by Sam Bowring
‘Pardon?’ he said.
‘Don’t play games with me, mage,’ said Kessum. ‘I saw her, plain as day, right in this spot. Did no one else see?’
‘Are you all right, sir?’ joked one of the soldiers. ‘Seeing things that aren’t there . . . and we haven’t even started drinking yet!’
The others began to chortle, but ‘Silence!’ barked Kessum. From the surprised looks on their faces Elessa thought they must not often have seen him angry. That was how she remembered him too – calm and peaceful.
‘Er . . .’ said the innkeeper, and she could see him doing a mental count of the lightfists. Five, when they had asked for six rooms. ‘There was a –’
Fahren gave an almost imperceptible flick of his fingers, and the man descended instantly into a coughing fit. Kessum stalked forward, right towards her, and in panic she cast a dodge spell, blinking from where she stood into a dark corner of the room. It wasn’t her that Kessum had been approaching, however; it was Fahren. Given the Throne’s current disguise, a cerepan was well within his rights to demand cooperation. Two of the lightfist guards, who knew Fahren’s real identity, stepped forward, but he waved them back.
‘What is going on?’ demanded Kessum. ‘Are you playing some mage trick?’
Clear his memory, pleaded Elessa. She had never learned how to do so herself, but she knew it was an ability Fahren had. Make it so he doesn’t know he saw me.
What of those with him? I cannot do them all at once.
‘Excuse me,’ interrupted Battu, ‘but I think I may know what’s caused this.’
‘What?’ said Kessum, rounding on him.
Battu fished in an illusionary pocket, and produced a small silver locket. As he held it out on his palm, black wisps escaped from its surface.
‘Shadow!’ exclaimed Kessum, his hand going to his sword.
‘Yes,’ said Battu. ‘We found this trinket on a shadow mage sneaking about north of here, no doubt on some nefarious errand. It’s a weapon of sorts, designed to give us folk of the light waking nightmares. I thought I had its influence contained but . . .’ he frowned at it, ‘maybe not.’ He held a hand over it, concentrating hard. ‘Ah, there – it wormed through my seals, insidious thing. But now it will bother you no more.’
Kessum looked as if he did not know what to believe – he was angry, confused, and Elessa saw that the sight of her, even after all this time, had affected him strongly. Had he not moved on? They had never truly been together, and many years had passed. Surely he did not feel the same as he once had done?
As Kessum stared at the ‘magical artefact’, Battu closed his fist and replaced it in his pocket. It was an unexpected thing to have him help her – she still could not think of the man as anything but evil.
Creative, she heard Fahren send him.
‘I am trying to gauge more about how the device works,’ said Battu. ‘Maybe you could help me – what was it that you saw, precisely? Who was this girl, someone from your past?’
Kessum stared at him darkly for a moment. Then, ‘Mages,’ he growled derisively. ‘Come, comrades, let us do what we came here for – and move away from these before any more ghosts come haunting. And you,’ he pointed Battu square in the face, ‘keep that thing away from me.’
‘We will buy your first round,’ said Battu, ‘to amend for the upset.’
Kessum did not say another word, but led his soldiers away to the tables.
As Fahren turned back to the innkeeper, miraculously the man’s wheezing abated. ‘Now,’ said Fahren, ‘about those rooms.’
The man, somewhat pale, nodded quickly. ‘Did . . . how many did you want?’
‘The original number,’ said Fahren. ‘And not another word on that, understand?’
•
Elessa sat alone in her room, staring into the mirror. It seemed some sort of cruel joke to see how normal she looked, in stark contrast to how she felt. She longed to go to Kessum, could sense how close he was – and yet, separated by only a wooden door and a flight of stairs, she was a world apart. He produced in her such real emotion, it made her feel more like the young girl she had been than anything else had since her resurrection – and that, in turn, was wretched, because there was nothing she could do about it.
Getting closer to the mirror, she could finally make out subtle traces of decay. Her body produced no moisture and her dry eyes had begun to yellow. Miserably, she gave a wave of her hand and settled an illusion over herself, chasing away those dead eyes and replacing them with ones that shone brightly. She added a glow to her pallid cheeks, and removed small scratches from her skin. These days it was all too easy to damage herself without noticing, and no damage to anything but her bones would heal.
There – if she went to him now, he wouldn’t know she was undead. But would he think it odd she had not aged? She added more refinements to the illusion, giving herself a few lines on her face, a little sag in the elbows – it was tricky, guessing what she would have looked like in her middle years.
Suddenly angry that she’d allowed herself to come so far down this line of thought, she dropped the illusion entirely. It did not matter what she looked like! She would not feel his kiss on her lips, and he would find her cold and sour. Her body might even come apart in his hands.
Making herself invisible once more, Elessa slipped out of the room and went to the top of the stairs. She could see him down there, his soldiers drinking while he stared out through a window with an untouched ale. One of his troop gestured for him to join them in a game of cards, but he waved her away. Shrugging, the woman returned to her companions, who sent concerned glances towards their superior. Damn fate for delivering him here, and damn it again for letting him see her! How could he be so affected? Did he really still love her, after all this time? Or did he have a wife and children, and the sight of her had merely brought back difficult memories, stirring old hurts to the surface? She decided she did not want to know.
Tearing herself away, she marched on to Fahren’s room. Without bothering to knock, she opened the door and stormed inside, only just remembering to make herself visible. Fahren was sitting on the edge of his bed, smoking a brittleleaf roll.
‘Elessa,’ he said, ‘I was just coming to see you. I am so sorry for putting you through this.’
‘So sorry, so sorry,’ she echoed. ‘Always the same words, yet you won’t do anything about it. And now you bring me to this place so you can eat and sleep, while I can no neither and must sit in my room thinking of the man I could have loved.’
‘I know,’ he said, his face crinkling in sorrow. He went to the window and set his roll down on the sill. ‘I do not know what I can do, Elessa.’
‘Release me from this torment,’ she begged. ‘Let me return to the Well, gone from the world!’
‘Please, my girl –’ he said, but she cut him off.
‘Do not call me that. I am no longer a girl. I am not anything!’
‘You are our best hope for defeating the shadow,’ said Fahren. ‘You know how important that is.’
‘If you won’t,’ she said, ‘then let me end it myself.’
Tears fell from Fahren’s eyes. ‘I cannot. And I forbid you from doing so.’
She felt the command sink in – as the one who had raised her, his words were binding. She fell to her knees, wanting to sob, uncaring of what effect the fall would have on her flesh. She reached out to grasp the floor as great, soundless upheavals shook her. Fahren knelt beside her, put a hand on her shoulder.
‘You see?’ she said. ‘You seek to comfort with touch, but your actions have the opposite effect. You might as well prod a side of beef. Everything reminds me of what I am.’
Shamefacedly, he withdrew his hand.
‘It is not just me who asks this of you,’ he said. ‘It is the will of Arkus, your very god. Do you
not wish to protect the Well?’
Elessa could not answer, her former resolve shattered. All she knew was what she wanted – she wanted Kessum, she wanted to be normal again, she wanted to be dead again . . . anything but this.
‘It’s only for a few more days,’ said Fahren. ‘I will release you as soon as it’s done, I promise. I’m so s . . . it’s unfortunate indeed that we encountered Kessum. You were not doing so badly for a bit there, were you? It will be better again once we’re away from here. He will never beat us to the battlefield, and you will have completed your task before he arrives there. You will remember again that what you do is good and worthwhile. You can get through this.’
She pulled herself up. She was not drained, as she once would have been from such a racking fit, for her strength was constant. Looking at Fahren, she vaguely recalled the way they had been once – she the student, he the kindly teacher. She tried to believe that he was right. Really, what choice did she have?
She retreated to her room, and stayed there all night while the others supped and drank. The noise was boisterous at times, but she did not hear the voices of her companions. As the night grew old the noise died down, and finally she heard the downstairs door close, and a bolt slide into place.
Goodbye, Kessum, she thought.
She would see him again, in a way, she supposed – but in the Well love was not the same.
That’s right, she thought. Until a week ago I had no concern with earthly love. That will be the case again soon.
In the quiet of early morning, she found a modicum of calm.
Then came a knock at the door, signalling time to move on. One last stretch to the army, then a task to perform, and she would know harmony once more.
I can do it, she thought, rising from the bed. I will help my people win.
Peace
There they were, hiding in a small wood not far from the river. Raiders who had ransacked his supply carts and left his servants dead, their bodies stiff amongst the woodchips, the sun they’d dared not look upon in life reflecting full in their empty eyes. There were three lightfists with the troop, and although Losara tried to keep himself small, one of them sat bolt upright and turned in his direction. He knew he had been sensed. A moment later all three were on their feet, light suffusing their bodies as the wards came up.
Losara withdrew, perhaps too readily. He was not fleeing, he told himself, merely gathering himself together. He had wanted a moment or two to think . . . but really, what would thinking accomplish, or change? He did not intend to do anything to these Kainordans that they had not already done to his own. Yet he was tired. He had walked through Jeddies after their ‘victory’ there, seen the ruin he had inflicted. Tyrellan had urged him to continue in pursuit of the fleeing Kainordans – what was the purpose of the ruse with the illusionary mander if not to strike a grievous blow? But had they not done that already, Losara had asked, by taking the camp, and the town that had kept the enemy so easily supplied? More, Tyrellan had wanted – another charge, another try at unleashing the mander through their lines unhindered – and Losara had said no. He had given his excuses: with the light already at some distance, Tyrellan would have had to ride free of the main army to catch up to them, which would put him at risk even with Losara and mages to protect him. Also, if Bel returned to discover his army being savaged by the mander, he would think nothing of riding straight in amongst it all, as he had proved on their journey that morning.
Tyrellan had seemed unconvinced by these reasons, and Losara tried to tell himself they were the real ones. After all, what would be the point of delaying? There was no avoiding the violence, no miracle on the way to end all of this peacefully. He had come this far, hadn’t he? He had murdered the mages of Holdwith, made a mockery of the defences at the Shining Mines, let loose the mander on a retreating army and toppled Jeddies . . . he even counted that single scout watching the river in his tally. So why stop right when a push could have ended things for good?
You don’t know that, an interior voice countered. Maybe you were right. Running headlong after the light could have been a terrible mistake.
Even now something inside him wanted to slip away, to forget he’d ever seen the Kainordan troop hiding in the trees, even as they waited to do more harm to him and his people. But he knew he could not.
They deserve it.
The words felt hollow in his head. There was nothing ‘deserving’ about any of this.
Where is my calm? I want it back. How many times must I make up my mind? Always I arrive back at the same point – that if I do not act, Fenvarrow will fall. The answer is always the same. The answer is always the same!
He flowed back to the trees, and appeared in the midst of the Varenkai. The lightfists, who were still wary, saw him first. Glowing bolts flew towards him, but their small magic was nothing against his, and he barely felt the impact against his ward. He reached out, pushing through the lightfists’ defences, and shadowy snake heads darted in to slam against chests, flinging bodies backwards with trailing limbs. One, two, three, and the lightfists were down.
‘Faster than a sword blow,’ he told the stunned soldiers. ‘For that you can be thankful.’
He waved his hands, and shadows twisted through the soldiers. They barely had time to cry out.
‘And on and on,’ he said sadly, as they fell.
•
That night, Losara dreamed. He drifted above the armies, watching them as they really were. Several days after the attack on Jeddies, the Kainordans had managed to reinstate something of a proper camp, though rations were strict and resources stretched thin. Bel had a new campsite at the front, looking much like the old one – in fact, despite the ground Losara had taken, it was as if nothing had changed. He circled in closer, and set down.
‘It’s not that far away,’ Jaya was saying, drying her hair with a cloth.
‘All I said was be careful,’ said Bel. ‘Just because you don’t like bathing with soldiers is no reason to take risks.’
‘Risks?’ she laughed. ‘A quick dip in a stream within shout of this many? What do you expect me to do? A lady has some modesty.’
‘And you are this alleged lady? Who is in possession of modesty, she claims?’
‘You can’t blame me,’ said Jaya. ‘After all, it was you who lost our bathtub!’
‘I’m sorry Brahl did not realise that rescuing it was such a priority. I will tell him next time to abandon the food and instead make sure my lady is well watered. She cannot run from shadowmanders if she isn’t feeling fresh, I will say.’
Jaya thumped him on the arm, and he smirked.
So, thought Losara, my cunning plan has resulted only in friendly jocularity.
Still, a part of him had to admire Bel’s ability not to think about things too much. Would that I had it too.
The dream swirled. Losara found himself seated in a stark room without a door, looking across a table at Bel. Bel clasped his hands together, while behind him light streamed in from a window, through which Losara could see rolling fields. He turned to find a window behind himself too, but this one showed dark plains, with a fine rain falling from the great Cloud.
‘You said you wanted to talk of peace?’ said Bel.
Losara frowned. Was that why he was here?
‘I’ve only thought about it a little,’ he said. ‘In truth I did not imagine that you, or the light in general, would be open to such an idea.’
‘While your own people are such martyrs,’ said Bel, raising an eyebrow. ‘Forced against their will to invade our lands, when all they really want is peace.’
Losara nodded. Bel was right – things were too far gone for peace. A shared one, anyway.
‘It would be, as you say, difficult to convince them,’ he said. ‘But I have wondered, once or twice . . . what is to stop each of us simply retiri
ng to our own realms, and leaving the other alone forever? We could build a wall, very high, along the border. We could make a mutual law that no one crosses it.’
‘Bel and Losara, the wall-builders? Not quite what I had in mind for history’s pages.’
‘Just an idea.’ Losara shrugged. ‘Greatness is not always measured by what it replaces. Are you not yet tired of this war, Bel?’
‘Tired?’ said Bel, amused. ‘We’ve only just begun!’
‘I suppose. But would it not also be worthwhile to convince the world not to rip itself apart? History’s pages would remember that, if indeed you care about such things.’
Was that what he really believed? Somehow he did not feel in control. He was watching from within himself, unsure of where the words he spoke came from.
‘Have you forgotten?’ said Bel. ‘It is not just the people you must convince, but the very gods they follow.’ He pushed back from the table, rose and went to the window. For a while he looked out upon his sunny lands, then a smile tweaked the edge of his mouth. ‘Just say,’ he began, ‘that I decide your idea has some merit. Say that you and I are able to work out some kind of accord, allowing us to end this conflict. Our armies disperse, returning to their homes as if nothing ever happened. We even manage to convince the gods that their age-old hatred is just a little misunderstanding, and could they please stop our people despising each other for their different looks, their different ways, and all the harm already done.’
‘Say.’
Bel turned. ‘How long do you think it would last?’
Losara stared at him.
‘How long,’ said Bel, ‘until some disagreement, some dispute, some ruler with zeal in his eye and hunger in his belly . . . how long until tolerance gives way, until the old divides again seem insurmountable?’ He came forward, planted his fists on the table. ‘Until the end of time, Losara? Are you so naive?’
Inside Losara a great pressure built. He should be feeling something, and he could guess what it was.