Magience: second edition

by Cari Silverwood

Dayna sighed. Cut rope dangled from her wrists. “No war, yet more to kill. I forgive you, girl,” she addressed Ellinca. “I keep you safe too.” She strode forward and scooped up a fallen sword, its blade wet with new blood. She tossed it high, spinning it so fast the blood was flung away in showers of red and the blade made clean.

  The last one of Frope’s five Immolators on the rooftop was going down in a flurry of blows but soon there would be tens, maybe hundreds more. She’d seen how they could climb in the Grakkurd mountains. Blood covered the floor and a foul odor meant that some had wounds through their guts. It all mixed nauseatingly with the scent of the garden’s flowers. Her head swam.

  Frope himself had been backed into a corner and was being roughly tied to some iron fretwork by his wrists. His spectacles were knocked askew, the blue light buzzing about his forehead. He turned and saw her watching and smiled at her with his teeth. Then he spat a great gob at her that landed next to her foot, all his malevolence and hate gathered into one package and sent messily to her.

  Stunned, she looked at him. Aristocrats didn’t spit at people, or so she had thought, but then to him she wasn’t people.

  Humming to herself she slid the bracelet from her arm, tugging experimentally at bits of it until at last she tried the single bronze bead. Then, one after the other, each silver bead snicked-snicked into place, screwing precisely into the previous one and a shining, cone-shaped blade assembled before her eyes. A last silver bead sat at the end of the hilt, sticking out like a tiny drawer. She bent down and, with mouth twisted in distaste, scooped a portion of Frope’s spit into the bead. The bead slid in. She hefted the silver knife and marveled at how this could be the twin to the one that had sought her on the mountain.

  How right that he should be killed by one of these. Holding it betwixt finger and thumb, she drew the poniard back behind her ear, ready to throw. She had hated and feared him for so long.

  Something inside the point of the blade began to purr and vibrate. It wanted to be sent swimming through the air and she couldn’t miss. You hated what you feared, feared what you didn’t understand. And yet she understood him now, she really did. She flung out her arm, her index finger ending up pointing dead-on at Frope...because she too knew how to hate and despise. Still she held the poniard, quivering like a metal eel in her fingers, struggling to get free.

  With understanding came pity and a strange sort of compassion.

  A glimmer of fear flashed in his eyes. Who was she fooling? Stupid. If she wanted to kill him she should walk up and do it. Was she as cowardly as Frope?

  She relaxed her hand, lowered the poniard.

  What was the seer had told her so long ago?

  “Sania sends you her regards.”

  He gawped at that before he bowed slightly, as if a point had been scored. From somewhere behind his shoulder blades his lizard trinketton wriggled into view. Globular red eyes unblinking, it wormed swiftly onto his head and sat there, among the spikes of his hair, regarding her.

  How did she turn this thing off? Holding the squirming poniard with both hands, she pulled and twisted at the bead that formed the point until at last it collapsed, piece-by-piece to once more become a harmless bracelet.

  “I will win, girl. In the end I always do.”

  Ellinca held back an angry reply and, instead replied in an unruffled tone, “No, Mr. Frope, you won’t because you’re a silly little man.” He wasn’t, but saying it made her feel good, especially when he snarled back at her.

  Smiling, she slid the bracelet down her wrist then sighed and flexed her shoulders. It was a relief to not carry all that hate and fear anymore. Gone. As if she had thrown them away instead of the knife. Well, maybe there was still some fear, but there were so many other things to be afraid of now and Frope was way down at the end of the queue of scary things. It wasn’t worth bothering with him anymore.

  “Well-aimed, if ineffective,” commented the Imperator. She jumped. “Now. Go to Sasskia, changeling.” There was an eerily familiar rhythm to his speech. He slid the dagger he’d used on Dayna’s bonds back into an arm sheath. “I hold you to your promise. Heal Sasskia. Trust your gheist guardian.”

  Trust Gangar? What did that mean? Besides, he wasn’t her guardian.

  This attack by Frope altered things. If the Imperator died in the oncoming battle their agreement was made as good as meaningless. The war would continue. She didn’t think there was even time for her to heal Sasskia. She should leave. She wasn’t the Imperator. She should definitely leave, but her thoughts were slow and gray, a deep river from which nothing could surface for long. That this would be her last day...it had become her reality and she found it hard to again think of herself as somebody with a future.

  With solid, steady footsteps someone came up and stopped beside her. Dost – and he had found a dark, hooded burnoose to conceal his face. His arms, though their usual sickly color, were now smooth with muscle as though they had never been hacked away. Why was he here and not with Sasskia?

  “You must let her go before the next wave arrives,” he demanded.

  Uster sighed. A tear tracked slowly down his face. It was as shocking as anything she had seen that day – for the Imperator to cry, to be seen to cry. “Dost. My son. I know that now. I know the truth. I must...apologize for my previous behavior.” The last of his words were awkward in his mouth, as though rarely said.

  “You apologize?” Dost shook his head slowly, incredulous perhaps. He continued, voice cold yet imperceptibly quavering. “Let her go free.”

  “I cannot.” He glanced at her. “She has promised to heal Sasskia.”

  “What? Why, Ellinca? This is...” He held out his hands.

  That secret hadn’t lasted long. An idea bloomed quietly but insistently. That tear has bought you something, Uster. She gnawed her lip. She could do it, if she was careful. They needed time. Well, she might make that time.

  Without blinking, wide-eyed, she looked directly at Dost. “I have found a way to heal you somewhat...without hurting myself, and there will enough time for me to then heal Sasskia.”

  He stopped dead, and looked at her as if there was some answer written on her face. “If this is true, it’s...” He shook his head, mouth half-open.

  “It’s true, and I can prove it. Quickly. Tell me this. Does the war-suit still work?”

  The Imperator frowned. “All but the helmet. On the death of their creator...”

  “Yes, yes, I know that. So there is some power left over? It’s not been used, has it? Dost. Kneel here.”

  Somewhat reluctantly he did so.

  “Just one thing, if this works, people may not see you as inhuman anymore. Promise me you’ll try to make a life for yourself.”

  A furrow formed between his eyes. “I will, but – I won’t let you do this if you’ve lied about the cost to you.”

  “I’m not.” For once she blessed the lessons in body signs Pascolli, poor Pascolli, had given her – how to lie with your body even when your brain knew otherwise. She gently pushed back the burnoose, baring his disfigured face and placed both hands flat against his cheeks. The distorted strangeness of the bludvoik shook her. She took a breath, held it, squeezed shut her eyes.

  There was healing without harming herself, and there was healing without harming herself, visibly. Anatomy was her favorite hobby. Where to do it? A kidney perhaps. She must be able to walk to Sasskia afterward.

  Ellinca sent the change spreading outward like a ripple on an ocean, going fractions of an inch deep, sweeping the decay before it, spreading, spreading, until one edge met the other and came sweeping back across his skin, making utterly certain that all of his skin was human, and pure Burgla’le. She found it so hard to stop herself from continuing. But she did so.

  When she opened her eyes she found that Dost had clamped his hands about her wrists, ready to pull her away no doubt, if things had gone wrong. A burst of pain in her left side made her gasp.

  “What?” He peered at her, suspiciou
s, almost angry. “You said it wouldn’t hurt you.”

  Did he care that much? Ellinca wrestled the pain down to a dull throb in the background. “I did, it’s just that you look so different. I’m sorry, Dost, but...it’s just your skin, that’s all I could spare.”

  And suddenly she wanted so much to go back and change him completely except it was clear that the cost of that was more than he would allow.

  Ah, and what a difference it made. Here before her was a young man. Inside, bludvoik, but the outside, to the depth of a fraction of an inch, was human. She smiled tentatively at him while, at the same time pulling away to stand a yard back. No time for mere emotions. Yet she smiled again, hands on her hips and couldn’t help the smile turning into a grin – not bad, not bad at all. Yes. This was the right way to go. He was...young...younger than she had thought. Hardly older than herself – nineteen, twenty maybe.

  Oh. Though his hair had been longer, this was the man in her dreams. Of course. She bit her lip and shoved away the silly emotions that had welled up at that realization.

  He stared at his bare arms. “Thank you. This is a gift beyond anything...”

  Uster cleared his throat. “I see what you have done, Ellinca. I too thank you. I thank you more than anyone could imagine.”

  He knew, of course. He knew everything...what she’d really done to herself. Today the truth was his and yet he said nothing to Dost.

  The shroud of his previous authority was settling over him. He was the Imperator. For the first time she found herself wondering how far the truth might take someone who had the almost unlimited power of the Burgla’le Empire behind him. Did truth equate to honesty? The world seemed to twist under her, and she couldn’t change anything now, could she? It was done. He was an auratrist and an Imperator merged into one.

  “Dost,” he ordered, moving away from the throne. “You must put on the war-suit.”

  Slowly Dost turned to her. “Is this what you intended?”

  She shot a look at Uster before turning to Dost. “Yes. You are stronger than an ordinary man and I think the warsuit must sense the makeup of skin. It should see you as a Burgla’le. Then again, I could be wrong.” Oh, I hope not.

  “You are not wrong,” said Uster. “It is a truth.”

  Dost barely hesitated.

  On each of the sections of the warsuit there was a place that, when pressed, made pieces snick open. Once a few were pressed the rest began to unfold by themselves until the entire suit had opened. He stepped within and sat. There was a series of clicks and subtle whirrs and thunks, and he was swallowed up with only his head still bare.

  It was rather like a caterpillar going into a cocoon, though a more disturbing image overwhelmed her – that of a man lying back in a coffin. Dost got smoothly to his feet, shaking the floor as he did so, and she tilted back her head to observe as he rose – now a full yard taller than his father, a black-and-golden colossus of armor, with fingers clawed like reaping hooks.

  The dark tones of the sunset moved like oil across the metal.

  “They are here,” he cried.

  As if a swarm of insects drew near there was a crescendo of clicking and shuffling, then the first of the new Immolators burst onto the rooftop. She saw an old enemy, the lieutenant – and his eyes glittered with an Immolator’s brittle intensity.

  He grinned when he saw her.

  “We have help,” announced Uster. Twenty or so new guards raced past to throw themselves at the attackers. Most went down like corn before the scythe.

  “Can you hold them?” she yelled to Dost. “Can you stop them?”

  “I don’t know! You must go! Now!” In a grinding explosion of dust he wrenched loose a marble column, leapt forward and swept six men from the roof. They flew for a moment as if shot from a catapult. Another swipe and three more went skyward, but already some climbed upon the warsuit – seeking a point of weakness. He shook them off, stamping one Immolator flat to the floor. It made a bloody mess.

  She swallowed back a surge of nausea, whispered, “Take care.”

  As she passed the Imperator he spoke to her. “You have one hour or less, if he wins. Hurry. Please.”

  She heard a soldier come up to the Imperator, begging him to retreat down into the palace.

  “No, they will take the lower floors as well. I would if I were them. In any case, I would rather die up here, under the sky than boxed in by walls. We stay and fight.”

  No one escorted her. All were too busy fighting or dying, or both. She prayed Dayna was still alive. Thollemew Smythe lay next to the throne, unattended and unremarked, just another of the many dead among the chaos of this battle.

  At the top of the stairs she halted, rocking on her feet. It was one thing agreeing to go, yet another knowing which way. Then she set off, flying ’round each landing as fast as she could until, mercifully, she recognized the hallway. She was behind the audience chamber. From here she could find the entrance to the zoo, and thence to Sasskia.

  When the first sealed door was in sight Gangar appeared at her side, walking up to her from a side corridor as if he knew she would come. Mogg trotted next to him on his six legs.

  “I see you’ve decided to stick with six,” she said to him. “Sometimes it’s good to make your mind up and stick with it. I have.”

  She wasn’t going to falter in her course, not now. Ellinca unlocked the first door to the zoo then the second, pushing it open and staring out across the broad expanse of the zoo. She didn’t have far to go. Sasskia was there in front of her, sitting on her picnic blanket, before the low wall of a hedge. Her hair was neatly brushed, her hands folded in her lap. Fresh daisies were gathered in her skirt.

  Ellinca drew in a long, shaky breath and walked to her.

  “I’m sorry,” Sasskia said. “I think I may have frightened you last time we met.” Today she was again making sense. The crazies hadn’t kicked in.

  “It’s okay. I’m getting used to this sort of thing.” Ellinca squatted on the grass. It was true in a way. Weeks ago she would have been terrified by what she faced, by what was happening on the rooftop. Now...she just felt tired, and kind of numb. What would be would be.

  Gangar nudged her hand and that strange thrill flittered through her. She knew it immediately.

  The ghosts were back. Of course. Sasskia was the focus of all their anger. How they must want her to die and here she was aiming to rescue her. She flexed her fingers. Soon. Once she touched her it would begin. How would it feel to let all of her life force run out of her until she was dead, dead...dead. She bowed her head, praying it would not be painful. It was worth it. Like knocking over dominos: save Sasskia, and so then Dost was saved, then the Imperator, then save those who might otherwise die in the war – worth it by miles.

  “When do the moons rise?” she asked.

  “Hours yet. Late tonight. I can see...purpose in you, Ellinca, and determination. Thollemew came here. He said you were going to refuse to help me because it would kill you. I had resigned myself. Do you mean to... Can you...” The hope in her voice was plain.

  “Yes.” She looked Sasskia in the eye. “I will heal you.”

  “Oh the gods... Pardon my blasphemy! And this will not harm you?”

  “It will.”

  She blinked a few times.

  “It will kill me.”

  “Oh!” She scrambled to her feet. “Then do not do it! How can you...”

  Why were they so goodie-goodie? It was...nice, but she still felt like screaming. It was her decision. “Sasskia, if you are healed thousands who would die – not just your father – thousands, will live. I do this with all my heart behind it. Don’t stop me, please. We must do this!”

  Sasskia paused a moment before slowly nodding.

  Though she no longer touched Gangar she still felt them around her – the ghosts. Pushing and pushing. The pressure of the thousand stares finally overcame her. “Wait one moment,” she told Sasskia, holding up a finger.

  How could she
explain to ghosts that what she did was right, when they couldn’t talk, or even hear her? What did the Grakks do? Some sort of meditation?

  Ellinca turned then gasped. She had expected to see many of them...but this...they had all merged into one huge amorphous shape filled with those hundreds of pairs of eyes and it stretched out in a long arc before her – possibly the ghost of every animal Sasskia had ever transformed and thereby slain. It was akin to staring down an avalanche as it fell toward her. Her very soul felt the force of it. She stood there, shocked, numb and in awe.

  Her eyes sought out the one separate form at the very back. There stood Pascolli. He should not be here. The others were here because what happened to Sasskia in some way completed their lives, but Pascolli? He must be following her... Why?

  She was distracting herself from what needed to be done. Ellinca spread her arms. “I – ”

  This was useless. What could she say? The answer hit her. They were animals. They weren’t here for revenge. Animals never sought revenge. It was a human concept. Balance, justice, the equilibrium between good and bad, whatever one called it – that was why they were here.

  She lowered her arms. If they didn’t want Sasskia to die, they must be here to watch her be healed – a single good act to balance a thousand bad ones? However that added up, and it didn’t seem to – unless her math was worse than she thought – it sent a warm glow of satisfaction flowing through her. Yes. She was right to do this.

  This time, she knew what to say. “Thank you.” Though none of the eyes seemed to acknowledge her words, she felt at peace. She turned toward Sasskia then at the last second, raised her hand and stared at her fingers. There was a way to talk.

  With slow precise finger movements, she signed to Pascolli. “Thank you for being here. I will join you soon.”

  She frowned in puzzlement. Never had she seen a ghost wave its arms like that, or jump up and down. Ah. Fingers – there were no distinct fingers on ghosts. It came to her in a chilling flash. He was using his arms to sign. He continued to wave. If she assumed that was...and that was... Her eyes widened. He was saying, “No.” Over and over.