Uniting the Heavens

by Emily English

  “May I?” Kaila asked, and Taia dropped the book into her hands. She took a seat by the fireplace, skimming over the pages. There was a fair amount of information collected on the marks, but she had to figure out what would be most useful to Aren. She was so absorbed in reading that she didn’t notice Alaric until he was sitting next to her. He leaned closer so he could see what she was reading.

  “Marks are like spells,” he said. “They redirect or subdue magic, give the bearer certain gifts. Under my father’s realm, Tanghi was responsible for weaving those marks and spells onto the angels and demons. He’s the one who wove them into my demon side.”

  Kaila frowned. “Then he should have the ability to unweave.”

  “It doesn’t work that way. It’s similar to the way the Priestesses are marked. Each being has a predetermined design, and I am no different. Tanghi made that design visible or accessible. He doesn’t create them out of his own mind.”

  “But marks are different from symbols—like the symbols I saw on the creature.”

  “Magecraft,” he said. “They’re not inherent to the creature’s essence. The symbols could be controls so that whatever summoned the beast could tame it.”

  “So if we could find out who summoned the monster…”

  Taia strode over, a long, slender length of paper woven through her fingers like ribbon. She looked down at Kaila and said, “Once the summoner dies, the beast is free to do as it pleases. In fact, the summoner’s death might provide vast quantities of power to the beast. In magecraft, blood and death give power.”

  “It’s all right, darling,” Alaric said, squeezing her hand. “Keep thinking; every idea leads to another.”

  She nodded as he stood up and returned to his desk with Taia close behind him. If only she could return to Tiede. Everything pointed back to Aren. She traced the outline of the eight-pointed star, symbolic of balance and harmony, adopted by the Fighters Guild to mark their successful initiates. She recalled the small star on Aren’s deltoid, the sharp black points vivid against his smooth, tawny skin. She closed the book and stood up. “May I return to my chambers?”

  “Yes, but don’t stay away too long. I might need you nearby if Aalae decides to summon,” Alaric said, glancing up from his work.

  She nodded, then left to contact Selina.

  TEN

  Two more dead Guards were in the courtyard, and dozens more wounded outside. Vir stood in the middle of the courtyard, his wife conspicuously absent, as everyone in the House, from servant to Priestess to guest to Guard to Hunter, was ordered to congregate to listen to the House Lord speak. Aren and Dane, sweaty and just a little more banged up than before, stood close to Elder.

  “I will not tolerate another attack like this in my House!” Vir cried out so all could hear him.

  Moments ago, a mage had blasted her way into the House after attacking the protesting people outside. She had made it only as far as the courtyard when Aren and Dane ran into her. She sent volleys of magic at them, and they took cover behind the fountain. The distraction had given a Hunter enough time to get close enough to take her down, sending a blade into her heart.

  “To that end,” Vir continued, “I must ask you to trust me. Elder Tanda, Counselor Helmun, and House Priestess Min will be checking every single person assigned to this House for the marks. Anyone who requests entrance into this House will be checked as well. As you all know, the detainment of the marked has already begun. Anyone in this House who bears the marks will be asked to stay in Alaric’s room until this threat passes.”

  This comment elicited some argument and frustrated responses.

  Vir put up a hand for silence. “My wife is subject to the same rule and has already been moved to the worship room, along with Counselor Darc’s daughter, Lady Rieka. I would not ask this of you if I didn’t think it was for everyone’s safety, and I assure you that they and you will remain comfortable.” Then he said in a quiet voice, “Thank you,” before walking away towards his study.

  Elder rapped his staff against the stones to get everyone’s attention, then Helmun began to speak on the details of Vir’s plan. Elder herded Aren and Dane towards the Library. “Dane, see if Fighter Gryf and the Hunters have had any luck finding the creature. Aren, back to work. Time is not on your side. I just received word that someone smuggled some kind of pill or potion into the dungeons where the big mage was locked up. He’s dead.”

  Aren felt his gut knot. He was hoping that Copen wouldn’t die because of whatever he did to him, but it still didn’t feel good to know that he was ultimately poisoned.

  “And Lady Geyle?” Aren asked.

  “She told Lord Vir everything.” Elder let out a sigh that seemed to deflate him of his energy. “She wasn’t trying to poison him as her actions would suggest. All that aside, he’s still very sick, and the doctors are concerned.”

  “I never believed she would hurt him,” Aren said by way of an apology.

  “You took a chance, but your faith in people is naïve. You need to start seeing the darkness that exists in everyone,” Elder said. Aren and Dane bowed to Elder, then clasped each other on the upper arm in the way of the Fighter before parting.

  Aren opened his notebook, refilled his pen, and grabbed a few sheets of flat parchment. He breathed in, letting the air fill his lungs, relax his muscles. Then he began to redraw the symbols. According to the messages that Selina had “relayed from the gods” while he was in the dungeon, the marks were important, and he had to connect the marks to the summoner. What was he supposed to do? Check every mark on every person being detained? It was ridiculous.

  He would concentrate on the leaf. The leaf was what had given him a bad feeling before, and it was part of the message that Selina had conveyed. He scribbled apple, nightshade, holly, elder, aspen, iris, sage, and tansy—the plants that Selina had recited. Then, he went to Elder’s desk and dug out the book on plants that Geyle had been reading.

  He started with the apple. Often left as food offerings for the dead. The leaf was too slender. Nightshade: mostly toxic, but it did have medicinal value. He looked at the illustrations of berries, roots, and leaves. The leaves were too wide. Holly. Aren thought all holly had barbed leaves, but the illustrations proved him wrong. The echols variety had small, slender leaves. Holly symbolized truth and hope. He marked it as a potential candidate.

  Aren pinched the bridge of his nose, then reached into his drawer to pull out the cup of coffee he had hidden there that morning. He sniffed it, then swirled it around. Shrugging, he took a gulp, then made a face. Only five more to go, he told himself, looking at his list. What if these were just suggestions? With the myriad of plants out there, this could take forever. But who was he to question the suggestions of a god? He laughed to himself. When had his life become so strange? At least his headaches had dulled to a pounding sensation at the base of his skull.

  The Library doors opened, and he looked up to see Valine gliding towards him, her elegant, dove-gray gown sweeping the floor behind her. He stood up and inclined his head. “I was hoping to find you here,” she said in her smoky voice.

  “Is there something I can help you with?” he asked, pulling Elder’s chair out for her.

  “I just wanted to see for myself that you were unharmed, but you seem to be a little bloodied.” She took a seat and gazed straight into his eyes.

  “My brother and I served as bait for the mage attack a little while ago.” He grimaced. “I’m fine, though; thank you for asking.”

  “You are full of trouble. First, I heard you were attacked last night. Today, my father and I learned that you had been locked up, and we went to Vir on your behalf.”

  “I appreciate it, but I believed that Lord Vir would do the right thing.”

  “You’re so naïve.” She laughed a little. “Please, sit down. I don’t like having to look up at you, dear.” He did as she asked, and she continued, “Vir is Tiedan to the core, and Tiede blood is ruthless and rash. You can’t live your life ass
uming the best in people.”

  “Maybe I am naïve. I’ve been told it enough times, but there are some things that I’m willing to be stubborn about.”

  “The copper and bones rolled in your favor. Still, you take too many chances, and you need to understand that Vir’s mind was changed partially because he doesn’t wish to make an enemy of Illithe. It’s bad enough that he’s decided to detain the marked.”

  “I don’t dare flatter myself to think that Illithe would think me in such high regard.” He was taking a chance in saying it, but he wanted to put it out there.

  She leaned back in her chair and crossed her legs. “Go ahead and flatter yourself. The gods are in communication with Selina and have called you out by name—you, an Unblessed. The gods haven’t had much to do with the Sacred Houses in years. Illithe isn’t foolish; we’ll side with the gods and whomever they chose.” Aren was silent, not knowing what to say, so she continued. “I’m curious as to why the gods would call on you to save Tiede.”

  “Shouldn’t you be more curious as to whether or not Selina has gone mad?” he asked. “In the past few days, that little girl has seen people die, was called to be a Priestess, and watched her big brother get beaten up. Gods communicating through her almost seems normal after all that.”

  “If you believe in that sort of thing,” Valine added for him.

  “If you believe,” he repeated, his mind wandering towards the leaf again.

  “And do you?”

  “My Lady, the gods have had nothing to do with me.”

  “Maybe they’re making up for it now.” She smiled and stood up, and he followed her lead. “In Illithe, the elders have a saying, ‘Sometimes, even the gods need to borrow oil from the mortals to light the stars.’”

  “What does it mean?”

  “It means that sometimes the gods need us almost as much as we need them, and it’s beginning to sound like they need you—blessed or not.” She reached for his hand and squeezed it. “I’ll let you get back to work.”

  Aren watched her leave, curious about the whole exchange. He wasn’t sure what to think of Valine. There was a mysteriousness to her that made him wonder if he could trust her. He did, however, like her father. The old man seemed so far off the deep end that it made Aren laugh inside.

  He sat back down at his desk and tried to refocus, studying his leaf drawing again. Had he gotten it right? He took his pen and redrew the lines, going over them, adding bits of shading. The parchment swallowed the ink, and he let his hand do what it would, falling into his self-imposed hypnosis.

  Remembering the man-bear-tree-god in Tiede Wood, he shuddered. He remembered the winds, fumbling for his knife, and the violent swirl of leaves. A leaf from Tiede Wood or a leaf carried on the wind from a faraway place? The pen loosened in his hand, and he found himself dragging out the petiole. It curled and whipped and wrapped and…

  Aren froze. “The gods need us,” he whispered to himself. He scribbled the Illitheien quote Lady Valine had shared with him.

  Sometimes, even the gods need to borrow oil from the mortals to light the stars.

  “Oil,” Aren breathed, rising to his feet, pushing back his chair. He dropped his pen and grabbed his keys. It was already dark, so he had to hurry. He had to know if his eyes had shown him the truth.

  ELEVEN

  Aren watched the upper window of Wethern’s Oil & Torch Shop from across the street. He should’ve acted on his suspicions at the beginning. If he had been wrong, no real harm done; it wouldn’t have been the first time he looked like a fool, and it certainly wouldn’t have been the last. He crossed the deserted street and walked up to the shop. Like last time, it was closed earlier than usual. He rang the bell, wondered if it sounded hesitant, then rang it again with more force. He stepped back into the light of the streetlamp so that Tun could get a good look at him.

  The curtains of the upper window parted, and Tun’s big head peeked out. Aren managed a smile and held his hand up in greeting. Tun made an effort of removing the frown from his face, then motioned that he’d be down in a minute.

  That’s odd, Aren thought. Where’d my headache go? He pinched the bridge of his nose, wondering if the headache was just stuck, lodged somewhere. Then, the three locks clicked and the door creaked open.

  Tun stood in the doorframe scowling. “What does the House want now?”

  “Oil, obviously.” Aren shrugged. “May I come in? Lord Vir’s using it up faster than usual. He’s so sick that he ends up falling asleep at his desk, and all the lamps are burning. Then, he wakes up, realizes he still has a lot of work to do, so the lamps continue to burn. It’s been chaos in the House.” He wondered if he was talking too fast, or if he sounded nervous. “He hasn’t bothered with electricity in some of the rooms, what with the devotion to the Fire god.” They stared at each other for a few seconds, then Aren said, “I’m glad the state of my beaten face doesn’t repulse you.”

  Tun moved back into the store, leaving the door open for him to follow, and like before, Tun lit a small lamp filled with rose-colored oil. Aren watched the light grow, pushing away the darkness and revealing white incense trails. The shop smelled of wood, perfumed flowers, and noxious smoke. He coughed and felt like he was suffocating.

  “Something wrong, Apprentice?” Tun asked in his gargley voice.

  Aren shook his head, wanting to vomit. “I’m allergic to incense,” he said, hoping it sounded like a joke. Tun didn’t laugh. “I hope you have some House oil left. I know we’ve been rather demanding.”

  Tun didn’t say anything. He moved to the storeroom, and Aren looked around, searching for signs that something was out of place. He grabbed the matches that Tun had left on the counter, struck one with a flick of his thumbnail, then proceeded to light a candelabra display.

  “Elder wants me to buy candles too,” he called out. He moved around the store, lighting several more candles. “I might buy a few for myself. Maybe a little romantic lighting will help me win over this girl I like.”

  Tun’s large head peeked from out of the storeroom, and his eyes widened to the size of dinner plates. “What are you doing?”

  The store was brighter, but the shadows cast from the dancing lights were eerie. Aren said, “Wethern told me the items on display are for testing—try it out, see if it’s what you really want, that sort of thing. He’s especially lenient when it comes to the House.” Aren weaved his way around the various lamps and torches, his eyes scanning the walls and floors. “How do you not cough up a lung? You’ve got enough incense burning to hide a rotting corpse.”

  Tun narrowed his eyes, then ducked back into the storeroom. “I didn’t think the House would use so much oil. Maybe someone is taking from the crates I delivered specifically for Lord Tiede.”

  “Lord Vir doesn’t stop,” Aren said, noticing a tall, misshapen stick up against the far wall next to the doorway leading into Wethern’s living area. A staff. Wonderful. “Tiede blood is powerful. In the stories, the Night god suckled the first Lords and Ladies of Tiede with the blood from his finger.” Aren picked up the staff and noted the strange symbols that ran along the length of it. “It’s said that those of Tiede blood don’t need to sleep and can see in the dark because of Alaric’s gifts.”

  “Stupid stories,” Tun grunted from the storeroom, “about ridiculous gods.”

  Aren walked back towards the middle of the store, staff in hand. “I love a good story.” Tun came out of the storeroom carrying two flasks. When he saw Aren holding the staff, he froze. “I’d like to hear yours, if you’ve got a minute. I’ll help you start; children’s stories have the best introductions. ‘In times untold…’” Aren indicated that Tun should continue.

  Tun put the flasks on the counter and stared hard at Aren. His breathing was labored, drowning. “If you’ve something to say, go on and say it.”

  “You want me to tell it? I’ll try but I don’t know it as well as you do.” Aren cleared his throat. “In times untold, there was a mage from P
ren-Holder who came upon the great House of Tiede. All across Cordelacht, the mages were beginning to rise against the gods. The mage from Pren-Holder was given the mission to kill Lord Vir, but it would be difficult because he’s well protected. Several plans had to be put in motion, and a slow poison would be perfect. Let it work in the background while everyone is focused on the chaos.” Aren paused for effect, then acted as though he had just had a revelation. “Ah, that’s where the oil comes in!”

  Tun folded his arms across his wide chest, his head bobbling a little. “You read too many stories.”

  Aren walked over to another set of candles on display and made a show of lighting them. The lights pushed back the shadows, throwing them against the walls. “So much is revealed in the light; makes it difficult to keep secrets.” He raised an eyebrow at Tun. “You are marked, aren’t you? Otherwise, what need would you have for this?”

  Tun’s eyes darted from the staff to Aren and back again. “I need it to walk.”

  Aren made a show of examining the symbols on the staff’s dark wood. “There’s no oil shortage, is there? I was stupid for believing that story. You were stalling in order to poison the House oil.”

  “Give me the staff.” Tun held out a hand.

  “I’m not that dense; I know what a mage can do with a staff. I’ve seen what Horin did, what that woman did just a few hours ago. Did your friend Mercer tell you that Copen’s dead? You were all in this together, weren’t you? Now, tell me who summoned the monster.”

  Tun gargled his words. “You’re in no position to give me orders, boy!”

  “Really?” Aren cocked his head, then pointed at the staff. “But I have this. Now stop talking to me like I’m an imbecile, and tell me the truth. You’ve been poisoning Lord Vir, and you know about the monster. Then, there’s the leaf.”