Maybe the Arch Wizard had finally exonerated her crimes. She was guilty of attempting to pilfer some of the Tower’s magical artifacts, but as a seasoned thief, she naturally would never admit to that. She had a good reason. They were for Brenna, her old flame, a bounty hunter in Tigeria. Last Salma heard, Brenna had collected a bounty on the Kuro Brothers, a target she’d sought for countless years for a princely payout. News traveled slowly from Tigeria and even slower in the Tower’s dungeons.
The artifacts were a pair of rubies that could be affixed to Brenna’s claws, bathing them in a constant stream of Dragon fire. She would’ve loved them had Salma managed to escape. Alas, the Arch Wizard’s ward traps left her pinned to a wall and telekinetically held with the Phoenix until the guards found her, squirming and blinking with what she hoped conveyed a measure of innocence. It didn’t.
If she had escaped and given them to Brenna, maybe then she would have loved her. Maybe then she would’ve seen her with eyes that saw more than friendship. It was a mistake. As far as she knew, Brenna might be dead and rotting in the Tigerian wastes. She cut off the thought, the endless and daily cycle of self-flagellation. Not her Brenna. She was a survivor, one of the few who could make it to old age.
Bounty hunting was all but outlawed in Zoria, which was another of the many reasons why she couldn’t reveal her truth. The Swiftshades were apparently not subject to that same scrutiny. They weren’t technically bounty hunters by name, but close enough to Salma. The Arch Wizard thought no one knew about them, but Salma did. The thieves’ guild knew many things.
“Thanks,” Salma said, handing Grimbald the waterskin, wiping her mouth with the other hand. “Where are we going?”
“To the Arch Wizard. Have to put this on you, hope you understand,” he said, slipping a hood over her head before she could protest.
“No. You’re going to kill me. If you’re going to kill me, you can do it without the hood on,” she muttered against the fabric, rich and soft on her lips.
“Not going to kill you,” Grimbald said with a resigned sigh that told her he didn’t relish this task. “Can you… breathe?” He seemed to have trouble saying the last part.
“Yes,” she said forcefully. “Why do you care?”
“I— come on,” Grimbald gave her chains a gentle tug, pulling her along like a dog.
They went through the dungeons. Some prisoners stirred in terror while others pled for release. One man madly shrieked, chains rattling, voice bouncing harshly from the cobbled walls. Another repeated, “The Shadow Realm. The Shadow Realm. The Shadow Realm…” Over and over until the voice was out of earshot.
They trudged up a spiraling staircase. The stairs were slick with wet, the air cold and stinking like mushrooms. They breached the surface, and with it came a gust of fresh air. She breathed in hard, making a note of what freedom smelled like.
Salma wished she could’ve seen the stars, clear and twinkling in the midnight sky. She could almost imagine them behind her hood, the moon beaming down on the two of them and making pale shadows.
Salma cleared her throat, hoping for another answer. “Where are you taking me?” She failed to stifle the quiver in her voice.
“Don’t be scared,” he said, voice gentle.
“This isn’t your usual prisoner transport, in the dead of night and all, is it?” Salma asked.
He grunted some words, the sound lost between her scuffing feet and shifting hood. She didn’t ask again.
They crossed a long area of earth, a courtyard she guessed by the scents of rose and citrus. Grimbald greeted the occasional passerby, all seeming to call on him with a level of respect shown to one’s betters.
Why did they want a nothing like her from the dungeons? What use was she to the Arch Wizard? Then the answer came: she was useless. A great sense of wrongness tugged at her throat. A cold sweat beaded on her shins. They started up another stairway, Grimbald dragging on her chains when she started to fall behind. Fear clamped down on her limbs like iron slabs.
She’d lost much of her conditioning being imprisoned so long, only able to walk circles around her cell. It was all too boring and depressing to do more than sleep and count the days until she was reunited with her Brenna. Her hope was the fire that kept her fighting to live another day. Perhaps she could’ve been making better use of her time, preparing her body for a moment like this when the slim chance at escape had presented itself. But alas, she hadn’t.
They crossed a few open-air bridges, up and down various stairways, all an attempt to confuse her, she reckoned. It seemed he really was taking her to the Arch Wizard and not an executioner’s block. She was so intrigued that she decided not to risk trying to escape, her chances at succeeding almost nil. How many lowly thieves got the chance to meet the most powerful woman among the realms?
They reached the top of another stairway, the floor lined with plush carpets under her bare feet. Grimbald overtly cleared his throat, and hushed voices fell away. He opened a well-oiled door, and they stepped through.
The room was warm and scented with the fragrances of vanilla and lilac. Her hood was drawn from her head, revealing three figures stoically watching her.
The first who caught her eye was an old man. He had a long sword draped over his back, unkempt gray beard falling over his chest, shoulders round with muscle that belied his age. He shifted his stance from side to side with an air of danger and definite purpose. His clothing looked like rags beside the woman standing in the center of the room.
The woman, presumably the Arch Wizard, wore a gown of red silk lined with gold thread at the wrists, the neckline plunging down between her breasts. Her golden hair was tied back and secured by a triangular barrette. A few rebellious gray strands curled about her ears. She wore a smile that felt forced, hands steepled against her stomach.
“You’re…” The Arch Wizard, she finished silently. Salma’s mouth fell ridiculously open. Realizing it, she snapped her jaw shut.
The woman standing to the Arch Wizard’s right had olive skin and shiny dark hair that shone with hints of blue within the straight ponytail. Her eyes were a cherry-brown and her cheekbones sharp. She wore a dark blue wizard’s robe that bordered on black. In her hands, she held a parted book and a length of charcoal, seemingly eager to scrawl notes.
There was an enormous table pushed off to the side of the room, generously adorned with fruits, cheeses, ornamented plates and glasses, and a few bottles of wine. Plates held nibbled food and crumbs. Where she guessed the table once was had been replaced by a large bucket filled to the brim with water. Strange.
On each side of the rectangular room was an arched window, showing a patina of stars. Through the eastern window, she saw the Far Sea, reflecting a glimmering band of moonlight along its black waters. Between the windows were floor to ceiling bookcases, stuffed with far more tomes than they could comfortably contain. Salma’s eyes found the floor, concentrating on the shimmering flecks in the tiles. She bit her lip.
“Am I interrupting your dinner?” She wasn’t sure why she asked the question, shaking her head after it came out. It was as much silly as it was stupid. She slowly lifted her eyes to glance at the Arch Wizard.
The Arch Wizard wore a thin smile. “You’re probably wondering why you’re here, Salma,” the Arch Wizard stated her thoughts, voice crisp. She gracefully crossed the floor to stand a foot away from her and raised her hand. An invisible forced lifted Salma’s chin, forcing her to meet the Arch Wizard’s glowing eyes. As she met them, the force relented. Magic, she realized.
“Yes, ma’am.” Salma nodded, unsure of the proper way to address the Arch Wizard. The old man circled the room, stopping at her back.
“As Grimbald may have told you,” she gestured to him, “we need your help with a matter of grave import. Your help will be vital to the realm’s future.”
“Me?” Salma licked her lips, eyes whirling about the room before falling back to the bucket. She had a feeling this would somehow play a role in how
she ‘helped’ the Arch Wizard. “What must I do?”
“Die,” the Arch Wizard said, voice hard.
“What?” Salma cried as a strong hand gripped the back of her neck. The old man’s, she realized. His other hand twisted her arm up and threatened a dislocated shoulder if she resisted. “What are you—” He was pushing her down, driving her head toward the bucket. “Why? No. Please, no! I—” Her voice became garbled as her head was thrust into the water, face smashing into the bucket’s bottom. Her nose cracked as icy fingers tunneled into her ears.
The rumors all clicked into place then. She’d overheard the jailer once discussing with another how the Arch Wizard was conducting strange experiments in an attempt to monitor the Shadow Realm. Now she understood. She didn’t want to die, wasn’t ready. She had things to do.
Someone started counting. “One… two… three…”
Brenna, Brenna, Brenna!
She tried to rise with floundering arms, and a gulp of water made her throat contract, her vision pulsing in reds as the hands pressed her down, pushing harder still. She mastered her breath and held it in that pregnant darkness. Time passed. Words were spoken. She wanted to scream but knew to save her breath. Then, she had to exhale, sputtering on the annihilating water. She inhaled, lungs burning like they’d been filled with magma. She vomited into that cold death, sucking in and inhaling a murky mix of vomit and water. She pissed herself, legs thudding at the cold stone, praying to the gods for a merciful gasp of air. None came. Urine burned where she’d recently scratched her inner thighs.
She accepted then that she was going to die. Her legs went limp. She breathed in hard, sucking in as much water as she could to get it over with. Maybe then the fiery burning in her lungs and belly would wane. Death hurt more than she could’ve possibly imagined.
The waving world flitted away, colors all turning black. Sound left her, and the world went pungent white, brutal, and clear. It was the most pure color she could imagine.
Then she was someplace else. She felt no pain there, and she could breathe once again. She took a long breath, the air laced with a strange sweetness. She blinked. The world of roiling bubbles was gone, replaced by green valleys flowing under a resplendent sky.
Streams of blue water trailed down vast hills, collecting in glittering pools. Before her, a massive oak loomed over a pond. Strange bulbous flowers hung from its limbs, petals closed and dripping down with beautiful strings of light. Long translucent tubes containing hundreds of smaller flowers merrily swayed from a bush. Mushrooms the size of heads dotted the pond’s edge, caps a camouflaged pattern of reds and whites and browns. Long grasses swayed on the breeze.
There was a buzzing at her shoulder, and she saw a bee drifting on the air. It was beautiful. She laughed with a full smile. In the pool was a small school of fish, their bodies gleaming like silver arrows.
“Where am I?” she whispered, cheeks starting to feel wonderfully sore from all her smiling. A butterfly fluttered over the water, its wings scintillating in shades of blue and purple. Birds twittered and darted through the clear light, golden yellow, bright orange, and shining reds. Along the mountains beyond wound paths dotted with narrow pines and trees of the strangest colors. One tree’s leaves were bright red, another boasting gradients of color from almost white to deep purple, crawling up at least fifty feet into the air, catching the light of the rising sun.
“You’re in the Shadow Realm,” a familiar voice said. Salma searched for the source of the sound, heart almost stopping in her chest. Brenna sat in a deep squat at the pool’s edge, one arm hugging her knee-high boots, the other trailing her gloved fingers across its crystalline surface. The fish rose up to give her gauntlet’s claws a nibble, then darted away. She lifted her hand from the water and gave her fingers a flick. The water instantly reformed into an undisturbed mirror.
Brenna’s eyes were a hard gray, set in a narrow face above a small nose and full lips. Her hair was a silky black with silver highlights that spilled over a jet-black corset trimmed with violent reds. Her arms and legs were latticed in an intricate opalescent armor. She looked like she hadn’t aged since she last saw her over five years ago.
“Brenna!” Salma breathed, shaking her head. “What are you doing here? How long has it been?” Brenna rose up to stand, a patient smile forming on her lips. “The Shadow Realm. You said the Shadow Realm. Does that mean…” Salma trailed off, mouth hanging slack. “I don’t understand any of this.”
“Yes, Salma. Your body is dead. But in here,” Brenna gestured with a wide arc of her arm, “nothing can hurt your soul.”
“No, no.” Salma covered her hand with her mouth. “I’m alive. Aren’t I?” She wasn’t sure of anything anymore.
“There is nothing to fear here, Salma. I assure you that the only way to arrive in this realm is through death,” Brenna affirmed with steepled fingers.
“Brenna. Does… does this mean you’re dead too? By the Dragon, you’re dead.” Tears came sudden and fast, making her eyes feel thick.
Brenna closed her eyes and gave a deep bow. “I’m sorry, Salma. I died… helping a friend in Tigeria. Of course, there was no way I could’ve told you. It wasn’t planned, honestly,” she said with a helpless shrug. It was such a Brenna thing to do.
Salma fell to her knees. “All these years… I…” she choked on her words, feeling as if her mouth were filled with water. “What’s happening?” She vomited up water onto her legs, her gaze shifting to Brenna. “C-can’t breathe.”
Brenna’s eyes had gone wide and tinged with redness. “She has you. You’re going to live, Salma. I’ll be here, waiting for you.”
“But how did I—”
Then she remembered. She had been drowned, forced to come here. She blinked again, and the world of colors and beauty vanished, replaced with what might have been a vaulted ceiling.
A figure stared down at her, face lined with concern, his giant hands pressing her chest between her breasts. Grimbald. She gasped, ribs creaking in a spike of pain. A bolus of warm water ejected from her lips and flowed over her face. She turned to her side, vomiting up more water, hot tears of agony and loss filling her eyes.
“Why? Why?” she cried between heaving coughs. “Wha-what have you done to me?”
The Arch Wizard’s looming figure came into view. “Salma!” she barked. “Focus! I need you to focus. What did you see? Tell me what you saw! Hurry!”
“I-I saw Brenna.”
“What else?” the Arch Wizard screamed.
“Bright colored birds, fish, and…” Salma launched into another bout of coughing, globs of water coming out with them. The woman in dark robes scraped up beside her, scribbling notes in her book.
“Are you getting this, Vesla?” the Arch Wizard asked wide-eyed.
“Of course, Mistress,” the woman answered quickly, charcoal poised to write.
“What else did you see?” Golden wisps of hair fell around the Arch Wizard’s face like a curtain.
Salma nodded, working to get her breath. The images were already dissipating like the memory of a dream. “Streams, valleys, hills, and I don’t know… the sun, bright and trees of the strangest colors.”
“What about skulls, Salma? Did you see any skulls, blood red? Any blood? Pools of blood?”
Salma wiped a line of mucus from her lip, shaking her head. “No, no skulls. No blood.”
The Arch Wizard tucked some hair behind her ear, licking her lips. “Did you see a man?”
“No. Just Brenna—”
“Did you see Walter Glade? The Shadow Slayer? Do you know who he is, Salma?” Her voice was frantic.
“N-no. I don’t think so. I know who he is, Mistress.” Salma looked up at her and into her eyes, finding them bloodshot and tired.
“Remember, Salma. Please remember!” the Arch Wizard commanded. “You must remember him. You saw him, didn’t you?” Her voice was bordering on hysterical.
Salma opened her mouth and gave a slight shake of her head. “
I-I don’t remember, Mistress. I’m sorry.”
“But you—” A hand touched the Arch Wizard’s shoulder, the same hand that nearly drowned her to death, she reckoned. The grizzled man tried to draw her into an embrace, but she cast him a glare and put her arm between them. “Claw, stop.” Claw slowly lowered his arms, lips wriggling under his beard.
The Arch Wizard set her gaze back to Salma, and she felt herself wilt before those sad eyes. She wished she could tell her what she wanted to know. She felt some inherent urge to please this woman, to sate her agony. She knew this was a woman who had no patience for liars. “I saw no man, Mistress. I’ve told you everything.”
“I know.” The Arch Wizard swallowed. She bent down to help Salma to her feet, drawing an arm around her sore ribs. “You’ll tell no one of this, Salma,” she said, voice once again crisp and collected. “If you do,” she turned to look at her straight on and put her cold hands on her shoulders, “you will die. Do you understand?”
Salma couldn’t find her voice. She gave a few nods.
“I’m glad you understand, and I appreciate your ability to keep secrets, Salma.” The Arch Wizard gave her shoulders a hard squeeze then released her, stepping back. “You’re free. I thank you for your sacrifice, what you’ve given to the Tower and the Realm.
“I d-don’t have to go back to the d-dungeons?” Salma stuttered.
“No. And not to worry, we won’t send you out into the world alone. We’ll give you some supplies and some marks to get you started.” Nyset turned her back on her, plucking a grape from a vine and popping it in her mouth. She raised her index finger. “Just remember, if you speak of anything that transpired in this room… death will be the price.”
“I understand. Thank you, Arch Wizard.” Salma couldn’t believe her luck. She guessed few could survive such an ordeal. Brenna was dead, and she seemed happy to see her. Maybe she did love her. Going to her now would be easy. Salma welcomed death, but it had to be done by her own hand.
The Shadow Age (The Age of Dawn Book 7) Page 11