh burned, and yet he stood firm. They both looked startled by Ilira's use of her power, and she quickly let go.

"How can you defend her?" Ilira cried. "She murdered your betrothed!"

"That was an accident," he asserted. "She meant to kill-"

"Don't you see?" Ilira cried. "She's controlling you! She's controlled your life since you were a child. She rules you now, though you refuse to see it. She-YIdar!"

The bladesinger had fallen to his knees, clutching his chest. Ilira reached for him, then flinched away as though her touch might kill him. She looked at Fayne's mother. "Stop it!"

Myrin looked up to see a bloody mass in her mother's hand. A heart, Myrin knew-Yldar's heart. She realized Yldar's attention had waned, and his counterspell with it.

"Flee," her mother said, "or he dies."

"Do not do this, Cythara," Ilira said. "He is your brother. You saw how he-"

"Only that he stood between us," Fayne's mother said. "Now you owe him your life-don't waste his. Flee'

Myrin heard the imperative-the magical command in that word-but Ilira fought to hold her ground. Myrin saw something move in the shadows behind her-thought she saw a face-but it was only for an instant. "Flee." Cythara squeezed the heart in her hand and Yldar, still moaning, screamed loud and long. "I won't say it again."

Ilira, tears streaking her face, rose to go. "You win, Cyth." She turned her back.

Myrin could feel Fayne's mother smile.

Then she heard a click and felt a sharp slash across her cheek. She screamed in Fayne's youthful voice and fell. As Fayne fell, Cythara looked down at the crossbow bolt that had sprouted between her breasrs. Myrin realized Ilira had fired behind her back, under her cloak.

Blood-bright red blood-trickled from the corner of Cythara's mouth and she fell.

Something caught Myrin: Ilira had appeared, seemingly from the shadows. Their skin touched and Myrin's flesh tingled but did not burn, as had Yldar's. She wanted to speak-Fayne wanted to speak-but the elf only set her down and ran to the bladesinger, who was coughing and trying to sit up.

Myrin looked at Cythara's corpse. Blood leaked around it-hot, sticky fluid that cooled to tacky sludge. Her open eyes stared. Yldar's heart had vanished from her hand, and she lay like some stripped, crumpled doll. Abused by the world, humiliated, and discarded like refuse.

Myrin felt hot inside-Fayne burning with anger, crawled to her mother's body.

Stop, child, came a voice in her head. You cannot.

But she didn't listen. She drew Cythara's wand-a shaft of bonefrom her mother's limp hand and turned it toward Ilira's back. The woman was fussing over Yldar and wouldn't see the attack.

Stop, Ellyne, commanded the voice-and she knew it was distracted. A battle was going on, somewhere, between the speaker and some shadowy foe. It is too powerful for you.

Myrin leveled the wand and uttered syllables in a language she couldn't possibly know. But she recognized them, horribly, as the tongue of demons.

— Your worst fear," she said in those black words. "Your worst fear to unmake you!"

Searing pain swept through her, burning every inch of her body. She fell ro her knees and screamed as the horrible power ripped from her and struck the woman she most hated.

And Ilira straightened, back suddenly taut as a wire, and turned toward her. She did not see Myrin, but something between them. Her mouth spread wide in a terrified O.

"No!" she screamed. "No-I don't need you! 1don't needyou!"

Blood trickling down her face, Myrin-Fayne-Ellyne-whoever she was-laughed.

She saw something else, then, behind them-a girl, clad in blue flames.

Myrin.

Herself.

The vision ended as Fayne wrenched herself away from Myrin. Fayne lay shuddering on the floor, her hands pressed to her temples.

"Lady Ilira," Myrin murmured. "Lady Ilira killed your mother. That's why you wanted to hurt her. That's why-"

"What?" Fayne shook her head. "What are you blathering about?"

"I was there-I saw you get cut. Right there." Myrin looked hard at Fayne's cheek, and sure enough, a scar faded into existence along the smooth skin.

Mutely, Fayne raised her hand to the scar. Her lip trembled. She was afraid.

Myrin understood what Fayne wanted. More than that, she understood what Fayne was. She saw the depths of her game-saw the darkness in her heart. "What happened to you?"

Fayne shook her head. She pulled a bone shaft from her belt-the wand from the vision, Cythara's wand-and slid it across her cheek. The scar smoothed out and vanished.

"Whatever you saw, it doesn't matter," Fayne said. "It has nothing to do with you." tea

"I saw you. Saw what you are. Ah"-Myrin shivered-"what are you?" t Fayne laughed-and in rhat moment, all the tension went out of her. "Oh, stop it-you're so cute when you're scared." She nuzzled her thumb into Myrin's cheek.

Despite herself, Myrin had to smile.

"You don't have anything to worry about." Fayne traced her fingers down her cheek. "This is one of my rare noble moments." "Noble?" Myrin blinked.

"Indeed," Fayne said. "The very existence of our world is at stake, and you can save it."

Myrin narrowed her eyes. "How?"

"Simple, my dear," Fayne said with a smile. "You can die." Myrin laughed, but the nervous sound died away. Fayne's face was mortally serious.

"You… you're not jesting?"

Fayne shook her head. "No, tragically. Your very existence is a threat to yourself, everyone around you, and perhaps all of Faerun."

Myrin was stunned. "But… but I haven't done anything!"

"No," Fayne said. "But you will."

"You… you can't kill me for something I might do!"

"Will," said Fayne. "I didn't say might. Will."

"Tell me what it is!" Myrin said. "I won't do it-I promise!"

"No. I'm sorry, but it's inevitable. You can't stop yourself." Fayne shook her head sadly. "You might do it by accident, or more likely some villain or other will use you. You come across an archmage or one of the plaguechanged… sooner or later, you will absorb something coo powerful for you to control."

"I don't understand." Myrin's heart was racing. "What do you mean, absorb?"

"Never mind. The point is that the power inside you is simply too dangerous for you to exist," Fayne said. "Thus, I'm going to take you to someone-someone who can contain you safely, without destroying the city in the process." She touched Myrin's cheek, a little more guarded this time, as though fearing another vision. "Don't worry-you might not have to die."

Tears were streaming down Myrin's face. "Why are you saying this? I'm… I'm just a girl. I hardly even have any magic! You can't possibly…"

"You're a goddess," Fayne said.

Myrin's eyes went so wide they might have popped. "I'm… what?"

"No, no, that was a jest." Fayne tried to stifle her laughter with her hand. "Honestly, you should have seen your face." Myrin wasn't laughing.

Fayne's expression grew grave once more. "To be accurate, you've got a goddess inside you-or, more truly, the death of one," she said. "Metaphorically speaking, you're carrying death, little one-the death of the old world. Just like all the other spellscarred. Like Kalen. Like Lady-" Her eyes narrowed. "Like that whore."

"I–I don't-what?"

"It's complicated." She pursed her lips. "You're all spellscarred, but you, Myrin, are far more interesting than any of them. Your powers…"

"But what are they?" Myrin almost wept. "What do I do?" "This is delightful," Fayne said. "You really don't know, do you?" Myrin shook her head, tears welling in her eyes. "Very well," Fayne said. "I'll tell you, but only because I fancy you well."

"What?" Myrin choked on the word. Tears rolled down her cheeks.

Fayne bent as though to kiss Myrin, then recoiled, thinking better of it. "Let us begin this way," she said, catching Myrin by the chin. "You remember the lich, in the alley, when you were kidnapped, yes?"

"Yes, I-but I chased her away. I didn't-"

"Silly girl." Fayne batted Myrin across the chin, almost playfully- the way a cat might. "You didn't honestly think that power was yours, did you?"

Myrin's lungs heaved and she could barely speak. "I… I don't understand.". t

Then Myrin wept for true-terrified, confused, and frustrated. Had the world gone mad? She was just Myrin-little more than a slip of a girl, with hardly any magic to her name. She wanted her mother- whose face she didn't even remember. That made her weep more.

"Oh, sweetling, don't-I'll be plain, I promise."

Myrin was crying, and damn it if Fayne was going to stop her with anything less than divine revelation.

Fayne smiled. "Remember when we first met?" she asked. "I fussed over you, then later, you struck me with that spell? The one that hurt me and stripped my strength?"

"What-what of it?" Myrin asked between sobs.

"That was my spell," Fayne said. "Stolen out of my head."

The words froze Myrin, and she looked up, stunned.

Fayne raised her hand, murmured a few words, and Myrin felt the same pressure in her mind as she had used to strike Fayne in Kalen's tallhouse.

Myrin stared, heart hammering, as Fayne knelt and picked up the gag.

"Please," Myrin said. "Please-I need to know more!" Fayne scoffed. "Only this," she said. "Folk never change. Do not forget that."

"Fayne, plea-!"

Fayne shoved the gag back in Myrin's mouth with enough force to knock her over. By the time Myrin recovered and looked up, the half-elf was gone.