by Tom Lloyd
She looked around as they neared the Fountain, as it was called, though in truth it was the entrance to a labyrinth built before human civilisation. A mystery lurking beneath the city streets that had never been opened in recorded history, but was mentioned in texts from across the continent. Lastani had spent so many days here amid the bustle of humanity as wares were sold and all manner of services offered from dawn until dusk. Day after day of transcribing and sketching, measuring and dreaming – losing her purse twice, her heart once and her maidenhood along with it. But now it was alien and frightening here, scoured of life and the things of men. The stone mages who had built the Deep Market, hundreds of years before, had chosen the fountain itself as inspiration for their otherworldly craft and, by custom, only stone remained here at night.
There, where the stall of kind Uslien normally stood, only bare and empty stone. Here, dear Lefaqe’s tent of silks would be strung each morning – to see the space empty was to feel a curious hole in her heart though their affair had ended months ago. But no one would leave their belongings here, certainly not so close to the Fountain that was at the heart of it all. The Fountain which was no fountain and no crafting of a stone mage – at least, no human one.
They turned the corner and stopped, Lastani almost running into Mistress Ishienne as the Fountain itself came into view. It was a forbidding, squat lump of stone almost invisible in the darkness of shadow, but somehow all the more chilling for it. In the light of day she found it fascinating – the intricacy and otherworldly beauty of the ancient artefact breathtaking to behold – but now it was profoundly disquieting.
A nine-sided stone block the height of a man was set within a trio of fat, sinuous serpents of some unknown metal. The Fountain was Duegar-made and the finest example of that race’s artistry within a hundred miles. Every flat surface was covered with wind-scoured carvings of remarkable intricacy and complexity – a puzzle of knots and patterns that incorporated every face and facet of the Fountain into one vast mathematical pattern. A domed stone canopy stood over it, perhaps twelve feet above, and it was this that restored Lastani’s courage.
The Duegar script that covered the inner face of the dome was just as intricate as the decoration below, worked into a three-branched spiral that wound into the centre. And now, amid the blackness of night, the curling metal script was faintly glowing.
Lastani had always half-believed that to be nothing more than embellishment – a lie told in the assumption that no sensible person would visit at night to refute it. But there it was; the star-script of the Duegar now shining bright, almost as perfect and complete as the day that long-dead race had set it there. Two small pieces were missing. She had read the accounts of the enterprising thieves a dozen times or more, and the gruesome deaths that had found them before they could escape the market. Lastani was still staring when a figure stepped out from behind the Fountain and gave her such a fright that she squeaked in terror, breaking the reverential hush.
Mistresss Ishienne turned and fixed her with a stern look, unperturbed by the stranger’s sudden appearance. Lastani covered her mouth and ducked her head, cheeks flushed with embarrassment. They were there on an errand of momentous and grave scholarly import, not to jump at ghosts. Lastani felt Castiere’s patronising hand on her shoulder, the youth suppressing a laugh before he followed their mistress’s lead and bowed to the newcomer.
‘Master Atienolentra,’ Ishienne called through the still night, ‘you are well met again.’
‘Let’s hope so,’ the man replied in a deep, rumbling voice. ‘You, Mistress, continue to be a delight on the eyes.’ He paused. ‘Your pronunciation less so, however. Perhaps best just call me Atieno.’
‘My apologies,’ Ishienne said, inclining her head. ‘It seems I have spent too much time favouring dead languages over existing ones.’
With a start, Lastani realised she had seen this man before, or glimpsed him at any rate. At a meeting Ishienne had taken, just a week before. Lastani had been returning to the house when she saw Master Atieno leaving. Hidden from the faint shine of the Skyriver by his hood, she had only glimpsed the white threads of his neat, pointed beard, but it was enough.
With piercing light brown eyes against a dark face of crow’s feet and prominent cheekbones, Atieno would have been a handsome man but for the glowering severity he wore. His greying black hair was long and tied back, his worn clothes kept clean and neat. In his fifth decade at least, he remained tall and strong-looking – a marked improvement on the handful of suitors who had attempted to woo Mistress Ishienne during the time Lastani had lived in her house. Judging by Atieno’s words, the idea had crossed his mind too.
The last two figures of Ishienne’s group stepped out from behind Castiere and eyed the man suspiciously.
‘Who’s he?’ Bokrel demanded.
The mercenary fingered the rounded butt of his holstered mage-pistol as he stared at Master Atieno. Bokrel was a monkey-faced wretch with grubby cheeks, a scrappy beard and wandering hands. Right now there was a livid pink frost-burn down the back of his left hand, a testament to how slow the mercenary was to take a hint, but he was the brains of the operation compared to his rotund comrade, Ybryl.
‘He, Master Bokrel, is a key component of what we attempt tonight,’ Ishienne said sharply. ‘Try not to shoot him please. I doubt it would end well for you.’
Atieno pushed back his hood and gave the two mercenaries a stern look then seemed to mentally dismiss them. He carried a large walking staff that looked like a weapon in his hands, but like the mercenaries he also had a mage-pistol in his belt. With stiff movements that spoke of a lame leg, he walked around to the face of the Fountain that was, by common agreement, the front.
‘You believe you can do this?’ Master Atieno called.
Ishienne gestured to the swirls of script glowing above them. ‘I have seen it in the stars,’ she said with a small smile.
‘That, I have heard before. Rarely has it inspired confidence.’
‘The difference, I suspect, is that I’ve had to understand enough to teach my pupils.’
Lastani took a step forward. ‘Mistress Ishienne translated the Duegar script, but the riddle within has been something we have all devoted our lives to unpicking.’
‘The young say such things so easily,’ Atieno said with gentle mocking. ‘They’ve had less to devote thus far.’
‘I have given it enough years for all three of us,’ Ishienne declared, ‘and my assistants contributed several of their own on top. The sacrifice has been shared, and now we must see if it was in vain or not.’
‘Where do you want us?’ Bokrel asked abruptly.
‘At the edge of the dome,’ she replied, pointing to the arched gaps between the dome’s stone supports.
‘And then what?’
‘Keep guard,’ Ishienne said simply. ‘We must not be disturbed. Most likely you need do nothing to earn your pay, gods grant. I require you only to be awake and ready in case anything … unexpected occurs.’
‘Like what?’
‘If I knew that, it would hardly be unexpected. Come now, Master Bokrel, you led me to believe you were an experienced soldier and had explored Duegar city-ruins.’
Ybryl snorted at Bokrel’s side, causing the man to glare at her. ‘We ain’t explored the damn things.’ Ybryl chuckled, not noticing the look Bokrel gave her. ‘We ain’t that stupid.’
‘What then?’
‘Guard duty, escort,’ Bokrel explained reluctantly. ‘Let the other damn fools go underground an’ play with monsters.’
Ishienne hissed in irritation. ‘You have combat experience at least?’
‘Yeah, we’ve been in a few fights.’
‘Good – in that case keep your eyes open and your guns loaded, your mouths shut and your wits primed.’
Before Bokrel had a chance to object, Ishienne turned away and gestured to her two charges. ‘Come, take your places.’
Lastani and Castiere ducked their heads in acknowled
gement and went to stand beneath the nearest two snake mouths, peering up into the dark, toothless maws that looked down on them.
‘And I?’
‘Just as you are, Master Atieno,’ Ishienne said, making her way around to the last of the snake mouths. ‘Yours is the most complicated of tasks I’m afraid.’
‘It always is,’ he said. ‘Firstly, your powers, though. What are they?’
‘Does it matter?’
‘It does.’
Ishienne frowned. ‘Very well, but I will be doing the sculpting of magic – you need but be the key around which I will fit the lock. I am a stone mage, Lastani an ice mage, and Castiere fire. Does that meet with your approval?’
‘It does,’ Atieno said with a nod. ‘There are powers that my kind will not work with. The risk is too great.’
‘And those are?’
‘Not stone, fire or ice.’
After a moment it was clear he would say no more on the subject so Ishienne gave a cluck of the tongue and went back about her task.
‘For the first stage, you are not required, Master Atieno,’ she informed him. ‘The job is ours alone.’
At her nod, Lastani stretched up to the mouth of the metal serpent above her and opened herself to her magic. A faint white haze appeared around her hand then she felt the bite of cold on her skin – not painful to her, just different, for all that it would freeze the skin off any other human in a matter of seconds.
A soft crackle from the far side told her that Castiere was doing the same, sending magic up into the mouth of the serpent with all the control he could muster. Ishienne was silent, but Lastani could just see her out of the corner of her eye and the woman was reaching up also. She concentrated on the task at hand, allowing the magic inside her to flow out through her fingers and coil up into the snake.
All this they had expected. The months of deciphering and research meant she could quote the words above by rote, but still Lastani felt a thrill at it working. The Fountain was drawing her magic, not greedily leeching off her but gathering all that she released to flow down the bodies of the serpents. Mistress Ishienne had described it as a votive offering, something that had made poor pious Castiere wince, but Lastani saw now how right she was. They were giving the Fountain something of themselves, a trace of their power, to prepare the way for what would come next – what they would ask of it.
The flow of magic steadily grew and Lastani began to be able to sense the others, the heat of Castiere’s magic and the cool weight of Ishienne’s. There was a balance in what they were offering and Lastani knew not to overtax herself in this initial stage, but still she freed a little more of the clean, cold bite in her bones to more closely match Castiere.
Their powers were to be most obviously in balance, as they often had been in Ishienne’s library while debating the grand puzzle of the Fountain, the labyrinth beneath and whatever was hidden at the heart of that. Whether by chance or consequence of their magic, the two thought in entirely different ways. Sometimes Castiere’s dancing focus would alight on the path, sometimes Lastani’s careful method would instead.
‘Enough,’ Ishienne called and the trio cut the flow of their magic.
Lastani stepped back so she could see her teacher’s face. Though the woman’s expression was hidden in the shadows, years in her company told Lastani that Ishienne was satisfied with the first step.
‘Now we wait,’ Ishienne added for the benefit of Atieno. ‘There is a precise order to this ritual that must be followed.’
‘You are confident in your interpretation?’ Atieno replied in a voice that betrayed neither scepticism nor belief. ‘Many have attempted to best this puzzle over the centuries.’
‘And many have got this far,’ Ishienne said. ‘This pause is the first test, your presence another, the details of the crafting a third. A plain translation of the text above your head will get you no further than this.’
‘And a mistranslation would see Lastani dead,’ Castiere added drily.
‘Now it is your confidence that concerns me,’ Atieno declared. The man leaned heavily on his staff as he spoke, but made no effort to move away from the Fountain.
‘Our confidence is well founded,’ Lastani found herself saying. ‘Otherwise I would not be so willing! The work is a puzzle, understanding that is the crux of Mistress Ishienne’s breakthrough. By mirroring the decoration on the Fountain—’
‘I’m sure Master Atieno isn’t interested in the details of our research,’ Ishienne broke in. Lastani couldn’t tell whether that was through a desire to preserve her secrets or impatience to be getting on, but she shut her mouth with a snap and tried not to picture Castiere’s smirk.
‘Research is not where I excel,’ Atieno agreed sombrely, ‘so I will take your word as though it were scripture.’
‘Would that the Book of the First Sun could stand up to such rigour,’ Castiere muttered.
‘This is not the time, Castiere,’ Ishienne reminded him. ‘Now, are you both ready for the second phase?’
Lastani nodded and stepped forward, opening herself again as Castiere did the same. This time they let their magic only gently bleed out and Ishienne, controlling something within the Fountain itself, regulated the magic in a precise pattern before both assistants threw one long, sustained burst of raw power in. When Lastani stepped back again, she was light-headed and suddenly weary, but there had been no apparent effect on the Fountain.
‘Now you, Master Atieno,’ Ishienne said, stepping to the side until she could see the man. ‘Palm against the middle panel, please. Let the stone draw your hand in and take your magic. I will guide you, a core of tempest magic that will ensure the stone is responsive to me.’
‘Have a care,’ Atieno warned her as he stepped forward and placed a hand against the stone. ‘Tempest is unlike your magic. There is cost and wildness other mages do not know.’
Despite everything, Lastani felt a shiver down her spine as he said the word. The mages of tempest were so rare most considered them a myth, their magic not of elements but of change. The Militant Orders had no use for them and struggled to control them, so they demonised Atieno’s kind and killed them when they could. It had taken Ishienne’s extensive contacts and several bribes before she had found Atieno and convinced him to come.
‘I understand,’ Ishienne said calmly. ‘A trace of tempest is required, nothing more. It is the key, not the shoulder to the door, and I know you pay for every drawing.’
‘Not only me,’ he said. ‘It would twist every strand of magic it touched, if you tried to draw much, and turn your power against you. It cannot be controlled – refusing to accept that has killed more of my brethren than the Militant Orders ever managed.’
‘Your warning is appreciated, then,’ she replied. ‘Should anything more than the tiniest amount prove inadequate, we will break off and reassess.’
A grunt was all Atieno replied with, but he set to work without hesitation. Lastani resumed her place, hand stretched up to offer a steady, modest flow of power. The mingling she had sensed within the Fountain remained, but she could not feel any of the tempest magic within that blend. Only by the sound could she tell the carved surface under Atieno’s hand had opened under Ishienne’s stone magery and closed again around it.
At first there was nothing, no indication that the magic was affecting the Fountain at all, but eventually she began to feel the ground faintly tremble. Carefully regulating herself to match Castiere, she touched one finger to the metal snake. It was doing the same, a tiny shudder running through the entire Fountain and deep underground.
Off to her right there was a slight gasp from Ishienne, then a sound of satisfaction. Lastani could not tell that anything had changed until she heard a telltale grind and the whisper of stone on stone – Ishienne forming and shaping the very structure of the Fountain. It was a Duegar construction, designed with magic in mind and made to respond, but still Ishienne moved slowly.
Lastani saw the brief flourish of sur
prise on Atieno’s reserved face as the stone abruptly split and opened like a double door, freeing his arm and allowing the man to take a laboured step back. That face of the Fountain continued to open, petals of stone peeling organically back under Ishienne’s deft touch until the stone had folded right back to the metal snake-shapes on either side.
‘There,’ Ishienne declared, releasing her magic and stepping back. ‘It is done.’
Lastani smiled and moved to do the same when with a jolt she realised she couldn’t cut the flow of magic.
‘Ah, mistress?’ called Castiere from the other side. ‘I’ve got a—’
Either he didn’t get any further or Lastani didn’t hear him. The mouth of the snake snapped shut on her fingertips and for a moment there was only the white-hot pain of crushing. From the howl that broke through it, Castiere had experienced the same. Lastani had time for one brief flash of fear before the snake began to feed savagely on her magic and all rational thought vanished from her mind.
She wailed and hauled at her trapped fingers but her muscles had turned to jelly, her mind a cold void as the trickle of magic was turned to a raging torrent. The air whitened before her eyes as her ice magic turned the chill night freezing. Within moments she couldn’t feel her body except the unremitting pressure on her fingers, everything else subordinate to the wild plunder of magic.
Her eyes blurred and a veil of darkness started to descend. Lastani barely noticed hands on her body, the shouting voices. Even when the hands began to pull then frantically haul at her, it was distant and unreal. The pain receded, the world around her darkened and contracted to a single, diminishing point of light before everything snapped back with terrible force.
Lastani took one ragged breath then screamed with all her might as something popped in her fingers and she was dragged away. Shrieking, she curled over her injury but strong hands unpeeled her fingers and roughly stretched them out.
‘The other one! Go!’ roared a man above her, just a dark blur through her tumbling tears.