by T. A. Miles
A short-lived panic stirred beneath Cayri’s skin in that instant, where the governor’s personality seemed to alter. It didn’t change so much as it felt reinterpreted. In that moment she wondered if she’d read his state wrong and he was possessed after all. Yet, there was something about it that felt different. She began to think about Korsten and Merran’s account of the Vadryn they’d come across, but as she listened to Tahrsel speaking she noticed that his words carried a heavier accent than they had before. Demons had no regional dialect or tongue; one would not affect an accent onto their vessel nor would they suppress it. The mouth and tongue would move as it was accustomed to moving. A demon took over the host’s instincts, they did not displace them.
“Get out of here,” the governor commanded. “And consider yourself fortunate … to not be arrested..”
His words faltered somewhat, as if he were running out of breath and he stepped back. The chair in his path prompted him to sit and he did, dropping into the seat as if he had no more strength left to him.
Cayri approached him carefully, pausing when he coughed and waved her away adamantly.
“Go,” he started to say, but then began to wheeze. He slumped over more in his chair, stiffening at the same time.
Cayri went to him, catching his hand in both her own when he tried to ward her back once more. “Governor,” she said, leaning over him. “I’m here to help you.”
His eyes slid in her direction half lidded while his head lolled. Healing was one of her talents, linked to red, and she took advantage of that immediately, performing a spell via contact which moved into the man’s blood, seeking to regulate. Lines of Emergence emblems flushed to visibility along some of her fingers, making paths toward her wrists.
The governor’s body had begun to stiffen and yet move erratically, particularly in his limbs. Cayri took note and continued with the only spell of Healing she knew, a spell which enabled her to calm a body and hopefully stabilize it, in some cases preventing injury. Mending actual damage was for mages of Merran’s talent. It was likely that his presence would yet be required.
Cayri gently squeezed her hands around the governor’s, then stroked her fingertips from his thumb down to his wrist, applying minimal pressure there. The soft light emitting from her skin pulsed almost imperceptibly, with an irregular rhythm at first, but then it leveled to a steady pattern while Tahrsel’s body relaxed. He appeared unconscious, but his breathing was steady now.
As her concentration on the spell subsided, she became alert to a new tension in the room and she looked over her shoulder at Deitir, standing in the doorway. His pained expression brought harshness to his features that was tempered immediately by the moisture gathered in his dark eyes.
“He’s alive,” Cayri assured him and watched a bead of that moisture escape, running a clear line down his young face.
Deitir held his expression tightly, causing his frown to quiver. The arrival of his mother brought him to a more controlled state immediately and he even released some of his tension on a quick breath as he intercepted Ilayna. He repeated Cayri’s words to his mother, which seemed to alleviate the panic that might have had the woman running across the room a moment before.
“What happened?” she asked, leaning into her son, a gesture which may have provided them both with support.
“I don’t know,” Cayri admitted. “I’ve stabilized him for now.”
“Will he be all right?” Ilayna asked next.
Again, Cayri didn’t know, but she chose to say, “I believe he will be. He needs rest and a physician.”
Ilayna nodded. “I’ll send for one.”
The lady moved from her son’s side, leaving Deitir to join Cayri in relocating the governor from his office to his bed.
In light of the journals, Irslan had insisted that Stacen take him to his uncle if he knew where he was. He assumed that the man did and determined also that he had been in communication with him consistently in the last two decades. Whether or not he was, Stacen refused to be of further assistance by taking his leave and retiring from his service, which was all just as well. Irslan would have dismissed him for such blatant deception and disobedience anyway. Well, he harbored no real ill will against the man, but at the moment he had one goal and damn Stacen for introducing it to him and then abandoning him. It was clear that something about this entire affair made Stacen nervous. Irslan tried to think back on the man’s behavior as long as he’d been in the house. He tried deciding that Stacen’s strangeness was anxiety over current affairs that had been pending for too long. The conclusion wouldn’t hold. Stacen had always been that way, since before it would have made sense for him to be conspiring anything with anyone. It was the death of Irslan’s father that had set their household off and, sadly, it was probably some scheme of his uncle that had involved Stacen in business the man probably had no taste for.
Irslan went to Konlan. He’d been a friend and advocate on behalf of Indhovan and the war’s end as long as Irslan had known him. It was disconcerting to have read of his uncle’s distrust and blame where Konlan was concerned, but perhaps there would be a sensible explanation and they had his uncle’s information from the journals to deal with. Their situation was much worse than any of them had anticipated. Obviously, they couldn’t rearrange past events. The time lost was indeed quite gone, but they had to better assist the mages and themselves. They were waiting for an attack that had already begun. Worse, they’d been debating the likeliness of it. His uncle had uncovered vital evidence of invasion and had been led to feel abandoned and isolated. It seemed clear that someone wanted him to feel that way and to cripple his relationship with the Seminary. The mages had been lied to and Indhovan was left unattended except by the blind fools like Irslan and his colleagues, operating under a false sense of security.
It was only the recent clarity of the murders and disappearances that had inspired them to proper action. Even Irslan in the last twenty years had communicated none of the urgency to Ceth, because he was not aware until lately that a true threat was so imminent. He had let himself believe that the war was being handled at the borders, that they had nothing to fear so far away and that if they were patient they would eventually learn of the war’s end. He believed that many of his peers had come to the same lulled state.
Lulled was the operative word in that chain of thought. Lulled by whom? Irslan intended to find out so that they could set things right with their allies and work together to spare Indhovan a horrific defeat at the hands of murderers.
His determination and energy was forcibly tempered, however, by being made to wait on his friend. It was unlike Konlan to be so slow to respond to a visit, but there was nothing for it save to be patient. Irslan had spent the first several minutes pacing with pent enthusiasm and now he sat on the edge of a plush bench with his chin balanced in one hand, his mind running impotently through the silence.
Servants were seeing to house affairs in nearby rooms. Irslan considered going to have one of them rouse Konlan again, but he resisted and eventually his friend greeted him with a typical smile that set Irslan immediately at ease.
“The hour grows late, my friend,” Konlan said while Irslan was rising to meet him. “I had planned to retire for the evening. Forgive my delay.”
“I apologize for the lateness, but there’s been an urgent discovery,” Irslan explained.
Konlan’s expression faltered. Honestly, he looked exhausted. “Urgent in what way?”
“My uncle has taken his leave of his prison, for one,” Irslan explained. “And for another, it would appear that his past communications with the Seminary were corrupted.”
Konlan frowned with interest. “Corrupted?”
Irslan nodded. “Either that or he’d abandoned his senses.”
His friend seemed to consider the information for a moment, then invited Irslan to accompany him from the parlor. Irslan went with him t
hrough the shared door which led to the study. Along the way, Konlan said, “You’ll forgive me for pointing out that I believed it was established that your uncle had abandoned his senses. That was why Tahrsel put him away.”
“Yes, yes,” Irslan said, somewhat wearily as he was now tired of considering the possibility. “To protect others and himself, but we both know there was some retaliation involved on Tahrsel’s part.”
“We do?” Konlan replied, and it surprised Irslan a little to hear that.
“Well….” Irslan hesitated, particularly as they came to the study chairs and his friend passed a look over his shoulder that seemed to suggest there was nothing to discuss on the subject. Still, Irslan insisted, “Yes.”
With a mildly vexed quirk of the lips, Konlan invited him to sit.
“Konlan,” Irslan began.
His friend gestured to the chairs again, insisting that Irslan take one, which he did, but not without an irritated frown of his own.
“Something to drink?” Konlan asked in the process of going to get one.
Irslan shook his head while he contemplated his sudden feeling of antagonism in his current situation, but he accepted the offer anyway with a simple, “Thank you.”
Konlan set about pouring them each something. He waited until he had completed the task—perhaps to give Irslan a moment to compose his thoughts—before speaking again. Bringing the glasses over and handing one to Irslan, he said, “Your uncle is escaped.”
Irslan accepted the drink and the statement with a nod.
“You’re beside yourself now with a sudden sense of inaction,” his friend said next, drawing Irslan’s gaze up to him. “You’ve put off doing anything on behalf of your uncle—by his wishes, no doubt—for the last twenty years, but now he’s active again and you wish to be as well. You feel remiss for having not acted sooner.”
Irslan considered Konlan’s assessment. Of course, it seemed perfectly reasonable. Setting his drink aside, Irslan said, “But it’s more than that. I’ve read his journals.”
“Journals?” Konlan inquired, not quite as lightly as it seemed when he punctuated the inquiry with a sip from his glass.
“Yes,” Irslan continued. “He’d left several for me to discover. Why he didn’t have Stacen simply give them to me immediately, I….”
“Stacen?” Konlan interrupted. “That quiet, odd fellow under your employ?”
Stacen’s manner was irrelevant, Irslan decided and dismissed the question with a simple nod. “He was under instruction from Vaelyx to present the journals to me … apparently whenever the time was considered appropriate. Or maybe the instructions had been pending until Vaelyx lately made good his escape and was able to properly relay them.”
“Or could it be that Stacen is involved in some conspiracy of his own?”
The suggestion caused Irslan to audibly scoff. “Stacen? The man’s been a friend of my family since I was a boy.” As he spoke the words, Irslan regretted their parting earlier and hoped the man would come back when circumstances had quieted somewhat. Thinking about it, he was certain that Stacen would have gone to find Vaelyx, as his loyalty had begun with Irslan’s uncle and father. Perhaps he should have simply dismissed the man, then followed him.
“How much do you actually know of him?” Konlan persisted.
Irslan dismissed the topic. “No, Konlan. I firmly believe that you’re mistaken in that. Whatever conspiracy exists in this city, a man like Stacen is not the instigator, nor is he a danger. I refuse to believe that.”
Konlan surrendered with a shrug and a space of silence.
Before that silence could carry too far, Irslan said, “In his writing my uncle seemed to believe that you made yourself an obstacle between him and Tahrsel.”
Konlan looked at him, and it was in that moment where his gray-green eyes sat directly with Irslan’s gaze and his mouth tensed just so … and where he blinked, looked elsewhere and deliberately swallowed some of his drink that Irslan realized the statement had been made experimentally. He’d seen what he wanted to see. He felt like he had new vital information of some kind, but he was unsure how to decipher it just yet, or even what he should do with it. In the extended stillness that passed, he wondered if he’d really only succeeded in offending his friend, and if he should leave.
“Your uncle and I,” Konlan began, holding Irslan to his seat, “have never seen eye to eye. I will admit that to you now, Irslan. You know that Raiss and I are family. I’ve always looked up to my cousin and as a very young man I wanted to become like him—stern and determined, yet adventurous and charismatic. From the perspective of a very young man, I felt that Vaelyx stepped in and stole my cousin from me, who was like a brother. I have to say that it poisoned our relations somewhat.”
Irslan listened patiently, believing that he was hearing truth from his friend. It made him regret what he said to some extent, though this was something he now felt that he should have heard long ago.
Again, Konlan lifted his shoulders. “But Raiss never disregarded me. He appointed me with station and has always listened to my concerns.” He gestured to Irslan with his glass. “Our concerns. For Indhovan … for the Islands … for peace and a prosperous future.”
“Which my uncle was also after,” Irslan pointed out.
Konlan nodded. “Yes, but he served the Old Kingdom. He was an Alliance informant first.”
Irslan failed to see how that mattered at first, but reminded himself of the isolationist theories of some of his fellow activists. “You also welcomed the Seminary’s agents,” he said. “You admitted at our last meeting that it was time to reach outside of our local resources and accept help willingly from the mages.”
Konlan seemed to hesitate with the way he nodded and said, “I did.”
Somehow that offended Irslan. “Why do I feel as if you’re not helping them?”
With halting abruptness, Konlan threw his glass onto the floor and shouted, “I am doing all that I can! I want them to get those demons out of this city! If you don’t care to believe me because of some toxic notion your servant has put under your skin, then you can get out of my house.”
Irslan had never seen his friend erupt like that. He wished he knew what was actually unnerving him. He wished he believed that they shared the same stress … but he didn’t. “I’m trying to repair our mistake, Konlan. At some point we’ve failed to do what we set out to do. We tried taking matters into our own hands. We’ve been dwelling on a bridge between the past and the future and we’re not letting anyone across … we’re hindering their passage with our stubbornness and our ideals that are—whimsical folly!”
He put volume into the end of his statement as Konlan began shaking his head in argument.
“No,” Konlan said squarely. “We’ve been utilizing tradition to forge a path into a mature and reasonable culture for all of us. The only way that this war will end is if we step away from our reliance on the precise thing mages and demons have been fighting over.”
“Our souls?” Irslan replied, which seemed to halt Konlan in his thoughts. “I know what’s at the core of all of this. And now I wonder why I’ve been acting as if I don’t. Sadly, I feel as if I’ve been confused, willingly, by my own wont for progress—for personal progress, away from the depressing fact that my father and uncle both gave their lives for this war. That should have emboldened me … given me the drive to be an active part of the Alliance, but instead I’ve tried to exist with one foot outside of it as I allowed myself to be lured away.”
“You’re speaking nonsense,” Konlan decided. He drew in a breath and resumed the poise Irslan had always known him for. “It’s late. You’ve made a jarring discovery about your uncle and you want to help him. It’s understandable. Go home and rest, Irslan.”
Irslan hesitated to be dismissed, but at the same time he believed it would be better if he left. Something in Konlan’s b
ehavior and his attitude—the attitude he’d always had and which Irslan had never thought to study or question—instilled distrust and a sense of betrayal that was just beginning to sting.
The pier was less abandoned than the city proper. The sort of business that went on in relation to the ships was apparently not to be halted by suspicion, or even blatant evidence, of demonic activity. Vlas stood at the end of the dock with Imris nearby, watching the dock workers and ship hands tending to their affairs as men and women who understood time as a commodity over a luxury. Vlas and his own peers had a similar understanding. They slept when they could afford to and not until. Granted, the mages’ understanding of years was much different.
His eyes caught one group with particular interest. He was certain he may have recognized a face or two from Konlan’s meeting among a handful of men lingering beside a ship of considerable size. He just began to consider what they may have been up to when someone caught his arm while walking past.
“This way,” came the unmistakable voice of Vaelyx Treir.
Vlas turned as the man’s touch directed, watching him for a few paces before looking back to meet Imris’ gaze. Silently, they communicated their mutual intent to accompany their unlikely guide and did so.
“This area seems awake,” Vlas noted aloud.
“It always has been,” Vaelyx answered, tossing the words succinctly over his shoulder. “All the easier to find victims.”
Yes, it would be.
“I noticed men preparing to board one of the larger ships,” Vlas said next. “Would they also be headed for the Islands, I wonder?”
“On a ship that large, they’re going further,” Vaelyx answered. “Up the coast maybe.”