Spirits of Light and Shadow (The Gods of Talmor)

by India Drummond

  “Find the one who is doing this to me, son.” His eyes glinted. “I have so few moments of clarity. But something happened this morning. I feel better. Stronger. Still, I need help.”

  The only thing Korbin could do was nod. Could Octavia’s magic have made a difference?

  “I’ll search the house for items of black magic,” Korbin said. “Eliam and Tarsten believe you have been cursed by a Kilovian witch.”

  Graiphen scowled deeply. “Cursed,” he murmured. “By an enemy.”

  Korbin opened his mouth to speak, but Graiphen cut him off, behaving more like himself than he had since Korbin arrived.

  “We must find out who. Find him and end him.” Suddenly Graiphen winced. “Before he ends me.”

  Out in the corridor, voices rose. Eliam and Tarsten.

  Graiphen tightened his iron grip on Korbin’s arm. “Don’t trust anyone. Not even those who claim to be my allies. Promise me, son. I need your help.”

  Korbin felt trapped. The words sounded like an order. They filled him with an equal measure of anger and dread. Nothing good would come of this, but could he turn his back on his father? What if the old man was simply going mad, sending Korbin on some dangerous chase with no true enemy at the end?

  A knock at the chamber door saved him from having to answer Graiphen’s request. Dul Tarsten entered without waiting for an invitation, and Eliam followed close behind, his eyes full of concern.

  “Graiphen, my friend,” Tarsten said. “You look better than I’ve seen you in weeks.”

  The older man frowned. “My head aches.” An odd confession from a man who never complained.

  “Don’t worry,” Tarsten said. “We’re going to take care of this.” He glanced at Korbin. “Come, son. We need to talk.”

  Korbin glanced at Graiphen, who responded with a curt nod. “Go. I need to rest.”

  “Very well.” Korbin watched his father for a moment, mystified at the quickly changing moods. The dread that had threatened him earlier settled in the pit of his stomach as he followed Tarsten out of the chamber.

  Chapter 4

  Korbin had reported to Tarsten and Eliam, who assured him Graiphen’s state was, in fact, much improved. Afterward, Korbin conducted a thorough search of the house. He found five small metal sharps jutting from beside mirrors or on the underside of a table, always in places only Graiphen would be likely to touch. On one bit of iron, Korbin noticed a smear of blood and shuddered.

  Following Octavia’s instructions, he wrapped the objects in a clean cloth and placed them in the black bag she’d given him. He’d been reluctant to leave once he finished. Strange, considering that he’d thought never to set foot in this house again. But now he noticed the softly padding servants, most of whom expressed relief at his return. Was one of them feigning the mood? Surely no one outside the household could have placed these items, but who among them would knowingly participate in dark Kilovian witchcraft?

  He wasn’t a big believer in the power of the eight Spirits of Light and Shadow. Oh, likely they’d once existed. He’d learned enough of the histories to believe that at some point, possibly, they had been real. But the gods were dead, if they’d ever actually lived.

  By comparison, he’d always thought the Kilovian religion seemed backward, simplistic. He had many Kilovian friends, though, and they seemed to feel the same way about the Talmoran Spirits. The Kilovians didn’t even have a god. Just this concept of the One that he didn’t fully understand.

  Poison, however, explained everything, and he felt more comfortable with a logical, concrete explanation. He wondered if Octavia knew anything about poisons. Would she be so blinded by her beliefs that she wouldn’t consider a mundane line of enquiry? Not that Korbin was committed to making enquiries, despite his father’s plea.

  When he left Graiphen’s house that afternoon, he’d wandered the city, pondering the request. For a fleeting moment, he’d even wondered if Graiphen had perhaps poisoned himself. The suspicion vanished quickly. The great and powerful Graiphen Ulbrich would never take such a risk, and what reason would he have? Still, he was devious and manipulative enough to undertake such a ploy if doing so would serve some purpose. But no, Korbin couldn’t think of a good reason for his father to have taken the risk. None of this made sense.

  By early evening, he headed home and ate a solitary meal in his flat. He rarely dined there, but he wasn’t in the frame of mind to enjoy the company of others. He kept hearing his father’s voice: I need your help. Graiphen was a schemer, a calculating, controlling man who never cared about anyone else. Why should Korbin run to his aid? Was there even anything that could be done?

  Graiphen needed a healer, and if no medicine or treatment worked, he should retire in quiet dignity. Korbin could, at least, help with that. But an investigation? Into what? A few sharp objects and a couple of bloody dolls? He would have laughed at the ridiculousness of the tale if he hadn’t seen Graiphen’s confused condition for himself.

  Suddenly, Korbin didn’t want to be alone any longer. He grabbed a cloak and draped it over his shoulders on the way out. He headed toward a nearby pub, but the raucous laughter filtering into the streets kept him at bay, so he walked on.

  None of his haunts appealed to him. Troubling thoughts wormed through his head, both those of the present day and memories of long-passed arguments. The old hatreds and conflicts didn’t seem to have hope of resolution. He wandered the streets, prowling from one district to the next.

  When Korbin looked up, he stood beneath Octavia’s window. The sun had long since set, and the light from her flat filtered into the quiet street in a yellow haze. Shadows occasionally blocked the light, and he imagined her up there, moving around the room.

  A sound in a nearby alley spurred him to move from his place. He couldn’t loiter all night gazing up at a woman’s window, especially not a conduit’s. Her neighbors would be looking out for her, and they wouldn’t hesitate to send him on his way with a few bruises as a reminder not to interfere with the Sennestelle.

  Before he could think twice, he was rapping on her door, but no answer came. He waited a few moments, then tried again, louder this time. Certain the banging would wake the entire district, he knocked a third time. Relief filled him when her soft footfalls sounded on the other side of the door.

  The wood creaked when the door swung back, and he was shocked to find her clutching a loose robe around her body. Her hair lay about her shoulders, untied and unkempt, and a sheen of sweat glistened on her face. Her eyes shone and had a wild look. When she met his gaze, she exhaled, as though catching her breath. For a moment, he wondered if she had a man upstairs.

  “Come in,” she said finally.

  He followed with some trepidation, both curious and wary. At the top of the stair, he saw lit candles on every surface, with only a clear spot in the center of the room large enough for her to sit. The scent of fragrant oils filled his senses, along with the delicate aroma of a feminine body. On a small, worn silver tray sat a poppet. This one was different from the ones found in his father’s house, but it had long ribbons binding it in a strange way.

  Korbin glanced up to see her watching him. “What is this?”

  “This?” she asked with a smile. “This is my work. Which you have interrupted.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said, confused. Should he go or stay?

  She sighed. “The green sash on the door means I’m not available. Did you not see it?”

  He hadn’t. He hadn’t even known to look for it. Shaking his head, he muttered another apology. “Do you want me to leave?”

  “No,” she said. “The focus is already broken, and I haven’t the energy to try again tonight. Tomorrow is soon enough.” She spoke the final phrase like an old saying. “What purpose brings you here?”

  He reached into his pocket and pulled out the black cloth bag. “I found these things in my father’s house today.”

  “Wait,” she said and picked up the items around the room, extinguishing th
e candles in a round pattern, working from inside the circle outward. When she finished, only one small oil lamp remained lit. She turned its metal key to brighten the flame.

  Methodically, she wiped her tools and stowed them in a drawer, handling the poppet with care, as though performing a dance and every motion needed to be precise. Only when every item was cleared did she speak again. “Show me.”

  Giving her the bag, he said, “This was all I found.”

  She nodded and unwrapped the items with caution, frowning as she handled each one, careful to only touch with the edge of the cloth.

  “My father is much improved. Or so they tell me.”

  She held one small metal bit to the light and it gleamed. “Silver. Not iron. Curious.” With a glance, she asked, “Your father is a powerful man?”

  Something in the way her voice caught surprised him. She sounded afraid. Of what? Of Graiphen? “No matter how much he achieves, the great Dul never thinks he is powerful enough. He might be the emperor himself and not believe he had enough power.” When her eyes snapped to him, he quickly added, “He’s not. Of course.” He laughed nervously. Why had he said that? “He’s just some Dul. Nobody, I suppose.” The lie felt bitter in his mouth.

  “Everyone is someone,” she said quietly.

  Korbin tried to smile. “He’s nobody good, then.”

  “Good?” She looked thoughtful. “Do you understand the concept of the One?”

  He hadn’t expected that question. “Not really. We Talmorans acknowledge the Spirits and no other gods.”

  She shook her head. “The One is not a god. Every person, every moment has equal measure of good and bad, positive and negative, but some traits, some influences are fostered more strongly. To touch the One is to accept both darkness and light. A good man or a bad man, they’re merely men out of balance. Many fight their nature or perhaps hide it.”

  Korbin frowned and watched the flickering light from the oil lamp play across the wall. “You don’t believe in good and evil?”

  “Oh no,” she said. “Good and evil are real. But they’re only half. Your Spirits of Light and Shadow are incomplete. How can death exist without life? Health without disease? Loss without possession?”

  He considered. “It can’t. Maybe that’s why there are eight, not four.”

  She smiled, and he noticed her lips were slightly crooked. “There is only One, Korbin.” She paused. “What really brought you to my street tonight?”

  “To bring you the bits of metal,” he said, then realized he sounded defensive. Why had he come? “I was worried they might be poisoned.”

  She nodded, but her expression told him she saw through the excuse. “They’re harmless on their own. Merely tiny traps to gather blood for further rituals.”

  “One drop of blood is enough to do harm?”

  “Yes. Harm. Or great good, such as you did this morning to help your father. Is that what brought you back? You have questions about the ritual?”

  He did, but that wasn’t the foremost topic on his mind. “When I went to see my father today, he appeared lost and confused. For the first time in my life, he asked for my help.” He glanced at his hand, rubbing the callouses he got from holding horses’ reins. A few years ago, his hands were soft.

  “A man under the influence of such a powerful curse might say many things,” Octavia said carefully.

  “This wasn’t that. His mind had cleared, but he slipped in and out, raving one moment and calm the next.”

  “That’s to be expected,” she said. “His mind will settle. Still, I cannot promise he’ll again be the way he once was.”

  Korbin chuckled and met her gaze. “That might not be a bad thing.”

  “What did he ask of you?”

  “He wants me to find out who did this to him. Is it possible to find the conduit with what’s left of the poppets?”

  Octavia’s expression darkened. “It might have been, but I disposed of the pieces. Their influence was destroyed this morning, but to be certain, I cleansed them in the river. I understand his desire, but it was more important to break their usefulness.”

  Korbin felt unsettled. She seemed defensive. Did she intentionally destroy the only means of finding out who placed the items? If so, why would she? Would she protect another conduit, even if that conduit had done something evil? She had a loose concept of right and wrong. Perhaps there was some code amongst conduits that he didn’t understand. He barely grasped basic Kilovian culture. This was something deeper.

  “Will you search for his enemies?” she asked.

  “It wouldn’t take much to find an enemy of my father’s. He’s not a likeable man.”

  “There is dislike,” Octavia said, her tone serious. “Then there is hate. This bond was strong, the magic fierce. This required more than dislike.”

  Korbin frowned. She was right, of course. Even if he wasn’t certain what he believed in, the desire to place a curse like this wasn’t an ordinary action. Someone wanted Graiphen to suffer. But who? An enemy in the senate was the most obvious answer. The Dul had few interests outside his political life, but he’d trampled many people on his climb to the top of the mountain. “I honestly don’t know if I want to be involved. If the positions were reversed, he wouldn’t help me. Why should I entangle myself in his affairs?”

  Octavia shrugged. “There is a certain wisdom to not enmeshing oneself in the troubles of others. Life brings us enough of our own. No need to drink from a common well.”

  He’d expected her to try to convince him to help, lecture him about loyalty and family. It’s what Eliam or Tarsten would have done. But Octavia wasn’t like anyone he’d ever spoken to before. Despite how little he understood her, he felt safe in her presence, an unfamiliar sensation that made him reluctant to leave.

  “You know what you want to do, Korbin,” she said quietly. “I will not try to persuade you when you have already convinced yourself which path to take.”

  “There doesn’t seem to be one right or wrong answer.”

  She chuckled and patted his hand before standing up, a clear signal it was time for him to go. “There never is, but at least you’re learning.”

  He followed her lead and stood, then made his way to the top of the stair. He didn’t want to face the night, but he had to leave. The hour was nearing midnight, and he had no excuse to stay.

  “Can I return sometime?” he asked, wishing it didn’t sound so much like he was trying to court her. Although she was beautiful, a woman like her was out of his reach and always would be. He merely liked her company and wanted to know more about her and her world, to hear more of her wisdom.

  She smiled. “What is fated to happen cannot be avoided, Korbin.”

  He bowed, confused by her response. Did that mean yes or no? When he descended the stairs, he felt her gaze on him all the way to the door. As he reached it, he turned, but she was gone.

  Chapter 5

  After returning two days later from a run to Iszle for the Talmor Riders, Korbin received a message from Eliam. Although he had expected the request, it put pressure on him. During his journey, he’d thought of little besides his father’s request and also, surprisingly, of Octavia. She’d opened a door for him into a new way of thinking, but where that door would lead, he was uncertain.

  Both Imperial messengers and Talmor Riders travelled the empire in all quarters, so meeting with Eliam wouldn’t look strange. Still, they shouldn’t linger too long anywhere Korbin might be recognized. In his commoners’ clothes and with his long hair, he felt fairly safe, but he didn’t want to take too many risks.

  Just past midday, Korbin took the servants’ entrance into Eliam’s manor. The servants knew Korbin, but they’d been discreet about his occasional appearances since his father disowned him. Most guests would have been given an escort to Eliam’s study, but the head manservant merely gave Korbin a friendly nod.

  “Good day, Dul,” he said. Nearly two years, and they still called him Dul. No matter how he dr
essed, that he worked as a rider, and that everyone in the city knew Korbin no longer had the right to the title. He thought of the honor as their defiance against convention.

  “Good day, Phinian. Is he in his study?”

  “Yes. I believe he’s expecting you. Shall I send refreshment? Dul Eliam usually takes a light meal at this hour.”

  “Not for me, thanks. I don’t expect to be long.”

  “Very good, Dul.” With that, the manservant returned to his work.

  Korbin approached the study and knocked. When he entered, Eliam glanced up from a sheaf of papers. How many times had Korbin seen his friend doing just that? Every time, he’d been grateful the upper class worries were no longer his. He loved riding from city to city, tending the horses, living a simple life with little pressure.

  The dark circles under Eliam’s eyes indicated he hadn’t been getting much sleep.

  “You look like you had a night with Ness herself,” Korbin said. The Shadow goddess’ realm was that of lost souls. As soon as he spoke her name, his thoughts turned to Octavia. Perhaps she was right and he was the one who was lost.

  “How was Iszle?” Eliam asked, putting his papers aside.

  “Cold,” Korbin said and took a seat. “It’s always bloody cold in Iszle.”

  Eliam chuckled at the saying. Despite being a nice coastal city, the brutal winter winds off the sea gave Iszle the reputation of being an unforgiving place. “I’m glad you’re back. Your father has been asking for you.”

  “Has his condition improved?” Korbin had kindled a hope Graiphen would be fully restored to his reason. Then the old man could run his own investigation. Their relationship would return to its previous state of ignoring one another.

  Eliam tapped his fingers on his desk as he considered. “I suppose yes is the correct answer.”

  Korbin frowned. “You suppose? What’s wrong?”