City of Light (The Traveler's Gate Trilogy)

by Wight, Will

  “How would you like to take the test for the ghost armor, Simon?” he asked cheerfully.

  The transition felt like a slap, and Simon tried to force his mind to shift direction. “That’s what I’ve been doing for days now.”

  Valin chuckled. “No, no. That wasn’t the graveyard test, that was a fight. You don’t think every single room requires you to duel its guardian, do you?”

  Did that mean he had wasted the past day and a half? He expected Leah to need him today, so he had spent all of his time in Valinhall, hoping to achieve something in the two days worth of time he could squeeze out of one real day. But Leah was sure to call for him any time now, and he had spent almost two full days playing around with Valin?

  The thought sapped any enthusiasm he might have felt for challenging the room. He looked at Azura lying on the grass where he had dropped it, and felt no desire to pick it up.

  Valin reached back, behind one of the nearest ivy-wrapped stone columns. He pulled out a tall, silvery bow, strung with what looked like a cable made of steel wire. “It’s an interesting test,” Valin said, his tone thoughtful. “The details change with time, but the essence of it remains the same. To show you’re ready for the ghost armor, you have to prove that you don’t need it. Almost a paradox, in a way.”

  Simon had never heard the word ‘paradox’ before, but he could figure out what the man meant.

  Once again, Valin reached behind a column, this time pulling out a two-foot-tall, heavy-looking hourglass. He placed it on top of the headstone next to him. “The different guardians execute the trial in different ways, but essentially it’s simple: you have to dodge my attacks until time runs out. In this case, until the hourglass is empty. It’s supposed to keep you from relying too much on the ghost armor, so you don’t run out in the middle of a battle.” He tugged gently on his bowstring, testing its draw. “Do you know what the ghost armor does?”

  Simon picked Azura up, his wariness returning. Valin could, and probably would, attack him without warning at any time. This was Valinhall, where constant vigilance was the highest virtue. “It seems to block attacks from other Travelers.”

  Valin pointed at him with one end of his metal bow. “You got it! Most of my students didn’t realize that the armor won’t protect them from mundane attacks. Spears, swords, arrows…we’ve got other powers for those. You use ghost armor when you’re attacked directly by a Traveler. It’ll stop a lightning bolt, a fireball, things like that.”

  Simon realized that Valin had actually set the hourglass with the sand up. He hadn’t noticed before, because he couldn’t see the sand draining down. It was the barest trickle, practically one grain of sand at a time, and the glass was huge. How long would it take to drain? Longer than one hour, surely. Simon didn’t have any powers that would last more than a few minutes.

  Valin ran a hand lovingly along the curve of the bow. “I found this in Tartarus myself, you know. Deeper in the Labyrinth than most real Tartarus Travelers go. You wouldn’t believe me if I told you the trouble I went through in bringing it back here.” He sighed. “Ah, well. One of the perks of guarding this room is that I get to shoot at you until time runs out. If you’re hit…well, unless you’re exceedingly lucky, you won’t even make it back to the pool.”

  He stood, pulling the string back in one smooth motion. The bow was as tall as he was, and the string a metal cord almost as thick as a finger, so that Simon wasn’t sure if he would be able to draw it even with Benson’s steel in him. But the Wanderer bent the weapon with relative ease.

  As he pulled back the string, an arrow shimmered and appeared, nocked in the bow. It looked like the rough outline of an arrow sketched in the air, made of pure white light.

  From experience, Simon knew that arrows like that could scorch stone and blast holes through trees. There would be no such thing as a non-lethal wound from that weapon. Even if he got hit in the leg or the shoulder, it would tear enough flesh from his body that he would bleed out in seconds.

  Fear and the thrill of battle sang through him, and he inhaled a deep breath of Nye essence. Steel and icy power flowed through him, and his breaths carried the faint color of moonlight.

  He bent his knees, balanced on the balls of his feet, turned slightly to the side. He held Azura in both hands, elbows bent, the sword pointing back over his head. He would be able to attack quickly from this stance. No matter what Valin said, he didn’t like his odds dodging. His best chance of surviving was to get inside the bow’s range, attacking Valin, knocking the weapon away from him or preventing him from using it in some way.

  Valin smiled again; his smiles seemed most genuine when he was about to fight. “I’m glad I got a chance to know you, Simon. And I’m glad we’re in a graveyard.”

  “Why is that?” Simon asked. The other man seemed to expect him to say something.

  Darkness bled into the whites of Valin’s eyes like a cloud of ink spreading through water. His gray irises brightened until they were almost white, and then gleaming, metallic silver. Soon, his eyes were two silver circles sitting on pools of solid black.

  An Incarnation’s eyes.

  The dark chains on his skin shifted and writhed like a nest of hungry snakes. His smile never faltered; if anything, it grew brighter, warmer. That made his expression all the more horrible.

  “Because you killed me, Simon, son of Kalman. Now, I have a chance to return the favor.”

  By the end of his sentence, his voice rang with the unnatural sound of steel-on-steel. His arrow loosed, a white bolt of light that shrieked as it blasted through the air.

  Simon ducked to the side. The arrow scorched him as it flew past, tearing a chunk out of one of the columns with a deafening crack.

  Terror shocked Simon’s limbs and clenched at his heart. He had thought this fight was over. Why, in the Maker’s name, did he have to fight the Valinhall Incarnation again?

  Simon fumbled at the pocket of his cloak, trying to pull out the mask. He had no chance against Valin without the mask, that was why he brought it every time he challenged the graveyard, even though the dolls and Valin himself assured him that he didn’t have to be worried. He had been afraid that something exactly like this would happen.

  There was nothing in his pocket.

  He scrambled at one pocket, then the other, then at the pockets of his pants. Nothing. Had he forgotten the mask? Had he dropped it?

  He managed to dodge a blinding arrow, and the tides of panic began to rise.

  But some part of him was still focused, still calm, still ready to fight. His first plan had been a good one, he knew: attacking instead of dodging, staying on the offensive instead of on the back foot.

  If he ran, the Incarnation would only shoot him down. If he fought, he at least had a chance. As he ran at Valin, Azura clasped in both hands, he couldn’t shake a single thought.

  He really wished he hadn’t let Kai take his doll.

  ***

  Kai snuck a peak through the cracked door and into the graveyard, where Simon had charged the Wanderer. This was for the best, all things considered. Simon needed to be strong, especially now that Kai himself was trapped and utterly useless. He would be the first of a new generation, and Valin would teach the boy better than Kai ever could.

  He’s not teaching Simon, he’s trying to kill him, Otoku sent. And remove your hand!

  Kai reluctantly pulled his fingers away from the doll’s silky black hair. All the better to leave them alone. If Simon lives, he will have learned a valuable lesson. I don’t know what it will be, but I’m sure it will be valuable. If he dies here, I will focus my attention on the other one, the girl. Alissa, was it?

  Otoku’s mouth actually twisted into a frown, which was such a rare display that Kai felt his eyes welling with tears. You don’t even pay attention, do you? Olissa is the mother, Andra is her daughter. They’ve been living here long enough for you to know that.

  Alas, I have had other things on my mind, Kai said. Inside the graveyard,
steel rang on steel as Azura made contact with the metal bow. The boy moved in an endless dance, managing to stay ahead of each new white arrow.

  Kai lifted the object in his right hand and stared at it. Half black iron, half mirrored steel, with two narrow slits for the eyes. This mask looked like it had been designed for a man who intended to beat his foes to death with his face.

  At least he will win or lose this fight as himself, Kai thought.

  Well, maybe he will survive. And maybe he’ll learn to appreciate our advice more, Otoku replied, in tones of self-satisfaction that reminded Kai painfully of Caela. He relies on us too much and listens to us too little. Lately, he’s far too quick to put on that mask. Perhaps this will be good for him.

  I’ll make sure he understands the message before I give this back, Kai sent, tucking the mask back into his belt. In the meantime, how about we go visit your sisters? It’s been so long since I’ve seen you all…

  I’ll give you fair warning, Otoku said evenly. Rebekkah’s going to punch you.

  Kai smiled fondly.

  ***

  The arrow blasted past Simon’s shoulder, so close that he could feel the scorching air on his neck. He put it out of his mind, swinging Azura with both hands to knock the bow from Valin’s hands.

  The Incarnation spun the bow like a staff, knocking Azura’s blade aside with one end, while the other whipped around and cracked Simon across the temple.

  He felt only a little pain through the reinforcement of Benson’s steel, but his vision still flashed white with the impact. He reacted the way he was trained, by long practice in the House: a controlled retreat, stepping backwards evenly, his long blade warding his opponent away.

  It bought him another split second for his vision to clear, but the first thing he saw was the Incarnation drawing back another arrow.

  The last time Simon had faced this weapon, he had dodged and run, thinking of nothing beyond his desire to get away. Indirial had saved him then, so stalling had turned out to be a valid tactic.

  Indirial wasn’t here now. He would have to try something else.

  Instead of backing off, Simon stepped forward, ducking as low as he could. The arrow streaked by, leaving a fiery line on Simon’s shoulder that must have burned through the cloak, but he didn’t have time to take stock of his own wounds. He was still five feet away from Valin, but Azura made that distance trivial.

  He brought his blade diagonally up, cutting across the Incarnation’s body.

  As he had done before, Valin spun the bow around, knocking the sword aside. This time, Simon let it go.

  He completely released the hilt of the sword, letting it fly out of his hands. And with his newly freed hands, he pulled his hood down over his forehead.

  Nye essence flowed through him like a cold breath. It was waning already; he estimated he had, at best, half a minute left of increased speed and grace. But right now he wasn’t looking to enhance his reaction time.

  Valin’s eyes flicked from side to side and his brow furrowed in confusion. His fingers began to draw back the string, but he didn’t know where to aim his arrow.

  Simon stopped in front of him and thrust upward, putting all the force he could call behind a two-handed strike to Valin’s stomach. As he had suspected, the Wanderer had returned to being another Incarnation: relying on his eyes was the same as relying on the supernatural vision of his Territory. He must see Simon as little more than a shadow…which meant that he couldn’t react in time.

  Valin’s body shuddered under the blow, and the force of it actually lifted his feet from the grass. He flew up and back, and Simon ran to follow, his Nye essence leaving him a little more with every breath.

  The Valinhall Incarnation twisted in midair, his bowstring pulling back, a shining arrow sprouting to point in Simon’s general direction. Simon ducked, not only to dodge the arrow, but to scoop up one of the short swords that Valin had dropped. An arrow scorched the grass behind him, singeing the edge of his cloak, but he kept moving with a sword in hand. The last thing he wanted was Valin landing with a distance advantage.

  As soon as Valin did hit the ground—perfectly balanced and on both feet, of course—Simon was already there, slipping to his side, driving the Incarnation’s own short sword up into his ribs.

  He scored a hit. The blade bit flesh and, though it scraped along the ribs and Valin twisted, he had done some damage. If he could keep this up, he would not only escape with his life, he would have killed the Valinhall Incarnation a second time.

  And then he could address the other questions that plagued him, such as: how could Valin have come back to life in the first place? Could it happen again? Had the Eldest not noticed that Valin could still call on his power as an Incarnation, or had he chosen not to say anything?

  As the Wanderer’s blood sprinkled the grass, Simon shoved all the questions out of his mind. They could wait until later.

  Simon drew back the blade and drove it in at another angle, trying to impale the Incarnation through his bare, chain-shrouded stomach. He exhaled as he struck, sending another puff of white mist from his lungs. The world moved noticeably faster, and he wasn’t quite agile enough to land his blow before Valin got his bow between his stomach and Simon’s sword. Simon still drew blood, but not nearly enough to drop the man permanently.

  Simon didn’t glance back at the hourglass. He didn’t need to; only a few seconds had passed. He would either kill the Incarnation and pass, or die. In that light, failing to earn the ghost armor didn’t seem like such a problem.

  Valin struck at Simon with the butt of his bow, forcing Simon to back off a step. He didn’t want to—his only hope lay in continuous attack—but if he had remained close, the Incarnation would have simply bludgeoned him to death and accepted his stomach wound in return.

  But the Wanderer was pursuing him now, rushing at him and swinging the bow two-handed like a hammer, and now he was on the back foot again, forced to swing wildly and turn each of Valin’s attacks. If he had been using Azura, the Incarnation would have been too close, inside Simon’s reach. But maybe if he could find a way to back up and into Azura, he could scoop the longer blade up and use it to create exactly the right distance…

  There was a sharp, burning pain on the backs of his thighs, and he stumbled and landed flat on his back. The rest of the Nye essence flooded out of his lungs in a starlight cloud, the world lurching back to normal speed.

  Above him, the Incarnation’s black-and-silver eyes stared pitilessly into his own. One chain-shrouded arm drew back the steel cable, and a white arrow traced itself in midair, pointed straight at Simon’s chest.

  “What do you want, Simon?” Valin asked.

  Simon almost didn’t hear the question. He scrabbled backwards on his elbows, pushing his heels against the grass, trying instinctively to get away. Maybe if he could reach Azura, he could launch another attack, or even slip out of the room until his Nye essence recovered…

  Valin drew the string of his bow back farther, and Simon froze. “What do you want?”

  “I want to live!” Simon blurted, trying to stay as still as possible even though he was propped up on trembling hands.

  The Wanderer leaned over his bow, the mirrored circles of his eyes gleaming. “Why?”

  Simon hesitated. Did Valin want an answer from him? What did he want to hear? How was Simon supposed to get out of this without a doll or the mask?

  Valin made a disgusted sound and kicked Simon hard in the ribs, leaving a flash of pain that flooded Simon’s gut even through the steel. His body flipped over with the impact, landing face-down in the grass, and Simon curled up around his stomach.

  He heard the creaking of a steel cord bending, and then something was burning his neck. It was actually burning, as though Valin had pressed a red-hot poker against the base of his skull. Simon squirmed, pressing his cheek into the soil to escape that horrible pain, but the Wanderer rested a heavy foot on Simon’s back. He simply couldn’t move enough.


  He smelled char and smoke, and realized with horror that they must be coming from the burning hairs on his neck.

  Simon couldn’t help but keep thinking of a way out. That was what he had made of himself. He’d spent almost two years of relative time inside Valinhall, and in all that time he had embedded in himself a core belief: death was everywhere, all the time, but there was always a way out.

  He didn’t give up. But somewhere, deep in a place that he didn’t like to think about, he realized that this was the end. He couldn’t help but picture the arrow, burning through the base of his skull, leaving a mutilated corpse for the Nye to find. The Agnos family would eventually realize he had died. They might put up a headstone for him here…it had never occurred to him before, but he wouldn’t be buried next to his family. He would be here, in a Territory with only a handful of Travelers, and no one to remember him.

  Would Leah care? Would Alin even notice? What about Kai?

  Still, part of him kept thinking of tactics—maybe I could summon a little Nye essence, maybe I could call the mask to me, maybe Azura will fly into my hands—even as he squeezed his eyes shut and waited for the end.

  Until an emerald light began to shine, like a green sun coming up, bright even through Simon’s clenched eyelids. The rolling light of the storm overhead was nothing compared to this, and he felt something like a cool wind against his head.

  He looked up, turning his face up toward the source that radiated cold like a coal radiates heat, and saw a floating suit of luminous green armor. It drifted in midair, like a spirit all its own, and Simon could see the far columns through the breastplate.

  The pressure on his back vanished, and Valin let out a huge breath. “Wow, that hurt more than I thought,” he said casually.

  Then there came a heavy thud of a body collapsing.

  CHAPTER SEVEN:

  ELYSIAN RULE

  359th Year of the Damascan Calendar

  1st Year in the Reign of Queen Leah I