Master of restless shado.., p.24
Master of Restless Shadows, page 24
part #1 of Master of Restless Shadows Series
“And?” Atreau prompted.
“In a few cases they destroyed those realms rather than lose them to demons. But Alizadeh converted to the Bahiim faith ages ago, and since then he’s kept true to the faith and—”
“Wait. Destroyed realms? You mean he wiped out whole kingdoms?” Atreau’s nightmare fluttered through his memory. Buildings collapsing all across Milmuraille as flames consumed every living thing. There were old tales of kingdoms lost to floods and earthquakes as well.
“I mean entire worlds,” Javier said at last. “They wiped out whole worlds. But only as a last resort.”
Atreau stared at him, trying to come to grips with the idea that somewhere entire other worlds existed and that some had already been destroyed.
“It was a different time,” Javier stated quickly. “And as I said, Alizadeh has since sworn himself to the Bahiim duty of protecting this realm and its sacred roots. He’s no longer a threat, but some Bahiim still don’t trust him.”
Atreau nodded. It would seem that the Bahiim did indeed have good reason to view Javier’s master with suspicion.
“So, Irsea is more likely to tell Narsi all her secrets than you or your master?” Atreau asked.
“Clearly. Though the fact that she responded to him so quickly makes me think that she’s growing desperate. Her soul must be under immense strain, and it sounds like she has no hope of a living Bahiim reaching her to take guardianship of the sacred grove.”
“Yes. She said there were traps set to capture any Bahiim who entered the city,” Atreau agreed, though he wasn’t certain of what stood to be lost if the sacred grove went without a guardian. When he asked, Javier looked grim.
“It’s not by chance that the Circle of Wisteria and Crown Hill are aligned with the Shard of Heaven.” As Javier spoke he rolled the stones between his hands. Tiny white sparks flickered over them. “From what I’ve read in the Radulf library and from what Alizadeh has said, it seems that the sacred grove and Crown Hill might serve as shields for the Hallowed Kings—”
“But the kings are Cadeleonian, not Bahiim or Labaran,” Atreau objected.
“The kings who are currently interred at the Shard of Heaven are Cadeleonian, but that couldn’t have always been the case,” Javier replied. “The Cadeleonian church hadn’t even been established when the Battle of the Shard of Heaven was fought. It was only after the battle that the first Cadeleonian cult sprang up to worship the Savior. But it was the combined power of Bahiim, witches, sorcerers and a multitude of mystics that actually defeated the demon lords and created the Shard of Heaven.”
For an instant Atreau simply stared at Javier, feeling that he must have misunderstood his friend.
“I do not recall Father Habalan teaching us any of that,” Atreau remarked at last.
“He wouldn’t have, even if he’d known. And I promise you there are entire worlds of wisdom that Father Habalan is ignorant of.” Javier flashed a boyishly gleeful grin. When they’d schooled together, Javier had always taken great pleasure in digging through ancient diaries and moldering records to find little-known facts that embarrassed teachers and contradicted sermons.
“So the Shard of Heaven would originally have been crafted by witches or Salt Island mystics or Bahiim?” Atreau asked. He could count on Javier and his master for information concerning Bahiim spells. Hylanya’s many familiars might prove useful, if it came to matters of Labaran witchcraft. And he supposed he might be able to pry something out of Spider if it came to Salt Island mysticism. That was better than nothing.
“Likely a combination of all of them and more. The spells that encompass the Shard of Heaven are like a tapestry woven from thousands of different threads. And Crown Hill is much the same, though it has been neglected for far too long. I’m not certain of how many of the wards there are still intact. Did you know that in days long past it was known by another name—”
“Wadi Tel.” Atreau remembered the name from his discussion with Narsi. “The guardian hill.”
“Exactly.” Javier grinned at him with delight. “The guardian hill that overlooks both the Shard of Heaven and the sacred grove. It’s a place where power flows through the stones like water rushing through a stream. That’s why the Savior’s forces amassed there.”
“Is that also why you’ve had Fedeles riding out there for the last few months?” Atreau asked.
“Yes.” Javier nodded, though his smile faded. “Has it been hard on him?”
“Now that he has a wife he doesn’t often turn to me with his private troubles, but I can see that he’s grown more anxious of late.” Atreau paused out of habit. But if anyone was safe to confide in about Fedeles and matters of magic, it was Javier. “His shadow disturbs him, and he’s not alone in that. There are times when I swear that the thing is going to get up and walk off on its own. Only last night it killed two men.”
“What?” Javier’s horrified expression made Atreau suddenly aware of how accustomed he’d grown to the deaths all around him.
“They were assassins,” Atreau added quickly. “Hylanya will tell you that the capital is full of them now. These two meant to murder Prince Sevanyo. Only Fedeles stood near enough to stop them. Fortunately the night was dark enough that no one could be certain of what they saw. No one dared accuse Fedeles of practicing witchcraft. But it was bloody—both bodies slit open in an instant. Fedeles was shaking for nearly an hour afterward.”
“But he didn’t harm anyone else?” Javier asked.
“No. His attack was so precise that I would have said that Fedeles had perfect control of his shadow,” Atreau admitted. “Except he looked so stricken. The entire time we walked together afterward he kept moving so that his shadow wouldn’t touch me.”
Fedeles’s anxiety had in fact made Atreau more nervous than witnessing the two assassins being dispatched.
“No matter what it might look like, Fedeles’s shadow isn’t something separate from him.” Javier shook his head. “It’s the form that his power—his spirit—was channeled into, but it’s not a curse, not anymore.”
“Yes, Hylanya said much the same thing when she first came to the capital,” Atreau remembered. “She called his shadow an astounding black witchflame. Said he had a soul like a thunderhead roiling with lightning.”
“She’s not wrong. There’s power in him that many would envy. Though I know Fedeles wishes it was otherwise,” Javier said. “If he could have his way, he’d be as ordinary as possible and spend all his time in the company of horses.”
“And the occasional well-built man,” Atreau added.
Javier cast him such a look of disbelief that Atreau laughed.
“What do you think he and Captain Ciceron were doing together? Holding hands and talking about ponies?”
“No, of course not . . .” Javier’s pale face colored with embarrassment. “It’s just difficult to think of Fedeles that way. To me, he’s still a shy little brother.”
Fedeles hadn’t been anything close to little for nearly a decade. He stood as tall as Javier, with far broader shoulders. As for shy? Could a young man who laughed, wept and argued so openly ever have been shy? Atreau didn’t think so, but he saw no point in arguing with Javier.
“The thing is that we can’t allow Crown Hill or the Circle of Wisteria to fall into the wrong hands. Not when the Hallowed Kings are fading and so many wards around the Shard of Heaven have failed,” Javier said a moment later. “If I could do this alone, I wouldn’t embroil any of you in it, but I can’t . . .”
Atreau considered him. Javier had always kept his own council and maintained an air of mystery, even back when he’d not had all that much more than any of them to hide. It would be like him to underestimate how much his friends could stand to know or endure. He’d always tried to shield them from both the truth and its consequences.
But none of them were boys anymore.
“We’ll do what needs to be done. But it would help to know exactly what we’re up against. If the wards fail and we can’t keep control over the sacred grove and Crown Hill, will another demon lord break free? Is that what the Shard of Heaven and the Hallowed Kings keep locked away?” Atreau felt certain he already knew the answer.
Javier scowled, but then, to Atreau’s surprise, he shook his head. His expression, however, struck Atreau as far more troubled than certain.
“Are you sure?” Atreau asked.
“Alizadeh says it’s not possible for another to have survived. And I believe him—”
“But you just said that the Bahiim here in the capital haven’t shared anything they know with him. So if a demon lord survived here, then he might not know of it.”
“True. He and I could both be completely mistaken.” Javier turned his gaze toward the dead gray horizon. Atreau thought he saw faint blue plumes of mist swirling in the distance. “But before I met Alizadeh, I stood on the Shard of Heaven along with Sevanyo and Fedeles. I don’t suppose you’ve ever been?”
“I took Hylanya around it on the river, but I’ve never been inside the chapel.”
“It’s a powerful place. I can still remember the feel that emanated up from below my feet. It was nothing like the sanctum where Zi’sai lay trapped.” Javier clenched his hand around the stones he held, and again white sparks fluttered over his fingers. “The Shard of Heaven felt like nothing I had ever encountered before. Not until that night in Milmuraille . . .”
Javier’s gaze narrowed but remained focused far away. Atreau wondered if he wasn’t gazing upon some nightmare of his own in those luminous blue mists.
“How does it feel, then?” Atreau prompted when Javier didn’t go on.
“Numb and dry, like breathing in ash. Like losing all hope . . .” Javier’s expression remained distant for a moment longer. Then he glanced to Atreau. “It was nothing like Zi’sai’s thick coils of purple fire.”
Atreau considered that.
“I don’t suppose I’m making much sense to you,” Javier commented.
“You are, actually,” Atreau replied. “When I was taking notes for my book, I spoke a fair while with Skellan. He constantly described different sources of magic and spells in terms of colors and sensations. Even smells and flavors. I remember he said that your magic felt bright and cold as sunlit ice. Your spells are blazing white and leave behind a smell like snow lichen.”
“Lichen?” Javier frowned and then, to Atreau’s amusement, he sniffed his right hand. “Could be worse, I suppose . . .”
“Could be hot eel shit,” Atreau replied, recalling Skellan’s description of a particularly aromatic curse. “So, if the thing lurking down in the Shard of Heaven didn’t feel like a demon lord to you, then what did it feel like?”
Atreau recognized the knowing look on Javier’s face.
“Refusing to tell me just leaves it to my imagination to make up the worst of possibilities, you realize,” Atreau said.
“Yes, I know. I’m not reluctant because I mistrust you . . .”
“And yet you still hesitate.”
“All of this is based on a mere boyhood recollection. It may be entirely wrong.” Javier sighed. “So, I don’t wish my theory to pass as a fact. Particularly not if you uncover anything that indicates that I’m wrong—”
“I promise to doubt your perfection,” Atreau replied. “Now please enlighten me.”
“When Alizadeh belonged to the Waarihivu, he possessed a spell called the Black Fire. It was—is—a spell created to wipe entire worlds from existence.”
“And?” Atreau could feel the blood draining from his face.
“The night Skellan destroyed Zi’sai, it was the smallest shard of Black Fire that he turned against the demon lord.” Javier rolled the stones between his hands. “How well do you remember what happened?”
“I’ve been hard-pressed to forget a single moment of it.” Atreau frowned, recalling what he’d witnessed that night, amid the fires and crumbling buildings. Skellan had stood atop a tower and lifted his hands toward the huge serpent that arched over him, shining like a sun. Flames poured from the monstrous demon lord’s gaping mouth, but they guttered before Skellan’s outstretched hands, and then Zi’sai himself washed away into the darkness of the night sky like smoke dissipating in the wind. Skellan toppled after that and Atreau didn’t see him again until much later.
But he remembered people all across the city remarking that nothing had remained of the demon lord. Not flesh or bones, not even ash. Only the ruin he’d made of the city and people’s lives persisted as testament to his existence. It was as if he’d been unmade.
“That was the magic your master practiced?” Atreau asked.
“Magic he has forsworn.” Javier stated it firmly, as if he expected Atreau to offer some argument. Atreau wondered how often he had to defend his master to other Bahiim.
“Just making certain of the facts,” Atreau assured him.
“Yes. Sorry.” Javier sighed. “Yes, it was Waarihivu sorcery, and the one other place I can recall experiencing a magic that felt similar was in the chapel on the Shard of Heaven.”
Atreau stared into the dark as dozens of luminous blue mists seemed to coalesce and then dissipate. Human figures stretched and twisted up from the blackness. Atreau shifted his attention back to Javier before he could recognize the agonized faces.
“If it is the Black Fire, and the wards fail, what do we do to stop it?” Atreau asked. “Could your master destroy it? Or even Skellan?”
“I don’t know if any of us could stop it. At least not before it destroyed half our world. Alizadeh is searching for answers. The few surviving Waarihivu dispersed with their secrets long ago, but some traces of their spells may linger in places like this.” Javier gestured to the murky darkness behind him. “Hylanya will likely have a great deal to share with us when she arrives. But nothing is certain at this point, except that Crown Hill and the Circle of Wisteria played key roles in keeping Cadeleon safe for hundreds of years.”
“In other words,” Atreau said, “the dead Bahiim is desperate for good reason, and if someone doesn’t take over the Circle of Wisteria soon then we’re all fucked?”
“You always did have such a way with words,” Javier replied. Then he drew the paper he’d held earlier from his cloak. To Atreau it appeared blank. But seeing the way Javier studied it, he had no doubt that troubling correspondence lay across its surface.
“For Fedeles?” Atreau asked.
“I’m asking so much of him . . . ,” Javier murmured. Then he looked up from the page. “This is for him.” He held the paper out and Atreau took it. It felt like a sheet of frost against his palm.
“Is there anything I should tell him?” Atreau asked.
“Tell him that I miss him and that all of us in the north are safe and well,” Javier replied. “But don’t share my theories with him—particularly not about the Black Fire.”
“Why not?”
“Because he’s already afraid of how much power he wields and what harm he could do. If he knew that so many lives were in his hands, I don’t know that he could stand the burden,” Javier said quietly. Then he added, “And I could be wrong, after all.”
He wanted to be wrong, Atreau realized. For all their sakes, he was hoping to be wrong. The thought made Atreau all the more certain that he wasn’t.
Atreau nodded and folded the paper away.
“This is for you to keep other spells at bay.” Javier lifted the two white stones to Atreau’s bare chest and they melted against his skin, leaving him shivering and the hair on his arms standing on end.
Then without warning, Javier grasped him in a crushingly tight hug, as if this was a last goodbye, forever. His frigid body chilled Atreau and a sense of hopelessness seemed to seep into his heart. Javier knew more than he’d said—and had reason to fear that this might be their final exchange.
“What is it that—”Atreau began to ask.
Javier shook his head, then placed his hand against Atreau’s chest and gently pushed him back a step.
And in an instant Atreau was standing alone in a dim hallway. His lungs ached and his mouth tasted like it was full of dust. His muscles shuddered to shake free of the icy chill that had permeated him. Belatedly he realized how unusually light the hall appeared.
He turned to see Narsi peering out from the bedroom door, holding his small oil lamp. His curly hair stood in disarray. An inviting warmth seemed to radiate from the bare skin of his chest.
“I thought I heard a knock.” Narsi glanced down the hall.
“So you did, but I’m afraid my caller has already come and gone.”
“Was that . . . ,” Narsi began, but then he appeared to change his mind. “You look half frozen, are you all right?”
Atreau opened his mouth to assure him that he was fine. This once the words didn’t come. Narsi set the lamp aside and stepped nearer to him. The gentle concern in his expression was no doubt a reflection of his training as a physician; he probably possessed a very charming bedside manner. But just now Atreau didn’t care if Narsi’s compassion merely reflected his professional skill. He needed something—anything—to purge the cold futility that gripped him.
“Indulge me, will you?” Atreau asked.
“Of course, what can I—” Narsi went quiet as Atreau leaned into him, wrapping his arms around the warm skin of his bare back.
To Atreau’s immense relief, Narsi remained quiet and returned his embrace, with a welcoming affability. He gently rubbed the chill from Atreau’s skin, his long fingers tracing over Atreau’s shoulders and back. Where Javier’s grip had filled him with despair, Narsi’s touch sent thrills of heat coursing along the small of his back and down his thighs. Atreau leaned into Narsi’s naked body and felt Narsi’s breath catch with excitement. Atreau’s pulse quickened as longing throbbed through his loins. He’d nearly forgotten what it felt like to hold someone without weighing the strategic value of their desire. Narsi asked nothing of him and offered nothing but shared company. His caresses were affectionate and honest.
