Read Online Book of Iron by Elizabeth Bear - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Elizabeth Bear
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pain? Did it matter? She didn’t know enough about the traditions of the religions of Avalon to guess what Maledysaunte might be keeping him from—or if his own people would hold him just a soulless shell, the essential part gone on to a better place.
“Hit it and find out,” Kaulas answered.
Riordan and Prince Salih must have a shared a glance, or some other moment of unspoken communication that Bijou missed, because they moved forward in unison to break the circle. Bijou saw the flash of swords in the amber light as they skinned their blades.
“You’re rusting my sword, Maledysaunte,” Riordan complained.
“Would you rather freeze?” she asked.
He hefted the northern broadsword—an ancient, crude-looking thing—and swung it over his head as the prince slashed at the amber barrier with his own ancestral scimitar.
It was as if two great bells rang on different notes. The reverberation seemed to start inside Bijou’s head and shudder down to her toes. Rock dust shifted around them; the floor trembled against the soles of her feet.
The swords that Riordan and Prince Salih raised again blazed bright and true and razor-edged in the sourceless light, reflecting gleams this way and that.
“It sharpened my blade,” said the prince. “Other than that, I don’t think we hurt it.” He sheathed the scimitar.
“Well,” said Kaulas, “it’s good to confirm the hypothesis. Let me try.”
As the prince and the bard fell back, the necromancer stepped forward. Bijou watched his narrow form advance, caftan sweeping about the legs of the suit he wore beneath. She should feel something—Affection? Jealousy? Pride?—at this moment, but whatever the appropriate emotion was, it eluded her. Instead, mind racing for alternate solutions, she waited to see if Kaulas would succeed.
She imagined the ticking clock, the moment when—somewhere outside—Dr. Liebelos would complete her preparations and summon the Book, destroying Maledysaunte in the process. Would they freeze into stasis then, as the bubble of negentropy collapsed around them? Would Dr. Liebelos allow that to happen, despite her daughter’s presence?
Would they even know it had happened until Dr. Liebelos let the bubble open? Could you die inside a stasis trap?
She didn’t know, and under the fear and uncertainty that set her heart to beating raggedly and her palms to oozing sweat she realized she felt mostly the burning itch of curiosity. She was a Wizard, after all—a scientist at heart. She wanted to know the answers before she died.
Kaulas spread his hands wide as he approached the wall of the trap. Not a dramatic gesture: a practical one. Bijou could see the shimmers of heat collecting around his fingertips, stretching in streamers from his hands. There was no light, not yet. Just that warmth, and the infiltrating reach of it like bare roots spreading, seeking.
He brushed those dendritic extensions against the amber wall. It might have shuddered; the faintest of ripples might have spread through it. If they did, they left no trace in their wake.
But slowly, meticulously, Kaulas began insinuating the unweaving of his touch into the tight-spun order that held them in thrall. A dim glow traced their seeking, dull red like the afterimage of lightning strikes on the retina.
They did not so much flare as throb, pulsing in time with what Bijou imagined was the beat of Kaulas’ heart. With each pulse they pushed in farther; with each dimming they receded. Not as much as they grew, however, and for a moment she dared to hope. She found herself leaning forward, fists clenched, rocking in time to that pulse as if urging a horse to a jump— push, push, push now.
Kaulas groaned, grunting with effort, leaning against the wall of the bubble, pushing his palms flat. Slowly, Bijou thought. Slowly, slowly, they began to sink through the amber light, wrapped in a protective glow like sullen embers.
The thunderous crack and the reek of ozone shocked her into a
“Hit it and find out,” Kaulas answered.
Riordan and Prince Salih must have a shared a glance, or some other moment of unspoken communication that Bijou missed, because they moved forward in unison to break the circle. Bijou saw the flash of swords in the amber light as they skinned their blades.
“You’re rusting my sword, Maledysaunte,” Riordan complained.
“Would you rather freeze?” she asked.
He hefted the northern broadsword—an ancient, crude-looking thing—and swung it over his head as the prince slashed at the amber barrier with his own ancestral scimitar.
It was as if two great bells rang on different notes. The reverberation seemed to start inside Bijou’s head and shudder down to her toes. Rock dust shifted around them; the floor trembled against the soles of her feet.
The swords that Riordan and Prince Salih raised again blazed bright and true and razor-edged in the sourceless light, reflecting gleams this way and that.
“It sharpened my blade,” said the prince. “Other than that, I don’t think we hurt it.” He sheathed the scimitar.
“Well,” said Kaulas, “it’s good to confirm the hypothesis. Let me try.”
As the prince and the bard fell back, the necromancer stepped forward. Bijou watched his narrow form advance, caftan sweeping about the legs of the suit he wore beneath. She should feel something—Affection? Jealousy? Pride?—at this moment, but whatever the appropriate emotion was, it eluded her. Instead, mind racing for alternate solutions, she waited to see if Kaulas would succeed.
She imagined the ticking clock, the moment when—somewhere outside—Dr. Liebelos would complete her preparations and summon the Book, destroying Maledysaunte in the process. Would they freeze into stasis then, as the bubble of negentropy collapsed around them? Would Dr. Liebelos allow that to happen, despite her daughter’s presence?
Would they even know it had happened until Dr. Liebelos let the bubble open? Could you die inside a stasis trap?
She didn’t know, and under the fear and uncertainty that set her heart to beating raggedly and her palms to oozing sweat she realized she felt mostly the burning itch of curiosity. She was a Wizard, after all—a scientist at heart. She wanted to know the answers before she died.
Kaulas spread his hands wide as he approached the wall of the trap. Not a dramatic gesture: a practical one. Bijou could see the shimmers of heat collecting around his fingertips, stretching in streamers from his hands. There was no light, not yet. Just that warmth, and the infiltrating reach of it like bare roots spreading, seeking.
He brushed those dendritic extensions against the amber wall. It might have shuddered; the faintest of ripples might have spread through it. If they did, they left no trace in their wake.
But slowly, meticulously, Kaulas began insinuating the unweaving of his touch into the tight-spun order that held them in thrall. A dim glow traced their seeking, dull red like the afterimage of lightning strikes on the retina.
They did not so much flare as throb, pulsing in time with what Bijou imagined was the beat of Kaulas’ heart. With each pulse they pushed in farther; with each dimming they receded. Not as much as they grew, however, and for a moment she dared to hope. She found herself leaning forward, fists clenched, rocking in time to that pulse as if urging a horse to a jump— push, push, push now.
Kaulas groaned, grunting with effort, leaning against the wall of the bubble, pushing his palms flat. Slowly, Bijou thought. Slowly, slowly, they began to sink through the amber light, wrapped in a protective glow like sullen embers.
The thunderous crack and the reek of ozone shocked her into a
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