A Chorus of Fire

by Brian D. Anderson

  She waved her right hand in a figure eight, left palm up. “Enax Mitora. Mon Tsu Mon.”

  The brick shook slightly, its gray color turning bright blue. She kept the image of a block of wood in her mind, picturing its transformation. There was a dull thud, and the floor jumped as if a giant boot had stomped right in front of her. Tiny shards of stone struck her cheek and chest as the brick burst in a flash of red light; one barely missed her right eye.

  Her face felt as if it had been stung by wasps. Three thin trickles of blood crawled to her chin and dripped onto her lap. She didn’t care about the pain, and the wounds would be healed in a matter of minutes. Belkar’s magic would not allow her to remain injured, a fact she’d learned after a similar occurrence on the first day. She simply stared at the blackened stain on the floor in white-knuckled fury.

  Wiping her face with her sleeve, she stood and started to the dining room. As always, the food was waiting as if the magic itself knew when she was hungry. Jerking back a chair, she snatched up a plate and carelessly grabbed at the offerings, paying no attention to what she chose. It all tasted the same anyway. Bland and tough.

  She let out a self-deprecating laugh. “Listen to you complain. Your belly is about to be full and you’re not out in the cold. Stop whining, you spoiled little brat.”

  She carved off a piece of what looked like roast pork and washed it down with a mouthful of wine. At least the wine wasn’t tasteless, she thought, then scolded herself again for complaining. She held up a bit of the pork on the end of her fork and stared at it. A tiny smile pushed up slowly. Lem would be complaining endlessly. If there was one thing that would put him in a sour mood, it was a bad meal.

  Shemi had been a fantastic cook, and so was his mother. Lem wasn’t bad himself, actually; better than Mariyah. They had agreed that once married, the kitchen was his domain. Lem’s family might not have been the wealthiest in Vylari, but their table was certainly one of the finest. So much that her father, who fancied himself a good cook, would often see to it that Mariyah would bring home a recipe or two when she would go to visit.

  At the manor, the fare was magnificent, and she had discovered hundreds of dishes unknown in Vylari, though she could never appreciate them in the way Lem would have.

  “Good food is like good music,” he’d said once, when they had taken a trip north to attend her cousin’s wedding. Sadly, her mother had insisted on doing most of the cooking and was less than gifted in a kitchen.

  She recalled looking at him with mild amusement at what to her was a silly statement. “So you plan to eat your balisari?”

  He’d reached over and playfully poked her ribs. “I mean it. A good meal can make you feel safe, happy, excited. Or it can remind you of people you’ve lost, or good times long past. A fine meal is more than something to fill your belly. It fills your soul.”

  She never could see food as he did in this respect. But it was one of the things that made him unique. And she did understand to a point; she had similar feelings regarding wine. But all passions are different, she mused.

  A thought was forming, like an itch just out of reach, but would not take shape fully. She continued to stare at the pork, her brow creased in effort. Something she was just thinking … why is the food bland? And why is the wine good?

  After a few minutes, she stood and walked slowly around the table, examining each morsel. The answer was here. She could feel it. The third time she circled the table, she stopped short.

  “No. It can’t be that simple.”

  Mariyah closed her eyes and concentrated. Magic raced through her body in a short burst of energy. She picked up a piece of spiced potato and popped it into her mouth. The flavor of garlic and salted butter washed over her tongue as if a dam had burst. Laughter erupted uncontrollably, to the point that tears flowed.

  “That’s it!” she shouted.

  She ran from the room back into the gallery and retrieved one of the small bricks piled near to the corridor she’d been using for practice. The book was still right where she had thrown it. Taking a seat on the floor, Mariyah opened the book to the proper page and ran her index finger over the text. The individual words fell away, revealing a hidden meaning beneath. Invisible to the eye, but clear as day if you used … the spirit. The magic within.

  She placed the brick on the floor and took several long, cleansing breaths. For a moment she stretched out her hands, then paused and folded them in her lap. No. There was no need for that.

  The magic she had once called up with her mind and body now coursed through her, flowing like blood in her veins. It reached out from her center, spreading into every extremity, as a single image slowly materialized within her mind.

  Pieces of the brick began to fall away a miniscule grain at a time, gathering as dust on the floor. Bit by bit, a shape was taking form. The color of the stone went from gray to a deep brown, and when Mariyah was satisfied her creation was ready, she extended one hand. An unnecessary gesture, but she didn’t care. Her fingers snapped, and there was a low, breathy hiss. It was done.

  She reached out and carefully picked up her creation, gingerly feeling the texture. The scent of wood that reached her nostrils confirmed her success. She jerked her head around to look at the room where Belkar slept and nearly called out, the need to share her accomplishment threatening to get the better of her.

  Time fell away unnoticed as she stared at the object, her heart filled to bursting. By artisan standards, it wasn’t what would be considered masterful. But that didn’t matter. She had transmuted stone into wood. And it was real. The four-inch-tall figurine was a near likeness of Lem—at least near enough so she could recognize him—standing with hands on his hips, legs planted wide, and smiling as if to welcome her home. Exactly as she’d imagined it.

  Mariyah placed the figurine on the floor amidst the dusty remnants of the stone and pushed herself to her feet. She was loath to leave it behind, but despite her hatred for Belkar, she wanted him to see it the moment he woke.

  The thrill of her success made sleep difficult. The sheer joy of uncovering a mystery that had eluded the Thaumas for ages was filling her with the urge to shout to the world and tell everyone what she had done. Felistal would be speechless, as would Loria.

  Belkar would see this as being a step closer to reaching his goal—whatever that might be. But for Mariyah, it was a step closer to victory. She would not allow herself to despair again. Belkar was clever, but she did not believe his claim of immortality. He had limits, and that meant he was vulnerable. All she had to do was figure out his weaknesses. And in that, she possessed talent in abundance.

  * * *

  The morning came, though Mariyah only knew this due to the relative brightness of the orbs on the ceiling. Belkar had explained that they mimicked the sun so as not to upset her natural sleep patterns.

  After a quick wash, she dressed and entered the gallery. Predictably, Belkar was awake and waiting, though rather than sitting cross-legged on the floor with a brick at his feet, he was standing with the figurine in his hands, wearing a sly grin.

  Mariyah walked straight past him with barely a glance into the dining room. Breakfast was laid out as usual, only when she took a bite of her eggs, they were just how she liked them. The sausage and onions were tangy, with precisely the right amount of salt blended in.

  “Enjoying your meal?”

  Belkar was standing in the doorway, still holding her creation.

  “Very much,” she replied, through a mouthful of excellent porridge. “A pity you don’t eat.” She had noticed by the second day that he was not taking meals, the apple he ate as they climbed the mountain the last thing she’d seen him have.

  “I don’t eat with you,” he said. “But I do eat. And now that you’ve taken the next step, I can join you if you’d like.”

  “Actually no. I would not.”

  Belkar chuckled and turned to leave. “I’ll be waiting outside. We still have much to accomplish.”

  M
ariyah was eager to continue, but would not allow Belkar to see her excitement. She took her time with breakfast, relaxing for a few minutes before leaving the table.

  Back in the gallery, Belkar was sitting in his customary spot, a new brick and the book on the floor in front of him and the figurine in his lap. Mariyah sat facing him, struggling to contain her smile.

  “So you finally understand what I was trying to tell you,” Belkar said. He gave Mariyah the figurine. “This wouldn’t be Lem, would it?”

  “Does it matter?”

  Belkar shrugged. “Not in the slightest. But it is curious that you conjured the image in such detail.”

  Mariyah set it aside and folded her hands in her lap. “I don’t want to talk about Lem.”

  “Then we won’t.” He gave her the book. “What are you holding?”

  “Hope.”

  Belkar looked surprised to hear this. “Indeed? And what do you see when you open it?”

  “Freedom.”

  “And the words?”

  “Threads.”

  “Interesting. So you do not see it as I do.”

  “You thought I would?”

  He rested his chin on his hand and regarded her for a long, thoughtful moment. “I thought you might. The food, I hoped, would be the catalyst that would help make the connection. But I thought perhaps once the connection was made, you might envision magic as I do. For me, it is truth and power. You, however … your mind sees it in the same way as…” He waved a hand. “It doesn’t matter. That you made the connection does. Tell me what you have learned.”

  Mariyah considered this for a few seconds. Her heart knew the answer, but putting it into words was difficult. “You asked the same question I heard asked of a student. Not in the same way, but the meaning was the same. He was asked: What is magic?”

  “And you knew the answer?”

  “I did. Magic is something different to each of us. For him, it was a way to make his father proud.”

  “Yes. But do you know what it is?”

  “That’s just it. I don’t need to know. I doubt there’s one true answer. And if there were, it would be beyond my understanding.” Belkar’s head was nodding approvingly. “The best we can do is to understand what magic means to us individually. That was his answer. And mine.”

  “And what brought you to connect this with the food?”

  “Spices.”

  Belkar cocked his head. “Spices?”

  “The food was practically tasteless. You created the substance but not the essence. The experience of a fine meal is lost on you. I would go so far as to say that beauty in any form is.”

  Belkar stiffened ever so slightly. “That’s not true.”

  Mariyah had not known what she would say. But with each word, the truth was becoming ever more apparent. “But it is. I see that now. You see beauty in power. The small joys are lost for you. You said you hoped the food would help me make the connection, and it did. But not in the way you expected.”

  She was no longer speaking to Belkar but to herself, eyes downcast, head tilted to one side. “You thought I would see the power in the ability to feed the starving. To alleviate the pain of others. You knew that would drive me to accept your lessons.” She laughed softly. “But in the end, it was love and beauty—something you have forgotten—that was the key. The taste of spices; the sweet scent of a flower.” She picked up the figurine. “The likeness of someone you love. I doubt you could make this, despite all your power. Could you?”

  Belkar’s unease was betrayed by the tremor in his voice. “Perhaps not. But do not think you know me. I have loved more deeply than any mortal could. Even you.”

  “I think you believe that. But it’s not true. All the power in Lamoria will never be enough for you. Because you lack the capacity to enjoy it, you will always feel the need for more.” She met his gaze. “You want to know how I did it? How I was able to make sense of your lessons? It was when I realized how wrong you were. You think the chants and hand movements unnecessary. And in a way, I suppose they are. But they’re an expression. A song and a dance meant to convey thought and emotion. That’s why I see the words as threads rather than a barrier, as you do.”

  Belkar flicked his wrist and exhaled sharply. “A thread, a barrier. You speak as if you understand magic and all its mysteries through a single accomplishment.”

  “No. I realize I still have much to discover. But looking at you now, I also realize you have nothing to teach me.”

  Belkar sneered. “You altered the taste, but cannot create the substance. You would starve without my power.”

  “Then I’d starve. And your plans would fail. A fair trade.”

  For a moment, it looked as if Belkar would lash out. “I don’t need you to accomplish my goal,” he said, forcing calm into his tone. “But you might be correct that I have nothing more to teach you … for now. You know what you need to aid me.” He rose, his expression a stony, emotionless mask. “Which leaves me only one more piece to put into place.”

  “Surely by now you know I’d rather die than help you.”

  “I underestimated you. I do not deny it. Though you’re guilty of the same sin. You think you have stripped me bare; revealed my heart; weakened me somehow. But all you have done is shown me that I was right to choose you.”

  Smoke rose from the figurine. Mariyah cast it away and jumped up just as it burst into flames. The smoke gathered into a sphere several feet above the ground, growing until it was roughly six feet in diameter, leaving behind a small pile of ashes.

  A petty spite, she thought.

  The smoke began to swirl, changing to a deep crimson.

  “What are you doing?” Mariyah demanded.

  Belkar smiled. “You’ll see soon enough.”

  The smoke rose higher until it almost touched the ceiling, then dissipated like a mist in a strong wind.

  Mariyah felt a knot in the pit of her stomach. Belkar gave her a sideways bow and started for his room.

  Why couldn’t you keep your fool mouth shut? You had to provoke him, didn’t you? You had to let your anger rob you of common sense.

  She was playing right into his hands. There was no question. Whatever final piece he needed, he would soon have it. The fury she had elicited had been too quickly replaced by satisfied confidence. Even if she had uncovered a layer of who Belkar was, it was at the expense of revealing herself in return.

  The walls of defeat were closing in. And she could do nothing to prevent it.

  24

  A SHADOW FALLS

  Wrath is the blade that slays both hunter and hunted.

  Nivanian Proverb

  “Please. I’ve done nothing wrong.”

  Lord Mytarius Vumar, the sniveling lump of a man cowering in the corner of his den, stared up at the instrument of his death, his feet shoving against the rug as if to press his body through to the other side of the wall paneling. But he had run as far as he could. There was nowhere else to go.

  “Confess,” Lem said, his vysix dagger in one hand and a long serrated blade in the other, “and it will be painless. Lie, and you will die screaming.”

  “My family,” he begged. “They need me.”

  This was a lie. His wife had left him a year ago, and his children were grown and had fortunes of their own. “Where is Landon Valmore?”

  “I don’t know. No one does. He disappeared weeks ago.”

  This much was true. No one knew where he’d gone. Only why. “How long ago did you join him?”

  “Who? I don’t know what you’re talking about. Please. I’m telling you the truth.”

  He wasn’t. Lem had been extremely careful that all the names on his list were correct. He would not spill innocent blood if it could be avoided. And this vile excuse for a man was certainly not innocent. “So you know those people?”

  With trembling hands, he held up the paper. Recognition was clearly written on his horror-stricken face. “I was forced to serve him. You think I had a choice
?”

  “I understand,” Lem said, his tone soothing, as if he were calming a skittish horse. “I really do. You’re no fighter.”

  Vumar nodded hysterically. “Yes. Exactly. They would have killed me.”

  “Tell me one thing. What did you think would happen upon Belkar’s return? What were you promised?”

  He hesitated before sobbing a reply. “That I would live forever.”

  “And do you still want that?” Lem asked, with a sympathetic smile.

  His body jerked as he wept loudly into his hands. “No.”

  “Do you regret your choices?”

  “Yes.”

  Lem put away the serrated blade. “Then you are forgiven.”

  The man looked up, his eyes red and swollen. “Thank you.”

  Lem nodded, kneeling just at arm’s length. The man recoiled, and Lem held up his empty hand. “Don’t be afraid. Close your eyes. And when you open them, I’ll be gone.”

  After a brief moment of doubt, Lord Vumar complied. A tiny flick of the wrist, and it was done. Lem waited until the body had relaxed and slid down the wall onto its side before standing. He plucked the tear-stained list from the hand of his victim and, smoothing it out a bit, put it in his pocket.

  Lem turned to leave. It had been a long night, and he was tired. The two other of Belkar’s followers he had visited had been more of a challenge to hunt down. One had barricaded himself in his bedchamber. The second was able to call guards to his aid, forcing Lem to incapacitate them before moving in. Only ten more names to go. Then the city would be purged.

  The additional security made Lem’s exit from the manor take almost an hour. This time he’d gained entry without incident. Lord Vumar did not like guards wandering around his halls, thinking it just as secure were he to place twice the number outside. A rational decision under most circumstances, but not when the assassin coming for you can shadow walk.

  The streets were teeming with city guards, but Lem had planned his route carefully and was able to reach the carriage well before dawn without being seen. Since the killings had started, no one walked the streets unless they had no choice. This fear had presented Lem with the means needed to pass in and out of the city proper without drawing attention.