by Sean Hinn
She listened as she waited. Slater had spoken truthfully when he said he had work to do; the sounds of called orders, stamping horses, and marching boots from outside the barracks could only be an army preparing for battle. She was far less sure whether his prior declaration would ring true: that he had enough soldiers to take the Temple. Perhaps if they had the element of surprise on their side. Perhaps if they simply intended to burn it to the ground in the dark of night. If the Mother was prepared, however…
The Daughters were the most gifted casters in all of Tahr, and they wasted no effort at perfecting mundane magics. Bone and blood were their business, the magics one employed when taking or preserving life, and the Daughters of Kal had no interest in preservation. They numbered fewer than three score, but any one of them—Ordained or Unordained—could slay a company of foot soldiers in open battle. Why they had not taken Mor before this day was no mystery; Kehrlia had stood as a counterweight to their power, and the wretched Mother of Kal and her equally wretched son bore no love for one another. The uneasy truce between the tenants of Sartean’s tower and those of the Temple existed only by the restraint of the Mother; had she stepped a toe over the line, her estranged son would have no doubt snipped it off, and the war between the great powers of Mor would have laid the city to waste. Such a result would have been in no way disdainful to the Mother, but it was said Kal cared little for the politics of cities and kingdoms; it was the world he was after, and should the Temple have fallen to Kehrlia before his domain was established, Kal would not have been pleased. Now, however, the great tower sat empty, and the son was not only dead but indebted to Kal, for whatever that might mean, and Nia felt sure it meant something. To the Mother’s eyes, the time of the Temple’s ascent was at hand… no, she would not be caught flatfooted, and neither would she be arrogant enough to presume Nia had followed her orders without question. The Temple would be prepared, and Nia of the sea feared neither Slater nor all the soldiers of Mor could stop its ascension.
Not without help.
Nia examined her hands to be sure her wounds had clotted over. She then examined every finger of her flesh, as best she could. The danger of casting within the circle was profound when attempted alone; if she missed even the smallest cut or scrape, if any vein or pathway to her lifeblood remained open, the ravenous magic would penetrate her body and consume her from within. The purpose of the awful penalty, or so she had been taught, was to demand patient meditation on the power of Kal within the circle. To hurry, to cast before a sufficient amount of time had been spent on one’s knees waiting for the cuts to clot over, would be to embezzle Kal’s power without proper recompense. Kal gave nothing freely. Typically, five Daughters would cast such a spell; one in the center, the others stationed at the four points of the compass, examining the supplicant’s body for blemishes. When one was found, it was burnt and sealed by the Daughters outside the circle, this second morbid and painful practice meant to signify one’s reverence for Kal, to signify that the god of death was deserving of not only total submission, but perfect supplication.
Nia had no intention of dying this day, terribly or otherwise, and thus she took her time. Nia had never seen a Daughter consumed by such a spell, but there were Ordained daughters who had, or at least claimed as much, and by all accounts, it was a terrible way to die. Nia found these accounts difficult to swallow whole, for ultimately, one had to truly believe Kal existed to accept such tales as fact. Nia had not equivocated when Slater asked her whether the gods were real; she suspected they were, and had said as much, but in truth she could not say. She could not, however, deny the way casting within a Kalian circle amplified one’s power, for she had seen it with her own eyes. It was not too far a leap to accept the rest, and so she spent the better part an hour within the circle running her hands over her body. To one outside the circle, she might appear to be experiencing an ecstasy; in reality, there was only fear.
It was time. Nia stood.
No words were required to incant the spell; she must only focus her mind on the question and open herself to the answer. The question was asked, and the answer came swiftly: the Incantors who fell to Kalashagon were not the last of Kehrlia. Miles to the north and west, how many she could not tell for certain, more than two score Incantors still lived. Why they lived was a mystery; why had they not joined Sartean in his great battle? Waves of power rolled over Nia’s body, prying violently to gain entrance, but she had prepared herself adequately. She dared a second question, and the answer came just as swiftly as the first: these had abandoned their allegiance to Sartean, somewhere in the farmlands, some days before, and now they wandered leaderless.
A heat rose in Nia’s palms. The power would soon overwhelm her, penetrating her newly closed wounds. She sensed she had but a breath, maybe two, before the spell would begin to consume her. She jumped quickly to her right, out of the circle. She fell to her knees. The blood with which she had painted the floor evaporated with a hiss, wisps of smoke rising from the pattern, blue, ethereal tendrils which reached towards her like ghostly fingers. She recoiled, scrambling on all fours to the far side of the room. A chorus of haunted whispers rose to an angry pitch. The heat in her palms became scorching. Nia cried out in fear and shut her eyes against what came next.
In the span of a breath, the pain and whispers were gone. Nia opened her eyes. A sizzling black residue lay where the Kalian circle had been drawn. It was over. Nia shuddered and looked down. A single droplet of blood wept from the wound on her right hand.
Fury, that was close.
~
“Have you seen Slater?”
The captain shook her head, not bothering to look up from the map of Mor laid before her on the command table. “Not for an hour.”
“I need to speak with him.”
The captain did not reply.
Nia pressed. “It’s urgent.”
The captain looked up. “And who in Fury are… hey, you all right? Your hands…”
“I’m fine. Please, I have to see him. Where would he have gone?”
The captain frowned. “You’re that Daughter come by earlier.”
“I am.”
The captain nodded and stood. “He said to keep an eye out for you. He’s in the square.”
“Thank you.” Nia turned away.
“Wait. Your hands.”
“They’ll be—”
“Shut up and sit down. Slater’s occupied right now. You’ll deal with me. Theel! Get your sorry arse over here.”
Nia recognized the man as one she had spelled earlier.
“You!” Theel spat. “I should run you through—”
“Close your trap and get this woman two bandages.”
“But Cap—”
“Move!”
Theel ran off, not before shooting an angry scowl at Nia.
“Captain Varyl,” she said to Nia, offering a hand but pulling it back when she glanced again at the red messes at the end of Nia’s arms. “We don’t leave wounds untreated under my command.”
Nia nodded, not bothering to say she could manage without help. Slater’s admonition from earlier still rang; if she were to prove herself an ally to his army, she would need to demonstrate her acceptance of the hierarchy.
“Thank you. I—”
“Don’t thank me. Just help. Gonna be one hairy spat, taking the Temple. What should we expect?”
Nia thought for a moment. “Well, that depends on whether they know you’re coming.”
“Assume they know.”
Nia nodded. “I would. I’m no military mind, but I know how the Mother thinks. She won’t risk herself, but she won’t have the Daughters hole up, either. Our magic is far more effective in open ground.”
Varyl nodded. “My thoughts exactly. We need to catch them in the Temple.”
Nia shook her head. “You won’t. They’ll be all over Mor by now, or they will soon.”
“Dammit!” Capatin Varyl crumpled up a hand-drawn map and slammed a fist on th
e table. “So what do we do?”
“I’ve been thinking about that. She sent me to enslave Slater, but she’ll know by now that didn’t happen. So, she’ll be expecting an attack. If I were to guess, she’ll be casting fortifications around the Temple to protect herself. She’ll have Daughters stationed everywhere, waiting for your troops to take to the streets.”
Theel arrived with bandages. He thrust them out before Nia.
“Wrap her hands, Theel. And not a word.”
Nia looked to the man. “I’m sorry about earlier—”
“Forget him,” ordered Varyl. “Eyes on me. What do we do? What’s her weakness?”
Nia shook her head. “She doesn’t have one, and that’s no exaggeration. She has access to power I can’t even begin to imagine, some of it stored in artifacts over the course of centuries. You can’t assault the Temple the way things are, Captain. Not without help. Did the general tell you what I was doing upstairs?”
Varyl nodded. “Any luck?”
“As a matter of fact, quite a bit. There are a few dozen rogue Incantors northwest of Mor who might be persuaded to join your cause.”
“How far northwest?”
Nia closed her eyes, trying to recall the feel of the location spell. She had never amplified such a spell from a circle before and so had no reference to gauge distance. “Hard to tell. Felt like a day’s ride, maybe. Maybe two, but I can’t say for certain. But—and here’s the good news—they renounced Sartean before the end. They might be the sort to help. Ow!”
Theel yanked to tighten a bandage, a mean smile on his lips.
“Anything else, Cap?” he said, rising.
“Get a message to Bricks, and quick. I want a fresh squad of horse saddled and out front an hour ago.”
“Captain, I’m not much of a rider.”
“Then you’re in for a couple miserable days,” said Varyl. “Unless you have a quicker way to get to these Incantors?”
Nia thought for a moment. “I might. But you won’t like it.”
“I don’t like one dung-dripping bit of any of this. But what do you have in mind?”
~
“She’s not coming back,” said the Daughter, refilling the Mother’s wine glass.
“Aren’t you perceptive?” The Mother rolled her eyes and took the glass.
“What, then? You have a plan, of course,” said another.
“Of course,” the Mother agreed. “And the six of you will be instrumental. You will be pleased to know I have not trained you in vain, ladies. Tonight, you will be given a great honor, though perhaps you might not all see it thusly.”
“If it serves Kal,” said one, “it is our joy.”
“I’m so glad you think so.” The Mother stood. The Daughters moved to stand as well, but a raised hand kept them seated. “Jaila,” said the Mother to the Daughter seated nearest, she the youngest of the six, “how many does it take to perfect a circle?”
Jaila cocked her head, the question blindingly simple. “Four, Mother, and a supplicant.”
The Mother reached up and removed her earrings, stones round and white as pearls set in silver. They were not pearls.
“And there are six of you. Two of you, I am sorry to say, will be redundant. But you will be given the honor of serving Kal nonetheless.”
She cast the bone earrings onto the table and sauntered from the dining hall.
“When I return, we will know which of you deserve the honor of serving in my circle,” she said, turning back when she reached the door, “and which of you will serve Kal,” she glanced at the earrings, “in other ways.”
The heavy oaken door closed behind the Mother without a touch. She had made it barely three steps when the screaming began.
XXV: FURY
WHEN THE RINGING stopped, Cindra spoke.
“Yeh canna let me sleep,” she said, eyelids drooping over yellow eyes. “Not for a turn, not for a breath.” She cast an orb, lighting the tunnel within which they stood.
“Sleep?” asked J’arn, tossing Lucan’s wrist shackles aside. “Ain’t no time for sleep, damn ye! We gotta save Aria!”
“What we gotta do first is heal Luc,” Shyla said. “An’ then we gotta hide. This tunnel ain’t far enough from that tower, and I don’t trust that… that thing to give us a day. Wolf needs a rest, or he ain’t gonna make it.”
Wolf whined.
“He’ll give us the day,” mumbled Lucan through cracked lips and a swollen jaw.
“And how do ye know that?” demanded J’arn, hacking down with his axe, busting the second set of shackles from Lucan’s ankles. “And what’s this impostor business?”
Lucan shook his head and opened his mouth to answer. Cindra interrupted.
“He lies,” she said, laying a hand on Lucan’s shoulder. “Nothin’ but lies, ye canna believe a thing he says. Now help me.”
“Just the knee,” Lucan said, shifting. He winced. “And maybe the jaw.”
Shyla and J’arn grasped Lady Cindra’s shoulders as she sent waves of healing into Lucan. Lucan wept silently as the pain intensified. He and Cindra shared a long, knowing look. After a time, he nodded.
“Better,” he said.
Cindra fell backwards, stumbling in exhaustion. She went to a knee.
“Lady!” said Shyla, rushing to catch her grandmother.
Cindra took Shyla’s hand and came to her feet. “I’m all right,” she said. “Ain’t ready for the long nap just yet. And yer right, Shyla. Let’s get yer Wolf somewhere safe.”
“Nowhere is safe,” said Lucan plainly.
“Oh, no ye don’t,” said J’arn. “We might die down here, but it ain’t gonna be from despair. We gotta try! We ain’t gonna just lie down—”
“No, J’arn, you don’t understand. Nowhere is safe. Aria and I… we saw it. All of it.”
No one spoke for a moment. Cindra broke the silence.
“Yeh best explain.”
Lucan nodded and explained as best he could.
He and Aria had burned a wave of beasts and retreated back into their tunnel, careful to keep their feelings muted. After a time, they were left alone, and they set themselves free, melting the bars of their prison. They listened, and ran, and hid, and listened some more. They followed the path they had discovered through Aria’s sonic magic, only to discover that it led to the great cavern where the spire lay. They doubled back, occasionally forced into fights when they could not evade detection, Lucan holding back foes as Aria sensed a new route. They found many and followed most, some to equally large caverns, some to dead ends, but an inescapable fact soon became clear. There was no door out of Fury, anywhere. Eventually, they found themselves with their backs to the cavern where the spire stood, pressed towards an opening high above its floor. A horde had them cornered—there was nowhere to go but to jump headlong into the pit. Lucan prepared the magic to do just that, hoping he might float their way to an empty tunnel, when, suddenly, inexplicably, the horde withdrew a dozen paces and held their position. The demons came from behind, from the opening of the cavern. There was no escape. He and Aria were separated, and Lucan would not relate what happened next. He did not need to; the truth was clear on his battered body. All he could say for sure was that what the Hand had said seemed to ring true: one could not come to this domain save through death.
“But we came,” argued J’arn. “We found a way in. So did Lady Cindra.”
“And I came by death,” Cindra said. “Not my own, mind, but death all the same. The magic that brought yeh to me must be powerful indeed, but yeh came through the rip in the world I left behind me, right there in that hollow, right where I came in. And yeh can believe me when I tell yeh—that door didn’t swing two ways.”
“That don’t make sense,” said Shyla.
“Might not, but it’s what is,” said Cindra.
“Nope. Can’t be. Breaks all the rules.”
Lucan eyed Shyla. “I’m not so sure that rules—”
“Stop talkin’ to m
e like I don’t know what I’m sayin’!” Shyla shouted. “Were yeh not listenin’ when Lady Lor gave us all that knowledge ’bout magic? There’s always a balance! There can’t be a way in without a way out! Life an’ death, good an’ bad, in an’ out…” Shyla turned to Cindra. “What’d yeh say about a rip in the world?”
Cindra shook her head. “Ain’t but an expression, child. Not a material thing.”
“Well, sounds to me like it might be,” said Shyla. “The rest of yeh came here before me, right? By how long?”
“Ten turns, at least,” said J’arn. “Thought we’d lost yeh, and I was glad for it, if yeh get my meaning.”
Shyla nodded and reached for J’arn’s hand. “I do. But there was some sorta… curtain, I guess. And it was ripped, like yeh say… like… like it was blowin’ in the wind. I dunno what it was, but it was sure enough real, and I didn’t wanna go through.”
“But you did,” said Lucan.
“Had no choice,” said Shyla. “Fought as hard as I could an’ it slurped me up like soup. But...” Shyla shook her head, thinking. “But I guess it did close behind me, now that I think about it. At least it felt like it did. Dammit, dammit, dammit!” Shyla pounded her fist into the iron floor on each “dammit.” The impacts echoed through the tunnels. Wolf edged closer to his friend and gave her face a lick.
“Well, that’s something,” said Lucan after a moment.
“Aye? And what is it?” asked J’arn.
“We know there’s a veil, or whatever we might want to call it. And we know it can be opened, and we know it can be shut. But that begs another question. Why didn’t it close after you, Cindra?”
Cindra shook her head.
“Well, ain’t it obvious?” asked J’arn. “It didn’t want to. Or somebody didn’t want it to.”