The Seekers of Fire by Lynna Merrill Page B

position. Muscles that she knew about only because of her unusual interest in Science introduced themselves now by acute jabs of pain. Linden tried to touch them, but her hands would not obey her immediately. She was probably bleeding, too, but there was not enough light to see. The light! It was some meters away from her, twinkling faintly next to what looked like a hand. Rianor!
    Her hands obeyed her now, and so did her knees. Linden crawled to him and held the light to his face. His eyes were closed, and his skin was ominously pale. He did not appear to be breathing. She took hold of his shoulders and shook.
    "Wake up—" She had meant to shout, but all that her dry tongue would set for was a whisper. She lifted his head off the stones and there was the feeling of something wet on her hands, which the tiny light revealed to be red.
    "My lord, wake up ... My lord ... Rianor ... Rianor!"
    Her shout did not seem to have any effect, and in the next few seconds Linden was overwhelmed by dread, which gave way to wild happiness when her hand felt the weak pulse at his throat. Now stop screaming immediately. Think. She had a flask of water with her. It would help if she wet his face and made him drink. And some of the medicine for the bandages, here ...
    She gently put his head back on the stones, then removed her cloak and made a pillow out of it. Then she scrabbled through her pockets and felt shards of broken glass bite her hand. So much for the medicine. The flask of water was of the more expensive unbreakable glass, though—even her dad did not dare store water in something brittle.
    But it was not on her body any more. Find it. Find it now.
    She strained her hands and feet and stood up. She stumbled back to where she had awakened, hoping that the small candle would give enough light for her to see if the flask was there. And if it would not ... She wanted to cry, but she must not. Linden gritted her teeth, and as a result something in her jaw gave her its share of a Science lesson, while her fuzzy mind decided that if she was going to ever pray, now was a good time.
    "Master, please let him live."
    Someone replied to her. The voice carried an almost imperceptible tinge of a tune, and when it reached her ears it detonated in a myriad of small tinkles.
    No Master would hear her, the voice sang. Neither Master nor anyone else of them who had defiled the world could help her now, it chimed. If she wanted to kindle life in her young lord, she should seek the well and the one who dwelt in it.
    "What do you mean?" Linden whispered, impressed with the obedience of her lips. "Who—Where are you?"
    "As if I would tell you, my poor lost little girl. What a nice place for a rendezvous you and your young man have chosen."
    It was a beautiful voice, like the ripples of running water and the melody of a gentle wind rustling through trees—until it laughed derisively and Linden shivered with the echo of a howling wind imprisoned in an empty room.
    "So, little girl, where is the Initiator? You and that lord of yours alone, it is a new trap, isn't it?" The woman laughed again. "Oh, but you can see me without the Aid, I can feel it. So who are you, maybe the new Initiator? Your people are changing them too often these days. I almost miss Katrina."
    She is playing games with me, a small part of Linden whispered. It was the part fighting her anger, while the rest of her was unwaveringly scanning the shadows for the flask. She is testing my feelings, interfering with my concentration, like in the fairytales, where they make you lose your way in the forest, until you are at their mercy.
    "By any chance, my dear girl, is this what you are looking for?"
    A faint light flickered straight ahead and then glowed stronger, until Linden could see the contours of a well and a woman sitting on the stony edge. Azure waves of long hair framed the woman's slender body over a flowing, almost transparent dress of bright whiteness. The dress rustled as the