The Dagger of Adendigaeth (A Pattern of Shadow & Light)

by McPhail, Melissa

  As if on cue—or possibly because she already knew he was approaching—Dagmar’s pale head appeared over the rim of the arching bridge. Grinning broadly, the Second Vestal greeted his oath-brother with a fierce hug. “May we meet in the Returning, brother!” Dagmar exclaimed as he withdrew, grabbing Björn by both shoulders.

  “And know each other by Epiphany’s grace,” Björn replied. He placed his hands on Dagmar’s shoulders in return, and they shared a knowing look. Dagmar then made his rounds, greeting Isabel and Ean in like manner. Once the Solstice had been properly observed, the Second Vestal extended his arm to Isabel.

  She walked to Ean and planted a kiss upon his mouth that was so deep and languorous it would’ve shamed the boldest courtesan. Casting her brother what could only have been an imperious look beneath her blindfold, she accepted Dagmar’s offered escort and departed.

  Ean watched her go feeling electrified and even slightly confused.

  Björn retook his seat, settled back in his chair and crossed booted ankle over knee. “My sister…” the First Lord noted as Ean was slowly sitting down again. He looked to him. “Once…a very long time ago, I had the audacity to doubt her. She likes to remind me of this failing when the opportunity presents itself.”

  “Thank you for the warning,” Ean said, feeling slightly dazed.

  “Indeed,” Björn sighed. “Isabel has a long memory.”

  He considered Ean for a long time in silence then, his gaze penetrating. Ean’s anxiety grew to alarming levels in anticipation of the host of reprisals he expected now that Isabel was gone. What the first lord said instead came as a surprise. “Ean…” Björn called the prince’s eyes to meet his. “My sister has waited a long time for you to rejoin her. I cannot possibly convey to you my joy in knowing that your love has been restored.”

  Ean never knew what possessed him to confess in return, “My lord, I worked a fifth-strand binding of Form upon your sister without a second thought! If anything had gone wrong, she could’ve—”

  But Björn waved off his haphazard apology. “I suspect there was little chance of anything going wrong. This isn’t the first time you’ve bound yourselves to each other, nor even the first time she’s required me to witness it.”

  Ean looked at his empty plate feeling unnerved. It was one thing to perform the working in private and quite another to discover that your almost brother-in-law knew all of the intimate details. Exhaling a troubled sigh, the prince turned to look out over the city far below. The Iluminari had finished their extravagant performance, but the revelry would continue until dawn.

  “It’s difficult for you, I know,” Björn observed quietly. “Your successive lives are layered like Form in a pattern.”

  Ean shot him a stricken look, for his words could not have been truer nor pierced him deeper, though they were kindly spoken. “I feel the rightness in everything I’ve learned since coming here,” the prince confessed, relieved on some level to be able to voice these troubling thoughts, “but it’s very hard to assimilate it all.” He pushed a hand through his hair and swallowed, his brow furrowed as he stared hard at the table. “It’s as if I have two very different lives, and they don’t exactly reconcile. I don’t doubt the memories from my other life—truly I don’t,” and he cast the First Lord a determined look, “but…I don’t know how to incorporate them into this life.”

  Björn regarded him gently. “How easy it would be if we lived but once. One life, one set of choices, one path, winding though it may seem at the time. The truest simplicity. Alas, ‘tis not so.” He held Ean’s gaze with his incredibly blue eyes. “We are the accumulation of eons of choices, mistakes, tragedies. Most of us never know that so many of our decisions are made without our true volition, but rather as the slaves of decisions made in some earlier life—decisions which affect us still.”

  Ean thought of the door he couldn’t yet open to his previous life with Isabel, the door somehow connected with the blindfold and a forgotten promise.

  “Until we accept these things, these choices, these decisions,” Björn advised, “until we are willing to confront these choices and declare them our own—for good or ill—we will remain the unwitting prisoners of them.”

  Something in this explanation reminded Ean of Raine and the Fourth Vestal’s frustration at his own inability to understand Björn. “My lord,” Ean said, lifting his gaze to meet the Vestal’s, “why is there such conflict between you and the other Vestals? I’ve seen the obsidian wall. I know what it is we fight—insomuch as I can understand it—but I can’t understand why the other Vestals don’t see the truth of what you’re doing. For me, everything just…resonates.”

  Björn considered him for a long moment of silence, his gaze intense. Just when apprehension was beginning to flutter inside Ean, Björn roused from his contemplation. “Time is a factor in many aspects of our existence…” he said, and here he considered Ean again—intently, piercingly—as though the prince held a deep secret behind his eyes which Björn was compelled to draw forth. “Time is the deciding factor ultimately in what is right.”

  Ean frowned. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

  Björn took up his wine and leaned back in his chair. “When determining the right course of action, do we determine what is right for one life, here, today, now? Do we save one life today? Do we save a hundred lives a year from now? Do we save a million lives three hundred years in the future by what we do here today, even if today’s actions require sacrifice or death?”

  Björn eyed him inquisitively, posing this question for Ean’s consideration. “And if you have the ability to envision such a grand scope of events into the far future—moreover, if you have the fortitude to endure the ages, the tragedies, the terrible sacrifices, and still persist on your given course, if your conviction is strong enough to carry you through all of this, well…” and here he shrugged. “If that is the game you’ve chosen to play, it only follows that the things you may be doing will seem utterly inexplicable to those who live only for one game, one life, here, now.”

  Ean tried earnestly to grasp the far-reaching implications of this statement. The part of him that had been playing Björn’s game for eons knew that this was not merely one man’s stubborn rationalization of why others didn’t understand him. This was at the core of everything they had been doing—were doing. The revelation hit with that soul-vibrating truth that Ean had come to know too well.

  Suddenly he had no doubt but that he’d known this truth many times, that he’d accepted it many times, that indeed, at one time—perhaps for a long time—this was the truth that had defined him completely.

  Ean forced a dry swallow. “But Raine…” he managed then, “why couldn’t he understand?” For all that the Fourth Vestal had misused him, Ean knew he was a good man with the best of intentions.

  Björn exhaled regretfully. “Raine has ever been limited by a strict adherence to empirical thought. Everything must be explained, and all of the pieces have to form a perfect pattern in his experiential whole. If some of these pieces don’t mesh—if they’re not empirical facts—Raine chooses instead ones that are, even if these latter facts don’t mesh as well, even if the less empirical ones provide a better explanation. Yet he cannot accept them because they are outside the limits of his rationale.”

  Björn pushed back from the table and stood, and Ean followed him as he walked to the railing and gazed out over the world he and Malachai had created. “You have to take some things on faith, Ean,” he advised, casting him a tragic sort of smile. “Everything cannot always be explained or even fully quantified. For example, how would you explain these feelings you have, the ones where you just know something to be true?” He arched brows at Ean in inquiry.

  The prince shook his head. “There is no way I could adequately explain them to anyone. I barely understand them myself.”

  “Yet you know.”

  “I know,” Ean whispered, feeling that sudden constricting guilt welling once more.


  Björn opened his hands and seemed to address the world at large as he said, “There has to come a point in your logic where you say, ‘all right, I’ve seen A to be true, and I’ve seen B to be true, and while I haven’t seen C to be true, it yet follows in line with A and B and therefore it must also be true.’” He turned to Ean with a grave expression. “Raine can’t make that leap.” He pushed hands into his pockets and exhaled. “It has forever limited him as a wielder, and it has been his greatest disability as a Vestal.” Leaning sideways against the railing, he added with a tragic sigh, “I wonder sometimes if this entire game wasn’t played out in part to give Raine the empirical facts he needed.”

  When Ean gave him a startled look, he shook his head and reassured, “Of course it was not, yet it has served the same purpose. Raine at last will have his empirical proof. Would that events had not needed to progress so far for him to gain it.”

  Ean didn’t know what to say. The tragedy of it was beyond words.

  “But these are grim thoughts for so joyous a night,” Björn declared, brightening as he turned his gaze back to Ean. “Go now. Be merry. Use your reformed bond to find my sister and enjoy this night of rebirth together. The Solstice must be strictly observed,” he added with a wink, and Ean wondered what other Solstice traditions he might be referring to.

  “Thank you, my lord,” Ean said. He felt immensely indebted to him now that he better understood all that he had done—all that he continued to do. For being willing to be hated and feared, for taking on such a staggering responsibility because no one else would have.

  Björn smiled, nodded once, a simple acknowledgement that yet conveyed so much.

  Overwhelmed with gratitude, Ean bowed and left. To save himself from falling into the despairing hole of guilt he could see looming on his horizon, however, he quickly turned his thoughts to Isabel. No sooner did he think of her than he could feel her, confident in her presence within the pattern that bound them.

  Gratefully single-minded on his mission then, Ean headed into the city to blend in with the thousands who celebrated there. Isabel’s presence was a steady pulse drawing him forth, and he never erred in choosing his direction, for he knew instinctively what roads to follow.

  Indeed, he walked the jammed streets as Ramu so often did, clearing a path for himself by the force of his intention alone.

  He found her by the fountain where Ramu had told him of Trell. She stood watching a troop of acrobats in a wild display of skill and strength. When Ean arrived at her side, nine men had formed a pyramid standing on each other’s shoulders, most of them juggling flaming torches.

  She turned at his arrival, looking joyous and serene, and extended her hand to him. He pressed his lips to her palm and gazed miraculously at her. “My lady, you take my breath away.”

  “Tis only fitting since you have my heart.”

  Ean shook his head and wondered what he could’ve done to so please the gods that Isabel became his reward. “Where is Dagmar?” he murmured after a moment, for he realized the man had left her side.

  “There.” She pointed to the acrobats. Ean followed her finger to find Dagmar at the base of the pyramid of men, himself helping to balance three others. “He couldn’t resist,” Isabel explained with an endearing smile aimed at the Nodefinder.

  A crowd of revelers rushed behind them suddenly, knocking Ean against Isabel, who clung closely to him as she laughed. Overhead the stars glowed brightly, and all around the world seemed in motion.

  “My lord, my lady!” A girl rushed up to them holding two candles. “Tis almost the hour!” She pushed the candles into their hands and then ran back to her partner, a large man who carried a tray of small tin buckets jammed with candlesticks.

  Isabel pressed closer to Ean and turned her face to the candles in their hands. Both wicks suddenly flamed to life. She lifted her head as if to gaze deeply into his eyes, and Ean imagined he could see her adoring expression as she whispered, “To reunion.”

  He touched his candle to hers, too blissful to speak. The onlookers burst into applause as the acrobats finished their act. They were just in time, for across the entire city, bells began ringing, resounding through streets, echoing off towers and spires and in the hearts of all who heard them.

  The crowd erupted into cheering, and Isabel looked up at Ean, expectant of his kiss. He captured her mouth with his own and pulled her against him, drinking in the feel of her in his arms as the people shouted and the bells rang and the city resounded with celebration.

  The chanting began shortly thereafter, sounding in time with the bells.

  Epiphany show us the way!

  Cephrael show us the way!

  Ean reluctantly released Isabel from his kiss. She turned in his arms and leaned back against him, letting her head rest upon his chest while he enfolded her, her own gaze lifted to the heavens where Cephrael’s Hand glowed brightly.

  Epiphany show us the way!

  Cephrael show us the way!

  On and on, the chanting continued, growing in volume until the Alabaster City reverberated with voice.

  Knowing only of Isabel in his arms, Ean gazed at Cephrael’s constellation and murmured in her ear, “Are they with us still? Epiphany and Cephrael?”

  Isabel sighed contentedly in his arms. “Is this a question for the woman Isabel or for Epiphany’s Prophet?”

  “I think this is most assuredly for Epiphany’s Prophet.”

  “Mmm,” she said, turning her head up to him with a shadowy smile. “Then Epiphany’s Prophet would like to point out that she would be out of a job if they were not.”

  Ean wrapped his arms tighter around her, hugging her close. He loved her so desperately that he couldn’t be near enough to her—he wouldn’t be until even their bodies no longer separated them, until their very souls were united. “And Cephrael?” he asked. “What does Epiphany’s Prophet say of him?”

  “Cephrael…” Isabel murmured with a quiet smile. “Well, I can tell you this much, my lord. If Cephrael were here, he would have his hand in this game.”

  Part Two

  Thirty-Seven

  “Violent hatred of one’s neighbors gives a man a permanent sense of purpose.”

  - The Nodefinder Niko van Amstel

  The Karakurt sat behind her screen listening to the conversation in the room beyond, the argument heated and brewing naught but conjecture. She though it unlikely that her spies would discover anything new about the destruction of Rethynnea’s Temple of the Vestals, no matter how many survivors they questioned. Raine D’Lacourte had been involved in that catastrophe—that much the Karakurt had ascertained from the survivors—and involvement of the Fourth Vestal usually signaled truth-bindings that even she could not unwork.

  Especially now…

  It came as an unwelcome thought, bitter with the vitriol of hindsight. The Karakurt shifted in her chair, and the tiny bells on her headdress jingled with her malcontent. She found it hard to focus on the rough deliberations of Pearl and the other men beyond her screen, for her mind was troubled by a prickling disquiet that waxed as her confidence waned.

  The Karakurt was no stranger to the workings of elae. Rumors about her origins abounded, and this suited her, for anonymity was her greatest ally. Yet she’d studied at Agasan’s famous Sormitáge. She’d even gained her first truthreader’s ring—that much-admired accolade that announced an Adept had attained a new level of mastery at their craft. It was untrue, the popular rumor that only the van Gelderan line spawned female truthreaders. The Karakurt was proof of this.

  Only…

  Pressing two fingers to the bridge of her nose, she exhaled a long breath and pushed away swarming fears, reminders of a truth she no longer dared avoid. When one’s entire existence involved the bartering of deceptions—patterned, layered, shallow or vast—it did not suit to attempt to deceive oneself in the bargain.

  Oh…she’d known from the beginning that taking up with the Lord Abanachtran was dangerous—incredibly dangerous,
yes, but also immensely intriguing! Everything her spies had learned of him warned that dealing with him would either be disastrous or remunerative beyond compare. But there was always risk in any game, and the game of espionage was the riskiest of all. She had not masterminded a network infiltrating multiple kingdoms by taking no chances.

  Still…upon reflection, the price of working with the Lord Abanachtran was greater even than she had envisioned.

  Her talent was dying.

  At first it had manifested in little things—a missed falsehood, a violent thought that seemed somehow…blurred—but soon she realized something was amiss. Finally, after recurring episodes, she’d recognized the terrible truth: every time she came into contact with the Lord Abanachtran, a small part of her talent died. A deep part of her most elemental self was withering—she could sense it if not understand it—and as the pestilence the Lord Abanachtran had implanted within her spread, her life pattern had begun to waste away.

  In the intervening weeks since she’d first recognized something was wrong, she’d grown increasingly less able to sense elae, and now…now she suspected with miserable foreboding that her talent was failing entirely.

  She could hold out yet, she supposed, for such moments were intermittent, the nuisance of a recurring headache that came and went. But she dared not try any working that required too much handling of the lifeforce; and she dared no working openly for fear of others witnessing one of those untimely moments of disruption.

  So she didn’t interrupt the conversation beyond her screen, and she did not attempt to unwork the patterns that truth-bound those mercenaries of the Fourth Vestal’s recent employ who they’d managed to round up for interrogation. The catastrophe at the temple no longer interested her.

  Her thoughts traveled instead to the man called Işak Getirmek.