The great lizard bobbed her head in acceptance. "And I can't talk you into letting me fly you the rest of the way?"
"No, no. You've done far too much already. Besides, Menkal has grown quite fond of you, I can tell. I'm sure he'll be missing you about now."
The dragon's lips pulled back from her fangs in a lethal approximation of a grin. "He is rather dashing, isn't he?"
Delana stammered, taken aback. "Oh my! I didn't mean---"
"Pleasant journey, milady mage," the caducean said, completely ignoring the amethyst's objections. She beat her great leathery wings, lifting her massive body into the air. "I have to get back to him. Humans have dreadfully short lives, so I'd just as soon not waste any more of his than I have to."
"Oh dear..." Delana muttered, watching Eshira fly off into the morning sun. As concerned as she was for her friend, it was hard not to laugh, wondering what would become of the old sapphire when that dragon caught up to him. He'd said that Eshira could take on a human form -- or an approximation, anyway. And rumor had it that dragons required human mates, though Delana couldn't begin to understand how that worked. The best she could do was swallow her smile in respect, and offer a prayer of protection for the old man, that the Crafter would have His way.
She sighed, and turned her tired amethyst eyes back to the path before her, tracking its course as it wound through the forest to the west, eventually joining the highroad that ran from Scholar's Ford to the north all the way to Jakar'tei to the south.
And Stormhold sat there, dead center between the two. Though she was still hundreds of miles out, she could almost see the weather beaten walls in her mind, dark and forbidding against the vibrant backdrop of the forest.
It could be a dangerous place for a trade city, serving as the main port of call for the Earthen Rank's southern fleet. Hopefully, the Rank there wouldn't be too much of a bother. They usually had their hands full with pirates anyway, providing endless fodder for Uncle Mik's tales.
She sighed. She'd grown to love the secretive old man almost as much as Reit had, though she was sure that Retzu loved him even more. Just as well that he was still as reckless as ever, stupidly risking his life for the boys' sake again and again, and at a time in life when most others would find trouble baiting their own fishing poles. Still, she hoped Retzu would reach out to him. She hated to see the old man flirt so with danger, but with Reit and Delana gone, Retzu would need all the friends he could get.
As will I, she thought, reaching to her her neck and the ring that hung there. If she was alive, Delana would find her. No matter the cost. Screwing up her resolve, she set her feet toward Stormhold, and beyond.
* * *
Jaren rubbed his temples with one hand, thumb and middle finger tracing firm circles in the indentations. He didn't need to use such mundane measures, of course. The blessing of Emerald put health and comfort well within his grasp. Still, there was something intensely satisfying about the action.
Not the least of which was that the hand gave him something to hide his frustrations behind.
"You what?" he asked, eyes still closed.
"I took her to meet Eshira, the dragon I liaise with," Menkal said, his soft response riddled with guilt.
"You couldn't have known." Well, he could have. Jaren wasn't sure how exactly, but he was sure he could have. "Does Retzu know?"
"About my involvement?" Menkal asked fearfully. "I certainly hope not."
"Well, he won't hear of it from me. Yet," the emerald added, finally looking up to take in the sapphire's hangdog expression. "Right now, we need to try and get her back. Whisper to Eshira, and ask her to bring Delana back."
Menkal nodded, and his eyes blazed azure behind closed lids as he wielded. Jaren watched the mage's face twist as he silently conversed with the dragon, his features reflecting the flow of the conversation. Unease grew in the pit of Jaren's stomach, settling further with each new tick of Menkal's face. He knew the answer even before the sapphire mage opened his eyes.
"Delana won't come back," he declared. It wasn't a question.
Menkal shook his head. "Eshira won't say what she's up to, but she's pretty adamant."
Jaren nodded and dismissed the elder mage. His eyes drifting in the general direction of Delana's tent as Menkal retreated.
Delana's tent...
He crossed his arms before him and thumbed his chin in thought. They might not be able to talk her into coming home, but he may be able to find out where she was going, at least, or why she's going there.
Her tent was as Tavin had described it -- neat, orderly. The bed showed no dimpling of recent use, her sheets and blankets tucked firmly under the bedroll. Her open footlocker spoke to her packing, as did the short stack of folded laundry. Her cloak was gone, evidence that her trip would likely not be a short one. She took a great deal of care to put her affairs in order, such as they were, speaking to the premeditation involved.
This wasn't something that hit her on impulse. She'd planned this.
Jaren looked to Reit's desk. Typically strewn with intelligence reports and missives, it was jarring for Jaren to see it so orderly, Reit's paperwork still neatly bound in its thick leather folder and laid at a precise angle on the desktop.
Not a thing was out of place, as far as Jaren could tell, no hints as to why Delana would pick now -- now -- to pull up stakes. Sighing, Jaren engaged his secondary sight in the vaporous hope that he might find something magically that his natural sight missed, some manifestation of vitality and decay that---
And he froze, his eyes locked on Reit's body.
A body that, for all the world, looked freshly squeezed of life, rather than almost two days dead.
The emerald stumbled forward to Reit's cart, tripping over things on the way that he dared not tear his eyes away from the body to avoid. Reit's body was quilted in a motley of auras, emerald green and granite brown, in patches and stacked in layers. He couldn't examine auras and their nuances, couldn't manipulate them the way an amethyst could, but he could still see them -- dimly, rudimentarily, as could all mages. But beneath those auras, he could see the vitality and decay of Reit's body.
Or just the vitality, rather. Jaren eased his head closer to the hole in Reit's chest, searching, scrutinizing for even the slightest hint of decomposition. He found none.
It made no sense. When a man was killed, all the living things that made him up died off in succession as well, fading outward from the spot of the fatal wound. As life bled away, death rushed in to take its place. Reit's body should have been a case study in this process, worst at the wound in the chest, and growing less and less, the further away Jaren traced from the wound.
But there was no decay to be found. None. It was as if the granite who'd killed Reit had ripped his heart out the merest instant before.
The emerald mage, bewildered, allowed himself the tiniest of grim, morbidly hopeful smiles.
"Reit is still dying," he breathed.
Chapter 12
The melody was the first thing that Nestor noticed. It wasn't the smooth flow of a horse hair bow being pulled across strings, as with patriarchal music. Neither was it the resounding thump of strings being plucked, like one would hear in a pub or common room. Rather, this music had a lilting, playful quality, similar to myriad bells being struck in rising and falling patterns. Undergirding the tones was the tick-tick-tick of machinery, like the ancient devices found in the Highest's personal library. He pried his eyes open, searching for the source of the music.
"There you are," Jaeda whispered gently, her voice flavored richly with the smile she wore. She was seated in a high back chair position next to his bed. In her lap, she held a small metal device. It was brass, with steel rivets and a glass lid made of the purest silica, completely free of the usual contaminants that one would find in common glass. The varied blue-black patterns were distinct in his granite sight. The tiny chest was exquisite, as much a work of art as the music that it produced.
"It's called a m
usic box," Jaeda said, following Nestor's eyes. "It's filled with gears and springs, and has a key on the bottom. When you twist the key, it tightens a spring within, which makes the gears turn as it unwinds, spinning a drum that plucks another spring, producing the music."
"Quite the wonder," Nestor commented, though he wasn't referring to the box. Jaeda had stayed with him. By the looks of her, by the smell of her, she hadn't moved from his side since... "How long was I asleep?"
"Two days. Two long, worrisome days. When Cao Tzu removed the shackle, you screamed as if you were ascending all over again. When you didn't wake up..."
"I'm fine now," he said, smiling. And, for a wonder, he was. The jolting pain that had wracked his body was gone -- as was that damnable shackle. He sighed his deep, profound relief. He raised a hand to his throat where the shackle had been, running his fingers back and forth around his neck, scarcely believing it to be real. But real it was. Where once sat a ring-shaped magical prison, now there was nothing to be found but wrinkled, leathery skin.
And his pendant.
He stroked the crystal teardrop, caressed it, looking at Jaeda. Her face was the typical orange of skin and tissue, with the faint yellow of her skeletal structure glowing through from underneath, and framed by soft, flowing hair -- the same orange as her face, but formed of different patterns. He knew this view of her. Right down to the most minute detail, he'd memorized this view of her. But he wanted to see her, finally, as she was. He rested his fingertips on the pendant and reached out to Granite... but stopped.
Clarity was a secret, jealously guarded for eons, never revealed to another granite until they had demonstrated a particular loyalty to the Highest. His long years of service had earned him that gift, and even now, with the Highest so far away and so insignificant to him, he still felt compelled to hold that secret close.
He berated himself for a fool. Cao Tzu had remarked that he would have to employ Clarity in order to remove the shackle. Jaeda seemed to know what he was talking about, and even if she didn't at first, she would have understood the moment Cao Tzu wielded.
Jaeda knew of Clarity. Nestor was sure of it. She had to. But for the life of him, he couldn't bring himself to...
She smiled, broadly, openly, lovingly. He was sure she saw the internal battle playing out all over his face, but she didn't judge him for it. Instead, she reached out her hand and laid it upon his own, upon the pendant resting on his chest. He felt the surge of mana as she wielded, and he watched her eyes change, their patterns shifting from granite to crystalline, though still cloaked in their typical brownish aura. She ran her fingers from the pendant to his cheek, cupping it gently. "It's alright."
His eyes filled with tears from the effort of waging war with himself. Finally, the battle within him broke, and he wielded.
The world before him flashed briefly as his eyes became translucent. The orange-yellow patterns bled into the background, noticeable but negligible, revealing a breathtaking visage that Nestor had only ever dreamed about until that moment.
Her skin was smooth, even, contoured with more subtlety and nuance than his granite eyes could ever account for. It was a rich, creamy brown, the color of his morning blackbrew, laden with a goodly portion of milk to cut the bitterness. Her lips were pert and full, with a natural pink that for all the world reminded him of a sunset. Her eyebrow quirked slightly -- he'd always known that, but to actually see it lent it a playful air. And her eyes...
Her eyes, now as clear as the crystal hanging from his neck, took him in as intently as his did her. He could almost feel them, flicking over his features, rough though he knew them to be. He was suddenly very self-conscious of his stubbled chin, his greying temples and the crow's feet that had gathered at the corner of his eyes over the years. His gaze faltered and he looked away, only to be drawn back by that gentle, gentle hand, still laying upon his cheek.
Without warning, she fell upon him. Her second hand wrapped itself around the back of his head, fingers intertwined with his thinning, wiry hair. Her full lips cupped his own, her tongue probing deep into his mouth. He breathed deeply in as she breathed out. His nose was filled with her, and even the scent of her long vigil at his bedside was glorious. His heart pounded against his chest, thundered in the side of his throat. His body was wracked with an electricity as intense as he'd experienced when they removed the shackle, but of an entirely different nature. It filled him with relentless pain, but such that he desired even more of.
It was the pain of realization that, even this close to her, they were still much further apart than he'd like. It was enough to tempt him to Merge with her, to become one with her -- through nature, through magic, through any means he had at his disposal.
"No," Jaeda whispered, pulling roughly away from him, though it was abundantly clear that it was the last thing in the world she wanted to do. The pain of his longing grew even more intense, as if that were possible. She forced a grin, a chuckle, and effected a superior air. "You're my declared, Nestor. Not my husband. Do not presume that my will is so weak as to forget that."
* * *
Nestor shooed Jaeda from the room so that he could dress without distraction. Not that it helped much; she stayed just outside the door as it closed behind her, still more than close enough for Nestor to feel her aura through the floor.
A steel floor, at that. He knew the structure of the building he was in -- steel, poured rock and gravel, metal wires, and such -- but with his magic restored and his secret revealed, he was now able to actually take in his surroundings, to see it as the rest of the world might see it. He began to understand why Jaeda was so much more enamoured with the place than he had been.
It sheds new light on the situation, he quipped to himself, gazing in wonder at the strange torches on the walls and ceilings, made of glass and metal. The light they shed filled the room with cold, sterile brilliance, so completely alien to the mage, who'd only ever known such unwavering light to come from the sun and moon, and then only when released from Granite's limitations.
When he had dressed, he joined Jaeda in the hallway, which was brilliantly lit by the sun cutting through the diamond exterior of the building. As the yellow of midmorning spilled into his room from the hall, the glass torches behind him died without so much as a gutter. Nestor knew he was gawking, for all the world resembling a mouth breathing idiot, but he didn't care.
"They use electricity," Cao Tzu said, joining them in the hallway. Like Nestor and Jaeda, the older granite employed Clarity.
"The energy that amethysts wield in their magic?" Nestor asked incredulously.
"The same. Only this comes from mundane sources."
"Mundane? How is that possible?" he breathed.
Jaeda quirked a smile. "You'd never believe it if he told you. I didn't -- still don't, in fact. You just have to see for yourself."
Cao Tzu nodded. "That's actually why I felt removing your shackle was worth the risk. There are places in this facility that we must go, with areas of instruction that cannot happen elsewhere. And in order for you to reach those areas, you must be able to Merge with the earth." The enigmatic mage lifted his hands before him with a flourish and descended slowly into the flooring. The carpeted hallway rippled as it swallowed the granite, inch by inch. "New worlds await, Nestor Veis. Would you care to see what they look like?"
Nestor's guts twisted in a giddy knot. This was what he'd come here for, though the discovery hadn't presented itself the way he might have expected. He flicked a glance at Jaeda, and found her wearing the same grin that he felt stretching across his own features.
If he had to be honest, he was a bit nervous, perhaps even fearful. It had been so long since he stood on the cusp of something so utterly unknown -- if, in fact, he ever had. This place was totally alien to him, and its secrets inconceivable. But now, with the shackle removed, they were at his fingertips.
He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, centering himself, unraveling the knot in his stomach as best he could
. Finally, he could stall no longer. Reaching out to Granite, he touched the mana flows of his soulgem and wielded.
* * *
Sal thumbed a crimson dollop from his lip as he approached the north-south thoroughfare of the Mainway. His fight with Retzu had left him bloodied and bruised. His injuries had taken minimal effort to heal, but he hadn't had time to clean up yet.
It was just as well. His battered appearance had an unexpected, yet pleasing side effect as he walked boldly through the Commons. The locals who caught sight of him slinked out of his way, probably not uneasy at the sight of blood, but certainly wary of the Unmarked who bore it. Good, Sal thought. He effected a snarl and puffed his chest out as he walked, playing the barbarian card for all it was worth. Now that the local constabulary was back on duty, the citizenry might need an occasional reminder that it was the mighty Unmarked, not patriarch-endorsed lackeys, that had kept them safe throughout Harvest.
As he reached the thoroughfare, he caught sight of Marissa, apparently taking a break from the Archives. He tried to hide his face, but too late. She spotted him. Her expression went from pleasant surprise to panic. "Sal?!? Blessed Crafter, what happened?"
"It's nothing," he assured her as she approached. "It's just... I found Retzu."
"And he did this to you?" She loosed an impressive string of profanity. "Just you wait until I find his goat-kissing carcass. I'll---"
"I said, I'm fine. See? I've already healed myself."
"You missed a spot," she remarked, jabbing a merciless finger into a bruise that remained on his cheek.
"Owww! Quit it! Look, he's going through some stuff right now."
"I don't care if he's going through the Abyss itself."
Fractures (Facets of Reality Book 2) Page 19