Free The Fall of Neskaya by Marion Zimmer Bradley

the Wall Around the World, for that matter. You managed to reach me with your unaided mind. Have you any idea what that means, to be able to do that at your age? Do you think we would let such laran talent run wild? Or didn’t you realize what you had done?”
    For a moment, he was back in the stony shelter with rain pelting and rocks pummeling the hillside. Blue flames licked at him once more. The smells of blood and fear filled the darkness.
    “You don’t sound anything like—like the voice I heard.”
    The ball of light over Lady Bronwyn’s hand shrank to a pinpoint. “Why, what do you mean?” she said, her voice echoing as if from a distance.
    “Bells,” he whispered, reaching vainly for the memory, for something to hold on to. “Silvery bells.”
    Silvery—silvery—sil—ver—ry . . .
    The world slid sideways and went white. Coryn’s jaw clamped shut, the muscles of his back and legs locked in spasm. Breath hissed between his teeth, then stopped. Pain lanced up his calves, his thighs, his arms. Fire exploded from his solar plexus. He fought for another breath.
    Dimly, Coryn felt his body topple. Shadowy hands reached out to catch him, to cushion his fall. Under his back, the ground felt prickly and cold. He heard a woman’s voice, jangled bells, crying out commands.
    “No, don’t restrain him. Get my pack from camp—hurry!”
    Footsteps receded, then approached. A hand, soft and warm, brushed his forehead, laced fingers with his. A familiar voice whispered through his thoughts.
    Let me guide you through this. Threshold sickness can be frightening. But you are not alone, I am here to help you . . . yes, that’s right, breathe softly. I’m right here . . .
    “Who’s he? ” came a new voice, like a sulky child’s.
    “Hush, now.” Lady Bronwyn spoke again. “One of you men, take her back.”
    “I don’t want to go back! You can’t order me around!”
    “Quiet!”
    Coryn’s heart skipped a beat. The next moment, he could hear nothing at all. His muscles, which had begun to soften at Bronwyn’s mental touch, locked tight. Arms and legs jerked under the sudden force of the contractions. His spine arched, throwing back his head. For what seemed an eternity, he could neither hear nor see.
    Coryn became sensible of his body once more, his limbs thick and sluggish as clay. His chest heaved, drawing breath into his lungs. The harsh white light of the witch-fire, for he had no other term for it, softened with yellow torchlight.
    “No, it’s not over,” Lady Bronwyn’s voice seemed to come from afar. She bent over him. He felt her breath sweet on his face. Something smooth and cold pressed against his lower lip. “Drink this. Quickly, before the next round.”
    “Whu—”
    “ Kirian. It will help the seizures.”
    Kirian! Rumail’s vile potion!
    “N—nuh—” Coryn threw his head from side to side.
    “Hold still!” For an awful moment, Coryn’s struggles halted, as if he were suddenly encased in ice. Hands, men’s rough, strong hands, pinned his body to the ground. In his bones, he knew this had happened before—
    From the corner of his blurred vision, Coryn caught sight of Rafe’s face, grim with concern. It wavered, shifting form to another man’s, now gray and terrifying.
    A scream tore from Coryn’s throat.
    “Drink!”
    Coryn lay helpless to resist as the neck of a glass vial passed between his teeth. Cool lemony fluid filled his mouth. His traitorous throat swallowed once, twice. Tears sprang to his eyes. He wanted to cough it up, but it was too late. Warmth spread through his stomach, outward to his limbs, melting tight muscles, easing his breath.
    Coryn’s arms and legs began to shake, little tremors laced with pain. Any moment, he feared, they would build into another bone-wrenching spasm, but after a minute they subsided. As the quivering left him, he sank into the earth in relief, deep and deeper . . .

6
    H uge and low on the horizon, the Bloody Sun cast slanting