Shards

by James Duvall

  "That's a bad omen," Willoughby said, seeing the leaves. Timothy shook his head in dismay. Airmen were a superstitious lot, and it only got worse with age. It was a product of the years, he thought. Every passing day that Willoughby stayed alive he would more attribute that survival to his beliefs and the grace of the Night Warden holding the Reaper at bay.

  Then the man in front of Timothy stopped walking so suddenly that Timothy bumped into him. By reflex his hands went for his sword and pistol. It was Willoughby. The first mate waved Timothy forward. "Captain...? What do you make of this?" he asked.

  The homestead looked as though it belonged to a successful merchant in the business end of town. It was two stories tall and constructed of lumber and he thought he could see glass windows behind the shutters. The shardwall filtered the moonlight to a dim blue, making it hard to judge the materials in the dark, but Timothy could tell an expensive home when he saw one. This was no thieves' den. However, unless Nothnor had maneuvered itself several dozen miles to the north sometime in the night, the home was as out of place as a luminarian in the royal court. Then again, a luminarian had just absconded with his treasure and he, a lesser thief, had received an audience with the King of Maronar, under the guise of nothing less than a royal bridger.

  "Nothing on this island makes sense," Timothy muttered under his breath. With his pistol drawn he made his way up the walk. Willoughby and a young lad named Michaels came with him, both with a pistol and sword. They would each get one shot. After that, Timothy could fall back to his second pistol and then would have to rely on his blade. The guns simply took too long to reload to afford an opportunity amidst a squall.

  There were no tracks in the dust leading up the walk. On the porch Timothy peered through the keyhole and saw only darkness. When he turned around to address his men he could still see the Mistwood's imprint on the night. It seemed to have grown brighter since they had left. There was something predatory about the way it steeped the rest of the world in darkness against its bright radiance. Even his crew, only a few yards away, had been swallowed up by the night. For a moment his instinct told him that this was the look of a forest caught fire, and those grim lights might sweep out across the underbrush and consume him in the span of a breath. Dread threatened to take him and he stood transfixed upon the light until he felt Willoughby's hand on his shoulder.

  "Captain...?" he asked. "Do you see something?"

  "No, nothing," he said quietly, then turned the knob. The house was empty, as he had predicted it would be. "Get Thacker a bed, and lets get some water boiling to wash him some proper bandages."

  Timothy was first through the door. Light from the Mistwood came in through the windows and bathed the room in what looked like moonlight. Timothy squinted into the dim, making out the silhouettes of furniture. Tapestries hung from the walls and the balcony banister, haunting the room like ghosts. Willoughby found a candlestick set in a brass fixture by the door. Timothy heard the hissing flare of a match and for a brief moment, warm candle light mingled with the pale blue from outside and dampened it like the dawning of the early morning sun. A moment passed.

  "There we are," Willoughby said. Then the world became fire. Gouts of flame spouted from the walls as though from the mouths of ancient mountain dragons. Embers arched overheard as the air itself seemed to catch, and a great jet of flame roared from the center of the room. Heat flashed across Timothy's skin and his eyes shut tight against the blinding glare. He forced himself to take a breath, certain it would be his last.

  But it was not, it was over in a few seconds, like a lit match that flared violently, then settled into a small and peaceful burn. Candle sconces had lit themselves, and a simple chandelier had come to life as well. Most impressively, a fire had started in a pit in the center of the front room. The floor came down to it in levels like an amphitheater, and the fire itself was housed in a ring of white stones, cut for the task so that they formed a near perfect circle which the magical fire did not attempt to escape. Smoke was funneled up to the ceiling where it could escape through a smokestack.

  Chairs had been set up around the fire pit and a long table was put up against one wall, suitable for entertaining perhaps a dozen or more guests. The tapestry hanging from the balcony had become visible and bore the symbol of the gryphon and scepter. Timothy recognized it from the decorations that had not been scavenged from what was left of the old alchemy lab. In the corner, a spiral staircase went up to the balcony and a hall of rooms beyond. Another hall on the other side of the room led to the kitchens and servants quarters. The two men stood in stunned disbelief, taking it all in.

  "Captain?"

  "Yes, Willoughby?"

  "Captain, I don't think I've got my eyebrows anymore," Willoughby said, sounding genuinely concerned.

  Timothy arched one of his and turned to look at the older man, who was prodding at his bushy eyebrows and had his eyes rolled back as far as he could to try to see them, though they remained just outside of his view.

  "They're fine," Timothy answered mechanically. His first officer breathed a sigh of relief.

  "For a second there, I thought there was a powder explosion. Course, we wouldn't be here anymore if it were that."

  Timothy nodded. "I imagine not."

  "Whew," Willoughby said and shook out his limbs with a nervous chuckle. "I'll get the others."

  He started out the door and Timothy called him back.

  "Willoughby? Please make sure the men know we are ehm... guests... here, and they should not disturb any of the owner's personal effects. I don't care to rouse the ire of whoever can make fire shoot up from the ground like that. I think the men will all agree."

  Willoughby nodded, whistling. "Oh ho, I'm sure they will indeed, sir."

  Chapter 14

  The Delusionist

  The Mistwood, Isla Merindi, Pendric Shard

  Glowstone Recipe for High Altitudes

  Invented because the usual recipe was made by people that live low to the ground and clearly never tried to use one of their shoddy glowstones up in the mountains.

  Alteration: Double quantity of red mist, substitute the nettle-based stabilizer with any family of stabilizer built from plants that grow in high altitude or cold environment to keep Glowstone from becoming dim after only an hour!

  From Sapphire Nightsong's journal of practical alchemy, penned in Falfarren

  Sapphire poked her head out of the little gulch she had passed the night in. Dawn was already awake. He smiled at her with his eyes, his ears perking.

  "Sleep well?" he asked. The Dawn Shard only worked so long as Sapphire was awake, so she knew he must have been waiting in the circle for her to wake and bring the crystals to life.

  Sapphire yawned widely as she arched her back and flicked out her wings. They were looking a bit ragged and could have used a preening session or two, but Sapphire settled with picking out a few of the more bedraggled feathers and tossing them into the gulch. It wasn't as important to hide feathers in the woods, but the impulse still remained. There would be no ship's officers searching for the stowaways that shed white and blue feathers into the food stores.

  I made that trip better for everyone. They should have given me a bunk and made the cook pass his days curled up in spare sailcloth.

  "I'd take the cargo hold again, over a hole in the ground," Sapphire admitted, still feeling bleary-eyed. She did her best to hide it, flashing him a smile before digging a piece of fruit out of her satchel and devouring it for her breakfast.

  Dawn sat watching her with a hungry look. Sapphire rolled her eyes. He had come to the circle to check on her before having his own breakfast.

  "I'm surprised you're up already," Sapphire said. "Feeling alright today? How is your leg?"

  "It's fine," Dawn said.

  Sapphire wasn't sure if she should believe him, but she had little power to send him back to bed from so many miles away. Instead she changed the subject, he did not like to talk about his faltering health. "Wh
at about the amulet? Did you find anything out about that?"

  "Hmm..."

  Sapphire stopped eating. "You did look it up, didn't you?"

  "It is called Kallisti's Burden. It is not very pleasant," he said. "I just didn't want to worry you about it. There's really nothing you can do for her..." He trailed off and Sapphire followed his gaze to the west, wondering what he was looking for.

  "And...?" Sapphire asked, expecting more. Dawn looked at her sullenly.

  "That's it," he said, and shrugged his wings. "The curse has her. If you try to take the amulet off, she will die. I'm sorry, but it is as simple as that. The curse has never been broken. Her only option is to spend the rest of her life wearing the amulet and hope whoever she is bonded to lives for a very long time."

  The amulet bonded her to someone? Who would bond a luminarian to himself? Usually mages wanted to be rid of them. Bendrin University was enough proof of that.

  'Is this a joke? Get that animal out of here!' The dean of admission's voice echoed through Sapphire's thoughts.

  "Are you okay...?" Dawn asked. Sapphire could feel the soft thrum of energy in her own amulet, bringing Dawn to her across many shardwalls. It was a closeness that brought her comfort, in every way the opposite of the nauseating feeling Aurora's amulet pervaded the mind with. How much torment could a soul endure before the mind cracked and darkened? The luminarian girl had outright asked her comrade to kill her; to free her from her bonds.

  Sapphire nodded slowly as she shrugged off her satchel and dug out the compass. Most of her kind had a good sense of direction, but mist fields could play with that, even in the light of day when the mists subsided back to wherever it was that mist went when it was not black out. She oriented the needle off the gate in the shardwall and calculated her direction into the Mistwood. The river was not far, Sapphire had found it the night before and put at least a hundred yards between her and it. Camping directly on the river invited disaster. The waters ran blue with the lingering mist. Fog, real fog, had rolled in with the arrival of morning. It came nearly to Sapphire's chest. She waded through it, leaving a wake like a boat. It swirled around behind her and came together, swallowing up her path.

  A sound began to bother her, a distant calling, screaming? No, it was too quiet for that. Sapphire looked around, ears pricked forward. Her amulet thrummed softly against her chest. "Do you hear that?" she asked. It seemed important.

  "I don't," Dawn said, also looking around.

  Sapphire shrugged her wings and started to follow the river northward, by evening she would reach the fork described by Faralon's journal. The sound persisted, though muted, like a voice talking to her through a pillow.

  "Why do you think she spared us?" Sapphire asked in a quiet voice. Her mind was fixated on Aurora's curse. This seemed a brand of slavery even more cruel than the common sort; it compelled the body and warped the soul. What joy could there be in a life like that? Even Dawn, despite his frailty, seemed happy. Sapphire looked over at him and smiled softly.

  Dawn shrugged a little, looking away. "She probably saw that you were magic and thought you might save her. But you know how curses are. You would likely kill her in the attempt."

  "You're probably right..." Sapphire said sadly. She hung her head a little as she walked, wondering and worrying. This was not like Dawn at all. Usually he was more optimistic about things. Was something wrong? Sapphire wondered if his condition had deteriorated further than he let on. The Dawn Shard was not perfect. It did not simply display whatever entered the circle. The image was filtered somewhat by her mind and his.

  Dawn came up on her left and nuzzled her chin. Sapphire purred softly back at him, her eyes closing for a moment and then slowly opening.

  "I'm sorry," he said warmly. "I should not have worried you."

  Sapphire grinned a little and giggled at him. She missed his gentle touch. She stretched her wings and looked over at the Dawn on her right. This one had bloodshot eyes that were wide with terror. Without a voice he was screaming her name over and over. Sapphire could read it on his lips but not a sound came out. All Sapphire could hear was the soft wind through the leaves as it stirred the mist around her. He was sobbing now, tears wetting his cheeks. His body convulsed as he coughed and looked at her with pleading eyes. Wait. His... touch....? Sapphire could still remember the feel of his nose pressed against hers just a few moments ago. She looked back at the Dawn on the left, head turning slowly as though she hadn't seen the Dawn on the right.

  "Can you see in the dark?" she asked in a small, raspy voice. Her jaw quivered as she spoke. False Dawn grinned and took a step toward her. He was real. Very real. The fog stirred from his steps, pushed aside by his broad chest. Sapphire snatched a gem from her satchel and flung it in the imposter's face. The spell banished all the light from the world. The illusion dispelled, False Dawn was transformed into a gryphon of black and brown with red marks at the tips of his ears and along his taloned forelegs, for he was a dusk tracer.

  The dusk tracer smiled at her wickedly, his yellow eyes glinting in the void. "I am the dark."

  Sapphire realized he could see her, and bolted for the edge of the darkness. She was no better off here, and it took her own strength to support the spell. There would be a flash of light at the edge of the effect, and if he was still using blindsight the intense flare would blind him for a few seconds. He would be faster in the air, but Sapphire could lose him in the trees if she could get far enough ahead. Agility was perhaps the only thing she had on him, but that wouldn't matter in an all out race.

  Bursting through the wall of darkness, Sapphire squeezed her eyes tightly shut. Her world blazed with light and she could only hope the gryphon was hurt more. For an instant she thought to turn and face him, but he had gotten so close already. Clearly he had magic of his own. The dusk tracer came out screeching in fury. He surged forward and raked raptor talons across her back, forcing Sapphire to crash into the river. They splashed into the cold and he forced her under the surface. Sapphire clawed her way up onto the bank, coughing up the bitter water and choking on what she had half-swallowed, half-breathed.

  He was only seconds behind her as she fled into the trees. Her wings pumped furiously and snapped closed as she darted between closer-together trees and ducked beneath rocky outcrops to gain a foot or so here and there. The dusk tracer's pursuit was relentless. Far more than any meal might have been worth. Yet he never gained enough to force Sapphire to turn and face him. As Sapphire slowed, so did the gryphon. Gradually she came to realize that he could take her at any time, but for some reason had not. They were turning, making their way to the west. They had covered miles, and Sapphire's wings ached so badly she could barely keep herself in the air. She dipped dangerously close to the ground, paws brushing against the undergrowth.

  Ahead Sapphire could see men. Big men with black leather armor and spiked clubs in their hands. The gryphon pressed her toward them, herding her like wayward livestock. Determined not to be led, Sapphire swerved suddenly to the north, lunging desperately for the darkness of the Mistwood. This brought the gryphon's wrath. He was upon her in seconds, his missing strength suddenly returning in spades. He seized her by the neck and wrestled her out of the sky. The two of them crashed against the mossy ground and Sapphire tumbled, bouncing and rolling over rocks and small plants.

  Dawn's image reformed from white mist and stood in front of her fallen form, growling as ferociously as his mate had ever seen. The men hesitated for just a moment. Then the gryphon came up to them. "The orange one is false! Get the girl!"

  The thugs surged past Dawn and encircled the wounded luminarian. She barely came to the waist of the shortest of them, and blood oozed from claw marks down her wing. The noose began to tighten around her.

  Sapphire hissed, keeping her head down below their clubs. She swatted at them with her claws whenever they got too close. For a few moments she held them at bay, scratching at limbs and giving one young man a nasty slash across his thigh that dro
pped him to his knees. He scrambled back screaming before Sapphire could finish him off. Blood dripped from her lips.

  Again and again Sapphire reached for her magic, but the dusk tracer had forced her to use so much of it trying to get away. The little spellshards were out of reach, tucked away in her satchel. Desperately she tried to find a way to hide the focus from them, but they would find it, and they would take it from her. The only option was escape.

  Sapphire lunged at smallest of the men, catching him in the chest and driving him to the ground. She tried to spring off of him and sprint into the Mistwood, but the rest took advantage of the plight of their fellow and overwhelmed her. A solid blow caught her just below the ribs and sent her rolling onto her side. She felt numbness and pain all through one leg, and when she tried to put weight on the trembling limb it slid out from beneath her. All the world faded to a dull haze of pain and shouting. Somewhere among it she could hear Dawn pleading for her life.

  A wild swing slipped past her defenses, crashing into the side of her head. She bounced off the base of a tree and sagged against it. Dawn begged her to get up, to run, but there was nothing but pain and blackness before her. She lifted her claw to the chain around her neck.

  “I am sorry...” With a yank she shattered the chain.

  ***

  “Sapphire! Sapphire!”

  The world was blown away like the tide crushing out a kingdom of sand. Dawn stood in the scrying circle, staring at his own reflection in the flat surface of a dark blue gem. He screamed her name, and the last of his pleas for mercy echoed through the empty halls and reverberated back to him from the arching ceilings above as the last of the island world fell away before him.

  He wailed and limped forward, clutching the primary gem against his chest. Pain pounded through his hind leg like fire. "Please don't die," he begged the gem. "Please! It was supposed to be me! You were supposed to live forever! I'm the one that's sick, I'm the one that's frail! I need you..."