by T. A. Miles
Korsten moved away from the thought before it could linger.
A glance at the blue sky overhead inspired another scanning of the city from cliff range to shore. Indhovan’s architecture was dignified, but practical; neatly stacked stories sat side-by-side throughout the denser parts of it. Some agricultural development had spread out over the top of the cliffs, along with some more innovative growth. Wind harvesting and unique approaches at channeling water occurred along the natural wall overlooking the city. Waterfalls spilled over the cliff face—one in particular was very large—depositing from a manmade lake on the high ground. The largest and most central waterfall emptied into a vast canal that met with the ocean via several channels that broke off the main waterway. What exactly this channeling and networking accomplished, Korsten couldn’t say; it had been a minor thorn in his mind since he and Merran arrived in the region. That arrival had been a venturing back into what was home territory for Korsten. The state of the coastal range made it very obvious how oppressive and stunting war could be for the places away from it, those currently serving as a battleground. This city seemed untouched by the war or the Vadryn at the surface but for the fact that alongside Korsten walked one of the Vadryn’s most recent victims, one who appeared to have gone remarkably untouched by the beast that intended to forever change her. Perhaps that had to do with the extreme few moments the demon had been within her, unable to actually gain a firm hold.
“Dacia,” Korsten began, drawing her dark gaze to him. She appeared very young. Unlike a mage, whose young face could still harbor ancient eyes, she was young throughout. Genuinely. “How do you feel?” he decided to ask her.
She shrugged, gathering wind-tossed strands of brown hair with slim fingers and tucking them behind her ear. “I feel fine, thanks.”
“I’m glad,” Korsten said, and he was. Still, he felt as if there should have been more to her answer than that. To expel one of the Vadryn so soon after its arrival—literally moments into its attempt to take over—was a new experience for him, however. It probably was not new for Merran. That could have been why Merran seemed so unconcerned with it and with Dacia’s lack of reaction.
“It’s not far to get home now,” Dacia said, glancing up at him.
Korsten issued a nod, walking with her to the threshold of an alleyway. It was instantly familiar; the site where Dacia’s Release had occurred. People moved across the area now as if it were of no significance whatsoever, and of course it wasn’t. Location meant little to the Vadryn. Wherever they saw opportunity, they struck. It was that simple, although after listening to Vlas, Korsten was left to wonder if there was some strategy behind attempting to possess a young girl at the entry of this particular corridor. Though the thought had formed in slight sarcasm, it finished out in serious consideration that had Korsten slow his steps before following Dacia into the alley. He looked over the stonework and up at the buildings to either side. Neat brick walls that gleamed a brighter shade of white in the sun with clothing lines strung out of windows slanted a thin layer of shadow across the corridor. People traversed it idly. Standing at its entrance Korsten felt … nothing beyond the proximity of people and the warmth of day, the air textured with grains of salt lifted from the sea. He didn’t expect to feel anything definitive or specific. His ability to detect the Vadryn involved bodied individuals. His colors were red, brown, and white. All of them bolstered intuition, but it was the blood of individuals primarily that he was sensitive to.
“You’ll be sensitive to blood,” Merran had said not so very long ago. “Whether it runs hot or cold … or foul. It won’t even require a spell. You’ll simply know.”
Dacia paused and looked over her shoulder at Korsten. “This way,” she prompted.
Korsten set his gaze upon the girl and nodded again. He followed Dacia out of the corridor and up a lengthy flight of stairs. The area at the top branched out to accommodate a walled, rectangular district through which water fell, sourcing from a mouth high above and dropping into the central canal far below. The steep slant the water followed housed many articulated tiers along the way up, the street snaking a path through buildings set close to one another and in some places precariously near the rim. Great houses jutted over the branching cascade, which produced a peaceable roar. The mid-morning air felt cool and damp in the water’s wake. There was something … false about this. Not wrong or deceptive necessarily, but more in the way of a facade one put on to distract attention from the fact that something wasn’t right. It was something Korsten had done a great deal of in his younger life and reminded him in some ways of Haddowyn as well. To observe the town itself no one would have expected what had been gestating beneath the surface. And, on that grim note … he may also have been paranoid, considering his past experiences. He dismissed such thoughts for now and decided to take a more practical approach to his analysis of Indhovan.
The city was quite large—quite populated, Korsten realized as Dacia led him through the moving crowd. He found himself quickly thinking about Indhovan’s military capabilities, the city’s vantage, its accessible sides….
The farms and fields along the cliff range would go first in the event of attack. The Morennish army would trample over it and have only to consider the most effective approach to descending upon the city below. There was the portside of the city to consider as well. How vulnerable was it? There were several ships docked alongside one another—merchants and traders from various towns along Edrinor’s highly populated coast undoubtedly. Korsten speculated that the bulk of their soldiers were nearer to the water and wondered next if they would be able to mobilize quickly enough to defend the other side of the city as well. Although, there could be adequately manned guardhouses throughout the city that he simply hadn’t noticed or recognized for what they were. The main constabulary was an impressive structure embedded on the lower side of the city, not far from the port. He would have to ask Irslan for better details on the placement of Indhovan’s soldiers, or perhaps Vlas. From what he could tell of Vlas after their brief meeting, his fellow mage may well have been informing their host of his own city’s defenses at this very moment. He was an interesting man, and just the type of person who Korsten typically and rather quickly wound up at odds with. He would have to remember to behave himself.
A small stair off the main thoroughfare carried up to a colonnade, which he and Dacia followed past several doors and corridors before another stair was discovered, nested between two doorways. Dacia took the steps up several paces before stopping at a narrow green door to the left of the stairway. A woven assortment of dried plants was hung from it by a thin strand. From the brief overhang above the door a small wooden hoop with several glass drops attached to and dangling from it had also been hung. The glass caught the morning light and painted rainbow images upon the door above the plants. The images shimmered as the breeze brushed against the crystals.
“Here it is,” Dacia was saying as she entered her home.
Behind the door was a circular room, neither large nor small. The floor above it was open to allow for daylight to pass through a round window that Korsten noticed due to the prismatic images on the walls, which he followed to their source. Looking over his shoulder, he found the round glass portal also had crystals hung before it, identical to those hung at the entry. A short bench with a plush cushion below the window contented a pair of brown cats, who were quick to lift their heads and assess who had entered their domain, but otherwise couldn’t be bothered. The second level surround offered an archway on either side, the first floor boasting three such entryways, one to either side and currently below the lights dancing on the wall, which reminded Korsten of Analee’s movements. When not flitting about nearby, the butterfly liked to settle on the back of his shoulder or just along the edges of his hair. It wouldn’t have mattered where she set herself; soul-keepers were not often seen by those who had no cause to consider their existence.
“Do you
live here alone?” Korsten decided to ask Dacia.
The girl stepped across a round rug of deep green with a bronze pattern of scrolled circles woven into it. Apart from that and a short table and small chair beside the entry door, there was no furniture to speak of in the central room. “It’s me and Mother,” she answered.
“Is your mother at home?”
“Yes,” came a voice notably deeper and stronger than Dacia’s. “She is.”
Korsten’s gaze was drawn to the second level and to his right, where a thin, though not necessarily fragile woman was stood at the iron railing. Her hands were set lightly upon it, deep green sleeves loosely embracing her wrists, gathering more tightly as they traveled up to the shoulders, where the material again became looser. The dress draped the woman in a way that neither hid nor revealed her shape. There was no adornment to it, but around the woman’s neck hung a pendant that resembled the ornaments Korsten had seen twice in her home already. Her dark blond hair was straight and worn past her shoulders. Dark eyes with a steady set to them studied Korsten in return.
He recalled himself and bowed his head politely. “Madam.”
“Ersana Cambir,” she provided. “And you are?”
“Mage-Adept Korsten, of Vassenleigh.”
The silence that followed the exchange could not have been more deliberate. At the same time it was cool and unwavering, speaking nothing to Korsten, though his mind ventured readily into wondering about this woman, while her very presence traced through his blood like chill fingers across the surface of a pool. There was something to her that was more than ordinary. He knew that much.
“I’ll come down,” Ersana said finally, and turned from the railing.
Korsten watched the space where she’d been standing for a moment, his gaze lowering gradually to Dacia, who pleasantly said nothing.
Ersana emerged into the central room in an unhurried manner, her hands folded loosely in front of her. “Where is your pendant?” she asked her daughter.
Dacia lifted her hand reflexively to her collar and looked at the bareness beneath her fingertips. “I must have lost it during….”
“No matter,” Ersana said placidly. “We’ll get another one made.”
Korsten watched the woman looking over her daughter with almost no expression. He hated to conclude that she was eerie so immediately, but that was his impression, juxtaposed against how very ordinary a young woman Dacia seemed to be.
“Madam….” Korsten began, pausing while Ersana silently and clairvoyantly ushered her daughter from the room. He waited until Dacia had stepped through the central archway and out of their range to give his attention fully to her mother. “Your daughter was out last night.”
“Yes,” Ersana said simply, her thin mouth tensing almost imperceptibly while her narrow, but squared chin lifted very slightly.
Korsten considered the many ways he could perceive that response and let them all go, angling his head to one side—his own habit when accepting, returning, or initiating unspoken challenge. “Are you aware of the recent dangers?”
“Are you a constable?” she asked him, and gave less than a breath’s span before she answered her own question. “No, you’re not. You’re a … mage.”
She almost smiled when she said it. He felt humored.
“The reason that I ask, madam,” Korsten continued, “is that your daughter—while out last night during hours that nearly every other resident of this city seems to hold dangerous—happened to come upon one of the Vadryn. It just so happened that it attempted to possess her. My colleague and I performed the necessary task to ensure that it would fail in that attempt.”
“Then all is well.”
“But that’s the point; all is not well. Your daughter could be very unwell, in fact. I came to advise you to watch over her. If it appears that anything’s wrong with her, I would appreciate it very much if you would to come to find us at….”
“That won’t be necessary,” Ersana interrupted.
“On the chance that it will….”
“It won’t,” the woman assured him. And then she nodded in the direction of the door. “Good day.”
Korsten ignored the dismissal, his attention fixed on Ersana. Honestly, he didn’t really need to know anything more about her at this point. The fact that something unusual was taking place here was evident and also evident was the fact that Ersana simply wanted him gone. Before he’d seen … or rather felt too much? There came an extended moment of silence between them and he quickly learned that the woman would not be moved from her current position on the matter. With no grounds or authority upon which to insist anything, Korsten did eventually oblige the woman and retreated for the door. Before leaving he gave another look at the pattern of light shimmering on the wall and said, “You will find us at the home of Master Irslan Treir. Please, be observant of your daughter’s behavior.”
Ersana’s continued study of him was more to remind him that the door was behind him than to dignify his words. There was much more that he would have liked to say—situations such as this provoked him so immediately—but he held his silence for the sake of diplomacy and took his leave. They at least knew where Dacia resided and who her nearest relation was. That would have to suffice for now.
“Why do you think she was behaving so strangely?” Merran was asking not many hours later, after they’d withdrawn into their shared guest room.
They had taken the smallest, most distant accommodations Irslan had to offer. They’d insisted on a space on the uppermost floor, so as not to impede upon their host’s privacy and, admittedly, it was more important that they not have their privacy infringed upon in return. That wasn’t an endeavor to conceal their more personal engagements so much as an effort to protect Irslan somewhat from his own curiosity where mages were concerned. The man had a penchant for books and study that easily rivaled Korsten’s. That study extended to the individuals in his company, particularly when they were not of a usual sort. In some ways the man had Korsten considering what he might have been like himself had he remained alone to his books and aged like a man not at work against demons. He was perhaps fifteen to twenty years Irslan’s elder. To look at them it would appear the other way around.
“Korsten,” Merran prompted, drawing Korsten’s gaze to him. The room had a wide window looking out over the streets of the city, and a perfect seat for him to occupy. Merran was perched on the edge of one of two narrow beds, elbows resting on his knees, Eolyn lit on his shoulder.
Analee was presently attached to Korsten’s wrist, detaching herself when he lifted his hand to his hair to push back some of the untamable curls, which she then came to rest within. “I don’t know exactly,” he said to Merran. “By the feel of Madam Cambir … if I’m to go by such sensations….”
Merran nodded. “You are. Your talent has reached Ambience.”
“Not that long ago,” Korsten reminded, as he was reminded of how it came to be. He took a space to consider the rogue mage Ecland, and then he let it go as quickly, before he came to dwell on the manner in which they had met and Ecland had died. His gaze had lowered and returned to meet Merran’s, which was resting with him steadily. Don’t you dare, my dear friend, Korsten thought silently. Merran was far too quick to offer his healing.
The other mage quelled the moment by saying, “It doesn’t matter how long ago it was. The talent is there, and will only grow stronger as you work it.”
Korsten knew that, and he nodded his head slowly in agreement with that true statement. He had only to continue working magic, as he had been and as he would be … for as long as Edrinor and the Seminary had need of him and of mages.
“I’m not sure what to conclude about Ersana,” Korsten continued, and returned his sights to Indhovan and its cradling sea. “She was not cold, necessarily, but she lacked warmth. She lacked emotion. And it was more than clear that she wanted me n
owhere near either her or her daughter.”
“You said there were crystals arranged around her home.”
Korsten nodded. “Yes, and she wore one. She asked Dacia about a necklace as well … presumably it was a crystal. She said that another would be made—her daughter seemed to have lost hers—so it may have some spiritual or ritual significance.”
He explained the arrangement of the ones within and without of Ersana’s dwelling again. While he did so he considered the sensations he’d gotten from Ersana and how her home was reflective of that, and of her. In only a few moments he felt strangely familiar with the woman, like someone he had known—or rather known of—for a long time. Meeting her was weirdly unsatisfying and he found himself instantly wanting closure. He wanted to know precisely what she was about, so he could stop thinking about her. It may have been the most peculiar response he’d ever had to meeting anyone.
“I noticed similar adornments within doorways while I searched the city,” Merran said. “Not an overwhelming abundance of them, but enough to take note of.”
Korsten looked at him again. “Have you seen anything like it before?”
“No.” Merran had risen to his feet. He walked across the modest space they shared, coming to the window and resting his forearm against its low frame. His blue eyes scanned the view of the sloping city and the varying structures occupying its natural incline. He was considerably older than Korsten, and had been a mage—or at least on the road to magehood—from a young age. Undoubtedly he had seen a great many things that Korsten, even in his rush of experience, had yet to properly imagine. In a moment like this, as he sat looking at the serious angles of his friend’s face, he considered how impressive Merran’s life had been, in spite of Merran. He too had suffered tragedy along his course to magehood—many of them had—but Merran carried his pain with such dignity….
Korsten felt ashamed sometimes to consider how he’d behaved in the face of his losses and the changes to his life, knowing without knowing the intimate details that Merran had his own burden, and carried it in such a way that others rarely felt it looming. He was brooding, yes, but not pitying himself, nor was he paranoid. Korsten found himself only once beneath the shadow of Merran’s past and it had been a brief moment brought about through seeing Merran in a way no other currently did. Korsten could only wonder if anyone honestly ever had before him. Merran had expressed the possibility, but the topic had been very easily allowed to get away at the time.