Acolyte's Underworld: An Epic Fantasy Saga (Empire of Resonance Book 4)

by L. W. Jacobs

  But Rena’s eyes were still bright when Marea opened the door to the dim bedroom. The room smelled of cheap incense, and under it the ranker scents of urine and decay.

  “Marea,” she croaked. “Loper.”

  This was the name Rena had chosen for her, after the character in Hestin’s broadsheets, because Rena thought Marea was an adventurer like Loper. It had never really felt right—what Marea had been through didn’t feel like an adventure, even if it might sound that way—but today it fit.

  “Loper,” she agreed. “Do you remember that thing I told you I was working on?”

  “The… cure thing?” Rena managed. Marea hadn’t told her many details of what she was learning from Uhallen, but she hadn’t been able to hold back saying that it might lead to a cure. Praise the currents she’d actually pulled it off before the fever took her friend.

  “The cure thing,” Marea said, kneeling by Rena’s bed, trying to remember how she’d seen Avery do it. It didn’t matter ultimately—all she needed was uai and belief. Uai she had, now, and belief wasn’t a problem either. Uhallen had said she could, and the man had no reason to lie.

  So Marea formed an image in her head, like she would if she were trying to fatewalk a cure. Imagined the Rena she’d never known, hair lush and skin glowing and cheeks full, springing up from her bed like she’d laid down for a nap and slept too long. Laughing. Healthy. Cured.

  Imagined it and struck resonance, a resonance that was now broader and deeper than it had ever been, like a wind chime turned into a barge’s gong.

  Rena gasped. Marea’s eyes snapped open to find her friend arching out of the bed, eyes wide, every muscle in her body rigid.

  And healing. The skin tightened across her arms, her sallow cheeks filled out, and her wheezing gasp vanished in a deep lungful of air.

  It came out as a shout. Not a phrase or a word or even a language Marea recognized, just an animal shout of joy. Marea shouted too, shooting to her feet. The slab of guilt she’d carried between her shoulders was gone. Her whole body felt light.

  Rena dropped back onto the bed. She bounced up to a seat and sucked in a breath, looking at her arms in wonder. “What did you do,” she asked, tears streaming down her face. Even her voice was richer, the voice of a healthy young woman.

  Marea grinned, tears in her own eyes. “I did what I said I would. I healed you.”

  Rena shook her head. “I mean—how?”

  “With the things I’ve been learning, like I told you about.”

  “But this is impossible. I was dying.” It sounded almost like a question.

  “And now you’re not!” Marea said. “Isn’t that great?”

  Her friend looked up from her hands, suddenly curious. “Who are you?”

  “What do you mean? I’m Marea. You know, Loper? The one who tells you long stories about how much her life scats to pass the time?”

  “No,” Rena’s eyebrows knitted. “I mean who are you, really? Why did you come here?”

  Marea frowned. “I made a promise to your father, to do what I could.”

  Rena nodded like something suddenly made sense. “You’re like them.”

  “Like who?”

  “Whoever it was that did this to me. That trapped Dad. You’re just a good one.”

  Marea recoiled. “An archrevenant? I’m definitely not one of them. Rena I’m a regular person, I swear.”

  She shook her head. “Regular people don’t work miracles.”

  “This one does.” This was not going how she’d imagined.

  “Well whoever you are,” Rena said, “thank you. Thank you so much.”

  It wasn’t the kind of thanks you said to your friends. “Hey. No. You don’t need to thank me. I—it was partially my fault your dad died! We were traveling together!”

  It was as close as she could get to the truth, even now.

  “Marea, look. Whatever you needed to do, you did it now. I’m sure you have a lot more important things to do than hang around with me. You don’t have to pretend.”

  “I’m not pretending! Hey, remember how we always talked about walking down to the ocean? Getting some ice and watching the Brider ships? Let’s go. We need to celebrate!”

  “No, it’s okay. I should go tell my mom anyway.” She smiled apologetically. “She’s been worried sick.”

  “Well, tomorrow then, okay? I want to take that walk with you.”

  “Tomorrow, then,” Rena said. “But really, it’s okay. You don’t have to come back.”

  Marea stood, the room suddenly cramped and hot. “I want to come back. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  She left before her friend could insist she didn’t need to again. What was her problem? Marea held onto that question as she walked back to the riverfront, wanting to be angry, wanting to stew on it.

  By the time she got to the dock she just felt tired. She knew the answer—Rena didn’t have a problem. She was having the same kind of reaction anyone would who witnessed a miracle—disbelief. She hadn’t spent a year in the deep south watching people in caves gain magical powers. Hadn’t witnessed a god die and another be born when he drew an ancient spear from a giant stone. She’d just been suddenly cured of an incurable disease with what looked like magic, and of course that made her see Marea differently.

  Because Marea was different.

  That was the thought that stuck with her on the walk home. Not how great it was to cure Rena, or how relieved she felt—because she didn’t, really—to have saved Eyadin’s daughter, or even her anger at how Ella was acting. It was that she was different now, and getting more different all the time. Not a regular person, like Rena’d said.

  Learning shamanism wasn’t just giving her more power over her life. It was changing her life.

  Marea took the cobbled lane up to her family’s estate, clouds burning gold and purple overhead. No wonder Ninespears had secret societies. They probably didn’t feel like they fit in to regular society anymore. But that was the funny thing about her—she didn’t have a society. Her parents were gone and her friends didn’t understand her. She could disappear tomorrow and no one would notice.

  Lineila let her in at the gates, squalling baby in her arms. The remains of dinner were cooling on the table, and Marea made a plate for herself before climbing the stairs to her room. The north wing was eerie, just spotless floors and empty rooms where her family had once lived. Her things were still in storage—Marea hadn’t bothered to get them out—and the bed she sat on was new and stiff, not the feather-filled one she’d used her whole childhood. Marea spooned up some curry, spoon clinking in the quiet room.

  And set it back down. Tired as she was, hungry as she was, she couldn’t eat. Marea slumped back on the bed, feeling a nameless longing. The ceiling above was inlaid with brown and yellow tiles, family colors of the House that had lived here before them. House Gerthel. She’d seen a couple of them at the soiree, watching the duel.

  That made her think of Ella, dressed in Merewil’s gray and yellow. Had she escaped the lawkeepers? Where was she staying, anyway? Marea hadn’t thought to ask.

  It was strange that the woman she would have called her best friend was here in the city, and Marea didn’t know where. Didn’t even want to see her, really. Had they only been friends from convenience, two Worldsmouth women stuck in the south? Was that over now?

  Was Ella’s real problem that she saw Marea as different now too, like Rena did? Couldn’t accept that she was becoming more than the scared girl she’d been when they met?

  Marea rolled on the bed, staring at the wall, feeling drained. She’d always imagined power would solve her problems. If she could just fly like Tai, or work revenants like Nauro, everything would be fine. But here she was, still moody and alone, full of problems and no one to talk to. No one who’d understand her, anyway.

  Marea shifted on the hard bed. That wasn’t true—she knew one person who’d been through something like this. And she didn’t even need to find him to talk to him. They’d s
poken earlier today.

  Uhallen.

  “Are you there?” she asked out loud, then felt stupid when no answer came. Of course he wasn’t listening all the time. But she had an uai stream now, and whatever shamans did, they did with uai and belief. Including however Uhallen spoke into her mind.

  So Marea imagined the shaman wherever he was, maybe reclining on the plush couch in his downstairs apartment, probably smoking his ever-present cigar. She pictured her voice coming crystal clear into his mind and again struck resonance.

  Uhallen?

  Marea. He sounded totally unsurprised. To what do I owe the pleasure?

  Nothing, just—seeing what you’re up to, she thought back, then immediately felt stupid. But what was she supposed to say, I’m lonely, cheer me up?

  I was just thinking of you, actually, his voice came, calm as ever. Wondering how your time with your friend Rena went.

  Marea bit a strand of hair. Not so good. Awful, actually. She wanted to say more, but at the same time didn’t. Her problems would just sound petty compared to his.

  He sighed as if he understood, anyway. This can happen. Our powers are not easily understood by the rest of the world. It’s part of why we have to stay hidden, to keep them from trying to worship us. He paused, and she could almost hear him exhaling smoke. Or lynching us, for that matter.

  That’s—nice to hear, she thought back. Rena definitely did not understand.

  That was the understatement of the century.

  What are you doing now? he asked.

  Nothing, Marea thought back. She pushed the food on her plate around. Nothing at all.

  Do you want to come over?

  Marea started. Come over? But it’s almost dark. Her mother had ingrained in her not to see boys after dark. Though Uhallen was hardly a boy. How old was he, anyway?

  Uhallen chuckled. As if there is anything in the dark that can scare us. Well, it was just a thought. You sound like you could use a friend.

  Marea opened her mouth, about to say no, then closed it again. Why not go now? Why not go in the middle of the night? She wasn’t a child anymore.

  That sounds nice, actually, she thought back, sitting up. I’ll see you soon.

  Wonderful, his voice sounded in her head. You know where to find me.

  39

  Ylensmarsh was different at night, dark streets punctuated by lawkeepers bearing lanterns and the occasional raucous teahouse. Marea avoided those, feeling stupid as she did so. She’d killed two shamans today—what harm could a few dreamtea drinkers do her? Still, she avoided them, taking the quieter streets winding through the old quarter. She felt at peace, despite the turmoil of the day. Like she had finally made a decision looming over her for a while. The moon was waxing, its dark orb outlined in a network of fire, lit crescent casting a pale glow over the stone buildings around her.

  Uhallen’s gate was open. She took the stairs slowly, each separate archway revealing a different view of the city, ten thousand lights twinkling in a human reflection of the stars above. She felt at once apprehensive and like she couldn’t wait to get to him. To talk to someone who understood, despite the fact they had only known each other a few days. Uhallen was the reason she had changed so much, that she’d been able to heal Rena, even if it hadn’t worked out like she planned.

  The door to his lower apartments was open, a warm light spilling from inside. She entered to the familiar scent of sage smoke, a few blown-glass lamps casting a muted orange glow over the room’s rich furnishings.

  Uhallen rose as she entered, reaching for her in a gentleman’s greeting. “Marea! So nice to see you.”

  She extended her hand for him to brush lips, the familiar gesture feeling strange because he’d never offered it before. “Likewise. Thanks for making time for me. I’m sure you have lots of other things going on.”

  “Hardly,” he said. “Since I broke with my cell the nights have been long, to be honest. I could use a little company. But where are my manners? Can I get you any tea? Lager? A cigar?”

  A gleam came into his eyes at the last. Marea smiled. “You know what? Sure. Get me a cigar.”

  “Excellent. I have just the one.” He pulled a cigar that looked much like the others from his polished case. “Mild to medium body, floral and citrus notes, easy draw and clean finish. You should enjoy it.”

  Marea took it from him, then hesitated. “I’ve—never actually smoked one of these.”

  “Here,” Uhallen said, the tip of one finger bursting alight in a hum of resonance. “Just draw in, but be careful not to inhale. The smoke can be pungent if you are unused to it.”

  Marea leaned into his flame, pulling through the cigar. Raw smoke filled her lungs and she coughed, nearly dropping the thing. “Currents,” she said when she’d recovered. “This one is mild?”

  A smile played on his lips. “Relatively speaking, yes. Don’t draw so deeply next time—the flavor is all in the mouth. But please, sit.”

  He gestured to the chairs, and she chose one. He sat on the couch nearby. “So you did manage to heal your friend?”

  “Yeah,” Marea said, confusion and loneliness welling up again as she remembered Rena telling her thank you. Like she was some kind of stranger. “It just—wasn’t the same, afterwards.”

  Uhallen nodded. “That much power can be shocking to the uninitiated. I should have warned you.”

  “She knows me, though. I’ve seen her almost every day since I came here, and we talked all about my past, and the things I saw in the south. Unless she thought I was lying?”

  Uhallen exhaled smoke. “Hearing about it and experiencing it are two different things. It’s not your fault if she can’t accept who you really are.”

  “That’s the thing, is I thought she did.” Marea tried a small draw on her cigar. “I thought we were friends.”

  “Friends,” Uhallen said, “often means equals, or travelers on the same path. Take you and I, for instance. Things felt quite distant between us when we first met in the square, didn’t they? But you’ve advanced quickly, and the closer to true shamanism you come, the less distance I feel between us.”

  “Have you had this happen to you?” Marea asked. Uhallen seemed so refined and sophisticated, not to mention wealthy. She assumed he had lots of friends.

  “Many times.” He drew deeply on his cigar, ember glowing red at the end. He sighed out smoke. “I had a family, you know. A wife and son, back in Seingard.”

  “I didn’t know,” Marea said. Uhallen a father? “They’re--?”

  “They’re gone now,” he said evenly, “but we were estranged long before croup took them in the Forger’s Uprising.”

  “You had started learning shamanism?”

  “Yes, but I disobeyed the strictures,” Uhallen said, gazing at a drifting cloud of smoke. “I didn’t want to keep secrets from them. I wanted my wife to know everything, wanted my son to see the wonders I was experiencing.”

  Marea tried another draw on her cigar. It still tasted awful, but she kind of liked blowing smoke. “And they didn’t like it?”

  “It was fine for a time. Wonderful, even. But there was a lot of opportunity back then, and I rose in power quickly. We began to argue, Eitta fearing who I was becoming. There was no way I could explain it to her.” He took another deep draw on his cigar.

  “And then?” Marea asked, not wanting to intrude on his memories, but also wanting to know what happened. If all shamans eventually had to lose the people close to them.

  “And then they got sick,” he said simply. “And I did not have power then as you do now. I couldn’t cure them. And her anger, as they lay dying, that after all that I could not even cure them?”

  Marea frowned. “You didn’t catch it?”

  “Staying healthy is an easy trick, once you learn it. Our minds and bodies are already so intricately connected, there are plenty of vulgars who do this without uai at all. Think of healworkers staying well inside quarantines. They simply believe themselves so. With our
power, well, there is a reason we live so long. But for the same reason, it is very hard to make your belief affect someone else’s body.”

  “I’m sorry. I had no idea.”

  “It is the past,” he said simply. “I’ve learned to let it go, as I’ve had to let go of many things since. That’s the thing about a long life: the world does not cease changing. And with every new thing, some old thing dies. Vulgars live such short lives, they can get away with staying fairly static. You will still find elders here who still call the city Ylensmarsh instead of Worldsmouth, or speak of Houses long since fallen from Council status. Those of us blessed with longer lives have no such luxury.”

  Marea leaned forward. “So what do you do?”

  “Accept change. Stay aware of who you are now, not who you were or who you think you are. Let go of those parts that no longer serve you. I spent many years holding on to my anger and grief, after Eitta passed. Those emotions served neither me nor her memory. I was like a traveler, clinging to a gravestone. I could not move on until I let go.”

  Marea exhaled smoke, thinking about Ella. “I guess other people have trouble letting go of who we were too.”

  “And we cannot expect them to, when they have not chosen lives like ours. This is especially true for you, while you are changing so rapidly. You may find those who were friends are now only obstacles. And those who were strangers? Sometimes we can become friends.”

  He smiled, and Marea drew on her cigar again, too deeply. She coughed out smoke. “So what would you do, if you were me?”

  “In my experience, there is often one thing in particular that holds journeymen back from progressing, some cherished part of their past that no longer fits. Yours may be these friends. It is no fault of yours or theirs that the situation has changed, but clinging to what is gone will only cause grief. Let them go.”

  Marea sighed. “Easier said than done.”

  Uhallen ashed his cigar on one of the many soapstone trays in the room. “Perhaps a little more practice will take your mind off it. There is a weapon in our arsenal I’ve been hesitant to mention, but maybe it’s time.”