Beyond the Boundary Stones (The Chronicles of Tevenar Book 3)

by Holder, Angela

  Vigorre stiffened. “But not Kevessa,” he said urgently, grabbing Yoran’s arm. “She’s my friend. We can’t let her stay the demon’s prisoner. She’s done nothing to deserve exile from her homeland. She only wanted to help people; it’s not her fault the Lord of Demons tricked her.”

  Yoran regarded him compassionately. “We’ll save her if we can. I can’t tell you how much I wished I could simply kill the demon while it was powerless and set her free. But it was vital to make this demonstration.”

  “You were quite right,” Father told him. He turned to Vigorre. “Keeper Yoran and I need to discuss matters further. You’ve had a long, hard day, and if I’m not mistaken you’ll have another tomorrow.” He looked questioningly at Yoran.

  “If you can continue what you started today, it will be of great service. I know it will be hard to endure the demons’ presence now that you’ve seen their true nature, but if you can manage—”

  “I can.” Vigorre’s task was more important than ever. “They’re well on their way to trusting me. In a few more days, they’ll do whatever I ask. Prepare your trap, and I’ll be ready to lead them into it.”

  Yoran nodded grimly. “It’s too much to hope they’ll leave with the ships. And truthfully, it would be far better if they never sail. I wouldn’t be surprised if their stories of famine were a ruse to lure more of our ships to their shores. What if they’re seized and used to carry dozens more demons here?”

  “It’s a risk,” Father agreed. “And even if the famine is real, should we rescue our enemies from the calamity the Mother has sent them? It’s quite possible she arranged for them to be weak so we’d be able to strike against them.”

  “That would be the ideal, wouldn’t it? To persuade the Matriarch to send the Armada to destroy their stronghold.” Yoran looked pensively into the distance, then glanced over at where the Matriarch’s advisors were talking with each other in agitated voices. “If that’s to prove possible, much work remains to be done.” He nodded to Vigorre. “Go on. We need our soldier to be well rested for tomorrow’s battle.”

  “Tell your stepmother I’ll be late,” Father said, giving Vigorre a quick embrace. He turned back to Yoran and the two Keepers dropped their voices.

  Vigorre didn’t mind being dismissed. He was exhausted, and he’d need all his strength to serve beside the wizards tomorrow without succumbing to their temptation.

  He shivered. The memory of the demon’s blazing eyes would serve as a powerful counterpoint to the healing he would see. All the power in the world wouldn’t be worth subjecting himself to that.

  He made his way out of the room and down the stairs. The darkness and quiet outside was a welcome relief. Vigorre let himself relax as his feet carried him along the winding streets. It was a long walk home, but his route would take him through prosperous neighborhoods that were safe even at night.

  When he’d traveled about two thirds of the way he passed through a park bordering both sides of one of the small streams that flowed out of the mountains. This one was a favorite of the wealthy for its picturesque cascades and rocky pools that provided cool retreats from the heat of summer. He paused on a gracefully curved footbridge that spanned the gurgling water and leaned on the railing to gaze up at the stars.

  Dear Mother, he prayed. Keep me strong in the days to come. Lead me always in the path of your will as I confront your enemies. Guard my heart against temptation lest it draw me away from—

  A dark shape moved against the stars. Vigorre flinched as the sudden noise of beating wings swept over his head and a rush of wind stirred his hair. In a swirl of flapping wings and reaching claws, a huge bird landed on the railing not a foot from him.

  Vigorre stared at the bird. It met his gaze with one dark eye. It must be an eagle, with its hooked beak and clawed talons. In the starlight its feathers glinted dark gold.

  He kept very still lest he frighten it away. How amazing to behold one of the Mother’s wild creatures so close! He could hear the rasp of its claws on the wood, breathe its scent of musk and fish and wind, see the way its feathers shifted against each other as it tilted its head. He felt as if the Mother had offered him a special blessing, a confirmation that she’d heard his prayer and would grant him what he asked.

  Unless—

  The eagle struck far too quickly for Vigorre to react. One slash of its wicked beak opened a gash on its own foot. The next sliced into the back of Vigorre’s wrist. The eagle pounced, its talons locking around his arm, their blood mingling as their wounds pressed together.

  Horrified, Vigorre tried to yank his arm away, but it was too late. Golden billows crowded around the edges of his vision. The dark night around him faded, replaced by a shining, featureless space, empty except for the being who stood before him.

  She looked just as she did in his favorite Temple mosaic, clad in a simple white robe instead of the ornate draperies she was often depicted wearing, her long chestnut hair falling in loose waves down her back, her face ageless, her eyes infinitely deep. He longed to throw himself at her feet and pour out all the formal words of devotion he’d ever learned. He stood before the one to whose service he’d dedicated his life, and she regarded him with an affectionate, compassionate smile.

  But her words struck like a spear of ice through his heart. “Are you willing to humble yourself beneath this eagle, and allow her to use my power through you?”

  Vigorre lurched away from her. “You’re not the Mother!”

  Her eyebrows lifted. “I’m not?”

  “No!” Vigorre clenched his fists, fighting an intense desire to sink to his knees and beg her forgiveness. “I know the truth about you. You’re the Lord of Demons, the one the Dualists worship, the Mother’s enemy. You wear her form to deceive me.”

  “Would you rather I look like this?” She wavered, blurred, and re-solidified into a stern-faced older man, keen eyes fixed on Vigorre above an iron-gray beard. His voice was deep and cold. “This is what the Faithful picture when they address the Lord of Justice. Or would another guise please you better?” Again the apparition dissolved, this time becoming an androgynous figure with sooty skin and pointed teeth, body covered in fur and scales, hair and eyes of flame. Its voice snarled and hissed. “The Purifiers imagine the Lord of Demons in many shapes, but this is the most common.”

  Vigorre trembled, but he lifted his chin and stared at the monster. “I do not fear you, whatever your form. I am sworn to the Mother’s service—the true Mother, not your false image—and she protects me.”

  “And yet you don’t know me when you stand in my presence.” The being reverted to the appearance of the Mother. “I value your service, Vigorre. I always have. I want to give you the chance to serve me in a new and more powerful way. But I can’t compel you. Only you can choose to accept or reject what I offer.”

  “I reject it,” Vigorre growled, his fists clenched. He forced his imagination to impose the creature’s true demonic appearance over its beautiful pretense. “I won’t let you trick me into forfeiting the Mother’s gift of free will. You tempt me with power, but you want to make me your slave. You admit you can’t force me, so you’re wasting your time trying to change my mind.”

  “Am I?” She took a step toward Vigorre. “I’d usually consider such a rejection final, but I know you’ve been lied to by those you trust, in such a way that it’s become difficult for you to discern truth from falsehood.” Her voice softened. “Think of what you’ve seen my power do, Vigorre. With your own eyes, not what others have told you. You’ve watched it heal, and help, and show truth, the way I always intended. You’ve never seen it used for evil, nor will you ever, because the experiment I undertook at Gurion’s urging has proven a success. I want to return my power to Ravanetha, and I want you to help me. You’re the best suited of any of my children to undertake this task.”

  Vigorre shook his head hard, trying to dislodge her gentle, persuasive voice from his ears. “I won’t listen to your flattery.”

  �
�No, I suppose you won’t.” Her mouth twisted into a rueful grin. “Will you listen to this, then? There are people sick, dying, in pain. You’ve seen them, you’ve helped them when you could, you’ve comforted them when you couldn’t. I want to help those people through you.” She nodded to the eagle perched motionless on Vigorre’s wrist. “And through this animal, who could be your familiar, if you accept her.”

  He’d forgotten the bird’s presence—it seemed to have no weight in this place, or vision, or whatever it was. He shook his arm violently, but he couldn’t dislodge it. It didn’t even flap its wings, but clung to him as if they were glued together by their mingled blood. “I don’t want one of your demons!”

  She kept talking as if he hadn’t spoken. “She would control my power. You would be its channel. That’s how I ensure my power is never used against my will. Animals have no free will of their own, but must follow mine. If you should ever try to compel her to violate my Law, or abuse the privilege of your position, she would break your bond. If you doubt me, ask Elkan or Josiah; they’ve seen it happen.”

  Vigorre blinked, his interest piqued despite his best efforts to ignore the being’s words. Such a system might work quite well. It would allow the Mother’s power to be used while making the abuses the ancient wizards had committed impossible…

  He caught himself and slammed the door shut on that line of thought. “I don’t believe you.”

  “Very well.” An edge of impatience sharpened her tone. “I’ll give you one more opportunity. Tonight this eagle will depart. She’ll return to you after a time. Between now and then I suggest you carefully observe everything that transpires. Speak to those who wield my power, and judge for yourself whether it’s a force for good or evil. Listen to those who seek to distort my truth, and delve into the reasons for what they do.” Her eyes grew infinitely sad. “Even those who love you, who love me, who act with the best of intentions, can be misled, can mislead you. I could tell you how and why, but you wouldn’t believe me any more than you believe anything else I’ve told you tonight. Only if you exercise your free will and discover the truth for yourself will you accept it.”

  Her voice returned to firmness. “When I judge you’ve had sufficient opportunity to reconsider your decision, I’ll make the same offer again. But that choice will be final. If you still reject my power, I’ll seek others to take the role I meant for you. They won’t fill it as well as you might have, but they’ll do their best, and perhaps the good I intend for my children will be accomplished.” Her eyes narrowed as they gazed into his. “Or perhaps it won’t.”

  She gave a sharp nod. Gold swirled before Vigorre’s eyes and rapidly faded to black.

  A harsh scream echoed in his ears. Talons shoved hard against his arm as the eagle launched into the sky. For a moment he could make out her dark wings beating against the stars. Then she was gone.

  Blood dripped from the cut on the back of his wrist. Numbly he pulled out his handkerchief and pressed it to the wound. He stood, head bowed, panting, trying to understand what had just happened.

  He had faced the Lord of Demons, and he had triumphed. Despite the monster’s best efforts to deceive him, his will had remained firm. The demon who sought to enslave him had fled, driven away by his unshakeable devotion to the Mother.

  Or—he had stood before the Mother, and he had rejected her. Despite her best efforts to show him the truth, he’d clung stubbornly to his false beliefs. The familiar who would have allowed the Mother’s power to flow through him in healing golden waves had withdrawn, driven away by his refusal to serve the Mother.

  Which had it been? The first, surely. He could hold his head up, proud of his accomplishment. Had anyone else the Lord of Demons sought to enslave ever escaped his grasp?

  Had anyone else the Mother asked to bear her power ever turned her down?

  He buried his head in his hands. He must not let his faith waver because of what he’d just seen. Nothing had changed. Nirel had witnessed the demons devour a man. Kevessa had admitted the truth—he’d heard her. He’d seen the squirrel drop its disguise and transform into a menacing, demonic beast.

  Even those who love you, who love me, who act with the best of intentions, can be misled, can mislead you.

  Vigorre groaned and dug his fingers into his temples.

  Overhead a bird’s distant cry floated through the night.

  Twelve

  Blessed sleep was stealing over Josiah when a commotion arose in the hall outside his room. He groaned and buried his head in his pillow, trying to ignore the noise. The Matriarch had insisted they stay at her table and watch the entertainments long after both he and Elkan started nodding off. Ordinarily he would have enjoyed the musicians and dancers and acrobats, but thoughts of the rapidly approaching dawn and another exhausting day of healing made him glad when Elkan finally rose, rebuffed the Matriarch’s continued urging that they stay with a note of hard determination in his voice, and ordered Josiah to accompany him to their quarters.

  The voices rose. Josiah put his hands over his ears, but it was no use. Curiosity destroyed any chance of slumber. He rolled out of bed, pulled on his tunic and breeches, and padded barefoot to crack the door open.

  Gevan was shouting furiously at a disheveled, bleary-eyed Elkan. “I knew something like this would happen! I swear, if any harm comes to her I’ll turn you over to the Purifiers myself! Curse the day a Ramunnan ship touched your blighted shor—”

  Tobi thrust her head under Elkan’s hand and golden light shot out to surround Gevan, cutting off his tirade mid-syllable. Elkan scowled at him. “I can’t help unless you speak clearly enough for me to understand what’s happened. Now, start over from the beginning.”

  Josiah scooted closer as the Mother’s power winked out. Gevan’s chest inflated and his mouth opened, but at a sharp look and half-raised hand from Elkan he contained his outburst. Instead he spoke with exaggerated enunciation, his fists clenched at his sides. “The Purifiers have Kevessa. They captured her yesterday and threatened her to compel my silence and cooperation. Tonight I reported to Yoran Lirolla as ordered, and they used me to force her to do something.”

  All sleepiness was gone from Elkan’s gaze, although deep weariness still lined his face. His fingers dug into Tobi’s fur. “What?”

  “I don’t know! I couldn’t see her, except as a shadow in a window far away. She was using a window-glass at first. Later I think they must have made her open a window so she could watch what they were doing to me.”

  For the first time Josiah noticed the stiff way Gevan held himself. Elkan’s eyes narrowed. “Are you hurt?”

  Gold light spilled from his hand again; Gevan brushed it impatiently away. “Only bruises. They took care none of them would show. She gave them what they wanted before it went any further.” He fingered his ear.

  Elkan frowned but let the Mother’s power wink out. “Where are they holding her?”

  “In the western outskirts of the city, several miles from here.”

  “Too far for a window.” Elkan turned back to his room. “Can you lead us there? We should take some of the Matriarch’s soldiers with us. You collect them while I’m dressing and meet us at the palace gate.”

  Gevan nodded curtly and strode away. Elkan vanished into his room, Tobi at his heels. Josiah scrambled to shove his feet into his boots. Sar, wake up! We’ve got to rescue Kevessa. The Purifiers are holding her prisoner.

  Sar snorted and shuddered his skin all over as he roused, but he didn’t argue. He pressed close to Josiah’s side as he headed out the door. Elkan and Tobi emerged from their room a moment later.

  His master eyed Josiah with an air of resignation. “I take it you heard? Come on, then. I know better than to think I can make you stay behind. And we’ll probably need your help.”

  The situation really was grim, if Elkan was willing to put him in danger for the sake of having another wizard at his side. They’d known there would be trouble with the Purifiers eventually, but Josiah
had never expected they’d strike so soon and so brutally. Even with all the power the two familiars could call on, could they hope to prevail against such a ruthless foe?

  Josiah trotted to keep up with his master’s quick stride. He should have known something was wrong. Kevessa would never have deserted them, even to go to her family. All the time he was fuming at her for laziness, she’d been languishing in the clutches of those crazed fanatics.

  A whole troop of soldiers waited with Gevan at the gate. If they resented being called out at such a late hour, they were too disciplined to show it. Their commander conferred briefly with Elkan and Gevan, then led them into the night.

  Josiah wound his fingers in Sar’s mane. Gevan said they hurt him to make her cooperate. He said she must have given in, because they stopped. What do you think they were trying to make her do?

  Most likely it was Nina they wished to compel.

  Josiah gulped. To use the Mother’s power against her will. But they couldn’t have. So how—

  As he trailed the soldiers around a corner onto a street that led inland, a faint cry reached his ears. He jerked around. Far downhill toward the docks, a figure in skirts ran toward them. A flash of gold light flared from her waving hand.

  “Elkan! It’s Kevessa!” he yelled. Without waiting for a response he darted toward her.

  Gevan outran him before he’d covered half the distance. Kevessa threw herself into her father’s arms with a sob. He clutched her close and mumbled choked reassurances into her hair.