"Do you think he understands now?" he said.
"I'll let you know when he stops gibbering," Baltazar returned.
D'haan's fingers caressed the black ring on his hand. Without transition, the ring and the blood and the wounds vanished. The color flooded back into Gove's flesh. The stains in the room remained, but all signs of trauma to the Preserver's body disappeared.
"Come along then, Your Holiness," he said as he took his place at Caleph's side. "You should have someone clean up this mess—and you have a lot of business to attend to today."
ii. Takra
They were back at the field at first light. It didn't snow overnight, so the path Syntal had formed to the statues was still there, but the ground had frozen again, trading yesterday's seeping slush for uneven ice.
"We need to find out where this was," Syntal said, indicating the toppled statue of the kneeling man. "The book could be beneath his original location. Or there could be another clue there pointing the direction we should go or the chant we should use." She cast about, looking for some sign.
"That's gonna be hard," Takra said. The statue was already partially embedded in the earth, and looked like it had been that way for a long time. The snow cover made it impossible to examine the ground for clues, and they didn't dare call more Detonations when the chants could risk destroying whatever they were looking for.
"Yeah." Syn knelt next to the fallen statue and started feeling around the exposed stone for catches or marks. "Look at this thing. It's missing an arm, its face is practically worn off . . . what if he originally set it up so it was pointing somewhere, or I was supposed to recognize it?"
Takra waded into the snow to check the other statues, looking for some kind of pattern. They were in similar disrepair—toppled or leaning, missing limbs and heads. "Three thousand years, right? I'm surprised they're even still here." She found one that was still standing and started checking it over, the cold stone rough beneath her fingers.
"Yeah," Syn agreed. "We're lucky they're so heavy." She sighed and got back to her feet. "Nothing on the exposed side of it I can find. Then again it's so worn down it would be hard to tell. And I can only check half of it—the other side's buried." She tisked, frustrated. "Come on, Lars. You're usually smarter than this. All the other tests were durable."
She fell into a quiet stare, her eyes searching through the problem, and then chanted Hover. The statue trembled as it tried to obey, the ice around it quivering. Syntal pressed steadily downward on the air in front of her, applying firm pressure.
Be careful. Takra kept the warning to herself. The other girl was already falling into a poor temper, and Takra wasn't in the mood to argue. She finished checking her own statue and found nothing, just as Syn's pulled from the frozen earth with a sharp crack.
"Sehk." Syntal tried to push the floating statue through the air to the cleared part of the field, but she had to give it a good shove to get it started, and its momentum nearly carried it over the path and back into the snow. "Catch it!" she shouted, then lowered it back to the ground before Takra could respond, dragging it along the jagged ice just enough to slow it to a stop before it went back into the snow. She cursed again. "Sometimes I hate that spell."
"Did it break coming out of the ground?" Takra asked.
"Yeah. I think so." Syn peered ruefully at the stone chunk that had cracked off, then went to the statue again and started scraping the clinging, frozen dirt off the side that had been buried.
This is hopeless, Takra thought. While Syntal was busy, she crossed to the girl's pack, pulled out the fifth wardbook, and checked over her notes.
There was the death cloud spell Syn had shown her on the trip. Ironflesh. A spell that allowed mental communication. The illusion spell that had led them here, of course. And two more Syn hadn't completely defined in her notes, but had labeled as dangerous—one with the ominous note that it would destroy the chanter's body.
Takra was tempted to look at those—they had the allure of the forbidden—but something pulled her back to the telepathy spell. Forget the death cloud, Takra thought, thinking back to their conversation in the wagon. I bet mental communication would be a lifesaver on the battlefield. She delved deeper, reading Syntal's notes on the spell.
Anchor: another mind. Channel: invisible to the eye. Can't be disrupted by normal physical barriers. Allows mental communication over long distance with one individual for as long as the spell is borne, but limited by its requirement that it must be initiated by touch. Tested with Harth over a distance of three miles in the city. Physical contact does not need to be maintained after initial connection is formed. Functioned as expected; no indicators for sixth wardbook detected.
Initiated by touch. Well, that would put a damper on its usefulness. I wonder if that restriction is coming from the way the chant is designed, or by how many Seals are open. Instantaneous communication across the kingdom could be an invaluable asset in the war, if it could be initiated from anywhere. She wondered if Syntal really saw the potential here.
Anchor: another mind.
She chewed over the words, the seed of an idea starting to sprout.
"You said in class that the second wardbook—the one you lot found in Veiling Green—had some kind of . . . life in it? That you snuffed out with Ves?"
"Right," Syntal grunted, focused on her work. "It wasn't really alive, it just had a Pulse message that made it alive for purposes of the spell."
Feeling suddenly stupid that neither of them had thought of it earlier, Takra chanted a quick Spellsight. A gentle glow welled up within the kneeling statue's head.
Another mind.
Takra flipped to the pages that held the telepathy chant and Ascended as she crossed to the statue. Sensing her sudden connections to the Pulse, Syn glanced up.
"Hey." The word was heat and noise, the concept of irritation and an abrupt anxiety, vanishing into the open cold. "Leave the book alone."
"I'm going to try something," Takra said. She set a hand to the statue's head and chanted. The spell sought out an anchor and found it—a mind, as artificial as the life that Syn had detected within the lock on the second wardbook. She Descended, closing herself off from the Pulse's infinite truths, and whispered, Hello?
TWO HUNDRED TWELVE PACES WEST, an alien voice answered in her mind. A thrill of success shot through her.
"What?" Syntal said. "Did it work?" She took back her book and looked at the spell Takra had just chanted. "Telepathy with the statue. Sehk, of course."
"Two hundred paces west, it said," Takra relayed as she started walking.
Behind her, Syntal finished her own chant. "I've got it too. I should have thought of this."
THREE HUNDERD FORTY-SEVEN PACES NORTH, the voice said. Takra followed its directions, now well off the path Syn had made and slogging through the snow once more. The trip took her out of the field and back to town proper. She passed a small leathers shop, shuttered for the winter, and ended up in the middle of the road.
BENEATH. THE BETRAYED KNOW THE WAY.
Takra smiled as Syntal caught up to her. "This is it."
iii. Lyseira
"How long will you be staying?" Tollin asked.
Lyseira gave him an apologetic smile. "Not long. We have to report back to the King, and there are others who need our help. A friend of mine wants to finish investigating something in town here, and then we need to return."
"Of course." Tollin fairly glowed with the fervor of his conversion last night. She recognized the feeling—she had felt it herself as she realized the magnitude of the Winterwheat miracle, and seen it countless times in those who joined the Kesprey. But now he hesitated, a wariness creeping into his eyes.
"What is it?" Lyseira said. They were back in his study at the temple, at his request. Just the two of them and Seth.
He chuckled nervously and shook his head. "It's ridiculous. I forsook the Church I was raised in last night. Publicly broke my vow to them. I'm a new man today, I can feel it, and
I'm never going back—and yet, it's still hard to violate oaths I've made to them."
"I understand," Lyseira said, "believe me. It took me a long time to break out of their yoke. But I'm guessing it's important, or you wouldn't have brought me here."
"It is." He took a decisive breath. "The Fatherlord mustered a thousand troops in Jacobsford, just before the snows fell. They were ready to march. When spring finally breaks, I expect they will."
Lyseira glanced at Seth, a question in her eyes. She didn't know the geography on this side of the kingdom.
Tollin read her confusion and clarified. "It's northwest of here, across the Ley. A four-day journey on foot, when the weather's good. Faster by horseback. I was told they'd be coming to hold Colmon against Isaic while a greater force marched from Tal'aden, but the winter came before they set out. They're still there, so far as I know, assuming their commander can keep them fed and engaged." He sought her eyes, made sure she heard what he said next. "They're still coming in the spring."
"And they'll kill you for converting."
Tollin nodded, a vein in his neck trembling. Suddenly Lyseira realized exactly how much courage it had taken for him to accept her gifts. "We will be here," she promised. "The Kesprey for certain, and as many soldiers as I can convince the King to send. You're important to him—the people, of course, but also the strategic location of this place. I've heard him say as much. We'll defend you."
He didn't look as relieved as she would have expected. "When can they come? They won't wait until the spring to march, I hope."
"I . . . well, I don't know." She wanted to promise more, that of course they would fortify Colmon now, that every precaution would be taken. "I'll leave some of my people here, but there aren't a lot of us on this trip to begin with. The troops will be the King's decision. But I'm sure he'll send them in plenty of time."
"Tell him how we helped you," Tollin said. "Even telling you about this is enough to land my head on the block."
"I will," she assured him. "And I know he'll be deeply grateful. When we know more, we can send a bird to―"
A sharp knock came at the door. "Father?"
"Yes, come in, Quentin."
An initiate of thirteen opened the door. "You have to get to safety. There was a tornado near the old statues, and now something's exploded."
iv. Takra
"Be careful." This time Takra did say it, because it needed to be said.
"I'm not worried about the book," Syntal returned. "The first one was underwater for three thousand years and didn't even get wet. He protected them well." She started chanting another Detonation.
"I'm not talking about the book," Takra said. "I'm talking about―"
The ground exploded, peppering the area with chunks of frozen earth and sharp rocks. Takra flinched and threw up an arm for cover, but one of them glanced off her shoulder, sending a stinging jolt down her arm. The crowd that had gathered just up the road gave another audible gasp. A child wailed.
"I'm talking about the townsfolk! It's dangerous!"
After thoroughly inspecting the area with Spellsight and a failed attempt to Hover downward through the ground where the voice had directed, Syntal had resorted to brute force. First a Cyclone to clear away the snow, then a Detonation to soften the earth enough for digging. That had blasted away a good part of the road, leading Syntal to the idea of multiple castings to drill her way downward.
"And you're scaring them," Takra added quietly, hoping to get through to her. "Let's just get some shovels from the wagon and dig. You've softened up the ground enough for that. Lyseira's just brought these people around. We don't want to scare them off."
Syntal surveyed her work, her eyes already gleaming from the morning's chants. "One more," she said.
"Syn!" Angbar pushed through the crowd and broke into a run. "What are you doing?"
"I told you last night. There's a wardbook here."
"M'sai, but that doesn't mean you have to blow up half the town!"
"The voice said, 'Beneath.' We have to dig."
"Then let's get a shovel! You're scaring the sehk out of everyone!"
"I said the same thing," Takra put in.
Syntal frowned. "This is faster."
"Syn." Angbar grabbed her hand. "Please."
She looked again at the crater she'd blasted into the dirt, already wide enough to block off most of the road and nearly four feet deep, and sighed. "Fine."
Angbar nodded at Takra. She ran back to the wagon, grabbed a few shovels, and returned to find Lyseira and Seth had joined the dig site. They were arguing with Syntal as Tollin led the townspeople away.
"No, I wasn't expecting to find a wardbook on this trip, but there's no way I'm leaving without it."
"No one's asking you to leave without it," Lyseira said.
"But you can't just start blasting spells around in the middle of town," Seth said. "You've terrified everyone. We are here to help these people."
"You came for that—we came to look for the wardbook. And we found it." Syntal saw Takra and took one of the shovels.
"I came for both," Takra said, trying to catch Lyseira's eye, but the other girl didn't even look at her. She'd heard stories about how this group could argue sometimes. She'd thought they were exaggerated. Not anymore.
"You need to get control of yourself," Seth said to Syntal's back as she made her way into the crater. "You could've killed someone. Again."
Syn spared him a glower when she reached the bottom. "That was not my fault. The horses spooked—it wouldn't have happened if Glora and her thugs hadn't been there in the first place. Even the King thought so."
"Her 'thugs' were a bunch of hungry kids," Lyseira retorted.
Takra had already heard this argument too many times to listen to it again. She wasn't exactly sure how she felt about it. She hadn't been at the Winterwheat field when the accident happened, and she liked Syntal and Lyseira both too much to want to get in the middle of their fight, but Syntal was right about one thing: there was a wardbook to find. She offered Angbar her other shovel, then joined Syntal in the crater—who had turned away from the discussion and become fully focused on digging.
"She's not listening," Seth said. "She never does. She just doesn't care."
"Let's just get this over with," Angbar said, "so we can get out of here."
To Takra's surprise, Seth took Angbar's shovel and came down to dig. The group fell into a tense silence, punctuated only by the scraping of shovels. After a few minutes, Seth's blade clanged off of something in the dirt.
"Something here," he said, but Syntal had already hurried over and knelt, clearing the dirt away to reveal a broad vein of some kind of translucent gemstone. It glittered in the winter sun.
"What is it?" Angbar asked. Syntal ignored him and kept clearing dirt, eventually exposing a swath of the stuff wide enough to stand on.
"Looks like diamond, almost," Takra said.
Seth prodded the stone with his shovel. "Hard enough for it. I can't even make a dent."
"There are marks," Syntal said, chanting a quick Spellsight. Takra did the same, and then saw them: chanter's runes, like those in her spellbook, somehow carved beneath the surface of the stone. No, not carved . . . shaped from the stone itself. Discolorations of the material formed in three dimensions to make spell runes. Now that she could make them out, she saw they were spaced evenly, every few inches or so, the shapes forming an intricate, graceful script that spread in all directions. She couldn't imagine how long it had taken to create or how it had been done.
"Do you recognize any of them?" she asked.
Syn shook her head. "They're chanted, but the spell is really weak. I can't understand it . . . something about obfuscation. Hiding."
"Well, it is buried," Angbar observed.
Syntal chewed her lip, thinking. Takra cycled through the fifth-Seal spells again in her head, trying to think of one that might help. "Beneath," Syntal muttered. "The betrayed know the way.
&nbs
p; "Beneath."
She sat and opened the fifth wardbook, gave her notes a quick consultation, and flipped to the spell she had labeled with the warning that it would "destroy the chanter's body."
"What are you doing?" Takra said.
"This chant . . . I've never tried it. It looked too dangerous. It affects your body somehow, but I couldn't tell how exactly."
"You said in your notes that it would kill you."
"I said it would destroy your body. I didn't say it would kill you." She put a finger to the page and Ascended, studying the runes of the spell and trying to divine their secrets. Takra did the same, reading over her shoulder, but the spell was the most complex she'd ever seen. The anchor was the chanter's own body, she could make out that much, but the rest perplexed her.
"Why would he put a spell in here that would destroy the one who used it?" Syntal muttered.
"Maybe another test," Angbar said. "You know how he likes those."
But Syntal wasn't convinced. "I'm going to try it."
"You can't!" Takra said. "What if it kills you?"
"I don't think it will."
Let me, Takra almost said. You're too important to the school. But the offer flickered through her mind and died. She wasn't as reckless as Syntal, wasn't willing to take that kind of risk.
"Syn―" Angbar started, but she had already begun chanting, rippling her fingers along her arms and body. The color leaked away from the places she touched—not just the tone of her skin but the hue of her clothes, the color itself. Then she began to lose definition, the contours of her body growing fuzzy as the grey consumed her. She gasped as the spell finished, but the sound cut off as she transformed entirely to a shadow of herself.
The wardbook plunged through her lap, thudding to the stone—and she fell through the stone, vanishing like morning mist.
Of Dark Things Waking (The Redemption Chronicle Book 3) Page 28