Deathcaster (Shattered Realms)

by Cinda Williams Chima

  “Was that when he got religion?”

  Lila shrugged. “I’m the wrong person to ask,” she said. And yet—the entire council did not know about Finn’s role in its failure. One question had been aggravating Lila ever since the wedding—how did Mellony know what Finn had done, if DeVilliers didn’t tell her?

  Unless Finn—or his co-conspirators—did. Because she was a part of the conspiracy.

  Lila looked up and met Karn’s eyes. She and the spymaster were like card players, shoving cards toward each other while trying to keep their full hands hidden. It made sense that he’d wring as much information from her as possible. But why was he sharing so much with her?

  “So Finn and DeVilliers were the only survivors from Sea Wolf,” Karn said.

  “Right,” Lila said. “Adrian, Talbot, and Strangward were lost and presumed dead.”

  “Wait, what?” If Karn had looked startled before, now he looked absolutely ambushed. “Evan Strangward was with them?”

  Lila nodded. “The Carthian pirate, remember?” she said, though clearly Karn did not need reminding. “Strangward had been here, trying to convince the queen and her council that Celestine meant to invade the Realms. It wasn’t until she actually won Chalk Cliffs that they took him seriously. When the prince proposed a mission to rescue Princess Alyssa, Strangward volunteered to serve as pilot.”

  “And Finn killed them? He killed all of them?” Karn’s voice had taken on a brittle tone. When she looked up into the spymaster’s face, she saw no expression at all. It was like a frame with the picture ripped away.

  “They could be alive, like I said. Talk to DeVilliers. She might be able to tell you more.”

  Karn said nothing. Didn’t look at her. But his grip on her hands had become painfully tight. “Ow! Ease off, Karn, you’re going to break my bones.”

  Karn let go completely then, dropping his hands to his sides. After a moment, he moved them to his lap, as if he couldn’t decide what to do with them. The spymaster closed his eyes and swallowed, and a single tear leaked out from under his lashes.

  What the hell? Lila felt like an intruder in the presence of loss too profound to name. She licked her lips. Tried and failed to think of something to say. Wished that she could tiptoe out, but it was, after all, her room.

  “Well,” Lila said finally, “it’s too bad both Finn and Vega are dead. They’re probably the only ones who can answer some of our questions.”

  “Vega’s not dead.” Karn spoke so softly that Lila wasn’t sure she’d heard him right.

  “What did you say?”

  Karn opened his eyes. They resembled windows into dark and turbulent waters. “Vega’s not dead. I have him safely locked away, along with DeVilliers and Shadow.”

  “Oh.” Lila wasn’t sure if this was good news for DeVilliers and Shadow, but she suspected it was definitely bad news for Vega.

  And then Karn said something completely unexpected. “That churchman who presided over the wedding—Jemson, I think his name was. Do you know him?”

  “Not well,” Lila said. “He’s on the queen’s council. But I’ve heard nothing but good about him.” She hesitated. “He’s not a celebrant in the Malthusian Church, but—”

  “Good,” Karn said.

  “People talk about him like he’s practically a saint of the Old Church.”

  “That might be exactly what I need,” Karn said. “A saint.”

  “I think Jemson would be one to go to if you’re looking for spiritual counseling,” Lila said.

  Karn blinked at her. “No doubt I’m in dire need of spiritual counseling,” he said. “Right now I’m looking for someone who can handle an exorcism.”

  49

  PERSUASION

  Roff Jemson had to be the steadiest churchman Destin had ever met. When Destin made the ask, he didn’t blink, he didn’t waver. Just rubbed his chin and said, “Can you tell me why you suspect that poor Finn was possessed? And, if he was, why this would be of concern to you?”

  There was no judgment or derision in the speaker’s voice, as if he took Destin’s request at face value.

  At this point, Destin didn’t really care what Speaker Jemson thought of him. He just wanted him to agree to his plan.

  They were sitting in Jemson’s tiny office in the Cathedral Temple, surrounded by shelves of books. More books were stacked on the floor, on his desktop. Behind him, a child’s drawing was pinned to a board on the wall.

  “I’m told that Finn changed after he was wounded,” Destin said. He went on to tell the prelate about using persuasion to dowse Finn’s soul, finding something ancient and alien in residence there, and the ceremony he’d witnessed involving Finn and the Darian Brothers.

  Jemson listened attentively, then sat back, folding his hands. “So your theory is . . . ?”

  “My theory is that Saint Darian, or someone like him, was controlling Finn’s actions. Either through possession or through spellwork. I think Lord Vega facilitated it somehow.”

  “The concept of possession does not have a lot of support in the Old Church,” Jemson said. “Demonic possession plays a larger role in the literature of the Church of Malthus.”

  “Maybe there’s a reason,” Destin said bluntly. “Setting aside the notion of possession, mages or wizards have a history of interacting with the dead in Aediion, the dream world. Mystwerk scholars warn about the dangers of a dead spirit riding back with a visiting mage into the real world.”

  Jemson grunted. “I have known Finn since he was a child. He is a very different boy than he was before the war.” He paused for a heartbeat. “War leaves many wounds, some of them invisible. I would very much like to think that Finn was not responsible for the things he’s done, but I worry that you’re grasping at straws.”

  “I never knew Finn,” Destin said, “and I have no reason to want to condemn or redeem him. What I don’t want is for him to take the fall while the real culprits walk free.” He paused, realized that his hands were shaking, and pressed them to the desktop.

  “Are you all right, Colonel Karn?” Jemson said, brow furrowed with concern, dark eyes searching Destin’s face.

  No, Destin thought. I am not all right. I probably never will be. Which is why I need to do something about the hole in my heart.

  Aloud, he snapped, “I’m fine. Why?”

  “Forgive me, Colonel,” Jemson said. “It’s just that you seem so very sad.”

  Destin could not squeeze a denial past the lump in his throat. They sat looking at each other for what seemed like a very long time.

  “Would it do any harm to try?” Destin said, his voice thick and strange.

  “I still don’t understand exactly what it is you want me to do. I cannot perform an exorcism on a corpse. Especially since, as I recall, Finn’s body was almost entirely consumed by flame.”

  “I should have been clearer,” Destin said. “I want you to perform an exorcism on Harriman Vega.”

  “Vega?” Jemson looked perplexed. “But I understood that Lord Vega was also . . . dead.”

  “Not exactly,” Destin said. “He should be dead, but he isn’t. He survived, and he’s locked in a cell under my supervision. Since then, I’ve interrogated him several times and gotten nowhere. Torture produces nothing but threats and defiance. When I use persuasion, I run into a fierce pushback from the same presence that I sensed in Finn. Whatever it is, I think it jumped hosts.”

  Jemson seemed to be hunting for a way to say no to this odd request from the Ardenine spymaster without earning his enmity.

  “Do you know anything about the accusations the queen regent made regarding Finn?” Destin said abruptly.

  “No,” Jemson said, looking relieved at the change in subject. “Princess Mellony—the queen regent, rather—did not confide in me. And, obviously, I would not have presided at the marriage had I known that he was accused of treason.”

  “So this was not discussed in the council,” Destin said.

  “No.”

&nbs
p; “And Julianna obviously knew nothing about it.”

  “I would like to think that she did not.”

  “Did you think Finn was capable of cold-blooded murder?”

  Jemson hesitated. “I would have said no, before the wedding. He seemed to have turned a corner, with his new interest in healing and his betrothal to Julianna. I was optimistic that he was healing.”

  “Yet, after Princess Mellony challenged him, he tried to kill Lady Barrett along with the rest of the wedding party.”

  “I assumed that the regent’s accusation awoke the demons inside him once again.”

  Literally, Destin thought.

  After an awkward silence, Jemson said, “I am a speaker in the Old Church, and so I am comfortable with elements of magic. But, still—this seems like a complicated explanation for the tragic actions of a traumatized boy.”

  “There’s someone else I want you to hear.” Destin rose and went to the door to speak to the blackbird outside. Moments later, DeVilliers was ushered in.

  “Hadley!” Jemson said, smiling for the first time, and rising to his feet. “Thank the Maker you are alive. When you were arrested, I feared the worst.”

  “It seems I’ll be alive a little longer,” DeVilliers said, glancing at Destin.

  “As you probably know,” Destin said, “Captain DeVilliers has known Finn since childhood.”

  “Speaker Jemson,” DeVilliers said. “I held back information when I told the council about the attack off Carthis. I didn’t know how to tell Julianna that her fiancé had killed Adrian and Sasha and fatally sabotaged the mission to rescue Lyss.”

  DeVilliers went on to share what had happened on the Sea Wolf.

  “You’re probably wondering why I would listen to anything Karn says. I can’t quite believe it myself. I don’t know Lord Vega very well, but Lyss despises him. She has always believed in her gut that Vega had a hand in her father’s death.”

  Jemson nodded. “Queen Raisa shared that suspicion. She tried not to show it, because she had absolutely no proof.”

  “So,” DeVilliers said. “It seems like we’ve been working with our enemies all along. Why not at least consider the fact that Karn may be right on this? I know the story he’s pitching is difficult to believe, but I hope you’ll consider what he’s asking you to do. If his theory is wrong, then there’s no harm done. If he is right, then”—she swallowed hard—“then I hope I might find a way to forgive Finn.”

  50

  EXORCISM

  Whenever a monarch raises a wall, a castle, or a fortification, people immediately set out to find a way over, under, or through it. As in Ardenscourt, Fellsmarch Castle was riddled with hidden chambers and tunnels, some of which led out of the city entirely. Upon arrival, Destin had assigned one of his trusted agents to begin to map it, both to prevent comings and goings by the resistance in the occupied city and to reserve a small part of it for himself.

  For his temporary lair, Destin had chosen a warren of empty storerooms that had been needed in more prosperous times, but now stood empty amid the privations of war. These storerooms were less trafficked than the dungeons, which were currently full of the king’s prisoners, and marginally more comfortable.

  Harriman Vega was locked up in a small room with thick stone walls, a bed, a basin, and a bucket in a remote area where no one would hear him. Still, it was dry and reasonably comfortable compared to the Pit in the palace at Ardenscourt.

  Much more comfortable than Vega deserved. The wizard had survived this long only because Destin’s desire to get at the truth exceeded his desire to kill him. Up to now, anyway.

  For once, Destin wanted plenty of witnesses present, and at least one more wizard, for safety’s sake. So the torch-lit, stone-walled room ended up fairly crowded—with Destin, Speaker Jemson, Lila, Shadow, and DeVilliers, in addition to the guest of honor.

  In comparison to officials of the Church of Malthus, Jemson brought little in the way of regalia: a bottle of water from the Dyrnnewater, a river considered sacred in the north, and a stone basin of dirt. He was barefoot and wore a plain black wool robe. Vega was still dressed in his wedding clothes, though they were now streaked with blood and dirt. Destin had added a layer of hurt on top of the beating Vega had sustained at the wedding, but all signs of injury had faded away unnaturally quickly. If anything, he was more defiant than before.

  Vega scowled when Destin’s delegation crowded in, but he brightened considerably when he spotted Speaker Jemson.

  “Jemson!” he said, coming to his feet. “Surely you can use your influence to put an end to this madness. I don’t know what the colonel has told you, but if you could get word to Princess Mellony, or to King Jarat, we can quickly sort this out.”

  Princess Mellony? Destin thought. The one you tried to kill at the wedding? The one you called a lying, conniving, duplicitous witch?

  “I’m afraid I have little influence with either the princess or the king,” Jemson said. “We’ve had no communication from anyone save curfews and restrictions. I’m here because Colonel Karn asked me to talk to you.”

  “Since when does a member of the king of Arden’s guard issue orders to speakers of the Old Church?” Vega turned on Destin. “When the king finds out how I’ve been treated, Colonel, you will pay dearly.”

  “I never realized that you and King Jarat were so close,” Destin said.

  “And you call yourself a spymaster. In fact, you have no clue what—”

  “The king thinks you’re dead,” Destin said, “and, to be honest, he is not losing any sleep over it. It seems that you are no longer useful.”

  “Well,” Vega said, losing some of his bluster. “We’ll see about that.”

  “Vega, the sooner you accept the fact that nobody is on your side, the sooner we’ll get through this,” Destin said.

  “The colonel asked me to come because he is worried that perhaps you are not quite . . . yourself,” Jemson said. “He thought you might benefit from some spiritual intervention.”

  “I am hardly in need of—”

  “When, exactly, did you become a priest in the Church of Malthus?” Jemson said, finally losing patience.

  “Is that what this is about?” Vega eyed the basin of soil and the pitcher of water. “My advice to you is that you carefully consider your way forward. We all worship the same god, but it is time to let go of the rituals and heresies of the Old Church. The great saint is ascendant, and you would be wise to acknowledge that.”

  “That may well be,” Jemson said, “but I am an old man now, and the Old Church suits me.” He turned and motioned to DeVilliers. “Captain?”

  “Lord Vega,” she said, “my father was on faculty at Mystwerk Academy at Oden’s Ford. In his classes, he taught the concept of Aediion, the meeting place between life and death, past and present. He demonstrated how it could be used to communicate across time and distance.”

  Vega studied her for a long moment, as if trying to read her agenda in her face. “We’ve all heard stories about the so-called dream world. Everyone has heard about someone who’s managed to cross over, but they never seem to be available for an interview. I’ve concluded that it is just another relic from the Old Church. At the point of death, we go to the Maker or the Breaker. There is no in-between.”

  “And yet many of my father’s students were successful in accessing the hidden realms,” DeVilliers persisted.

  “Or said they were,” Vega retorted.

  “Still, having attended the academy, you are familiar with the technique,” DeVilliers said.

  Although it was chilly in the underground storeroom, a sheen of sweat had appeared on Vega’s forehead. “That was a long time ago. I doubt they even teach it these days. Enrollment in Mystwerk has dwindled significantly as the empire has grown.”

  “As a churchman,” Jemson said, “I can imagine how tempting it would be to be able to meet the saints and philosophers from the past and receive the truth directly from them.”

  “No
doubt that is why those tales have persisted,” Vega snapped.

  “And if I were both a wizard and a priest,” Jemson said, “it would be difficult to resist making an attempt to access the wisdom of the ages. Imagine, in the midst of a doctrinal dispute, being able to say, ‘I spoke to Saint Darian, and you are wrong.’ Imagine the power that would give you over the gospels. Over believers?”

  When Jemson mentioned Darian, Vega stood, and paced back and forth. “I may be a prisoner, but I don’t have to sit and listen to this superstitious nonsense.”

  “Even better,” Jemson said relentlessly, “what if you could bring the saints back in person and send them out into the world to right the wrongs of the present?”

  “Enough!” Vega snarled. “If you are here to harangue me and not to help me, then leave.”

  “That’s just it,” Destin said, “Speaker Jemson and I are here to help you.” He pulled up a stool and gestured toward the bed. “Please. Sit and give me your hands.”

  “No. Don’t touch me. Get out. I am done.” Vega pointed toward the door.

  “Please sit down,” Jemson said. “We’re not here to hurt you.”

  “Go to the Breaker, you black-robed heretic!” Vega spat.

  It took everyone present to pin the wizard to the bed. Shadow had supplied them all with talismans, but Destin wasn’t sure if that was adequate protection from whatever was coming.

  Destin gripped Vega’s hands, and DeVilliers placed her hands on top of his. He opened the channels of persuasion, and was hit with a stream of the vilest curses he’d ever heard. Even given that he’d served in the army and lived on the waterfront.

  Jemson sprinkled Dyrnnewater over Vega’s thrashing body, and he only thrashed harder. The speaker followed with a dusting of earth. By now, all of the celebrants were soaked with river water and caked with mud.

  “Let us pray,” Jemson said, raising his voice to be heard over Vega’s objections. “The body and blood of the Realms is the purest manifestation of the Maker in the corporeal world. We ask that this man, Harriman Vega, be freed of any unclean spirits and wicked invaders and appear before us cleansed and perfect as he was born into this world.”