Tracing the Shadow

by Sarah Ash

  “A new Inquisitor?” Magister Gonery repeated slowly, as though digesting this information.

  “Alois Visant. And he has his eye on this college. It seems that there have been complaints in the town. Accusations. At the first whisper of forbidden practices, he will shut you down and put you all on trial.”

  “We have nothing to hide,” said Gonery mildly.

  This news only increased Rieuk’s apprehension; if the Admiralty officials went away empty-handed, they would withdraw their protection and the college would be in danger from the religious fanatics running the Inquisition. They were suspicious of alchymy, regarding it as little different from the forbidden Dark Arts.

  “We’re busy men, Magister. We can’t waste any more time here,” said the elder.

  “If you were to return tomorrow, gentlemen, I’m sure that—”

  “We’re on our way to the naval dockyards at Fenez-Tyr. If there’s a breakthrough, send word to us there, at the manager’s house.” The younger official placed a paper on Gonery’s desk and snapped his case shut.

  “If we hear nothing from you by the end of the week, then your funding will be stopped and the project canceled.” The elder official stopped at the door, then turned back as if a thought had just occurred to him. “And if that happens, we can no longer protect you from investigation by the Inquisition.”

  Magister Gonery nodded.

  “We’ll show ourselves out. Good-day to you, Magister Gonery.”

  When the visitors had gone, Magister Gonery sank back down into his chair. Rieuk glanced at the elderly alchymist, uncertain what to do. The official’s ominous last words kept repeating in his head. An Inquisition investigation.

  “This is serious, isn’t it, Magister?”

  “What?” Gonery looked up, blinking, as if he had forgotten Rieuk was there. “Events have overtaken us, Rieuk. It seems that the Tielens have taken our ministers by surprise.”

  “But if we could make the Vox work, it would save the college from closure.” Rieuk’s hand slid into his pocket where the citrine crystal lay and felt a little tingle of energy tickle his fingertips. “Magister, let me try. You know I have some skill with crystals. If it’s to save the college—”

  “And has Magister Linnaius given you permission to work on his invention?”

  Rieuk hesitated. “Well, not exactly…”

  “If I were you, I would not attempt anything that would make Magister Linnaius angry,” said Gonery, regarding him severely over the top of his spectacles.

  “So what was all that about?” Deniel met Rieuk as he approached the laboratory. “Oh, come on, you can tell me. I won’t blab. Was it about the Vox?”

  Rieuk recovered enough to nod.

  “Can’t you ask to be transferred to Maistre de Rhuys? He’s much more easygoing.”

  “But he already has you and Madoc.”

  “And we split the work between us. Which leaves time for fun.” Deniel reached out and tousled Rieuk’s hair. “When was the last time you came out into Karantec with us?”

  Rieuk gave a little shrug.

  “Madoc and I are off to the tavern after dinner. There’s a new girl working there, Jenovefa.” Deniel outlined a voluptuous silhouette with both hands.

  “I’ve got to work.”

  “Poor Rieuk. Nearly eighteen and never been kissed. I’m getting worried about you.” Rieuk winced and ducked out of Deniel’s range. “Always studying. There’s more to life than alchymy.”

  But Rieuk had sensed a breath of winter’s wind shiver along the passageway. Deniel must have felt it too because he turned instinctively, just as Magister Linnaius appeared behind him.

  “M—Magister!” stammered Rieuk. “You’ve just missed the Admiralty officials.”

  “Unfortunate.” Linnaius loomed over Rieuk, his eyes burning cold as ice. “Where is Magister de Maunoir?”

  “I—I heard that his wife was sick,” offered Deniel. “He’s looking after little Klervie.”

  Magister Linnaius let out a short sigh of exasperation. “I have urgent news for Maistre Gonery. Rieuk, take this down to Magister de Maunoir.” He thrust a small wooden box into Rieuk’s hands.

  “N—now?” It was nearly six in the evening and the dinner bell would soon be ringing out over the college towers.

  “Must I repeat myself?” Magister Linnaius gave him a look of such chill disdain that Rieuk abandoned any hope of eating. “And Deniel, what are you doing idling outside my laboratory? Magister de Rhuys is looking for you.” With that, Magister Linnaius swept on down the passageway.

  “So no dinner for you tonight?” Deniel called back over his shoulder. “Shall I ask the kitchen to save some for you? It’s fish stew—with mussels.”

  “Why couldn’t you have got back a quarter hour earlier?” Rieuk muttered. But at least he had the chance to put the citrine crystal back before Magister Linnaius noticed it was missing. He reached into his pocket and drew it out, feeling again the pulse of its crystalline heartbeat.

  But now he could sense another faint pulsation nearby. The crystal that nestled in his cupped hands must have set off a sympathetic resonance in another. And wasn’t that precisely what Magister Linnaius had been trying to do, find two crystals that were “in tune” with each other?

  Rieuk cast around for the source of the answering vibrations. The sound grew stronger as he moved toward the plain wooden box that his master had told him to take to Magister de Maunoir. With shaking fingers, Rieuk undid the metal catch and opened the lid.

  Inside, cushioned on midnight-black silk, lay a crystal. It was clear, except for a single vein of milky white at its heart. “So beautiful,” Rieuk murmured, hardly daring to touch it for fear of sullying its purity. “Like a fallen star.”

  Surely it wouldn’t hurt to try? He lifted the glass cover and carefully inserted the still-vibrating citrine quartz in the Vox on the desk and adjusted the voice receptor. Then he closed the box lid on the crystal and set out. He could just imagine the magister’s astonished comments when the Vox Aethyria began to transmit his voice. “So young Rieuk Mordiern solved the problem that had you foxed, Kaspar!”

  Clutching the box, Rieuk ran down the winding lane that led toward the river and Magister de Maunoir’s cottage. A fair-haired little girl was teasing an indolent grey tabby cat on the doorstep, waving an aspen twig over its whiskers and giggling delightedly whenever the cat opened one sleepy eye to bat the twig away.

  “Hallo, m’sieur Rieuk!”

  The little girl was smiling up at him, her eyes blue as the summer sky. He recognized the sweet face of Klervie, Hervé’s daughter.

  “Klervie, is your father at home?”

  Klervie banged on the front door. “Papa!”

  Magister de Maunoir appeared on the step with one finger pressed to his lips. “Ssh, Klervie. Maman still has a bad headache. Play quietly with Mewen.” The cat rolled off the step and made a sudden dash toward the back garden with Klervie dancing after it. “I’m sorry, Rieuk.” Magister de Maunoir looked even more careworn and bemused than usual. “Have you brought a message from the college?”

  “It’s about the Vox,” Rieuk said in a loud whisper. “I think I’ve found two crystals with a sympathetic resonance.”

  Hervé de Maunoir’s tired expression vanished. “You’d better come in!”

  He led Rieuk to his study which, unlike Magister Linnaius’s spotless laboratory, was crammed with precariously piled stacks of books, jars of gruesome specimens pickled in cloudy alcohol, and cases of dried insects. On the desk, amid all the clutter, gleamed the second Vox, twin to the one in college.

  “I don’t recall ever seeing a stone like this before,” said de Maunoir in puzzled tones. He picked it up and examined it. “Where did you find it?”

  Rieuk hesitated a moment. “Magister Linnaius brought it back with him.”

  “So he’s returned at last! And he told you to use it in the Vox?”

  Rieuk made a vague gesture. “He told me to bri
ng it to you…”

  “Well, I don’t suppose it can hurt to try.”

  “It worked in the laboratory.” Rieuk refused to let himself be defeated. Yet the crystal remained silent, and every attempt to make it sing as it had before failed.

  “Perhaps we should try again tomorrow.”

  “Hervé,” called a woman’s voice weakly. “Has Klervie had her supper?”

  Hervé leaped up. “Is that the time already?” he called back. “I’m on my way, dear.” He returned a minute or so later. “She’s not in the garden. She must have gone to her friend Youna’s.” Rieuk did not miss the flustered look in his eyes. “I’ll be back soon.”

  “Let me try once more, Magister.” His future as an alchymist might rest on this one act. If he succeeded, the Admiralty would get their invention and the college would be saved from closure.

  “By all means…” Hervé was already hurrying out of the door.

  Rieuk took the crystal out of the Vox and pressed it to his forehead, seeking again for that elusive voice. For a second he felt a tremor of energy, like a distant flicker of lightning. Hastily, he replaced it, and waited.

  And waited.

  Tired and dejected, Rieuk leaned forward on the desk beside the Vox and let his head rest on his outstretched arms. He closed his eyes. So close to success and yet still so far…

  “So you really think this will lead to war?”

  War? Who was talking of war? The voice had been faint, but utterly distinct.

  “Francia laid claim to the islands first. Yet the Arkhan of Enhirre has just signed a trade treaty with Prince Karl of Tielen.” That dry tone sounded just like his master’s. But how could it be? “He’s granted Tielen exclusive rights to the spice trade. And now it’s stalemate…” The voice faded out. Rieuk raised his head, wondering if he had caught fragments of a conversation drifting in as people passed by the cottage.

  “Are you being entirely frank with me, Kaspar?”

  Rieuk sat bolt upright. Few people were permitted to call Magister Linnaius by his first name.

  “You’ve a distracted look about you.” The voice was issuing from the receiver of the Aethyr Vox. “You haven’t been doing any meddling yourself, have you?”

  “I may have stirred up a little trouble, yes, but nothing that I can’t take care of.”

  Rieuk gripped the edge of the desk, rigid with concentration. The voices faded in and out, almost as if the two speakers were pacing to and fro in front of the Vox.

  “Yes, but trouble may follow you here to Karantec and bring misfortune on us all,” came Gonery’s voice, suddenly clear, as though he were bending close to the speaker, making Rieuk jump.

  “What’s this?” demanded Magister Linnaius. “Who placed this crystal in the transmitter, Gonery? Has Hervé been working on the Vox?” Rieuk shrank back. Even though logic told him that neither alchymist could see him, he felt as if he had been caught red-handed.

  “I haven’t seen Hervé today.”

  “Then who’s been in my rooms?” The question was asked in such a menacing tone that Rieuk felt a sick, sinking sensation in his stomach. Magister Linnaius did not sound in the least pleased.

  “Only your apprentice.”

  “Rieuk? Could he have tampered with—”

  A thin, high whining sound began to emanate from the Vox.

  “What is that infernal racket?”

  The sound set Rieuk’s teeth on edge. It was like chalk rasped over a blackboard, a knife blade scraped against glass. And it went on and on, growing ever more piercing.

  “It’s coming from the Vox!”

  “I’ll remove the cryst—” The voices ceased abruptly as the connection was broken. But the excruciating sound continued, drilling through all the cavities of his skull. Pressing a hand to one aching ear, Rieuk reached out to prise out the throbbing stone from its setting.

  But the excruciating sound did not stop. The crystal lay in his sweating palms, still emitting its shrill vibrating cry, almost as if it were alive. His whole body began to judder in sympathy. And now the crystal began to glow with a cloudy white light, so that its brightness made his flesh seem transparent.

  The door was flung open and Hervé de Maunoir ran in. “What’s happening?” he shouted, his voice barely audible above the din.

  “The Vox works. But it’s—tearing me apart!” Someone—something—was trapped inside. Its agony possessed Rieuk until he felt himself sucked helplessly into its frenzy of despair.

  “Where are you?” he cried, his voice barely audible above the wailing cry.

  A slender, translucent figure appeared, sealed within a column of milky-white light. The light was so dazzling that he could not see the figure clearly, he could only hear its anguished cry—a cry that seared all thoughts from his brain but one: Set me free.

  CHAPTER 2

  A deliciously creamy perfume wafts through Klervie’s dream: she runs through dew-soaked grass, the cool wetness dampening her bare feet. The pale shadow of the unicorn flits in front of her as she pursues it, eager to stroke its silky flanks. It will lead her to the hidden grove where the Faie dance in the moonlight. And if you catch a Faie, it must grant you a wish. White flowers open their petals as the unicorn passes and a delicious scent breathes out. Mmm…vanilla cream…

  A faint, thin cry shudders through the starlit night…

  And Klervie awoke. She lay still, clutching the sheet to her. It had been such a beautiful dream until—

  There it was again! And it was coming from the kitchen, she was sure of it. It was the desolate, desperate cry of a trapped creature.

  “Mewen, you bad cat!’ she whispered. The family’s sleek grey tabby had taken to bringing in his prey half-dead, delighting in tormenting it until it expired of exhaustion, or he grew bored. Klervie slipped out of her truckle bed and padded across the moonlit flagstones, wondering if it were a field mouse or a baby rabbit. Could she rescue it in time from Mewen’s cruel claws?

  Yet again the cry whispered through the cottage. Klervie stopped. It made her feel cold and shivery, even though the summer night was close and airless. And it was not coming from the kitchen; it had issued from Papa’s study. And the light she had taken for moonlight was seeping from beneath Papa’s study door. Was he working late?

  Klervie went up on tiptoe to raise the latch. The door slowly opened, revealing a strange radiance that flickered like silver firelight burning from a tray of translucent coals on the desk. The light sharply outlined in shadow-silhouette the two men bending over the tray. They were so engrossed that they did not see her. She just stood staring, bewitched. A little voice nagged at the back of her mind, warning, “Go back to bed. Papa will be angry if you disturb his work.”

  And yet she lingered.

  “What is it?” She recognized the voice of Rieuk Mordiern, hoarse with excitement.

  “I believe it may be an aethyrial spirit,” said Papa. Both men spoke softly, amazedly.

  “But how did I—”

  “In working with aethyr, it is always possible to encounter forces invisible to mortal man. Even to entrap them. It seems you may have done just that.”

  Klervie heard the words but did not understand them. She must still be dreaming. For there, fading in and out of clarity like a reflection seen in a wind-rippled lake, she glimpsed a face, its features twisted into an expression of such agony that it pained her to look at it. And as she gazed, she saw it fix on her for a second with its anguish-riven eyes.

  Was it a Faie? So translucent was its form, it could have been scratched on glass. And it seemed to be begging her to help it.

  “It’s changing,” warned Papa. “Don’t let go, Rieuk. If it gets loose, God knows what damage it’ll do.”

  The dazzle of light emanating from the Faie was increasing, until it was so bright that Klervie’s eyes ached to look at it. It began to spin, particles of brightness flying off like scattered raindrops.

  “It’s resisting.”

  Its high-pit
ched scream of defiance shattered glass and made Klervie press her hands to her ears.

  “Help me,” gasped Rieuk. “I can’t hold it for much longer.”

  Papa raised his hands high above the wavering spirit. “By the power of my blood, I bind you! Transmute,” he commanded, “and contain.” Klervie could not see what they were doing as both leaned over the desk, their shadows blotting out the silvered light. There came a last faint, wailing shriek—and suddenly all the brilliance was sucked out of the air.

  “What have you done, Rieuk?” a voice asked exhaustedly in the darkness. “What have you done?”

  “You damned fool!” A stinging blow caught Rieuk across the cheek and chin; he reeled, toppling backward, knocking over a laboratory stool. He had no idea that the magister could muster so much physical strength. “What were you thinking of, risking something so dangerous?” Magister Linnaius’s silver eyes glinted with fury in the gloom, cold as winter lightning. “You let out an aethyr spirit. You could have killed us all!”

  Rieuk cowered, terrified. He had never seen his master so angry before. “B—but I made the Vox Aethyria work—”

  “You deserve to be expelled. Meddling with elemental forces far too strong for you to contain.”

  “Expelled?” That single word shocked Rieuk to silence. Not one student had been expelled in all his seven years at the college. To be expelled before completing his apprenticeship was the worst possible punishment the magister could inflict.

  “And look at this Vox, it’s damaged beyond repair.” Linnaius picked up a piece of twisted metal and let it drop again with a clang. “Hervé and I will have to start over.” He examined the crystal. “And just when the Admiralty are breathing down our necks, threatening us with the Inquisition—”

  “Please, Magister.” Rieuk struggled to his knees. He could taste blood; the stone in Linnaius’s signet ring had cut his lip open. “I was only trying to help. Please don’t have me expelled.”

  The Magister’s eyes gleamed cold as winter ice in the early dawnlight. Rieuk shivered. He knew that implacable look. “Now I’ll have to order new parts for the Vox from Maistre Guirec to replace those that were ruined by your foolish tampering. And as for you—you will go to your study and stay there until you’re sent for.”