Key of Knowledge
Page 85
Breathless, she turned in circles. There were dozens of corridors now, and each seemed to stretch for miles like some mad dream.
He was changing the story, she realized. Adding his own flourishes to confuse her. And doing a damn good job.
“Choose. His voice whispered inside her head. Choose unwisely, you might tumble off the edge of the world, or rush toward a pit of fire. But stand, only stand and yield, and all this will be no more than a dream.”
“You lie.”
“Run and risk your life. Surrender and save it.”
“Choose,” he said again, and she felt the hot silk of the scarf wrap around her throat.
Horrified, she clawed at it, raked her own skin with the frantic swipes of her nails. She was choking, fighting the illusion of the strangling cloth as the blood roared in her head like the sea.
Then suddenly she was free, and there was only the single corridor leading to the last staircase.
Tears leaked from her eyes as she ran for it, dragging herself up by the banister as her injured knee gave out under her.
She threw herself at the door, yanked at the knob with slippery hands. Her breath sobbed out of her burning lungs, scored her abused throat when she stumbled out into the silver light of the moon.
She was at the top of the Watch, high above the valley, where light glowed against the dark. People, she thought, were tucked away in those houses. Safe and warm. She knew them, and they her. Friends, family, a lover.
All so far away now, beyond her reach. Beyond her world.
She was alone, and there was no place left to run.
She slammed the door closed, scanned the stone parapet for something to brace against the door. If she could keep the killer on the other side until day broke . . .
No, not the killer. Kane. It was Kane.
She was Dana, Dana Steele, and what chased her was worse than a killer.
She pressed her back against the door, using her weight as a wedge. Then she saw she’d been wrong. She wasn’t alone.
The cloaked figure walked in the shower of moonlight, one hand, with its glitter of rings, skimming along the low stone wall. Her cloak streamed out in a wind that made no sound.
The phantom of the Watch, she thought, and closed her eyes for a moment of peace. The ghost. Jordan’s ghost.
“He’s coming.” She was amazed how calm she sounded with a vengeful god or mad killer behind her, and a spirit of the dead in front. “To kill me, or stop me, or take my soul. It all comes to the same thing in the end. I need help.”
But the figure didn’t turn. She only stood, looking down at the forest where two hundred years before, love had killed her.
“You’re Jordan’s. You’re Jordan’s creation, not Kane’s. In the book you helped, and the act set you free. Don’t you want to be free?”
But the phantom said nothing.
“Kate’s dialogue,” Dana murmured. “I need Kate’s words. What are they?”
As she dug for them, the door burst open, throwing her forward onto the stone.
“She can’t help you.” Kane ran the scarf through his hands as he stepped out. “She’s only a prop.”
“It’s all props.” She scrambled backward like a crab. “It’s all lies.”
“Yet you bleed.” He gestured toward her arm, her throat. “Is the pain a lie? Is your fear?” His smile spread as he came closer. “You’ve been a challenging opponent. You have a clever mind and a strong will. Clever enough, strong enough to have changed some small pieces of my picture. Imagining the stairs and the door to this place took considerable strength. Bringing her here”—he gestured toward the cloaked figure—“even more. I commend you.”
Her mouth trembled open, then she shut it again. Had she imagined it, the route, the door? Had she willed the ghost into being?
No, no she didn’t believe she had. She’d been circling in confusion.
Jordan. It was Jordan’s book. And he was a man with a clever mind and a strong will. Somehow he was trying to help her. Damned if she was going to let him fail.
She was Dana, she reminded herself. And she was Kate—Jordan’s Kate. Neither one of them would cower at the end.
“Maybe I’ll just imagine you jumping off that wall to your bloody, messy death.”
“Still hissing. A cornered cat. Perhaps I’ll simply leave you here, deep inside a book. You should thank me, as books are one of your pleasures.”
He inclined his head as she got to her feet, as he saw her wince of pain. “Or perhaps I’ll step back and let the killer come onstage. It would be interesting to see you battle him, though in my version you may not triumph. Either way, it would be entertaining. Yes, I believe I’d enjoy the theater of it.”
The white scarf vanished from his hands. “Do you remember how she hears him shambling up the steps, what she feels run through her when she understands that she’s trapped?”
Dana’s breath began to hitch once more as she heard the slow, oncoming footsteps.
He couldn’t force her to do anything, she remembered. He could only trick her mind.
“How the fear clutched in her belly as she understood that she had run exactly where he’d wanted her to run? And below, her lover sees her standing in the light of the moon, sees the phantom beyond her, and the killer as he steps out onto the stone.
“And he calls her name, in terror and despair, as he knows he can never reach her in time.”
“Sure he can. All it takes is a rewrite.”
Kane whirled as Jordan leaped out of the doorway.
The force of the attack knocked Kane back against the wall.
“You have no place here!”
“This is my place.” Putting all his rage into it, Jordan rammed his fist into Kane’s face. It burned as if he’d shoved his hand into fire. Still, he reared back to do it again. And was lifted off his feet and flung backward.
“Die here, then.”
A sword shot up from the hand Kane raised. Dana sprang to her feet, and charged him, sprang onto his back to fight with teeth and nails and spitting fury. She heard someone howling, and realized as her throat opened again, that the sound came from her.
Kane knocked her away with a vicious backhand that sent her slamming hard against Jordan. She saw blood on his face, from wounds that both she and Jordan had inflicted.
And her heart danced.
“You will know pain,” she shot out at him.
He was changing the story, she realized. Adding his own flourishes to confuse her. And doing a damn good job.
“Choose. His voice whispered inside her head. Choose unwisely, you might tumble off the edge of the world, or rush toward a pit of fire. But stand, only stand and yield, and all this will be no more than a dream.”
“You lie.”
“Run and risk your life. Surrender and save it.”
“Choose,” he said again, and she felt the hot silk of the scarf wrap around her throat.
Horrified, she clawed at it, raked her own skin with the frantic swipes of her nails. She was choking, fighting the illusion of the strangling cloth as the blood roared in her head like the sea.
Then suddenly she was free, and there was only the single corridor leading to the last staircase.
Tears leaked from her eyes as she ran for it, dragging herself up by the banister as her injured knee gave out under her.
She threw herself at the door, yanked at the knob with slippery hands. Her breath sobbed out of her burning lungs, scored her abused throat when she stumbled out into the silver light of the moon.
She was at the top of the Watch, high above the valley, where light glowed against the dark. People, she thought, were tucked away in those houses. Safe and warm. She knew them, and they her. Friends, family, a lover.
All so far away now, beyond her reach. Beyond her world.
She was alone, and there was no place left to run.
She slammed the door closed, scanned the stone parapet for something to brace against the door. If she could keep the killer on the other side until day broke . . .
No, not the killer. Kane. It was Kane.
She was Dana, Dana Steele, and what chased her was worse than a killer.
She pressed her back against the door, using her weight as a wedge. Then she saw she’d been wrong. She wasn’t alone.
The cloaked figure walked in the shower of moonlight, one hand, with its glitter of rings, skimming along the low stone wall. Her cloak streamed out in a wind that made no sound.
The phantom of the Watch, she thought, and closed her eyes for a moment of peace. The ghost. Jordan’s ghost.
“He’s coming.” She was amazed how calm she sounded with a vengeful god or mad killer behind her, and a spirit of the dead in front. “To kill me, or stop me, or take my soul. It all comes to the same thing in the end. I need help.”
But the figure didn’t turn. She only stood, looking down at the forest where two hundred years before, love had killed her.
“You’re Jordan’s. You’re Jordan’s creation, not Kane’s. In the book you helped, and the act set you free. Don’t you want to be free?”
But the phantom said nothing.
“Kate’s dialogue,” Dana murmured. “I need Kate’s words. What are they?”
As she dug for them, the door burst open, throwing her forward onto the stone.
“She can’t help you.” Kane ran the scarf through his hands as he stepped out. “She’s only a prop.”
“It’s all props.” She scrambled backward like a crab. “It’s all lies.”
“Yet you bleed.” He gestured toward her arm, her throat. “Is the pain a lie? Is your fear?” His smile spread as he came closer. “You’ve been a challenging opponent. You have a clever mind and a strong will. Clever enough, strong enough to have changed some small pieces of my picture. Imagining the stairs and the door to this place took considerable strength. Bringing her here”—he gestured toward the cloaked figure—“even more. I commend you.”
Her mouth trembled open, then she shut it again. Had she imagined it, the route, the door? Had she willed the ghost into being?
No, no she didn’t believe she had. She’d been circling in confusion.
Jordan. It was Jordan’s book. And he was a man with a clever mind and a strong will. Somehow he was trying to help her. Damned if she was going to let him fail.
She was Dana, she reminded herself. And she was Kate—Jordan’s Kate. Neither one of them would cower at the end.
“Maybe I’ll just imagine you jumping off that wall to your bloody, messy death.”
“Still hissing. A cornered cat. Perhaps I’ll simply leave you here, deep inside a book. You should thank me, as books are one of your pleasures.”
He inclined his head as she got to her feet, as he saw her wince of pain. “Or perhaps I’ll step back and let the killer come onstage. It would be interesting to see you battle him, though in my version you may not triumph. Either way, it would be entertaining. Yes, I believe I’d enjoy the theater of it.”
The white scarf vanished from his hands. “Do you remember how she hears him shambling up the steps, what she feels run through her when she understands that she’s trapped?”
Dana’s breath began to hitch once more as she heard the slow, oncoming footsteps.
He couldn’t force her to do anything, she remembered. He could only trick her mind.
“How the fear clutched in her belly as she understood that she had run exactly where he’d wanted her to run? And below, her lover sees her standing in the light of the moon, sees the phantom beyond her, and the killer as he steps out onto the stone.
“And he calls her name, in terror and despair, as he knows he can never reach her in time.”
“Sure he can. All it takes is a rewrite.”
Kane whirled as Jordan leaped out of the doorway.
The force of the attack knocked Kane back against the wall.
“You have no place here!”
“This is my place.” Putting all his rage into it, Jordan rammed his fist into Kane’s face. It burned as if he’d shoved his hand into fire. Still, he reared back to do it again. And was lifted off his feet and flung backward.
“Die here, then.”
A sword shot up from the hand Kane raised. Dana sprang to her feet, and charged him, sprang onto his back to fight with teeth and nails and spitting fury. She heard someone howling, and realized as her throat opened again, that the sound came from her.
Kane knocked her away with a vicious backhand that sent her slamming hard against Jordan. She saw blood on his face, from wounds that both she and Jordan had inflicted.
And her heart danced.
“You will know pain,” she shot out at him.
