Daughter of Blood by Helen Lowe

Author:Helen Lowe
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2015-11-30T16:00:00+00:00

PART V

Ash Days

35

Dissonance

“Dread Pass,” Kalan’s voice whispered, as though he were with Malian in her vision. A deep drift of smoke and fog pressed into her eyes and nose and throat, but the utter silence told her that she was alone. Eerie, she thought, and took a cautious step forward. Metal clanged softly, and when she settled onto her heels she found the fragments of a shield scattered among the stones. So this was where she had gotten to, again . . .

Malian guessed it must be later on in time from her previous vision, since the hot spots had died away. Only the smoke lingered, the last evidence of the confrontation that had riven the plain, as well as both antagonists and the hero’s shield. Raven had said that Khelor ordered the bodies of both Yorindesarinen and the Chaos Worm buried, so even in the fog a few paces more should tell her whether Fire had yet arrived to claim the frost-fire sword.

Strange, Malian thought, rising, if I should witness their coming and see the young Raven with Khelor . . . Yet no stranger, she supposed, than her first vision of the Cave of Sleepers and the conversation with Amaliannarath’s ghost. The dead Ascendant had called her namesake and asked who had named her—which Malian still didn’t know. Raven had confirmed that her name was a diminutive of Amaliannarath, but also that the Sworn and the Derai shared a wide pool of names in common. Once, Malian might have been disturbed that her name derived from one of the Sworn. But I’m growing hardened, she assured herself wryly.

Distracted by her thoughts of Amaliannarath, she almost stepped on Yorindesarinen’s broken body. As in her Aeris vision, Nhenir was gone, but the Worm’s bulk loomed nearby and the hero’s hand still rested on her sword’s hilt. A shiver ran through earth and air, and Malian felt the vision start to slip away. She gritted both her teeth and will until it steadied—only to wonder if she should have let it elude her after all, as the Worm’s eyes began to open.

Flight is always an option, Malian told herself. Yet if the vision was important and she fled, it would only recur. So she held herself motionless, watching the membranes beneath the Worm’s outer lids struggle to open. It has to be very close to death, she thought. Even so, when the last membrane finally lifted back, Malian knew that it could see her. The eyes were dull as the surrounding fog, but gradually a glow crept in, the saffron of coals in a dying fire.

“. . . I shall not forget you.” The whisper was a will-o’-the-wisp. “I shall be waiting for your return.”

Momentarily, all Malian could hear was her heart, beating out that she knew these words. Hylcarian, the remnant Golden Fire of Night, had spoken them to her as she fled the Keep of Winds. Yet if Hylcarian was trying to bridge the divide that existed between the

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