Crimson Fury (Magic of Isskasala Book 2)

by Mirren Hogan

  She did, he could see it in the way her face looked up, right at him. “Who are you . . . what are you?” Her voice trembled in fear.

  “I’m not going to hurt you.” How could he expect her to believe that when she couldn’t even see him? Could he even hurt her if he tried? That thought turned into another—could he hurt the sorcerers if he tried? He had no desire to hurt her, but them . . .

  “I was a prisoner of the sorcerers, then I was attacked by something—a shadow, I don’t know what it was. It looked like a piece of night, it held me down and . . . ” His voice trailed off as he didn’t want to scare her, and there seemed little point in elaborating. He could feel his heart pounding but how could it be pounding when he was dead? “The only thing I know is that I came here through the wall.”

  “You . . . you’re a ghost?” Strangely, she didn’t seem as scared as she’d been before she became aware of him. Obviously, there was more in the King’s Bastian to be scared of than a ghost. That thought did nothing to comfort him; was there nowhere in Dassane that was safe?

  “I suppose I am,” he admitted reluctantly. Strangely, the admission made him feel better. He could hardly go on pretending to be alive, after all.

  “Oh, I’m sorry.” Her face blurred again. “That’s not fun.”

  “No.” Darai shook his head redundantly. “I don’t think so, but thank you.”

  “All right,” she replied. “I suppose I should go.” She moved backward. “I’ll be late.”

  All Darai could do was float and watch, the breeze through the windowpane making him feel like a flag on a flagpole. Not that he was whipped or wound around himself, but he felt fit to be.

  “I don’t want to keep you,” he said tremulously.

  Her tinkle of laughter surprised him.

  “Oh, you won’t, but I need you to deliver a warning. I’m just a child; no one will listen to me. They should,” she added bitterly, “but they don’t. However, if you speak to the right people, the sorcerers, they may just listen to you.”

  Darai doubted that very much. They did not when he was alive, but he would try and if they didn’t listen, then be it on their own heads. Perhaps, he reflected, Tabia might listen or Adina if the girl was still alive. Harshal even. “I’ll do what I can.”

  “Tell them . . . ” The girl paused, her mouth moving as if she was chewing the words to find the right ones. “Tell them the shadows come. Tell them the magula seek the well.”

  “The well?” Darai echoed.

  The girl hissed and her face contorted, melting away as though touched by a great heat. In its place was a shadow, red eyes piercing the darkness. “We will find the well,” the shadow hissed. “The magula will drink deep.”

  Darai flinched. He felt an enormous tug on his feet. The pulling travelled up his legs. Before he could take a breath, it went through his arms, torso, face. He spun in the air like a feather on a gale and whipped back through the wall, through space, light travelling past him too quickly for him to comprehend what or where he was seeing. Then he slammed back into his body with the force of an avalanche and sucked in a breath. It tasted sweeter than any he could ever recall, and he drew in another and another before he heard himself surrounded by voices.

  CHAPTER 18

  “He’s awake!” Tabia’s voice was right next to his ear, but soft. Her breath brushed his lobe. “Darai?”

  Opening his eyes hurt. The light was too bright, pin-points of light. He groaned, slammed his eyelids shut again and squeezed them hard. Maybe if he pressed them with enough force, he could push the pain away.

  “Mmm here,” he murmured.

  “What did he say?” Was that Adina’s voice? She’d survived? Apparently, he wasn’t dead, either, although with the pounding in his head it might be preferable.

  “Don’t try to talk, you need to rest.” Tabia’s voice, sounding firm. “You’ve been through—”

  If only to spite her, he forced his eyes to open, imagining a hog waiting to gore him if he didn’t push himself to action. The light was easier now, the pounding in his head steady, hard but not worsening.

  “I’m alive.” His voice was so hoarse he hardly recognised it.

  “I’ll get you some water,” Tabia offered. She stood and slipped out of the room.

  Darai waited until she was gone and leaned back against a pillow. “I had the weirdest dream. I saw the queen.”

  “You saw the queen?” Adina echoed, her face a blur hovering into view before slowly coming into focus.

  “Yes, she was upset. Something about the mhari and—there was a girl. The magula?” Have you ever heard of that?”

  Adina shook her head. “No, what is it?”

  Darai shrugged and groaned at the stiffness in his shoulders. “No idea.”

  “Did you say magula?” Tabia asked from the doorway. She walked over helped him to sit up and handed him a cup. He brought it to his lips and sipped, trying not to choke before he swallowed.

  “Does it mean something?” Adina asked, turning to face Tabia.

  “I’m not sure,” Tabia replied. She turned to Darai. “Do you remember what attacked you?”

  “Yes, no . . . but I dreamed about it.” He didn’t want to talk about it with anyone but Adina, but Tabia’s expression made him speak, against his better judgement.

  The two women exchanged glances like old friends, matched expressions of gravity on their faces. Their accord chilled him as much as the memory of the shadow—the magula. Had something else happened while he was away?

  He explained as best he could and saw no more than a flicker of surprise on Tabia’s face. “And she said the magula was coming,” he finished with a shrug and blinked his tired, burning eyes.

  Adina looked shocked, Darai could see her lips trembling slightly.

  Tabia only appeared thoughtful, her lower lip caught between her teeth as she considered what he’d told her.

  “I wasn’t just dead, was I?” he asked finally, the silence working on his nerves like pin pricks all over his skin.

  Tabia’s head shook slowly, her attention focused inward as she spoke. “You weren’t dead at all. I’ve never seen it happen. In fact, what you’ve done is only recorded in the archives of the guild some hundred years ago. There was a man who—”

  “Tabia?” Adina touched her arm lightly, bringing the sorcerer out of her thoughts and rambling words.

  “Hmm? Oh, sorry.” Tabia gave Darai an embarrassed glance that only made him snort before he waved, indicating for her to explain.

  “It’s called spirit drifting.” Tabia paced a few steps away, then turned back, her arms crossed over her chest, brown corrugated with a frown. “Basically, the spirit leaves the body for a short period of time, occasionally while the body is asleep or comatose, but usually at the behest of the drifter. In theory, it can go wherever the spirit wants to. According to the archives, the spirit can often respond subconsciously in times of great need. In other words, yours responded to the queen, or the magula’s desire to share her message with you. Only . . . ”

  “Only . . . what?” Darai asked cautiously. He liked this less and less the more he heard. Unless he could visit home or use this drifting to free himself from the guild.

  “From what I’ve read, people can’t see your spirit and the skill is usually confined to sorcerers. Perhaps the magic you absorbed . . . ” Tabia shook her head. “It doesn’t matter now.”

  “What are the magula?” Adina asked in a small voice.

  Tabia paused before saying, “I don’t know.”

  CHAPTER 19

  Tabia tapped on the door to Sevele’s chambers.

  “Come.”

  She heard him call out from within and pushed the door open. “Sorcerer Sevele, can you spare some time?”

  He was seated at a small desk in front of a window. Even from the doorway, she could see Dassane stretched out, bathed in autumnal sunshine. Boats crossed the lake, citizens oblivious to anything but their own lives and businesses.
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  In front of the head of the guild sat a heavy book, open on a page near the centre. He held a writing implement in his hand, a drop of ink dripping into an open jar. He set it aside, steepled his fingers, and held them to his lips. For a moment he sat there, regarding her silently. Then he inclined his head and lowered his hands.

  “Please sit. I think this is not a social call?”

  It was only the third time she’d entered his chambers. She wouldn’t impose on him or his time unless it was serious. By that alone she knew he’d understand the gravity of the situation.

  “Have you heard of the magula?” she asked.

  His head jerked just slightly. Had she not been watching Sevele, she might have missed it. He was obviously taken aback by the question, but his self-control was impressive. He rose and moved to stand by the window, looking out toward the city. Silence fell, but she could almost hear him thinking. He was a meticulous man, no doubt turning thoughts over in his head and putting together the right words.

  Eventually he turned back to her, his expression solemn. “I heard tales of magula as a little boy,” he said slowly.

  She couldn’t imagine him as a child, but of course he had been, once upon a time. She nodded and waited for him to continue.

  “I used to run around Dassane in bare feet,” he went on, a smile on the corners of his mouth. “My soles were hard, like wood. My mother would tell me to wear shoes, but I hated them. I didn’t like to be confined. So, my shoes were always shiny; I outgrew them before they got scuffed.” He laughed softly. “On my mother’s knee I heard tales of magula. They were stories told to frighten children. I haven’t given them any thought since—well, a long time.”

  He turned toward Tabia and frowned. “And now you ask about them.”

  “I do.” She told him what Darai had seen. “He can use magic. I believe he was attacked because of it. But whatever it was, was disturbed before it could kill.”

  “You believe it was the magula?”

  “I think they’re related somehow.” She paused, hoping he’d tell her what he knew.

  Sevele shuffled over and resumed his seat. “The magula are unfortunate souls,” he said slowly. “They are the ones we miss.”

  “What you mean?” Tabia frowned at him, uncomprehending. “How do we miss them?”

  He looked at her without replying, in the manner he had when he believed a listener had the answer, if they stopped to think about it.

  She pursed her lips. “It’s something to do with the Outpouring, isn’t it?”

  “Is it?” he asked.

  “The people we—the collectors—miss?” she suggested. “The magic does something to them?”

  He inclined his head. “The magic changes them, like—water changes rice.”

  “Rice absorbs water and becomes soft,” she said thoughtfully. “And then when the water is gone, it dries again.”

  “Yes, but not the same,” he said. “It’s changed forever. It needs more water to become soft again.”

  “The magula—they seek magic?” Tabia asked.

  “In a manner of speaking, yes. They need to keep absorbing it, or they die. The more they get, the stronger they become.”

  “And they’ll kill for it,” Tabia concluded. “But why kill Genari? She had no magic.”

  Sevele raised his hands to indicate that he didn’t know. “Perhaps the magula didn’t know what it sought until it found Benassi.”

  Tabia shuddered. “The magula seek the well.”

  “I beg your pardon?” He blinked at her.

  “Darai said a girl warned him—if there really was a girl—that the magula wanted to find the well.”

  Sevele sat back, looking deeply concerned. “If that’s the case, my dear, we’re all in trouble.”

  ***

  Darai’s ears rang with Tabia’s words long after she’d left. She’d insisted that he sleep, but it wouldn’t come.

  “I’ll stay with him,” Adina assured the sorceress and closed the door firmly behind her. Darai doubted the woman really heard; her explanation seemed to have rocked her as it had him and Adina.

  “How could she not know?” He frowned. “People are dying and the sorcerers can’t even keep themselves alive. Maybe she does know and she’s just not telling us.”

  Adina sat in the chair beside his bed and shook her head, barely visible in the dim light of the otherwise deserted infirmary. “I don’t think so. I think Tabia would have said so if she knew. But that doesn’t mean other people don’t know.” She tapped her fingertips against her lips.

  “Maybe they’re the people the sorcerers have killed when they drained their magic? They wanted their magic back, so they came after you to take some.” She looked sickened at the thought.

  It sounded so plausible that Darai felt his blood run cold. “So that will be us . . . ” he whispered, disgusted at the fright in his own voice. “We have to get out of here, we can’t let them do that to us.”

  Adina’s head bobbed again, this time with agreement. “But you’re too weak,” she pointed out, worried rather than judgmental.

  “I’m fine,” he replied firmly, trusting not to sound offended in spite of the fact that she’d clearly not intended any. It still stung his pride.

  “They won’t be expecting us to try now. They think I’m asleep and you’re watching dutifully.”

  Her white teeth shone in the darkness, more a baring than a smile, but enough to know that she was with him. “They left a tray of food—” She waved a hand, the red magic dancing across her skin, showing up plates of bread, cheese, water and fruit. Plain, but enough to last the night and perhaps breakfast the next day. They gathered it hastily. Adina opened the door and peered out before stepping ahead of Darai into the night black corridor.

  ***

  “Wait!” Adina’s voice sounded right in Darai’s ear and made him jump. “We’re near the meeting room. I can hear the assembly.”

  Darai stopped suddenly, his head light before he dropped into a crouch in the shadows, one hand taking Adina down with him. She was right. He heard Harshal’s voice, the words almost audible, slipping from the room ahead, along with a sliver of light. The matter must be serious if they had not noticed they left the door even this much ajar.

  “Stay here.”

  Releasing Adina’s hand, he crept forward on silent feet, eyes searching for movement. There might be guards on the door, or at least inside the room. He snorted silently to himself. If the sorcerers couldn’t defend themselves, then what good were guards? When the answer came to him, he wanted to retch. Of course, the guards being attacked and dying outside the door would give them enough warning to shield themselves from harm.

  “Can you spirit drift in to watch the meeting?” Adina spoke in his ear again, making him draw his breath in a hiss.

  “Mother of all Gods!” Darai whispered. “I thought you were staying out of sight.”

  “I felt safer with you. Can you?” she insisted.

  “I don’t know.” Darai lowered himself back to a crouch and sat back to think. “You heard what Tabia said, only sorcerers can do it.”

  “You did it,” Adina reminded him. “Would it hurt to try?”

  “It might.”

  “Well, if you’re scared . . . ”

  Why did women always know the right thing to say to goad a man into action?

  “I’m not,” Darai insisted. “All right, but you’ll have to keep watch. If someone comes—”

  “I’ll poke you.” Adina gave him an experimental poke in the ribs, hard enough to make him wince.

  “That should work.” Darai lowered himself to the floor. Not that he didn’t trust Adina fully, but he’d be vulnerable if this worked. He didn’t want his spirit to return to his body only to find that he really was dead. That would be unfortunate.

  Not at all sure he was doing the right thing, or doing it correctly, he closed his eyes and concentrated on the meeting room as he imagined it to be. He pictured Tabia’s tired
, worried face, Harshal’s cool demeanour, and the faces of the other assembly members that he only knew from a distance. He pictured himself wriggling free of his body, his spirit only attached to it by a gossamer thread of essence. But try as he might, he only felt like a stone held firmly in his own form.

  “It’s not working.” He sighed with frustration. A heartbeat later he felt a snap and his spirit burst free, slamming through the wall, and passing through an unsuspecting assemblyman before stopping just before he flew through the opposite wall and out of the guildhall itself.

  It worked!

  Tilting at a sickening angle, Darai managed to turn himself around and float, keeping to the side of the room. The assemblyman he’d passed through seemed unaware of the violation; his face was focused hard on Tabia, who stared back as if not to be the one to look away first.

  ***

  There was no satisfaction in seeing Feko avert his gaze from hers. There was nothing to win from this, except to place a bigger wedge between one faction of the guild and another. Even after Benassi’s death there was no accord. If anything, there was less. All of them knew what they were facing, but each had his opinion as to how they should deal with it. Tabia wanted to grind her teeth and beg Sevele to take control, but the head of the guild seemed at as big a loss as the rest of them. She turned to watch him from the corner of her eye. Sevele looked composed, serene even, but the extra lines around his eyes had not been there days ago. Nor had the bags under his eyes or the underlying look of concern and impotence.

  “So, we know where they came from, we can all agree on that?” She tapped the book open on the table in front of her. It had taken hours in the library, but she’d finally found references to both the magula and the well. What she’d found terrified her.

  Her attention turned to Harshal, who seemed to have invited himself to attend the meeting. For once, no one had thought to ask him to leave. At least the assembly realised it needed all of the voices and minds it could get to deal with the situation.

  “You’ve read the book,” Tabia said with a shiver. “We did this and now we have to undo it.”