Claire Shirotae eased herself into a comfortable chair, ignoring the sharp pain lancing across her side. Nothing was broken, she knew, but the purplish bruise spreading across her skin beneath her rumpled brown tunic would be evidence enough of her folly. She rested her head on the back of the soft, forest green seat. A small groan escaped her lips.

"Tryin' ta be a battle knight, again, eh, Claire?" Lannell of Graferen said with a grin, displaying a mouthful of crooked, discolored teeth. He put a black booted foot up on the small tea table in front of her chair, marring the polished oaken surface with a glop of thick mud.

Claire glared up at him, clear blue eyes meeting his misty gray. His eyesight had gotten worse over the years she'd known him, and now he squinted down at her from beneath heavy black brows.

They sat in a secluded area of the Wolf Llady Inn's common room, the bar keeper their only company, when the door to the common room opened, letting in a chill night breeze. Lann loosened his sword in its sheath and shifted from his chair to his feet with practiced ease. His gray eyes flicked to the newcomer.

A man strode in, wrapped up in a thick green woolen cloak embroidered with fanciful geometric designs that Claire knew denoted those of the Drakish race in the north. The dim light muddled his features, even to her sharp eyes, but his glossy ebony hair and slight form marked his origin as well as the stitching of his cloak.

Claire nodded to Lann and whispered, "It's all right. Let him alone. He's no threat, and lost, from the look of him. We'll be home tomorrow, with this place far behind us. No need for a brawl."

Lann turned away from the Drake and shook his head, one thick hand curled into a fist, the other gripping his sword tightly. "You may see his face more clearly, Claire, but I see how he moves. Only thieves an' scoundrels slink about like that."

"Well, then. Let's not disturb him."

"Excuse me?"

Lann started, sword halfway out of its sheath before he realized the Drake who had crept up behind his chair held no weapon. Claire's eyes widened. The Drake stood taller than Lann, wiry form visible now that he had thrown his cloak back over his shoulders. Hands callused and worn to a sword rested on the back of Lann's chair. His hair - long and black - drew her attention as much as his face; nose just short of being too big, jaw firm and angular. Boyishness and strength, all smoothed into one magnificent form.

"I need to find a -" the Drake hesitated, eyes falling on Claire, "a silverling."

Claire grimaced. Lann glanced over at her, then turned back to the Drake.

"We don't know any spirit-weavers," Lann said. "The intent for those with the Talent is never good."

The Drake kept his eyes on Claire, and she suddenly became aware of her height. I'm not standing up, she thought, how could he know how tall I am? But her cheekbones and hands alone gave her away, she knew. Those with pure human blood had shorter, thicker fingers and indistinct cheekbones. Silverlings, those with more zhenarai spirit-blood than human, had clearly defined features, prominent cheekbones, willowy bodies and long, slender fingers suited more to the arts than swords.

"You don't understand," the Drake said. "A friend of mine is ill with... mind... spirit... trouble." He hesitated, and a look of something close to concern contorted his features. "Please help her. She is like you, but her hair and eyes have already turned color."

A stab of fear drove itself deep into Claire's belly. When a silverling's hair turned silver, and eyes purple, the silverling had already reached the full potential of their Talent. Someone with that much strength without the knowledge of how to use it could be on the brink of death. Claire stood, bit back a groan as a new slice of pain swept through her body. "I will go to her," she said, "but I don't know if I can help. I know little of those whose color has turned."

The Drake stepped back, one hand on his sword hilt. She grinned and gazed down, almost a head taller than him. He took a moment to assess her intent, then, with a nod, started toward the door.

Lann caught Claire's tunic as she followed, held her back. Once he had her attention, he said in a low voice, "Be careful, Claire. Don't be deceived by a good lookin' face. I've heard o' a lot o' people who wish ta capture an kill yer kind. This is one o' their most popular traps. This Drake could be trouble."

"I know what I'm doing, Lann. I believe him. Look after my back, though. You may notice something I miss," she said, and headed to the door where the Drake waited.

The three of them stepped into the bitter cold night air, following after the Drake. He led them past several taverns, a shoe maker's shop, and a butchery before turning down a dark alley. Opening up a battered wooden door, he entered. Lann went ahead of Claire, hand on sword hilt. Claire ducked into the doorway and felt the hair on the back of her neck rise. A chill ran up her spine. Something tugged at her from all sides, urging her to turn back. She hesitated.

A light sparked to life ahead of her. The Drake held a burning candle in his hand, and beckoned to a warped set of narrow, crooked stairs. "Up this way," he said.

Claire glanced at the shadows around them. Nothing seemed out of place. Large mismatched lengths of cloth covered what seemed to be a vast array of boxes and crates. They looked to be about the size for carting livestock. A storehouse, she guessed.

By the time Claire got to the top of the stairs, Lann and the Drake flanked either side of the steps, both staring at the raised pallet set into a corner of the dim room. Claire walked past them and gazed at the lifeless form sprawled across the straw-stuffed mattress. A cold knot had formed in her belly. Goose bumps popped up on her arms and legs. She knew the reaction well. Whenever she encountered those of zhenarai blood using their Talent, the same feelings came over her. But never so strong.

She approached the figure. Only her silver hair was visible, stray curls peeking out from beneath her water and grime stained bed sheet. Claire knelt by the pallet, wincing at the pain along her side, and slowly peeled back the coverlet. The figure hardly looked human or zhenarai, cheeks gaunt and hollowed, arms bone thin. Her skin, for the Drake had said it was a her, was splotchy in places, pale yellows and slight purples marring her face and hands. From the looks of the mattress and bedcovers, she had been lying in the same place, without changing position, for at least several days. Claire put out a hand to the woman's silver locks and ran her fingers through the woman's hair. Clumps of hair tugged free with little resistance. Claire shuddered.

"How long has she been like this?" she asked.

"Three days," the Drake said.

"I need more light," Claire said, "and some water. Anything clean. New bed sheets. We'll stretch her out on the floor. Lann, help me move her."

The Drake went to the stairs.

"What is her name?" Claire called after him.

He turned back to her, resting the candle next to the stairwell to give them both sufficient light. "Ellaine," he said, "and my name is Jonyth."

"Hurry with the candles, Jonyth."

He returned quickly with five sets of tallow candles and lit them. A dull orange glow spread across the woman on the pallet, painting shadows across her face. Lann assisted Claire in moving Ellaine from the bed to a blanket on the floor that Jonyth provided.

"What is wrong with her?" Jonyth asked as Claire uncurled the woman from her fetal position.

"Did she exert her Talent in any way before she fell into this coma?" Claire asked. She ran her hands along the woman's arms and legs. A shock sped through her fingers and up through her shoulder when she rested a hand on the woman's head.

Jonyth nodded. "We ran in to a group of brigands about half a mile from here. She saved my life."

"She used an energy field," Claire murmured, careful not to touch the woman's forehead.

"A what?" Lann asked.

"You know what it is," Claire said. "A very dangerous thing for someone as young as this girl, though. She's young, isn't she? I guess her to be sixteen or seventeen years, despite her appearance."

"Yes," Jonyth said. "She's sixteen years. Is that what it is called, an energy field?"

Claire nodded. "She used her Self to create it. Her own soul's energy. Her soul lost itself. It has nothing left to keep her alive. So she is dying."

"Can you save her?"

Claire winced at the pleading hope in the Drake's voice. She knew of only one way to save the woman, and she was not practiced enough to attempt it. "I don't know," she said. "How are you related to her?"

"She is my wife."

Claire jerked her head up and looked him over a second time. "You are a very brave man to marry a woman of zhenarai blood. You should have realized you could lose her to her Talent."

"I knew what I risked. I love her."

Lann gazed over at Claire. She did not return his gaze. He gave a faint smile, turned to Jonyth, and said, "Aye. I know what you speak of."

Claire's cheeks colored. She set her attention on Ellaine's immobile form. "Both of you need to leave," she said. "I'll try to bring her soul back. If I don't come down within three hours, I'm dead, and Ellaine with me."

Neither Lann nor Jonyth protested. Jonyth mounted the steps and said, "Thank you, silverling. I will not forget you." He started downstairs, rickety steps creaking.

Lann's eyes bore into her, sparkled in the candlelight. "Be careful, Claire," he said. "If it makes ya feel better, I won't go beatin' up any other silverlings till ya get back downstairs, eh?" He rested a hand on her shoulder and departed, as if afraid to linger any longer.

She waited until the steps ceased their creaking, then turned back to Ellaine. "Well," she said, "you are a troublesome little silverling, aren't you?" Taking a deep breath, she dug into her pocket for her small channeling crystal. She placed the oblong object onto Ellaine's forehead and endured the shock for a second time.

"You're putting up a lovely defense, aren't you, Ellaine? Let's see just how strong you are." Claire placed both hands onto the girl's forehead and gasped.

She fell into herself, away from the orange candle-glow. Away from the room. Away from her body. Into Ellaine. And found... Emptiness.

Cold.

Empty.

Fill.

Void.

Will you fill this void? A frightened voice whispered. She felt something tug at her Self. It jerked her farther into the emptiness of Ellaine's body. There. Her Self rushed past the thin thread connecting Ellaine's soul to her body. Usually, it was as big as a birth cord, now only a thin wisp of hair- width spirit. Claire forced her Self back to the cord, struggling against the pull of Ellaine's body. She clung to the cord and began to follow it up, up, up. Ellaine's Self struggled with the cord, spirit-fingers trying to detach it from her Self.

"Stop!" Claire said, forcing her Self to confront Ellaine's struggling form. "Stop this and return to your body. You're dying!"

"Let me die," Ellaine's Self said, tugging at the thread.

"Your husband waits for you, Ellaine. He waits for you to come back to him," Claire said, pulling Ellaine's spirit-hands from the cord.

Ellaine's Self became still. "Husband?"

"Yes, your husband, Jonyth."

Claire felt danger. Cold. Dark. Oppressive. She stared into Ellaine's Self and felt her fear.

"Husband?" Ellaine said. "By the Center, silverling, has he lured you here as well?"

"What?"

"Didn't you see the others? Didn't you feel them?"

Claire remembered her body's reaction upon first entering the building. Too intense for one, she remembered. Too strong for one.

"He's killing us," Ellaine said. "You must leave. He will trap you like he did the rest of us. He is using us for himself. He locks us in silver cages and binds us to our bodies so that we cannot escape him. I am almost free of him! He wants our power harnessed for his uses. He uses us as slaves, to murder his foes and lure others here. Oh, silverling, you must leave. Leave quickly!"

Ellaine's Self gave a finally tug on the life thread. It snapped. Her Self screeched in delight and dissolved.

Claire felt Ellaine's body sucking at her again, trying to fill the void. But as the string began to dissolve as well, the pull became less until it, too, dissolved. Claire fought her way back into her body. She threw her Self back into its host in a brain-searing crash that shocked her nerves.

She opened her eyes and found herself lying on top of Ellaine's carcass. Claire's entire body shook violently, and her limbs refused to respond. Black spots marred her vision. Her ears rang.

"Lann," she managed to rasp after a few moments. "Lann."

"He will not be coming."

Cold fear clenched Claire's chest. She tried to turn over, but the pain in her side had grown worse. Panic overrode her senses.

Jonyth knelt over her, his gorgeous face coming into focus, occasionally marred by black splotches. His hair brushed her face, and he clucked his tongue. A smile graced his lips. "Thank you so much," he said, "for weakening yourself to such a state. Ellaine was never a very strong silverling. You are worth three of her."

Claire felt the cold silver bracelets clasp onto her wrists. He closed another around her neck. Claire tried to speak, but her tongue refused to respond. She could only croak.

"There, there," Jonyth murmured, stroking her hair. "Things will not be so bad. Once you've rested, I'll start you on your first chore. Ah, quiet now. It won't be too difficult. You will dispose of your friend's body. Oh my, are those tears? Shush, now. Lie up there on the bed."

The command drove itself into Claire's brain. Her limbs began to move, even as they trembled. They had no choice. Jonyth touched one of her silver bracelets, and a shock burst through her body. She screamed and forced her legs to move faster. She collapsed onto the bed, tears streaking down her face.

"Shush, now, my silverling. If you do not fight the commands, I will not have to prompt you. You will learn," Jonyth said. She heard his footsteps moving away toward the stairs. "You will learn. The others have."

Claire let her fingers brush Ellaine's lifeless body. She closed her eyes and tried to fall into herself, away from the room, the silver bracelets. White- hot pain shot through her temples. Her skin burned.

She screamed in pain and frustration. From the stairs, Jonyth laughed.
 

Copyright 1998 Ryan Russell

You can e-mail RyanLieDracko@aol.com