Flight into Darkness

by Sarah Ash

  “The—the Emperor Eugene?” Donatien stuttered, his face changing color from pasty white to a dark, choleric red.

  Aliénor found her voice at last. “Enguerrand, what have you done?”

  “What have I done?” Enguerrand echoed. “If Celestine is not set free, this darkness will never lift. She is the only one who can heal the Rift.”

  “Make way! Make way for the duke!” The sound of raucous shouts and the clatter of horses’ hooves filled the darkness.

  Enguerrand scanned the Place du Trahoir. Armed horsemen had appeared at the far side; at their head rode a grizzled, broad-chested warrior. The banners they carried, flapping in the swirling wind, were russet, black, and gold—the colors of Provença. The last of the crowd scattered as he led his retainers on, urging his charger straight up toward the dais.

  “Raimon?” said Aliénor querulously. “What does this mean?”

  “I've come to support my future son-in-law,” announced the Duke of Provença, letting out a rumbling laugh.

  Aude had been riding behind her father; she jumped down and ran up onto the dais to Enguerrand's side. Oblivious to his mother's presence, Enguerrand kissed her.

  “I've never been so humiliated in my life.” Ilsevir came forward, his Rosecoeur captain close behind him. His voice shook, but whether with rage or terror, Enguerrand could not be certain. “Perhaps I should remind you all that I was crowned king of Francia but a short while ago. Am I to be ignored?”

  “My dear Ilsevir,” said Eugene, taking him by the arm, “you and I need to talk.”

  “We got you down just in time, Lieutenant!” Jagu found himself surrounded by his triumphant Guerriers. One handed him a water bottle and, gratefully, he poured the cold liquid down his seared throat until he choked. He stood, wheezing and hacking, as they slapped his back and cheered.

  “Thank you, lads,” he managed to say, between coughs. “I owe you; every one of you.” But now that he had got his breath back, he gazed up into the churning sky. “Which way did he take her? Which way did the Drakhaoul go?”

  Celestine opened her eyes. She was clasped in the arms of the dark Drakhaoul as tenderly as if she were a little child being carried home by her father. And they were flying; she could feel his body shudder with every powerful wingbeat, she could feel the dark air on her face. Her eyes and mouth stung with the smoke that she had inhaled and her throat and lungs felt as if they had been seared by the pyre flames. But she was alive. Unless this was another dream…

  And then she remembered.

  “Where is Jagu?”

  There was a little public garden below, shaded by acacia and willow trees; Rieuk could even hear the splashing of a fountain. He alighted and set her gently down on a bench.

  She was still coughing from the smoke she had inhaled, so he went to the fountain and brought her water in his cupped hands. She gulped it down eagerly, so he brought her more.

  “Father?” Celestine heard the Faie's voice issuing from her own mouth. And suddenly she was filled with Azilis's yearning to be reunited with her lost father. At the same time she felt her love for her own father surge up within her, mingling with the Faie's feelings until she could no longer distinguish what she felt.

  “Azilis, my dearest child.” The Drakhaoul clasped her to him again, enfolding her in his arms. “I've found you at last.”

  The magus's mark gleamed ever more brightly in the gloomy alley as Jagu, bare feet slipping on the muddy cobblestones, forced himself to follow the Drakhaoul's trail. He was certain that there was a connection between his magus and the daemon that had rescued Celestine. And the more his marked wrist throbbed, competing in intensity with the constant dull pain of his crushed hand, the nearer he reckoned he must be to finding them both.

  But why had the daemon taken her? He was certain that he had heard the Drakhaoul cry out a name as he came soaring down out of the darkness. And that name was “Azilis.”

  “Could it be?” he muttered. “Could it be that your guardian spirit is the Eternal Singer, Celestine?”

  The ironwork gates to a public garden lay ahead. And the mark on Jagu's wrist burned so fiercely that it felt as if it had been painted on his skin with acid.

  He passed through the ornamental gates and saw a glimmer of white ahead, through the swaying trees, their slender branches still tossed and torn by the unruly wind. He was so tired by now that he could hardly find the strength to struggle along the gravel path. But he wanted answers. And above all, he wanted Celestine.

  An ornamental fountain lay ahead; stone dolphins spouted a constant flow of clear water into a wide curving basin. The sound of the flowing water soothed his jangled nerves. But, with a shock, Jagu saw the Drakhaoul standing on the far side of it, Celestine clasped in his arms, his dark head resting against hers. As Jagu limped closer, the Drakhaoul raised his head and stared forbiddingly at him through cruel, slanted eyes seared with scarlet fire.

  “I won't let you take her from me.” And, unfurling his powerful wings, he took to the air.

  “Celestine, are you all right?” Jagu's breathing came hard and fast and his ribs still ached from coughing.

  Celestine seemed to be in a trance. But at the sound of his voice, she stirred and moved her head.

  “I have to go to Ondhessar…” The cold wind howled through the trees, shredding the tender new leaves.

  “Ondhessar? B—but it's so far away,” Jagu stammered, crushed.

  “I have to take Azilis to the shrine,” she called down. “It's the only way to stop this darkness leaking from the Realm of Shadows…”

  “And how are you going to get back?” But the Drakhaoul was winging slowly away across the rooftops and Jagu's question hung in the air, unanswered. He dropped to his knees, distraught. After the ordeal they had just been through, it was more than he could bear to lose her again.

  CHAPTER 13

  “So Nagazdiel is going back to Ondhessar?”

  Jagu turned around to see Kaspar Linnaius walking slowly toward him along the neat gravel path. “M—Magus?” he stammered.

  “I have to follow Nagazdiel to Ondhessar. I too have some unfinished business at the shrine. I have to make sure that nothing goes wrong this time.”

  Jagu had no idea what Linnaius was talking about, but he was determined to go after Celestine. He got to his feet. “Then take me with you.”

  A dry, hot wind, tinged with a breath of dusty spice, brought Celestine slowly back to herself.

  Nagazdiel was making a slow descent. No stars shone in the dark sky, yet the dull glitter given off by the scales encrusting his powerful body left a shimmer in the air as they flew downward.

  “Where… are we?” she asked drowsily.

  “Ondhessar,” said the Drakhaoul, his voice soft, yet darkened with an aching sadness. “This is where you were born, my daughter, the only child of a forbidden love. The love I bore for your mother, Princess Esstar of Enhirre.”

  And Celestine suddenly remembered the words he had spoken to Galizur in the Faie's dream.

  “Take me. But spare her. She didn't ask to be born my child.”

  After an eternity apart, father and daughter had at last been reunited.

  * * *

  Buffeted by a blast of a cold, sere wind, Celestine struggled forward, one hand raised to protect her face from the swirling, stinging dust.

  “What is this terrible place?” she cried, struggling to make herself heard above the howling of the wind.

  “This is the Rift between the worlds,” said the Faie. “And all this chaos has come about because I have been absent too long. I kept the balance between the Realm of Shadows and the Forest of the Emerald Moon but, since I left, the darkness has leaked in and the balance has broken down. This is the reason I have to leave you, Celestine.”

  As the wind died down and the clouds of grit settled, Celestine saw a man's body lying in the gloom in front of them.

  “Who is that?” she cried, coming to a halt.

  “A you
ng magus who gave his life essence to help Prince Nagazdiel.” The voice came from the Drakhaoul's body, yet Celestine heard from the passionate tone that it belonged to the Drakhaoul's mortal host.

  “Who are you?” She turned to confront him.

  With a convulsive shiver, Nagazdiel's Drakhaoul form separated itself from its host and reappeared, towering over Celestine. His host dropped to his knees by the body, head lowered. She saw that he was clothed only in his loose, waist-length hair—brown, save for a silver-white streak over his temples.

  “Forgive me appearing like this before you, Celestine.” He spoke so familiarly to her that she almost forgot her surprise at his drastic transformation. “Lady Azilis—I beg you—please restore this young magus.” He slowly raised his head and Celestine saw with shock his ravaged face, a long scar running from brow to cheek, where his left eye had been.

  “R—Rieuk Mordiern?” she said in sudden recognition.

  “I know you must hate me for the wrongs I did you,” he said. “But this boy, Oranir, is innocent of any crimes against you. He doesn't deserve to die.” And gently he slipped his arms around the young man's dust-covered body, raising it in his arms.

  “I made him a promise, Azilis,” said Nagazdiel.

  “Celestine?” The Faie was asking her permission.

  Celestine bowed her head a moment, torn, remembering the bitter grief he had caused her. But he had braved the Inquisition's fires to save her. “You came to my rescue, Rieuk,” she said at last. “How can I refuse?”

  She knelt beside him and placed her hands on the young magus's forehead and breast. Closing her eyes, she felt the Faie's energy flowing through her in a clear, pure stream. And, to her delight, she saw the dark-lashed lids begin to flicker open and eyes that were black, yet streaked with a touch of flame, stared up into hers.

  “Lady Azilis?” he whispered in a dust-choked voice.

  “Ran!” Rieuk said brokenly.

  “Rieuk?” Oranir tried to lift one hand to touch his face; Rieuk caught the hand in his own, lacing his fingers through Oranir's. The wind began to gust again. “But you… you died in the Rift. Is this… the Realm of Shadows?”

  When Jagu had been serving his term of duty at Ondhessar, he had heard the legends of the Towers of the Ghaouls, but he had never ventured this way. From the air they looked like ancient tombs of some lost civilization, standing guard over the desert.

  Linnaius brought the sky craft expertly down among the strangely formed towers and pinnacles of volcanic rock. Jagu marveled at his skill in handling the craft in the perpetual gloom.

  “We may meet with a hostile reception,” the Magus said as he climbed out of the craft, “but this is our passport.” He took out from his robes a leather-bound book.

  “Is that Celestine's grimoire?” Jagu asked, but Linnaius had already set off at a surprisingly brisk pace for an old man, disappearing into the gaping entrance of the nearest tower.

  Jagu had no option but to follow him, biting his lip as each step he took jarred his mangled hand.

  “It's been many years,” came the Magus's voice triumphantly back to him in the echoing void, “but I haven't forgotten the secret way to the shrine.”

  “Stop right there, Kaspar Linnaius!” A flash of light illuminated the dark interior and a violent tremor ran through the ground beneath their feet, throwing them off-balance. Shaken, Jagu looked up to see three venerable men coming toward them from the upper floor of the tower. The foremost held a torch whose flickering flame was reflected in the glitter of their eyes. Jagu's mage mark began to pulse again. He knew he was in the presence of the Magi of Ondhessar.

  CHAPTER 14

  “Lord Estael.” Linnaius held aloft the grimoire. “We have to hurry. This may be our only chance to restore Azilis … and our fading powers.”

  “And why should we believe you when you've tricked us so many times before?” The one Linnaius had called Estael came toward them. “I wondered when you'd come looking for the new Lodestar.”

  Lodestar? Jagu wondered what secret thaumaturgical code this could be; even in his years of training with Père Judicael, he had never heard the name before.

  “And who is this?” Estael stared forbiddingly at Jagu. “He's not a magus. We only allow initiates beyond this point.”

  Having come so far, Jagu was not prepared to be turned away. He held up his left wrist, showing the mage mark, which gleamed like quicksilver in the gloom. The magi muttered to each other, evidently unsure what to do.

  “Believe me when I say that this man's presence is essential,” interrupted Linnaius dryly.

  “Very well; I'll lead the way.” Estael raised his torch high, revealing a tall archway that opened onto a spiral stair. “Follow me.”

  “This is where we must make our final farewells, Celestine.” The Faie faded from Celestine's body and reappeared before her in the pale, translucent form of a young Enhirran woman. She held out her hands to Celestine.

  “Is this your true likeness, Azilis?” Celestine asked, trying to hold the aethyrial fingers in her own. “You look so much like that famous opera singer, Maela Cassard.”

  “We made a great success together, didn't we?” the Faie said, smiling affectionately at her. “We took the Imperial Theater by storm.”

  “All this time you've been my guide and my protector,” Celestine said, trying to hold back the tears. “But above all you've been my friend, my closest friend, dearest Faie. I don't know how to say farewell. It's so hard to let you go.”

  “But you don't need me anymore,” the Faie said softly.

  “I don't even know how to break our bond. Don't I need the book to set you free?” And she had left her father's grimoire at Swanholm, with all her belongings.

  “Someone's coming,” warned Rieuk.

  A vast wasteland stretched into the darkness; Jagu could just make out the jagged outline of tall tree trunks, their branches snapped off and scattered across the ground.

  “You mustn't stay here for long,” warned Linnaius. “The at mo sphere of the Rift is treacherous for mortals, even those cursed with a mage mark.”

  But Jagu had detected a familiar glimmer of light up ahead and went hurrying toward it. Two figures hovered in the clearing, giving off a scintillating radiance that hurt his eyes: a slender woman and a tall man, whose bearing was more like that of one of the Heavenly Guardians than the Drakhaoul he had seen carrying Celestine away from Lutèce. By their radiance he spotted Celestine, still in her charred shift, her feet bare, like his own. Kneeling in the dust beside her were two men, both magi, he guessed from their long hair and glittering eyes. And he felt the mage mark begin to burn so fiercely that, looking down at his wrist, he saw it was giving off a faint phosphorescent light.

  “You,” he said in astonishment. “It was you.”

  “Jagu?” Celestine turned and saw him coming slowly toward her out of the darkness. She stumbled toward him and he caught her one-handed, crushing her close to him. His hair smelled of smoke and his face was rough with stubble but she didn't care, pressing her mouth to his, kissing him with all the desperate passion and hunger that had built up inside her.

  “I told you; you don't need me anymore,” repeated the Faie. Celestine unwound her arms from around Jagu.

  “But how can I set you free without my father's book?” she said sadly.

  “A single drop of blood is enough.”

  She started, hearing Linnaius's voice from the rushing darkness. The old magus appeared as another gust of wind began to whine around them, tossing his white hair and beard hither and thither.

  “Are you prepared, Lady Azilis?” he asked, holding out the gri-moire, the pages open, fluttering in the harsh wind.

  The Faie leaned forward and kissed Celestine on the forehead. Celestine felt a last shivering tingle of aethyrial energy pass into her. “Farewell, Celestine,” said the Faie.

  “Farewell, dearest Faie,” Celestine cried. “I'll never forget you.”

  “Rieuk
?” said Linnaius. “A single drop of blood to break the bond.”

  Rieuk had been watching in a daze, holding Oranir, not wanting to let go of him for fear he might slip away and be lost to him forever.

  Aqil knelt beside them and put his arms around Oranir. “This is your task, crystal magus,” he said. “Don't worry; Oranir will be safe with me.”

  Rieuk stood up unsteadily. Estael came over to him and draped his cloak around his shoulders. He placed something cold and hard and smooth in his hand. Rieuk knew from the feel of it alone that it was the new Lodestar he had spent so long fashioning.

  “Are you ready, Celestine?” he asked. She nodded. He raised his hand and revealed the new Lodestar in all its clear crystal purity. He pressed the pointed tip against her index finger and a drop of crimson blood fell onto the grimoire.

  “Go; be free,” Celestine said. “The bond between us is broken.”

  “Father!” cried Azilis. Her slender figure burned like a candle-flame stirred by the wind, flaring up brightly, then suddenly dwindling, fading away into the facets of the Lodestar.

  Rieuk gazed down at the crystal and felt it come alive in his hands with vibrant, pulsing energy. It lit the darkness and confusion of the Rift like a clear beacon. And then sound began to flow from the Lodestar—that thin, high, celestial voice that he had first heard in Karantec all those years ago.

  Then she had cried out to him of her urgent desire to escape the confines of the crystal, to be free. But now he heard a new sweetness, a joy, and a purpose in her voice.

  Nagazdiel lifted his head and his eyes no longer burned so fiercely as he listened to his daughter's song filling the Rift with its luminous purity.

  The shadowy outline of a great gateway appeared in the darkness. Nagazdiel turned and walked toward it, disappearing into the shadows. Azilis's song continued to fill the Rift, but as they watched, the gateway slowly faded from sight until there was no trace that it had ever been there.