by Ryder Bailey
"What is it?" he asked, a hint of surprise in his voice.
She had to smile. "The baby is starting to get a little restless."
Even after the movement stopped, Coulta kept his hand resting lightly against her. "Do you mind if I ask a question I'm sure that only I would need to ask?"
She gently caressed his hand. "What would you like to know?"
"How much longer until the baby is born? I just haven't had any reason to know how long it takes," he added quickly. "It seems like knowledge everyone else has, though."
"I understand," she told him gently. "I have about two more months. I never really knew how long it was supposed to last until Myri told me a few months ago. She says most women are pregnant for close to nine months."
Coulta leaned his head against her shoulder. "I'd rather it be you than me."
She laughed. "I'm sure most men share that feeling."
12
At long last the day Jaimathan had been praying for finally came.
"Brother Pelles has all the things he needs to perform the ritual to bring back your magic," Shelton told him one cold and snowy morning. "And I have an Asir."
That came a surprise. It seemed like something everyone would have been talking about, having someone with such rare powers in the castle. But Jaimathan hadn't heard anything about it.
"Ah, there he is," Shelton announced with a smile.
Jaimathan looked up at the door to Shelton's office in time to see Second King Coulta enter the room.
How was he supposed to help? As far as Jaimathan knew, Coulta's only magic was from a broken curse. The Asirim didn't get their powers that way, he knew that. After all, he'd been born with it himself.
"Coulta's mother was an Asir," Shelton explained, almost as if he'd read Jaimathan's thoughts. "He possesses her magic, but the curse magic is stronger and makes it impossible for him to use those powers himself. But they can be used in other ways. I know this because he was possessed by spirits to save Wildas's life in battle. Only someone with the powers of the Asirim can be possessed by multiple spirits at one time and survive, and only if they've trained their bodies for it. Coulta survived because they broke his curse. And you can see more proof of his magic in his eyes and when he casts a spell."
Coulta lifted a hand and produced a handful of fire that was black in color, but glittering in the black were flecks of silver. He knew from his own magic that silver was the color of the Asirim magic.
Coulta closed his hand and the fire vanished. "I know the magic comes from my mother because she used her powers to tie my soul to someone who could make living with my curse bearable."
Jaimathan had a feeling he knew who that person was. Fae had commented about how fascinated she was by the obvious, deep love between Wildas and Coulta.
"Is it rude of me to ask what the curse was?" Jaimathan asked without thinking, then quickly added, "Yes, that is rude of me. I'm sorry. Forget I asked."
Coulta shrugged. "I'm not ashamed of it. I was cursed to obey the commands of whoever had control over me, because my father disobeyed the sorcerer he was apprenticed to. He was supposed to bring my mother to his master for the old man to marry, but ran away with her instead. When the sorcerer found them, he cursed the product of my father's disobedience."
There was clearly more to the story, but Jaimathan felt he had asked too much already. He changed the conversation when a new thought occurred to him. "I won't have the marks, will I?"
"You shouldn't," Shelton answered. "It's only a mingling of the Asirim magic, not the curse magic. Or so we hope. The ritual hasn't been tried with someone with two kinds of magic before and Coulta's magic is slightly unpredictable."
Jaimathan thought about the marks visible on Wildas and Myri. He assumed Anil also had them somewhere. It would probably be very difficult if Jaimathan ended up with some of his own. Especially if anyone else knew of this ritual. The thought of the sort of scandal that would consume the entire court in that event was almost sickening.
But the need to get his powers back was stronger. He got to his feet with a nod. "I'm ready."
Jaimathan had been to the royal temple in the castle several times since his arrival in Ryal, but he'd never seen it as it was when he stepped inside with Coulta and Shelton. It was darker than usual, with only a few candles burning. The room was also empty but for Brother Pelles and the two guards at the door to tell others that the temple was closed. There was a heavy scent of incense in the air, though of what kind he wasn't sure.
Brother Pelles, dressed as always in his dark blue robe, motioned them forward and Jaimathan walked with Coulta to the altar where paintings and statues of all the major gods were arranged. Jaimathan sent them a quick, silent prayer asking for their help in the ritual.
He and Coulta were instructed to sit on either side of a large golden bowl filled with dried leaves. Once they were situated, Brother Pelles lit the leaves with the fire from a nearby candle.
"Remain silent and breathe deeply," he told them.
The slow burning, fragrant herbs created a strangely sweet smoke and soon Jaimathan found himself in what he could only think of as a waking dream. He could hear Brother Pelles chanting in a language he didn't know, but as if from a great distance. The air was filled with glittering, dancing lights and shadows that almost seemed to take on real forms. The lights and shadows were like soldiers on a battlefield, twisting around and striking at each other in great waves. He could no longer see Coulta on the other side of the smoking bowl.
He was only vaguely aware of the priest's voice coming closer, hardly cared when each of his hands was lifted and a blade was sliced across his palms. It hardly felt like more than a sting. Then another hand was placed in each of his.
Brother Pelles was chanting even louder and Jaimathan felt his hands and those he was holding pressed down into the burning herbs.
But it didn't hurt. Instead, a fierce tingling began in his palms and shot through each of his fingers, then up his arms at a strangely slow pace. It spread through his shoulders, down his back, up his neck and across his face and scalp, through his chest and into his belly, and down his legs. His entire body felt consumed by the tingling, though it was neither pleasant nor unpleasant.
Then his hands were lifted from the fire and separated from those he held as Brother Pelles practically yelled a final word.
The room flared a blinding silver, then everything was gone.
He woke to soft dawn light, and Fae gently caressing his cheek. In their bed in the guest room.
"Did it work?" he asked hoarsely.
"You'll be the one to know that," she replied, handing him a cup of tea. "I hope it did as it made you sleep for a full day and night."
He sat up and accepted the tea. He drank it quickly, then shifted the blankets to look at himself. His naked body looked normal to him.
"No black marks?" he asked Fae just to be sure.
She gave him a curious look. "No. Why would there be?"
"Shelton wasn't sure if the ceremony would be limited to the Asir magic. I was afraid Coulta's other magic would have gotten in the way."
She still looked rather curious. "I would have worried about what was involved in this ceremony except that I was the one to undress you."
He snorted. "Thank you for that."
Even without trying his magic, he felt better – he felt whole again. Everything felt as it should, not as though he were lost in a haze. The world around him was clear and sharp again.
"I think the magic is back," he declared with a grin.
Fae smiled and leaned over to kiss him. "Good. Maybe now you'll be yourself again."
"I hope so," he agreed, pulling her closer. "I should test it, though."
She playfully swatted his arm. "Tonight will be soon enough for that. Shelton will be checking on you before long. Try something else."
He reluctantly released her. "Let me get dressed first."
She let him get up and he used the room's privat
e privy before getting dressed. Then he sat down on the bed again and felt within himself for the power.
Much to his amazement, it was stronger than it had been even at home. That was something to ask Master Shelton about. He wasn't quite sure what he wanted to do, until the thought of speaking to his mother came to him. Maybe he should try opening a door between the realms here, at least temporarily. From what he'd read in the books he'd been scouring, such doors closed themselves over time. Perhaps others here would have loved ones who they longed to see one last time.
His consciousness drifted into the Mist, the wavering barrier between the realm of the living and the Spirit Realm, and the place where Asirim could pull their magic from. It was surprisingly easy to picture a door before him, which he carefully pulled open to reveal a world of solid white.
"Those who are Good are welcome to visit the living," he called, his voice carrying out through the apparent emptiness.
Then he slowly brought his mind back into his own self to wait. When he opened his eyes to tell Fae what he had done, she gasped.
"What?" he demanded.
She quickly brought the hand mirror from the washstand and held it before him.
His eyes were solid silver, like polished silver plates. Then, as he stared in wonder at himself, they began to turn deep blue again, starting at the center and moving outward.
He'd read that most pure Asirim had silver eyes, but he'd never read that others had eyes that changed to silver when they used their powers. Another thing to talk to Shelton about. First, though, he would see if anything happened to prove that his magic had fully returned.
***
Coulta hadn't been as deeply effected by the ritual as Jaimathan had been. He'd only felt a vague sensation of lightness brought on by the meditation herbs. When he'd seen Jaimathan fall to the side in a faint he'd been immediately concerned, until Brother Pelles had checked on him and assured Coulta that all was well. Braith and Shelton had gotten Jaimathan to his guest room, where Fae was waiting, with the help of some obscuration magic.
There would be no way to know if the ritual had worked, Shelton had warned him, until Jaimathan attempted to use his magic again. From what Coulta had heard, the Algoman prince had slept for the rest of that day and into the night. Now, as he went about getting dressed for breakfast, he wondered how much longer it would take for Jaimathan to recover.
One of the hardest things to get used to with marrying Wildas was allowing someone else to select his clothes for him on a daily basis. Ralix was a good attendant who had quickly learned Coulta's dressing habits, and he gave Coulta plenty of privacy, but it was still strange to him even after so many months to find clothes laid out for him each morning. At least Ralix didn't insist on helping him dress for routine days, only for banquets and special court appointments where more finery was required.
Ralix did, however, always check with him every morning to make sure he didn't need anything else. So Coulta was expecting his return, but was concerned when he heard his attendant gasp.
Coulta turned, his pants still unfastened and his hands reaching for weapons he wasn't wearing. He stared in confusion at the figure of a strange woman standing in the center of his bedchamber. She was tall and fit, with flowing black hair and eyes of piercing silver. She wore a gown of deep red. The only thing that made him realize that she wasn't truly real was that he could just barely make out the outline of the door behind her.
At first he had believed her to be a stranger, but, somehow, he felt a mysterious connection to her. It was as if he did know her, but didn't recognize her.
"Who are you?" he breathed.
A sad smile came to her beautiful face. "I'm not surprised you don't recognize me. After all, you never got to learn my face."
This wasn't like the dreams, where ghosts taunted him and hurt him. Everything about this ghost felt... good. A new thought slowly came to him.
"Are you..."
She came closer, still smiling her sad smile. "Yes, my son."
"How are you here?" he whispered.
"The ceremony you took part in was successful. He opened a door for us to visit if we wished to. I knew you would not know me at first, but it felt wrong not to see you when I had the chance. I don't doubt that all your spouses will be seeing their families as well. I didn't want you to feel abandoned again."
Coulta took a deep breath as she stepped close enough to touch her if he wanted to. Or if he could. Questions he had always longed to ask her finally came back to him, questions he was terrified to know the answers to. But he still needed to know.
"Did you know?" he asked softly.
Her sad smile still remained, and it spread to her eyes. "That your father would feel so helpless and hopeless that he would leave you? No. Had I known, I would have tried to encourage him to have hope. But he truly thought he was doing what was right for you. He had no idea what would happen to you in Arren. In truth, he still doesn't know everything. He's only heard the rumors of your past and doesn't know what's true. He thought you would be happy, that perhaps you'd become a soldier or a guard, because that's what he knew from his life in Berk. Wealthy landowners only had female servants. The boys only help out until they are old enough to lift a training sword and shield. He had no idea the sort of traitor Varin was."
Coulta was rocked out of his state of shock. "Don't ask me to forgive him. I don't know that I can. You couldn't help leaving me, but he could have."
"I would never ask you to do that," she assured him gently. "That will have to be your decision. I can only tell you what I have seen while watching over both of you. Of course I would like for you to at least talk to him, but I would never suggest that you must."
He nodded silently and turned away to finally tie his pants.
"As for the other part of your question, I didn't know who I was linking your soul to, either. I simply sifted through the Mist until I found a soul that I knew would be the kindest to you. Patient, gentle, loving, strong, and noble of heart. I couldn't see the person in which the soul resided, nor get any feel for sex, social class, or age other than that it was relatively close to yours. It took the last of my strength just to sense the general location and tell your father. Perhaps I shouldn't have told him after all."
Coulta shook his head as he turned back to her. "It's all right."
"I am glad that you're happy now." Her smile became a little less sad. "You have people who love you and who you love in return, your curse is broken, you have children on the way – "
"It's not my child," he cut in.
"Not by blood, perhaps," she replied with a small shrug. "It's really all the same." She took a step closer and placed a cool, ghostly kiss on his forehead, though she hardly had to reach. "I love you."
The words came to him without a second thought. "I love you," he repeated, amazed that it seemed so natural despite the fact that he had never known her in life.
She stepped away and looked toward the far wall. Coulta followed her gaze and saw Wildas in the doorway that separated their rooms. He seemed awed, one hand on the handle of the door and the other on the frame, his eyes wide and his mouth open in amazement. The ghost made him an elegant curtsy, smiled once more at Coulta, and was suddenly gone.
It took a moment for Wildas to get his voice, then he finally asked, "Was that your mother?"
Coulta nodded.
"I thought ghosts only haunted the places where they either lived or died?"
"Jaimathan has his powers back," Coulta explained, surprised by the tightness of his throat. "He opened a passageway between the realms so that spirits could visit their loved ones."
Wildas walked over to him and pulled him into a tight embrace. As Coulta wrapped his arms around his husband he hoped, for Wildas's sake, that Deandre decided to visit him. He knew Wildas could use the reassurance that only his father could give.
***
Shelton was preparing to check in on Jaimathan when he was stopped by the sound of his name b
eing spoken. The voice was soft, but it was jarringly familiar. He stopped halfway to the door and turned.
Deandre stood in the center of the room, looking impossibly real. He was dressed simply, which, along with the fact that Shelton could vaguely see the bed through him, were the only things that suggested that he truly was a ghost. As if this could even possibly be real.
Shelton felt his throat grow tight anyway. How often had he wished to just see Deandre one more time? How many times had he wished he'd just been able to truly say farewell?
And now here he was, and all Shelton could manage to say was, "It appears the ritual worked."
Deandre actually chuckled, a warm, familiar sound. "That's the first thing you say to me?"
Shelton shook his head, smiling despite the tears burning in his eyes. "I'm sorry. You caught me by surprise." Then it occurred to him that it shouldn't just be Deandre here. "Where's Xiao?"
"She'll visit later," Deandre answered. "She decided you needed to see me first. I was never able to say farewell." He stepped closer and took Shelton's hand. His touch was cool, as if he'd been outside without gloves, but it was otherwise solid. "Where's Yvona?"
"She's helping to train the soldiers, especially now that Ruairi is on the border."
"When will she return?"
"Usually in time for the evening meal."
Deandre nodded decisively. "I'll come back to see her tonight then."
"Will you see the children? At least Wildas?"
"I plan to. But you are doing so well for them. I want you to know that I've seen what you've been doing and I love you all the more for it. Both of you. Thank you."
Shelton forced a smile. "I do believe your last request of me was to help Wildas."
"I know, but I am still so happy about how much you've done for him. For everyone. Come here."
Shelton was momentarily confused. Then the hearth fire faded and the room grew dim, as if a storm was covering the morning sun. At that very moment Deandre's cool hand grew much warmer. Shelton looked up into those familiar dark eyes in surprise. He could no longer even vaguely see through Deandre's ghost. He was as real as he'd been in life, though rather pale.