by Layton Green
A tingle shot through Will. It was praise he had been waiting for his entire life. “I’m still learning,” he said. “Nowhere near as good as you.”
“We shall work on that,” Tamás said. “I recognize natural ability when I see it. In what style have you trained?”
“Um, the shotgun mercenary style.”
Caleb grinned. “The try-not-to-die-while-training-with-hottie-adventuress style.”
Tamás looked bewildered by both answers.
As they crossed through an intersection of passages, Dalen peered nervously to each side. “Lucka, I hope there’s nothing out there that can catch a darrowgar. My Da told me a story once about an evil menagerist banished to a cave, who found his way to the Darklands and continues his experiments to this day.”
Will appreciated a potent imagination, but seeing as they were far off the grid in the Darklands, with little protection, he wished Dalen would shut up about his Da.
Despite their fears, the old darvish tunnels remained silent and empty, an unending procession of earth and stone and cooled magma, until Lisha called a halt in a cavern of exquisite beauty.
A stream of translucent water spilled into a lake filling most of a huge grotto, the water shimmering against a beach the color of green algae. Even more stunning were the thousands of glistening silver strands hanging like strings of diamonds from the cathedral ceiling.
Glowworms, Lisha said to Will. Trying to attract their prey. It is beautiful, no?
It was beautiful as long as their prey was tiny insects, he thought, and not a party of adventurers.
We will stay here for the night. The darrowgar will help protect us. I will forage for food.
Will plopped down on the eerie green beach, famished and exhausted. Dalen’s light source faded, but the silken strands lit the cavern with a silver glow. Everyone drank greedily from the lake and separated to wash. Lisha returned with an armful of mushrooms, caught fish from the lake by spearing them with her tail, and cooked them with her palms.
The darrowgars slept in a circle surrounding the party. Lisha said they would keep watch. After dinner, Will collapsed in a heap, out cold as soon as he closed his eyes.
Nature’s call woke Caleb from a deep sleep, and he padded across the beach to relieve himself, the glowworm strings lighting his way. A darrowgar turned its angular head to watch him.
It was a bizarre but beautiful place, this underworld fantasy land, and Caleb wished they had time to explore it. Without the monsters, of course. He loved new and unusual things, but he had never been much for danger. Will had inherited that gene. The youngest Blackwood wanted to be a hero, while the eldest was shooting for Emperor of the Universe.
Caleb just wanted to enjoy the New Orleans nightlife, chow down on Cajun food, listen to tunes, travel when he could afford it, and spend some quality times with friends. It was the Caleb Way. The Tao of Caleb.
When he zipped up and turned to go back to camp, Lisha appeared like a ghost in front of him. Caleb jerked backwards and lost a few years of his life, but the darvish smiled, pressed a finger to her lips for silence, and moved closer.
Really close.
She reached up to caress his cheek. Glossy black hair framed her oval face, those smoky eyes and long lashes drawing him in.
This is not a good idea, Caleb. Not even remotely.
He knew Yasmina would be hurt if she found out, but, surprising to him, it was another woman who gave him the most pause. The memory of Marguerite’s touch still burned hot within him, much hotter than he thought it would, much hotter than he cared even to admit. Yet Marguerite was gone, dead or halfway across the world, a fading fever dream of passionate nights and shared laughter amid a doomed journey that had taken the lives of half their party.
He could counsel himself all he wanted, but Caleb had as much willpower with beautiful women as an alcoholic with an open bar full of top shelf liquor. Lisha took his hand and led him to a sandy alcove hidden in the recesses of the cavern. The glowworm threads provided just enough light for him to make out her features, but he couldn’t see the camp, and knew no one else could see them.
She started to kiss him, and he stopped her. “How old are you?” he whispered, sensing by her interactions with Will that she understood most English. Lisha’s tail and horns didn’t bother him, but her age did.
She gave him a confused look and then smiled in understanding. She leaned down and drew a number in the sand.
Seventy-three.
Caleb stared at the number and then hiccupped a laugh. “Is that young for a darvish?”
She shook her head.
“Old?”
Another shake. She drew another number in the sand. One hundred and fifty.
“That’s how long your people live?” he asked.
She nodded, smiled, and drew him close again. This time he didn’t resist, stunned that Lisha was a middle-aged woman.
Whatever they did down in Darvish Land, Caleb thought, they sure knew how to do this. She was as passionate a lover as the heat source pulsating within her suggested. When she got too excited, she had to remove her palms before they burned him, but Caleb didn’t mind the extra effort.
Not one bit.
Yasmina woke and reached for Caleb. After dinner, though they had yet to kiss, they had fallen asleep in each other’s arms for the first time in a very long while. It felt nice, she had to admit.
Of course it felt nice, she chided herself. He always feels nice. That isn’t the issue.
Maybe, just maybe, the journey and this world had changed him. Made him more at peace with himself and the universe.
Because that was the real issue with Caleb, she knew. The middle Blackwood brother was uncomfortable in his own skin, haunted by his own perceived inadequacies and the empty mysteries of the universe. So he plugged the gap with gratuitous behavior.
With things that made him feel good.
Yet she had sensed a change on the journey, a higher self-awareness from staring death in the face. She understood his pain, his yearning, his empathy, and she loved him all the more for it—if only he could balance.
If they made it out of this insane world alive, then maybe they could take baby steps in the right direction.
When she didn’t feel Caleb beside her, she sat up and looked around, concerned. It wasn’t like him to wander off alone and put himself in danger. The darrowgars ringing the camp didn’t look worried. Maybe he had gone to relieve himself.
She wouldn’t be able to relax until she found him, so she stood and took Elegon’s owl staff—her staff, now—in her hands. She hadn’t told the others, but when she was carrying the walking stick, she could see in the dark and hear better than normal. As if the staff granted her a modicum of the abilities of the extraordinary avian, the great horned owl, whose insignia the staff bore.
She stopped to stroke the neck of a darrowgar, and leaned down to whisper her question into the animal’s ear. She still did not understand why she could communicate so well with animals or how it even worked, but with a mournful look, as if reluctant to respond, the darrowgar swung its head towards an alcove nestled in a far corner of the cavern.
Yasmina padded down the beach. As she drew closer, faint murmurings emanated from inside the alcove. The murmurings coalesced into recognizable sounds of passion, and her night vision confirmed what she had suspected.
She lingered for a moment, watching Caleb make love to the darvish woman, then slowly returned to her sandy bed, laying on her back and staring at the glowing strands of silver.
When Will woke the next morning, feeling as refreshed and alive as he had in months, he sprang to his feet, ready to finish the journey.
The others rose one by one. Will noticed Yasmina giving Caleb the cold shoulder. He also noticed Lisha making calf eyes at Caleb, and they both had a glazed, satisfied look in their eyes.
Surely not, Will thought.
They climbed atop the darrowgars and set off again, climbing steadily uphill t
he entire day, through endless miles of darvish tunnels. Though everyone except Yasmina seemed in better spirits, the party was quiet for the most part, not wishing to disturb whatever might be lying in wait in the Darklands.
The darrowgars started to tire, causing Yasmina to worry for their welfare, but Lisha urged them forward until they emerged from a long tunnel into a field of underground boulders, piled hundreds of feet high. The darrowgar sprang up the tower of giant rocks until they came to a stop near the apex, exposing a sight Will had thought he might never see again.
A sliver of golden daylight peeking through.
-44-
As Mala drifted alone through the impossible hues of the Place Between Worlds, stubbornly clutching the head of the slain majitsu, she pondered the wondrous mystery of it all.
What was this place? It was the stuff of dreams and legend—this she knew. But was it the essence of reality itself? Was it natural, an innate part of the multiverse, or had someone made it? And if so, who? Ancient beings, elder spirit mages, entities from another universe? Or was the myth of Devla, the creator god of her people, to be believed after all?
Had this place existed since time eternal, had it witnessed the birth of her world? Was the concept of infinite being even possible? Wasn’t there always a beginning?
Though Mala had seen more magic than most, she considered herself a grounded woman, attuned to the harsh realities of life. But this place, this wonder of wonders, stoked the embers of mysticism in the hardened adventuress, a tingling of supernatural awe that left her humbled.
Especially now that she wasn’t being chased by a murderous majitsu.
She forced away her thoughts and considered her predicament. She should have asked more questions of the fence who sold her the amulet, for she had no idea how these portals worked. Where would the doorway to Urfe deposit her? She assumed she would return where she had left, which she wanted to avoid at all costs. She had no desire to face another majitsu or find out whether Zedock had returned home.
What if there was another way? She had heard that certain magical items, especially those rare few made by an elder spirit mage, such as an amulet of the planes, could be manipulated by thought alone.
Would thinking about a place she desired to go suffice? What about someone, instead? It couldn’t hurt to try, she decided. It was better than the alternative, appearing uninvited in the home of an angry necromancer.
The keening of the astral wind rose in the distance as she retraced her journey through the Place Between Worlds. Despite the harried nature of her first visit, she had made sure to remember the way to Urfe, lest she be lost forever. As she drifted closer to the filmy portal, streaked with the familiar blues and browns and greens of her world, she thought of a place far from New Victoria, a place where she could rest while deciding on her next course of action. Hedging her bets, she also thought of a warrior, someone in whose arms she wouldn’t mind recuperating for a few days, though that was all it would be. Mala belonged to no man.
The portal to Urfe neared, and then it was a few feet away. With the astral wind keening behind her, Mala tossed the head of the majitsu through, fulfilling her promise, and then extended her arms and dove into her home world.
-45-
Val’s mind whirled, trying to think of a clever excuse to tell Kalyn. He had been so focused on reading about the Planewalk he had forgotten that he was an uninvited guest in Lord Alistair’s library.
He closed the book and slipped it back onto the shelf. “Just browsing on my way back from the restroom. I’m fascinated by the history of magic, and this is a superb collection.”
Can she read the title from afar? Does she suspect what I’m trying to do?
Val started for the door. As he passed the aeromancer, she said, “Talented you may be, but you’re not yet a wizard. It would behoove you to treat a dinner invitation at the house of the Chief Thaumaturge with the proper respect.”
Val gave a half-bow. “You’re of course right. Forgive me. I meant no harm.”
“Some of us wonder at your lineage, you know. ’Tis quite strange for the family of a mage as promising as you to pass unnoticed. I don’t recognize your surname; are you parents not members of the Congregation?”
“Only my father was wizard born, and he didn’t have the aptitude,” Val lied. “My parents were as amazed as everyone else when my . . . strength . . . manifested.”
“And how did it manifest?”
What does she know? Can she tell if I’m lying?
“My parents and I were walking in the mountains one day. An earthquake caused an avalanche above us, with no room to escape. Without thinking, I pushed back with my mind–and moved a few tons of snow and rock.”
“I see,” Kalyn said, and he met her icy stare with a cool gaze of his own, giving her no reason to doubt him.
He walked past her as he left the room, feeling eyes on his back as he descended the staircase.
The dinner party ended without further incident. After the other guests left and Lord Alistair retired to his study, Adaira invited Val to the garden for a midnight stroll. Once he agreed, she grabbed two glasses and a dusty bottle of granth and led him into the topiary.
They strolled hand in hand along the pebbled path, slipping among the hedgerows and colored fountains, stopping in an open-air rotunda draped with bougainvillea.
She sat beside him on a curved bench and poured the granth. The perfumed air tickled Val’s nostrils. Insects droned in the background, the moon a silver bauble above.
“This granth is delicious,” he said, and meant it. It tasted as good or better than the finest liqueurs back home.
“It’s my favorite,” Adaira murmured. “From an estate in the Ninth.”
They drank in silence, soaking up the night. When she finished her glass, she caressed his cheek with the back of a finger. “I’m glad you came. I know it was a difficult gathering. You were more than up to the task.”
“I enjoyed the challenge,” Val said. “And for the most part, I enjoyed the company.”
Adaira’s face scrunched. “You must mean Kalyn. Yes, she can be difficult. But she’s well-respected on the Conclave, an extremely powerful aeromancer.”
“I’ve no doubt. And Braden?”
“My father’s chief advisor. I would say his protégé, but I know he longs for a spirit mage to claim that title.”
“Are there none available?”
“He has not been impressed with the recent graduates. Along with Dean Groft, my father is the most powerful mage of his generation, and I suspect he is looking for someone with . . . similar ambition.” She moved to caress the side of his neck. “I must confess, I had an ulterior motive for inviting you tonight.”
He lifted his eyebrows.
“I wished my father to approve of you. And not because he’s seeking a protégé.”
“Oh?” he said, with playful ignorance. “Why, then?”
Her finger moved downward, tracing his lips, sending a current of electricity arcing through him. “Because I approve of you.”
She took his face in her hands and leaned in to kiss him. He met her halfway. Adaira was a natural kisser, playful and passionate, though he could tell she was inexperienced. He returned her passion, keeping just enough of himself in reserve to increase her desire.
When she pulled away, her voice was husky. “Shall we walk?”
Val stood with her, relieved. The attraction was there, but he was uncomfortable in her father’s garden, with the majitsu lurking about. “Let’s.”
They held hands again, and he could feel the heat in her palms. When they reached the front gate, she put her arms around his neck and leaned in to whisper in his ear. “You didn’t expect to stay the night, did you?”
“Of course not,” he said, letting his lips brush her ear.
Her voice thickened. “Though who knows what the future might hold?”
“Not even a spirit mage.”
She gave him a lingering kis
s on the forehead before pulling away and raising her voice. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning in the coterie, then?” she said. “For our study session?”
“I’ll be there.”
Hand in hand the next morning, Val and Adaira flew off the coterie roof and towards the Adventurers’ Emporium, where Gus and his carriage waited to take them to Bayou Village in search of the mint orchid.
“You don’t think your majitsu will be suspicious?” Val shouted, as the wind rushed by. Flying over the city was an intoxicating experience.
“They think I’m studying all day in the coterie again,” she replied, her green silk jacket flapping in the wind above leather boots and breeches.
“How far is Bayou Village?”
“By carriage? Two hours, perhaps. You should know the body of another acolyte was found this morning. I expect an announcement on Monday.”
Val grimaced. “Where?”
“The French Quarter again. The body was lying in a gutter outside a brothel.”
“Any chance the wizards will close the school?”
“Never. They are far too proud. I do know they’ve initiated majitsu patrols in the French Quarter and Government District.”
They landed next to the carriage. Gus helped Adaira climb aboard, his eyes wide the entire time. Val slid in next to her, feeling a shiver of attraction as she looped an arm through his. A dose of reality followed the shiver, cooling him off like a dip in a freezing mountain stream.
Val liked Adaira. A lot.
But even if they found this mint orchid, he had no intention of chasing after the assassin again. According to the book in Lord Alistair’s library, the spiritmancy faculty knew the location of the Walk of Planes, which meant Professor Azara knew.
And Val was betting Gowan knew as well.
Regardless of what happened at Bayou Village, it was time to move forward. Every moment his brothers were missing was a sword thrust to his gut.
“Whether we find this orchid or not,” Val said, “we should meet with the others tomorrow night. Decide what to do.”