“You don’t want to walk?”
Ran shook his head, “No stairs. I don't like them. And there are too many.” Ran gave the endless spiral a baleful glare.
Sarn laughed. His son had the right idea. Though the two hundred, narrow, twisting steps to the main floor flew by since he took them three and sometimes four at a time.
Once they exited the staircase, Ran pointed to the ground, and Sarn set him down. He took a moment to check his head map and grimaced at the throng of people moving about this corridor and every single one connected to it. Ran handed him his cloak back, and Sarn donned it while he considered alternative routes. Only, there wasn’t a good candidate other than the north-south transept he was glaring at.
A shield-toting soldier in antique armor screened Sarn and his son from view, though Ran kept poking his head around the statue’s leg to peek at the goings-on. His son found the hustle and bustle exciting, but dread tied Sarn’s stomach into knots. Why had he chosen this stair? It let out right on the main thoroughfare during one of the most trafficked times of the day.
The unknown woman melted into the crowd then turned south on the transept heading in the same damned direction as everyone else. High above, the lumir crystals dimmed then brightened. Sarn stared at them dumbfounded. Lumir crystals never flicker. Their glow was as constant as time itself. What could interrupt their light?
Just great, that was another mystery he had no time to solve. But there’s no one else. So, if not you, who will figure out what’s going on? Fates damn his logical half. It was right. Sarn wanted to punch something in frustration, but Ran tugged on his pant leg.
“Lunch is that way.” Ran pointed south to the Middle Kitchen.
The woman headed in the same direction. Sarn blinked a few times and grappled with a new problem. How could he steal enough food for his small family and an ever-changing number of orphans? Who would watch his son?
Ran bobbed up on his toes. His bright eyes anticipated a lunchtime caper, but Sarn knew he’d never get away with it at this hour. The kitchens would be busy churning out meals.
And while he contemplated his childcare issues, the unknown woman was getting away. Why was nothing ever easy?
The fix he’d put on her yanked Sarn out of the alcove beside the statue. It was a faintly glowing rope towing him in her wake, but it frayed as the distance mounted. Determined to narrow the gap, Sarn caught his son’s hand and pushed into the throng. He pulled his hood down until it touched the bridge of his nose and squeezed his luminous eyes closed. Best he reduced the spectacle he made anyway he could.
Thankfully, Ran’s eyes were a matte green except in sunlight. So even though his son looked up at everyone they passed, the intense color of his eyes went unnoticed. Still, tension tightened every muscle in Sarn’s body as the crowd swept him and his son up in its chattering throng.
Magic leaked out of his pores making his skin itch as people jostled them, and Ran trod on his toes. Sarn bit his lip and struggled to hold back the tide of power straining to break free.
We protect, said his magic.
To which Sarn could only nod. It took all his willpower to keep his magic from cocooning his son. He had to hold it together. His senses stretched out running the razor edge of his sanity up the textured walls, and over the lumir murals shining on the people pushing past him. Every damned millimeter of stone told him its name, composition, and what it depicted.
The Litherians—
I don’t care. Gripping the grooves between friezes, Sarn shook his head to clear it. But unnecessary details kept flooding his mind.
“Papa are you okay?”
No, he was not but saying so would only worry his son, so Sarn settled for a nod. The movement hammered a spike of pain into his skull at the implied lie, but he let it stand for his son’s sake. Before the magic washed him away, Sarn withdrew his hand from the wall, letting go of the only anchor he had to the real world. The crowd shoved him forward and he stumbled, banging his shoulder on an inconvenient statue. There were a hundred of them in this corridor alone.
Eam’eritol neem’eye, whispered a rock somewhere ahead. The phrase slammed into Sarn, nearly knocking him to his knees.
“Papa, why are the shadows moving?” Ran leaned into Sarn’s leg.
“What shadows?” Sarn sank to his knees and felt along the textured tiles. He opened his eyes just a crack. It was enough to let the light escape and turn the leaves carved into the marble under his hand green.
“They’re gone now. You chased them away.” Ran tugged his hand. “Come on, Papa, I want lunch.”
And the unknown woman pulled a little further ahead, attenuating the fix Sarn had on her. At least a thousand people icons now separated her from Sarn as the—spell? —pulled him to his feet. Was it curiosity tightening the noose around his neck or fear?
Whatever her business was here, it wasn’t harmless. Am I stumbling headfirst into another catastrophe? His gut said yes, and he trusted it. But was the real problem that woman or the five men she’d just left? Sarn bit his lip and followed. He had no way to know.
“Are we really doing this?”
Villar turned to his friends catching their stubborn eyes with his worried ones. Hadn’t they seen the flame of fanaticism burning in that psycho bitch’s eyes? Either they hadn’t, or they were ignoring it and the shadow play she’d put on to get her way. Villar shunted that memory aside, but not before he recalled those shadows reaching out of the gem clasped in her swarthy hand.
“It wasn’t real,” a soft, soothing voice assured. It threaded through Villar's thoughts twisting them toward doubt.
Villar cast another glance at his four mates and hid his dismay. To them, this was just another con. They still believed those black stones Dirk had fenced were worthless dross.
“Black Lumir is a myth,” that voice insisted.
Villar yearned to believe it, but the word black Lumir scratched itself in all caps across the roseate darkness when he blinked. Somewhere deep inside Villar, a small boy shuddered at the mere mention of that nightmare stone.
“It’s not real. Black lumir is just a myth. It doesn’t exist."
Villar spun toward the voice whispering in his ear, but there was no one there. He was bringing up the rear as always.
“Black Lumir can’t exist.”
Villar nodded. The voice was right. Shayari—hell Mount Eredren itself—was too magical, and that horrible stone couldn’t coexist with magic. Everyone knew that.
“Be good, or the black lumir will get you,” warned Beku.
At the time, she was a pink-cheeked girl of fourteen just weeks away from the incident which left her an unhealthy obsession for teenage boys. Beku's last beau—that green-eyed freak named Sarn—killed her. He denies it, but I know he killed her. Maybe not with his bare hands, but it’s his fault. He should have protected her.
But Sarn didn't. Now Beku lived only in Villar's memory as that innocent girl telling tales by lumir light. She crooked her fingers into claws as she continued her imitation, inviting Villar into the memory and the story she was spinning.
“Through its eye, the Adversary knows,” Beku said as if she were imparting the secrets of the universe.
Oh, how her eyes had glowed with merriment. In that memory, she was still untouched by tragedy.
Villar shuddered. The Adversary, now that entity he believed in. Everyone had a foe, so did this new God who existed in three persons. It was all very confusing, the good side, but not the dark side. No, that side was razor sharp, and he didn’t want to get on its bad side.
“Of course, we are,” Dirk snapped bringing Villar back to the here and now—a lumir-lit tunnel that connected the storerooms on this level.
Their illumination seemed dimmer after psycho girl's visit. Were they? Villar glanced up at those veins of luminous yellow striating the ceiling. They branched as they curved around a bend, but their light seemed muted. Was he imagining the difference?
Crisso tugged h
is arm and Villar swayed, but not in time. A splintered crate, damaged during shipping, scraped across his upper arm tearing cloth and skin alike. Blood welled as Villar struggled to staunch it with a handkerchief. It’s just a flesh wound. Don’t you dare chicken out. Villar’s hands shook.
He bit his lip and looked to Cris for help tying off the makeshift bandage, but Cris had fastened onto Dirk’s mention of money. Normally the subject would have peaked Villar’s interest too, but there had been nothing normal about their interview with the fanatic. Just thinking of her, made a cold fear clutch Villar's heart. She was up to nothing good.
“Oh, yeah? It’s funny, but this is the first time you’ve talked about money. What’s she offering for a hunk of that black stone she was bandying about?”
The others slowed, waiting for Dirk’s response, and the shadows leaned in as if they too were interested in the going rate of ‘black lumir.’
“Gold my friends, she’s paying in gold.” Dirk smiled and produced a sovereign. He flipped the coin into the air. It spun catching the lumir light until it dropped into his palm. Dirk clapped a hand over it. “Heads say we start now, tails we make Psycho Girl wait.”
They waited to see what fate would decree, all except Villar who looked away. The sinking feeling in his gut told him all he needed to know.
“Heads it is. I guess you guys better get started.”
“How big are we shooting for?” Ragnes put in, speaking up for the first time since they’d fled Psycho Girl and her sword-swinging sideshow.
“Since she’s paying by the ounce, as big as you can manage, but make sure it’s blacker than coal or she might balk. You remember where I got the last batch, right?”
“I do. I’ll show ‘em.” Gorfen called out from ahead.
“Good, while you do that, I have some business to conduct. I’ll return once that’s concluded with your share of the take.” Dirk tossed the sovereign coin again. The air thickened, slowing its revolutions so its two faces were visible. On one side, a Queen regarded them with implacable eyes. On the flip side, a tree shook its branches in disgust.
Villar blinked and time resumed its normal flow. The coin spun twice more before Dirk snatched it out of the air.
“What business would that be?”
Dirk grinned and produced two stones. One was milky and crosshatched with black lines. But the other was a dark gray shading toward black and its appearance made the shadows dance. Villar shuddered. Dirk replaced the two stones in a mirrored box.
“Interesting stones, aren’t they? They should fetch a pretty penny. I have another interested buyer for ‘black lumir,’” Dirk’s smile turned mocking. “So, scout out another hunk that’s accessible without blasting, okay?”
Ragnes whistled his appreciation at their leader’s audacious plan, but that was Dirk, always one con ahead of the rest.
“I’m going to make us rich before the week’s out. Mark my words.” Dirk nodded to them then sauntered off down a connecting passage smiling and flipping that damned coin.
“Well, you heard him. Let’s go boys. Time’s a wasting and there’s gold to earn.” Gorfen waved and Crisso smiled as he and Ragnes followed.
Yes, there was gold to earn, but would any of them survive psycho girl’s machinations long enough to spend it? Villar opened his mouth to voice that question as he caught up with his friends, but something darted past startling him into silence. What had he almost glimpsed in the shadows?
Promises, Promises
After twenty minutes, Ran dug his heels in and refused to move. “You promised lunch.”
And they’d passed the only place on this level his son knew they could acquire food thanks to last month’s kitchen caper. The unknown woman had passed them too presenting a larger problem. There was only one likely destination left for her—the main doors, then the trail down the mountain.
Where would she go after that—into the enchanted forest? Onto a ship? Then where to? Finding out might give him a clue to her identity, and why she’d met with Dirk and his goons.
A gut feeling her errand was important pushed Sarn to take the next right and wend his way, over his son’s protests, to the arcade then through one of its many arches onto a south-facing balcony. The woman’s icon exited the maze around the same time, and after a few minute’s wait, she stepped onto a cliff. Her skirt billowed in the breeze kicking up waves on the River Nirthal about a mile or so distant.
Only crazy people hiked through Shayari’s enchanted forestry. Everyone else sailed about the country since the River Nirthal was navigable from Jacora to Lake Neverthrall, which accounted for more than half of Shayari’s known landmass. Beyond the four large vessels, smaller boats plied the river. They were crowded with silhouettes of fishermen hauling in their nets. Was she headed for one of the boats?
Papa was doing boring things again. Ran kicked a statue’s taloned foot. His obsession with stopping bad people was a good thing except when it interfered with lunch. Ran touched the giant eagle’s leg but the marble was too smooth to climb.
After delivering one last kick to the statue, Ran approached his father curious about the view. But the balustrade was level with Papa’s waist hiding whatever had caught his lanky father’s attention. Undeterred, Ran bobbed up and peeked over. Papa’s long fingers gripped the coping, digging deep grooves into the stonework. Green sparks danced between his fingers. Papa was doing his silent intense thing again making his eyes glow brighter. Magic gathered around him in a shining green cloud.
What was Papa doing? Ran sensed a shift in the magic. Glancing over his shoulder, Ran met the lumir eyes of a unicorn statue. Its horn was broken leaving a jagged stump behind. No one was watching him, not even Papa or his magic.
Great, if the magic was interested, then Papa would be at this for a long while—maybe even for hours. At times like this, Ran missed his mama. She had no magic to distract her, just a slew of orphans who had all wanted her attention. Ran sighed and scanned the balcony for entertainment. A big cement box with grape clusters in raised relief along its sides attracted his eye and raised his hopes. Ran approached it. Were any of those green shoots edible?
“Papa?”
No answer. Ran’s shoulders slumped, and his belly growled. He patted it, but it refused to stop, and Papa remained at his post transfixed by whatever the magic showed him.
Sounds unlike any he’d ever heard drew Ran through a gap between the giant eagle statue’s legs. He paused for a moment until the scent of sausages hit his nose then shot down the arcade fronting all the balconies following its scent. His mouth watered more and more with every step. Papa would find him when he was done. Papa always knew where he was, and the thought made Ran smile.
Lying at anchor were two triremes. Sarn stared at them and wracked his brain to identify them. What had Will said about the ferries?
Oh, yes, one plied the waters between Mount Eredren and points east and the other followed the river west. The eastern ferry flew Jacora’s flag, a white square with a black knight on a rearing horse. The other ferry flew a blue flag with a white dragon in flight because the old tales spoke of dragons sleeping in Lake Neverthrall’s depths.
A square-rigged vessel rode low in the water to the right of the two ferries, but it too made regular stops at Mount Eredren’s tiny port. So Sarn ignored it and the men swarming its decks raising cargo nets full of goods into her holds. The unknown woman likely wasn’t heading for that ship.
Her destination was either one of the two ferries or the last boat in line—the one with an odd crescent-shaped profile. A shiver ran up his spine as Sarn squinted at its bow. It had a figurehead of some kind. Damn the distance, it was too great for even his sharp eyes to make out. But what about the magic’s? Sarn chewed his lip and considered.
Something about the longship’s trim profile tickled his memory. Sarn dug his fingers into the coping, and magic arced between his fingers, yearning for a task to perform. It crackled as he let the power build into a green sphe
re around his hand.
Where have I seen you before? There was something about the last boat in line. Its profile nagged at Sarn as his magic launched itself off his hand and plummeted several-thousand-feet to the ground below.
Emerald light streaked across the meadow dragging Sarn’s mental eye with it. As they raced toward the menhirs on the riverbank, the air thickened, slowing his magic’s progress until it slammed into a wall.
“No!” Sarn pounded a fist into the coping.
As had happened last month, an invisible barrier wove between the standing stones separating the meadow from the beach. But he couldn’t see how it was constructed. And his magic couldn’t penetrate it or see through it. Damn it!
His magic milled around that annoying barrier like an army at loose ends.
Look for an opening, Sarn told it.
And the magic obeyed. It changed into a pack of gleaming dogs—or maybe he imagined their shining snouts sniffing the space between those standing stones, seeking a break in their spell-wrought fence.
It’s got to have a weakness, everything does. Even he did, but no, my son is not a weakness. He’s my guiding light, my reason for fighting on. Sarn dug his fingers deeper into the scalloped coping deforming it.
There had to be a way past this unexpected obstacle. What don’t you want me to see? He asked of those silent stones standing more than a mile away. Last month you tried to stop me from finding thirteen dead hikers. What are you concealing this time?
They didn’t answer, nor did they let his magic or its eye pass. Those standing stones remained as mute now as they were last month and just as unhelpful.
Sarn punched the parapet. Green lightning skittered across his knuckles a second before impact, protecting them. But the balusters had no such protection. They bowed outward from the force of his blow. Sarn didn't notice.
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