by K. C. May
It’s not real, he told himself, squeezing his eyes shut. I refuse it.
After what seemed hours, the essence stopped flowing. Feanna’s chest rose and fell in the deep, peaceful rhythm of sleep. Her haze, though still black and turbulent, was fully restored, as was the tiny blue-white haze within her. He hadn’t noticed when the Guardians had quit trying to frighten him.
“Sorry,” he said. “I know that’s not what you wanted, but you’ve given me more this way than you ever could’ve by keeping your essence in the crystal.”
“I’m gladdened,” said the zhi-pure voice. “My complement is dispirited, and he loathes his weakness. He wishes you to finish this.”
“What about you? What do you want?”
“I wish to help in any way I can,” the voice said, “and then I wish for peace. It’s long overdue.”
Once he’d carried Feanna to their room and saw her resting comfortably on the bed, Gavin filled six large, clearly marked waterskins with tainted water, sure that would be enough to restore the rest of the people in Ambryce who’d been affected by the Well of the Damned. It was unlikely he would need the crystal further, but he also had to take care that no one else would find themselves lost in another realm.
Using Feanna’s amulet, he crossed the bridge into Tern unnoticed and slipped into the midrealm with a shovel under one arm and the Nal Disi in a metal box tucked under the other. He escaped the notice of the Elyle villagers who lived on the island and found a spot out of the way to bury it. In his own realm, this particular spot was in the back of an overgrown pasture owned by the crown. In the orange, indigo, and violet realms, the area had not yet been settled, and the landscape was covered with trees and bushes. A building with a thick stone floor sat upon this spot in the yellow realm, and in the red, the beyonders were too wild to develop tools for digging anyway. If ever he needed it, he would easily find it again, but if not, it would stay locked within this box for eternity.
He buried it a foot under the surface for the time being, intending to return and dig a deeper hole once everyone in Ambryce was returned to his natural khozhi balance.
It was nearly dusk when he returned to the yellow realm with a half-dozen battlers, not bothering with disguises. They spotted a pair of Clout and prepared to fight, but the Clout turned down an alley as if to purposely avoid them. Good, Gavin thought. The Barons had figured out it was best to let the humans go about their business than to have to wait as hostages in the blue realm while they got what they wanted anyway.
They found Feanna’s complement, a sharp-faced woman, squatting on the stoop of a ramshackle hut, chewing tobaq and spitting at the chickens that scratched at the dirt for tidbits. Every time she hit one, she cackled at the way it scurried off, shaking its head and flapping its wattles.
“Get off my lawn,” she barked as Gavin and his party approached. “What are you? Pink-mouthed freaks. Go on. Get!” She spat a wad of brown saliva, hitting him squarely in the chest.
He looked down at the blob of stinky spit as it oozed from chain to chain down his armor. If the gem in Aldras Gar hadn’t been humming so insistently in his mind, he’d have walked away. “I’m looking for the owner o’this,” he said, holding up a shiny gold coin. Greed, he discovered, was an easy emotion to nourish among the kho-bent.
The woman licked her black lips. “I lost a coin like that. Give it here.”
“What’s your name?”
“Who wants to know?”
“I do. Tell me your name and the coin is yours.”
He watched the suspicion give way to greed in her eyes as her gaze went back and forth from his face to the coin between his fingers, finally settling on the gold.
“Snonzque Quabd Sydtsul. Now give it here.” She reached for it with skeletal hands.
He flicked it off his index finger with his thumb and sent it spinning into the air with a ting. She caught it in her outstretched hands and clutched it to herself as if it were a morsel of cheese and she’d been weeks without food.
“See you soon,” he said with a wink. They walked back the way they came and returned to their own realm.
The moment Gavin and his battlers stepped through the vortex into her sight, Feanna renewed her curses. She was seated in the ballroom of Chatworyth Palace with her ankles bound to the chair legs and her hands bound behind its back. “I hope you get bitten by a thousand fleas, you stupid, no-good, mongrel dog. I hate you. I hate you and your craven Gavin-spawn.”
“Yeh, I know,” he said patiently, “but not for long.”
Cirang hurried in, accompanied by Daia, and handed him the summoning rune. “I can run out and re-etch the other rune if you’d like.”
“Not right now,” he said. He would need it, but not right away.
“Am I late?” Edan said, shutting the door behind him.
“No, I was just getting started.”
Hennah and Lilalian took their places facing Gavin, hands on the hilt of their weapons, though he’d tried to assure them it wouldn’t be necessary.
“Getting started doing what?” Feanna demanded. “Untie me, I said. Gavin, tell them to untie me.”
He ignored her. It would be over soon. With the old woman’s name in mind, Gavin whispered the name of the rune.
Snonzque stepped through the vortex, shock and anger in equal measure in her expression. “What’s the meaning of this? How dare you abduct me from my home, you ugly pink-mouthed outlander?”
“Calm yourself. This’ll only take a minute.” Though the two women screamed at him with both volume and vitriol, with Daia’s help, Gavin was able to quiet his mind and focus on the words that Carthis had taught him.
It was working. The essence of one flowed into the other, emptying and filling at the same time. As their essences flowed into one another, the two women quieted, no doubt sensing the exchange. As soon as it was done, they resumed their bellyaching, demanding to know what had happened. Gavin released the old woman, excitement and hope awakened every muscle and every inch of his skin. This was it—the moment he would get his wife back.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Feanna demanded, spittle building in the corners of her mouth. “Who do you think you are?”
He pulled the marked water skin from his knapsack and set the bag down. “You’re going to drink a sip o’this water.”
“I will not.” Her muscles bunched and tightened as she fought against the straps that tied her to the chair. The veins in her neck looked like they were trying to break through her skin.
On his nod, Daia got into position behind Feanna and, with a hand on her forehead, tilted her head back. “Drink it, Your Majesty, or I’ll have to pinch your nose shut. I’d rather not have to handle you so roughly.”
“Go to hell. You can’t command me, wench. I’ll see that your—” Daia pinched her nose. “Stop it. Stop it right this instant.”
Gavin tipped the skin’s opening over Feanna’s mouth and let a bit of the water trickle in. She coughed most of it out and began to struggle against her bindings and Daia’s grasp, but Hennah and Lilalian were there to hold her by the shoulders. “Swallow,” Gavin said, “and we’ll let you go.”
Her throat bobbed as the tainted water went down. The battlers released her, and Hennah bent to untie her ankles. “Satisfied?” she asked.
Gavin watched his wife with eager expectation. Her pinched brow smoothed, her flared nostrils relaxed, and her body’s trembling quieted.
“Oh,” she said. The shackles fell to the floor with a rattle, and she put both hands over her mouth. “Gavin? Was that... real?” She looked around at the eager, hopeful faces and burst into tears, her shoulders hunched. “I’m so sorry. How could I have been so dreadful?”
“It wasn’t your fault.” Gavin pulled her into his arms and buried his face in her hair. The relief he felt was trumped only by his joy. “You’re back. I’ve got you, sweetheart. I’ve got you.”
Cirang went to one knee at their feet, her head bowed. “I�
�m sorry, Your Majesties, for what I’ve done. I only hope you can forgive me.”
“We’ve got dozens more people to cure,” Gavin said. “You’re not relieved yet.”
That evening, he enjoyed the company of his family at dinner, laughing and telling stories about their adventures with a light heart and clear conscience. Under the table, Feanna held his hand like she was afraid to let it go. She was unusually quiet, occasionally glancing around the table at the children and lowering her bloodshot eyes when GJ met her gaze. Gavin knew he was going to have to address her lapse in judgment in telling the boy about his father’s indiscretion, but the day had been long. The matter would keep for another day.
That night, with his wife curled contentedly in his arms, he slept more soundly than he had in weeks.
Chapter 62
With the Baron Flisk’s grudging assistance—and his presence under guard—Gavin took Daia, Cirang, and four of his battlers to Ambryce. He argued it would be easier and less disruptive to learn the traveling magic himself, but the Baron claimed that to grant him that power, he would have to sacrifice one of his Callers, which he refused to do. Even an offer of gold did nothing to sway him, and so Gavin resolved to inconvenience the Baron whenever he needed to cross great distances quickly.
It was painstaking work, traveling back and forth from the blue realm to the yellow to find the complement for each person, but holding the Baron hostage kept the Callers cooperative. They even helped him find the complements he needed and brought them to him, so that all Gavin had to do once he entered the yellow realm was to ask the individual’s name, return to the blue realm, and summon him or her to Ambryce. Cirang re-etched the rune after each cleansing with Daia pouring the water over the stone while Gavin rested between journeys.
One by one, he restored the kho-bent people to their natural zhi-bent state, starting with his two First Royal Guards Anya and Mirrah. The process took several days, all the while having to put up with the Baron’s indignant ranting. Every day, after fifteen or twenty trips back and forth, Gavin released the Baron and collapsed into bed, waking the following day less rested than he’d have liked but ready to begin again. After everyone was restored, Gavin once again enlisted the Baron Flisk’s aid to spirit him and his companions back to Tern.
Gavin found his children and nephews sprawled across the floor in the family room, where Feanna was reading a book aloud to her captivated audience.
“Uncle Gavin,” GJ cried. He sprang to his feet and threw his arms around Gavin’s waist, inciting a storm of children to welcome him back.
“You’re looking haggard, love,” Feanna said with her brow wrinkled in concern. “You should rest for a few days.”
She was right. Gavin caught a glimpse of his reflection in the window. The face staring back at him was more like his father’s than his own, weathered by the years’ worth of essence he’d sacrificed to right his wrongs.
She took his hand and led him to a plush chair, into which he sat with a groan of exhaustion. Jilly climbed into his lap and snuggled against his chest, unmindful of his sweaty stench. The children laughed and chattered while Feanna massaged his shoulders and neck from behind. To have his Feanna back was all he really wanted, but she was kinder since the exchange, as if she were trying to make up for all the venom she’d spat while she was infected with kho.
“What did I miss while I was gone?” he asked.
The room grew quiet, and the children looked at each other, each waiting for another to speak.
Liera walked in then, and looked around, smiling in wary anticipation. “Why is everyone so quiet?”
“Liera, why don’t you tell Gavin what he missed while he was gone,” Feanna said softly.
Gavin raised his eyebrows in encouragement.
Liera turned around and, not finding what she was looking for, stepped out of the room to beckon someone with a finger. Holding Keturah by the hand, she came back in.
Oh hell, Gavin thought. How much did she know? “Liera, I—”
“Gavin, I believe you’ve already met Rogan’s daughter, Keturah—the daughter I wish he’d given me. Her natural mother passed away, but with the king’s blessing, I would like to call her my own.”
“Oh!” He cleared his throat, taken aback by her greathearted gesture. She’d talked for years about having one more child, a girl, but it never came to pass. “You got my blessing. Guess you’ll be calling me Uncle after all, Keturah.”
Feanna leaned over him, embracing him from behind, and kissed his scarred and unshaven cheek.
There was one last thing Gavin needed to do before he could put the matter to rest once and for all: set the Guardians’ souls free.
They’d resisted that notion out of fear, but he wasn’t confident they would still see things the same way, now that their essence was mostly drained. He would at least give them the choice.
When everyone was asleep that night, he snuck out of the palace, returned to the midrealm, and dug up the box.
“Guardians, you’ve repaid me for pulling you out o’the wellspring. I’ll release you now, if you want me to. Your souls can be reborn and live whole new lives.”
“We no longer wish to be constrained to this existence. Release us, Emtor. It would be a kindness.”
He took the Nal Disi in his two hands, saw their essence, and pulled. They didn’t resist this time. In fact, they pushed their essence into him, filling him completely. For the first time in weeks, he felt vibrant and strong. The last of their essence, too much for Gavin to use, spilt into the cool night air.
Thank you, Gavin Kinshield.
The Nal Disi crystal glowed more brightly for a moment before its light winked out forever.
Chapter 63
After a long three days of travel across the Quirjan Sea, the ship docked, and its queasy passengers rushed to disembark. Cirang had expected the king to send battlers after her for stealing a horse and escaping his justice, but she made it to Nilmaria without incident. Glad to be on solid ground once again, she looked about while waiting for her mount to be unloaded from the ship’s cargo hold.
Port Ysana was a pleasant city where several cultures mingled. She remembered seeing it for the first time when Tyr had left his village in search of a cure for his son’s illness. He’d been naive like a child. The open sensuality and drunkenness that had so shocked and disgusted him seemed mild now.
People gaped at her as she rode through the brick-paved streets, especially the Nilmarions, who believed women were intended to serve men, cook and clean for them, and bear their children. Though she’d traded her mail and sword for passage, Cirang had the thick muscle of a battler which, to a Nilmarion, looked grotesque.
She left Port Ysana behind and rode into the heart of Nilmaria. The landscape grew warmly familiar as she neared her destination. The forest was thick with two different kinds of oak trees, tall, dark cypress, cedars, and firs. Her hands ached to feel their wood once again, yielding to her knife and chisel. She relished the scent of home in her lungs.
At last, she rode into the village on its packed dirt roads, past the gaping onlookers whose names she ticked off in her mind. Anen Rin, Tyr’s best friend since childhood, stood protectively over a girl on the cusp of womanhood. That can’t be Ina, she thought. Ina had been only a child. And her baby brother Tinyet was now a strapping youth with the same mischievous eyes that had many times incited Tyr to accept Anen’s dares and earn a thrashing.
Cirang lifted a hand in wistful greeting as a tear leaked from her eye and wormed its way down her cheek. She’d missed so much life here.
The clan chief stopped on the road ahead and squinted at her. These eight years had aged him more than they should have. “Good day, stranger. Are you lost?”
People began to gather, curious about the strange woman in their midst.
“Good day, Chief Oman,” she replied in a Nilmarion accent. She climbed down from her mount but kept about a dozen feet between herself and the clan chief. “No, I’
m not lost. I’ve come to see Sithral Brae and Siong.”
“How do you know them?” he asked.
“I’m Sithral Tyr.” When she realized how mad that sounded, she added, “Er, his friend, that is. Tyr’s associate.”
Several onlookers snickered.
The chief scowled. “Sithral Tyr was exiled from this village years ago. We have no desire to conduct business with you.”
“Yes, I know. Much has happened in these eight years. His wife and son deserve to know what fate has befallen him.”
“What token have you brought as proof of his death?”
How could she have made such a stupid mistake? Perhaps because Tyr wasn’t truly dead, it didn’t occur to her that she would need a token to lay upon the pyre in place of his corpse. She should have searched the weeds for his remains, though the bones would surely have been picked clean by the birds and flies, and anything of value taken by plunderers. She should have brought one of his prayer tokens from the hidden cellar. She had a box he’d carved—the one that had contained the serragan powder she’d used to escape from Kinshield—but it wasn’t a personal effect. It was one of many such boxes he’d carved to sell. “I have none, only the story of how he met his end.”