Shards

by James Duvall

  The third formula was by far the most dire, requiring an ingredient that did not actually exist and two more that would freeze the potion into a solid block of ice so quickly that it would likely burst the vessel, sending glass shards into whichever unfortunate soul had attempted to brew the ill-fated potion.

  The final formula was not dangerous, but had no apparent function. The ingredients were generally common, wisterwort the one exception. It was a creeping phlox with silver flowers that grew in colder climates. Rendered down, the plants would produce an oily solution that was likely inert. It reminded Sapphire of the many variations on crystal-water that could be made to serve as bases for more advanced potions, when ordinary crystal-water would not do.

  Sapphire had everything she needed to brew the advanced potion base. Everything but the wisterwort, but it did grow on Merindi. The long march to the ruin of Forrander Unversity's alchemy facility had taken Sapphire on a journey through the foothills of the mountains that dominated Merindi's east coast. Where the soil had become too rocky for the dense cover of trees creeping up the mountainside from the Arcala Forest, hardy herbs that could face the wind and cold found purchase in the gaps in the stony structures. Vines of ivy and ground-clinging plants blanketed the stones, stretching down the rock like lush drapes. Among these, Sapphire had seen wisterwort. An ordinary mind might have overlooked it, but an alchemist paid attention to such things. Particularly to herbs so rare.

  Sapphire's head scanned back and forth as she looked from the clues about the bruskwood box on the left and the mysterious formulas of almost malevolent intent on the right. Faralon was a genius. They key had been right in front of her the entire time. The formulas would be overlooked by almost anyone that was trying to find his treasure, and any attempt to pick the lock would be met with failure.

  By evening, Dawn had returned and Sapphire had collected the wisterwort. Together, they began to brew Faralon's curious potion.

  Chapter 7

  The Burdened

  Isla Merindi, Pendric Shard

  In the Great Hall of the Bridgers Guild, there is a map of all the known lands of Pendria rediscovered since the Shattering. Shards are marked with the name of the exploring bridger and his companion, as well as the date they first bridged into the shard. Shards deemed inhospitable to human life are marked in black, and often bear the name of the bridger that perished there.

  From Shardwalls, A History

  Though her kind was known for their love of the light, Aurora found no joy in watching the sun rise. When the morning's first rays warmed her fur and feathers, the sun did not herald the start of a bright new day. No, Aurora was beckoned out of the respite of her haunted dreams and into the nightmare that was her reality. When she lifted her head, she could feel the subtle weight of the thin silver chain upon her shoulders. A verdant amulet hung down her front, and rested against the proud curve of her icy blue chest.

  The captive luminarian walked down to the creek flowing out of the Mistwood and drank her thirst away. Her reflection looked back at her with half-lidded eyes. Her exhaustion was not one that could be cured with sleep. It was a deeper thing, a palpable sense of dread that lingered within her soul even in those moments when she was alone; when she was safe. The amulet swayed a little with the motion of her stride. It bounced lightly against her front and swayed lazily in the air as she drank. She looked at it on her reflection. It was almost pretty to look at, when she didn't think about what it meant. Escape was mere seconds away, but she could not go. She was not ready.

  A rush of wind announced Aelengy's arrival. Aurora did not look up at him. She did not care what the gryphon had to say to her. Her indifference did not stop him from speaking.

  "How did you sleep?" he asked with a hint of gleeful anticipation in his voice. He already knew the answer. Aurora's nightmares made her kick and flap her wings in her sleep. Last night's had been particularly bad, and she had woken up gasping for air with a numbing chill in her spine that did not begin to ebb for several minutes.

  When Aurora did not answer, Aelengy lifted her head with his taloned foreleg and pointed her muzzle toward him. Aside from the inherent differences in their genders, gryphons were already much larger than luminarians. He loomed over her like a cat that had cornered a mouse, the mouse too frightened to risk turning its back to run. Like the mouse Aurora would look death in the face. She did not flinch. Aelengy scowled at the defiance in her eyes.

  "I should gouge that eye out," he said, turning his avian head so that one large golden eye was pointed out at Aurora's face with a raptor's intensity. He was speaking of her right eye, which was silver. It did not match the blue of her left.

  The threat did not shake Aurora's resolve. Aelengy hated her eyes, and so she relished in it. She made it a point to sit with her silver eye toward him. The silver eye, unnatural for a luminarian, unnerved him. He had once made the mistake of telling her so, and she took every opportunity to make him regret the error. Her defiance turned smug, which made him draw back, releasing her.

  "I assume that look is because you would be grateful," he said. He narrowed his eyes at her. "It is in your kind's nature to be wounded. Orphans of the world, the lot of you. Placeless and without purpose. You should be so fortunate that I would condescend to pluck it out, if only to make you less an abberation."

  "Were I blind, I would be free of having to wake every morning and look upon my jailer," Aurora answered.

  Aelengy scoffed. He reached down and caressed the emerald hanging from her neck. Lifting it up he admired it, captivated by the swirling luminescence of deep forest greens. They whorled across the smooth, glassy surface as though the gem contained a tiny whirlpool of magic, and Aurora's soul was caught somewhere in the balance - a wretched, half-drowned thing clutching at the very rocks slowly beating her to death in the torrent that was her life.

  "We are going to the lighthouse today," Aelengy said, letting the gem fall back against the luminarian's chest. "Donovan will need you."

  Aurora nodded, offering no further reply. It was not unusual for Donovan to call on her services. She felt that was likely why the human kept her close at hand. It was certainly not for her company. The same need that had driven him to imprison her acted as her shield, giving her a sharp tongue and a rebellious heart. So long as she continued to fill this role for him, she would be kept alive. That was what Aurora did best. She survived.

  The lighthouse was a wondrous thing. Even a mundane person could appreciate its beauty without understanding all that it stood for. A place of bountiful magic, the lighthouse was a wellspring of arcane power in a world so dry the foundations had begun to crack. It was a tall structure, with a circular footprint that was only two-thirds as wide at the top as it was at the bottom. It was built primarily of lydrium stone. New shipments had come nearly every week for the better part of the year, stopping only in the late winter when the blizzards made travel by airship too dangerous.

  Gems pulsed with light at the top of the tower, arranged like a glidestone engine with one large quartz fixed in the center and a ring of enchanted rubies orbiting it. The mist was nearly depleted from the rubies. As a result, the quartz seemed to just barely sparkle.

  At the base of the tower Donovan studied his creation with a hard-set gaze. Aurora slowed a little when she saw him. Some desperate part of her had hoped he might not be there. No, not hoped. She had prayed he would be gone. Would this be the day he would finally kill her? The day would come when he would have no further need of her skills, and that would mean the end of her miserable life.

  Begrudgingly, Aurora took her position at Donovan's side, seated on her haunches with her wings folded. She looked up at the lighthouse. There were not many on the Island of Mercy that could understand what the lighthouse really did. They just knew what Donovan told them. It was a source of magic, collecting energy flowing out of the ruin of Forrander University. To Aurora's kind, it was called the Bright Haven. The intense magical fields were too strong for hu
mans to survive, and that might mean refuge from Donovan Skalde.

  I will go there one day, she told herself. The promise rang hollow in her mind. Maybe she could ask them to point her body toward it when they buried her.

  Aurora felt the human's hand against her wild mane, his coarse fingers running through the deep blue locks. She steeled herself against it, setting her jaw so that she might not cringe. He would hit her across the muzzle if she did, or maybe worse. Whatever it was, Aurora would survive. She was good at that.

  Aurora's next breath came with sharp pain. The curse's grip shot through her like arrows from a bow. The amulet felt so hot against her chest that she thought it might burn her. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, counting the seconds in her mind as Donovan drained the magic from her. It didn't take as long this time. Aurora thought it was perhaps because it was her second visit this week and she had so little left to give.

  When it was over Aurora felt as though her strength had all been blown out of her. She stood unsteady on all four paws, her wings drooping off her back. Her blind eyes stared forward, the world a mixture of black and purple blobs. Squinting, she could just barely make out the shape of the lighthouse. It turned slowly onto its side as she panted for air. Only when a warm trickle of blood ran down her cheek between the rock and ground did she realize that she had fallen over.

  Donovan stepped over her, giving her time to rest before ordering her away. She could see him from where she lay. He did not look like the monster he was. He had dark hair, and a stubbly chin that human women seemed to like. His eyes were bright and he smiled a lot. Even now, as he knelt before her, inspecting her wound, he was smiling. She felt his hand rubbing her head. She hated that it felt nice.

  "That's a good girl," he said, and then walked away.

  Aurora did not respond. She couldn't. It would be another half an hour before she could work her jaw again, and then maybe at least she could right herself. Until then she would be left on the ground in an unnatural sprawl.

  At some point Aurora fell asleep, or perhaps lost consciousness. It was hard to tell which. Harold Grumsby was standing over her when she woke. Shouts of many voices reached her ears. Harold shook her gently. “Aurora...! Aurora!” he repeated with a whine. This upset Aurora. She liked Harold. He was different from the others. Not as clever, for sure, but he had a gentle warmth to him that seemed genuine.

  "Wake up, wake up," he urged, shaking her gently. "Donovan is in trouble!"

  Aurora closed her eyes. Harold would think it was the pain, but she simply did not care.

  "If he dies..." Harold said. It was an uncharacteristic moment of insight Aurora had not thought him capable of.

  Death would not be so bad. She had begun to think of the lighthouse as her gravestone. It was almost complete and with it complete, Skalde would have little use for her. He could enter the vault without her.

  "You must wake up!" Harold pleaded.

  A new thought came to Aurora. She could hear the screams of the dying. Donovan's men were dying all around her. Whatever killed Donovan, might also kill poor Harold.

  Aurora rose onto unsteady legs. They wobbled like a newborn cub first crawling from the nest. "Where?" she asked, her voice raspy.

  Harold pointed past the lighthouse, where the ground dropped down suddenly, the little shelf in the foothill of the coastal mountains again seemed to remember its destination and plunged like a great earthen staircase into the beach below.

  Aurora looked up at Harold with genuine sadness. If this was it, it would be the last time she would see his face unless the Almighty took pity on her wretched soul. She would miss him.

  "Get to safety," she said somberly, and lumbered toward the edge of the earthen shelf to save the life of the man she wanted so badly to see dead.

  When she had passed the lighthouse she looked back to see if he had gone. He hadn't. He stood mystified, staring at her with his arms slack at his side and his mouth open a little.

  "He probably thought I wouldn't go," Aurora thought to herself. They were fellow prisoners of Donovan Skalde. They were not bound to him in the same way, but they were both bound. They were alike in this. Aurora was going for him, not for Donovan. She felt no loyalty to her captor. No code of honor would demand this of her. She hoped that Harold understood that.

  At the precipice, Aurora found Donovan and his assailant. The assassin was a woman with red hair. Twin blades, already wet with blood, flashed in the morning sun as she struck down Donovan's spells and answered with a furious barrage of flame. Donovan pushed back with all of his might to hold the spells at bay.

  The luminarian hesitated on the edge. She tried to summon a silvery comet down atop the assassin, but could not summon the energy to form the glittering ball of death, her magic was depleted. How had Donovan not already killed her? Beneath the aegis of the lighthouse he would have more than ample magic to bury her beneath a barrage of fireballs that would reduce the woman to charred fragments of bone.

  Magic no longer an option, claws would have to do. Aurora crouched onto her hind legs, wings spreading. She leapt from the ledge, pumping her wings to accelerate her forward. She aimed for the woman's shoulders. It was her best chance of clearing the swords and carrying her quarry to the ground. The matter would be settled with a quick bite to the throat, but it was not to be.

  Halfway through the brief journey Aurora realized she was not going to make it. Weakness from her previous ordeal had robbed her of physical strength as well, and she crashed to the ground between Donovan and his would-be assassin. Her appearance was so unexpected that both Donovan and the girl took a few harried steps back. Aurora hit the ground hard, and wheezed as the impact robbed her of her air. The woman lowered her swords, seeming dumbfounded by her unlikely opponent.

  “I cannot let you kill him,” Aurora challenged. “I cannot... let...”

  Shadow closed in around her like a cocoon.

  When Aurora came back to her senses she found herself in the darkness of the little cave she slept in, not far from Donovan's lodge. Light came in from the mouth of the cave, but Aurora had the feeling that a very large amount of time had passed.

  "You were out for two days..." Harold Grumsby said. He pushed a bowl of cool water to her. She drank eagerly, the cold a balm against her dry tongue. She took a rag from the heap she used as a bed and dipped it into the bowl, then started to rub at her temple to clean out the dried-in blood. When she checked the rag, there was no trace of red.

  “Did you clean my wounds?” Aurora asked.

  Harold nodded eagerly. “Yes, I did.”

  Aurora's breath caught in her throat when she suddenly became aware of Aelengy at the back of the cave. He was watching her with genuine worry. It was unsettling to see him looking at her that way.

  "Do you know her?" he asked, with apparent interest. "Donovan said she did not even try to kill you?"

  "What's it your business?" Aurora asked, sharply.

  Aelengy's eyes turned cold, then brightened with delight. “You think she came to save you!”

  Aurora turned her silver eye toward him. "I do not," she said, in an even tone. The ebon-furred gryphon grinned wickedly, a sparkle in his eyes.

  "Poor little Aurora," Aelengy cooed. He lowered his head to whisper into her ear. Aurora thought to draw back, but would not give him the satisfaction of seeing her discomfort with his closeness.

  "It is good for you to hope," he said in a voice soft and thin."Hope is the foundation of despair."

  Aurora felt cold, and shuddered.

  Chapter 8

  The Codex of the Cold

  Abandoned Alchemy Lab, Isla Merindi, Pendric Shard

  A properly prepared solution of crystal water is clear as pure water and does not freeze except under the most extreme conditions. Purity of the preparation has been shown to be one of the primary factors driving the stability of any potion or elixir for which it serves as foundation, preserving its potency.

  A Treatise on Alc
hemy, page 18

  "How confident are you that this will work?" Dawn asked. He watched the bubbles rising up from the bottom of Sapphire's glass beaker, hurtling toward the surface in a steady stream only to be obliterated against the top. They seemed to come from the same spot, appearing from nowhere on the smooth glass bottom.

  Sapphire looked to the corner where the keyhole waited. "If you think about it, it is the perfect sort of lock for an alchemist," she said. "Nearly impervious to thieves. There's no lock to pick. They might try for hours before they realize they've been fooled. But we should not get our hopes too high. Maybe we are being too clever about this?"

  Dawn chuckled quietly. "Have you ever heard of an aralir dagger?" he asked.

  Sapphire shook her head, giving him a questioning look.

  "There's a book about them in the tower," Dawn went on to explain. "Before the Shattering, mages were sometimes the favored targets of thieves. It makes sense, really, they carried all sorts of magical baubles. Well the mages started to carry daggers for protection, but more often than not, the bandits got the daggers from them and turned them back against their wielders."

  To this, Sapphire tilted her head. "Why not use magic?"

  Dawn simply shrugged. "It seems that occurred to them as well, and so they made magic daggers, the aralir daggers. It's old halherran for icicle. The blade actually formed from ice when the mage put magic into the hilt. When they let go, the blade would melt in a few seconds, depriving the thief of a weapon to turn back against the mages. It was a clever solution, perhaps a little too clever. The thieves came to like the aralir daggers so much that they targeted the inventive mages even more, hoping to get one of their own."