World of Lupi 10 - Ritual Magic

by Eileen Wilks

  That was an odd reaction even for the magic-obsessed Cullen. Never mind that the artifact disrupted time—he was worried that it had a name. Lily frowned at him. “Why did you—”

  Be quiet. I do not have time for endless questions. Your sorcerer’s astonishment denotes a decent grasp of reality. A number of spells and rituals cause a minor disruption of time, either intentionally or inadvertently. Gates, for example. However, time is resilient and extremely difficult to damage in a meaningful or sustained manner; most such workings have no lasting repercussions, except at times for the practitioner who attempts them. I was not, initially, alarmed by the flux. It was quite minor. Even among those capable of discerning such phenomena, very few who are not dragon would have noticed it.

  However, it was still present after I finished working on Julia Yu’s mind. This did alarm me. In addition, I observed a troubling flow in the probabilities. I sent an inquiry outlining my observations via an agent to one of the sidhe—you might call him a historian—whom I know in Iath.

  This time it was Arjenie who was startled into speaking. “Iath? The Queens’ home realm? But their time is completely different from ours. It will take months to hear back, surely.”

  Arjenie did not get told to be quiet. Iath is highly dissynchronous with our realm, making communication difficult, but there are ways of managing this. My agent planned to travel through multiple dissynchronous realms, managing her route in a manner that allowed her to arrive in Iath at a now that corresponds roughly to three days ago in our time.

  Lily looked at Rule. “Did you understand that?”

  “If I did, then Sam’s agent arrived before she left.”

  Sam ignored them. My agent did reach the historian. I have not, however, spoken with her myself. I received her report from the emissary from the Queen of Winter who arrived outside my lair approximately two hours ago. Winter invites me most courteously to visit her and discuss this matter in person.

  Lily’s breath hissed in. That was . . . good? Bad? Major, anyway. “Is that the kind of offer you can’t turn down?”

  Naturally I could turn it down, if I wished. I do not. I have been in conversation with Winter’s emissary. Much of what I will tell you comes from that source; I judge it to be incomplete but accurate. The artifact in Robert Friar’s possession is almost certainly a knife called Nam Anthessa. I refer to it by a call-name; its true name has been lost for centuries. Its existence violates Queens’ Law. It is used to tamper with the dead.

  “Oh,” Arjenie breathed. “That’s bad.”

  Yes, in ways you do not comprehend. It means, first, that Alan Debrett is not simply dead. The knife cut him out of time, making it as if he never existed. You will note that this loss does not affect the material world; his daughter still exists. Records of his life exist. Memories of him do not.

  I will not attempt to explain the relationship between reality and sentience. A few of your physicists have begun to approach this subject, though their grasp remains limited. Accept that this relationship exists, that tampering with the dead—removing a sentient being from the time stream—disrupts time, and that the excised memories mean the disruption will not heal on its own. Put simply, the fabric of this realm is in danger. The existing disruption has not worsened, so the realm is not yet unstable, but even a single additional use of the artifact could destabilize it. The artifact must be destroyed so time can heal. It must be destroyed before it is used again.

  “Mage fire,” Cullen said promptly. “I’ve used it on—”

  You have not used it on a named sidhe artifact possessed of vast amounts of magic and arguai. Mage fire might damage Nam Anthessa, but only to the extent that it burns through the restraints laid on the blade. The likely outcome of such a loss is the utter destruction of this realm.

  “Oh. Right. No mage fire, then. So how do we do it?”

  To destroy Nam Anthessa, one must wield its true name, which no one now alive knows. The name might be discovered were the knife in the possession of one with sufficient skill and patience who is firmly guarded against it, but that is a slow process. We do not have time for me to undertake it. We need Winter’s assistance.

  She also needs us. The Queen of Winter has sought Nam Anthessa for many centuries. She wants badly to destroy it.

  “If it can’t be destroyed without its name,” Rule said, “and it would take more time than we have to discover that name, I don’t see how involving her helps.”

  I will explain, and you will understand why I accepted Winter’s invitation. This is not one of the Queens’ Realms, and the Queens have good reason not to act here. If Winter believes Nam Anthessa is here she will act, but in a way that minimizes her cost and risk. She will seek to take possession of it so she may spend the necessary time and focus to uncover its name, then destroy it herself. She is capable of doing so more quickly than I, but it is unlikely she would finish before the stability of this realm breaks down. Therefore, I will negotiate so that she will send a Hound.

  Lily frowned. “A hellhound, you mean? We want that?” According to Arjenie’s half sister Dya, they were bad news.

  There are hellhounds and there is the Queen’s Hound. The second begins as the first. I will not explain the distinction now. Both are dangerous, and either will do for our purposes.

  “And what will you negotiate with?” Rule asked.

  Good question. What did they have that the Queen of Winter might want? The knife, yes, or at least its approximate location, but she must have guessed that, or she wouldn’t have sent the mysterious emissary.

  How I choose to bargain with Winter is not your affair.

  Cynna spoke. “If this knife can’t be destroyed without its name, what can a Hound do?”

  Hounds are exceptions to many things. They are Wild Sidhe, all of whom are dangerous, but hellhounds are feared more than most due to the nature of their powers, which are limited in number but absolute within those limits. They cannot be corrupted or turned aside from a hunt given them by their Queen. They are not true immortals, but they are extremely difficult to kill. And they can kill anything.

  “Anything?” Rule repeated.

  “Even immortals,” Cullen said, “according to stories I’ve heard. Even a semi-sentient, semi-immortal artifact, I guess . . . because that’s what it means for that damn knife to possess a true name, isn’t it? It’s alive. Aware. Sort of.”

  Yes. Because Nam Anthessa is aware, it can employ its own power. It is highly dangerous. Magically, it can compel. Spiritually, it can persuade and corrupt. If you should encounter it before I return, do not, under any circumstances, touch it. Immediately remove everyone from its vicinity, including yourselves. The emissary suggested the equivalent of sixty-one feet for a safe distance, but his knowledge relates to sidhe. I do not know if humans would be more or less susceptible than sidhe.

  “Would wards help?” Cullen asked.

  Certain types of wards would diminish the effect of the knife’s compulsion. They would not affect its ability to persuade and corrupt, which is based on arguai, not magic. A holy person should be proof against that. I do not know if holiness on the part of one would protect others.

  “If it’s that dangerous,” Cynna said, “how can one of these hellhounds be trusted to destroy it? Unless they’re saints—”

  Hounds are immune to persuasion. I do not know the mechanism for their protection, but I trust its efficacy.

  Isen was frowning. “There must be some reason Winter hasn’t set one of these Hounds on the trail of that knife already.”

  She has. They haven’t found it. Hounds cannot be turned away from the hunt, but they require what you might call a scent or a trail to follow. Nam Anthessa is good at hiding its nature. It is worth noting that its call-name translates roughly as Eater of Truth. This is why Winter will not send a Hound of either sort unless she is convinced the knife is here. She is fo
nd of them. If she sends one to us and it fails to find Nam Anthessa before the damage to our realm becomes irreversible, it might be lost to her.

  When Sam paused this time, Lily jumped in. “But why is Friar doing this? Why does he want to tamper with the dead, mess up time, and destabilize the realm? How does that help her? She wants a realm and lots of people to rule over.”

  Apparently what I thought obvious is not. There was a distinctly acerbic flavor to that thought. If the agent of hers who wields Nam Anthessa—presumably Robert Friar—chooses the right victims for the blade, it will create a rent in the fabric of our realm such that she is able to enter. This is like causing an earthquake in order to knock down a locked door. The door may come down, but there will be considerable additional damage. It seems she is willing to accept such damage in order to gain entry.

  The Great Bitch wanted in. She wanted in badly enough to destroy some part of their world to get here. This was really, deeply, seriously bad. “And if this Hound comes here and finds the knife and destroys it, will that restore—dammit.” Her phone was vibrating.

  But Lily didn’t have to finish her question out loud for Sam to hear it. I do not know. Time itself will heal. I suspect that the spiritual damage connected with the lost memories will heal as well. I do not know if this means that the victims will regain their memories.

  Not what she wanted to hear, but better than a flat “no.” She took out her phone and looked at the display and huffed out a breath. “I have to take this.”

  She listened first, then asked a couple of questions. As soon as she disconnected she turned to Karonski. “That was an SDPD homicide detective I used to work with. He wants me to check out what looks like a ritual murder in case the body’s contaminated the way the other site was. Only it doesn’t make sense. There’s two victims, one dead, one critical. But they were gunned down, not throat-slit.”

  “That doesn’t work,” Cullen said.

  “I know. But if something other than gunplay went on . . . they got the living victim transported quickly, then pulled back because of the risk of contamination, which is exactly what they needed to do, but that means they haven’t examined the scene or the body. Maybe this Nam Anthessa was used in some way other than cutting the throat, and they didn’t see the wound.”

  I sense no additional troubling of time. I do not believe Nam Anthessa has been used tonight.

  “That’s good. I still need to go.”

  “Go,” Karonski said.

  Lily shoved back her chair.

  So did Rule. “You mean we need to go.”

  THIRTY-FOUR

  THE Torrey Pines Reserve was closed at night, but people interested in committing murder often don’t worry much about park rules. Maybe the killer hadn’t realized that rangers sometimes work late. Two rangers had been busting some asshole for camping on the beach below the bluff when they heard gunshots. When they checked that out, they found a bloody scene complete with arcane symbols.

  “You sure the EMTs knew to keep latex between them and their patient?” she asked T.J. as they headed up the Guy Fleming Trail. The body was at the north overlook; no one waited there but the dead. Once T.J. arrived, he’d kept everyone away except for the EMTs.

  “I told ’em. Sent word to the hospital, too.” T.J., aka Lieutenant Thomas James of the San Diego Police Department, looked less like Santa Claus than he had a few months back, when he’d grown a beard. He’d made a saggy Santa, but he did have the white hair and twinkle. Behind that twinkle was a canny and suspicious cop’s brain. The SDPD had been warned about the steps to take if they found an apparent ritual murder. T.J. had followed that directive.

  “I guess you haven’t heard anything more about Ms. Ward’s condition.”

  “Not yet. You a fan?”

  “I saw Duck Walk five times when I was a kid.” Not to mention the Pygmalion remake a couple years ago, plus a dozen other movies that every person in the country must have seen at least once. Angela Ward was an old-fashioned, capital S Star. Four Oscars, more than any other living actor; four husbands, too, though she’d been single for years now. She called herself retired, though this or that director was always coaxing her back for a part. She’d chosen San Diego for one of her homes, though she spent most of her time in Hawaii.

  She’d be wishing she’d stayed in Hawaii, if she lived to make wishes. She’d been tied up when they found her. Unconscious. The EMTs said she’d damn near bled out. Bullet wounds in the abdomen and upper arm.

  “You see anything?” she asked the man ahead of them.

  “Trees.”

  Trust Cullen to find an excuse for sarcasm. She needed him along, though, and for the same reason he was up front now. He’d see any icky magic before stepping in it. They made quite a cavalcade. Cullen first, then her and T.J. with Rule right behind. Behind Rule, two cops with some of the gear they’d need at the scene if they were able to enter it. Behind them, the six lupus guards Rule considered necessary.

  Lily hadn’t argued. Not after the dworg.

  On the way over, she’d tried talking to Sam. Either he was finished chatting or he hadn’t heard her. The latter was possible. Likely, she supposed. Even the black dragon might find it hard to eavesdrop telepathically on so many people in different locations, none of them near him, while keeping watch over Nettie. She hoped he’d be available for questions when she finished with the scene. She had several.

  The two rangers who’d found the victims were back at the park road. So was the scene-of-crime squad. Lily had checked the rangers for traces of icky magic. Nothing on them. Maybe no icky magic here at all. Maybe she wasn’t needed. “Doesn’t make sense,” she muttered. “Bullets?”

  “That part doesn’t,” Cullen agreed, “but the location does. There’s a baby node on the lookout.”

  She wondered if Cullen knew the location of every node in a hundred miles. Probably. “They used a ley line the first time. Why change? Maybe this isn’t the same bunch.”

  “Maybe, but not for that reason. A lot of spells and rites can use either one, depending on the skill of the caster. They could’ve used a ley line the first time because it was their first time. Ley lines aren’t safe, but they’re safer than nodes. Even a small node has a lot of raw magic.”

  The trail wound around and up. They moved slowly, giving Cullen time to study both the trail and the area near it. The wind off the ocean was strong and cold, whipping Lily’s hair around and making her think again about cutting it. Assuming the fabric of time held together long enough for her to get an appointment . . . she dug in her pocket and pulled out an elastic. A couple of quick twists and one problem was solved.

  What happened when time was damaged? When the fabric of the realm was damaged?

  What did the Great Bitch want to happen?

  It was, maybe, a mistake to try to get inside the head of a being older than the cosmos, due to being impossible. Lily still had to try. G.B. thought her goal was noble. She wanted to save humanity from itself. Therefore, she didn’t want to destroy humanity . . . but anything short of utter annihilation might work for her. Might work out great. Knock everyone back to the Stone Age, flash some power around, start helping the survivors of the devastation you’d caused, and bingo. Before you knew it, you had everyone worshiping you, just like they ought to.

  Maybe understanding that much helped, but trying to figure out what kind of damage might occur was a distraction. She didn’t need specifics to know it would be a heaping helping of world-class horrible. She didn’t need to prepare for the horrible. She needed to stop it. That meant stopping Friar. How did you stop someone if you couldn’t find them? If—

  “Now I see something,” Cullen said.

  Lily stopped, her arm flashing out to bar T.J., who’d already stopped. “What?”

  “Leakage from the node. It looks . . .” He tipped his head to one side. “Well, that’s n
ot good. Wait here.” He left at a run.

  Lily tucked her flashlight under her arm, pulled off her shoes so she’d know if she hit a patch of icky magic, and jammed them into her purse. “Do like he said. Wait here.” She gripped the flashlight and set off the way Cullen had, only slower. Three footfalls later she added, “Dammit, Rule!”

  “You’ll let me know if there’s contagion.” He ran easily just behind her.

  “I could lie.”

  “You won’t. Not about that.”

  Wisps of power brushed her face as she ran—overflow from the node. Her feet didn’t touch anything icky, just rocks and sticks that jabbed. There wasn’t much brush at the crest of the trail, but the lookout was at a high point and it was dark. Lily didn’t see what waited there until she reached it.

  A man’s body lay facedown on the flat, sandy ground. Near one outflung hand was a small wooden altar, tipped on its side. Near his feet was a small duffel bag. A large shape—a pentagon? No, a hexagon had been drawn or painted on the bare ground of the overlook. Under the beam of her flashlight it glowed a bright, cheery yellow. Six dark candles were distributed evenly around the painted shape, which enclosed the body and the toppled altar. Cullen stood in front of it, glaring at them. “Does anyone listen to me? Does anyone ever freaking listen to me?”

  “There’s no contagion.”

  “No, there’s a goddamn major working that got interrupted at the worst goddamn time possible, so instead of dissolving like it ought to, it jammed. Then it got fed a lot of blood. And it’s still tied to the goddamn node, and now it’s about to blow up. So sit down out of my way and shut up.” He began pacing around the hexagon, eyes narrowed as he studied the ground.

  Sometimes you really had to listen to the experts. Lily sat on the trail. Rule dropped down beside her. After a moment, she turned off her flashlight. It might be a distraction.

  Cullen made a slow circuit of the hexagon. There was barely room for him to stay outside it in one spot; the overlook was enclosed by a low pole-and-cable fence meant to keep idiots from straying off the trail or falling off the cliff on the ocean side. He crouched twice, tilting his head, and muttered under his breath now and then. At last he stopped, nodded briskly, and raised his arms. He began chanting too low for Lily to hear the words. All at once he snatched something invisible out of the air, flung it up, and shouted, “Ak-ak-areni!”