by Layton Green
On the other side of the curtain, he saw a collection of glass cubbyholes embedded into the far wall. A diverse range of items was displayed, eighteen in total. Each item bore a descriptive plaque underneath.
He approached the first case. The clerk stood discreetly behind him. The case contained a green and black feather as long as Val’s forearm. The plaque read: Rakha Feather. Allowance of magical flight of forty-eight hours duration. 1,100 gold pieces.
Useful, Val thought, but not for present purposes.
The next case contained an onyx crown. Coronet of Achen-Tur. Enables telepathic communication with most varietals of undead. Five thousand gold.
Val averted his eyes. No thank you.
He saw a ring that could turn the user into a jaguar; a salve that rendered human skin as hard as stone; a hand-held piano-like instrument whose notes could summon and control serpents; a bottle of misty vapors which, when released, could detect invisible wards. The cheapest item he saw was the Rakha Feather, the most expensive a human eye preserved in an amber brooch which claimed to allow the mage to see through walls, among other things. When the eye blinked at Val, he shuddered and kept moving, pausing in front of a case containing three vials of blue-white liquid. The vials were tiny, the size of a thimble. Spirit Water. Restorer of magical energies. Six thousand gold pieces.
“Tell me about this one,” Val said.
The clerk looked startled he had spoken. “Ah, yes. Each vial of spirit water replenishes a wizard’s store of magical energy.”
“I can read, thank you. Restore as in entirely?”
“I believe that is the case.”
“The effect is instantaneous?”
“So I am told.”
“I thought spirit mages couldn’t craft magical items?” Val said.
“Spirit water is technically a hybrid creation, crafted jointly by a spiritmancer and an aquamancer. Because it has such practical utility, it was, ah, granted a special exemption by the Council. It is extremely rare, however, and most difficult to produce. One of our best-selling items when in stock.”
“I’ll take it.”
It turned out Val had brought nearly seven thousand gold pieces worth of coins and gems. After using the remaining thousand to purchase a pair of wizard cuffs, he dismissed the obnoxious counter clerk with a smile, then flew back to Salomon’s Crib with his purchases.
Midday. He needed to move. After a quick meal, he donned a pair of woolen pants, a white shirt with a high and frilly collar, and a light cloak—his typical outfit for the Abbey—and then packed a leather satchel with his father’s spell book, the spirit water, wizard cuffs, and two handfuls of gems and coins. He tucked his Amulet of Shielding underneath his shirt, slipped the Ring of Shadows in his pocket, drank a glass of ale for courage, and made the last minute decision to leave his father’s staff and spell book behind. They would be awkward to explain if something happened. After saying goodbye to his abode, he shut the door behind him.
On his way to the Abbey, he flew to the street corner on St. Charles where Gus gave city tours. The driver was parked on the corner, chomping on his pipe.
“How’s it, lad? Didn’t think ye had plans today. Ye be needin’ me?”
Val nodded. “If you don’t mind.”
“I’m always here for ye.”
Val was pensive as Gus drove him through the city. Despite the insanity of it all, he had been on Urfe for months: long enough to make friends, start to fall for a woman, embrace the rhythm of this world’s life. He had learned magic, redefined his concept of reality, and born witness to terrifying, beautiful, impossible things. It was all about to end, and he wasn’t sure how he felt about it.
But that was all irrelevant right now. The only thing that mattered was helping his brothers.
“Drop me at the Hall of Wizards today, Gus.”
“Aye.”
When they arrived at their destination, Val said, “I won’t need your services for a while. Maybe a very long while. Listen, I want you to know I appreciate everything you’ve done for me.” He dug into his satchel and handed Gus a handful of gems. “For you and yours.”
Gus’s mouth fell open, and he had to catch his pipe as it slipped out of his mouth. “This here is too much, I can’t—”
Val clapped him on the shoulder and walked off. “Goodbye, my friend.”
“Thank ye, me boy! Thank ye! Ye know where to find me!”
Val stepped between the enormous red-gold columns and into the Hall of Wizards, where hundreds of statues of mages filled the open-air interior that somehow never got wet and maintained the same pleasant temperature. Each statue bore an actual wizard’s stone, worn as jewelry or embedded into a weapon. The flash of color from the gemstones provided a sharp contrast to the somber gray statues.
Val was pretty sure that after death, these mages had somehow been frozen in stone. The details were too life-like for anything else. Were they still alive in some way, he wondered? This world’s version of cryogenic stasis?
At the rear of the Hall, a garage door-size plaque displayed the names of a few dozen wizards, along with their specialty. Each plaque bore a dash instead of a second date, implying the wizards on the plaque had gone missing—or something else had happened. He stopped to regard the second name on the last row.
Dane Blackwood
Spirit Mage
1850–
He paused for a moment of silent contemplation, telling his father how much he missed him and promising to do his best to keep his brothers safe. Val bowed his head, wondering who his father had really been, wondering why he had never returned to his homeland, wondering what he would think of Val’s choices in life. After lifting his head to press his fingers to his lips and then against his father’s plaque, he wheeled and left the Hall of Wizards, choked with emotion, heading for the coterie house to meet the others.
It was time to finish this.
Val entered the cottage and found Adaira, Gowan, Dida, and Riga already on the rooftop. “Sorry I’m late.”
Adaira eyed him curiously. “Where were you today?”
“I wasn’t feeling well.”
Adaira let the silence marinate, as if to say, you look fine now. “The professors don’t look kindly on absences.”
“I know. Just a vicious stomach bug this morning. It passed quickly.”
Her face softened. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
Val eyed the bag of mint orchids at the foot of the table, forcing himself not to look at Gowan. He truly hoped the pyromancer cooperated with him later in the evening, but he had the feeling he wouldn’t.
And then it was going to get ugly.
“I just told the others of our decision to involve the investigators,” Adaira said. “I wasn’t sure if you were coming.”
“We agree it’s for the best,” Dida said.
“I’m glad,” Val murmured.
“Excuse me for a moment,” Gowan said, “I need to use the washroom.”
He left, and Val said, “How’d he take it? I had the feeling he . . . really wanted to bring in the murderer.”
“We all did,” Adaira said. “But he understood the danger.”
“The mageworks have begun,” Dida said, pointing at the sky.
Val turned his head and saw a pyrotechnic display lighting the sky above the Wizard District. “What’s that?”
“Queen’s Day tomorrow, silly,” Adaira said, and Val mumbled a reply about studying too much.
As they watched bouquets of color explode above their heads, brighter and with far more intricate patterns than the best fireworks back home, Val cursed and wondered how long the display would last. What if Gowan stayed here all night to watch?
“It’s marvelous,” Riga said.
A latticework of color filled the sky, then broke apart and fell like raindrops towards the ground. When the drops hit, they bounced back up like comets streaking in reverse, higher than before, forming a new pattern. Despite his wish to get on with his pla
ns, Val was transfixed by the stunning display.
“Where’s Gowan?” Dida asked. “He’s missing quite a show.”
The pyromancer had been gone quite a while, Val realized. He flicked his eyes around the patio, and realized what was missing at the same time Adaira voiced it.
She pushed away from the table. “The bag of mint orchids—he took them!”
“Let’s not rush to conclusions,” Dida said. “Perhaps he’s downstairs.”
Val ignored him and ran to the stairs, Adaira and the others right behind. They searched the bottom level of the coterie and found no sign of Gowan.
“All this week,” Riga said slowly, in her gravelly voice, “he wanted me to practice water spells with him. I thought nothing of it. He claimed he was weak on aquamancy . . . .”
“We told him what Rucker said about werebats and cold water,” Dida said. He pressed a fist to his mouth. “Oh my.”
Val cursed. They had all underestimated Gowan’s wounded pride and ambition. And now he had to find his classmate before the assassin struck, killed Gowan, and ruined Val’s chance of locating the Planewalk.
“Everyone is watching the mageworks,” Adaira said. “If Gowan takes the mint orchids to the side streets, he will be the only target.”
“Which is what he’s counting on,” Val said, already heading for the door.
The four budding mages took flight under the exploding sky, soaring past the wall of the Wizard District and then drifting over the darkened streets of the French Quarter. As Adaira had guessed, thousands of people were lined up on Canal and Bourbon near the Goblin Market, where they had better views of the mageworks. Except for a few rooftop gatherings, the interior of the quarter was eerily silent.
“How long will the celebration last?” Val asked. “I’ve never witnessed the New Victoria version.”
“Hours,” Adaira said.
Starting at Bourbon Street and working their way towards the river, they drifted above the seedy lanes and alleys, looking for Gowan’s telltale red cloak.
It didn’t take them long. Halfway through the quarter, they spotted him skulking through a trash-strewn alley, hands in his pockets, the bag of mint orchids open and tied to his belt.
“What are those other two pouches he’s carrying?” Val asked.
Adaira’s face was grim. “Water skins. He aims to force the werebat to shift form. Come.”
As they prepared to descend, a shadow stepped off a rooftop and drifted down behind the pyromancer, black wings spread so wide they obscured him from view.
“Gowan!” Adaira screamed. “Behind you!”
He turned just before the werebat landed, stumbling backwards as the winged creature whirled to see who had screamed. Val and the werebat locked eyes, and Val saw a furry gray head and a body the size of a burly lumberjack, its arms and legs attached to the razor-tipped, membranous wings. The terrifying vision caused a wave of fear to crash over him.
Gowan roared and threw the two water skins at the werebat, bursting the leather covers with his mind and propelling the water straight at the assassin. The werebat flew on a backwards diagonal faster than Val would have thought possible, avoiding the stream of water and then flying straight back at Gowan, incisors bared.
A spark appeared in Gowan’s hands, and a Fire Sphere burst into existence and shot towards the werebat. The creature folded its wings and spun like a tornado, avoiding the missile. It swatted Gowan with one of its wings, ripping his cloak and thrusting him into a wall.
The creature started towards the battered pyromancer, then changed its mind and shot into the sky, seeking to escape. Val and the others raced towards it, but it was faster in flight, a streak of dark lightning.
A flash of mageworks illuminated the sky. As the assassin flew towards the river, Riga extracted a silver stopper from the inside of her cloak. She emptied a stream of liquid as she flew, and it formed into the shape of an arrow and shot towards the werebat, almost too fast for Val to follow.
The creature saw the water coming and dodged to the side, but the water arrow under Riga’s command followed it like a heat-seeking missile, striking it full in the back.
Before their eyes, the werebat shifted form, plummeting towards the ground as it blurred into a hulking man dressed in black and holding a dagger in each hand. His wings remained long enough to manage a rough landing in an alley, and all five classmates touched down behind him.
Fully human, the assassin whirled and threw two daggers, one at Gowan and one at Riga. Both erected wizard shields and blocked the attack.
The alley dead-ended behind the killer. With a quick glance, he eyed the sheer brick walls and the five advancing wizard students, then produced two more daggers and sprinted right at them.
Gowan threw another Fire Sphere. The assassin slid underneath it. When he regained his feet, his form was blurring again, his face contorted with pain as fur erupted from his pores and the skin on his back elongated to form membranous wings.
Val had wondered why he was running straight at them, but when the assassin regained his form and leapt straight into the air, Val realized he sought to gain momentum for a quick flight while he shifted.
It was too late. Before the werebat could escape the alley, Val tossed him against the wall with a Wind Push. Someone else picked up the attack and pinned him against the bricks in a spread-eagle fashion, which allowed Gowan’s next Fire Sphere, weaker than his first two but still potent, to strike the creature in the chest. The werebat shifted to human form again, screaming as he burned.
Val and the others watched the assassin’s hair blacken and curl, his skin melt off his hands and face. Adaira bladed her hand and completed a slow horizontal sweep, her face contorted with effort as the assassin’s jugular ripped apart. He clutched his throat and collapsed, his lifeblood soaking into the pavement.
“For Xavier,” Adaira said. “And the others.”
“For Xavier,” Val murmured, and meant it.
He didn’t show it, but he was shaken at how easily Adaira had ended the assassin’s life. Not just at her show of nerves, but how frail the human body was, and how poised a cuerpomancer was to exploit those weaknesses.
Riga stared down at the corpse with an unreadable expression. Dida put his arm around Gowan, who looked pale. “Are you injured, my friend?”
“I’m fine,” Gowan muttered. He passed his hand over the corpse, quelling the flames. Adaira spread her fingers, and the remaining tatters of the assassin’s shirt flew off his body, exposing a tattoo of a curved black dagger still visible on the burnt skin. A series of miniature runes formed the tattoo.
“The Alazashin, as we suspected,” Adaira said. “The rune dagger is one of their symbols.”
“Why did he keep his clothes when he turned?” Val asked.
“His ability to change his nature must have been the result of a temporary spell or object, not a true case of lycanthropy.”
“Should we not have tried to ascertain his purpose?” Dida asked.
“The Alazashin take a strict oath never to reveal their employer. They never break under torture, not even for a cuerpomancer.” Adaira stepped closer to the body and severed the head with another, more prolonged, swipe of her hand. “But if I hurry, there are other methods to compel the dead to speak.” She took off her cloak and spread it on the ground. With the toe of her boot, she rolled the head onto the fabric and wrapped it inside.
That’s some kind of woman, Val thought.
“I’ll take this to my father, and he will know who to consult. He’ll be furious with me, but that’s far less important than discovering the perpetrator behind these murders. The rest of you should return home. And Gowan—I will inform my father of your instrumental role in the assassin’s demise.”
Gowan tipped his head, swallowing his disappointment at not dispatching the assassin himself. “Thank you,” he whispered.
Just before she flew off with the macabre bundle, Adaira’s eyes lingered on Val’s, questions an
d attraction smoldering in her gaze.
As soon as the rest of his companions flew in separate directions to return home, Val slipped the Ring of Shadows on his finger and soared upward, following Gowan through the night sky.
-51-
The smell of sage and juniper infused the breeze as the party descended the precipitous ridgeline the next morning. Will kept staring at the Valley of the Cursed with a mixture of dread and fascination.
When they reached the rocky mouth of the valley, which looked much wider from ground level that it had from the ridge, Tamás gathered everyone close. “Needless to say, be on your guard. I’ve heard stories of travelers who have passed through the valley unharmed, and stories of those who . . . have not.”
“I’ve heard them, too,” Dalen said, his beige eyes wide and roving the woods. “Tales of escaped murderers who prey on those foolish enough to pass through the valley. And worse, much worse. Owlbears and garloths and insects as big as humans that drag you to lairs beneath the earth and—”
“Thanks for all of that, Dalen,” Will said. “Imagination engaged.”
With a last glance at the serrated peaks looming on either side, they entered the woods on a path of beaten earth and pine needles that led straight into the heart of the valley. It all seemed quite normal to Will. Endless copses of firs, aspens, pine, and spruce. Birds chirping, a caressing breeze, oxygen that didn’t poison their lungs.
Still, the forest had a feel to it. Perhaps it was Will’s preconceived notion of the dangers awaiting them, perhaps it was something else, but he couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched as they trekked through the valley.
Yasmina had joined Tamás at the head of the group. Growing more confident with each passing day, as if born to be a wilder, she listened to the wind and the insects, and every now and then a squirrel or some other forest creature would run beside her for a spell, chirping away.
Will decided to have a frank chat with her. “Hey,” he said, catching up with her long stride. “Do your forest friends tell you anything about this place?”