the Dark shall do what Light cannot (LiGa Book 2)

by Sanem Ozdural

  The interior of the box was bisected by a white line, and on either side of the line were a series of squares. Shady retrieved a dark blue velvet pouch from the middle of the board and emptied its contents – a handful of sparkling glass beads – into the box. Shady held up one of the beads: a pea-sized sphere.

  “Sleet is deceptively simple,” Shady explained. “The aim is to copy your opponent’s moves. That is harder than it sounds because your opponent can move very fast. You are supposed to emulate the shapes that your opponent makes. But your opponent cannot make up random shapes. You and your opponent agree on a category. For instance, constellations are a favorite, because a lot of people know those, but advanced sleet players rarely opt for constellations since even the more complex star systems are not challenging enough.”

  “What are the other categories?” Bruce asked.

  “People can agree on anything they wish, but constellations, animals, flowers and architecture – well-known buildings – are the most common.

  “But that’s not all. There is one more trick to sleet: you see this board?” Shady tapped the board. “It’s lying flat. That’s level 1. It’s the easiest level. You see the slots in the boxes?” There were four boxes on either side of the white line in which had been carved several slots.

  “The player who will form the shapes, called the Leader, will place the beads in these slots, and the opponent, called the Follower, will try to replicate the shape in the opposing box. There is a time limit, of course,” he added. “Once the Leader has completed a shape, she must place two beads below the box–” Shady pointed to two tiny slots directly below the boxes. “See those? The Leader cannot place the beads in those slots simultaneously, they must be placed one after the other. The Follower must stop working on his box before the Leader takes the first bead to the next box. Does that make sense?”

  “I think so. Doesn’t give the Follower a lot of time, does it?”

  “No. When the Leader has completed all four boxes, the players compare how closely the Follower came to copying the Leader. The long row at the bottom edge of the board – see: there’s one for each player–” Shady traced a line of small grooves that ran along the bottom edge on opposite sides of the board.

  “Yes, I see it,” Bruce nodded.

  “Good. In sleet tournaments, there is a complicated scoring system that uses all the slots in that score line, but for casual sleet generally scoring is simple: the Follower counts the number of beads he got right, and if it’s more than half, then he places a single bead on the score line beneath the box. If he got more than half wrong, then he doesn’t get a bead. If the Follower scores four beads, then it’s his turn to be the Leader. Less than four, and the Leader must lead again. Simple, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Now look–” Shady continued, removing a thin rod from the side of the board. He picked up the board and placed it in an arc on the table, with the rod inserted for support. “You see, this is level two,” he explained. “You can still sort of see what’s going on in the boxes, right?”

  “Sort of,” Bruce agreed hesitantly.

  “Exactly. That’s the point. There are four levels – you see the grooves?” Shady pointed to notches at three levels on the back of the board. “At level 4, you can’t see the Leader’s moves at all!”

  “What? How am I supposed to follow if I can’t even see what’s been played?”

  “Ah I bet it’s something to do with the sense…” Cat leaned forward.

  “You must have read my mind!” Shady quipped.

  “So, what about someone like Orion who can read everybody’s mind, what level does he play? Level 4? Or is he not allowed to play?” Cat asked.

  “No, not at all. You see sleet is a curious game. It is actually possible to play with an almost completely blank mind if you are able to memorize your shapes well enough. I know for a fact that he lost to someone at the three-level. The opponent had formed the shape of Orion – the constellation, which is so well known and so easy to draw that he did not need to think about anything while he placed the beads in their slots.

  “It was Carl, actually.” He looked up. “The concert’s about to start. That’s enough lessons for today. Perhaps you can practice later.”

  A group of musicians were setting up on stage.

  “How do people get used to playing in total darkness?” Bruce asked. “I imagine it might not be that easy to start with.”

  “You’re right,” Shady chuckled. “I’ve known people to turn out the lights in the house… As a matter of fact, that’s how Orion taught me. It was pretty embarrassing,” he admitted. “But it would have been worse to try to play in the dark hall before I was ready. You see one of the things you end up doing is throwing sleet beads all over the place–” he paused, then added “that is not something you want to happen here…”

  “I suppose it might be a bit embarrassing. But at least no one would know it was you,” Cat pointed out, “blanketed in total darkness.

  “Oh, I don’t recognize that instrument,” she exclaimed, distracted by the group onstage. She pointed at one of the musicians resting a long flute-like object on his knees.

  “That’s called a ney,” Shady replied. “It’s a favorite instrument in Pera. Has a sound like a waterfall with a cold – as Carl put it! You’ll see… listen.”

  They settled in their seats and prepared to listen to the sounds of one of Pera’s most celebrated classical music quartets, the Dark Lights.

  “What a beautiful sound…” Father Griffith said, mostly to himself.

  Soon there was dancing, too, as couples moved between the tables and an empty area by the stage. It was a rather formal dance, unlike the flurry of activity they had witnessed on the street, but it fitted the music, which ebbed and flowed like the tide. It was music with character and weight.

  Cat laughed happily. “Shall we dance, Shady, Bruce, anyone?”

  “It would be my pleasure,” Bruce said, rising and offering her his hand.

  They danced between tables, in front of the stage, anywhere they could. And they were not alone, for the music was infectious. Even Father Griffith found himself keeping rhythm with his feet. They danced and danced as the music rose and fell and engulfed them in great whorls of ecstasy.

  “I haven’t danced this much since– oh since I was a slip of a girl!” cried Cat, collapsing at the table in a state of breathless bliss.

  Father Griffith looked at her with affection. “You look happy.”

  “I wish you would dance, too, darling,” Cat pleaded.

  “Perhaps next time we’ll dance together,” he told her.

  “I’ll hold you to it!”

  “I haven’t done that in I don’t know how long!” Bruce laughed self-consciously.

  “I couldn’t tell,” Cat said.

  “I think I ought to retire,” Father Griffith said. “I promised to meet Markiza at the House of Light and Dark after breakfast.”

  “Why? Is there a rose garden there I didn’t notice?” Cat deadpanned.

  Father Griffith gave her a look. “No, a library,” he sniffed.

  “That’ll probably work as well,” Cat quipped. “Well, we should probably all go to bed. I do wonder where Orion is tonight…” she mused.

  46

  Orion had spent the day island hopping. Ten islands, in total, and he had walked them all. Just as a good blinder must: house to house; cave to cave. The islands were similar in their general layout, which made it easier. Residential part on one side, the ceremonial, uninhabited section on the other side.

  He had spoken to people, which in itself had yielded little, since they were culturally reticent to start with and had become more so after his speech at dawn. Orion had not expected otherwise. He was not disappointed; for him the spoken word was of lesser value than the unspoken thoughts inside. It wasn’t factual information he sought, after all; that would be acquired elsewhere. He needed emotional, ideological information. He wanted to kno
w how they thought and felt, and that, he knew, is best achieved through personal contact, physical proximity.

  So the Hunter walked among the White Islanders: all day, from dawn ’til dusk.

  After his speech, he had sent the boat with instructions to Peter. For factual information, which, Orion was certain, existed on the mainland. Information regarding the whereabouts of the Elder, the man who had been Carl’s assistant, the Light Veil, Fiona…

  Orion watched, listened and waited. He had infinite patience, as the Hunter must.

  * * *

  The meeting was held in secret and in anger. It could not be arranged immediately, as the Hunter had decreed that each Twilight’s Hand must attend his respective island to explain how the Cypress Ritual had gone so disastrously, spectacularly wrong. It would have been impossible to defy the Hunter, therefore this meeting had perforce been postponed to the early afternoon. The Hunter had, surprisingly, not placed the Twilight’s Hands under arrest or otherwise detained them. They had worried that he might do so, for it would have hampered their ability to communicate with the mainland. But the Hunter was perhaps not as intelligent as his reputation suggested, after all: he had let them go free.

  The meeting took place in the basement of Twilight’s Hand for Hawk Island – misnamed, for there had never been a single hawk sighting in the history of the island. Six Twilight’s Hands attended the meeting; they did not include the former Elder’s assistant, the former Elder-in-Waiting, the newest Twilight’s Hand, who was sixteen-years old and the son of the former Elder-in-Waiting, and the most senior of them all, who had been confined to his bed after his revelation on the Island Acacia Hill.

  Twilight’s Hand for Whisper Island had suggested sending a bird to Pera detailing their plight. It was met with approval from four members of the meeting, and one dissent on the grounds that the Hunter was probably monitoring their movements, and might intercept the bird.

  “Well, what else are we supposed to do?” countered Twilight’s Hand for Whisper Island angrily. “Are we going to sit here resigned to our fate? To be controlled by someone who calls himself the Hunter!”

  “I agree with Whisper Island,” quickly added Twilight’s Hand for the Island of Desolation, so named after a story in the Book of Shadow; it was no more barren than the other islands. “We cannot simply await our fate meekly at the hands of this impostor calling himself the Hunter.”

  “Very well,” the dissenting Twilight’s Hand from Hawk Island, the host of the meeting, said with resignation. If it is the will of the Dark One, so be it, he thought.

  It was thereby agreed that a bird would be sent to the mayor’s office. The Elder had spoken of good relations with the immortal advisor to the mayor: Fiona Manx. She ought to be told what they were facing…

  There were no light birds on the island, for there was no food for them. But there were plenty of sea gulls willing to trade communication services for fish. One such creature was duly intercepted, and sent on its way. The message should get to this Fiona Manx before Evening Song, if the bird did not dally…

  * * *

  It was dark when Peter arrived on Stone Island. He made his way directly to the Sanctum for that was where he was told Orion was expecting him. Peter’s sense was not as well developed as the Hunter’s, therefore he followed the hand-written sign that had been left for him upon the entrance to the main hall of the Sanctum: ‘Dark Chamber, floor below.’

  The entrance to the chamber was ajar. Peter entered. Several gas lamps along the walls illuminated a sparse space enclosed in dark wood paneling. There was no sign of Orion, but a portion of the paneling had been pushed aside, revealing a now partly-splintered, weathered wooden door. There was a lock but obviously the person who had opened the door had not had the key.

  Peter kicked the door further open and looked down into the dark, dank corridor. Retrieving one of the gas lamps from the wall, he went in search of Orion…

  “This is how he got away,” Orion said as Peter emerged from the depths of the cave.

  “Who?”

  “The Elder and whoever it was he escaped with. I was told he looked like a fisherman.”

  They were standing on the uninhabited side of Stone Island, at the mouth of the ceremonial caves.

  “He must have initially moored the boat at the pier and then brought it out here – it wouldn’t take more than fifteen minutes – to pick up the Elder… And then where did they go?” Orion asked, turning to Peter. “So, tell me,” he prompted. “What did you find out in Pera?”

  “Not too much, yet,” Peter replied, shaking his head. “I found the apartment where Carl’s assistant stayed. You were right: it was let by the distant relative – nephew’s wife – of the islander who tried to poison Shady.

  “But the man had already fled; there had been a fire. I searched it. Before the police,” he added meaningfully.

  “Good,” Orion said, satisfied. “What did you find?”

  “A speck of light bird feather.”

  “Could you identify it?”

  Peter assented, explaining that two of the blinders’ birds had recently been reported missing and, “The light markers on the feather matched one of the birds.”

  “Excellent. What about the other bird?”

  Peter smiled. “Very good. The second bird had not yet entered my mind.”

  Orion allowed a small self-satisfied smile to grace his lips. “So what happened to the second bird? Ah, you found it,” he nodded approvingly. “Excellent work. And the clue?”

  “Bit of metal scraping on its left claw. Looked like it had been caged. It was very jumpy when it returned to blinders’ headquarters.”

  Caging the light bird. No one in Pera would do such a thing. “Islanders?”

  “I don’t know,” Peter shook his head. “Yet,” he added. “I’ll find out who had it caged.”

  “I’m sure you will. What about Carl’s assistant? Do you have a name? Any information?”

  “He apparently goes by Jaluban. It’s not a name, you know.”

  “I know…”

  I am Jaluban

  I am the messenger…

  “He is the messenger. We have to find him. I trust you to do so.”

  “What about you?”

  Orion was silent. He looked out towards the open sea. “It is likely I will need to travel beyond the Veil.”

  “Very well.”

  “I will give you instructions. I’m not expecting it to take long.”

  “Of course not,” Peter said smoothly.

  “You know why I have to be back here well before the New Year.”

  “Ah,” said Peter, nodding knowingly. “The Games of Pera.”

  “That’s right. There’s a lot to arrange, both for the First Blossom festival and the Games. I wouldn’t be going now if I could avoid it,” he added bitterly.

  Peter was silent. “What about Fiona?” he asked eventually.

  “She received a bird around Evening Song – not a light bird, a gull – from the islands.”

  “I expected they would try. What did it say?”

  “I could not read it. It came while she was at the mayor’s office. But she was furious.”

  Orion smiled. “Good. I want to see what she will say or do tomorrow, but that is the end.”

  “Very well.”

  “Let’s go back to the Sanctum. Did you bring one of the blinder’s tablets like I asked?”

  “Yes.” Peter brought out a thin glass tablet similar to the one Shady had used to enter his report after blinder’s duty.

  “Good. I did some reconnaissance today. I have information I would like to share with the other blind policemen regarding the islanders.”

  “What kind of information?”

  “Thoughts, emotions, that sort of thing. When I spoke this morning, I got a sense of the mix in the crowd, but I wanted more detailed information. I walked all the islands today. I have a much better idea of the spread: names and faces… I want to record it as
soon as possible.”

  “Good idea. Here’s the tablet.”

  47

  Father Griffith breakfasted alone on the veranda overlooking the Ortasu. It was cold, but two warmlights placed strategically around the table cut the chill in the air, allowing him to enjoy his coffee and eggs against a backdrop of shimmering water. He was looking forward to the upcoming solitary walk he would take to the House of Light and Dark. I am very fond of my companions, but we have been together almost incessantly for over a week. I need a moment alone to think, to just be…by myself.

  * * *

  Standing here under the Sun on a deserted stretch of road, I long for the mantle of darkness to comfort me, to cover me, to hide me. They will seek me, us? Yes, of course they will. Who is ‘me’? The Messenger has no name, no identity. As long as I am the Messenger, I am not ‘me’. But can Orion tell the difference? He wondered. The difference between me and Jaluban… which is a name, is it not? It is not.

  I am not the same as the man who limps beside me. He is old, unlike me. He cannot walk under the hot Sun, unlike me.

  I would reach the end of Pera soon, if he were not with me. I would cross the light tree divide… but he is with me, and he is slow.

  Jaluban walks. I wish I were a light bird… Like the messenger bird that came to me. Another Jaluban. I let him go. I let them both go free. Jaluban lives.

  I would fly like that other Jaluban and drop the seed of light as I go as it says in the Book of Shadow.

  I would fly…If he were not with me.

  * * *

  Father Griffith strolled under a stark canopy of branches stretching together from opposite sides of the road. It was virtually a straight shot from LiGa headquarters to the House of Light and Dark. Twenty minutes at most. He cherished every glorious minute, breathing in deeply the crisp, fresh air. Reveling in his solitude.

  He found Markiza seated inside near the entrance, engrossed in a book.

  “Good morning.”

  “Oh, good morning!” Markiza closed the book and rose to give him a hug. “I hope you enjoyed yourselves at the Dark Hall last night?”