by T. A. Miles
Even so, it had almost claimed Korsten. The demon had come so close … it was so strong, much stronger than it should have been. Merran would still have been suffering if not for the distraction Korsten provided when he arrived at the manor. The Vadryn would have made good on its promise to torture him for the next century or longer, of that Merran had no doubt. Korsten’s arrival had drawn the demon’s attention, enabling Merran to eventually escape after it left him. He’d been too late to save Korsten from the fate his lover had planned for him, but Merran arrived in time to see that his assistance was not required. The red butterfly clinging to one of the windows left intact explained the circumstances as openly as the victim splayed on the floor, his skin covered with archaic symbols found only in the oldest books on magecraft, and upon the bodies of mages, particularly those who had recently suffered Emergence. The symbols were the first manifestation of the power previously lying dormant within them.
The characters would depart from the body with time and usually only appear again when a particular power was invoked, the mage’s Ambient power most often. While more than one talent always Emerged, usually only one would reach Ambience. Merran was an example of unusual circumstances himself, holding both Healing and Reasoning at Ambience. Endurance, Empathy, and Foresight had also Emerged when it came time for him to awaken to his destiny. While Empathy lingered impotently since Emergence, the other two had elevated to Resonance. It was highly unlikely that they would go beyond that level, even if Merran proved skilled enough to make Mage-Superior. Too many talents, too many strong talents, tended to interfere with one another, causing the mage more trouble than it was worth, either to the mage or the Seminary. That may have been the case with Korsten. While it was impossible for any of his talents to have gone beyond Emerged yet, there may have been too many talents. In his lingering emotional state he could be an invalid for years, too confounded physically, mentally, and spiritually to function even normally, let alone as a mage.
“It may be that we’ll have to finalize the bond perforce,” someone said, drawing Merran’s attention outward and his touch away from the delicate flower with showy red petals he had been absently fingering.
In his rumination, he’d failed to notice that he had even wandered out of doors. There were suddenly flowers all around him and a network of trellises arcing over stone pathways, draped with blossoming vines. Sunlight peeked through in random places, glistening off dew-kissed petals or the incessantly moving wings of the bees and small birds that tended to the lush garden. No human hand was necessary in caring for these plants, rooted here millennia ago by magic, but that did not stop one wanting to touch them.
“Is he so bad off?” Merran finally asked without turning to look at Mage-Superior Ashwin.
The exceptionally blond man stepped into Merran’s view and reached out for one of the red lilies himself. His slim fingers cupped the fragile petals with graceful caution and he leaned toward the flower as if to kiss it. He stopped just short, simply taking in the fragrance, appearing even fairer in the action. He tilted his face just enough to look at Merran, seeming to bear the weight of a thousand deaths upon his soul. He had borne such a weight before, but this time the pain was more focused, drawn from a single source that was the equal to a thousand deaths.
“He is worse,” Ashwin said softly. And then he straightened, slowly releasing the carefully captured flower. “His spirit weeps like an open wound bleeds. His heart is broken, Merran. His will is virtually non-existent.”
“I am at a loss as to what more can be done for him,” Merran admitted. “Reaching from as far away as Haddowyn did not help, but to attempt the journey on horseback would have been far worse. Especially with a Master hunting us.”
“The Reach took more out of you, I’m sure,” Ashwin replied. “We have your Endurance to thank for your still being with us. When a demon targets an individual for destruction, it is never a quick process.”
Merran didn’t have to be reminded. He still felt the wounds upon him, even though they’d long ago been healed. Worse than the wounds and the physical trauma that had come with them, he felt the madness … the corrosive will of the Vadryn.
“I was careless, I think,” Merran finally said, tonelessly as his thoughts lingered too far back. “It won’t happen again.”
“You are invaluable to us, Merran,” Ashwin told him and the Mage-Adept caught a slight but sincere smile on the blond elder’s lips. “One of the few we feel secure in sending out alone. You always come back to us. Not always with a guest, but there is room for him here … and a need.”
“He may not recover,” Merran reminded as they returned to the original subject.
“You could recover him, my friend, if your talent for Empathy would Emerge.”
“It hasn’t,” Merran replied needlessly. He added, “It may be that it never will. Would it help if we made him aware of the betrayal?”
Ashwin shook his head almost imperceptibly. “There was no betrayal, none that he would see at this time, no matter how the circumstances were explained to him. Understand that Renmyr Camirey was not merely a man possessed. The web of deception he wove was so intricate and so strong as to scarcely seem a deception at all, only a binding truth. That truth binds Korsten still. I fear he will never escape it.” The much older man who appeared younger sighed quietly. He held out his hand to a hummingbird as it became interested in the flowers nearest to him and watched it taste his fingers experimentally. “Separation from the soul dampens the emotions. Perhaps it will help to increase the bond level. Recall how you yourself felt a certain stability, a balance, when you entrusted Eolyn with the deepest part of yourself.”
Merran recalled too well. He felt that balance now as the fine thread that remained of his soul within himself led to Eolyn. Only his physical death could sever that strand and until that time, when she would carry his soul back to this very place, they were linked and as one. It was the same for all at the Seminary from full Mage to Mage-Superior. Only Mage-Apprentices, those waiting for Emergence, were without a soul-keeper constantly present and therefore without the unique bond they offered.
As Merran took a moment to fully appreciate Eolyn—the white moth was currently perched upon a wide green leaf just above his head—a large dragonfly with a glistening green body alighted upon Ashwin’s shoulder. It was the Mage-Superior’s soul-keeper, attuned to his primary Ambience, which reflected brilliantly in the man’s eyes.
While the blue of Merran’s gaze symbolized the mind and his own primary Ambience; Reasoning, green was the color of emotion and no mage at the Seminary had a stronger talent for Empathy than Ashwin. He didn’t have to spell-touch Korsten to feel the man’s pain, but he had used magic in order to focus on Korsten alone and that made it worse for him. He knew exactly how Korsten felt and he understood those feelings as even Korsten couldn’t. The tears in his eyes, even now, were nothing less than genuine.
“Unfortunately, Korsten is the least of our worries,” Ashwin finally said, lowering his hand as the hummingbird he’d been humoring finally flitted away. “While it is always an advantage to have another mage awakened to his or her duty, soon it may make very little difference whether or not our numbers increase by one or one hundred … or one thousand.”
Merran was shocked to hear this, particularly from Ashwin, who could only have Korsten’s gripping depression to blame for his sudden lack of optimism. Apart from his very strong talent for Empathy, the Mage-Superior had a rare talent become Ambience; Will. White was the color of the spirit and all that came with it; desire, hope, love, inner strength, stamina, some aspects of healing, and the will. Most mages with white as their medium color, as Ashwin’s happened to be, had talents linked to the spirit such as Endurance, Healing, Strength, Reasoning, and Foresight. Very few possessed Will itself and even fewer brought it to Ambience. Though it was not Ashwin’s primary Ambience, it was potent and often didn’t allow for des
pair or despondency. None generated by his own spirit, at any rate. It had to be Korsten affecting him now. There was no other explanation.
“Haddowyn is lost,” Ashwin continued. “Morenne will take what the Vadryn leave, else the Master will destroy the lesser beasts and claim the town for itself. Another piece of Edrinor is lost. The Old Kingdom will never be restored at this rate. How can we balance a war against the living, whom we are supposed to defend and the undead, against whom the living have no defense?”
“No defense, except us,” Merran offered carefully.
Ashwin placed a comforting hand on Merran’s shoulder. “We are not enough. Politically, we are powerless without a ruler upon Edrinor’s throne. To half the land we are a myth and to the other half we are ghosts.” Ashwin’s hand slipped away from Merran and lifted to his own brow. “I thought masking the events which took place here years ago would keep panic and chaos from spreading like wildfire, but I see that I have burned ignorance upon the masses instead with my decision.”
“It was the only decision you could make,” Merran told him. “It is not easy to choose between skepticism and faithlessness. Better to have to convince an individual than to have them know and not care, perhaps to resent. We would have to fight the people of Edrinor as well as the Morennish people and the Vadryn. They would see us as betrayers, the reason for the last King’s death … his brutal murder at the claws and fangs of demons.”
Ashwin lowered his slender white hand. “Are we not the reason, Merran? Was it not the betrayal of one of our own that enabled the Vadryn to enter Vassenleigh? To pass through our Barriers and attack us unaware? How many of us died that night, my friend? How many of the townspeople who had supported us and trusted us died horrible deaths for our failure?” Ashwin’s green eyes were wet again, the moisture spilling onto his soft cheeks.
Merran knew that part of what he was hearing was Korsten speaking through the mage who had spell-touched him. He knew and he felt badly, however, Merran’s Empathy remained stubbornly dormant and while Healing may have been his secondary Ambience, it was more physical healing than spiritual. Eolyn reflected the source color of Merran’s predecessor with white, but his medium was black, symbolizing mortality and death, something he had known too much about even before Emergence and becoming a mage. He did not consider himself one for providing comfort to another beyond what he could provide by mending a physical injury or dulling a physical pain.
Ashwin came at him as the thoughts were forming. He placed both hands upon Merran’s shoulders, as if he would fall against him and weep. He didn’t do either. His fingertips pressed harshly into Merran as he closed his grip with unnatural desperation.
“What—” Merran started, but Ashwin wouldn’t let him finish.
“Stop him,” he said, sounding as if he were speaking to someone else rather than the mage he was clutching. And in the next moment, he was shouting, pain and panic upsetting his features. “Someone stop him!”
Merran knew what he would find before he arrived at Korsten’s room. Ashwin insisted that he leave him where he was and so he did. And he rushed back indoors, through the long deep corridors of the Seminary until he finally reached its newest resident. Korsten lay on the floor, dressed in what sheets had managed to fall with him, his own blood pooling beneath him from a long cut traveling the length of his left forearm from wrist to elbow. He’d finally gained the strength to move on his own … and this is what he does?
The knife had come from a breakfast tray left by a Mage-Apprentice who evidently forgot to stay and watch over the newcomer. It wasn’t a terribly sharp blade, but sharp enough when put with Korsten’s unreasonable determination to end his life. He’d been fighting Merran’s healing spells since Merran found him traumatized at the Camirey manor three months ago. Merran had half a mind to let him die if he was so damned set on it, but humaneness wouldn’t allow it.
Crouched at Korsten’s side, Merran determined to do what he could. An initial spell was worked immediately, stopping the blood flow and hurriedly closing the jaggedly opened skin. The cut had been course and probably much more painful than it had to be, except that the idiot wasn’t willing to wait until something sharper came within his reach. He saw an opportunity and took it, like a spoiled child stealing for the sake of it. His lover had coddled him too much and his mother before that, Merran guessed.
Well, there’s no one to cosset you here, you despondent fool. Agonize all you want, but you will do it while alive … and well, if I have anything to say about it. Death will not save you anyway. It will not let you forget your pain.
Oblivious to Merran’s thoughts and all but dead to the world, Korsten lay motionless and expressionless in his blood and bedding. The butterfly placed itself on his pale shoulder, almost blending with a stray curl. She was ready, as she had been since bringing her bond mate his first taste of the ancient power that had awakened those already existing within himself. Merran could make the decision. Ashwin had as much as charged Korsten to his care, but somehow he didn’t feel the time was right. He believed it would be more detriment to the man’s recovery than help at this stage.
“Not yet,” he said to the soul-keeper. He watched the delicate creature flutter away, then disentangled Korsten from the bedding and gathered the younger man into his arms. He was exceptionally lightweight, even while unconscious and unable to support himself; he’d probably never eaten a full and proper meal in his life. Merran had no trouble carrying him to the bath that had been prepared for him by the same Apprentice who seemed to think he or she had more important things to do than what they’d been told.
The water was still warm in the large basin. Merran lowered Korsten’s limp body into it, propping him against the rim long enough to stand and remove his own coat. He had a habit of wearing the long garment always, even on days and nights when he wasn’t planning on leaving the Seminary. It was too late to avoid getting blood on it, but he removed it anyway, pushed back the sleeves of his equally dark tunic, and knelt beside the bath again. He found a sponge beside the soap and towels that had been laid out and began cleaning the blood away from Korsten’s damaged arm so that he could see the wound and smooth out his hasty mending job. He felt the man’s pulse as he loosely held his wrist in one hand, sponging with the other. He would live, but his recovery would be slowed by the loss of blood he’d suffered, though it wasn’t nearly as bad as it could have been. If Ashwin had not been in spell-contact with him, Korsten might well have succeeded in killing himself. Merran wanted to lay blame on the Mage-Apprentice responsible for attending to Korsten in his absence, but he knew the blame actually lay with himself, knowing what he knew of this man.
“I see that I will have to watch you constantly,” he mumbled to his unconscious patient. “As if I have nothing more important to do. I suppose it’s my punishment for failure. I may have destroyed the rogue demon I’d been tracking, but I couldn’t save Haddowyn.”
Korsten leaned against the rim of the basin with his head lolling over his shoulder. The man’s sudden lack of elegance was almost comical, except that the circumstances behind it were so dire. His expression was blank, but still not free of pain. Even in unconsciousness he suffered. How could he not? He’d narrowly evaded becoming puppet to a demon. Having not just the strings of his heart but the strings of his very soul, of his life essence, pulled by the clawed hands of a monster, one he honestly believed that he loved. And in the same instant he was saved from one fate, he’d been cast into another. Both incidents had left their mark upon him.
On his neck, just above his shoulder, there was a scar, a symbol unlike the others etched upon his body in spell fire in that it had been carved there. Merran had cut the crossed lines into Korsten’s fair skin himself, because if he had not sealed the Vadryn’s poison with that immediate physical and magical effort, the man would have belonged to the beast after all and in spite of Emergence. Unlike the scratches delivered by the madde
ned victim of the rogue Vadryn, the wound Renmyr Camirey had inflicted was the result of a very deliberate effort, a spell in itself that would have utterly conquered his victim’s will. There was no magic known to the Seminary for undoing what Camirey had attempted and had he succeeded, death would have been Korsten’s only option.
Merran slowed his efforts with the sponge, staring at the angry-looking mark on Korsten’s otherwise perfect neck. Even after three months it showed no signs of fading. It wouldn’t. Korsten would carry the scar forever, on his body and in his memory. Merran lifted the sponge to the other man’s neck and wiped at the wound gently, even though it was useless. “I told you never to let the Vadryn draw blood from you.”
His hand drifted back with the sponge, settling once again on the previously wounded arm. The damage was fading even as Merran watched. He continued feeding the magic into his patient and allowed his gaze to wander, to see the many black characters drawn by an unseen hand over Korsten’s chest, across his stomach, down both legs and upon both arms. Only his face and neck had been spared. Merran wasn’t sure what it meant, except that an abundance of talents or an exceptionally strong one had Emerged from a dormant state.
Merran had come to the Seminary as an Apprentice, called to the task, but not summoned the way Korsten had been. The presence of the red butterfly at the time of Emergence confirmed the bond that had taken place with Korsten. Eolyn hadn’t come to Merran fully until years after his training and the painstaking process of knowingly inducing Emergence. Merran could have gone his whole mortal life not knowing that he had the potential to become a mage. He was a mage because he’d wanted to be. He needed to be. It mystified him that someone like Korsten, so unaware and unconcerned, could be chosen, granted a bond mate and full Mage status from the start, though he would know nothing more than the rankest Apprentice until he’d been properly trained. He might never make Mage-Adept with his heart not in it, but he would always, from the day of Emergence forward, be considered a Mage, a resident of rank at the Seminary. He already had a bond mate and, when he was well enough, he would be given a life-mentor, one of the twelve Mage-Superiors at the Seminary, probably Ashwin since he had already taken an interest in him.