Page 19 of HeartTorn (WarBride #2)
ILSEVEL
Elydark’s hoofbeats, galloping in thunderous rhythm, fill my ears with their percussion. If I let myself, I could sink into that rhythm, allow it to drive all other awareness from me. It’s a tempting prospect. The last thing I want right now is either to think or to feel. Numbness is the only protection left for me as I sit astride this beast, wrapped in the arms of this man whom I want to hate with every fiber of my being.
But I can’t hate him—and I won’t love him.
So I must feel nothing. If I don’t, I’ll fall to pieces.
That pounding pulse of hooves against turf is like a song, unmelodic but rhythmic. My heart can find a counter beat, blending into the whole, becoming one with it. Miles pass beneath us—wild terrain without any sign of civilization, either past or present. Great outcroppings of stone, tangles of wild, empty forest, lifeless stretches of grasslands without bird or animal to break up the monotony of silence which holds this whole world captive. And still Elydark’s hooves sing out their lonely song, as his muscular neck stretches out before me, and his horned head points ever on to the western horizon. I don’t know how many hours have passed since dawn, cannot guess how many hours more lie ahead before we may reach our destination. Time has lost meaning.
Every so often my mind tries to reach back—to search for those hours of darkness not too far gone. To recall the heat of tandem breaths and open mouths, the tangle of limbs and the explosions of sensation flooding every nerve. Are those memories even real? Or are they all part of some feverish dream, born of lonely desperation? Surely I wasn’t mad enough to offer myself up like that . . .
No. I shake my head and force my mind back down into that galloping rhythm once more. No thought, no memory. Just this present, endless now.
Somewhere out in the wild, a unicorn sings.
I don’t know when I become aware of the song through the rhythm of Elydark’s hooves. Perhaps it’s been with me for hours, just on the edge of perception. But suddenly I find I cannot ignore it, even if I wished to. It pulls at my heart, a sad, broken disharmony that feels all too familiar.
I turn my head slightly, hating even that small movement which brings me consciously back to my own body. Taar’s arm is wrapped around my waist, holding me in the saddle before him. There’s something hard in his grasp, as though he fears I will make a sudden burst for freedom. A laughable thought. What freedom is there for me in this or any world?
The unicorn song tugs at my ears again. Or rather, not my ears; this song is not heard but felt, singing straight to the heart. I gaze over Taar’s arm out into the lonely landscape. It’s all so hazy beneath the midday sun, which glares relentlessly down at us. But somewhere out there is another broken soul. A soul whose song is not what it’s supposed to be.
It’s her. I’m sure of it. The hearttorn unicorn who stood over the body of her dead Licornyn rider. “Nyathri,”
I whisper. The name Taar spoke feels strange on my lips. Is she following us? Is there some small part of her that still hopes for redemption and reclamation?
I narrow my eyes, searching the stretch of grassy plain for some sign of a burning, skeletal being. But though her song sighs on the lonely wind, I see no sign of her. Perhaps I’m imagining that song. Wouldn’t Elydark hear it if it were real? Yet his stride never falters, his focus never wavers. He gallops on in unbroken rhythm, eating up the miles.
One last trill of dissonant song ripples along the edge of my mind. To my surprise, a stray tear trails down my cheek, brushed away almost at once by the wind. I frown and face forward once more, staring at the world between Elydark’s ears. I’m not going to cry. Not for her, not for me. Not for the hope which flamed so hot last night, only to be doused in a blast of cold rejection come the dawn.
I was an idiot to think I mattered more to Taar than the bothersome inconvenience I am. He’s been perfectly clear about his intentions, has he not? Why should one night make any difference? I should have known better—I did know better! I simply pretended otherwise for a little while. Out of fear and foolishness and an agonizing wish not to face the reality of the choices I’ve made.
But that reality remains, waiting just on the other side of delusion. I won’t be stupid enough to try to escape it again.
So I shut my ears to the unicorn’s song, and we ride on. Hour upon hour, mile upon mile, while the world passes by. The wild, lonely landscape begins to take on an indistinct feeling, like the edge of a painting with all the details left off and nothing but ragged brushstrokes left. These must be the hinterlands Taar spoke of—the edge of his world.
Exhaustion shudders through my limbs. Part of me wonders if I should beg Taar to stop, to let me catch my breath and maybe eat and drink a little. I’ve never had to remind him before; he’s always been so conscious of my needs. Today, however, he seems scarcely aware of my existence, intent as he is upon his goal. And little wonder. After last night he’s more determined than ever to be rid of me.
The sun begins to set, golden rays catching on a glimmer of water lying ahead. My vision is dull and dark on the edges, and it takes me some moments to recognize that it’s a river. Didn’t Taar say something last night about crossing a river by sundown? We must be making good time.
Suddenly the sky overhead rips. Black fingers stretch every direction, jagged as thorns. My heart, which had sunk to the pit of my chest, leaps with a terror of recognition.
“Shakh,”
Taar curses. It’s the first I’ve heard him speak in hours. The soul-tether between him and his unicorn vibrates with tension as the two communicate in their silent language. “Hold on,”
Taar growls, crouching in the saddle, his heavy torso forcing me to lean over Elydark’s outstretched neck. “We can still outrun this. Vulmon, Elydark!”
With a surge of muscle, the unicorn lengthens his already tremendous stride. Now his hooves scarcely seem to touch the ground, and we fly across the landscape, swift as a speeding arrow. Overhead the black lightning branches again, and on either side, I see darkness closing in as the vardimnar overtakes the land. Strange—every other time it has struck, it’s been sudden, instantaneous. There is the warning crack across the sky and, moments later, shadow absolute.
Not this time. When I crane my neck to look back over Taar’s broad shoulder, the blackness of the Rift seems to roll after us, like a wave swallowing up the world. I wish Elydark would stop and brace himself, would sing the protective songlight as he’s done before. But he is focused only on the river ahead, and Taar’s soul shouts across their soul-tether, urging him faster and faster.
The river looms before us, a wide and rushing torrent. Elydark never slows his pace. The vardimnar nipping at his flanks, he leaps from the shore and, for a perilous moment, I believe he will simply glide across the water, his hooves scarcely leaving a splash in our wake.
This idea is rudely shattered as we plunge into the rushing flow. Brown waves wash over my head, and the tug of the current is so ferocious, I fear it will pull me free of Taar’s grasp. He strengthens his hold on me, however, his arms a crushing cage. We break the surface of the water, and I choke and sputter and gasp for air, even as foam slaps my cheeks. Elydark’s powerful body moves underneath us, swimming hard against the river’s pull. I shake water from my eyes and cast a desperate look back.
Behind us, on the shore of the river, lies the vardimnar. A black wall, impenetrable, stretching from the water’s edge all the way to the heavens above. It’s like the world beyond has simply fallen away. But even as I look, blinking against river spray, I see the darkness shiver, see that membrane-like ripple and the sense of pressure from the other side.
“Don’t look,”
Taar barks, his voice loud in my ear. I snap my eyes forward again, just in time to be hit in the face by another wave. Water tries to fill my lungs, and I heave and choke. But the vardimnar does not follow us. We have finally traveled beyond its reach. I don’t know if I feel relieved or not. I doubt I’ll ever feel truly safe in this world.
Elydark finds firm footing on the far side of the river and emerges in a surge of droplets and foam. He staggers a few paces, winded from exertion. Taar pats his shoulder, and I feel the encouragement sung from his soul into the beast’s. Only then does he turn his attention to me. “Are you all right, Ilsevel?”
I cough and sputter, nodding my head ferociously. The last thing in all the worlds I need is for him to start showing me any gods-damned care or concern. “I’m fine.”
I push damp locks of hair out of my eyes and try not to shiver. “Ride on, if you’re ready. No need to stop on my account.”
Taar is silent. I feel his eyes on the back of my head, like he’s staring through my skull to read my mind. Much to my dismay, he dismounts and, without looking at me, removes the saddlebag containing our supply of food and the last skin of water. “You need rest,”
he says, holding up a hand to me. “It’s been a long day.”
I scowl fiercely down at my hands, which grip the pommel of the saddle in front of me.
“Come,”
he urges, his voice gentle but firm. “I can’t have you fainting on the way to Elanlein. Sit a moment. Eat, drink.”
A foul word springs to my lips. It’s all I can do not to hurl it in his face. But I’m not supposed to be angry at him; I’m not supposed to feel anything. If I start to feel, I’ll start to hate him, and if I start to hate him, it’s only a step closer to loving him. Damn me if I’ll ever let myself get that close again!
With a last sniff and a swipe of water from my face, I swing my leg over Elydark’s back, ignore Taar’s hand, and dismount on my own. I land hard; the long hours of riding have numbed my muscles, making my whole body feel unfamiliar and unwieldy. Taking care not to glance Taar’s way, I hobble to a nearby clump of soft grass. My legs simply fold up under me, and I sink to the ground in a tumble of limbs and skirts.
Taar, silent and solemn, hands me the water skin first. “Drink,” he urges.
I pop the stopper and pour purified water down my parched throat. Immediately the effects of the dried ilsevel petals work wonders on my aching limbs. Warmth spreads from my gut out to every extremity. Knotted muscles begin to relax, and my breathing comes a little easier. It doesn’t make the ume cake Taar offers to me next any more palatable, but I accept it and gnaw the edges.
To my relief, Taar doesn’t try to sit with me or make conversation. As soon as he’s fed and watered me like the inconvenient pet I am, he steps away, his back to both me and the river, and stands beside Elydark. The two of them put their heads together, sharing words in their silent language no doubt. I firmly tamp down any effort on my gods-gift’s part to eavesdrop. Instead, careful not let my gaze travel back to the river and that hideous darkness engulfing the far side, I take note of the landscape into which we’ve entered. It’s not unlike the rugged country we’ve traveled through all day—hilly, not quite mountainous, but with rocky ridges and sudden valleys, covered in yellow-green grass as far as the eye can see. But there’s something about this wilderness that feels different. There’s a freshness in the air, a certain snap and spice I can’t quite define. Is it because the vardimnar has never touched this land? Perhaps this is what all Licorna once felt like, before the Rift.
“There.”
Taar’s voice breaks through my thoughts, drawing my attention unwillingly to him. He doesn’t look my way, but raises one arm, pointing west, into the setting sun. I shade my eyes, curious despite myself, and spy a stone building set on an outcrop some miles from our current position—I can’t judge how far in this light. Nor can I tell if it is a large structure or merely positioned in such a way as to dominate the visual landscape. It strikes me as incongruous, a manmade dwelling out here in this wild land.
“That is Elanlein,”
Taar says, still without turning to me. “The Last Holy House, wherein Nornala’s divine presence yet dwells in this world.”
A cold weight settles in my gut. I look at that far house again. Our destination, the goal for which we have been striving since passing through the gate into this world. Will we find there the help Taar seeks? Is our inevitable separation truly so close at hand? Good, if so. Perhaps last night I was foolish enough to think I wished otherwise, but now? I’m ready to get this over with. To break this damnable bond, to leave behind this damnable world. To never look this damnable husband of mine in the eye again.
I choke down a final bite of ume cake. Though the last thing I want is to return to the saddle, I rise and brush crumbs from my skirt. “Well, warlord?”
I say coldly. “Shall we continue . . .”
My words trail away to nothing. For suddenly, across the river, singing out from the darkness, a voice catches my ear, my heart, drags my gaze sharply around. Though some small, self-preserving part of me knows I shouldn’t, I stare into the churning black of the vardimnar, as though my eyes can pierce that membrane and see what lies on the other side. See the unicorn—Nyathri—who stands there, beyond the flowing river, singing that hearttorn song.
“Ilsevel?”
Taar speaks sharply, but I cannot heed him. Everything in me strains after that song, so warped and twisted and yet . . . and yet . . . once more I find myself listening for the harmony that could fix it. I can almost hear it. It’s right there, on the edge of my gods-gifted awareness. I can’t help thinking that, should I hear it, should I sing it, the song would be beautiful indeed. Almost worth the pain it took to create it.
“Ilsevel!”
A grip on my arm. A yank, a turn. I come to myself abruptly only to find I have wandered down almost to the edge of the river. Taar’s fingers wrap around my upper arm in a painful grasp, and his eyes stare down into mine, searching my face. “Ilsevel, can you hear me?”
I blink up at him, addled, uncertain. The hearttorn song still echoes in my ears, but when I twist in Taar’s grasp to look out across the river again, I find the darkness has vanished. Nothing but lonely landscape stretches before my vision. There’s no sign of Nyathri anywhere to be seen. Her song fades as well, slowly at first, then swiftly, like crumbling ash. I begin to wonder if I imagined it.
“Ilsevel?”
Taar says again, his voice low and urgent. “Ilsevel, can you hear me?”
I whip my head about, scowling up at him. When I shrug and push, he lets me go. I stagger back three steps, nearly falling in a heap. With an effort I pull myself upright, dragging a long inhale through my nose. “I’m fine, warlord.”
My hands slowly clench into fists. “I’m ready to ride if you are.”
His eyes narrow as he studies me closely. I meet his gaze hard, refusing to offer either explanations or excuses, daring him to question me further. At last he nods shortly, turns from me, and calls to Elydark.
We mount without a word and ride on, leaving the river and any remnants of broken song far behind.