Full Circle

by Christopher Nuttall

  She gritted her teeth, forcing the thought back into a corner of her mind. The Witch-King might not have a direct link to her mind, but he clearly had her trapped. Maybe, just maybe, he could read her thoughts …

  “You’re the one responsible for my lack of power,” Elaine said, trying to distract him. “It must have galled you to know that I had the knowledge.”

  “Not really,” the Witch-King said, dispassionately. “You lacked the ability to use the knowledge effectively.”

  “That isn’t true,” Elaine said. “I reworked a handful of spells …”

  “There are limits to your abilities,” the Witch-King said. “Indeed, were it not for your dead Inquisitor friend, you would be mine by now. I could have dissected your knowledge at leisure.”

  But Dread isn’t dead, Elaine thought. Or was he dead? She’d lost sight of him when the snow had slammed into her. When he lost his powers, did the Witch-King lose track of him and think he’s dead?

  She clung to that thought. Dread was tough, tough enough to defy his oaths, tough enough to survive a life without magic. He’d help her, surely … but could he help her without magic?

  “Deferens,” Elaine said. “He’s one of yours, isn’t he?”

  “As you know,” the Witch-King agreed. “There’s quite an interesting story there. I took the Emperor’s last surviving child and then built up a society around him, one carefully controlled to ensure the bloodline survived intact. Over the centuries, the priest-kings I founded crafted a civilisation that was practically based around action, brute force and instantaneous action. The children of the Golden Bloodline were not trained to think or to evaluate their society, let alone realise its weaknesses. They were using my spells before they started to grow manly beards.”

  There was a hint of a sneer in his voice. “It’s astonishing what someone will come to accept as natural, if you start early enough,” he added. “Deferens is perfectly balanced between a thrusting desire to win, to force everyone else to submit, and a single-mindedness that makes it easy for me to steer him in the right direction. His obsession with you is merely a means to my end.”

  Elaine shuddered. “You made him obsessed with me.”

  “Hardly,” the Witch-King said. “Deferens was raised to value strength and determination – to him, a woman who submits is worthless. An odd contradiction; his sisters were raised as little more than brood mares, their marriages arranged to suit his family, yet he values strong and independent women. He may not even realise this himself.”

  “I imagine not,” Elaine sneered. “He chafed under Light Spinner.”

  “It’s not in his nature to permanently accept anyone superior to him,” the Witch-King said, dryly. “No amount of thrashings from his father curbed his rebellious and violent nature, let alone kept him from eventually ending his father’s life. Light Spinner would have been forced to kill him when he challenged her. There couldn’t be any permanent truce between them. But, despite that, he admires strong women. He views you as a potential partner, even though he has a far more powerful woman in his thrall.”

  “Creepy,” Elaine said. She’d grown up knowing that she was unlikely to snare a powerful magician, even after becoming the Bookworm. And yet the thought of Deferens taking an interest in her was thoroughly unpleasant. “I won’t let him have me.”

  “It does not matter,” the Witch-King said. “You will die here.”

  Elaine looked around. The darkness seemed to be slipping closer.

  “I won’t die here,” she said.

  “There’s no way out,” the Witch-King said, surprisingly gently. “Elaine, your body is already dying. The cold will kill you if the injuries don’t. There may be nothing here that can actually harm you, not even me, but it doesn’t matter. Your body is dying.”

  Elaine looked at him. “Then why are you here?”

  “I won’t die when you die,” the Witch-King said, before she could even formulate the thought. “It has been a long time since I spoke to anyone on even terms.”

  “You’ve been trapped in the darkness for a thousand years,” Elaine said. “I think you’re insane.”

  “I can’t go mad,” the Witch-King said. “There were spells I used to ensure I wouldn’t lose my mind.”

  Elaine wondered, just for a moment, if that were actually true. Anyone willing to turn himself into a lich, trapping his mind and soul in a dead body, had to be already halfway to madness. And the Witch-King had been in that state for a thousand years. Maybe he’d ensured he couldn’t collapse completely into madness, but she wouldn’t have bet on him being sane.

  “Tell me something, seeing as I’m about to die,” she said. “Why? Why do this to yourself?”

  “They called us gods,” the Witch-King said. “We were the gods you worship.”

  Elaine recoiled in shock. She had never been particularly religious, but the words he spoke were blasphemy. Everyone knew the gods were above the mortals, looking down from on high and helping those who praised them, or did their work. And yet, she had never seen any evidence the gods existed, while she knew – all too well – that there were some magicians so powerful they might well be gods.

  “The wars were over which set of us would rule,” the Witch-King said. “Some of us developed ways to raise the dead and draw on their power. They would have killed everyone for their magic. We stopped them. I stopped them. But the Emperor decided that magicians would no longer seek worship. We would no longer hold ourselves above the mortal mundanes.”

  It wasn’t true. It couldn’t be true. And yet … the strongest of mundanes was powerless against even the weakest of magicians. It wouldn’t be hard to use magic to draw life from a mundane, extending a magician’s life while turning a mortal to dust; it wouldn’t be hard to work most of the miracles attributed to the gods with magic, even the provision of good or bad luck. What if it were true? What if the magicians of that age had been like Johan, but blessed with supportive families who were prepared to wait for their power to develop?

  Johan’s magic is strange, she thought. The tales of the gods had made them out to be capricious, willing to help or torment humans on a whim. But it can’t be godly …

  “You did all this because you wanted worship?” she asked. “That’s it?”

  “The Emperor wanted to destroy our past,” the Witch-King said. “He created the Black Vault, but many books were to be destroyed rather than saved. I couldn’t let him do it. It would have destroyed our society.”

  “And so you waged war on him,” Elaine said. “You wanted to take the throne for yourself.”

  “I would have preserved everything we were,” the Witch-King said. “And I will restore the glories of the past, when I rise again.”

  He leant back in his chair. “There isn’t much time left,” he added, darkly. “I will be sorry to lose you.”

  “You won’t get my knowledge,” Elaine said.

  “I already have it,” the Witch-King said. “Your mother took it, remember? Your knowledge is mine.”

  Elaine sighed, feeling cold ice starting to crawl through her mind. “Who was she?”

  “A runaway,” the Witch-King said. “One of Deferens’ distant cousins. She had magic and didn’t see why she should be nothing more than a pampered brood mare. Her father, who was not a very nice man, carelessly locked her in his study, where she found one of my books. The rest is history.”

  “I’m related to Deferens?” Elaine asked. It wasn’t a pleasant thought. “Really?”

  “Only vaguely,” the Witch-King said. “He neither knows nor cares.”

  “And he doesn’t know you’ll keep using him as a tool until he goes mad,” Elaine snapped. It was suddenly very hard to speak. The ice was crawling into her mouth. “Your tools always go mad.”

  “They do,” the Witch-King confirmed. “But I get some use out of them first.”

  He leant forward as the table dissolved into nothingness. “Time is up, Elaine,” he said, softly. He placed a gent
le kiss on her forehead. “Goodnight.”

  Elaine stared back at him, mulishly, as her vision started to blur. “I …”

  “Elaine,” Johan shouted. His voice echoed through the darkness. “Where are you?”

  “Impossible,” the Witch-King said.

  Elaine shook herself free. “I’m here,” she shouted. If the Witch-King was shocked, perhaps there was a chance after all. “Johan!”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Johan hadn’t been sure what to expect when he plunged into Elaine’s mind, but perhaps it shouldn’t have surprised him that it was a library. There were bookshelves everywhere, crammed with books; everywhere he looked, there were books, piled on tables, dumped on the floor or holding up the roof. And yet, the whole scene looked as though a tornado had torn through the building and scattered all the books. If they represented parts of Elaine’s mind, the darker part of his mind wondered, what did it mean if they were out of place.

  He plunged onwards, feeling as though he was navigating through an immense labyrinth that shifted around him as he moved. The line he was feeding out behind him glowed, but everything else was wrapped in shadow. Things seemed to be moving at the corner of his eye, mocking him; no matter how quickly he turned to look, he never saw them directly. A faint smell hung in the air, a musty smell that reminded him of the day Jamal had dumped his prized adventure stories in a puddle, just to watch him scream. The books had died … and Elaine, he realised numbly, was dying too.

  “Elaine,” he shouted. His voice seemed to vanish in the shadows. There wasn’t even an answering echo. “Where are you!”

  There was no response. He forced himself to move onwards, even though the bookshelves seemed to be growing closer. They would trap him, if he stayed too long; it would be easy, so easy, just to snap back to his own body. He was sure that merely turning back would be enough to zap along the line and return home. But he was damned if he were leaving without her.

  “Elaine,” he repeated. “Where are you?”

  “Johan,” Elaine called.

  Johan blinked. The bookshelves retreated as her voice echoed through her mind. Gathering himself, he swam after her before he could think better of it. Her mind seemed to twist around him – dark shadows closed in on him threateningly – but he refused to let go of the tentative contact. The shadows grew teeth and claws; he briefly considered trying to summon light, then dismissed the thought. A normal magician might be able to fight a mental battle without actually doing real harm, but if he tried to make light he might well injure or kill both of them. He did his best to ignore the menacing shapes and discovered that, as long as he showed no fear, they didn’t try to close with him.

  “Johan,” Elaine shouted, again.

  Johan plunged into the darkness and fell … and found himself in a tiny room, illuminated by a single lantern. Elaine was sitting on a chair, her arms wrapped around herself, while a handsome man was looming over her, his face contorted into a mixture of surprise, amusement and anger. Johan hated him on sight, although there was something about him that felt oddly familiar.

  “Get away from her,” he growled.

  “Her body is already dying,” the man said, calmly. Johan was sure, somehow, that he wasn’t a representation of Elaine’s thoughts, or an aspect of her personality. “You really don’t have much time to save yourself.”

  Johan lunged forward. The man reached out, his arm transforming into a claw that snapped right through Johan’s neck. His head fell off and landed on the dark floor, his vision spinning madly until he came to a stop. There was no blood; his body stood there, as if losing his head was somehow normal. Johan stared up at him, shocked. He should have been in terrible pain, but instead he felt as if he were in two places at once.

  “Not real,” Elaine croaked. “I …”

  “Be silent,” the man ordered. He cast a glance at Elaine and a gag appeared over her mouth, cutting off her words. “I am surprised your friend chose to wander into your mind, but you can die together.”

  Not real, Johan thought. If nothing here was real, then his head hadn’t been cut off and … he forced his body forward, fists slamming into the stranger. The stranger seemed amused; his arms became swords, which he used to hack through Johan’s body. Pieces of flesh landed everywhere, yet there was still no pain. If nothing in here is real …

  He concentrated. His vision blurred, just for a second, and then his body was intact again, staring at the stranger. Elaine looked … weaker, somehow; her skin so pale it was almost translucent. This was her mind and when she died, they’d die with her. But the stranger … Johan looked at him, trying to understand who he was and why he was remaining within her mind.

  “There’s no way you can learn how to defeat me in time,” the stranger said. Oddly, Johan had the impression he was quite sincere. “Go back to your own body.”

  “Go back to yours,” Johan snarled. Where had the stranger even come from? No one else had touched Elaine, apart from the strange woman. Was he looking at her? Or was it something else? He wished, suddenly, that he’d spent more time looking at books about mental magic, rather than wishing to be a great sorcerer. “Who are you?”

  The stranger bowed politely. “Valiant,” he said. “And the King of Witches.”

  “You can’t be,” Johan said. “Who are you?”

  “He’s telling the truth,” Elaine said. The gag was gone, as if it had never been. “I’m going to die. Get out of here.”

  Johan shook his head. “I’m not leaving you!”

  “Sweet,” the Witch-King said. “But quite futile. You cannot save her body, or her mind.”

  He glanced at Elaine. “Time is up,” he said. “You fought the good fight. But now it is over.”

  “I won’t let her die,” Johan insisted.

  “You may not be able to save yourself,” the Witch-King observed. “Your magic is not designed to repair damaged bodies, even if you knew how to use it. The longer you stay here, the greater the chance you will die with her.”

  Johan looked at Elaine, who stared back at him. She was the one person who’d been nice to him. He was damned if he was leaving her. And yet, what could he do? He could reshape his body, just like the Witch-King, and fight him … but he had a feeling it was futile. The Witch-King wouldn’t be hurt, any more than Johan had been hurt. They could tear each other apart until Elaine finally died …

  And then it struck him.

  He reached for the link they shared and plunged down it into the very core of her being, touching her mind and sharing his life. Elaine started violently, then stood upright as their thoughts blurred together. White light blazed through her mind, revealing the link the Witch-King had forged between his network of magic and Elaine; they shoved, together, and the Witch-King went tumbling out of her mind. It was her mind, s/he realised; there was no way he could keep her from controlling it, once she realised she could.

  His power danced around him as he tumbled back through the link; Elaine drawing on it, almost casually, to heal herself. Knowledge spun around him as he slammed back into his own body, falling over backwards as a flash of wild magic shoved him away. Dread caught him as Elaine’s body glowed with light, then fell back and hit the ground. Johan shook himself free and ran towards her. The snow was melting …

  “Elaine,” he breathed.

  Elaine opened her eyes. “Johan …”

  He leant forward and kissed her, feeling her lips pulsing against his. The world seemed to vanish around them as her arms came up and held him tightly. She was all that mattered to him and he knew, now, that he was all that mattered to her. He wanted to tear off his furs and hold her close …

  Dread cleared his throat. “There’s a time and a place,” he said, gruffly. “Look around you.”

  Johan opened his eyes, then swore. The ice was still melting. Their furs were soaked – it was suddenly very hard to stand up and help Elaine to her feet – but that wasn’t the real danger. It was easy to see that the melting snow migh
t cause another avalanche. Elaine smiled at him, her face flushed with a mixture of happiness and embarrassment; her eyes made a silent promise that there would be time for the two of them later, when they were alone. He kept hold of her hand as they scrambled away from the melting snow and resumed the long trek towards Ida.

  “That woman teleported,” Dread said, once they were clear of the water. “I thought that was impossible.”

  “It is, unless you work the calculations very precisely,” Elaine said. She hadn’t let go of Johan’s hand either. “You’d need to know exactly where you were in relation to the place you intend to appear. And you’d have to avoid any protective wards on the way … I wouldn’t do it unless I was desperate.”

  She scowled, suddenly. “The Witch-King might have given her an unexpected advantage,” she added, after a moment. “He could have done the calculations for her, using the bond between them to place her location.”

  Dread’s eyes widened. “Who was she?”

  “My mother,” Elaine said.

  Johan listened, squeezing her hand gently, as Elaine explained the full story. He’d tried to love his mother, even though she’d often pretended he didn’t exist; the thought of discovering that his mother had tried to kill him was horrific. The idea that his magic had merely been waiting to finally explode, on the other hand … how many other children had been killed because they hadn’t shown signs of magic before their twelfth birthday? And the thought of his magic always being different wasn’t reassuring either. Was he doomed to be an outcast forever?

  “He was laying plans for centuries,” Dread said, when Elaine had finished. “By all the gods, we were playing right into his hands when we thought we were fighting him.”

  “Back when we first went to Ida,” Elaine said, “you questioned me about magicians who’d become more powerful. They tended to go mad. Was that because of the power or because they had contact with the Witch-King’s mind?”