Duty book 2, p.19
Duty (Book 2), page 19
part #2 of The Trysmoon Saga Series
“Is Tolbrook alive?” “Has the inn caught fire?” “Where did it come from?” “Get back in the kitchen, you dolt!” “Has someone secured the kitchen door?” “Why isn’t that door closed yet?”
“It’s off its hinges,” Cadaen yelled, “but the board will hold it in place. Get it!”
“Wait,” this was Shadan Khairn, entering from outside. “I’ll help you!” A scrape and slam indicated the door was shut.
“I said back into the kitchen!” Regent Ogbith yelled again.
“Back away! What are you doing!” yelled Cadaen, and Gen craned his neck to see what was happening downstairs. There were frantic footsteps.
“Stand back, I say!” This was a voice Gen did not recognize. “And don’t think about magic or I kill her. I can tell when you’re doing it. I can! That includes you, Churchman! I only want to deliver a message.”
“Stand down!” Cadaen yelled. “Do not hurt her, or I’ll. . .”
“Shut up, idiot! Bring Gen. Bring him to me!”
“Lord Blackshire?” Regent Ogbith questioned, voice quavering. “What does this have to do with. . .”
“Bring him! Now!”
“Gen! Come here,” Regent Ogbith ordered. “Horace, take Gen’s place.” Gen waited until Horace, Gerand’s Dark Guard master, stood in front of the door before taking several steps at a time to the bottom. As he entered the common room, it took several moments to digest the macabre scene. Debris—wood, glass, and dinnerware—littered the ground. Although the front windows were shuttered, every one was broken, holes and breaks riddling the shutters’ slats.
Two bodies, one badly burned, the other an unconscious Tolbrook, lay near the back of the room opposite the wall where the explosion had blown them. A Dark Guard worked furiously to stem blood flowing from Tolbrook’s body from several deep gashes. The other was dead. Smoke from a fire outside filtered into the room, and from the bright orange light coming through the shutters, Gen surmised that the willow trees had caught fire.
Everyone, however, was focused on Mirelle, a kitchen servant behind her with a knife to her throat. The First Mother was rigid and bent slightly backward, face composed but sweating. Cadaen stood exactly opposite, face angry and desperate. Kaimas, Ethris, and Athan stood to the side of him, standing very still. Shadan Khairn, clothes and hair singed and sooty, had drawn his sword, and Gen knew that if the slightest opportunity presented itself he would strike.
Gen surveyed the situation. The servant’s eyes were calm and collected, and he smiled maliciously at Gen as he approached. He was young—in his twenties—with stringy dark hair, thin lips, and a pale face. Gen had noticed him several times before. That he should attack the First Mother and claim to know of magic seemed ludicrous, but Ethris, Kaimas, and Athan did nothing, taking the threat seriously. The attacker held the knife rigidly and to the side of Mirelle’s throat, increasing the probability that even if he were incapacitated, the knife would find a mark.
“What is your message?” Gen asked calmly, trying to read the man’s eyes.
“Well, you are just as she said, thinking yourself quite clever and important, arrogant after all your ‘accomplishments.’ My message is to you alone. You will leave this room and start down the road to the Portal. My friends will tell me when you have arrived, and I will release the First Mother and depart. If you are followed, she dies.”
Gen glanced toward Regent Ogbith, who nodded no.
“My duty is to the Chalaine,” Gen said. “I will not leave her.”
“I was told you would say that. Very well, then. Joranne sends her best to her sons, who may have figured out by now how she sent me here.”
In a quick motion, he slit Mirelle’s throat, Khairn leaping forward to strike as Mirelle slumped to the ground. Gen saw the young man’s face go slack just as the Shadan ran him through, eyes locking on Gen’s. Gen wanted to walk forward, but an ice cold shock wrenched his body and he stumbled. In an instant, he could no longer control himself, feeling as he had when the masters in the Training Stones had taken control of him. But there was no push or struggle for his mind; it was his own and he controlled his thoughts but nothing else.
Let’s go, said a voice only he could hear.
“It’s passed to Gen!” Kaimas warned, and every eye turned. “Contain him!”
Gen was only a spectator as what controlled him dove for a shuttered window. The shutters broke easily under his weight and he tumbled out onto the patio. Standing quickly, he sprinted into the yard. Bodies, blood, and carnage lay everywhere, the three willows, now smoldering, had been blown down and away from each other, a small crater in the center marking the focus of the explosion. Smoke wreathed everyone and everything. Soldiers wandered about confused, yelling orders. None thought to stop Gen. The door creaked behind him. He was almost to the front gates, which hung crookedly, providing a small hole through which soldiers clambered in and out. Outside the walls, people gathered, trying to glimpse what was going on within.
Ethris incanted, and the ground in front of Gen gave way. Gen landed hard in the bottom of a hole, struggling against what possessed him to no avail. Whatever controlled him rose, pulling himself up and kicking against the dirt wall to propel himself out and over. As he finally scrambled over the ledge, a fierce wind slammed downward and pinned him to the ground.
“Do it, Athan!” Ethris yelled. Gen was relieved that he was stopped, though the pressure of the column of wind sent a fiery pain down his back. Athan concentrated and incanted.
“It is done,” Athan said, sweat beading on his brow. “It cannot pass to anyone else. I can hold it for a little while. Fetch the other two Padras. Together, we could probably hold him for an hour, maybe more.”
Three members of the Dark Guard, faces grave, came and took Gen by the hands and feet. Kaimas released the wind, and the soldiers half carried, half dragged a struggling Gen into the inn, tying him securely to a chair with thick ropes.
“Get everyone out of this room, everyone but Ethris and Kaimas!” Padra Athan ordered. “Do it now! Regent Ogbith, hold on a moment. Be sure to check the kitchen!”
A spent Shadan Khairn passed by Gen first, eyes angry, and went outside. The Dark Guard carried a groaning Tolbrook up next, the First Mother ordering them to take him to the Chalaine.
“I will stay,” she said, rubbing a thin scar on her neck where Shadan Khairn had healed her. Mirelle remained rooted to her spot despite the objections of everyone else. Regent Ogbith waited nervously by the door, clearly out of his depth.
“What am I to do, Padra?” he asked tremulously.
“I’ve little time to explain,” Athan said, remaining focused on Gen. “The enemy has used soul jumping to get here. A soul jumper can pass to any person in sight, displacing the spirit of another. When the soul jumper leaves, it kills the victim. Have your men make inquiries in the town. See if anyone has died recently and if you can trace the occurrences. If we can find the soul jumper’s body before my ward fails, we can kill him for good. He is likely somewhere out of the way, in the woods or in a locked room. It will appear as if he is asleep, but he will not wake. Kill him immediately if you find him. Go!”
Regent Ogbith left hurriedly. Mirelle’s distress captured Ethris’s attention.
“Is Gen dead, then?” she asked, tears welling in her eyes.
“If we cannot find the soul jumper’s body before he leaves Gen’s body, Gen will die,” Athan stated flatly. “But there is hope. You should go to your rooms. What we have to do may be unpleasant. We should prepare to leave as quickly as possible. As we are short-handed, perhaps you can be helpful and get everyone organized.”
Mirelle nodded distractedly and went quickly upstairs.
“Let’s move him to the kitchen,” Kaimas said. “No need for everyone to see or hear this.”
The three of them hoisted the chair and Gen into the kitchen. Ethris closed the door to the outside, which stood ajar, drowning out the sound of Cookmaster Broulin commanding a frightened group cooks to pack up.
Whatever they do to me, the voice said, you’ll feel it too. Do not worry, though. We were prepared for this turn of events. The other two Padras entered next, eyes wide at the scene before them. Ethris filled them in quickly.
“I will tell you when I am starting to fail,” Athan instructed, already showing signs of strain. “When I do, you take over first, Marin, and then you, Orviss, when he fails. We need to get as much information as we can. There is some plot against us here. Kaimas, Ethris, I leave it to you to find out what you can. Do whatever necessary. Gen isn’t nearly as important as whatever the jumper knows.”
“On the contrary,” Ethris disagreed. “The first question is why Gen was chosen in the first place! Joranne is clearly behind this, but she can only know Gen by reputation.”
Gen figured that Joranne knew that he was the Ilch. Why hadn’t she exposed him? Kaimas came forward, placing his hands on both sides of Gen’s head. Exhaling, he closed his eyes and concentrated. “Speak! Who are you? What do you want with Gen?” Gen was dimly aware of the struggle. It was not with his mind, but with the jumper’s, whose will was strong.
“Mother has warded his mind,” Kaimas said, releasing his hold. “I will need your help, brother.”
Ethris nodded, standing behind Gen. Both men placed their hands on his head, and the war of minds continued. Several times during the struggle, Gen felt fear from the jumper—the brothers’ combined strength was staggering. The jumper focused his own mind as the wards failed and fought hard. Gen’s body tensed, teeth clenching with the effort to repel the men. Suddenly it stopped, and the jumper laughed, Ethris and Kaimas releasing their hold.
“Curse that woman!” Kaimas swore. “She is too strong!”
“And she is coming,” Gen heard himself say mockingly. “You have nothing left to fight her with. You have wasted your strength.”
“You’re bluffing,” Ethris countered, sweating and shaking. Kaimas closed his eyes. The jumper focused his attention on Athan, sensing an opportunity.
“He isn’t,” Kaimas said, voice distant. “She is near. “
“Marin,” Athan ordered, face red and eyes wide. “He is trying to jump. Take over.” The plump Padra stepped forward and concentrated, Athan slumping back against the wall.
“We should get the Chalaine away from here,” he gasped. “Tell everyone to say nothing of where we are going until we are well out of Gen’s earshot.”
Kaimas concurred, closing his eyes. “Joranne is coming in from the woods behind the inn. She is some distance off, still. I will remain behind to stall her approach, if I can.”
Ethris furrowed his brow. “Are you sure?” he asked concernedly. “You will be of little use now. I must stay with the Chalaine and cannot help you.”
“I will do what I can, Ethris. Hurry!”
Kaimas opened the back door, shutting it behind him and yelling at Cookmaster Broulin to clear everyone out, pots and dishes packed or no.
“Orviss,” Athan said weakly, “you stay with Marin and hold the jumper here for as long as you can. If it appears you will fail, do not release the hold until you are out of his sight or he’ll jump to you.”
“Yes, your Grace.”
“Let’s get them out, Ethris.”
By the time Marin’s strength failed, the noise in the common room had faded. Gen heard the First Mother and the Chalaine and others coming down the stairs and leaving in a rush. Regent Ogbith poked his head in and told the Padras that horses would be left for them and that Athan would contact them mentally with instructions. After a brief glance at Gen, the Regent left. Orviss, Gen could see, would not last as long as his predecessors, nervousness sapping his strength.
The jumper was perfectly content. She will come and free me, he thought to Gen. She is at the doors. The sound of Kaimas howling in pain nearly broke Orviss’s focus. He said, “I cannot hold any longer, Marin.”
Marin nodded and both men backed toward the door, Orviss hanging on until the door shut. She is here. Fear not. You are not to die. The door at the rear entrance of the kitchen opened. Unexpectedly Kaimas entered, back rigid. His face was pale, waxy, and slack, and only the whites of his eyes showed. As Gen watched, blood poured from his eye sockets and dripped from his mouth. He coughed and gagged, staggering about spitting blood on the wall before vomiting and collapsing. Flecks of blood spotted the lantern on the table as Joranne, in appearance a wrinkled old woman, shuffled through the doorway.
“You have done well,” she said, addressing the jumper. “I will release you.”
“Into whom?”
“I am afraid no one is available, and I don’t have time to take you back to your body.”
“Betrayer!”
“Hardly. Gen is more important than you, and I must speak with him.”
“No!” The jumper tried to release himself from Gen and pass into Joranne, but Joranne grinned mischievously as he failed. Frustration and fear gripped the jumper, sending him into desperation. He pulled and twisted Gen’s arms against the ropes and the chair, bruising and rubbing raw his flesh. Joranne closed her eyes. “Kill him, Dethris.”
“You’ll pay for this, Joranne!” the jumper yelled, thrashing.
In a moment, Gen felt freed, regaining control of his mind and his body. Joranne smiled pleasantly at him, as a grandmother might smile at a grandchild who had just arrived for a visit.
“At last,” she said, “we get to talk. It is hardly fitting that someone who practically raised you should not be able to find herself in your company without all this effort. But I understand now how deeply you were interfered with and that you do not know what gratitude is owed me or what place in history awaits you. Of course, I have gleaned from Kaimas that the magic used to hide the knowledge and teachings from you is powerful, but I’m sure with a little effort I can overcome. But first, I need information for my master.”
She stared at him, and Gen felt her push into his mind easily despite his attempts to shut her out. She quickly sifted through his memories, going further and further back, his life a blur. The first memory she could find, the furthest back Gen had recollection of, was when as a child he had been stumbling through the woods of the Alewine forest by himself, cold and wearing nothing but a ragged shirt. His feet hurt as he trod through on the rough, dry ground. They were scarred. He heard a strange noise in the woods ahead of him and climbed a tree out of fear and curiosity. There were men in the clearing before him, the first he could recall seeing, chopping at a tree with heavy axes. One looked up and saw him. The memory vanished.
“So they concealed my care for you,” she stated bitterly. “Then you will need some of my memories before you really understand. Learn from whence you came.”
As with the memories of the three masters of his Training Stones, Joranne’s thoughts played out before him as if he were her, watching through her eyes.
She waited. It was the night appointed by the Millim Eri for the Ha’Ulrich and the Chalaine to be born, and it was the night Mikkik had chosen—out of spite—for his servant to come forth. The ground before her was muddy and soft from the rain that had fallen on the twisted, thorny trees of Goreth Forest in sheets during the day. The perpetual mist that stirred between the boles threatened to conceal the spot where she had buried the seed that Mikkik had given her. She used her magic to clear the mist so her view of whatever creature was born from the seed would not be obscured.
The seed was little bigger than an acorn made of what appeared to be molten glass. Mikkik had given the task of planting the seed her, not trusting his followers, the Mikkik Dun, with knowledge of its whereabouts. He had slaved over the stone for months. She understood only dimly what he had done. From what she knew, Mikkik had not created the stone, but rather modified it, changed it somehow to suit his purpose, struggling to complete the work in secret as his power failed. When complete, he had found her and brought her to Goreth, entrusting her with the seed and the animon before disappearing into hiding. With Trys eclipsed, Mikkik was only a pinch more powerful than she was.
During the night, she jammed a stick into the mud and worked it around until she had a hole big enough to drop the stone into, covering it once complete. Now, with night ending, she held the animon for the new creature clutched in her hand. The animon would be the creature’s life force, for Mikkik did not trust the creature to have life unto itself. Joranne thrilled in anticipation. She could hardly fathom what kind of creature the Ilch would be or what the manner its birth would entail. She had simply followed instructions and dared ask no more. Here would be one that would join her on the thrones of Elde Luri Mora in eternal splendor. Surely Mikkik would choose his own form or that of the Millim Eri for his servant.
She checked the sky. Any time now. Joranne’s body was that of a youth as it always was when dawn was near. She was grateful she would have the day to arrange things before she was returned to dust to be reborn. If the creature were born while she was yet an infant, she feared it would overtake her in her weakness.
The dirt before her stirred with the faint signs of dawn, the first strong rays of light piercing through the gloom of the wood. She cast a spell to illuminate the still dim spot, light diffusing eerily in the mist. Slowly, strands of dirt writhed, at first giving the appearance of a mass of worms squirming just beneath the surface. Gradually, the dirt churned faster and took a more definite shape—it was humanoid, a child. Joranne was surprised. Why not create the Ilch fully grown? The brown and gray of the dirt changed into the white hues of bone, the red of muscle, and the peach-white of flesh. The eyes and ears formed last. A human child. A boy. It lay lifeless in the hole created from the material of its creation.
Joranne looked at the animon. The glass ball in her hand now glowed in the center, and she stretched out her hand and touched the chest of the infant with the animon, the flame inside bending toward the body. Muscles stirred as the power of the animon ignited the life of the Ilch, and in the pre-dawn chill, it bellowed, voice a clarion call through the trees. Mikkik’s servant was born with a power for Trysmagic to rival that of his creator.
