Choose always the greater good no matter the cost.
Gillis stumbled and let out a cry.
No matter the cost.
Kill four innocent men to save one guilty.
No, that was not it. It could not be right, but those words screamed in his ear. One guilty, Pauloce, had died, and one, two, three, four more lives were the cost. Beldas, in the inn, struggling against the dagger. The Prime Steward. The two guards. Now Gillis was the guilty one. First Roos had perished, then it would be Choson, Amelia, Wilhelmina …
Amelia and Choson propelled him along the muddy path, and Gillis had a lucid moment amid all the fever and pain. He met Amelia’s eyes, creased with worry, and then Choson’s, pale and distant with despair.
“You will be alright, Gillis,” Amelia said. “We will take care of you.”
“Stay with us,” Choson said.
Their voices were full of a concern that made Gillis’ stomach feel putrid. Their hold on his arms was warm and firm, like anchors keeping him from drifting away completely.
A new, dim voice arose among the rest. Choson, Amelia—they need not die. He could tell them now what he had done, what he had agreed to. He wrenched the thought from his mind like pulling off a leech, but it did not stop the fleeting moment of hope that it sparked. Choson, Amelia, Roos, they had all endeared themselves to Gillis without his knowing or consent, and now it all came crashing in. Amelia wanted to live, and she would stop at nothing. Did forging some piece of paper wipe away the goodness, the loyalty she was capable of? And Choson, he had wanted to right a wrong. Did he deserve death merely for coming to the Monastery with questions? Gillis felt as though an icy boulder was sinking through his chest. They could not die. He could not suffer to watch Verandert kill them as he had Duvelt and Athers. How much senseless death had come, and was still to come? How many more thousands would be piled at Gillis’ feet with each writ he would be compelled to sign?
But there was no stopping Verandert. There was no good to be had in defying him. Amelia and Choson were marked to die, and die they would. Gillis would have to watch; his head swirled anew as he pictured it—the blue flash, the line drawn across the throats and the red life spilling from them. Gillis had been Verandert’s most faithful. He would take the High Monk’s office and do his utmost to correct the wrong he was now committing by betraying the others.
No, he thought, perhaps there is a way. Verandert could be reasoned with. He could argue for Amelia’s life, argue that the forging of the writ had been a good and just thing. Verandert would listen.
Another thought rose: I am the danger. They must leave me to die so they can flee. I must make them understand.
“Leave me here,” he said, though his voice was weak.
They did not seem to hear him.
“Leave me here!”
He said it again and again, but they carried him ever onward. The land slid underneath them, and soon gnarled, leafless trees slid past also, as the world turned while Gillis motionlessly put one foot in front of the other. His mind was breaking. The ground inverted and became the sky, and Amelia and Choson caught him before he fell, and then it happened again and again. His head rolled, and he let out a moan. They touched his shoulders and told him reassuring things in a constant stream. He had betrayed them. No plea could change Verandert’s mind. No repair could be made for the coming damage to Gillis’ soul.
They came down a steep gravel bank, and Gillis saw a neat garden and a lone tree in the center of a depression. Amelia left Gillis with Choson, and ran ahead to the tree. She pounded on the bark, no, on timber beneath the surface of the illusory bark. She beckoned Choson and Gillis to hurry, and disappeared inside. Choson took Gillis to the threshold, and they went inside together.
The world went black. Gillis felt as though an invisible hand pulled him sharply upward, and he was suddenly aware of being very far from the others.
****
Choson landed in a chair as though cast in it from a great height.
The small, dim room slowly came into view. There was stooped ancient woman in front of him, with piercing black eyes. There were no whites in her eyes at all, just a near-total darkness that glittered like beetle’s wings in the gloom. Her cobweb-white hair was strangled in a bun atop her head. She thrust a steaming cup to him across the table at which she and Choson sat.
“You need a calming draft, I’ll warrant,” she said in a reedy, age-roughened voice.
He sniffed the cup. It was goud root tea. There were stuffed ravens and shining brass pots sitting on crooked shelves all around him. Strings of garlic and goud root hung from lines across the ceiling, and a little squashed bed sat in the far corner. The room rocked before Choson’s eyes as though they were in the belly of a sea-tossed vessel, but as the moments passed he found the room was actually steady. It was his own dazed head that had been rocking.
“What is happening? Where are the others?” Choson said. He peered at the woman. “You are Wilhelmina.”
“I am.” She smiled, though it did not touch her eyes. A moment passed in silence. Her expression fell, and she looked on Choson with pity.
“I have not much time, danger is coming. Where are the others?”
“We have time, Choson. An hour passing in here is the dropping of a mere grain in an hourglass out there.”
“I do not understand you, my head is … much has happened. Where are—”
“They are sitting in the same chair you are, dear Choson. But I needed time to chat to each of you. Understand that Verandert is almost here, and there must be a little moment of calm before all the death arrives.”
“My friends are here? How?”
“I do not like to have too many visitors at once. I separated you in time, though not in place.”
Choson could not fathom the nonsensical answer, so he cast his gaze about the room for a time. The room was small, crammed with books and loose papers, and lit as though by flickering candlelight, though he could see no candles.
“He was a hero in the end,” Wilhelmina said.
He looked at her. The black eyes never blinked, but her expression was otherwise kind.
“Roos, I mean,” she said gently.
He nodded and muttered in agreement. He was still dazed.
“I fixed your shoulder. The quarrel that struck you left a tracking spell, but I suppose that doesn’t matter now, eh? You got her. It’s done.”
“What is done?”
“Your quest, my dear,” she said.
“That was not my quest,” Choson said. “I meant only to—”
“To what? Clap her in chains and march her northwards for weeks on end? Sit her down and give her a stern talking-to? No, I see your heart, and there is no need for shame. Some deserve death.”
“Perhaps. It does not feel like justice, though. It feels only hollow.”
“You wanted answers, I suppose.”
“Yes,” he said. “And they die with Min-Yu.”
Wilhelmina sucked her wrinkled cheeks in and regarded Choson for a time, tapping her nails on the table. Choson had the bizarre impression that she seemed like a money-lender sizing up a client. He took the goud root tea and gulped, restless, feeling dimly that it scalded his tongue. The silence went on between them, and Choson felt no compulsion to break it.
“The answers need not die with Min-Yu,” Wilhelmina said finally.
“You speak as though you have them,” Choson said.
“Amelia has spoken to you of me and my power, I’m sure. Perhaps going so far as to say I rival Verandert.”
“She has spoken of you, yes.”
“Know that my only power is in the knowledge I hold. To the physical world, I am essentially a specter.”
“Would you share your knowledge of Min-Yu?”
“I might.” The black eyes pierced him for a time. “The methods of Blood Magic by which I accrue this knowledge is drawn from my own blood and life-force. I cannot contest Verandert, nor can I effect true change o
n my own. However, I can see much of what is, and some of what will be.”
“What is to become of me and the others?”
“That I cannot see clearly,” Wilhelmina said, but she averted her eyes from his. “What I can tell you is what I know of Min-Yu. Truth be told, I feel I owe you the knowledge. I had a hand in what happened, including the death of Jun.”
A shock ran through Choson’s gut. He leaned forward, and said, “Explain.”
“I was … trying to help,” Wilhelmina said, haltingly, her voice suddenly heavy with emotion. “Min-Yu’s story is much the same as Amelia’s. Both girls came as slaves to their owners a decade apart, never meeting. Both girls showed great talent with magic, both of the Blood and of Momaentum. Both joined the Monastery at my urging. Both rebelled against the Law of Verandert. I did not see until now how greatly I failed Min-Yu. The illusion she used to conceal her slaving paths—I taught it to her. It is the same illusion that we sit within now.”
“Why did Min-Yu differ so much from Amelia?”
“Amelia, for all her other qualities, possesses a fundamentally good heart. It could not be wholly corrupted by the horrors of her beginning. Amelia sought revenge against Pauloce and no-one else. Min-Yu, though, harbored a will to revenge herself against the world and all within it. You cannot blame Min-Yu. Her determination became a lust for revenge, and then wanton rage. I never considered the violence that would come of the tools I put in her hands: feats of magic capable of felling scores of men like saplings. And I pushed her out my door, daggers in hands, whispering that the Mordenari would help her take revenge on all that had wronged her.”
“Min-Yu was another among those in Pauloce’s Keep, then?”
“No, Choson. I was not always an herbalist in Pauloce’s court. Before that time, I did my best in a Gweidorian court. It proved too much for me, however. Min-Yu was held as a slave by the Sen family.”
The color drained from Choson’s face. “Goru-Sen.”
Wilhelmina nodded. “Min-Yu was a victim of that vile man. She was harmed greatly by him, but only ever to the brink of death. She was made to assist him. She was made to watch. And so, when you and Jun captured the man and arranged for him to be hanged with relative dignity, she petitioned the High Monk to allow her to take his life. She was denied—it would be too visible, and the Mordenari in the courts needed secrecy—and she instead sought to abduct him and inflict upon him the horrors she had endured a thousand times over, healing him with Blood Magic so it could continue.”
“Why, then, did she turn to slaving?”
“I do not see those parts of her life so clearly, when she was concealing herself wherever she went. Her mind was twisted by that time. To spite Verandert, perhaps? She saw the hollowness of Verandert’s Law in the protection of Goru-Sen, as Amelia did with Pauloce. It was ever an issue of power and wealth and never of justice. Her obsession was to remain eternally on the run from any Mordenari that might follow her trail, and any who got in the way became unfortunate victims.”
“The whole thing is almost beyond belief,” Choson said.
“Well, the knowledge is yours now.”
Choson looked at her.
There was a pause, then Wilhelmina said, “So, what will you do now?”
“I do not know.”
“You have your friend’s sword, but the little spell on it won’t stand up to Verandert. As I say, your quest is done. You have a choice now.”
“What do you mean?”
“I will show you.” Wilhelmina got up and went over to the set of shelves by her bed, her walking stick tapping on the timber floor. She raised the walking stick, paused for a moment, then swished it through the air as though clearing spider webs. The motion left vaporous trails, the color of a misty sunset. She stopped, and the shelves folded up, scattering pots and pans and books. A hole opened in the wall large enough for Choson to clamber through, leading to an earthy tunnel lined with roots like fine veins.
“This will take you as far away as you wish. The tunnel ends where you will it. Verandert will come and get what he wants from the other two, and he will forget you. You can go on with your life.”
“Why are you doing this?”
“My dear boy, helping the desperate has been my life.”
Choson stood and peered into the tunnel. He could not see far, and the darkness seemed to deepen the longer he looked. He put his hand on the edge of the opening. Cold air rushed by him.
“You have no stake in their battle with Verandert,” Wilhelmina said. “Amelia broke the laws, not you. You have no great magic, and Verandert’s power is immense.”
“You mean to push me into fleeing?”
“I mean to shield you from any stupid idea of valor you may have had brewing. Well, what will it be?”
Without answering her, Choson took the first step into the tunnel.
****
Amelia landed in a chair as though cast in it from a great height.
A bony, liver-spotted hand struck her across the face. She yelped and warded off a second slap.
“What do you have to say for yourself?” Wilhelmina spat.
“Stop it!” Amelia pushed her away.
“If Verandert weren’t coming I would kill you myself!”
“Leave me be, you cranky old goat.”
“Watch your tongue, or I’ll bite it off.”
“I have missed you too,” Amelia intoned.
Wilhelmina stepped back, her black eyes brimming with tears. “I put everything into keeping you safe, girl. And look at what you do.”
“I did what I had to do.”
“Oh, you did, did you? You weren’t content with just killing Pauloce. You had to do it yourself in some foolish blaze of glory. You also weren’t content with waiting for Verandert to order Pauloce’s death, no, you had to forge a writ. You had to stir up the tempest. You had to mark yourself to die, you reckless, you selfish—”
“Go on, tell me how worthless I am. You can’t say anything I haven’t thought already.”
They glared at each other, both flushed and flaring their nostrils with each breath. After a moment, Wilhelmina settled into her chair, avoiding Amelia’s eyes, and said with strained politeness, “Have some tea, won’t you?”
“No, thank you. I am fine.”
“You should have stayed when you first came here.”
“If I had stayed, my friends would have died.”
After a moment of silence, Wilhelmina placed a small vial filled with a tar-black liquid on the table. Tiny motes of dust were disturbed, lazily moved about a few inches, and then hung suspended where they were, turning over and over as if tumbling through honey.
Amelia’s eyes flew wide open. “How much did you slow time?”
“I slowed it enough. This vial is what you were after,” Wilhelmina said gently.
“There are limits; even you cannot sustain this.”
“We needed to chat, and Verandert is upon us,” Wilhelmina said, smiling. “This vial will keep you safe, but there is a ritual you must—”
“Wilhelmina, if you hold time too long, you’ll die!”
“Oh, you say it like I place value on living. I was soon to die anyway. Now, pay close attention. No interruptions.” She pointed at Amelia’s mouth, magically sealing it shut. While Wilhelmina spoke, Amelia furiously struggled against the spell. “This vial removes you from the flow of Momaentum. I only perfected it recently, else I’d have given the same to Min-Yu. There is no need to regularly draw blood to continue the spell, as with Min-Yu’s illusory path. But the ritual is gruesome: a human sacrifice must drink from the vial, and it will pass into their blood. You must then cover yourself in their blood. From that moment on, you will not be able to draw from the flow of Momaentum, and you will leave no wake behind you as you travel through the world. Verandert will never find you.”
Amelia wrenched her mouth open. “I will never use it. I won’t kill someone for something so selfish.”
“You mig
ht reconsider that. Gillis is a traitor.”
****
Gillis slammed onto a chair as though a giant’s invisible hand had thrown him down. His neck arched suddenly and he cried out in pain, his vision swimming. An ancient woman, panting and bent low over the table, glared at him with deep black eyes.
“My life … is fading,” she said with a great deal of effort.
“Wilhelmina?”
The air was thick, and touched with a coppery tang. As Gillis watched, Wilhelmina’s skin became papery and sunken, and her eyes dimmed to a milky white. She aimed a trembling finger at Gillis’ chest.
“I cannot see your mind … but I know enough of your intent. You will not betray my Amelia. With my … dying breath I curse you. You will never sit in the High Monk’s chair.”
“No, I—”
In an instant, Wilhelmina’s flesh shrank away until she was little more than a leering skeleton. Even as she withered before him, her black eyes filled with loathing. Gillis gasped as horror and nausea coursed through his gut, and before he could do anything she collapsed forward, and he was instantly wrenched upward. The world inverted and burst into brilliant daylight. He fell into the sky what felt like a thousand fathoms, lungs robbed of air. The world turned on its head once more, and he fell down with a bone-bruising thud on gravel. He lay groaning on his back for a moment, then a hand closed over his throat and a dagger pressed against his cheek. Amelia leaned over him, blotting out the sun, but she did not say a word. The hand on his throat trembled. He drew small wisps of air with the whole effort of his lungs. Dark spots bloomed in his vision as she squeezed, and his own hands felt insubstantial as feathers when he tried to push her away. His air was almost gone, his hand fell away, his vision darkened, his ears filled with the trembling rush of his own heart. His deserved end had come. The look on her face was the same as it had been that night in Pauloce’s dungeon. A wet drop fell on his cheek from hers. He was a traitor, and he would die.
The hand loosened, and air rushed back into him. The unthinking part of him gulped it madly while his senses gathered. Someone called out in the distance, and Amelia turned to face them. Her grip had slackened, but the dagger still dug into his cheek. The voice was Choson’s, but at first Gillis could hear little over his own wheezing and coughing. Choson told her not to spill more blood. The dagger point left his cheek, and the shadow of a man crossed his face. Strong arms hauled him upright, steadying him when his legs buckled.
The Tyranny of Shadows Page 22