Lord of Secrets

by Breanna Teintze

  It was more or less the same at the other gate. Jaern lingered for a moment in front of the mosaic, touching the empty eye sockets with two slender, searching fingers. ‘So that was what woke me,’ he murmured. ‘He took my eyes, and thought I wouldn’t feel it.’

  ‘Jaern,’ I said.

  The false god stirred himself and walked into the foyer without saying anything. He found a place among the pictograms to scribe an incantation to deactivate the lock, and the machinery was obedient.

  As were the creatlaches. The rest of us hung back as the gate opened, but Jaern stood in the doorway, watching the bone creatures rushing towards him. He held up a hand and they all stopped.

  ‘What were they for?’ I crept forwards until I was almost beside him. The creatlaches couldn’t have been guardians, per se, not if they were his. He would have wanted someone to find him, not have been trying to keep them away.

  ‘Work. Something to fill the hours.’ He didn’t turn towards me, but that peculiar smile played at the corner of his mouth. ‘To keep from going mad, mostly. Otherwise to bring me something with a beating heart, on the off-chance they ever encountered it.’ He snapped his fingers.

  The creatlaches fell apart. One moment they were sprightly and animated, a pack of spindly dogs watching their master; the next, they were nothing but a pile of old bones.

  Something with a beating heart.

  That was why the creatlach had grabbed Brix and carried her off, instead of trying to kill her. Jaern’s plan had been to catch something with a beating heart, remove the heart while it was still viable and . . .

  ‘Oh, lovely,’ I muttered. ‘A creatlach with a heartbeat. You wouldn’t have needed me.’

  He kicked a skull away from him and walked to the base of the black steps, staring out into the cavern. ‘Dull, I grant you, but the best I could do at the time. Lead on.’

  Brix and I had made it to the carved pilgrim’s path when Lorican spoke.

  ‘Lead on where?’ The Erranter had positioned himself with the advantage of the high ground, perched halfway up the steps. He had produced a dagger from somewhere on his person. ‘You’re not thinking of bringing him through Deeptown? Are you telling me he’s safe?’ He pointed at Jaern with the knife.

  Lorican was right, of course. The people of Deeptown were innocents and I had no right to unleash a mad necromancer on them. But I still had to get Jaern to the surface. The strap of my satchel dug into my shoulder, the doll and the gems heavy inside. I had a shrewd idea where the other two stones I needed were, given that Acarius had been the one to take them. Once I had all the pieces assembled, Jaern would show me how to use the thing, if only to retrieve his own soul. Then I would know whether I could trade the doll, or whether I needed it to help Acarius. For once, I knew where I was going next – if I could just get there.

  ‘Isn’t there any other way out?’ Brix glanced from me to Lorican. ‘You talked about a door in the Spires, could we use that?’

  ‘We still have to go through the village to get to that exit,’ Lorican said, ‘and I’m not taking that man through a crowd of children and sick old people until someone tells me who he is.’

  Before I could say anything, Jaern had stalked back up the stairs. ‘I’m the Prince-Who-Speaks-to-Ghosts,’ he said. ‘Lord of Secrets. Heir of the Unseen. Star-Who-Bedded-the-Moon. Jaern.’ He halted three steps below Lorican and spread his arms open, like a dancer. ‘Or, conversely, I’m a madman who thinks I’m those things, but who isn’t carrying any weapons. Search me, if you like. As a rule, I’m uninterested in villages, but even if I wasn’t, one unarmed man can’t usually do that much damage.’

  Lorican held his ground, apparently disinclined to nose through Jaern’s clothes and put himself where the necromancer could grapple for the knife.

  ‘If anybody in Deeptown is harmed, Lorican has promised to kill me,’ I said. Break the bottle, wreck the soul. I had the satisfaction of seeing a flash of startled rage pass across Jaern’s eyes, but I was watching Lorican. I needed him to understand what I was asking him to do. He wasn’t recoiling in horror, which was a good start. Lorican had to seem willing to kill me for this ploy to work.

  The necromancer’s upper lip curled. ‘And you both respect promises, I see. How uplifting.’ He set his teeth in something that was certainly not a smile. ‘Then I’ll make a promise of my own, not to touch anyone in this rotting village of yours. Is that good enough?’

  Lorican searched my face, his fingers tight on the hilt of his dagger. For a moment I wondered whether it was really a ploy – maybe Lorican really was willing to kill me. He descended the steps, put the knife point to my ribs and looked at Jaern. ‘Move, then.’

  And, after a long, terrible moment where none of us breathed, the god . . . moved.

  It was difficult to discern how much time had passed when we reached Deeptown. It must have been several hours, because the boy we had left standing sentry had been replaced by a surly fellow with a grey beard, leaning on a crooked spear. He scowled at us as we emerged from the tunnel. ‘Lorican? All right, there?’

  ‘Aye.’ Lorican sounded unconvinced. ‘Just leaving, thank the goddess.’

  ‘I thought there were only three of you,’ the old man said. ‘Arol said—’ The old man’s eyes dropped to Jaern’s wrist, where the magic still glowed. ‘What’s the matter with your hand?’

  ‘Magic.’ Jaern’s long fingers caressed the air. He purred with menace. ‘Useful stuff. For instance, I can use it to turn recalcitrant people inside out.’

  ‘No.’ Lorican prodded my ribs with the knife.

  Jaern’s eyes flicked to Lorican, practically glowing with resentment and doubt. ‘You’re his friend. You wouldn’t hurt him.’

  ‘I’ll do what I have to.’ Lorican took a handful of the back of my collar. I could smell his sweat, sour and fear-tinged, and hear the rasp of his ragged, quick breath. I watched the calculation pass through Jaern’s eyes, weighing the likelihood of my death against his desire to act.

  The guard thumped his spear butt against the ground. ‘What’s going on, here?’

  Brix slipped past me, and smiled at the guard. ‘Didn’t they tell you why we were in the tunnel?’ She fluttered a gesture back towards Jaern. ‘This one, my cousin – my aunt Nedda’s boy – went down mushroom hunting three days ago. Lost himself, of course. We found him without a bit of water left in his flask, up to his elbows in that glowing lichen. He’s not talking sense, half-stupid with thirst and hunger. Is there something you need from us, or can we get some food and water into him? I’d be so grateful if we could.’

  The guard’s frown softened. ‘Reckon he was lucky to have someone to go after him,’ he said. ‘There’s many a one that never comes back from those tunnels. But I still need to take you back to the Lady Mother’s pavilion before you leave. There’s been trouble above, wizards on the hunt, militia insisting there’s rebellion brewing, talk of a bounty—’

  Jaern had listened to all this with cold, intense distaste. His fingers flickered again, and suddenly he held a gold-and-sapphire necklace.

  The guard stopped mid-word, staring at the necklace. ‘What’s that?’

  ‘It’s yours, little father,’ Jaern said. ‘I’m bored. My . . . cousin seems to like you and I’d like to get up into the sunlight; so take it, let us go and be quiet.’

  I squeezed my eyes shut and then opened them again. The necklace still seemed solid enough, except for a tell-tale shimmer just before my eyes focused on it. That shimmer meant it was an illusion – an incredibly good one. Jaern was offering the guard so much empty air.

  But it wasn’t just illusion; there was something else, a buzzing in my ears. The necromancer was running a second spell, doubtless one that was rendering the guard and everyone in range of Jaern’s voice more suggestible. My skin prickled with aversion. Apart from the fact that I dislike being yanked down to the level of the average cabbage-brained idiot, it made me uneasy that I still couldn’t see where Jaern had the spel
l scribed. It could have been under his tunic, I supposed, but when had he written it? I hadn’t taken my eyes off him since we’d left the ossuary. Even if he’d had it scribed before, how in the hells could he have known he would need this particular incantation?

  ‘Go . . . along then.’ The guard took the ‘necklace’ and turned it over in his hands. ‘It’s all right.’

  Lorican waited until we were a decent distance from the guard and then spoke in a rough whisper. ‘That won’t stop him from telling the Lady Mother about your pale friend, as soon as we’re out of sight.’

  I didn’t stop walking. Having Jaern around people was bad, but stopping with him in a confined space like that cave was even worse. ‘So let him. What’s she going to do with the information? Charge us another spoonful of cinnamon?’

  ‘Didn’t you hear him?’ Lorican sounded nearly frantic. ‘The Guild wizards have been asking around. The king’s militia thinks someone is talking treason, and they’ll blame the Erranter. They always blame the Erranter. It’s why security was so tight when I brought you down here, with the Mothers sitting at the doors themselves. They’re sorceresses, Gray. What do you think the Guild would do to the Lady Mother if they decided to arrest her? What do you think would happen to all the people down here who depend on her for charms and medicine?’

  ‘We’re already leaving as quickly as we can,’ I said. ‘If Keir is still divining, my signature in the scrying will be moving away from Deeptown.’

  ‘Besides,’ Jaern said, ‘nobody’s going to tell the Lady Mother.’ He slowed as we reached the edges of the murky village, taking in the buildings, bemused.

  ‘I suppose an illusory necklace is supposed to see to that,’ I said.

  ‘The spell will see to that.’ Jaern pointed to a cooking fire a short distance away, where a woman stood turning a spit. ‘She’s cooking a duck.’ He sniffed at the air. ‘Gods, that’s savoury.’

  I frowned. ‘I didn’t see you cast anything else.’

  ‘I’ve a mind to have some of that duck,’ Jaern said. ‘Wonder how hard it would be to make her give it to me.’

  ‘What spell?’ I snapped. Lorican’s grip on my collar had tightened again; I had to talk quickly, before he decided to keep his promise after all. ‘And don’t tell me that you need to eat, you’ve been in a hole for centuries.’

  ‘Eating isn’t necessary, but I deny myself no pleasure. And the spell – I gave it to him with the illusion. He won’t be in a condition to talk to anyone for several hours. I kept my word.’ Jaern met Lorcian’s eyes. ‘I didn’t touch the peasant, guard dog. Not a scratch. I just shut his mouth. You stood there and watched me do it. And you . . . didn’t kill Gray, did you?’ He grinned, sharp, feral, and took half a step towards the fire. ‘She’s looking at me. Shall we go over?’

  ‘Stop him.’ Brix’s voice climbed high with urgency. ‘Stop him now, he’ll hurt her.’

  I wrenched myself away from Lorican and grabbed Jaern’s wrist, the glowing one. The magic pulsed and thrummed beneath my hand, as intoxicating as the beat of a song. His head snapped around.

  ‘I’ll get you food somewhere else,’ I said. ‘Leave these people alone.’

  He didn’t move, except for the by-now familiar amused twitch in the corner of his mouth as he contemplated my hand on him. ‘Or what?’

  Lorican’s knife blurred. In another instant the point rested against Jaern’s back at the level of his left kidney, presuming he still had kidneys.

  ‘Or I’ll kill you,’ Lorican hissed. ‘Maybe Gray’s my friend, but you’re not.’

  Jaern laughed. The black eyes found me, glittering in the dim light. ‘Saints, we can’t have that.’ He twisted gently away from me. ‘Take us up under the stars, then, Gray.’

  *

  When we emerged from the abandoned house and into the streets of Ri Dana, it was dark, lichen-light patterns crawling over the inner wall and up the narrow, lovely towers within it. The salt taste on the wind was a relief after the close, musty atmosphere in Deeptown, but all I felt was exposed. Keir Esras was still somewhere in Ri Dana, and he was apparently harassing Erranter to find me.

  Jaern halted as soon as we got on to the cobblestones, sniffing again. ‘Fresh air.’

  ‘With a delightful bouquet of sewage and somebody’s frying mutton,’ I said, shoving him forwards. ‘Charming as the hells, but we’re not stopping here.’ I turned to Lorican. ‘Look, I know you’ve done a lot already, but can we spend tonight, just tonight, at your tavern?’ I reached in my bag and drew out an emerald, the one that didn’t have a rune carved on its face. My thumb slid across the gem’s facets. I had planned to give it to Brix – it was certainly worth more than forty pieces of silver, if she sold it in the right places. But we needed a safe place to spend the night, and I couldn’t think of anywhere else to hide a silver-haired necromancer.

  Lorican’s eyes fell on the gem in my hand. ‘Put it away,’ he said harshly. ‘I don’t want pay. Some things don’t work that way.’

  I stuffed the emerald back in my bag and took out a pencil. The rebuke stung. I had nearly got him buried alive, so why not take money from me? Why not let me repair my mistake? It didn’t make sense, this level of loyalty and friendship and touchy honour. What had Acarius done for the man? ‘Sorry,’ I said stiffly, while I scribed a string of runes around my left wrist. ‘Didn’t mean to insult you.’

  Lorican gave a grunt that was more dismissal than forgiveness. He was looking up at the eaves of the buildings, where the stars were barely visible. ‘It’s after midnight. We have to get off the damn street, before one of the militia patrols picks us up. I don’t think whatever spell you’re writing will be much good against five or six guardsmen.’

  I was more worried about Keir than the militia. Keir could always use the militia to hunt us, but they were at least nominally loyal to the king and I didn’t think he wanted to depend on them. There was always a chance that if they arrested me someone might listen to what I had to say about Keir and his followers and their designs against the throne.

  Then again, the fact that I couldn’t feel Keir divining didn’t mean that he wasn’t employing other means to find us. I wanted to be behind locked doors, with time to sleep and think and figure out what in the hells I was going to do. I thought it would be difficult choosing whether to destroy the doll or use it to ransom Acarius, but now I had to decide whether I believed Jaern. If the necromancer was telling the truth, destroying the doll would mean condemning my grandfather to suffering much worse than death.

  I shivered.

  ‘Let’s go,’ I said. ‘Quickly.’

  Lorican led the way back to Jinsleet Street. I let Jaern go in front of me, both because I didn’t want to take my eyes off him and because I wanted to walk beside Brix. After we had gone a little way, her hand found my elbow.

  ‘I need to talk to you.’ Brix shot me a sideways look. ‘I need to know what happened, down there.’

  ‘I found a necromancer and an artefact.’ I skirted a puddle. ‘Watch your step.’

  ‘That wasn’t really what I meant, but very well.’ Her fingers tightened around my joint as she hopped over the puddle. ‘Tell me about this artefact. You said it’s something you’re going to use to rescue your grandfather. Is it a treasure, then?’

  ‘Not exactly. It looks like a fantastically ugly baby. I think it’s an alchemical tool.’ I put my hand back in my bag and grabbed the stiff limbs of the doll, pulling it up enough for her to see its bulbous head and empty eyes. ‘It’s like the Empty One idol back in Fenwydd, but socketed.’

  ‘Ugly is right.’ She frowned at the doll’s face. ‘I wonder what is meant to go in the sockets. Do you know what it does?’

  ‘Stones carved with runes, and not really. I only have Jaern’s word for it.’ A prickle of caution passed over me. I tucked the doll back into the bag, my fingertips brushing the uncarved emerald. ‘Why the interest?’

  She let out a small, frustrated sigh. ‘We nearly died to get the
thing, forgive me for being curious whether it was worth it. Did you also find the stones that fit in the sockets, or was this whole thing a wild goose chase?’

  ‘Two stones are still missing,’ I muttered, ‘but I know where they are, so not a goose chase, as long as I can figure out how the bloody thing is supposed to go together.’

  ‘Maybe I can help you figure out how it works, if it’s the same pattern as the Fenwydd idol.’

  I halted. ‘Why in the hells would you do that?’ Her hand was still on my arm. It was almost as distracting as the way she was looking at me – frustrated, searching, surprised. Jaern and Lorican were getting too far ahead. ‘Come on.’ I couldn’t quite force myself to pull away from her. ‘We have to keep up.’

  We turned down what seemed like the fiftieth dark alley. Then the stench hit me and I recognised the back of the tavern.

  ‘Home,’ Lorican said.

  ‘Home could do with a lime treatment or six to keep the smell down.’ Jaern was contemplating the alley with a disgusted sneer. ‘Are we staying here?’

  ‘Just for the night,’ said Lorican.

  ‘I don’t see why I should tolerate a sewage pit even for an hour.’ Jaern crossed his arms.

  ‘Those of us without handmade bodies need to sleep, and I won’t have you wandering Ri Dana by yourself.’ I didn’t sound particularly authoritative, even in my own head, but the words served their purpose and instantly fixed Jaern’s attention on me. Now I just had to figure out how to get a spell off, without him realising what I was doing and taking action against me. Maybe if I made him angry?

  ‘How sweet.’ Jaern turned towards me. Apparently he was already angry. ‘And what if I want—’

  ‘I want you to stay here.’

  Something pulled inside me. It was the most disconcerting thing I had ever felt, like a clay jar of bees, vibrating in the middle of my being. It wasn’t me.

  Jaern blinked, his mouth still open, stopped mid-syllable. Mingled fury and confusion blazed on his face. I struggled for concentration against the weird tug of otherness. I had to cast while he was quiet, or I wouldn’t get another chance. I had to—