Ranispara froze as her gaze found the Queen of All Trees. Her radiant presence stretched across the half mile of grass and wildflowers separating them. It wrapped around them both whispering something too soft for their conscious minds to parse. Then the Queen of All Trees retreated into the forest.
“Did you just see—” Ranispara’s voice trailed off when the younger woman found no words worthy of describing Shayari’s legendary Queen.
Inari grasped her best friend’s arm and turned her. “I saw her too. I guess she’s not a myth after all.” She offered her friend a bemused smile, and Ranispara accepted it with a head shake.
“I guess not.” Ranispara’s face clouded, and she toyed with the end of her waist-length braid. “What were we talking about before she showed up? It was important.”
Inari spread her hands in defeat. She’d forgotten why she’d ventured out of the mountain in the first place. There had been a reason, but what was it? “I don’t know, but I should go. I left my son at a party.”
“Yeah, and I have a crisis to get back to.”
“Oh? Care to share?”
“Not unless you can produce Sarn. We need him, but God only knows where he goes during the day.”
“Maybe I can. You see the young man down by the river?”
“The one walking up the gangplank to the ferry or the one writing on a clipboard?”
“The latter one with the clipboard, he’s the friend you told me about. He knows Sarn.”
“So that's him. Thank you. I’ll go make my acquaintance then.” Ranispara broke into a run but slowed when Inari called out to her.
“Are we still on for later? Assuming this situation is cleared up and Jerlo lets you off tonight? You owe me details. I expect payment in full for my tip.”
“Of course, I’ll bring the wine. You bake something gooey. With luck, I’ll have good news.” Ranispara finger-waved then ran toward the Ranger charging toward the mountain.
Inari turned and struck out for the trailhead and the winding path up Mount Eredren’s south face to her gleaming doors and her son, who was likely waiting for her return. But in her belly, unease twisted, and every step only magnified it. As she walked, she slipped a hand into her basket and withdrew a card. She took a breath then flipped it over revealing the Empress. The cards were telling her to listen to her intuition and it was presaging trouble. Ice skittered up her back.
Hearing voices behind her, Inari shoved the card back into her basket just in case the men following her were Rangers. Nolo would be scandalized if he ever found out about her tarot deck. She quickened her pace. If trouble was brewing, she’d best fetch Nerule and prepare to meet it, preferably while armed for bear. If she couldn’t have her best friend at her back, she could at least have a blade at the ready. Inari palmed a dagger and hiked up her skirt with her free hand.
J.C. staggered under the weight of his cross. It had swelled up until it barely fit inside the tunnel. He shook his head regretfully.
“I can’t jump us any further. We must walk the rest of the way.”
Sarn didn’t need to check his map. He recognized this tunnel from earlier. “It’s not far. Can you manage? I can help if you can’t. I’m stronger than I look.”
J.C. nodded. “I can manage. After all, this is my burden. You have yours.” He gestured to the marks on Sarn’s hand.
“I never had a chance to ask her about these.” Sarn fisted his marked hand. It felt strange—like it belonged to someone else. He relaxed his hand then held it up to J.C. “Do you know how I can get rid of this?”
“Yes, the Adversary’s mark is rooted in sin. Repent those sins and do penance for them, and he’ll have no hold over you.”
Sarn regarded his son, whom he loved more than his own life and shook his head. “How can I repent something I’m not sorry for? It brought someone I love very much into the world.”
“Who?” Ran tugged Sarn’s pant leg.
“You.”
“Me?” Ran pointed to his chest and Sarn nodded. His son’s face crinkled with confusion. “I’m a sin?”
“Not you personally, just your begetting.”
“What’s ‘begetting’ mean?”
“I’ll tell you when you’re older—a lot older.”
And Sarn would too so Ran didn’t make the same mistake he had. At fifteen, when Ran was conceived, he hadn’t known where babies came from. Nine months later, a red-faced healer had explained the facts of life while he stared in utter shock at the green-eyed infant in his arms. Sarn pushed that embarrassing memory away. Maybe he’d leave that out of any future conversations about babies and their begetting.
Ran scowled. “But sins are bad, and I’m not a bad boy. Uncle Miren is.”
Sarn stared at his son. “When this is over, you’ll explain what you mean by that.”
Ran mumbled something about ‘Uncle Miren’ and kicked a pebble. It ricocheted off the wall and the darkened lumir stones screamed.
Enchanter! Light us! Kindle us!
Sarn backed away from the voices and the spent stones. They ran in ribbons paralleling their track. Thanks to his son, they’d just noticed he was there.
Kindle us! Give us your light, light-bringer! Kindle us, shouted the stones. Their voices caromed around inside Sarn’s mind, staggering him, but he caught his son’s hand and pushed on.
Yes, kindle those greedy stones. Send your power into them. That’s what he wants, said a new mind-voice.
Unnatural, screamed Sarn’s magic, momentarily drowning out the spent stones’ pleas.
“Why does every bloody thing have to talk in my head?” Sarn pressed the heel of his hand to his aching head.
J.C. swayed as a crown of thorns pierced his brow again. Blood wept from the wounds and ran down his cheek. “So many cry out for aid.”
“Then we must go to them before these stones drive me crazy with their requests. You’re sure I can’t help you?”
“You’re helping by leading the way.”
“You can help me.” Ran held his arms out to Sarn and followed up his silent request with a pleading look.
Sarn shook his head and picked his son up. Ran’s nearness quieted those voices, but not the summons. “I wish someone would carry me around.”
Ran laughed at the image his silly statement conjured. “You’re too big to carry like this, but Bear and J.C. can jump you around. That’s like being carried, but magically.”
“True.”
A green glow proceeded Sarn as he led the way, but the shadows resisted his eyes’ attempts to banish them. In response to this, more magic welled up behind his eyes making them itch and burn until he shut them.
Let us out! Screamed his magic as it banged molten fists against his closed lids.
Not until you back off. Sarn turned a bend and crushed his map every time it spawned. I can do this myself. Leave me alone.
In his arms, Ran shivered and felt for the pendant under Sarn’s tunic. “Make light Papa, please?”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
Sarn relented and let some green light spill down the tunnel and over a sea of heads. People filled the tunnel perpendicular to this one. The glow of his eyes reflected off their staring eyes. They shuffled en masse to the Ægeldar, for now. How long before they noticed him?
Had that man with the red felt hat glanced his way? Was the woman three rows back wheeling to face him? Heart pounding in fear, Sarn backed away clutching his son.
“The magic bothers you?” Ran asked, but his voice seemed to come from far away.
“Sometimes,” Sarn mumbled.
He couldn’t stop staring at the unending crowd. Where did they come from? Don’t see me. I’m not here. As those panicked thoughts circled his mind, magic slipped from its cage and roared through his veins, making his hands glow green. Stop that, he commanded his magic. They’ll see. They’ll know. Sarn took another step away from the ranks ten deep marching past.
Magic was illegal. Using it
in so public away would damn him and his son to death when that crowd stopped staring and turned on him. Any minute now, they’d notice him. I must hide. But there was nowhere to hide. Broken stones littered the ground, but none were big enough to duck behind. If they see me, my life is forfeit by law.
Sarn closed his eyes, but it was too late to hide. Thousands, according to the counter on the map flickering in and out of view in his mind, filed past them before he shut it off. Were they as blind to their surroundings as they seemed?
Kindle us! Make us glow, cried the dark lumir crystals in the walls.
“Why does the magic bother you?” Ran laid his head on his shoulder, unperturbed by the crowd. Maybe he didn’t see it. Or more likely, he trusted Sarn to keep him safe.
“Because it’s not normal.”
The word ‘normal’ bludgeoned Sarn, staggering him. Normal was those people—brown eyed, dull, and mundane as the stones under their feet. Normal men didn’t have magic.
An image flared. In it, Ran tumbled down an endless spiral of stairs until a cloud of sparkling green power caught him and flew him back into his arms. Sarn hugged his son, and Ran squeezed back—alive and unhurt.
Another image replaced the stairs. In it, he plunged his arm into a swelling black heart and pulled out thirteen ghosts. Then the scene changed to a rocky spit in a lake—the island of the pink lumir. He stood, dyed rosy in its light, channeling a grumpy spirit Bear’s power to shield at least a hundred men, women, and children.
Do I want to be normal? The question swelled in volume until its echoes drowned out all other sounds.
“Normal is boring. I like you better magically gifted,” Shade quipped, and his friend’s dark eyes glittered above a gray veil. “Now use that magic to get us out of here. My arms are tiring of all this hanging about and I’m freezing my arse off.”
For a moment, Sarn was back there, dangling from a sheer rock wall unable to recall just why he and Shade were thousands of feet above a frozen canyon. Ice cut his fingers as he climbed, and a tiny hand tugged the back of his hood. Then he remembered, the Wild Hunt had kidnapped his infant son. Shade had accompanied him on the rescue mission.
He felt again the texture of that stone, its structural planes and just where to push with his magic to cause a section of the cliff to sheer off. He squatted on that windswept cliff, touching the point where it would cleave with his infant son strapped to his back. Shade squatted next to him and laid a gloved hand over his. Behind the veil, Shade was smiling.
“On three, bring the wall down and drown out the Hunt’s call. I know you can do it.”
“What if I kill us in the process?”
“You won’t. I trust you. Three … two… one …”
And he had pushed with all his magical might. Rocks fell, knocking the Wild Huntsmen from the wall. The thud of many, many stones drowned out all other sounds. The rockfall would only delay those supernatural bastards, but that’s all they needed to escape.
Shade squeezed his shoulder. “I knew you could do it.”
The memory receded, taking Shade away as surely as death had. A sharp ache stabbed Sarn in the heart. Then a second one made his head throb as the rocks around him resumed their begging.
Kindle us, light-bringer! Kindle us, screamed miles upon miles of darkened stones.
Sarn tried to tune them out, but there were so many calling for him. I can’t light them all. There’s too many.
The question repeated: do I want to be normal?
“Yes, you do,” a hazy Jerlo said, and Sarn nodded because ‘normal’ men didn’t hear voices. But the memory dimmed as pain erased the rest of it. Only Jerlo’s voice remained. “You will figure out what normal is and you will spend every minute of every day trying to be it,” said Jerlo’s voice in his head. “Those are my orders …”
My orders …
Obey. Obey. Obey!
Yes, Master.
No! shouted his magic as it shook the bars of a cage floored by promises and barred by orders.
“Be normal,” Jerlo ordered.
The commander of the Rangers appeared in the tunnel standing ten-feet tall instead of a hair over five. His eyes were black holes sucking everything into them.
But ‘normal’ couldn’t save my son. Sarn leaned against the wall as that truism hit home. The tunnel revolved around him as the spent lumir stones screamed. A fire started in his fingers and ran up his arm as he slid down the wall. He freed a hand from his son and stared at the marks. The symbols were crawling under his skin like fat black worms. They rolled over his cheek and dove into his left eye, and the world dimmed.
Normal men aren’t marked by the Adversary. They don’t experience blackouts or lose chunks of time, and no one’s erasing their memories. Or their son’s. Sarn scrubbed both hands over his face.
Ran’s lips moved, but no sound reached Sarn even though his son stood at his shoulder clutching a handful of his sleeve.
Magic had imperiled his son far more often than it had saved the sunny tyke. The Queen of All Trees tampered with his developing mind because of me. But I wouldn’t even know she was anything more than a myth if not for magic.
“Be free, embrace normalcy. Come, sinner, thy time is nigh.”
Sarn nodded.
J.C. turned and extended his hand in entreaty. On his palm lay an invitation, and that ‘m-word’ hung between them like a silent accusation. J.C. wanted him to work magic in front of all those people.
But they’ll see. They’ll know. My magic will damn me and my son. Sarn backed away from the word, the request and a power everyone but him coveted. This was the point of no return, and it was a black shape winging toward him as the need to hide warred with the need to help.
J.C. regarded him, but his presence no longer quieted the Adversary’s voice or his offer of normalcy.
“Your magic defy, live free and satisfied. Come, sinner, thy time is nigh.”
Do I want to be a powerful mage? Sarn looked at his son, who was still mouthing questions he couldn’t hear. Or do I want to be the father my son deserves? Because the two were mutually exclusive. One path led to constant danger and the other to a quiet life if he could suppress his gift, which might also be his curse.
“Defy your magic, live free. At my side, thy time is nigh.”
The conflict raged inside Sarn as a smiling creature landed next to J.C. and held out a clawed hand. On it rested an offer.
“Magic, you tried, but normalcy’s glorified. Come, sinner, thy time is nigh. Why this hue and cry? To your dark Father fly. Come, sinner, thy time is nigh.”
After all, why not defy the magic that so often imperiled him?
I’ll Have to Confiscate That
Where are you? The Adversary scanned the crowd throwing itself at the shield, reducing it to a glimmering remnant of the brilliant veil it was just an hour before. Soon the human moths charging it would break it down, then they’d throw themselves right into his trap. But there was still no doubly-gifted mage among the masses bearing his mark.
How did you defeat my taint? The Adversary circled the sea of blank-eyed men and women cramming into the tunnel to the Ægeldar. A few had minor gifts, but none rang with power in their blood.
Where are you, Sarn? My mark should have defeated the spells hiding you and compelled you to come to me. So why didn’t it?
The next rank of entranced fools walked into the shield, and it flickered revealing patches where the spell had eroded. They pushed against it until the shield recouped enough power from its dwindling source to shove them back. But a few made it though, and those lost souls milled around until he sent them into the fiery embrace of a far more dangerous shield. Outside the Ægeldar, the rest kept coming in waves, following the dictates of the voice in their heads—his voice. His command overrode all other thoughts, but not in this doubly-gifted mage’s mind.
Why is that? What could possibly mute my call? Perhaps one of the Divine Ones could, but they wouldn’t because the covenant grante
d mankind free will. So that left two possibilities. One, this doubly-gifted mage was descended from the Magic Kind, which was governed by different rules, or two, he was one of those blasted curse breakers.
Curse breakers were nature’s way of equalizing things. All those born of curses had one major flaw—they were predisposed to continue the curses they were born under, and a curse was a recurring sin. Going against that took constant vigilance because one slip flipped them from curse breaker to curse maker. A slow smile spread across the Adversary’s face as a new plan formed.
He flew through the stone arch framing the disintegrating shield. As a spirit, the Adversary had no physical body for the shield to stop, nor did it extend into the rock surrounding it. The Queen of All Trees hadn’t anticipated his continued interest in the place. So, he passed into the Ægeldar without issue and soared over a half-mile wide chasm.
Above, an illusion hid the delicate tracery of his trap. Below, a black mist boiled under the shield. All was as it should be, save for the distant chiming of those infernal bells. Once every hour, on the hour, they rang, and their chiming set his teeth on edge. Thank the devil, the builders of this inside-out fortress hadn’t installed any of those horrible tubes in the Ægeldar. So, the bells' song didn't echo through the pit.
“I see you, ‘Father of Lies,’ hiding from the bells.” said the beast in the pit, who was also called the Ægeldar, and his laughter reverberated.
“At least I’m mobile. You’re stuck in that pit with nothing but rocks for company.”
And this was a futile conversation, one the Adversary ended by drifting away and dividing his essence. He sent part of his shadow out searching again and called to the other bits of himself he’d cast about the so-called ‘Lower Quarters’ where this ‘Sarn’ supposedly dwelt. If, Ragnes was telling the truth. Where are you, boy?
A shiver in the dark forces drew his attention to his hand where a black cord appeared. Ah, so my mark is affecting you. Hand over hand, the Adversary reeled it in after he divided again, leaving part of himself behind so he’d know when the first shield was down. It shouldn’t be long now judging by the way it guttered. That curtain of light was ready to fall. It just needed a little push then he’d nip back here to set part two of his plan in motion. With luck, he’d have time to bag a powerful mageling in between. The Adversary smiled.
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