"No. I will not. I… cannot."
Opal produced her hunting scream once more and advanced on him.
Raidon raised Angul. The sword blazed with cerulean fire and attempted to sweep up and out in an arc that would have decapitated the child's image. The half-elf restrained the willful blade.
"Leave her alone," he said, talking not only to his wayward sword but also to the foulness that controlled Opal.
"I will find you regardless of wnether I disrupt this lone memory. Leave her, and I will not be forced to slay you when I find you!"
You cannot bargain with the unconscious mind of the Eldest aboleth. You can only slay it and any puppets it creates.
Raidon moved to his left, keeping Angul between him and the possessed memory. He said, "If I can avoid destroying her, I shall!"
She need not kill you, only distract you long enough for the ritual to be completed.
Raidon realized the Blade Cerulean, for all its headstrong ways, spoke the truth.
A deep sound, like underground waters rushing below his feet, snatched Raidon's attention back down the corridor where he'd originally entered.
The sound came from the two facing ice slabs lining the tunnel. The ice was cracking, breaking, and crumbling.
It was a cave-in, except that as each piece struck the floor it shattered into motes of glowing steam. The mist immediately swirled past the girl and Raidon up the passage he intended to travel. In the void left behind, dozens of figures stood blinking in confusion. Confusion that lasted only heartbeats.
The newly released memories rotated as if of one mind until each regarded the monk with smoldering eyes.
They all simultaneously loosed screams, each as horrid as Opal's. In concert, the sound nearly froze Raidon to the spot and stopped his heart.
Angul's flame dipped, then resurged twice as bright. Its warmth seared Raidon's flesh, chasing out the incipient chill in a painful instant.
Opal, the closest of the advancing horde, leaped for the monk's throat.
He sobbed as he cut the five-year-old down with a single stroke. Her scream caused the other images to pause.
Opal's gruesome face fell slack and resumed her earlier innocent visage. She sighed, catching Raidon's eyes.
"Why?" she whispered. Then her image broke into so many chasing sparks.
Raidon watched the sparks fade out like campfire embers. He saw the other images, memories, and captured dreams resume their headlong charge. He was aware of his face turning red and his mouth distorting into the raving scream of a berserker. He took note of but did not feel tears stream from his eyes and reflect Angul's avenging flame. He fell upon the possessed figures like a blood-crazed predator.
Raidon saw all of this from a distance, for he no longer seemed to inhabit his own body.
Why? Because when he struck down the girl, who might as well have been Ailyn herself, Raidon went mad.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
The Year of the Secret (1396 DR) Xxiphu, Gallery of Seeing
Japheth walked up a sloped corridor crusted with steaming memories.
His hands were steady and his vision unstained by dust. New abilities and insights swarmed in his blood, eager to manifest as spells should he call them. He was'almost elated, but couldn't quite allow himself that pleasure.
Whenever he recalled the ultimate origin of his new spells, a chill shivered down his spine.
One of those spells even allowed him to see Anusha in her golden armor, as well as Anusha's yellow-hued companion who walked ahead, without recourse to the tin of dust hidden in his cloak. Already his new pact was proving useful-above and beyond the usefulness of saving his life, of course.
The warlock realized his hope was on the rise. He knew full well there could be, in fact likely would be, repercussions following the drastic choice he'd made. It was even possible he could fall into the same sort of servitude that marked the first pact he'd sworn to the Lord of Bats. Well, probably even worse than what he'd endured under the terms of his first pact, before he escaped its strictures. The alien stars cared less about mortal kind than even bloodthirsty Neifion.
But no one had promised him his decision would be easy. He might hold on to his independence and sanity, or he might not. He wasn't naive, nor was his ego so inflated that he was going to promise himself a happy ending despite the reassurance he'd given to Anusha. No, he knew the risks. He accepted them in return for the chance to act a little longer on the stage, hopefully long enough to slip Anusha free of her dream form. And if fate was kind, perhaps even a little while longer.
In the short term, he merely had to be careful none of his new spells squirmed out of his control.
Anusha, who walked beside him, allowed her hand to fall into his. It felt warm and real. He was happy for the moment of contact. He knew she could only accomplish that much by paying careful attention.
"I am thankful, you know," she said.
"For what?"
"That you came looking for me. That I'm not alone in this awful place. Even if we fail, I want you to know…"
He knew pulling her into a hug risked breaking the illusion of her solidity. He just tightened his grip on her dreamwrought hand. He said, "I couldn't bear the thought of you down here by yourself. I had to come. There was no choice."
Anusha smiled at that and looked him in the eye. "Once you wake me, holding your hand won't take so much concentration."
"Yes."
"Which means I'll be able to thank you properly."
Japheth's heart jumped. Had he understood her meaning? He decided to interpret her words as his body wanted.
He said, "I look forward to that."
They grinned at each other like fools.
Walking in the lead, Yeva raised a hand. She whispered, "Something odd ahead!"
Japheth released Anusha's hand. They joined Yeva, who stood looking apprehensively around a bend in the corridor.
"What?" Anusha whispered.
"Another chamber ahead, filled with some sort of growth I haven't seen before. I heard voices too. Speaking Common."
Japheth sidled up and leaned to gaze around the comer. The corridor spilled into a wider space that seemed, at least from his limited vantage, overgrown with creepers thick with murky liquid flowing in spastic pulses. Overlarge pears or oranges the color of blood dangled from the growth.
But his attention was riveted by the sound of conversation. He heard his own name!
"Someone's talking about me!" he whispered. The voice was familiar.
Flush in the confidence of his renewed power, Japheth proceeded around the bend despite Yeva's whispered protest.
He advanced into a large space that held a circular pool and a dozen or more exits around the periphery.
And as he'd half expected, Captain Thoster and the wizard Seren stood near the pool as if waiting for him. Near one exit, a woman slumped, obviously exhausted. She looked vaguely familiar-Japheth placed her as a crew member on Thoster's ship. The only one missing was the crazy monk.
Recalling their last meeting, he raised one arm, fingers arranged just so, ready to cast.
Thoster raised a hand too, but apparently in a friendly greeting. "Hoy, Japheth! We have to stop running into each other like this."
The warlock studied the man, who looked far the worse for wear. He seemed to be suffering from some sort of body-wide skin condition. Seren, on the other hand, looked as dour as ever, though at least she'd changed into clothing more suited to exploring a dangerous, city-sized relic.
"Indeed, Captain," Japheth finally said. "You seem to have the advantage of me. You have been waiting here to talk to me?"
"In a manner of speaking, my friend," the captain said. "We're here on account of Raidon Kane, the last Keeper of the Cerulean Sign. He's gone on to take care of things above. But when we noticed you traipsing up from below, he asked Seren and me to have a chat with you."