The Unmaking (The Last Days of Tian Di, #2)(52)
Wrapping her coat tightly around her, she curled up before the fire.
Uri Mon Lil sighed. To his impressions of Eliza he added surly, then spent the remainder of his watch writing down many poetical descriptions of snow, which he was quite struck by. Eliza barely slept. She lay with her eyes squeezed shut while images of the shrieking Cra and the half-dead harrowghasters closing in on her reeled through her mind. Had it not been for Eliza’s grandmother, they would not have made it out of the Library alive. The way the harrowghasters had made for her, too, told Eliza one thing for certain – Her grandmother was alive. Kyreth had lied to her.
The following morning, they spotted another dragon glinting gold in the sun – the one Eliza had sent north. Ka’s dragon called out to it. It veered towards them and landed by the river, vast wings stretched out and gleaming. Standing in the snow by the smouldering fire, even with all her cares, Eliza was struck by the beauty of the scene – their rough little camp, the snow crisp and thick over the ground and the trees, and the brilliant dragon descending. When it came close to them, she saw by the brand on its neck that it was Trahaearn’s dragon, and to her great relief, it had in its talons the Book of Barriers. Of course, when she opened it the Book was empty, drained of its knowledge by Nia, but that was of no great importance. All they needed was the object itself and the memory it would contain.
They worked the spell in the shelter by the river. The dragons took to the sky, their dark shadows wheeling across the snow and their scales shining in the morning sun, reveling in their freedom and power. Eliza and the wizard knelt on either side of the book, fingers entwined, and pressed their joined hands against it. Together they spoke the spell of Deep Seeing. They both felt the book giving way beneath their hands, the earth giving way beneath the spell, a tipping sensation as if the ground had suddenly tilted up vertically and they were sliding along it, and then they were swallowed by the book. It was the strangest sensation, as if they were liquid being poured down a spout and emerging as something entirely different.
Eliza was looking at Nia from an odd angle, as if lying on the floor looking up at the Sorceress. Nia’s arms were raised above her head. She was pouring with sweat and clothed in flame, long bright ribbons of it dancing around her. The words she spoke were heavy with power and rooted in something deep and dark and secret – each one shimmered with pain, was edged in fire. She spoke the Language of First Days and yet there was something strange about it, something different. It was not the language normally used for spells. These were not commands or pleas or even complete sentences or words but rather the original roots of certain words, disconnected, as if she were naming things with no past or future. Flesh and bone and blood and sweat, rage and sorrow and fear and regret, these she called forth and each one began and ended in pain. The flames that licked her body fell away and formed a broad circle of smoke and ash. She stepped out of the circle and placed in the middle of it a pale, dead finger.
Eliza fell face first onto the book. Uri Mon Lil was staring at her with horror.
“Who are you?” he asked in a terrified whisper. “What are we doing?”
Eliza could have wept. Forgetting his purpose, he had pulled out of the spell. They would have to start over every twenty-nine minutes.
“It’s important,” she said. “It’s important. We have to do it again.”
She reached her hands out but Uri Mon Lil did not take them. She saw her hands were shaking and took a deep breath.
“You are a wizard under a curse,” she said, struggling to control her voice. “There is no time to explain but please, you have to help me. We are performing a very important spell. Please trust me. I beg you.” Tears rose to her eyes and she blinked them away angrily. Slowly, hesitantly, Uri Mon Lil reached out and took her hands.
“Teach me the words,” he said in a low, uncertain voice.
They spent the day working the Magic. Every twenty-nine minutes Uri Mon Lil, forgetting their purpose, would withdraw from the spell in horror and they would have to begin again. The sixth time in, Eliza realized that the spell of Making had taken more than hours, more than days, in fact many months. They would need to skim through it like a book, looking for key moments, points of change. This was not easy but was in some way facilitated by the twenty-nine minute limit. They needed rest and timed these according to Uri Mon Lil’s memory loss. Then they would re-enter the spell, emerging again a half hour later, shaking and appalled.
Nia shouted, flamed, raked the air with fiery hands. The finger on the ground split open, began to grow. The bone branched out into a skeleton with many arms. The flesh formed the body within and around it. Fire and smoke threaded through the creature like nerves and veins. It had no heart or internal organs. It lay in the circle of ash, massive and unmoving, lifeless. Nia had not Made anything yet, only changed the shape of the finger. Eliza remembered that awful moment more than two years ago when Nia had sliced off Rea’s little finger before letting her go. Had she been planning this since then? This monster was her mother’s very flesh and bone, changed and ravaged, but what animated it?
They slept poorly that night and began again at dawn. Although Uri Mon Lil could not remember any of it, they were developing a rhythm together, entering the spell more surely and easily each time. His hands and his power remembered, even if his mind did not. Each time she explained to him what they were doing he seemed more accepting of it.