Lady of Light and Shadows

by C. L. Wilson

  “The Fey do not hunger for power—we never have—but the Mages do. Do not open the borders to Eld. To do so is to usher in your own destruction.”

  Ellysetta crouched, panting. The fiery burn of sel’dor made every muscle tremble, but she forced her pain-wracked hands to move, fingers fumbling beneath her long skirts for the two bloodsworn Fey’cha blades strapped to her calves.

  Her fingers closed round the hilts of both knives and she yanked them free.

  “’Ware!” one of the exorcists cried. “She’s got blades!” He kicked out, catching her manacled hands with the toe of his boot. The two Fey’cha flew out of her hands and skittered across the room.

  Ellysetta scrambled back away from him, her skirts tangling around her legs, hiding her calves and the thin, parallel cuts oozing beads of red blood.

  Bel stood outside the Great Cathedral’s Solarus door with the seemingly effortless stillness of a Fey warrior. Only his eyes moved, scanning the cathedral for the slightest hint of trouble. Beside him, Gaelen vel Serranis did the same.

  At Bel’s back, the utter silence emanating from the Solarus should have reassured him, but instead the tension humming through him intensified. He would have felt considerably better had Ellysetta sent him an occasional thought, just as the quintets stationed around the small island sent an update to him every ten chimes.

  Suddenly every muscle in Bel’s body stiffened. Beside him, Gaelen flinched as well.

  Their eyes met in a fierce look, Fey First Blade to dahl’reisen leader, for once perfectly in accord. They turned in unison, hands raised, magic blazing to life, and loosed a joint five-fold weave powerful enough to turn the door into molten slag.

  A concussion wave blasted back, flinging both of them and the rest of the quintet off their feet and smashing half a dozen pews into sawdust.

  A soundless boom shook the Solarus, making the crystal chandeliers overhead shiver with a series of melodious, tinkling notes. Lauriana cried out in nervous fear.

  The archbishop grabbed the edge of the altar to steady himself. “What was that?”

  Father Bellamy cast a look at the Solarus door. “If I were to guess, I would say the Fey have realized what’s going on in here and are trying to break in.”

  The archbishop blanched and took a nervous step away from the Solarus door. He cast an accusing gaze at Bellamy. “I thought you said they wouldn’t be able to detect the exorcism!”

  “They should not have. But either someone betrayed our plans or this young woman has found a way to breach the holy wards of the Solarus and alert her Fey friends to our presence.”

  The exorcist who’d kicked the Fey’cha out of Ellysetta’s hand flipped back her skirt, baring the shallow, bleeding cuts on her leg. “The blades must have been bloodsworn,” he spat. He shoved back his hood to reveal white-blond hair. “When she cut herself, she sent a call to the Fey who gave them to her.”

  “Let me go,” Ellie urged in a shaking voice. “They’ll kill you all for this. Let me go now, before anyone gets hurt.” She stared hard into her mother’s gaze. “Mama, I know you mean well, but this is wrong. I’m Fey. That’s where my magic comes from, not from demons. I’m not evil. My magic isn’t evil. Please, let me go before something terrible happens.”

  “Should we halt the exorcism?” Lauriana ventured.

  “Where’s your courage, woman?” one of the exorcists demanded. “Your daughter’s soul is at stake. Surely that’s worth a little risk on your part?”

  “Do not fear, Madame Baristani,” Father Bellamy soothed. He cast a repressive scowl at his underling. “The Fey cannot break through. This cathedral’s Solarus was designed to withstand a direct assault by Mage Fire or a five-fold weave.”

  “I’m not concerned about myself, but I have two other children and a husband. There’s nothing to protect them from Fey wrath. Greatfather Tivrest promised me the Fey would not know about the exorcism.”

  “Courage, madam. When we are done, the Fey will see your daughter is whole and unhurt, and they will have no reason to harm your family.” Father Bellamy clasped a comforting hand on Lauriana’s shoulder. “No great duty comes without risk, and saving your daughter’s soul is the duty entrusted to you. Take comfort in knowing the Bright Lord rewards those who serve him with devotion.”

  “My lords,” King Dorian said, addressing the assembled lords, “the time has come to cast your votes. Lord Corrias”—he turned to his prime minister—“begin the roll call.”

  “Yes, Your Majesty.” The prime minister opened his Council records book and turned to the voting logs. “The vote before the Council is the matter of the Eld Trade Agreement. Aye votes will tally in favor of passing the agreement into law. Nay votes will tally in opposition of the agreement. Lord Abelmar, how do you vote?”

  In the upper reaches of the chamber, the young, recently entitled lord of a small fief near Swan’s Bay rose to his feet. “Abelmar votes aye, ser.”

  Bel sat up, rubbing his head. Flames scorch it; that had hurt. He and Gaelen should have put a hole in the wall large enough for a tairen to fly through, but considering the force of the recoil, it felt as though most of the energy had bounced right back at them.

  «Ellysetta, are you all right?» He hauled himself to his feet. And froze in disbelief.

  The Solarus door was not destroyed. It wasn’t even scratched.

  Gaelen growled a string of choice swear words. “The flaming room’s been built to withstand a five-fold weave. It’s warded against magic—and I’ll wager beneath that gold finish, the door’s entirely clad with sel’dor. Walls, too, probably.”

  «Fey! Ti’Feyreisa! Get those weaves down! Call Rain!» Bel flung the command outward to all his men on the cathedral’s small island.

  «Demons!» The cry came back across the common Fey weave. «Rising out of the ground! Dozens of—» The Fey weave dissolved abruptly.

  An icy wind swept through the cathedral, and a faint, sickly sweet smell pervaded the nave. Cold, hissing laughter whispered in the gloom.

  “Ah, krekk,” Kieran muttered.

  “We’ve got company,” Gaelen said. He turned to face the long, shadowy nave, all five magics blazing to life at his fingertips. “Demon.” Narrowed ice-blue eyes scanned the cathedral. “Make that two.”

  Bel’s heart thumped heavily. It was a trap. And with the twenty-five-fold weaves surrounding the island, the Fey had woven their own cage.

  He rapidly channeled every ounce of power he could summon into yet another weave. “Chakor! Five-fold weave, now!”

  Even before he finished the first word, Kieran’s powerful rope of Earth joined Bel’s Spirit. Kiel’s Water spun into the mix, then Fire and Air from Teris and Cyr.

  «There’s an active selkahr crystal by that small altar at the back of the nave,» Gaelen said. «I’ll circle around and destroy it so our friends here don’t invite more company.» The temperature in the room plummeted. “Krekk.”

  “What?”

  “Add one very unfriendly dahl’reisen demon to the mix.” Gaelen swore again. “Don’t speak on the common path. He’ll hear you. I’ve got to smash that crystal. Keep these fellows occupied.”

  Bel nodded. He’d fought demons before in the Mage Wars, but few of those deadly creatures were as dangerous as the spirits of dahl’reisen who’d surrendered their souls into dark service. “Go. We’ll give you what cover we can. And hurry. The Feyreisa needs us.” As Gaelen bolted off, Bel gathered his strength. “Remember, Fey…five-fold weaves only. Steel’s useless. And for the gods’ sake, don’t let them touch you.”

  Bel didn’t wait for the others to acknowledge his words. Two dark shapes gave a hissing screech and shot out of the shadows towards Gaelen. Bel grabbed command of the five-fold weave and flung a burning net to block their path. The demons shrieked as their formless evil sizzled against the shining webs of power.

  «Rain! Bel! Gaelen! Someone help me!» Despite the sel’dor burning against her skin, Ellysetta flung desperate, pleading weave
s of Spirit against all corners of the room, hoping the call might escape through some small chink in the magical cage imprisoning her. “Be calm, daughter,” Greatfather Tivrest said. “Do as Father Bellamy commands. Forsake your demon magic and put your faith in the Bright Lord.”

  “The magic my mother fears is my natural birthright, Father, not demon possession. You’ve got to believe me.” She held his gaze. Her voice throbbed with earnestness and compulsion. Doubt entered the archbishop’s eyes, and she pressed her advantage. “Look at me, Father. I’m telling you the truth. I was raised in the church. I celebrated my first Concordia here in this very city. I follow the Way of Light.” Her breathing grew ragged as the manacles’ burn intensified. “Let me go, Father. Don’t do this to a child of Light.”

  A shadow darted in her periphery, followed by the crack of flesh hitting flesh. Sudden, sharp pain set the side of her face aflame, bringing an abrupt end to her attempt at weaving a shei’dalin’s compulsion. “Careful, Greatfather,” cautioned the white-blond exorcist. “Even now, when you offer her mercy, she would steal your soul if she could.” He slapped her again, this time with enough force to wrench her head to one side.

  “That’s enough, Nivane,” Father Bellamy commanded. “Our goal is to drive the demons from her soul, not to brutalize her. There is a better way to silence her witch’s voice.” Bellamy gestured to the third, still-hooded man. “Gag her.”

  “Yes, Father.” The third exorcist approached, a corked gag in his gloved hands. As he neared, Ellysetta’s nose twitched in distaste. This exorcist reeked of onions and bacon, a smell she would forever associate with the despised Den Brodson. At that very moment, gloating satisfaction and hatred rolled over her in waves.

  “Gods save me.” She stared in horror at the third exorcist. He was close enough now that she could see beneath the shadow of his hood. Blue eyes surrounded by stubby black lashes stared back at her above a nose that had been broken more than once in childhood bully brawls. “He’s no exorcist, Greatfather! He’s De—”

  The second exorcist, Nivane, grabbed her manacled wrists and pushed a small hidden button. Tiny spikes shot out all around the inside of the cuffs, piercing her skin. A scream strangled in her throat, cutting off her voice. “If you do not weave magic, the bracelets will not punish you,” Nivane proclaimed loudly. “Cease your lies. Give up your unholy ways. Beg the Bright Lord to forgive your sins, and join him in the Light.”

  Ellysetta tried to force him back with a thrust of Earth and Air, but the instant she called magic, debilitating agony wreathed her wrists with fire and sent red-hot razors of pain vibrating up her arms.

  Den grabbed her roughly and shoved the corked gag in her mouth. “You’ll regret rejecting me,” he hissed in her ear. “I would have honored you as my wife. Now I’ll command you as my whore.” With his hands hidden from view by the folds of his red robes, Den squeezed her breast so hard she could not hold back a muffled cry. “Before I’m done with you, you’ll plead to lick my feet.”

  “Lay her on the altar,” Father Bellamy ordered. “The bracelets will contain her demons for the moment, but we must hurry to begin the exorcism.”

  Hands grabbed her and lifted her off her feet. Her struggles were no match for the four men as they carried her easily across the short distance and laid her on the altar.

  Gaelen skidded around a marble column. There, in the center of the offering bowl on the altar of a lesser god, a dark selkahr crystal pulsed with forbidden power. A partially melted gold chain surrounded the crystal. The selkahr must have been disguised as some sort of pendant, the crystal itself lying dormant within its camouflage until the activation spell had been triggered.

  A smoky tendril darted between him and the altar. Gaelen slammed to a halt, barely managing to keep himself from plowing into the lethal shadow of the demon. Magic burst bright around his hands. He threw a five-fold shield into the creature’s path. It wasn’t as strong as the weave forged by Bel and the other four masters of the Feyreisa’s quintet, but it was still powerful enough to make the dahl’reisen demon hiss and shrink back.

  Formless blackness shifted and coalesced into the familiar dark form of a dahl’reisen warrior. Smoky, translucent shadow blades were draped across the creature’s chest and strapped to its back, exactly where Fey steel would have been, and in its dark, undulating face, two glowing red embers tracked Gaelen’s every move. The shifting shadows of the creature’s face sharpened into focus, forming a clear, dark image of mouth, nose, cheeks.

  A Fey face. A familiar face. A warrior who’d been a long-trusted Fey friend, dear to Gaelen even when they’d both been outcast from the Fading Lands. Esan vel Morian, one of the Brotherhood of Shadows who had traveled into Eld on Gaelen’s orders, never to return again. Gaelen’s heart—so recently restored by Ellysetta’s touch—felt as though it would break in two.

  “Greetingsss, General,” the demon hissed.

  Rain stood in silence as one by one the lords of Celieria were called to vote. One by one, they stood and called out aye or nay. Three-quarters of the way through, his shoulders slumped. The majority of all undecided votes had been cast and tallied. He had failed.

  The Eld would be coming to Celieria.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Father Bellamy set a small red leather case on one of the benches surrounding the altar and thumbed open the latch. Long, sharp needles, each topped by a small dark crystal, gleamed against ruby silk.

  “Hold her still,” he ordered.

  Den, Nivane, and Greatfather Tivrest clamped down on Ellysetta’s legs and her right arm. Father Bellamy pressed a hand hard against her left shoulder. “Forgive me, daughter. This will hurt, but it is for your own good. Adelis, Bright One, Lord of Light, drive the darkness from this soul.” Chanting the prayer of exorcism, Father Bellamy plunged the first needle into her flesh.

  Ellysetta’s back arched, and she screamed against the corked gag. The needle wasn’t steel or silver. It was sel’dor. Her flesh went cold around the puncture, and insidious runners of ice infiltrated her body, radiating outward. The dark crystal atop the needle began to flicker with deep ruby lights. She felt a terrible pull, as if the needle and the crystal that topped it were trying to draw her very soul from her flesh.

  A choked cry came from the side of the room. Mama stood there, clutching Selianne, tears pouring down her face, one fist stuffed against her mouth. “Please, Ellie, please don’t fight them. Trust your soul to the Bright Lord. Please, kitling.”

  Anger burst into hot life. Mama had betrayed her. Selianne had betrayed her. Greatfather Tivrest had betrayed her. The people Ellysetta should have been able to trust, the two women she’d loved most, had betrayed her.

  A second needle pierced her right shoulder. She screamed again against the muffling gag. Her fingers splayed, then convulsed, fingertips pressing hard against unmoving marble and adding the tiny agonies of fingernails cracking and splitting to a far greater pain. Her soul felt as if it were being ripped apart.

  The glacial cold had invaded her entire chest now. She gasped for breath, and her body shook uncontrollably. A dark, gloating sentience brushed across the edges of her mind, and she could have sworn she felt skeletal fingers dragging across the skin over her heart.

  At the far end of the altar, Nivane watched her with eyes that, for a brief instant, glowed like twin firepits. Fathomless black, flickering with frightening red lights. White teeth flashed in a triumphant smile, and the familiar sibilant voice from her worst nightmares sounded in her mind. Hello, girl.

  Stark terror flooded every part of her being.

  Her heels shoved hard against the altar slab. Her tortured body writhed as she tried to scramble away from the exorcist’s unholy eyes and the Shadow Man’s hissing voice. Hands clamped down, holding her fast. Gloating laughter danced across her skin, vibrating along the ice-cold needles stabbing her flesh.

  There was no conscious thought in her reaction. No control. No magic weave. Only stripped-down, bare, prima
l instinct. Ellysetta’s mental shields shredded, and absolute terror gave voice to a silent, preternatural scream.

  «Rain! Shei’tan! Help me!»

  Shock stole Rain’s breath.

  His heart stopped in mid-beat. Around him, it seemed as if time itself had stopped. Every person in the Council Chamber froze in place, utterly silent, utterly still. For one instant, nothing in the universe existed except a single, desperate, terrified cry.

  A soul crying out directly to his.

  Her soul.

  «Rain! Shei’tan! Help me!»

  For one brief instant, she was there, sharing his mind, his thoughts, his entire being.

  And then she was gone.

  “No.” His hands trembled. His blood froze with fear. “No.”

  There was a great round skylight in the ceiling above Dorian’s throne. Without conscious thought, deaf to the shocked cries of the mortals around him, Rain crossed the chamber in three Air-powered leaps and vaulted over the royals seated on the raised dais. A burst of strength and magic sent him exploding skyward. He smashed through the window as Fey and emerged on the other side of the shattered glass as tairen.

  Fire scorched the sky as Rain Tairen Soul rocketed towards the Great Cathedral of Light.

  Gaelen stared in dismay at the shifting, shadowy demon-visage of his comrade in arms.

  “Esan, my blade brother, how did this happen?”

  “Doesss it matter, General?” the demon hissed. “I ssserve and ssso you die.” A lethal demon blade shot out, slicing hard and fast. Only reflexes honed by centuries of battle allowed Gaelen to dodge the deadly kiss of Esan’s blade. Behind him, the sounds of battle filled the cathedral nave as Bel and the rest of the quintet engaged their two demons.

  Gaelen drew the long, shimmering length of one seyani blade from its scabbard.