Chapter 22

  Rufus stood before Saul, limbs trembling with rage. He walked unevenly toward the ramp. Saul kept his gaze on Rufus and backed up the slope toward Olivia. Last time he had encountered Rufus his old friend had been only a dabbler in mystical abilities, not a full sorcerer. At that moment, presence that did not belong to Rufus alone pulsed from the red-haired man’s frame. More than Rufus’s legs had changed.

  Blood ran from the wound over Saul’s eye. He doubted there was enough temper sap left to seal the cut, and soon the blood flow would half-blind him. Great. Saul grimaced. “I see what happened.”

  “I can feel the winds of akasha now, Saul. Even most makers never know what this is like!”

  “Who’d have thought you’d ever become a real sorcerer. Now I get it. You sealed your legs to allow your taph to draw in more power.” The winds that blew from the center of creation were difficult to access but carried with them the memories of creation and the powers of wild magic. Few makers ever studied them.

  Rufus glowered at him. His eyes twitched. “You always were an ingrate, Saul. Let me show you.” Two yards ahead of Saul, he raised one arm as if to swat a fly.

  A gust of air blasted Saul and pushed him back along the floor a few inches. The warm blood dripping past Saul’s eye flecked his face and hairline, projected by the wind. He grunted. “Fancy. Is that it?”

  Olivia ran down the ramp and drew a taser. She aimed the weapon at Rufus and pulled the trigger. The tines flew. Rufus swatted them out of the air with a second gust of wind, projected from a chopping motion of his hand. He rounded on Olivia.

  “You exiles should know your place. Makers are talking.” He swept both arms together. A blast of air roared past Saul and hit Olivia. She sprawled against the ramp wit a groan.

  Saul glanced down at her, a warning still on his lips. She sat up with a grunt and grabbed her cattle prod before it could roll away from her down the ramp. Saul whirled around and advanced on Rufus, sword drawn.

  Rufus chuckled and stepped back, arms up like a boxer. “You always worry too much about exiles, Saul.” He pinched the forefinger and thumb of one hand together and tugged at the air. Saul darted to one side but felt a draft pass his face. Droplets of blood from Saul’s cuts flew out and spattered across Rufus’s open palm.

  Rufus smirked. “Exiles aren’t like you and me.”

  Saul’s blood ran along the lines in Rufus’ hand. The droplets sank into the skin and vanished.

  Saul scowled. “What the hell are you doing?” He pursued Rufus toward the center of the room, sword on guard.

  “Examining the past.” His eyes closed, Rufus waved his arms in wide sweeps. Wind buffeted Saul and checked his advance.

  He grimaced, eyes squinted and watering at the sustained breeze. The wind scattered the ashes of the curtain children about his face. Rufus’s throne crept away from Zubed’s battered form and crawled toward Olivia, who was still getting to her feet.

  Rufus opened his eyes. He grinned and lowered his arms. Saul charged toward him, sword in one hand, oven rod in the other. He did not want to kill Rufus. At the moment, keeping Rufus from gesturing looked to be enough to stop him. He thrust his blade at the other maker’s shoulder. Rufus bobbed out of the way.

  Saul swung his oven rod at Rufus’s temple.

  Rufus ducked, then darted backward. “I know what you can do. I can feel everything you’ve done.”

  He pursued Rufus, who continued to retreat. “If you’ve got all that, how about you hit me?”

  “I’d rather not. We grew up together Saul. Besides, what would Irene say if I wrecked your face?”

  “At this point, she’d thank you.”

  “Don’t be so sure.” Rufus circled Saul at a distance, putting himself between Saul and the ramp. “She still thinks of you.” Rufus grinned. “But exiles are more your type these days, it seems. Do you like knowing more than any of them? Is it the power? Kind of twisted, isn’t it?”

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  Saul’s jaw clenched and he let out a wild yell. He flew at Rufus in a flurry of strikes. Rufus dodged to one side. His blade cut along his forearm, opening a shallow gash.

  Rufus’ blood spilled onto the floor. He clenched his teeth together in pain. “Now you’ve done it.”

  The blood on the floor swirled with colors, changing from red to blue to green. Images spread along the floor. Sounds echoed within the room, voices in cries and whispers. Memories.

  In the center, under the shadow of a gnarled temper tree, Saul and Irene and Rufus stood as children on father’s Hidrian estate.

  On one side of the childhood scene, Saul embraced Irene, nuzzling into her dark, sweet-smelling hair.

  On the other side, Rufus and Saul walked side by side down a shuttered passage, on their way to Earth for a challenge.

  Saul stepped back in shock.

  “Memories can be good, can’t they?” Rufus said with a gasp of pain. “Lately, yours tend to be bad.” He motioned with his bleeding arm.

  The images on the floor faded into ordinary red blood. The blood flowed into a pool in the center. From the central pool, rose the form of a woman in jeans and a green shirt, beautiful, freckled, and familiar, stained with blood all down her right side. She reached out to Saul. “Please.” Her words only barely escaped from her breathless lungs. “Jackal found me.”

  Saul stared, his jaw half-open, at the form of the woman. She looked like she had just before she died. “Molly.”

  Rufus shook his head. “You can’t help the exiles, Saul. Soon this new one will be gone too.”

  His face contorted. His hands shook so badly he dropped his oven rod. The sword clattered down beside it. He stared at the blood memory. “Rufus. Cancel this illusion.”

  “I can’t. That’s your memory. Not mine.” His fist caught Saul across the jaw.

  Saul staggered back. The taste of blood began to well up from his lip. Rufus delivered a second blow to Saul’s stomach. Saul sank to his knees. Blood dripped over his eye and flowed from his lip. Molly’s eyes met his, pleading.

  Rufus towered over him. “You’re lucky it’s just me. If Luther was here, he’d kill you.” Rufus raised his arm to swing.

  Olivia called out from behind him. Saul could not distinguish her words. Blood and tears ran down his face. Rufus hesitated but did not look in Olivia’s direction.

  The heavy metal doors at the top of the ramp flew open. A gust of wind blew through them. The remembered image of Molly’s last moments subsided into the pool of blood. The blood fell still.

  Rufus hit Saul across the temple. An explosion of light and pain flashed before Saul’s eyes. He fell onto his back.

  From the doorway poured blazing light. A human form stood at the top of the ramp. His shadow fell across the floor, cast from the brilliance behind.

  Olivia scrambled up the ramp toward the doors. The throne tumbled backward and fell to the floor with a crash. Rufus’ eyes flicked toward the man at the top of the stairs. “I thought you never left the sanctuary. Adam.”

  Then a flash of light filled the room and blinded Saul completely.

  * * *

  The brilliance faded and Saul’s other senses returned. It took a moment for him to realize he had been deprived of even touch but the tingling of recovery from numbness announced that as well. He groaned.

  The blood over his eye had dried. The doors at the top of the ramp were shut again. Rufus lay supine on one side of Saul, chest rising and falling slowly. His throne sat on its backrest at the base of the ramp, clawed legs still.

  Saul sat up carefully. He frowned down at his legs. They were still uncooperative. The blood he had spilled from Rufus’ arm spread dark and lifeless a few yards away.

  Footsteps. He turned. Olivia approached from the ramp.

  One hand felt along her back. A grimace of pain crossed her face. She sank into a crouch beside Saul.

  “You alright?”

  “I think so.”

  “What was that?”

  “Adam.” Olivia shook her head. “I guess.”

  “Looks like he didn’t want to meet with Rufus.” He stood, painfully and looked around. Olivia returned to her full height. Kahzed and the other Rokarians were gone. “Where did everyone go?”

  “I don’t know.” She glanced at the doors. “But I suppose he wasn’t happy.”

  “Yeah. But I thought he was supposed to be powerless.”

  “Not in this place,” said a deep voice.

  Saul looked around the room for the source of the sound. He found no one there but himself, Olivia, and Rufus. His old friend was still unconscious.

  The deep voice returned, seemingly from everywhere. “I am Adam. I rule in Rokar, no matter what my children think.”

  Saul blinked. “What about Luther?”

  “I was unable to stop him before he left the city with Kahzed’s fleet.”

  “Where did they go?” Olivia asked.

  “To the root universe near the city.”

  “I saw the root, from Mataya’s tower.” Saul remembered the pulsing light in the empty abyss outside the city. He glanced down at the unconscious form of Rufus. “If we could fly, we could still catch him.”

  Adam’s voice boomed. “Take the guard’s cutter from this tower. Luther must be stopped or this city will surely be discovered.”

  “So you’re going to help us?”

  “And you are going to help me, Saul Burton. Take the hilt of Seffuin’s blade far from here.”

  “I will.”

  “Then climb the tower to the cutter dock. No one will stop you.” A door opened on one side of the room, revealing a spiral staircase. “Fortune be with both of you.”

  Olivia frowned. “Are you really the old granddad of all exiles?”

  “Not of all, but of most, granddaughter. You are always welcome here. Now go, stop Luther.”

  She raised her eyebrows at Saul. He took a deep breath and nodded. They marched to the stairs and began to climb.