The Amazing Peri
P eri Copperhaven paced before Tower of the Earth.
Alton had disappeared into the wall and had not reappeared.
It couldn’t be normal to be sucked into the wall like he’d been, and of course he had been concerned about what he perceived from the guardians.
Per his instructions, she was supposed to pull Duncan’s pouch out of the tower.
The mage startled her by poking his head through the stone facade of the tower. “Don’t just stand there gaping, girl,” he said. “Something’s wrong—pull me out.”
Peri quavered. “But—”
“The guardians won’t tell me anything. They’re blocking me. Something has happened to the Deyer, yes?”
She nodded. “He was pulled into the wall.”
“His thoughts, or his physical form?”
“His whole body.”
Duncan froze for a moment, a look of horror crossing his features.
“One moment.” He drew his head back into the tower.
When he did not return immediately, she took to pacing again.
It wasn’t long, however, before he poked his head back out.
“No, they will not communicate with me. I can’t even pass a message down to Mad Leaf and the Garth fellow.
I am completely blocked. You will have to pull out my pouch.
I want to see where the Deyer went in, and to speak with the lieutenant. ”
Peri gazed at the place Alton had marked on the stone showing where she should reach in to grab Duncan’s pouch.
It wasn’t the idea of reaching into an unknown space that was the problem, though it brought on its own trepidation—there could be spiders or vipers or who-knew-what she couldn’t see.
The problem was touching the stonework period.
“What are you waiting for?” Duncan demanded. “Time is of the essence.”
She showed him her gloved hands.
He stared hard at her, then blinked in surprise. “Oh, I see. No wonder you hesitate. But the fact remains that you must retrieve my pouch. I’m sorry.”
She nodded and knelt before the marked stone.
She took a deep breath and attempted to summon the courage to come in contact with the stonework.
She thought of the heroism of the First Rider, Lil Ambrioth, and the bravery of her fellow Riders, including Alton D’Yer, and how they carried out their duty no matter the cost. Who was she but a timid, bookish girl whose aunt and uncle had forced her to read fortunes at fairs by touching objects presented to her by marks?
Her aunt and uncle called her “The Amazing Peri” and pocketed all the proceeds from her efforts. In private they called her a freak.
Her ability had emerged long before she answered the Rider call, allowing her aunt and uncle to force her to touch various objects that often had some level of grief attached to them.
Widows and widowers brought her possessions of lost loved ones to read, such as specs or a brooch, and their grief would wash over her, as well as images of the decedent’s life and death.
Worse still were objects of violence. Several times she’d been made to read the swords and daggers of soldiers who had seen combat, and, worse, the weapons of criminals.
The Rider call had only augmented her ability.
Hesitantly she stretched her hand out.
“That’s it,” Duncan said, “keep going.”
The warmth of latent sunshine radiated off stone and warmed her face. Her hand shook.
“Steady now,” Duncan said. “You can do it. You are brave and strong.”
She could hear the impatience behind his words of encouragement. It reminded her of her aunt and uncle cajoling her to work, and being belted afterward if she had balked.
Lil Ambrioth had never hesitated, she thought, and her fellow Riders rode into much worse danger, no matter their fear.
She plunged her fist into the tower wall.
Sorrow and fear and pain thousands of times greater than anything she had ever touched before assaulted her, threatened to drown her.
The glove on her hand shielded her not at all.
Images of the sacrificed forced to kneel before blocks of stone slammed into her mind.
Their heads were pushed against the stone and their throats slashed by men garbed in all black.
She felt their righteous satisfaction, even their pleasure, at slaughtering magic users because they, too, had touched the stone blocks and left an impression that echoed across the Ages.
Blood pooled on granite and was absorbed. Every stone of the wall was an altar of sacrifice. Every stone was infused with the blood of any who had possessed a magical ability. They cried out in her mind, the young and old, housemaid and soldier, cobbler and mage.
And a Green Rider.
“Calmly, now,” came Duncan’s voice.
She hadn’t realized she’d been screaming.
“Calmly,” Duncan said. “You are almost there. Lower your hand and the pouch will be in your grasp.”
His voice lacked the impatience of before and reminded her of the present. She was not there with the sacrificed a thousand years ago. It was not her head pressed against the stone, nor her throat about to be slashed. She was shoulder deep in the wall, her hand patting around on the tower floor.
“To your right,” Duncan said. “No, your other right.”
She grabbed the pouch. Its texture was peaceful and brought to mind the beauty of tall trees, the chuckle of a stream.
Duncan had mentioned it had been made by Eletians.
She sensed slender and graceful hands weaving, sewing, and embroidering, and the intention of beauty and calm that had been infused into the creation of a sturdy, useful, and aesthetically pleasing pouch.
It was not enough, however, to counteract the deluge of pain from the sacrificed.
She yanked the pouch out through the tower wall and that was the last she remembered.
“— and Rider Copperhaven has not yet regained consciousness,” Duncan told Estral.
To his credit, Estral thought, he appeared at least somewhat remorseful about what he’d made the Rider do.
She and Marc, and four soldiers Dale had assigned to escort them, had ridden through the night to reach the encampment at Tower of the Earth.
Marc had asked Dale to come with them. Dale plainly wanted to, but decided she needed to stay on duty at the Tower of the Heavens so at least one Rider was able to enter the tower at need, and also, through Trace, be able to inform Connly of trouble and keep him updated.
Estral wanted to shake more information about Alton out of Duncan, but the magic was all illusion and there was no way to get her hands on him. She supposed she could shake his leg bone or tempes stone. Something to keep in mind.
Alas, one could not force information that was not there.
She wanted to scream, but she had no voice.
Marc, in contrast, was quite subdued, taking in the small encampment and the tower.
He’d said little during their long, dark journey, which was fine with her because she’d so much noise in her head about what the hells was happening to the man she loved.
“Why would they do this to him?” It was frustrating when her voice failed her at such times and came out as a harsh whisper or dropped words as she spoke.
“I do not know,” Duncan replied. “It seems the guardians have some business with him.”
“He can’t survive in stone. It’s just not possible.”
“I just don’t know.” Duncan, too, was frustrated. “They’ve shut me out. They won’t communicate with me.”
“He’s all right,” Marc said in an off-handed manner.
“What?” Estral and Duncan said in unison.
“They haven’t hurt him,” Marc said. “They kinda did in the beginning because they misjudged his body, but now they want...I dunno. To show him something? But he’s all right.”
“That’s more than I could get,” Duncan said.
Estral’s shoulders sagged in relief. She was both exhausted and quivering with nervous energy.
“Can you talk with them?” Duncan asked Marc.
“Not really, but they keep telling me to come to them.”
“Hmm,” Duncan replied.
Lieutenant Janes approached. “My lady, perhaps you’d care to sit by the fire with some tea?”
“No, we need to figure out how to rescue Alton.”
“I think perhaps with rest,” Duncan said, “we could attack the problem with fresh minds.”
Estral was about to argue when Marc said, in a very small voice, “I could go—”
“No,” she said. “We can’t take the risk of losing you, too.”
“I agree with Lady Fiori,” Lieutenant Janes said. “Do not go near the wall.”
Duncan, notably, said nothing.
Marc shrugged and ambled over to the fire and sat on a stump.
“I think you should follow the example of Lord Marc, my lady,” the lieutenant said. “Rest by the fire. My people are arranging tents for you.”
She sighed and joined Marc, and accepted a mug of tea from a soldier.
It turned out to be heartening and the heat of the fire welcome, but she kept glancing over her shoulder at the wall that entombed Alton.
She fought herself not to run to it and attempt to reach the guardians herself, but if there was one thing she had learned from traveling with Karigan in the north last winter, attempting to take matters into her own hands without a plan was foolish and a good way to get herself or someone else hurt, thus complicating the situation.
Her behavior had caused Karigan great harm for which she had never forgiven herself, and she doubted she ever would.
And now she had even more reason not to get into trouble.
That all said, the guardians did not communicate with her, anyway. At least, not since she had lost her voice.
“I’ll keep watch on the wall,” Duncan said, “so you can get some rest.” He was not his usual jocular self. For once his mien fit the situation. “I’ll keep trying to communicate with the guardians, and if there are any breakthroughs or changes, I’ll let you know.”
Estral did not think she could sleep, but she didn’t know what else to do. She could only hope that Alton would come out of this safely. It was not so long ago she had almost lost him to the sword of a dark Sleeper, and she was not about to lose him now.
Especially now.